YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

From the Library of
CYRUS FIELD JUDSON
Gift of
WILLIAM F. JUDSON

PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS

OF THE WRECK OF THE

VILLE-DU-HAVRE

LOCH-EARN.

By N. WEISS,
DELEGATE TO THE EVANGELICAL ALLIANCE CONFERENCE, 1873.

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH.

NEW YORK:
ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & CO.
No. 770 BROADWAY.

COPYRIGHT, 1875, BY
Anson D. F. Randolph & Co.

(BERT RUTTER, EDWARD 0. JENKINS,
B1N0ER, PRINTER AND STEREOTYPER,
¦EEKMAN STREET, H. T, ao NORTH WILUAM ST., N. T.

AUTHOR'S DEDICATION.

To YOU who perished on. the fatal night of Novem
ber 22d, I dedicate these pages containing an authentic
narrative of a memorable voyage.
Your death was sudden — rapid. The sea quickly closed
over you. It did not, even for a moment, interrupt the
monotonous murmur of its eternal and mysterious
moan ; but it could not, it never can, bury the memory
remaining with me of your features, of your pleasant
intercourse, of your conversation — -grave or gay — -so
often interrupted and brightened by the graceful forms
of children. ,
A special place, here-would I reserve for you, faithful
and devoted friend, who, having been with me even to
the end of the voyage, were snatched from me by the
hand of God, when we were already within the haven.
Involuntarily, unceasingly will my thoughts turn upon
all that is associated with you, till, after a separation
longer or shorter, I meet you again, with all those that
have preceded you in eternity.
N. Weiss.
Paris, Afrit, 1874. (3)

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.

It has been feared that, at a first glance, it may
seem an .ungracious act to have brought again before the
American public so sorrowful a tragedy as that which
this little book commemorates. The only apology that
can be offered for it is, that the Translator has thought
less of the public that find it painful to remember, than
of the faithful, loving hearts, that find it impossible to
forget. To those, of whom it may be said that, " Grief fills the
place up of their absent friends,'' nothing, it is believed,
could be more precious than these pages recording the
events of their last few days of life, describing with won
derful minuteness and vividness the varied aspects of
Nature — lovely or terrible — on which they gazed, and,
best of all, conveying the consoling conviction that death
came to them, not in lingering tortures, but like a pity
ing friend, so quickly and so soothingly, that conscious
ness and hope expired together.
Doubtless, He Who walked on the Sea of Galilee was
there to uphold the trembling faith of those who loved
Him, and it may be that the tender remonstrance,
" Wherefore did ye doubt ? " or the cheering salutation,
'¦ Be not afraid, it is I !" were the first sounds that
greeted them as closing their eyes on that remorseless
sea, they opened them on a world where there is no
more sea and no more sorrow.
New York, April, 1875.

THE WRECK
OF THE
VILLE-DU-HAVRE

THE DEPARTURE.
ON the 15th November, 1873, the splen
did French packet, the " Ville-du-
Havre," sailed from New York on her re
turn to France. As she proceeded slowly
and majestically down the Bay of New
York, two gentlemen, wearing overcoats
buttoned to the chin, and traveling caps,
promenaded her deck, arm in arm. They
had just lost sight of the quay on which a
crowd of people stood, waving their hand
kerchiefs and sending their loving, tearful
adieus after friends and relations whom this
(0

THE DEPARTURE.

ship was bearing from them. Some of these
were going to France as strangers for a first
visit ; others were returning there as to their
home. To this last class belonged the gen
tlemen of whom we have spoken. This had
been their first visit to America, where they
had come as delegates from religious bodies
in France, to the conference of the body of
united Christians known as the Evangelical
Alliance. Now they were naturally inter
ested in communicating to each other their
impressions of a country so new, and, in
many respects, so strange to them. And
first they spoke of the people from whom
they had just parted.
" But a little while ago," said one, " on
our first meeting, they seemed so cold and
stiff, and now how affectionately the)' have
parted from us ! "
" For me," replied the other, " only six
weeks ago I had never seen the shores of
the New World, and now I feel as if I were
leaving a second home."

THE DEPARTURE.

Then they began to compare their im
pressions of this New World. They spoke
of her cities, limited only by the require
ments of the inhabitants, and increasing with
such extraordinary rapidity ; of her rivers,
which they said were like great arms of the
sea ; of her lakes, which were seas in extent
and in the dangers of their navigation ;• of
her prairies and forests, which stretched
away into unseen distance, and whose un
broken solitude oppressed the observer.
" And next to the great features of nature
in that land," said one, " I admire the public
schools of which the Americans are justly
proud. I have met no people who esteem
education so highly and who are willing to
make such sacrifices for it. They acknowl
edge that in the higher departments of edu
cation we are superior to them ; but it will
be long before we can hope to see among
us, primary schools so liberally endowed
and so skillfully directed as are theirs. To
the general diffusion of education through

THE DEPARTURE.

these schools, and the great number of
readers resulting from it, they attributed
the great number of journals in the United
States, and the promptitude and certainty
of the information these journals received
and communicated.
" During the two months of my absence
fram France," said one, " I have been as
well informed respecting political events
there, as if I had been in Paris. Every
morning at eight o'clock I knew what had
transpired in the Assembly at Versailles the
previous afternoon at four o'clock."
"It must be said too," rejoined his com
panion, " that the American press spares
neither expense nor labor for the gratification
of its readers. The journals contain not
only political, social, and financial articles as
do ours, they give also the most minute in
formation respecting the policy, the man
ners, the usages, and social life of other na
tions, details which we should seek in vain
in the best of our journals."

THE DEPARTURE. g
" Still more remarkable to me was it to find
every Monday in the journals, excellent re
ports of most of the sermons preached on the
preceding day. The least religious reunions
are analyzed and commented on with as
much care as those which are political or
commercial. American journalism interests
itself in all that makes a part of the life of
the American people, and thus responds to
all their demands. Should a jourrial with
us occupy itself with religious affairs, as*
much as with the theatre, for example, it
would appear simply ridiculous."
" That is true ; but it is only just to observe
that the distinctive character of the Ameri
can press is due more to the peculiar char
acter of the American people, than to any
difference in the journalism on one side or
the other of the ocean. If American editors
give a large space in their columns to relig
ious subjects, it is because the American
people are much more religious than any
European people. This is proved by the

IO THE DEPARTURE.
multitude of religious papers issued by the
various religious denominations in America.
In France, a journal especially devoted to
religion, would find few subscribers even
amongst Protestants, and however well edit
ed, would be generally considered tire
some." " Most of the Americans with whom I
conversed, had been at Paris, and they all
expressed their profound astonishment that
Sunday was so little observed ; indeed it
seemed to them to be distinguished from
the rest of the week only by greater vivac
ity and increased dissipation. In New York
and elsewhere in America, the stores are
closed on Saturday afternoon, and so general
is the custom of attending church, that at
Brooklyn, where I stayed for some time,
there is said to be a church for every thou
sand inhabitants. Each of these churches
has more than one service on the Sunday,
and they are all more or less well at
tended."

THE DEPARTURE. n
" And they are all built and maintained by
the voluntary action of Christian people ! "
Interested in their conversation, the gen
tlemen had not remarked the hour, or heard
the ringing of the bell which called the pas
sengers to dinner. A friend now summoned
them, and they descended together to the
saloon, which had been converted into a din
ing-room. N.B. — The translator has taken the liberty
of omitting some passages in the preceding
chapter, as believing them not likely to in
terest an American reader. She has also
ventured occasionally to change the form
of expression in what was retained, but she
has never interfered, in the slightest degree,
with the substance.

II.
THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AT SEA.
THOSE readers who know nothing of
the sea, except from the romances of
Cooper, or from the narratives of distant ex
peditions, naturally conceive of a voyage as
always accompanied by perilous or romantic
adventures. They are, therefore, disap
pointed, when they first embark on a
packet, to find it differ from a railway car
riage only in this, that the one moves upon
the earth, the other upon the waves.
The company brought together by chance
in the different carriages of a railway know
nothing of each other. This is especiallv
the case in America, where you may be
seated by the side of a lady or gentleman
from New York to San Francisco, without
having a single word addressed to you ;
(12)

THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AT SEA. jj
while, in France, the general habit of con
versation and the love of talking, after a
very few minutes of reciprocal observation,
break down all the barriers of etiquette.
On the packets a larger number of persons
is restricted to a small space, and they know
that, for twelve or thirteen days, there will
be no change in their associates. Those who
have friends or relatives with them, easily
console themselves with the thought that
they have companions with whom they can
communicate and continue to live, to some
extent, the life on shore. Those who are
alone, look, around them, with the desire of
discovering among their neighbors a face de
noting such sympathy in thought and feel
ing, as may facilitate, or, at least, permit, a
friendly intercourse during the voyage.
Each one knows, or, at least, has heard,
that the sea is a treacherous element, which
makes almost all those who traverse it, suffer
for their boldness. Sea-sickness is a much
more effectual leveller than the principles

14 THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AT SEA.
of the French Revolution, and, utterly re
gardless of social barriers, it often forces as
sociation between classes little suited to
each other. The French gentlemen, who
had just seated themselves at table with two
friends — one a Genevese, simple, grave, and
affable, the other a Spaniard, graceful and
animated — and with two ladies and their
children, who had been introduced to them,
began to exchange Jheir observations upon
the critical "examination of each group by
the other, which they had already remarked
in a previous voyage on board the same
ship. f
" Well," said Lorriaux to Blanc, who had
just unbuttoned his surtout, and who began
to moderate his enthusiasm at the sight of a
good dinner ; " have you made what you
call ' the review of the ship's companv ?' "
" Not yet. I dare say I shall do so in the
course bf the evening ; but, I think, I can
even now assure you that our society is
much more select than it was on our last

THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AT SEA.

15

voyage, and, also, that there are by no means
so many people."
" How many passengers were there when
you crossed in last September ? " asked the
Spaniard. " Passengers and crew, we were seven
hundred and ninety-three ; while now we
are in all only three hundred and thirteen.
If the weather remains fine, each one will
find room on deck, and no one need jostle
his neighbor in moving around"; In that
last voyage, two months ago, the society
seemed much more mixed and less acces
sible." " You must not forget," said one of the
party to Blanc, " that we have more of your
best friends with us than we had on our for
mer voyage. See all that troop of children
— they are enough to fill a table them
selves." Those among us who were fathers, looked
quickly around, and showed by their looks
that they were rejoicing in the thought of

1 6 THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AT SEA.
soon seeing their own children again. Blanc
did not possess that dignity, and only re
garded children as charming creatures,
whose careless gaiety could give pleasure
to the saddest, and from whose naivete", in
the midst of the astonishing objects they
would meet on their voyage, he expected a
rich harvest of amusement. His compan
ions, as well as the American lady seated
with them, when what had been said was
explained to her,"looked on him, therefore,
with eyes in which profound joy at their
happier fate was slightly tempered by char
itable pity for him. Evidently the sight of
the children had put them all into excellent
spirits. Everybody seemed in good humor this
first evening. The countenance of the cap
tain, seated at a neighboring table, expressed
satisfaction ; though he somewhat moder
ated the pleasure of those who felicitated
themselves on this good weather in the
month of November, by saying, " Oh, it is

THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AT SEA.

17

always good weather when we leave New
York." Every one seemed to believe himself al
ready on the eve of arriving. There were,
it is true, here and there, red eyes, that
showed how painful had been the separation
of a few hours before ; but the games of the
children, the, bursts of laughter from the
young girls, the bouquets of flowers, still
fresh, which adorned the tables and sur
rounded the chimney, the comfort with
which we were surrounded in this large and
sumptuous saloon, the complete calm ofthe
sea, which was such that we could scarcely
believe ourselves on board a ship, the igno
rance of many respecting the probability of
future discomforts, and the belief of all that
serious accidents rarely happened to such
well-built packets — all this cheered the sad
dest and encouraged the most timid.
Having risen from table, the company
went on deck ; some to cast lingering looks
toward the land they had left — others to.
2

1 8 THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AT SEA.
send longing glances toward that they were
approaching; but it was cold, and each one
desired to arrange his baggage, and to im
press the seal of his personal taste upon his
state-room. Besides, it was already night,
and soon no human voice was to be heard ;
and those who lingered latest, among whom
were Lorriaux and Blanc, could^ before they
retired, enjoy that absolute silence the secret
of which only the sea possesses.
The night was not less tranquil than the
evening, and the next day was a brilliant
Sunday. Lorriaux and Blanc had a state
room together in the stern of the ship, and
each asked the other, on awaking, how he
had slept.
" Oh, I have slept very badly, notwith
standing the calm," cried Lorriaux ; "these
beds are so short and so narrow."
" Yes, and so wet, that I have spent half
the night trying to dry mine, and to com
municate some warmth to it, in which I
have not succeeded. Besides, my large bed

THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AT SEA.

19

at Brooklyn gave me a habit of moving
about so freely, that my limbs are al
most broken .with striking themselves
against the narrow boundaries of the
berth." The toilet occupied but little time, and
the two malcontents, on reaching the deck,
found many who sympathized with their
sufferings, and saw some reason to believe,
moreover, that the motion ofthe ship, slight
as it was, had begun to produce its effect;..
Nevertheless, a brilliant sun, and a tempera
ture milder than that of the previous even
ing, dissipated quickly these disagreeable
impressions, and all rejoiced in the prospect
of a beautiful day. Conversation was re
sumed, but more quietly than on the pre
vious evening, for Americans scrupulously
observe the Sabbath, and rarely forget their
religious duties.
Lorriaux and" Blanc could not resist the
general feeling, and walking to and fro on
the deck, they resumed the conversation

20 THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AT SEA.
which had been interrupted by the call to
dinner on the evening before.
" You were going to give me some idea of
Sunday-schools in America," said Lorriaux.
" If you will do so now, it will give interest
to our walk."
" It will give me pleasure, — but you must
have seen them yourself." . ,
" Some of them I have seen ; but only a
few, and very rapidly ; it would interest me
to hear more of them."
Blanc had carefully studied the Sunday-
schools of the United States, and had much
to say of the completeness of their system ;
of their universality ; of the thoroughness
of their instruction in all the departments,
from the Infant classes to those known "as
Normal classes, where future teachers were
preparing for their work ; of the expensive
efforts made to interest and attract the chil
dren ; and of the great sums which these,
in their turn, contributed to missionary ob
jects, at home and abroad. The conversa-

THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AT SEA. 2I
tion was interesting to both the gentlemen,
and was continued with animation until they
were called to breakfast.
Going to breakfast, they hastened to re
join the yet intact circle of their friends.
There were no empty places at table ; none
were sick, and the beautiful morning sun in
no degree impaired the pleasant impressions
of the evening. Each one was carefully
dressed, and the flowers arranged around
the chimney had not yet begun to w.ither.
" If it continues like this," said the Span
iard, " I think I shall escape sea-sickness."
" Suppose we agree to be absent from no
meal during the voyage," replied the Gene
vese, M. Pronier.
" I am willing," exclaimed the Spaniard,
" for I believe you are as much afraid of this
subtile enemy as I am, and if your proposi
tion will help us, I. ask nothing better than
to accede to it."
In the meantime, M. Lorriaux was teach
ing the American lady beside him, French,

22 THE SUNDA Y-SCHOOL A T SEA.
from the carte, and M. Cook was question
ing Blanc about the interesting conversation
which had detained M. Lorriaux and him
self so long.
" We were talking of the Sunday-schools
in America," said Blanc.
" Then it will interest you to know that I
am going to have a Sunday-school after
lunch for the fifteen or twenty children who
are here. You will come and listen to them,
I am sure."
'• Yes, indeed. I will come with pleas
ure." After breakfast, as is the custom at sea
whenever the weather will permit, we went
again on deck, where the younger people
walked about with that regularity and rap
idity which is characteristic of persons re
stricted to a narrow space. Others installed
themselves comfortably on settees, wher
ever there was most sun and least wind.
Some gentlemen smoked, the ladies chatted,
slept, or read, suffering their eyes some-

THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AT SEA.

23

times to wander from the book to the sea,
so attractive in all its aspects.
It may seem monotonous, this spectacle
of nothing but sea and sky ; but this bound
less surface, now sparkling at the least ray
of the sun as if strewn with gold-dust ; now
dark and sombre, as the clouds intercept
those rays ; always in movement, even when
it seems like a mirror ; sensitive to the least
breath of air, and capricious as those na
tures which charm and allure you at one
instant only to affright and threaten you at
the next; no one is ever weary of con
templating the sea, of admiring it, of dream
ing child-like dreams as he lets his glances
float away upon the crests of its perfidious
waves. The children leap, run, laugh, and come
back from each race to make a little halt at
the stern, where they seem trying to fasci
nate, by their wondering looks, the sea-gulls
that hover almost motionless above the
foaming traqk ofthe "Ville-du-Havre." They

24 THE SUNDA Y-SCHOOL A T SEA.
glide so near the cordage of the ship that
we hope, at every moment, to see one fall
upon the deck, stunned by the shock ; but
the hope is always disappointed. So pierc
ing is their sight that they distinguish the
least crumb of bread in the boiling of the
wave, and their wings, beautifully chaste
and sober in coloring, are constructed with
such perfection that they never seem ex
hausted or even wearied.
Children are a little like the sea— one is
never weary of looking at them. Even
upon a ship, and especially upon a packet,
men preserve the habits of society. They
are careful of their dress, their manners,
their conversation, the effect they may pro
duce upon others; each strives to assume
his most distingue, air. The ladies, who
thanks to the privileges which custom
readily grants them, are always impenetra
ble even to those who are their acquaint
ances, become even more impenetrable on a
voyage among the wraps, the shawls, the

THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AT SEA. 25
thick veils which transform them into travel
ing sphyxnes. Children alone are simple and
natural ; their sports, their remarks, their
discussions, their laughter, their cries — all
are spontaneous, unstudied, diverting, and
interesting, not to the mother and father
only, who follow them with affectionate and
approving looks, but even to the most en-
nuyb of strangers.
And there were some with us who were
ennuyes. The idleness, more or less forced,
of the Sunday, gave them an air of languor
and annoyance. They wandered from the
saloon to the smoking-room, from the smok
ing-room to the deck, where they seemed to
be studying the masts, the smoke-pipes, or
watching the clouds, or the sailors. If ever
they remained long in one place, or their
countenances became animated, it was when
their eyes rested on the sea or the children.
And so the time passes, the ship making
twelve or thirteen knots an hour. Then
comes lunch, and after that, the children

26 THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AT SEA.
leave their play and go down, one by one, to
the saloon. In one corner of this had been
set two long tables, covered with the so-
often seen red cloth, spotted with white
flowers. The Rev. Emile Cook took his
place at the head of one of these tables, and
the children, followed by their parents and
many others, seated themselves before him,
as collected and attentive as if they had been
in an American Sunday-school.
The pastor began by a short prayer, and
then he asked the children if they knew
any Sunday-school hymns. They named
many, but at last decided on the well-known
little hymn, " I want to be an angel." Im
mediately, fifteen or twenty little voices,
fresh and silvery, sang,
" I want to be an angel,
And with the angels stand ;
A crown upon my forehead,
And a harp within my hand."
Mr. Cook read the part of the New Testa
ment contained in the Gospel according to St.

THE SUNDA Y-SCHOOL A T SEA.

27

Matthew, chap. 18th, v. 21-35, in which Jesus
teaches that those who ask pardon of God,
must pardon all those who have offended
against them, and illustrates this by the
parable of the merciless servant. The chil
dren were already acquainted with this
narrative, and the reading so recalled its
slightest details to them, that they replied
immediately to all the questions that were
addressed to them :
" Jesus replies to Peter that he must par
don how many times?"'
" Seventy times seven."
" That makes — ¦"
" That makes four hundred and ninety
times." " And suppose one should offend four
hundred and ninety-one times, must he not
be pardoned ?"
"Yes, sir; for seventy times seven means
always."
"Why?"
" Because God pardons alwaj^s."

2,S THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AT SEA.
" Yes ; those who sincerely repent and
ask Him to pardon them. But now tell me
why the merciless servant vras delivered to
the officers till he should have paid to the
king all that he owed him?"
" Because the king had forgiven him a
very great debt and he would not wait till
one of his fellow-servants, who owed him a
very little, could pay it."
" What does this parable signify?"
"That we are as debtors to whom God
has forgiven much — "
"But—"
"But that he will condemn us, if we
do not likewise pardon those who offend
us." " And who will be the gainers in this?"
" We, sir ; because others offend against
us less than we do against God."
" And do persons sometimes offend against
you ?"
" Oh, yes, sir !"
" Yes, there are some children, are there

THE SUNDA Y-SCHOOL A T SEA.

29

not, who strike you, cheat you, accuse you
falsely?" .
" Indeed there are."
" And what do you do then?"
One little girl says, " I cry, and I tell
mamma."
A little boy, " I strike back."
Another, " I say nothing, but — ¦"
" But you watch for an opportunity — "
" To pay him back."
"Is all that right?"
" No, sir, but some people are so wicked."
" Ah, well ! you can tell them how wicked
they are, but you must pardon them, and
there is something better still; what is it?"
" To return good for evil."
" Yes, my children ; recollect that when
you pronounce the Lord's Prayer, you say,
' Forgive our trespasses as we forgive those
that trespass against us.' So let us ask our
selves if we have so forgiven others that
God can forgive us."
Another hymn was chosen, and another

30 THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AT SEA.
lesson appointed for the next Sunday, and
then a prayer terminated this improvised
Sunday-school. The answers and the in
terest of the children had greatly impressed
those who were present, many of whom
asked Mr. Cook if he would read the prayers
of the English Liturgy for them in the even
ing. He consented, and the little congre
gation dispersed to meet again at dinner.
" Well !" said Mr. Cook to a friend,
" what do you think of our little Sunday-
school ?"
"I have visited a hundred 'of them in
France, and have never heard better an
swers than were made by these children,
who were brought together by chance."
" I have no doubt of it ; but what if one
had addressed those questions to a like
number of French children brought to
gether in the same way ?"
" Even had those French children been
all Protestants, we should not have heard as
good responses."

THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AT SEA. 31
"Are you sure of that?" observed Lor
riaux. " Certainly, for the Sunday-school has not
yet become so ingrafted into our Church as
to permit us to hope for such a result."
" That may be, but it will come, at least
we will hope so."
" Yes, if ever the Sunday-school becomes
the fashion with us."
" Who knows ? Perhaps it may be, even
without that."

III.
THE TEMPEST.
THOSE who, after having accompanied
us during the first evening of our voy
age, imagine that they know exactly how
that time is usually occupied on board ship,
will find how they have deceived them
selves, if they will join us on the second even
ing, which is quite different in every respect.
The passengers know each other a little
better, and examine each other less closely
and critically, and a little attention will
show the result of yesterday's observations.
Among those who have been mutually at
tracted, little arts are used, and pretenses
made to further the acquaintance; while a
few take great care to be exclusive, perfect
solitude best suiting their great, incompre-
(32)

IJiH. TEMPEST.

33

hensible souls, and their large minds, not
always appreciated by those around them.
Their precautions consist in taking book,
pen, and portfolio, and choosing the most
retired corner of the salon in which to ab
sorb themselves in reading, meditation, or
study, allowing occasionally a glance ofthe
most profound abstraction to rest upon the
inferior beings who happen to be in the di
rection in which they turn. A book is a
most obliging companion, and is only closed
when the reader allows himself the relaxa
tion of a rapid, methodical walk up and
down the deck, still keeping up his air of
absorption. When he deigns to lean his
elbow on the bulwark, even if the book be
shut, he seems to be thinking so profoundljr
and mysteriously, and looks for so long a
time in the same direction, that one must have
great courage to venture to address him in
any way. But these unapproachable peo
ple who love solitude, are far less interest
ing than those who fear it and fly from it.

34 THE TEMPEST.
It is very amusing to see what a variety of
things interest them ; they employ so much
imagination and intelligence in forming lit
tle plans, the realization of which they strive
to bring about with much patience and care.
They soon discover that there is but one
salon for everybody, as that reserved for la
dies is only occupied by invalids ; that
there are four tables in the dining-room, at
which one can choose a seat ; that in the
evening the ladies and gentlemen who
promenade the deck, alwaj^s stop at the
stern and go into ecstacies over the phos
phorescence of the sea, roused into greater
brilliancy by the motion of the wheel ; that
at certain times the sailors come there to
"heave the log," and count. the number of
" knots," or miles, which the ship makes in
an hour, an operation which always attracts
a crowd of spectators. They privately watch
the habits of certain persons whose lazy indif
ference interests them in the highest degree.
They learn all about them — know what they

1 mz. iijHr^jj. 'jc
prefer at table ; whether they like music or
not ; what games they play ; what state
rooms they occupy ; whether their favorite
books are with or without illustrations ;
whether they have shawls ; whether they
are apt to be chilly ; whether they prefer the
bow or stern of the ship ; and a thousand
other similar trifles.
If, on this second evening, we in our
turn watch these watchful schemers, we
shall be surprised by the strangest coinci
dences, and discover the curious ways
which they invent to bring themselves into
favor with those they desire to know. We
see, for instance, one of the persons who is
the object of these little plots, unconsciously
turning the leaves of a book left, as if by
accident, at the table where he is accus
tomed to sit. Another will be obliged to
speak to one of these harmless conspirators
in order to ask for the shawl on which he
has seated himself, inadvertently, of course;
and if these longed-for acquaintances walk,

36 THE TEMPEST.
they, too, fi-nd it necessary to walk, for
a quarter of an hour, at least, meeting them
with apparent unconsciousness, exactly at
the same spot each time they turn. Strange
to say, they feel at the same moment the
same admiring interest in the phosphores-
ence ; when, resting in their easy chairs, the
chilly air makes them stretch out their
hands for their wraps, the hand of the
schemer is extended in the most unexpect
ed manner to aid them. The sailors count
the knots, and they want to know what is
the vessel's speed. Who can tell them ?
The conspirator knows the exact number
of knots before any one else, and is very un
expectedly at hand to give the desired in
formation. At the piano they try to recall
an air which has escaped them ; the wily
conspirator, who seems absorbed in a
book, as he sits near at hand, rouses him
self, listens attentively, finds the air, which
chances to be that which he likes more than
any other. They amuse themselves with

the children ; the conspirator is just pass
ing, and, without the least premeditation,
stops to ask whether the children know him,
and if the story to which they are listening
is true ; and in the end, these two strangers,
who profess an equal love of solitude, are
carrying on a conversation, although they
would never have thought of addressing a
word fO each other but for this fortunate
accident. Blanc, amusing himself by making the
children skate on the slippery surface ofthe
deck, abandons himself entirely to pro
found reflections upon the manner in which
these charming souls have come in contact.
He, however, soon follows his friends, who
have gone below to attend the English ser
vice held by Mr. Cook, after which the
Americans, true to their habits, nearly all
retire without waiting for the end of the
evening. The saloon and the deck are very
soon deserted. This is the time chosen by
the true lover of solitude for his nightly

33

THE TEMPEST.

stroll, without which he could not collect
his thoughts. When at this hour you look
at the ship, it looks enormous ; the silence
becomes imposing, and the sailors on guard,
wrapped in their cloaks, resemble statues.
If you place yourself beside them, you hear
continually a slight noise like the rippling
of a little stream ; it is caused hy the waves
breaking against the prow ; if you lean over
the side you can with difficulty see their
forms. You turn again and see the captain
walking up and down on the " bridge." It
is very reassuring : for at sea, when you are
alone, there are moments when you have a
strange sense of unreality, and you ask your
self in alarm, whether this is not all a dream,
and if this is not a phantom ship ? The en
gine even moves in silence, and you turn
again quickly to the. stern, where you find a
very real ferment, in which the waves seem
turned to spray ; they impatiently sink back
to their own level, chafed and irritated as
the wheel scoops out a long furrow, glit-

THE TEMPEST.

39

tering with the reflections of the ship's
lights. It is very calm, nevertheless the motion
of the ship increases : you cannot control
your imagination. If you should fall over
board ! If this enormous ship, so difficult
to examine in detail, should have some hid
den imperfection, some source of danger
concealed within her great sides ! It seems
as if the engine had stopped ! What has
happened? It is nothing, and you resume
your walk. Nothing is likely to happen,
and yet the sea seems always to hold some
terror hidden in its dark, mysterious depths.
Its secrets are not for man ; they are known
to God alone. You go down by one of the
three stairways which lead "below," and
cross the passages which are in complete
darkness, for it is past eleven o'clock, and
all the lights are out. The atmosphere is
warm and heavy, and silence reigns, only
broken by the regular breathing of the
sleepers. This darkness is very disagree-.

40 THE TEMPEST.
able, but must be less so than the fear of
fire, which the least infraction of the rule
renders imminent. You go to bed, after
having collided with everything in your
state-room, not excepting the edges of your
berth, and fall asleep, dreaming of real beds>
and have reassuring remembrances of mo
ther-earth. Some time later, Lorriaux tries to open the
dead-light, sitting on his bed to steady him
self: " Take care," he says, " the sea is very
rough. It seems to me the motion con
stantly increases."
" I am sure of it," said Blanc. " I thought,
while looking at the sea to-night, that in the
month of November, we could not expect
such beautiful weather during our whole
voyage." The waiter brought Lorriaux the cup of
cafe noir, which he says is necessary to " set
tle his stomach." Rising is the worst part
of the day. You are tossed about like a ball
from one side to the other, and have to make

inn. 1 iLMTEiil . 41
plans as to how you shall put on your
clothes ; those being least successful who
hurry most, for the effort to hasten matters
makes you dizzy and agitated, and you are
obliged to go on deck in a toilet as incom
plete as it is amazing. The breeze, how
ever, is fresh and "settles" one quite as
much as the coffee. It is cold on deck and
the air is damp, and the few who are out
are making efforts to " settle " themselves by
walking about like gymnasts ; they stop
suddenly, lean over the bulwark, and, make
a prolonged examination ofthe horizon, the
interest in which is much increased by the
motion ofthe vessel.
" Oh ! the wind is rising," said Lorriaux ;
" but it seems to be weary, or, rather, to de
sire to weary us."
" Yes, one might say that he is taking his
exercise ; and when you see the crests of the
waves so white, they say the sea is fleeced ;
but it is an old proverb that says, " fleecy
weather and painted women never last long."

42

THE TEMPEST.

" That is true, but the proverb speaks of
clouds only, not of the waves."
Very few appear at breakfast; nearly all
the ladies and children, and many of the
gentlemen, have suddenly lost their appe
tites. The waiters have changed the aspect
of things at table — there are fewer covers
than on the preceding days ; the plates and
dishes are kept steady by little frames, and
the bottles are wedged so that they cannot
fall off. By a glance at the hanging shelves
which support the water-bottles, glasses, salt
cellars and lamps, you will quickly see how
much the motion is increased. Many of the
passengers who have answered the summons
of the bell, look upon these auguries without
any disposition to smile. A few persons
enjoy their breakfast together as usual ;
others seem fastidious, and after swallow
ing a few mouthfuls, quickly leave the table
" to see whether the wind has changed or
not." " How our little corner is deserted," ex-

THE TEMPEST.

43

claimed Lorriaux. " There are only Cook,
Blanc, and I left ; where are the others ?"
" The Spaniard and German report them
selves ill," said Cook. " Madame S. is in
stalled upon deck with her friends, and she
told me just now that she should try to
breakfast there."
Here is a new field for the schemers in
their pursuit of social favor ; they run down
like the wind, push the waiters aside, disor
der the tables, and choosing the best that
offers, run up again, laden with dishes, plates,
bottles, and glasses, which they use their
best efforts to arrange with grace and ele
gance, making everything serve their pur
pose that comes within their reach, proud
and happy over the almost imperceptible
expression of thanks, and finding stimulus,
encouragement, and recompense in the least,
half ironical smile. The little, room which
serves as an entrance to the principal stair
way and all the favorite resorts upon deck,
resemble improvised dining-rooms, where

44

THE TEMPEST.

the combined pitching and rolling occasion
many overturns and inundations, which are
rather drawbacks, but are quickly set right
by these self-constituted servitors, who are
so much the more assiduous because their
duties are self-imposed. It is fortunate for
the conspirators of all shades and sorts
that their efforts to ingratiate themselves
have so quickly found an object. Here is an
excellent opportunity to express all they
feel. They hasten to place themselves be
fore the ladies and only ask to know their
wishes. " Do you not find," said Lorriaux to
Blanc, after having remarked to him that
the chivalry for which France is distin
guished, had worked its way across this
waste of waters,—" do you not find that the
American ladies seem more accustomed to
these small courtesies than the French la
dies ?"
" Is it possible that this is your second
visit to America, and that you onlv discover

THE TEMPEST. 45

to-day that our politeness, of which so much
has been said, is greatly surpassed — not in
form — for there we always excel, but in
feeling — by that which American ladies are
accustomed to receive from their country
men ?"
" Nevertheless, they are very much im
pressed by French politeness, and many of
them have told me that they appreciate it
highly." " Certainly, because our manners are per
haps somewhat more refined, and ladies are
especially susceptible to these minute points.
But only recollect that in America the least
railroad depot has its hall of waiting and
even its door of entrance for ladies ; that in
the omnibus, which is never full, though al
ways containing so many more than can be
seated, a gentleman never allows a lady to
stand, and that she might travel from New
York to San Francisco without ever being
spoken to uncivilly hy an American ; that
the American legislation upon betrothals

46 THE TEMPEST.
and marriage is entirely in favor of woman,
and there are many other such proofs which
have escaped my memory."
" It is, nevertheless, true that the respect
and privileges thus accorded them, coupled
with the liberal education they receive, gives
them that independence of carriage and
manner, that liberty of movement, which we
Europeans so often deprecate."
" I do not see why this seems unpleasant
to you ; after a sojourn of- several weeks in
the midst of them, their customs seem to me
perfectly natural and proper."
" I do not know myself exactly ; but you
rouse a very delicate and complex question,
which we will discuss at another time, for I
fear it will be necessary for us to give up
our walk to-day ; the wind is very high, it
is going to rain, and the ship careens more
and more."
" Yes, I should think so, judging by what
is going on behind us."
" What is it ? " said Lorriaux, nearly

1 ±ij±. l T.4MTT.S1:

47

losing his balance, as he turned quick-
A great wave had suddenly struck the
ship, and had thrown down a long line of
lounging chairs, which were ranged in front
of the small saloon, without the least respect
to their occupants. " This shake was slightly
American in its manner," said Lorriaux,
" but the conspirators have already helped
every one up, and the shouts of laughter
show that no one is hurt. The Americans
decidedly like a strong breeze, since they
have re-seated themselves in the same place."
" Look, there is the captain on the after-
deck giving orders to the helmsman; his
' sea legs ' are decidedly better than ours,
for he has planted himself there in his enor
mous boots and does not budge any more
than if he was made of stone. Let us walk
out there and speak to the captain and then
return, for the wind is becoming furious."
" Halloo, captain ! Is this wind going to
blow much longer?" He makes no reply ;

48 THE TEMPEST.
but when we persist in waiting for an an
swer, he says, " I'll tell you that pretty
soon." " That's all very well," said Lorriaux,
" but his manner is not very reassuring ; let
us go back."
The waves rise higher and higher ; the
surface of the sea but a few hours ago so
calm, so smooth, is rough and agitated; it
seems as if some collossal force had stirred
the depths ofthe ocean, or that unknown and
powerful springs had burst forth suddenly
and increased in size and strength while you
watched them, and the waves are already
lashed and broken to pieces by the tempest —
for it has become a tempest — and the " Ville-
du-Havre," which so lately cleaved the water
with such imposing security, and with a
tranquility nothing could disturb, is tossed
about like a little ball, thrown from side to
side like a straw, and obliged to follow the
caprices of the waves.
Many of these waves wash over the sides

THE TEMPEST.

49

of the ship ; they come suddenly, sur
mounted by large, broken crests, and every
now and then sweep over the forward part
of the deck so impetuously, and with such
force, that the passengers are compelled to
take refuge below, and even the sailors are
obliged to be careful. The sea is so rough
that it strikes against the sides of the prom
enade deck, and covers with a fine spray the
ladies and gentlemen who have taken refuge
"under the lee " of the small saloon, fancy
ing it would shelter them. The vessel rolls
with such violence that the guards, larboard
and starboard, alternately touch the sea.
This gives the conspirators a chance for
exhibition. They make excursions upon
deck to show that they can walk in a
straight line in spite of the motion, but, as
one of them falls at full length and narrowly
escapes being washed overboard, and others
have to cling to anything they can reach for
fear of following his example, they renounce,
for the time, the idea of being admired.

50 THE TEMPEST.
To enjoy fully the beauty of the storm,
and to be prepared for the constant shocks
which the ship receives in forcing her way
through the sea, it is necessary to go for
ward and lean over the guards in the bow
and there steady yourself enough to gaze at
all this soul-stirring beauty. As the stern
rises with difficulty upon the crests of
these great waves, you hear the grind
ing of the screw, which works as if it was
breaking stones. Wait a second ; the prow
sinks now into the sea ! The stern rises so
that there is a point at which the screw turns
in a great space quite free from the water ;
when it meets the sea again, it seems as if
it were cutting through marble — throwing
the foam and spray in great spouts up many.
metres in height, and scattering them like
fragments of stone under the chisel of the
sculptor. A pitching motion combines with
th'e rolling, when for an instant the ship lies
stretched in the trough of a great wave, and
this billow surges under the keel, turning

THE TEMPEST.

51

the ship over in the opposite direction ; then
the screw plunges alternately left and right
in the water, its movements become irregu
lar, and cause the forward part of t-he ship
to tremble violently. One might say, when
these movements are violent and impetuous,
that " the ship was walking upon rocks."
Look back, and you will be amazed to see
the height and steepness of these moun
tains of water through which you have just
passed. The gulls are more numerous than ever.
They poise 'themselves with the same tran
quility above the wake ofthe ship, which is
opal-colored, mingled with large flakes of
white foam, like boiling milk. Some of
them descend like lightning, having espied
a morsel of bread or meat floating on the
water, and it is beautiful to see them follow
the undulations of the waves and seize their
food, without even ruffling the water with
their grey, ermine-lined wings. The sky is
sombre ; the sea is livid, except in our wake,

52

THE TEMPEST.

and all the noises on board are swallowed
up, completely lost, in the screaming of the
tempest. " Well," said Lorriaux to Blanc, who was
retiring from his contemplations, " are you
satisfied ? Is it not beautiful?"
" It is, indeed, splendid ; and it is a pity
we cannot stay longer, but I am very wet,
and the spray is dashing into my face, chap
ping my lips, and leaving on them a very
bitter, salt taste."
"And, how is it aft?"
" Entirely inundated and uncomfortable.
I tried to make an exploration, but a gust
of wind took me up like a feather, and,
if I had not been able to grasp a railing — "
— " You would have been in the sea, and
that would have been well done !"
" But, hold there is some change in the
little saloon. It was so gay just now, that
the diverting incidents of the breakfast
seemed likely to destroy every trace of in
disposition."

THE TEMPEST.

53

" What would you expect? causes always
produce their effects."
The salon looks now like an ambulance or
a hospital. The ladies are all pale and
weak, but resigned ; the conspirators so
active just now, have disappeared one after
another, to abandon themselves to quiet medi
tation. The children, who were lately so
noisy a group, are now silently gathered in
a corner ; in their midst a young lady is
seated, the only one to whom the sea has
paid proper respect. We have seen her be
fore this morning, gently and kindly going
about, taking care of some, amusing and
encouraging others, seizing every occasion
to make herself useful, and to alleviate the
sufferings of those attacked by the common
enemy so entirely unlooked for last evening,
and from which each one had hoped to be
exempt. She has been in the midst of the
little ones since breakfast, and is telling them
in English the fairy tales of Perrault. She
tells them so well, and with so much vi-

54

THE TEMPEST.

vacity, that the children cannot help listen
ing and closely following the events of the
story. They are very pale and suffering,
but you can see by their eager faces that
they believe in those magnificent countries,
and in those splendid castles surrounded b)r
woods. This young American lady has golden
hair, slightly disordered by the wind, and
blue eyes, so gentle and compassionate, and
features so delicate, and such a distinguished
air, that she seems like a beautiful fairy of
the olden time. Such is the power of the
imagination awakened by a loving heart,
that the grown people insensibly draw up
their arm-chairs to the enchanted circle,
leaning over to hear every word of these
stories so vividly portrayed, that, for the
time, they regain the charm and freshness
of their early years.
In the great saloon only four or five
persons are to be found endeavoring to
resist the general sea - sickness, and try-

THE TEMPEST.

55

ing to lie in one position as quietly as
possible. " I am much better here than on deck,"
said Mr .Cook, as I asked how he felt.
" I sleep sometimes, and I believe if I can
keep very quiet I shall escape being illj but
I cannot stay very long, for they are shut
ting all the ' lights ' in obedience to the cap
tain's orders."
" They have even taken the precaution
to put in the dead light, which will not help
to ventilate the saloon, and I believe they
are preparing for a bad night, for the sea is
still rising."
" Let us hope for the best; but see, there
is hardly any one here now ; go and play
something for me. You play much less on
this voyage than when you came over."
-" Yes, for in our circle then we could find
several amateurs ; but I am the only one
this, time, and, as I do not wish to be tire
some, I only play a few minutes in the morn
ing, before any one is dressed." I seat my-

56 THE TEMPEST.
self now at the piano and try to recall an old
air, but the rolling spoils the measure and the
pitching interferes with the cadence.
" But, where is our friend, the Spaniard ;
we see no more of him than of the Gene
vese, who. shares his state-room?"
" I have not seen him all day, but I know
that he feels far from well. You know that
Southerners are never as good sailors as
those born at the North."
I find the Spaniard stretched upon a bench
in the smoking-room, and suffering very
much from headache. " I can find relief,"
he said, " only in the position Goethe rec
ommends in his ' Voyage en Italic' "
" What of your vow ofthe other evening ?"
" Oh ! I knew that it would not be real
ized." " Therefore, you intend certainly to leave
us at Brest?"
" I hope so ; I do not wish to prolong my
misery for two days."
" And, by what route do you goto Spain ?

THE TEMPEST.

57

it seems that traveling there is not free from
hindrances." " That will depend on the news that
awaits me in France ; but I think I shall go
directly to Madrid."
" You must be very impatient to see your
family ?"
" Can you believe that I have not yet seen
the baby, who has come into the world dur
ing my absence, and yet I fear it will be
necessary for me to go to Holland before I
can return to Spain."
" You remind me of a Spaniard, who was
very ill during our last voyage. He did
just as you do in many things: accepting
his illness as a fatality, submitting quietly,
and making no more effort than you do to
resist. I believe we ought to employ every
means in our power to keep it off. Have
courage and fight against it."
" Nothing does me any good. I much
prefer perfect quiet, and then it is possible
perhaps to endure the sickness."

58 THE TEMPEST.
The smoking-room is generally the ren
dezvous for the card-players and the centre
of noisy conversation, but at this moment
no one is to be seen, save the Spaniard and
a few of the conspirators lying along the
walls, with the memory of their recent ex
ploits to console them in this time of hu
miliation. In going through the long passages, which
are on each side of the ship, and serve as
corridors between the two ranges of state
rooms, you realize the disastrous effects pro
duced by the tempest. You encounter the
doctor every few minutes ; easily made ill
himself, Jhe evinces the warmest sympathy
for his patients, responds with the greatest
gentleness to their impatient questions, and
neglects nothing that can relieve or comfort
them. They understand him thoroughly
and anxiously watch the expression of his
kind face, burned brown by the sun of the
tropics, and enjoy chatting with him abom '
his varied experiences. For each one he

THE TEMPEST.

59

does something which seems particularly
kind, and those who have sailed before on
the " Ville-du-Havre " meet him with heart
felt pleasure.
Notwithstanding all the distress, the after
noon passes more quickly than usual, and it
is night before four o'clock. The dinner-
bell is rung with more energy than usual,
that it may be heard above the roar of the
wind; however, I suppose few heard it, or
wished to hear it, as th'e number is very
small who answer it.
" We are decidedly ' the last of the Mo
hicans ' at our table," said Blanc.
" Not quite," replied Mr. Cook ; " since
besides us there is Captain H., with two of
his young ladies. I believe our table is the
best furnished with guests of any, except
the captain's — that seems reserved for verit
able ' sea-wolves ; ' yet, even there, the
ranks are not altogether unbroken."
"And, look!'' exclaimed I, "there comes
the fairy with several of her friends, whom

60 THE TEMPEST.

she has succeeded in curing with that sweet
charm which she alone possesses."
" You call her the Fairy — I call her the
Good Samaritan," said Lorriaux. " She
succeeds in the most marvelous way in rais
ing the spirits of those who are depressed.
See her playing On the piano to stimulate
their appetites."
" It is certainly not easy to eat," mur
mured Cook, as, after vainly trying to pre
vent his plate from turning over, he saw it
thrown beyond all power of prevention by
a sudden roll.
Lorriaux began to compare the move
ments to those of an enormous swing, de
claring that the hanging shelves described
the arc of a circle of ninety degrees, while
I observed that the waiters resembled tight
rope dancers, and that the dishes which they
carried, served them for balance-weights, in
clining them to the right and left, to the great
detriment ofthe backs and shoulders of those
they passed as they went back and forth.

IHE JEM PEST. 6 1
" Yes," said Lorriaux ; " and these care
less people, who will go about so fast, would
be very much surprised if they should slip in
these pools of sauces and seasonings which
they carry so heedlessly about." He then
addressed the captain rather abruptly :
" Well, captain, the wind does not seem to
change ?" The captain shakes his head, and
leaves the table much sooner than usual.
These disturbed meals do not generally
last long, but it would be a mistake to sup
pose that we are dispirited ; for we con
sole ourselves with the idea that we can tell
our friends that we have seen a real tempest,
and can even laugh heartily at the little ac
cidents that happen to us. And the merri
ment becomes loud and very general, when
we see some one making desperate but un
availing efforts to keep his equilibrium, and
ending by striking the attitude of a van
quished gladiator.
We feel some uneasiness when the ship
is lifted and shaken by some hidden force,

62 THE TEMPEST.

which seems to strike her keel and find her
a mere handful in its powerful grasp. One
of the officers explains that this is the
" ground swell," which does sometimes
prove troublesome, but that the ship is very
strong, and has proved herself able to resist
much more than this many times.
Time passes slowly this evening, for one
can neither read nor enjoy music, nor play
games, for the motion and noise are too
great, and then most of the passengers are
ill and weary, and have no desire to descend
to the lower cabin. The most alert secure
for themselves a corner, or a place for their
arm-chairs in the vestibule, where there is
more air and less dampness than in the state
rooms. The vestibule becomes a dormitory in the
twinkling of an eye, where Lorriaux and
the Genevese find a place to install them
selves ; but an indiscreet glance into the
ladies' cabin, discovers their hiding-place to
its inmates, and their example is followed by

THE TEMPEST.

63

the Americans, who gravely take their mat-
trasses and covering to the salon and smok
ing-room, and make themselves comfortable
for the night.
I tried, according to my custom, to ex
plore the deck, but came back very quickly,
wet through, and pitying myself for the many
bruises administered to me by the different
objects against which I had been thrown.
I did enjoy the superb beauty of the sea,
however, as much as the obscurity would
permit. What is to be done? To lie down
is the conclusion demanded by all these
reasons, and the unusual silence, broken
only by the respiration of the sleepers, more
or less disturbed and irregular, and by the
howling of the tempest, shows that this con
clusion is general.
Blanc say she will sleep in his berth, and
take all the precautions .possible to resist
the unsteadiness of the ship, being most
disturbed by the motion of the screw, near
which his state-room is situated. While

64 THE TEMPEST.
getting into bed, he hears Captain H., who
has taken refuge in one of the stern cabins
from the water, which has penetrated to his
own. There he is fighting with many ob
stacles, which prevent his climbing into his
berth. The pitching is really so violent, that
the effort to sleep in these "drawers" be
comes a chimera. Blanc clings to the berth,
the mattrasses, and every conceivable thing,
while he and his neighbor utter many a
plaintive, melancholy monologue. He tries
every position in which a man can hope to
sleep, in vain.
The grinding of the screw becomes dis
tinct, and the violence of the rolling very
significant of danger, when suddenly we
hear a noise like a body striking a basin and
falling upon the floor. It is Captain H. He
has either lost patience and thrown himself
out, or perhaps the act may have been invol
untary on his part.
Blanc still perseveres, and repeats that
patience is a cardinal virtue. Sometimes his

THE TEMPEST. 65
hand slips, and he feels himself gliding into
space ; he persists, nevertheless, shuts his
eyes obstinately, and believes himself secure
this time ; but his hold and his determina
tion both relax, of course, in sleep, and be
fore he can realize it, he finds himself upon
the floor. This decide's him, and wrapping
himself in his dressing-gown, he goes into
the vestibule, which is in perfect obscurity
and silence. His entrance is announced by a
general overturning of chairs and lounges.
" Who is there ? " cries a voice.
Blanc answers by a question : " Is it you,
Lorriaux ? "
" Yes, it is I. What are you doing ? "
" I am trying to sleep."
" Your sleep must be rather painful. One
must be made of India rubber to sleep in a
state-room ! "
" 1 am perfectly aware of that. I am go
ing to take the air in the salon."
" Try not to have the night-mare when
you come back here."
5

66 THE TEMPEST.
The salon is the place of gathering for ali
those troubled souls who have wandered in
search of repose, been deceived, and return
ed bitterly disappointed. Captain H. is
there, very composed just now, and trying
to analyze a noise which disturbs him. The
benches are wide and soft, and you do not
slip so much upon the velvet, and I am
peacefully sleeping, and have forgotten my
discomforts as soon as any one of my fellow-
travelers.

IV.
THE FOG. — THE CALM.
FT is daylight long before the passengers
are awake. The motion of the ship is
almost as great as 5'esterday, although the
wind has gone down very much, and the
storm is evidently declining. The salon
and the deck look as if they had been the
scene of some terrible struggle, for every
thing is overturned ; confusion and disorder
reign. The waiters and sailors are every
where busy, cleaning and re-arranging.
The sea is not as high as yesterday, but
is still very rough, and may well be likened
to "a giant who is calming himself after an
access of rage. The invalids come out slow
ly, one by one, from the tortuous windings of
the ship, to enjoy the cool breeze, and allow
(67)

68 THE FOG.— THE CALM.
their state-rooms to receive purer air ; these
unhappy people look like children on whom
the " giant " has inflicted severe punish
ment, and who come timidly out of their
hiding - places depressed and miserable.
Little by little the vestibule and other
places of resort on deck assume the appear
ance of a ward in a hospital, and the eternal
question, "How are you?" addressed to
parents, friends, acquaintances, receives the
stereotyped answer, languidly given, " Not
very well." Those who have not been
ver)' sick, say " the storm is over ; we
shall soon be quite well." The combined
enjoyment of sunlight and fresh air bring
color immediately to the pale, thin cheeks,
grown hollow by suffering.
Groups begin to be found again ; they
help each other, and condole with each
other in the most fraternal way ;' the ap
pearance of the " Good Samaritan " com
pletes the general satisfaction. She is there
to some purpose as usual, smiling, active,

THE FOG.— THE CALM. 6g
and helpful ; she occupies herself imme
diately with the ladies and children, mak
ing them more comfortable, arranging little
things about their clothing, and in some
mysterious way beautifying everything she
touches. Wherever this opening rose passes
there is left a breath of the fresh Spring
time, which reanimates hope. The little
ones call her by name, and follow her
with their eyes, and when she takes her ac
customed place in the midst of them, with
her beautiful eyes brightened with loving
sympathy, she encounters the light of many
others, sparkling with pleasure and moist
ened with the truest welcome. As usual,
she soothes all suffering which sleeps cra
dled upon the wings of her poetical im
agination. "I hear," said Lorriaux, to me, "that
they have thrown the log, and that we arc
not going very fast."
" No ! we made only six knots an hour
last night, and we ought to make eleven

7o

THE FOG.— THE CALM.

to-day. You do not know what has been
whispered in my ear."
"What is that?"
" Well, sir, one ofthe flanges ofthe screw
is broken. It was told me as a great secret,
but I know that it had been confided to
those who told me in the same way."
" That explains the noise Captain H.
could not account for last night ; but that
would not keep us back, would it? "
" Yes, two or three days perhaps, for the mo
tion of the screw is slower and less regular."
" We have been very much retarded by
the storm, and are going slowly, — we are
still off the Banks of Newfoundland. The
trip will be made in fifteen days, however,
if nothing extraordinary happens between
here and Havre."
" That is a very long time," said Cook,
rejoining his friends, " and I am very late in
returning ; I dispatched a letter from New
York on the fifteenth by the way of Eng
land, and said to myself, ' let us see which

THE FOG.— THE CALM.

71

will arrive first.' It has arrived, I have no
doubt, and they are awaiting me with impa
tience." " It is unreasonable to hope to make the
trip as quickly in November as in Septem
ber. Have you heard anything of our
friends ? "
" Yes ! Monsieur Pronier, the Genevese,
is a little better, but the Spaniard is still ill,
and too languid to stir. However, he says
he has not suffered very much."
" Mrs. S., her children, and friends, have
passed a very bad night, but they are better
this morning. She is very brave, and will not
yield to it, nor become easily depressed."
The news of the broken screw spread
like lightning, and threw "a damper" upon
every one's enjoyment. Many ofthe ladies
dreaded being • delayed four or five days
longer than they had anticipated, but they
very soon resigned themselves, for the
Americans, however impatient they may
be, accept things as they are, and it is, in

¦jl ' THE FOG.— THE CALM.
fact, a natural trait with them, not to lose
time in regretting that which cannot be
changed, but to submit themselves quietly to
the inevitable. At breakfast as little atten
tion is paid to the proprieties as yesterday,
and it is eaten partly in the vestibule and
partly in the salon. In the last improvised
dining-room, there are some changes. With
one or two exceptions, the intriguers,
who so covered themselves with glory by
their agility and devotion, have disappeared.
Where are they ? Nobody knows, but there
is an absurd rumor afloat, that some of them
have been seen gliding painfully about, like
the black shadows from purgatory, still pre
serving an attitude which only an entire ab
sorption in metaphysics could produce.
They are replaced in some cases by the
waiters, and in others by the " Mohicans,"
who have been less disturbed by the fury of
the sea, and are, on the contrary, filled with
admiration for it.
It has become calm enough for us to be

THE FOG.— THE CALM.

73

able to walk upon deck without performing
too many gymnastics, and the wind has fallen
so that it is scarcely felt. The mist which
veiled the horizon this morning, has thick
ened, and become, little by little, a real fog;
very thick and very damp. The sailors tell
us these fogs are very frequent in the neigh
borhood of Newfoundland, but this does
not make it more agreeable. When you
walk in such weather; you are very soon
chilled by the cold and saturated by the
dampness. When the fog comes in contact
with any object colder than itself, it is con
densed and becomes water again: thus, as
you pass under the cordage and under the
}rards, large drops fall heavily upon your
clothing. Besides this, it retards the
ship's progress, and obliges the alarm
whistle to be sounded every two or three
minutes. If this were a real whistle, one
could perhaps bear it, but it is a shriek-
gin howl, deafening you and almost split
ting your ear-drums. It is expected that

74

THE FOG.— THE CALM.

this howling will be heard for three miles
out at sea, so that ships coming in an oppo
site direction may be warned in time to
prevent a collision. This thought of a col
lision naturally aids you in accepting pa
tiently what may prevent it. Patience and
resignation are to be read on most of the
faces around you ; they are virtues of which
the traveler truly knows the value. We hear
in the smoking-room, which is a little more
animated to-day, long conversations on this
subject. Those people who have traveled but little,
say they, are very impatient : in a carriage
they grumble at the coachman incessantly ;
in a railway car they are intensely. annoyed
at stations, and, if they could, would do
away with them altogether. On a steamer
they count the miles run over, make sub
tractions and divisions, inspect the horizon,
and ask the sailors for explanations of the
least cloud ; are astonished that one does
not travel as fast by sail as by steam, and are

THE FOG — THE CALM. 75
convinced that if they had taken some other
course they would have avoided the storm
and the fog. All objects of interest on a
journey are lost to these impatient people.
They see nothing, have seen nothing, and
will see nothing but the place for which they
set out. The rest has escaped them ; they
reach their destination as ignorant of the
road they have passed over as if they had
stayed at home.
Look, on the contrary, on the true traveler.
To be sure, he cannot be defended from a
certain amount of impatience, but he knows
that the voyage must last a certain number
of hours or days ; that on a transatlantic
steamship it is necessary to allow for a
number of unexpected detentions. They
do not trouble themselves about their des
tination until they approach it, but use
their time to the best advantage in making
their sojourn on board as comfortable as
possible. They occupy themselves, they
observe all that surrounds them which can

76 THE FOG.— THE CALM.
possibly amuse, and there are moments
when they even wish that they might be
detained, in order the better to observe the
things in which they have become so in
terested, and so the journey will be of great
value to them.
If the day passed quickly during the tem
pest, night comes still more quickly during
the fog. It is really dark long before din
ner-time, which passes very quietly, al
though there are a larger number of per
sons at table, thanks to the comparative
calmness of the sea. After dinner the play
ers return to the smoking-room, to their
games of chess and cards,while a few Amer
icans take a short walk on deck.
The captain, who passed a sleepless night,
is obliged by the fog to watch again, and the
number of sailors on guard is doubled. The
agitations of the preceding night make every
one desire to sleep, and very soon nothing is
heard but the shrill howling of the steam-
whistle. Our friends, on retiring, convinced

THE FOG.— THE CALM.

77

themselves that the broken flange was not
very favorable to sleep, at least to those in the
rear state-rooms. Their conversation, inter
rupted by the noise, ended in jerking out
the proverb, " When we cannot get what
we like, it is necessary to like what we
have." After which they sleep lightly, and
wake again before the day breaks. While
Lorriaux takes his cafe" noir, and the waiters
arrange the saloons, I place myself at the
piano and succeed, little by little, in dissi
pating the remembrance of the grating noise
of the screw by sounds much more har
monious. On looking out, I see that there is a com
plete calm, but the fog still surrounds us ;
we have truly proved that " the neighbor
hood of New Foundland " extends a great
distance. It is necessary to submit to the
fog, as well as to its cortege of grey and
damp impressions. Those who have pre
dicted detentions can boast that they have
been prophets, for the weather has been ex-

78 . THE FOG— THE CALM.
tremely unfavorable all through Wednesday
and Thursday, the 19th and 20th of No
vember. It is impossible to discover anything
around the ship — impossible to stay long in
the freezing atmosphere. The gulls have
disappeared from our wake, and the sea
seems like an immense body of impenetrable
vapor. Each of these days is really a new
edition of the one which preceded it, but, to
be exact, it is necessary to add that each
edition is " revised and corrected." The
invalids are recovering, but very slowly ;
for this foggy, cold weather does not in
vigorate them, yet a few regain their
equilibrium, and go about with a suffering
and depressed air.
The vestibule undergoes some modifica
tions ; it has now the air of a convalescent
ward, rather than of a hospital. They talk
there, read there, and even tire themselves
there ; but still all are improving, particu
larly the children, whose elastic tempera

THE FOG.— THE CALM.

79

ments aid their recovery. They will not
consent to stay in their arm-chairs, but run
about and amuse themselves, and their
parents are obliged to send them down to
the saloon out of the freezing air.
In the saloon every one seems to be read
ing ; for, although the " Ville-du-Havre "
has no library, every one has books, and it
often happens that every person present is ab
sorbed in reading. An intelligent observer,
who will take the trouble to notice the dif
ferent positions and expressions, can easily
imagine the character of the book which
occupies the different readers. There is a
young man, half lying down upon a bench,
completely absorbed for many, hours ; his
book is a romance, and a romance where
action predominates. There is another, on
the contrary, who is seated entirely alone at
a table, his head on his hands, which cover
his ears. He is not reading — he is studying ;
you can see he sometimes raises his eyes to
reflect. As you pass, look over his shoulder,

80 THE FOG.— THE CALM.
and you will see it is a book on medicine.
That young lady is leaning nonchalantly
over her book, begun many days since ; it,
too, is a romance, and interesting, since she
perseveres in reading it, but one where the
sentiment is quiet— it is not in the least ele
vating, nor does it go below the surface.
Her neighbor is so completely lost in the
pages which she runs through so rapidly,
tha"t she has entirely forgotten the mass of
dark brown hair which has fallen over her
shoulders ; this is a story undoubtedly where
a heart is won after encountering terrible
obstacles. There are others who do not
really read, but turn the leaves, rapidly run
ning their eyes over reviews or old jour
nals. The real readers, who would make
charming studies for Meissonnier, are rarely
found among those who have tasted of the
cares and realities of life.
Thus we passed the evening after the storm.
Pronier and Cook are of the number of

THE FOG.— THE CALM.

those who, having ensconced themselves,
with their blotting-cases before them, are
writing — it may be letters, or perhaps their
experiences of travel, destined for their
wives or children. The silence which
reigns in this great saloon is so oppressive,
that the children come in with great cau
tion, trying to suppress the laughter com
menced on the stairs, and asking, by their
appealing faces, what they can do to
amuse themselves without disturbing the
serious occupations of their elders. For
tunately, the good Fairy is there ; they see
her before any one else, although she is
in the midst of others, and immediately
she is surrounded and carried off by this
band of little ones to a quiet corner. Her
memory happily is full of scenes of child
hood, which no trouble has ever disturbed
or buried in the depths of the past, and
immediately thirty or forty little ears are
listening to these wonderful new stories,

82 THE FOG.— THE CALM.
made so much more fascinating by being
told in a low voice and in a quiet, confiden
tial tone.
At meals the tables are again well filled,
and conversation is general. The two Amer
ican ladies have regained their appetites,
and they talk with their friends of what
they will do in France, at Paris, in Switzer
land, and at Madrid, yet their pleasure is re
strained, for they feel that the voyage is by
no means over, the captain does not look
satisfied, and scarcely allows himself time to
eat. It is a comfort to see this man so deeply
penetrated by his own responsibility that he
scarcely permits himself to leave his post
even for a few minutes, we feel ourselves
protected by his constant solicitude.
In the smoking-room a clever artist is
making caricatures, which are still resem
blances, of the doctor, the officers, and
some of the passengers, who believe their
faces are classical enough to bear even cari
caturing. An artificial fog reigns in this

THE FOG.— THE CALM. 83
room, and they try their wits upon the
homeopaths by proposing to dry the real
fog by means of this which so closely re
sembles it. The conspirators rest upon their
laurels so dearly won, and some Frenchmen
are having a long and serious discussion
upon the commercial good faith of the
Americans. Some claim that the financial
crisis in the United States is the result of dis
loyal operations, which would never be per
mitted in France. Monsieur M., an old
colonel of the National Guard of Paris
during the siege, having been for several
years in business in America, took an active
part in this discussion, and ended by show
ing that the Americans are very honest in
their business relations, but too daring and
too much in love with their own ideas to
believe that they can be unsuccessful in
their commercial or financial arrangements.
I occupy myself with reading or writing,
and go about the ship in every direction. I
talk a little to Madame S., and amuse myself

84 THE FOG.- THE CALM.
with the children. My friends are nearly all
the time absorbed in writing, and I have
been able to persuade the Spaniard only
once to take a walk. Every one sleeps
a great deal during these two days, except
those who are in the stern, where Lorriaux
says the broken flange not only keeps you
awake, but lets the fog creep in under
the bed-clothes. He delivers himself, more
over, of such an oriental description of
his household gods, that he ends by fall
ing asleep among them in his imagina
tion. On the morning of the 21st, Lorriaux
opened the port-hole, which was just over
his bed, and made a loud exclamation.
" What is the matter," cried his neighbor;
" have you been attacked by a shark ?"
" A shark ! Do you not see there is no
fog — that the weather is clear ! That the
sun — "
" Gilds the tops of the mountains — I
should sav, waves !"

THE FOG.— THE CALM. 85
" And that we shall have a magnificent
day." " Certainly, that is a matter of course.
After a storm, the calm ; after the rain, fine
weather; after the fog, the sun."
And "en deux temps et trots mouvements,"
to use Lorriaux's expression, the two com
panions are dressed and on deck. The sun is
there truly, radiant, illuminating the crests
of the waves and the faces of the passengers,
and throwing a long, sparkling train upon
the sea, which looks like burnished steel.
The sailors have cleaned the deck, as if it
were a fite day— every thing shines there.
The ladies are making, or have made, their
toilettes; people congratulate each other,
and shake hands vigorously with each
other. We see new faces appearing which
have been hidden in the depths of the
ship until to-day ; everybody laughs or
smiles without knowing why, walks from
prow to stern, stops in the sunshine, and is
surprised to find himself singing in a loud

THE FOG.— THE CALM.

voice, or saying pleasant, bright things to
persons whom he does not know, and who
have never addressed a word to him.
" It has often seemed natural to me," said
Cook, " when the sun appears, after being
hidden for many days, to thank God from
the bottom of my heart; but I have never
felt this grateful joy so strongly as to-day."
" It is because in the middle of the ocean
the sun is the one necessity for us more than
upon land," replied Pronier.
"Upon land," said Lorriaux, "bad wea
ther is nothing in comparison with storms
and fogs at sea ; there, one has always a
home in which to take refuge, and can make
himself happy there in spite of gloomy sur
roundings." " The vividness of our impressions while
at sea," I remarked, "seem to me to result
from the fact that we are there in a transi
tory state, uneasy and disagreeable in itself.
Our enjoyments or anxieties there depend
almost entirely on our surroundings."

THE FOG.— THE CALM. %j
The Spaniard (for he also has decided to
follow the general movement) listens and
says nothing. He looks at the sun, and as
his eyes light up with the thought of the
skies of Madrid or Seville, we see that he
cannot find the same reason his friends do
for admiring that of forty-five degrees of
latitude. In the vestibule, what a transformation !
No more sick -people, no more convalescents
— nothing but faces bright with beauty and
health. All the ladies, all the children are
there — no more sad, resigned looks — no
more disordered hair or negligent dress to
be seen, but every one looking joyous and
dressed with care, sometimes even with co
quetry. The Fairy need no longer devote herself
to comforting them and telling stories. She
has seated herself a little apart, enjoying
deeply the pleasures of others, and the sun
seems to take delight in gilding her abundant
hair, in illuminating her lovely, sympathetic

THE FOG— THE CALM.

countenance, and making her charming fea
tures even more beautiful.
The conspirators, also, have reappeared,
fresh, and more carefully attired than ever;
and they really acknov/ledge, without too
evident mortification, that " they had been
ill." Even the bell that rings for breakfast
seems transformed ; instead of being shrill
and melancholy, its sound has become al
most silvery. Every one answers its call.
The dining-rocm presents a still great
er scene of animation than on the first
day. The flowers which ornamented the
chimney have faded and disappeared, it
is true, but they are amply replaced by
the sunlight, which beams in so brightly
through the open ports ; and _ the passen
gers, after having been sprinkled by the same
waves and soaked through by the same fog,
will henceforth no longer regard eaoh other
as strangers, but as companions.
" The captain should be content," said
Cook; "we have certainly left the neigh-

THE FOG— THE CALM. 89
borhood of New Foundland, and have
turned our prow to the east."
" Yes ; we approach France, capital Paris,
department of the Seine, Rue des Batig-
nolles, number  ," replied Lorriaux, re
peating it over and over again.
The prospect of home making these fathers
of families unbend until Mrs. S., who had
been obliged to leave her home in America,
hoping to find better health in France, be
gins to believe that she will not feel herself
a stranger in a country that awakens such
strong attachment.
The steward and waiters rival each
other in the zeal and perseverance with
which they try to make the table inviting.
Half the company drink the health of the
other half, as far as the latter would consent
—to the drinking, I mean— for the Ameri
cans generally take nothing but ice-water,
and I try in vain to persuade my neighbor
to take wine. The captain at the head of
the table looks around at every one with a

90

THE FOG — THE CALM.

satisfied air, but seems very tired, for he has
been awake while we slept.
What animation — what life and high spir
its are on deck after breakfast ! The air is
soft, the wind hardly perceptible, and, for
the first time, it is a pleasure to leave wraps
and shawls in the cabin. The sun makes the
passengers drop their masks, and contrives
even to surprise certain persons into be
ing agreeable, who have generally worn a
sphinx-like, enigmatical air.
But, if in the morning joy shone upon all
faces, and made the most reserved frank,
by the afternoon they had already become
accustomed to it, and the joy was less ap
parent and more restrained. They, seemed
to have had all this experience before, noth
ing astonishing them, everything seemed
natural and ordinary, they had already re
gained the use of conventional phrases, and
wore a blase" air, insensible and immovable.
Truly, fashion is to be found even in mid-
ocean. Coming out of such a real state, ex-

k
THE FOG.— THE CALM.

91

periences that had transfigured all their faces
and broken down all conventionalities, these
people affect a very moderate enjoyment,
and seem to imagine themselves in a draw
ing-room in " high life," or perhaps in an
English garden, where it would be the most
natural thing that the sun should ask per
mission to cheer and warm them a little.
In order to understand the extent of
this change, it is nec&ssary as ever to turn
your attention from the grown people to the
children. They are not asking themselves
constantly what effect they produce ; they
have not yet acquired the habit, so highly-
prized by their elders, of subduing all their
emotions and sensations. They are happy,
and do not conceal it ; they run all over the
deck, delighted with everything, and find,
with fresh pleasure, that the gulls have re
turned in larger numbers. Their wings
this time are silvered by the sunshine, and
make one imagine for an instant that land is
not far off.

92

THE FOG.— THE CALM.

There was something very touching to
day in the conduct of these children ; they
begged that the babies, until now almost in
visible, should be made happy also, by being
brought upon deck. The ship made very
little motion, still we realize that we are not
on terra firma. The larger children then
divided themselves into little groups of two
or more to walk with these little ones, sur
rounding them, watohful and charmingly
attentive, so that the deck was soon covered
with these groups of children, each with a
baby in its midst. See, two of these parties
have met ! They set the two babies before
each other, desiring them to be goOd friends ;
one.is a little boy, the other a little girl. It is
little Charlie who tries to make the first ad
vances by throwing shv glances out of the
corners of his eyes, which were intended
to be very winning. Marv examines the
courageous little fellow from head to foot.
He thinks the result is satisfactorv, for he
ventures to advance and look in the little

THE FOG— THE CALM.

93

girl's face. Mary smiles pleasantly, and,
thus encouraged, Charlie laughs aloud ; this
spoils all the negotiation, for the little girl is
startled into a flood--of tears. Charlie is
angry, but his little friends quiet him, and
he comes back very sorry and timid. This
time it is Mary, entirely consoled, who ad
vances and smiling almost imperceptibly,
touches him gently. Suddenly, Charlie is
embarrassed ; he hesitates, smiles in his
turn, but does not take his eyes from Mary's,
until, at last growing bold, he caresses her
cheeks and little hands so gently that she
cannot help being pleased. The acquaint
ance is made ; these babies kiss each other,
and the groups form again to run, sing, and
enjoy themselves. The etiquette seems made
up of the most delicate laws ; is there in any
thing we do a shade of the delicacy which
these babies show by the respect they pay
to each other's feelings, and through which
they have become friends ? We are tempted
to say with the poet :

94

THE FOG.— THE CALM.

" Vous qui ne savez pas combien l'enfance est belle
Enfants, n'enviez pas notre age de douleurs,
Oil le cceur, tour a tour, est esclave et rebelle
Ou le rire est souvent plus triste que vos pleurs !"
A ship passes in the distance ; the wind is
in its favor; it has all its sails spread; they
are lighted by the last rays of the setting
sun. We lean over the guards and follow it
with our eyes. We hail it ; it glides like a
gondola upon the level surface ofthe ocean.
Soon, however, it is lost to sight, and our
eyes rest only upon the long train of heav
ing gold, upon the ripples of purple and
violet, which the flaming disc left floating
behind it when it disappeared in the sea. It
is thus gloriously the king quits the fite it
had been his pleasure to give, leaving with
us a souvenir of his magnificent bounty.
The horizon is still luminous and full of his
glory, but the sea has already resumed its
sombre garments and mysterious aspect.
Who can tell the thoughts such appear
ances of nature rouse in them ; thoughts,

THE FOG.— THE CALM. 95
unhappy or peaceful, melancholy or pleas
ing ! Who can speak those dreams, enchant
ing or full of dread ; who can describe the
visions, grand or poetic, which the murmurs
of the great waters, the thought of their
fathomless depths, the idea of their immen
sity, cause to come slowly floating up from
the heaving waves at this charmed hour of
twilight !
Night falls at last, and surprises many
of the passengers in the midst of their
reveries. The lamps are lighted, the bell
rings, and the dining-room is filled. What
a happy day it has been ! The sun so bright,
the sea so calm ; no one cold, no one ill.
The waiters cannot complain, as they did
during the fog, that they have no one to
wait upon. The conversation is all the
more animated in consequence of the ab
sorbing reveries of the twilight hour. The
most indifferent persons have paid a little
attention to their toilettes. One is remind
ed of the dining-room of a large hotel, after

96 THE FOG.— THE CALM.
a return from a general party of pleasure.
In one corner a discussion is going on
among those who lately called themselves
the " last of the Mohicans," a name that is
no longer appropriate, since every one has
returned. They converse about the fine
arts, and assure the American ladies that,
when they reach Paris, they will greatly
enjoy the Museum of the Louvre — " cer
tainly one of the most beautiful in the
world." At this remark, the Spaniard
shrugs his shoulders and smiles.
" Is it not true that the Louvre is one of
the most beautiful museums in the world?"
asked Pronier.
" It does not compare with those of Mad
rid." " What ! the museums of Madrid are
more beautiful, more rich than — "
" Yes, than any other — no matter where !"
" No matter where ? Than those of
Italy?" " Do you not grant that those of Madrid

THE FOG.— THE CALM.

97

contain the most beautiful chefs dosuvre of
all schools?"
They recall in time to prevent the South
ern blood from rising too hotly, that, in the
sixteenth century, Spain held dominion over
many countries where the arts flourished,
and that she must have accumulated, at this
epoch, artistic riches of incomparable value.
To judge by the noise, increased from
time to time by a loud laugh — sometimes
pleasant, sometimes ironical — the conversa
tion, springing up in different places around
the room, was very vehement. The captain
alone was silent and reserved as usual, and
looked weary.
The children had all dined by themselves,
before the grown people, and now came run
ning down into the dining-room to ask their
friends to help them in their play. I offer
my services, and while the gentlemen are
smoking and the ladies are on deck, I amuse
myself by making these babies. climb up the
columns, or spring from the floor to the ceil-
7

9§

THE FOG.— THE CALM.

ing, or turn " head over heels," and come
down upon their feet. This gymnastic feat
makes them laugh so much, that they can
not make up their minds to go to bed until
they are promised a second edition to-mor
row, if they are very good. They keep their
part of the agreement scrupulously, say
"good-night " to each one — for now every one
seems to belong to their family — thank their
parents and friends by an affectionate little
shake of the hand, and retire peacefully, even
merrily, into their state-r-ooms.
The silence occasioned by their departure
is very soon interrupted by a group of young
ladies and gentlemen returning from their
walk on deck. They amuse themselves with
innocent social games. I assured Madame
S., who came back, after putting her four lit-'
tie ones to bed, that the apparent simplicity
ofthe games was only an ingenious pretext,
for the formation and strengthening of inter
national relations. I then proposed a walk
on deck, which she promptly accepted.

THE FOG — THE CALM.

" The stars are 'unusually bright, the
mantle of night seems studded with dia
monds, sparkling from a- thousand points,
and, although the moon does not shine, the
atmosphere is clear and transparent."
" Yes, the night is beautiful," replied
Madame S. ; "and I am contented."
" You were not contented before, then ?"
" Oh, no ! I was so sick, and so sad at the
separation from my husband and home, even
for so short a time."
" But, you have, been very well for these
two days ; there is every reason to hope that
the weather will remain fine, and you will
find these few weeks, before Mr. S. joins you,
pass very quickly in France and Switzer
land, where you will meet many agreeable
persons, who will welcome you cordially."
" Oh, I know all that, and I have strug
gled against these feelings. I know, too,
that I am going only because my health
makes it necessary, and that God watches
over us always, but — "

IOo THE FOG — THE CALM.
" But these feelings will pass away. You
must remember that this is the first time you
have been separated from your husband for
any length of time."
" It is true ; but it seems to me almost
impossible that a ship can cross this im
mense ocean without danger. When I think
that a few planks are all that separate us
and all these charming people from the
depths of the sea — "
" I have often had the same thought, and
it has caused me to admire the greatness
of man in the strength and wisdom which
God has given him, and the goodness of
God, which He so graciously shows in
the undeserved protection He accords
us." " This thought should fill us with confi
dence and hope. I have certainly done
wrong in allowing myself to be so de
pressed, for everything has gone on well.
My children have borne it marvelously
well, and everybody is so kind to them."

THE FOG.— THE CALM. IOl
" You should add that your little girls are
very gentle and charming."
" If you knew how little trouble they give
me, and how happy I ought to be in think
ing of them ! "
" I am sure that in truth you are so. It is
not astonishing that you should suffer a little
in the separation from your husband, but
that will soon pass."
" I hope and believe it will ; good-night,"
and, humming a Sunday-school tune that
her children loved to sing, she went down
to find them already sound asleep.
I went directly to the smoking-room to
watch a game of chess, in which Cook was
absorbed ; his partner was amusing himself
very much by prolonging Cook's anxiety,
while he was making every effort, but in
vain, to avoid a defeat.
Lorriaux is for a long time walking rap
idly upon deck with the doctor, who im
agines each time he leans over the ship's side
that the water has risen higher than it was

IQ2 THE FOG.— THE CALM.
before. Lorriaux leads him to the stern,
where the brilliant phosphoresence permits
them to see the water-line, which does not
seem to vary. They go back to the larboard
side, and the doctor, who appears bewitched
by the sea, says : " I am sure that the ship
draws more water than usual."
" No," said Lorriaux ; "let us go aft again
and see."
" It is true that there I can see no differ
ence." They begin to walk again, and, for the
third time, the doctor repeats his observa
tion. " You may think me absurd," he said,
" but I wish to set my mind at rest, and I
am going to tell the captain."
" Well," said Lorriaux, on his return,
" what did tbe captain say ?"
" He laughed at me, and said if the ship
sank more than was natural in the water the
stokers would immediately know it by the
engine. I did not think of that."
This incident gave a serious turn to the

THE FOG.— THE CALM. 103
conversation, and .the doctor expressed his
impatience to arrive at Havre, and again
see his family, especially a little child, about
whose health he felt great uneasiness. Lor
riaux tried to cheer him ; told of things
he had seen in America ; talked of religious
matters; and they found more in common
between them than they had been aware of,
and parted like old friends, if you could
judge by the cordial shake of the hand
which they exchanged.
Cook at last finished his game of chess,
and came out to take the air with Pronier.
It is quite late, but the night is beautiful, and
they walk a long time before saying " good
night " to Blanc, who is talking with an
American. The latter expresses the idea
that, of all European nations, the French is
most in sympathy with America. At length,
rising, he says that several of the ladies are
preparing for the services on the day after
to-morrow. " On Saturday," he said, " they are going

104 TIIE FOG.— THE CALM.
to learn some of the chants, and do all in
their power to make the next day's services
complete." "We did not think," I replied, "that we
should find here people interested in such
things, and it is a source of congratulation
to know we were mistaken."
" Oh, you know that in America, Sunday
is most carefully observed, and we are all
very much pleased to have the opportunity
of spending it in a way that reminds us of
home." "It seems to me," I said,' after a pause,
"that nothing impresses me with the idea of
infinity, of the power of God and the weak
ness of man, as does the ocean."
" Yes, that is very true ; and I cannot tell
you how often, since we set sail, I have felt
our absolute dependence upon God alone."
We separate ; the deck is deserted ; it is
past midnight. Blanc goes, for the last
time, to his favorite place, to lean over the
stern, and asks himself whether he shall not

THE FOG— THE CALM.

IOS

pass the night watching the beautiful sea,
made more glorious by the magic brilliancy
of the stars. He decides, however, to go
below, and crosses the saloon, where all the
lamps are out, and where the waiters, who
are remaining in case of need, are nodding
in the darkness. He cannot resist opening
the piano to play, softly, the graceful air of
the Neapolitan barcarolle :
" Sui mare lucica
L'astro d'argento
Placid^ e l'onda
Prosper, il vento
Venit' all' agile
Barchetta mia
Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia."
He stops before any one can be disturbed,
and glides into his state-room. Every one
sleeps quietly, for you can hear only their
regular, calm breathing. Lorriaux only is
awake, and imagines he hears the " Last
Thoughts of Weber." " We might have
played it earlier," said he ; but, for the first

I06 THE FOG.— THE CALM.
time since the fifteenth of November, bed
seems comfortable to him.
The sea may be perfidious, but God is
good to make the calm succeed the tempest,
and rest is delicious. Our last conversation
soon dies away into sleep.

V.

THE SHIPWRECK.

ABOUT two hours later the sleepers
are suddenly, simultaneously roused
by two terrific claps of thunder, as they
seem, followed by frightful cries.
"Do you hear that?" cried Lorriaux,
jumping down from his bed.
" I am sure there has been a terrible col
lision — listen ! The screw turns again, twice
— and now it stops."
" Yes," said Lorriaux ; " and I hear no
more cries. Let us dress quickly."
" But, hold ! there is Captain H. just from
the deck. What has happened, captain ?"
" Oh, it is nothing — nothing ; a little ves
sel has struck us — that is all."
" It seems quite enough, for the engine
(107)

108 THE SHIPWRECK.

has stopped. Let us go on deck ; I am
not at all satisfied by what the captain
says." These two friends are dressed from
head to foot in the twinkling of an eye,
and have left their state-rooms. The pas
sages are already full of people, who look
frightened, and who are calling to the wait
ers : " What has happened ? What must
we do ? "
" It is nothing," they reply ; " it is
nothing at all. Stay quietly in your
beds." Upon the after-deck sailors are laboring
to loosen the ropes ofthe small boats; some
of the crew rush about the ship in every
direction, and passengers, in their night
dresses or partly-dressed, are using every
thing in their reach to loosen the fastenings
of the life-preservers that are suspended
along the guards.
I approach and place myself by one of
them, who is using for this purpose an

THE SHIPWRECK. 109
enormous beam, large enough to demolish
the railing. " What are you about?" I ask ;
" is there a man overboard ? "
" A man overboard ! You do not know,
then, that we are sinking?"
" It is possible, but you will never detach
your life-preserver in that way. I will find
you a knife."
Another passenger is all prepared ; he is
entirely dressed and surrounded by a life-
preserver. I ask him whether he knows
what has happened.
" No," he replies ; " but it is necessary to
be ready for anything."
" Look !" Lorriaux says, " this is the vessel
that has struck ours without doubt."
We could see, at two or three hundred
yards on the starboard of our stern, the
silhouette of a large sailing vessel. The
night is as clear as it can be, and the
sky brilliant with stars. The " Ville -du-
Havre " does not make a movement; but i£
is very difficult to discover what has hap-

UO THE SHIPWRECK.
pened, for the deck is dark, being lighted,
like the sea, only by the stars.
" Stay here," Lorriaux said, quickly. " I
will come back in an instant."
" Can you tell me," I said to a sailor,
"if there has been a collision, and whether
the ship is much injured ? "
" Do not be anxious, sir, if there has," he
answered. " Even if the water did come in
through an opening, it would not sink a.ship
such as this with so many decks. You need
not be troubled."
In spite of these assurances, given to
every one, repeated on all sides, the deck is
covered with frightened passengers, most
of whom are in their night-dresses. They
run to the right, to the left, in the most
helpless way, surrounding the small boats,
and questioning every one whom they meet.
Lorriaux soon re-appears, accompanied
by Madame S., who holds her baby in her
arms, and is followed by her three other
little girls. She comes directly to me, sa}'-

THE SHIPWRECK. m
ing, " You will stay with us, will you
not ? "
While I am assuring her that I will not
leave her, one of her little girls seizes me,
and cries to me, in her terror :
" Oh ! you will not leave me ; you will
take me with you ? "
" Yes, yes, my child ! Do not be afraid.
Stay here ; I will take care of you. But
you are shivering with cold in this little
gown ; I must look for something to cover
you. You, Lorriaux, try in the meantime
to keep these little ones together and find
a small boat."
I go below as rapidly as possible, rush
into my state-room, seize my overcoat, and
hasten back, laden with shawls and wraps
for the children. In passing the vestibule,
I see Cook standing in his night-shirt, and
talking in the utmost agitation.
" What are you doing there ? Why are
you not dressed ?" I asked.
" Why am I not dressed ? You do not

IT2 THE SHIPWRECK.
know, then, that my state-room is broken
in, and that I am saved from the midst of
the ruins — that while helping a lady to look
for her child under the rubbish, I found the
water rising fast."
" We must have been struck, then, on the
starboard, athwart the main-mast. Do you
know anything ofthe others?"
" Pronier seized my hand just now. He
believes we are lost."
The doctor comes into the vestibule,- and
exclaims, " Cover yourself, Mr. Cook, you
will freeze ! Wait ; put on my overcoat !"
The approaches to the vestibule are filled
with Americans, who are dressed, and are
fastening life-preservers around their waists ;
they are quiet, and wait patiently to be told
what to do. The Fairy is there supporting
her mother and a friend, and speaking
quietly :
" How will our friends in New York bear
the news of our death — those who love us
so much ? " she asks.

THE SHIPWRECK.

"3

Her mother groans.
" Why are you distressed, my mother ?
After a few minutes of agony we shall find
ourselves in heaven."
Captain H. has changed his first opinion,
and recognizes the danger. He is very
much agitated, and commands his daugh
ters, each to seize a settee, and not to let it
go under any pretext. Then he adds, to
one of them, " You will be saved ; for you
have something to do upon earth ; I shall
perish." A priest passes about among the groups,
saying : " Are you a Catholic ? Repent,
and I will give you absolution ! " and then
he tries to get into one of the boats.
Two or three Americans throw them
selves into the sea, trusting to their life-
preservers. The captain is upon " the bridge." The
officers and sailors are struggling to free
the boats, which they find much trouble in
lowering, and about which the people are

114

THE SHIPWRECK.

crowding. At the starboard, particularly
there is a crowd ; some of the crew and
others are trying to get into the boats be
fore they can be detached, which adds
greatly to the confusion, already frightful.
The doctor tries to find something re
assuring to say to Madame S., who is trying,
in vain, to approach a boat with her chil-
, dren. " We will try to put all the women and
children in the boats, and be assured that I
with the captain and officers, will be the
last to leave the ship."
Some of the children weep, some scream,
and the confusion is becoming terrific.
" The ship trembles," Lorriaux says, turn
ing to me. " Do you not feel it ? "
" Yes, yes ; there are too many people
here ; let us go over to the other side, with
Madame S. and the children — quickly ! "
At this instant the mainmast falls, carry
ing with it the mizzen-mast with an awful
crash ; Lorriaux and Madame S. are a little

THE SHIPWRECK.

H5

hurt; two boats are crushed, carrying with
them the people who were in them and those
who were working there — their cries and
groans, are heart-rending.
The ship careens over on the starboard
side ; the sea seems very near ; there is one
second of awful silence, for we feel we are
sinking. Some of the passengers throw off
their clothes. A judge cries out, clasping
his wife's hand, " Let us die bravely."
The Fairy prays in the midst of a group
of kneeling women, all of whom seem calm
and resigned.
Little S. who holds my hand so closely,
looks up in my face with her black, sparkling
eyes, and says, " Pray for me ;" and her lit
tle sisters are saying the same words to their
mother and Lorriaux. They listen intently
to the murmured "God pardon us! God
have mercy upon' us !" The little girl who
was so frightened, so agitated just now, is
satisfied and says " Oh ! it is all right,now,"
and rises calm and resolute, to wait quietly.

n6 THE SHIPWRECK.
We hear an awful crash, the bow breaks
away from the rest of the ship, and disap
pears in the flood.
Little S. leaves my side and goes over
to her mother.
The hungry waves rush suddenly upon
the after -deck, and in an instant every
thing is swallowed up in the yawning
gulf, made by the enormous mass of that
which we so proudly called the " Ville-du-
Havre." We feel ourselves whirled rpund
and round as if in a vast funnel, and roll
over in the depths of an abyss which seems
immeasurable. Some, stupefied by the fall,
or by the strokes received from the floating
pieces which surround them, or paralyzed
with fright, turn over and over in unconsci
ousness, and fall asleep, as it were, in the
midst of some frightful night-mare; they
•are roused for an instant by a sharp pang, to
perish immediately.
Othej-s, without clothes — Cook is of this
number — feel themselves go down, down,

THE SHIPWRECK. ny
amidst the most frightful mingling of arms,
legs, and debris. They hold their breath,
ask God to save them, struggle, go up to
the surface again ; and aided by their life-
preservers or floating pieces of the wreck,
swim with all their strength to the side of
the sailing ship, or of one of her small boats,
which have just been put into the water, and
which they reach breathless and exhausted.
Others hear the waters boiling noisily
around them, stifling their cries, and dead
ening the sound of their low groans. .The}7
see vivid pictures in their imaginations of
their friends, their distressed and afflicted
relatives ; they pray, for they feel themselves
lost in this turbulent foam which so closely
surrounds them. Two minutes thus passed
seem a century ; but courage ! Eternity
is near. The sufferings increase, they col
lect all their'powers for a last struggle, and
when that struggle ceases, death has come,
and seems almost a desired solace.
At this awful moment, many experience

Il8 THE SHIPWRECK.
a sensation of relief — their heads are free, they
open their eyes, see the stars looking down
upon them with their bright, sparkling light,
so cold and unpitying ; they see at a distance
over the gloomy surface something toward
which they are being borne, a great, fantas
tic shadow which has the form of a ship.
Unhappy, then, are those who can no
longer swim, or those who have not the
good fortune to see a plank. to cling to, or a
boat near to save them. Hope comes only
to leave them more completely wretched ;
their heads have already disappeared be
neath the waves, but their hands are still
held up, imploring, supplicating aid. A
sailor sees them — the boat arrives — Too
late ! They are no longer there.
Those who cannot swim, cling desperate
ly to pieces of the wreck which they en
counter, calling for help and trying to direct
their course toward some boat. They hurry
too much, their courage fails, their support
yields under them, and they are again sub-

THE SHIPWRECK.

119

merged, then reappear, more and more ex
hausted, despairing, until some.one-sees them
and comes to deliver them — unless, alas ! the
boat comes too slowly, or is too full, and is
obliged to return without them.
Lorriaux cannot swim, but he encounters
a piece of the wreck, then a life-preserver ;
and at last a raft — this is undoubtedly some
of the floor or roofing of the "Ville-du-
Havre ;" he gets upon it and floats with it
to the side of the ship ; there he can con
template as well as the darkness will permit,
this terrible scene of disaster.
He sees at a distance a log floating on
the water, to which ten or fifteen persons
are clinging ; a boat passes near them, but it
is already full ; if it approaches near enough
they will all try to get in, and it will inevit
ably sink. It comes to the ship, unloads
itself as quickly as possible, and in less
than half an hour has returned to the spot ;
there is not a creature there: the log
has disappeared with all who clung to it.

120 THE SHIPWRECK.
Madame S. while sinking, feels her baby car
ried away from her by a blow so violent,
that her arm was much bruised ; she tries
to catch it again under the water, — holds it
by its little gown — another blow wrenches
it from her entirely — and rolled about in this
whirlpool, almost without consciousness, she
comes back to the surface near the ship ;
instinctively clings to a small plank which
floats within her reach, and from which a
boat rescues her.
Two of her little girls came up near an
American, to whom they clung ; he swam .
well and hoped to save both, but in the
midst of his efforts, the younger one relaxes
her hold and disappears; he had almost
reached a boat when the elder also sank
suddenly. The captain was rescued a few
minutes later by this same boat ; he had been
thrown into the sea from his " bridge."
The English sailors work bravely and
with the greatest rapidity, and neglect no
thing that can help in the rescue. They are

THE SHIPWRECK. 12 1
obliged to witness the most frightful scenes,
and to hear distracting cries for help, which
in many cases it is beyond their power to
give. An American has succeeded in keeping
his wife on the surface until they reach a
boat. While he is helping her into it, his
strength suddenly fails, and he dies at the
moment of his rescue.
Another draws near a boat at the same
time with a woman ; ¦ fright has crazed
him, for although sustained by a life-pre
server, he tries to climb into the boat
before her ; the sailors beg him to wait
one second, but he seizes the woman by the
hair, and when his hand is disentangled he
bites with rage.
A feeble cry is heard :. they find it is made
by a young girl, whom they rescue ; she has
a large, bleeding gash on her face ; a swim
mer, raving no doubt, who has seen her
approaching his plank, has struck her a
violent blow.

122 THE SHIPWRECK.
They hear cries from another direction,
piercing, repeated, persistent, which the
water seems trying to stifle. They approach
and see a little girl who is fighting desper
ately, clinging to a piece of wood and cry
ing, "I do not wish to be drowned, I will
not be drowned." Happily they are able
to save her.
When the " Ville-du-Havre " sunk, she
carried with her all who were below at the
time of the catastrophe. No one can ever im
agine their terror when the water rushed in
upon them, disabled, in consequence of their
wounds perhaps ; and prevented by the four
walls which surrounded them from seeing
even a gleam of hope.
Many unfortunates were for an hour fight
ing desperately upon this battle-field against
the sea, a strong and perfidious enemy, and
had almost given up the thought of being
saved ; but were rescued at last.
One lady already quite aged, is half dead
with cold, when they take her rigid fingers

THE SHIPWRECK. 123
from the piece of wood which sustains her.
A young girl who has tried in vain to save
her mother, is picked up when quite ex
hausted from swimming so long ; she has
some money in a little bag attached to her
belt. Blanc commenced swimming without sup
port, and when he was nearly suffocated and
almost dead, he allowed himself to float
until he struck a short plank, which helped
him to reach a boat. He loses consciousness
at the moment of his rescue, and they see
that he is badly wounded in his head and
his right hand.
When they are returning with these last
saved, they distinguish in the obscurity a
lady holding a child in her arms. With the
support of a life preserver, she has been able
to reach the ship, but all the boats are far
away, even the little boats ofthe "Vilje-du-
Havre," which are also occupied in the
rescue. They have suspended ropes all
around the sides of the ship to support

124

THE SHIPWRECK.

those who have reached it until they can
be lifted in. This lady tries to catch one of
these ropes, but, missing it, falls back under
the water with her little child, and does not
appear again.
Those who are brought in last are, like the
others, surrounded by a rope and hoisted on
board the ship ; the boat goes back imme
diately, but in vain this time. The breeze
freshens, for the morning approaches, but
brings us no cry nor appeal for succor;
nothing is heard but the voice of the ocean,
soft, tranquil, as if nothing had happened to
disturb its quiet surface. It is nearly four
o'clock now ; the stars are very brilliant,
the night is clear and beautiful, as it has
been ever since sun-set. The sea is so
splendid, so quiet, that you can with great
difficulty realize that it has just annihilated
in an, instant one of our most magnificent
steamers, that it has engulfed, as if in plav,
two hundred and twenty-six human lives.
On board the " Ville-du-Havre "—Captain

THE SHIPWRECK. 125
Surmount — there were 313 persons, that is
to say, 172 officers and crew, and 141 pas
sengers. On board the " Loch Earn" — Captain Rob
ertson — two hours after the collision, they find
6 officers and 53 of the crew, 28 passengers,
10 of whom are ladies,- one little girl of nine
years, and 17 men ; total, 87 saved — then 226
have disappeared. But these figures, so
sadly eloquent in their simplicity, can give
no idea qf the heart-breaking scene occa
sioned by this numbering.
When the contents of a boat are hoisted
on board, those who are already on the ship
run quickly to meet the new comers, eagerly
scanning their faces. Parents and friends
meeting, again, embrace each other long and
silently, but many turn away disappointed.
Families, groups of friends, but now so,
happy, so gay, try to collect, to find each
other. There are, alas ! many vacancies,
but still they hope. The last boat returns —
the sailors say that they do not hope any

I26 THE SHIPWRECK.
longer, they can find no one. Then the
momentary happiness of being saved, of
finding some one dear to them is destroyed,
for there are none who have not lost either
parents, children, or friends. What faces
meet the sailors as they come up over the
side, what cries, what sobs, what despair !
Madame S. seeks in vain for news of her
four little girls. They are lost ! She can no
longer doubt it — her eyes wander around.
She tries to rush out of the cabin to look
for them, and to die with them, if they are
not found. It is with great difficulty that
Lorriaux can restrain her.
In another part of the ship, a young man
calls loudly to his sister whom he has lost ;
he begs her forgiveness, reproaches himself
severely for not having been able to save
her, for not having always been to her a
devoted, kind brother.
And the Fairy ? Neither does she return.
Her mother is here. She, who could not
swim, has been, nevertheless, saved, and her

THE SHIPWRECK. 127
daughter, so young, so vigorous, so calm,
so truly deserving the aid she was always
ready to give, she, who could swim, has per
ished. She was her mother's one joy, one
happiness upon earth. She was, doubtless,
the " Good Samaritan " to the very last ; she
doubtless died a victim to the devotion in
spired by that divine charity which had an
nihilated in her the strongest instinct of our
human nature, self-preservation.
There are two daughters of Captain H.
with us, the only ones of their family who
have escaped ; they owe their lives, human
ly speaking, to their close observance of the
advice their father had given them ; their
sister and parents' are missing, and they are
suddenly orphaned.
The little girl of nine years, who was so
hardy and energetic, can see — poor child —
of all her family only her eldest sister— again
two orphans.
Some families have totally disappeared, of
whom no one can tell anything ; of whom

128 THE SHIPWRECK.
¦  * 
we can find no trace ; every sign of them is
obliterated ; nothing remains of them save
their place in our hearts.
Upon land, after a battle, or a great catas
trophe, we always find the wounded, the
dead — signs of the struggle — traces — sou
venirs — something is left of those we love
and for whom we weep.
But the sea is an abyss that the deepest
affection cannot explore, nor the greatest
agony move ; it is unruffled by our most
piteous cries. Those whom we leave there
will be found only in eternity.
The heart-rending sounds of deep afflic
tion sink slowly into a mournful stupor, as
hope gives place to the frightful reality.
The crew of the " Loch Earn " are full of
kindness and sympathy, and devote them
selves to the sufferers. They are running
in all directions with clothing, coverings,
and warm drinks. . Most of the sailors have
nearly stripped themselves while in the
boats to cover those whom they rescued.

THE SHIPWRECK.

129

They continue to go over the place of the
disaster without a thought of cold, hunger,
or fatigue. They dress and wrap up the
wounds, try to restore animation to the un
conscious, or strengthen those who are ex
hausted, most of whom are entirely without
power or will to care for themselves and
allow others to care for them as if they were
children. Captain Surmount is silent and very sad ;
he has lost nearly all the support of his
family, and many of his officers ; among
others, the one who supplied his place on
deck while he was resting. Another officer
would not take a place in the small boat
which he had helped to lower, and when he
had been rescued, refused to return to the
" Loch Earn" till he had aided in saving many
others. But the Doctor, so amiable, so de
voted to the last, returned not.
The Priest, who was so earnestly exhort
ing his flock when the ship went down, was
never seen again.
9

130

THE SHIPWRECK.

Cook has retired to the most obscure
corner of the cabin ; he is almost naked and
shivering with cold, for he will not put on a
garment that can be of the smallest use to
the ladies.
Lorriaux has been devoting every energy
to aid Madame S., who is completely over
powered with grief. He now comes over to
his friend Blanc, who needs his care still
more, for, covered with blood, and nearly
paralyzed, he has thrown himself down on
the floor close to the wall.
Lorriaux, leaning over him, says :
" You seem to be suffering very much,
Blanc?" " I believe my ribs are broken, I have
such difficulty in breathing. Cook is alive,
I know. Have you seen Pronier and the
Spaniard ?"
" Pronier was seen last in the saloon, with
an enormous wound on his head. I have not
seen or heard of him since then."
" He was probably too weak to mount to

THE SHIPWRECK. 131

the deck, or was, perhaps, unable to resist
the water that rushed into the saloon."
"Nobody has seen the -Spaniard," said
Lorriaux. " He occupied the same state
room with Pronier, and was, undoubtedly,
too much injured by the collision to be able
to get out."
" They both seemed so essential to their
work too. How many of the children are
saved ? "
" They have all perished ! "
" Oh ! If I had only kept little S. with me,
when she went over to her mother ! "
" I must find some place to put you to
bed, you seem very sick," Lorriaux says,
anxiously. " No," Blanc says, " do not touch me, it
makes me much worse."
Lorriaux makes him as comfortable as
he can, and covers him with a rug, and
comes back very often to bring him water,
for he is becoming delirious, and cries loud
ly: "A drink! A drink!"

132

THE SHIPWRECK.

It is Saturday morning, now, the 22d of
November. The day begins to break ; the
air is cold ; the sky is hidden by clouds, as if
grieved by the spectacle it has witnessed.
The sea has become quite rough. We
shudder as we look at it. The collision
took place in 46° 54' North latitude, and
350 6' West longitude. The "Loch Earn,"
then, must be about one thousand three.
hundred miles from the shores of France ;
it was bound for New York, but will put
back to Liverpool to repair its injuries,
which do not seem important, as the vessel
does not leak.
The captain has given orders to the
boats not to return to the ship until they
have searched in all directions about the
scene of the disaster, by the full light of day.
They are not in sight now, for we have
drifted far away from the spot. Many of
the passengers still hope to see some that
they love come back with them.
The boats return at last ; the brave sailors

THE SHIPWRECK. 133
are exhausted with fatigue. They are alone,
having found only pieces of the wreck, bits
of wood, casks, bales. The number of the
" lost " is not, alas ! diminished. The list of
" saved " is complete. No name shall ever
be added to it. This dreadful certainty
reminds some how much they ought to
thank God for His mercy in delivering
them from a death so sudden, so certain,
had succor been delayed. It brings con
sternation to the hearts of those who hoped
still to see their dear ones.

VI.
THE " TRIMOUNTAIN." — THE "LOCH EARN."
IN the meantime a ship is seen approach
ing. It has encountered the boats, seen
the scattered pieces of the wreck, divined
part of the disaster, and, in approaching,
perceives indications ofthe lamentable state
of the " Loch Earn."
Captain Surmount has been very much
astonished that the "Loch Earn" did not
sink immediately after the collision, but he
now sees that the ship is still strong enough
to resist the pressure of the sea, as, by the
pumps, it is seen that it makes no water, and
that, as there is no cargo, the ship sets high
out of the water, and the holes are conse
quently above the water-line; while the
water-tight bulkhead prevents the water
(i34)

THE "LOCH EARN." 135
from forcing its way into the hold. Never
theless, many of the passengers cannot rest
satisfied upon this damaged ship, and'insist
upon being transferred to the one just com
ing in sight — if that be possible.
Captain Robertson protests that his ship
is in good condition. " Although the prow
has been nearly carried away," said he,
" and our bowsprit demolished, we shall ar
rive in England as quickly as any vessel can
do; for my ship is of iron, and every one
knows that she is one of the best of sailers."
He evidently wished, notwithstanding the
damage the ship had sustained, to have the
honor of rescuing the survivors of the ship
wreck. " I have more provisions than we
need," he added, "and any quantity of
water." These assurances do not satisfy the Amer
icans, and they easily persuade Captain Sur
mount to join in their wishes. Upon their
urgent entreaty, Captain Robertson at last
decides to inform the captain of the " Tri-

136

THE 'TRIMOUNTAIN."

mountain " (for that is the name of the new
ship) that he has rescued eighty-seven of
the passengers and crew of the " Ville-du-
Havre," and to ask him if he can receive
them, or any part of them, adding that he
believes he can easily take them to Eng
land himself.
One of the boats which has returned
from the search, is sent with this message,
and comes back quickly, with the answer,
from Captain W. Urquhart of the " Tri-
mountain. " He is ready," he says, " to do
all that is in his power; that he has not
much room, but plenty of provisions —
though not as much water as he could wish.
His ship is in good order, and, with God's
help, he will take the shipwrecked safe and
sound to Bristol or Cardiff — both of which
ports he intends to make." He adds that
he places his ship at the disposal of Captain
Robertson and his crew, if he does not think
the " Loch Earn " seaworthy.
Captain Robertson, who is young and

THE "LOCH EARN."

137

confident, refuses to listen for a moment to
this proposal for. himself and his crew, and
is distressed and annoyed when Captain
Surmount and the survivors ask him to re
ply that they, at least, will accept Captain
Urquhart's kind offer.
Lorriaux goes into the cabin, where Blanc
continues to rave, and to make vain efforts
to breathe freely, continually asking for wa
ter. "Do you know," said he, "that a ship
has offered to take us to England? We
need not, therefore, be detained by the re
pairs necessary to this ship. Will you come
with us?"
" You know that I cannot rise," Blanc an
swers ; " I cannot stir from here."
" I would stay with you gladly," Lor
riaux says, " but Madame S. has determined
to go on board the ' Trimountain,' and I
cannot leave her — here is Cook."
"I will stay with you, certainly," says

Cook.

I38 THE "TRIMOUNTAIN!'
" I have no choice — do as you wish ; for I
cannot move."
In coming out of the cabin, Lorriaux said
to Cook, " I think he is very sick ; he has
such difficulty in breathing, he must have a
rib broken."
" I do not know," replied Cook, " but I
am very much afraid that before many days
are over I shall be obliged to close his eyes."
The transfer of the passengers com
mences, and the crew follow immediately.
In each boat they take a little cargo of wa
ter barrels for replenishing the " Trimoun
tain." The embarkation is no easy matter;
the sea is a little rough, and it is very diffi
cult to keep the boats near the ship, and
steady enough to receive the passengers, so
that they are obliged to be lowered by
ropes. Captain Urquhart has an arm-chair at
tached to ropes for the ladies, in which they
are seated and hoisted very comfortably to
the "Trimountain."

THE "LOCH EARN."

139

Pale, wasted, afflicted — some wrapped in
bed-clothes, some wearing the garments of
men — they excite great pity.
Lorriaux has said adieu to his friend, per
haps forever, and now embarks with Mad
ame S. While Cook watches him from the
deck ofthe " Loch Earn," the captain comes
to him to say that we shall in all probability
arrive a day or two before the " Trimoun
tain," so Cook calls out to him, " He who
arrives first will send word to the wife of
the other," and the boat pushes off.
Captain Surmount attends to the em
barkation of his crew. He leaves on board
the " Loch Earn " a fireman, who is even
more injured than Blanc. He returns to the
cabin to say to Cook, " Will you not come
with us?"
" No, captain," Cook replied ; " you see
my friend cannot be moved, and I will not
leave him."
" Really," said the captain, " I believe
you are as comfortable and safe here as we

140

THE "TRIMOUNTAIN."

shall be on the 'Trimountain,'" and, with
an au revoir, he, too, is gone.
Captain Urquhart is an American by birth,
and receives these shipwrecked people with
the utmost cordiality, and puts everything
at their disposal that can in any way con
tribute to their comfort. There are many
pieces of clothing in his wardrobe belonging
to his wife, which she did not take when she
left the ship ; these he distributes among the
ladies, and installs them with the other pas
sengers in his cabin. The crew are housed
between decks. Each one does as well as he
can. The anxieties which the condition of
the " Loch Earn " excited, disappear. Calm
ness and patience slowly take the place of
the terrible emotion of which no one of them
will ever lose the memory.
Madame S. has become more quiet. She
cannot but weep for her children ; but she
says, " God gave me my four little daugh
ters; it is He who has taken them from me.
He will make me understand and accept
His will."

THE "LOCH EARN!' 141
Her companions in misfortune are all very
brave, and set now a beautiful example of
Christian resignation, as in those awful mo
ments of danger they had done of calmness
and courage.
The mother of the Fairy has given up her
daughter, yet it seems to her almost im
possible to believe that God has not pro
tected her — saved her ; she clings to every
glimmer of hope. Who knows? the sailors
have not seen her, perhaps ; she may have
floated out of their sight ; she may still be
waiting to be rescued. She beseeches the
captain to cause the ship to cruise over the
fatal place which the boats of the English
ship had so lately left. The captain con
sents; and until night this mother never
ceases to watch, examining with the great
est care every ripple of the waves, far and
near, hoping each moment to find some
token of her lost one. In vain ! As night
falls slowly upon her, hope dies in her heart.
The floating bits of the wreck are seen but
rarely now; the sea has dispersed them, or

142 THE "TRIMOUNTAIN."
swallowed them up; its ever-moving surface
is more silent, more impenetrable than a
tomb. The captain, as is often the case with
American and English sailors, is an educated
man. He has a little library on board, in
which the young American who made him
self so remarkable on board the " Ville-du-
Havre " by his studious habits, immediately
loses himself. It seems as if the shipwreck
had only been a slight interruption to his
usual occupation, which, as soon as he is
safely on board the " Trimountain," he re
sumes with the air of one who desires to
make up for lost time.
The captain, besides being a man of edu
cation, is a religious man, which is also not
uncommon in the American marine. He
asks Lorriaux if he will not have a short
service every evening before retiring; and
so at eight o'clock every evening, Lorriaux
reads a chapter in the Bible, and makes a
brief address to the passengers and to the

THE "LOCH EARN.'

143

crews ofthe two ships, the " Ville-du-Havre "
and the "Trimountain," partly in English
and partly in French, followed- by a short
prayer of thanksgiving and supplication.
The young student had but three days
ago horrified and distressed the eldest
daughter of Madame S. by jesting about
her religious feelings. Having noticed that
she read a book of religious instruction every
day, he had said to her laughingly, " Oh !
you are a pious little girl." He now con
fides to her weeping mother the change of
mind he has experienced, and narrates that
at the moment of sinking he felt his knees
involuntarily bend under him, and a voice
from the very depth of his heart, cried out,
" O God, save me!"
"He heard my prayer," he adds, "and
now I, too, believe in Him."
The night has long since gathered around
them, and the ship has turned her prow to
the east and makes good progress before a
favorable wind. Those whom a common

144

THE "TRIMOUNTAIN."

misfortune had united on this ship employ
the second day in trying to organize a little
society for their mutual welfare.
One takes charge of the fire, another of
the table utensils, a third and fourth are de
tailed to the service of the ladies, a fifth to
other business of the menage, which re
quires all his powers of invention.
Thanks to the kindness and generosity of
the sailors, who give up most readily any
thing they have ; every one has some cloth
ing, though the toilette is often very pecu
liar. At eight o'clock A. M., at noon, and at six
p. M., the ladies take their meals, and are
waited upon most kindly by the gentlemen.
At ten A. M. and four P. M. the men have
their turn. The number of plates, cups,
spoons, knives and forks is very small, and
each guest can have but one plate, or one
cup for his rations, liquid or solid, and but
one knife, fork or spoon to help him in eat
ing it. This is the case with all on board.

THE "LOCH EARN." 145
Water is the only thing that they are obliged
to use sparingly.
The ladies sleep in the berths of the cabin,
and the men upon the floor, most of them
without pillow, mattrass, or covering. No
body is difficult to please, and no one is bet
ter pleased than when, he is able to help his
neighbor, for nothing brings hearts so near,
or makes them so gentle and thoughtful, as
a common misfortune.
The wind holds fair, but becomes very
strong, rising at last to a gale. Captain Urqu-
hart is bold, even rash, and carries so much
sail that the ship glides through the water
almost as fast if she were impelled by steam.
The masts bend under the force of the wind,
which fills the canvas, until it is stretched
almost beyond its strength, and seems each
moment as if it must be carried away. Cap
tain Surmount fears some serious accident.
Some of the ladies are ill ; the gale makes
every one anxious, but nothing alarming
happens ; the result, on the contrary, is al
io

146 THE "TRIMOUNTAIN!'
together good, for the " Trimountain " gains
time, and rapidly approaches her destination.
At length, nine days after the mournful event
of the twenty-second of November, on the
first day of December they reach Cardiff.
The eighty-seven survivors of the " Ville-
du-Havre " send despatches, more frequent
ly distressing than joyous, always profound
ly agitating. Then they separate, carrying
with them many tender remembrances of
each other.
Before they leave the ship they give to
the brave Captain Urquhart a written testi
mony of their deep and heartfelt gratitude.
Now let us return to the " Loch Earn."
About two hours after the departure of the
" Trimountain," a barque passed very near,
and seeing that the ship was drifting and the
prow damaged, asked if any assistance was
needed. Captain Robertson has just seated
himself at breakfast, after the disturbance
caused by the embarkation, and answers, as

THE "LOCH EARN." 147
he did to the " Trimountain," by acquaint
ing the barque with the circumstance of the
shipwreck and requesting her Commander
to announce it, if he should arrive first. All
the crew, and even Mr. Cook, share the
captain's feeling of confidence. Mr. Cook
helps his friend to drag himself out of his
cabin, the bed of which has become insup
portable. Stretched upon a wide, stuffed
bench, and well wrapped, he is very much
warmer, although on deck, and more com
fortable in every way. He breathes still
with great difficulty, and is very weak ; but
the wounds upon his head and on his right
hand, although very deep, are neither very
serious nor very painful. This change of
position, and the comfort of having his
wounds dressed, soothes him, and he begins
to question his friend upon the present con
dition of things.
" I believe," said his friend, that we shall
be better off here than those who have left
us. We have plenty of room, clothes, and

I48 THE "TRIMOUNTAIN."
provisions, and I am going, after I dress
myself, to examine the injuries to the
ship." " Do you think them very serious?"
" They seem so to me. The prow is com
pletely stove in, from its upper to its lower
extremity ; but the water, which might en
ter either above or below the water-line is
kept out by an air-tight bulkhead ; and if
the sea should become very rough, the
water that washes over the bows will run
off from the deck without doing any harm."
"Judging by the furniture, the ship can
not be very old."
" It is about nine years old, and belongs
to the Glasgow Shipping Company. It is
built of iron, and is remarkably well con
structed, and extremely light, and as we
have no cargo, we may yet arrive in Eng
land a day before the others."
" Have we hoisted sail ? "
" No, not yet. The captain is going over
the ship with the carpenter in order to de-

THE "LOCH EARN:' 149
termine on the repairs necessary to the set
ting sail with entire safety."
" Ah, well. Whatever comes we are in
God's keeping."
In the evening, dining with his officers,
the captain tells them the result of his re
searches. Although he was so confident in
the morning, he is now a little disturbed ;
but, with the true sailor's spirit, he expresses
this in the vaguest and most evasive man
ner, and can only be forced to say that the
repairs will require more time than he
thought, and must be commenced to-mor
row morning.
The sailors are worn out, and need the
rest to which they very early abandon them
selves. The two passengers and the fireman
of the " Ville-du-Havre " are also much in
need of repose. After such intense excite
ment, silence quickly leads to sleep, but the
sights and sensations of the shipwreck are
so recent that sleep is only one long, hideous
nightmare.

150

THE "TRIMOUNTAIN."

The next day, Sunday, the twenty-third
of November, the carpenter is at work early,
with a part of the crew to help him. He
begins the work by taking down the bow
sprit ; it is held in its place so slightly, that
it is very difficult to keep it from falling,
and its fall might produce serious results.
They succeed, however, in preventing this ;
and next they try to cover the holes, which
are many yards in length and width. This
is a difficult matter, as the iron prevents
their driving nails. They use small beams
and planks, which they fasten across the
openings, and keep in their places with
ropes, then they make an inside covering
with the thickest sail-cloth. This is strong
enough to resist the sea, and the water can
only penetrate slowly through the inter
stices. Then it is necessary to strengthen
the water-tight partition or bulkhead, which
forces the water back to the sea. It is very
slight — scarcely more than half an inch thick
— and it is of the utmost importance that it

THE "LOCH EARN!'

151

should be made capable of resisting the
force of the waves. The carpenter then
squares and adjusts an enormous beam,
which he wedges between the bulkhead and
the base of the mizzen-mast. These two
last operations occupy half of the twenty-
third, all of the twenty-fourth, and part of
the twenty -fifth.
All this time the sails are furled ; but the
ship, though drifting, obeys the helm.
The captain comes from time to time to
see the two passengers, and ask how they
are. He who was wounded, contrary to all
expectations, grows better — much better ;
he begins to breathe more easily, to take a
little nourishment, and tries to stand. On
.the contrary, Mr. Cook feels the first symp
toms of a very bad cold taken in that ter
rible bath on the twenty-second. Fever pre
vents his sleeping, and distresses him very
much. W.e talk very naturally together of
the shipwreck of the " Ville-du-Havre." We
recall each detail of the catastrophe, and ask

152

THE "TRIMOUNTAIN."

each other how it could have occurred on
such a beautiful, calm night.
Captain Robertson believes that, at the
last moment, the " Ville-du-Havre," which
he saw long before the accident, made a
rapid movement to pass before the prow of
the " Loch Earn," and was struck on her
starboard as she was passing; they not be
ing able to check the course of the " Loch
Earn " as quickly as they might have done
that of a steamer.
But how shall we ever know the exact
truth ? The officer who had the watch at
that hour on the " Ville-du-Havre," and
whom the fireman declares that he saw in
his shirt-sleeves on the quarter-deck- at the
very moment of the collision, has never been
seen since. Did he come upon the scene too
late, as his incomplete costume would seem
to indicate, and, in his consequent hurry,
did he give the fatal order, or was the order
given, badly executed? We shall never
know ; we can only deplore forever, that

THE "LOCH EARN.'

153

upon that boundless sea two ships could
not avoid each other.
" I am scarcely thirty years old," said the
captain, " and I have been shipwrecked
three times in my short life, but I have
never witnessed a scene of such horror.
If I had only known six or seven minutes
sooner what was the state of the steamer,
I could have given much more efficient
help." " But," said Mr. Cook, " did not Captain
Surmount send you word by one of his offi
cers immediately after the collision ? "
" Certainly ; but all that I could under
stand of what he said to me in French was,
that he did not think the ' Ville-du-Havre '
was badly injured. Six or seven minutes
would have been enough for me to approach
you, to send our boats to you, and perhaps to
have saved all. It is fearful to think of all
those ladies and children, whose cries came
to us from the depths of the water and
through the darkness."

154

THE "TRIMOUNTAIN."

" Those poor children ! What had they
done, that they all perished so terribly?"
" Did you know that we saw a very little
baby floating in a tub, but the sea overturned
it before we could reach the place ? If we
could only have saved more ! "
"And they were such excellent, Christian
people." " That is the impression they made upon
those who rescued them ; the ladies were so
calm, so little exacting, so resigned."
All these remembrances made us very
grave, of course ; and Mr. Cook, who never
lost any opportunity of manifesting his re
ligious convictions and exercising his minis
try as a pastor, now directs the conversa
tion. The captain, who had been taught very
religiously in his childhood, frankly ac
knowledges that he had become estranged
from his early convictions — not that he set
himself in opposition to them ; on the con
trary, he believed them to be useful, neces-

THE "LOCH EARN."

155

sary, and beautiful. As a proof of this he
came to Mr. Cook and asked him to address
some words of help and comfort to the crew,
who had been for a long time completely
deprived of any religious teaching. In con
sequence of this request, short religious ser
vices were held on Monday, the twenty-
fourth, and every day afterward on board
the " Loch Earn," as well as on board the
" Trimountain." All attended these services
with respect, and many with great pleasure.
They suggested to the captain the bringing
out of a large and handsome Bible, of which
he took great care in remembrance of his
old parents.
Although the weather was very calm,
Captain Robertson was very uneasy from
the first evening. He became little by little
more communicative, and, at last, said :
'' While the weather remains fine there is no
danger. Our provisions will last a long
time, and we can go slowly forward, only
slowly, because we must be careful not to

156 THE "TRIMOUNTAIN:'
strain the bulkhead ; but, if a storm come,
I do not know whether the 'Loch Earn'
can live through it."
This communication does not tend to calm
the two passengers, who immediately insist
upon being transferred to the first sound
ship they may speak which is bound for a
European port, and which will consent to
receive them.
On Monday morning a large ship appears
in the offing, but the captain knows her, and
thinks she is not safe. In the afternoon an
other ship is signalled, but she is too dis
tant, and the hour is too late. She does not
perceive our signal.
At last Mr. Cook says, " Perhaps we shall
not have any storm."
" One of the officers told me to-day," I
replied, " that we cannot expect this beau
tiful weather to last in November."
" I fear he is right, but we may meet an
other ship before any severe storm over
takes us."

THE "LOCH EARN.'

157

Then we tried to sleep, a little reassured
by this hope ; but we could not but think
with regret of the " Trimountain," which
must already be three days ahead of us.
Tuesday morning the sky is magnificent;
here and there are light, fleecy clouds,
their whiteness enhanced by the depth of
blue in the sky around them. The sun is
brilliant, and his rays are as warm as in
September. The sea is almost still, and the
gulls poise themselves lazily in the sun
light. Officers and sailors have been busy
for a long time in putting the last touches
to the repairs; they work rapidly and in
silence. The two passengers come out of
their cabin, looking a little less like ship
wrecked mariners, and rejoice in the sun
light. The captain smokes his pipe as if
he were tired and worried, and goes every
five minutes to look at the barometer.
" Well, captain, this is fine weather ; we
are going well ?"
" We shall see about that by and by."

158 THE "TRIMOUNTAIN."
" The sun is very warm and bright for the
25th of November."
" I would rather see it less bright. In
fact, the barometer is going down steadily,
although the sun is so warm and bright."
Very soon the little neecy clouds spread
over the sky, unite together as if drawn
by some magnetic force. The sun is veiled,
the breeze freshens suddenly. The sea-gulls
fly up and down like winged arrows, some
times describing great circles in the air ;
sometimes skimming the waves, which are
rising higher and higher, and becoming
very rough. A fine rain fills the air, like a
thick, transparent spray. Suddenly a strong
wind comes flying oyer us, and the storm is
upon us.
The two friends go back to their cabin
much more quickly than they left it, and
look at each other as if they had lost all
hope. The sailors, on the contrary, seem
less disquieted. They had become weary
with waiting for a change which they clearly

THE "LOCH EARN."

159

foresaw. They now execute the captain's
quick, ready orders, with an air that seems
to say, "Ah, well ! we accept the duel."
There are two or three negroes among
the crew, who accompany each manoeuvre
with a chant,- or sometimes with a succes
sion of monotonous cries, that are very sad,
and end in a strange, wild refrain. While
they are furling all the sails, except the fore,
main, and mizzen-top sails, which are needed
to steady the ship, these sounds, mingled
with those of the storm, produce the most
melancholy effect. The helmsman, who is
relieved every four hours, as well as each
of the sailors, receives the most particular
directions to keep the ship with her head in
such a position as to prevent the sea from
striking with all its force upon the bows,
where it had been injured. This produced
the most disagreeable rolling motion imag
inable. " This may prove to be nothing but a
squall," said the laconic steward, who was

Ifcb THE "TRIMOUNTAIN."

surrounding the plates and dishes with
everything he could find which was suit
able to steady them.
In about an hour, in fact, the wind seemed
to lull a little ; but it was only to commence
whistling more wildly, and after each one
of these lulls we felt a decided increase of
the tempest. It is a veritable tempest and
not a squall. The captain, who comes to
breakfast with his officers, is willing to ac
knowledge it when he sees that his two
guests realize it, and yet have not lost their
appetites. " Is it probable that this will last long ? "
asks one.
" It may last only eight hours, and it may
not be over before to-morrow or the day
after. In these regions I have seen a storm
last for weeks."
" Then we are in the region of storms ? "
" Yes, we are in a good place ; we are in
the very centre of the nest."

THE "LOCH EARN." 161
" And do you believe the ' Loch Earn '
will be able to weather it ? "
"She has borne it well so far," and we
have done, and shall continue to do, all that
we can to strengthen her."
Breakfast occupies but little time, as may
be supposed, and the two friends are quickly
left alone, for the sailors have not a moment
to waste.
" I believe," said I, " that it is the begin
ning ofthe end."
" Do you really think so ?"
" Yes ; the captain does not appear to me
to say all that he thinks."
" It seems to me very difficult to believe
that God has saved us from the first ship
wreck to let us perish in a second."
" Perhaps He has given us this time to
prepare ourselves better to meet death."
" I have been thinking of it a long time,
and I cannot believe that I am no longer to
be of use to my family. You know that I
n

\(>2 THE "TRIMOUNTAIN."
have seven children, most of them still
young ; and, besides, there is so much
work that depends almost entirely upon
me." " I have thought of it, too, and with the
utmost effort I cannot discover any real rea
son to consider myself indispensable ; my
work will be done, without doubt, much
better by some one else."
" But all is not lost; there is still hope we
may encounter a ship."
" It is possible ; but there are ninety-nine
. chances out of a hundred that we shall be
lost. The ' Loch Earn ' cannot hold out
very much longer. Listen to the roaring of
the tempest — hear the tremendous force
with which the sea strikes her ! "
She made, indeed, just then a fearful pitch,
and every part of her groaned and shook.
" I cannot renounce all hope."
" But every day people whose lives are
much more precious than ours, perish in
this way."

THE "LOCH EARN." 163
" I believe we should try to prepare our
selves for death ; but, at the same time, that
we should not give up hope."
The conversation is interrupted ; the roll
ing is so violent that we are obliged to grasp
the nearest things that can steady us, or we
should be thrown about like mere toys.
The bell on board sounds as sadly as if
tolling a funeral-knell, and the waves strike
the stern with a heavy, dull beat, as regular
as the motion of a pendulum. One might
say that a Titan was digging a grave in the _
ocean with long, heavy strokes of his pick
axe. Whoever should have seen the atti
tude of the two friends at that moment,
would have known that they were pre
paring. In the evening I said to my com
panion :
" It seems very hard, but I am ready — "
" I have not lost all hope yet," he answered.
" There is one thing that I regret from the
very bottom of my heart, and that is that
you should have stayed upon this unfortu-

164

THE "TRIMOUNTAIN."

nate ship on my account ; I can only, alas !
regret it, and thank you."
" Oh, you know if I had imagined that
this would have happened — if I had even
thought of such a storm, I would have taken
you on board the ' Trimountain ' at any
risk." The night is very bad and keeps the sailors
on deck. I sleep, but Cook is kept awake by
fever and by distress.
On Wednesday, the 26th, our situation
has not improved ; on the contrary, the sea
is still rougher. The ship has held out beau
tifully, but it is impossible that she can long
endure the violence of the rolling and shak
ing without being fatally injured.
This is the opinion of the captain ; he has
the three boats in readiness which were
used in the rescue of the survivors of the
shipwreck of the " Ville-du-Havre," and
which are still filled with life-preservers;
the oars are attached to them ; the ropes
are arranged so that they can be lowered in

THE "LOCH EARN!'

165

a few minutes, and there are placed upon
deck, in a vestibule leading to the dining-
room, a line of little barrels of fresh water,
and bags filled with biscuit and other pro
visions. "It may be," said I to him, "that some
ship- may come in sight ; but since the day
before yesterday nothing has appeared on
the horizon."
"No," he replies; "it becomes less and
less probable that we shall see one now."
"Why?"
" Because we are drifting in a northeaster
ly direction, and we shall soon be in the
Gulf Stream, which will draw us still further
north." " We are out of the great transatlantic
course, then, and, consequently, out of the
way of the other ships. Is there no chance
of using sails to go further south, — tq the
Azores, perhaps ? They are the nearest land,
I believe?" " Oh, no. In the first place, the Azores

1 66 THE "TRIMOUNTAIN!'
have no large port, arid yesterday, when
you were asleep, I took advantage of the
lull to hoist some canvas, and sail slowly,
but the bulkhead is not perfectly tight, and
the water rushed in with such force that it
threatened to destroy it altogether. I was
obliged to give up all thought of sail-
ing." " Then we are lost, as I thought."
" Not absolutely, since we have good
boats. I once picked up a shipwrecked
crew who had been many hours sailing in
boats." .
" Yes, but it could not have been in a sea
like this, or in the month of November."
" We have still another resource : we can
construct a raft."
I study the marine charts with the books
of explanation, and arrive at the same con
clusion that I held last night.
Cook is tired, in fact ill; still he does not
despair. He said this in his address to the
crew this morning, during the service, which

THE "LOCH EARN." 167
has been held each day by the captain's orders.
There is a general gathering this morning,
and we are obliged to hold on to the table,
and steady ourselves against the wall of the
dining-room, to keep ourselves from being
overthrown. Our alarming condition makes
God's Word seem full of an astonishing force
and fitness.
The fireman of the "Ville-du-Havre"
comes to these services, but as he does not
understand English, I translate my friend's
addresses in French for him. He is exceed
ingly interested, and has asked for a French
Testament, and to our amazement an English
cabin-boy has one to give him, and the fire
man spends much of his time in reading it.
The captain expresses himself very much
pleased with the effect of these services.
He has seen the result upon the crew. He
sees that they have become more steady,
and that they have drawn from the holy
words spoken to them a courage for which
there is now great need.

1 68 THE "TRIMOUNTAIN."
The captain himself adds this morning a
few words to his crew, to the effect that the
least negligence, the least want of discipline,
may occasion the loss of the ship, or in case
of any accident, the loss of their own lives ;
but that strict obedience, and the execution
without an instant's delay of his orders,
would undoubtedly contribute much to the
safety of all.
Each one does the best he can — the crew
in working incessantly, the passengers, who
cannot work, in praying for those who do,
and in showing them that they are as far
from cowardice as from bravado.
The tempest does not lessen. The night
from Wednesday to Thursday is as bad as
that which preceded it ; but the ship seems
to share in the energetic determination of
those whom it carries. All day Thursday
the weather is magnificent ; the sky is as
serene as in the most beautiful calm. It
seems as if the tempest disencumbered itself
of the least cloud in order to concentrate

THE "LOCH EARNr 169
all its force upon the sea ; then, in spite
of the sun, in spite of the brilliancy, it
hurls itself upon us with unexampled vio
lence. The captain takes the chart, and discovers,
to the regret of every one, that, we have
drifted very far north. It is not surprising,
then, that we have not spoken any ship.
Another discovery is made during the day
which is still more distressing. The only
way in which we could signal a ship at
night, would be by sending off rockets ; and
the case of rockets is filled with water, so
that they can be of no use. There is no
canon on board, therefore we can only sig
nal a vessel during the day, and in clear
weather. At last the sea has become so terribly
rough that the hope of the small boats living
in it has become a perfect chimera ; the men
would be worn out very quickly, and if they
were not swallowed up by the sea, would
die of cold.

170

THE "TRIMOUNTAIN:'

" There is no hope now," I said, " but that
God has the power to save us."
" Yes," replied my companion, " He has
the power, and I cannot help hoping that it
is His will."
" I cannot help hoping sometimes myself,
when I see this ship, which is so much in
jured, resist the storm so bravely."
The two friends go out on the after-deck,
and are obliged to hold on to the railing to
save themselves from being blown over.
The helmsman is there, attentive, immovable.
If he relaxes his vigilance for an instant, or
if his hand fails in its firm hold, if the ship
veers the least point from the right direc
tion, the sea will in all probability stave in
her bows.
What a magnificent spectacle the sea pre
sents ! It seems like one gigantic wave in
flated by all that the hurricane has collected
in its wanderings. This giant wave rises and
descends, continually roaring, and the " Loch
Earn " lies upon its side like a little black

THE "LOCH EARN." \y\
speck inhabited by living atoms, while it
mounts almost to the sky, and then descends
into a vast abyss, constantly followed and
watched by a band of gulls, who impatient
ly wait the end of the struggle.
Neither the Falls of Niagara, nor any
thing else in nature, can compare in grandeur
with this moving mountain crowned with
foam, sparkling in the sunlight, beyond
which the eye meets only the sky. As we
gaze, fascinated by its aspect, it seems as if
this wave could in an instant throw the
speck which it tosses upon its crest to the
far distant shore, and leave it there, where
are those who wait, who hope, who pray,
who are full of anxiety for us, though they
suspect not the peril we are in.
Beyond the sea, beyond the horizon, we
see a house on the firm land where every
object is well known, where loving looks
meet us and friendly hands are stretched out
to grasp ours as we approach. But no ! the
scene changes; there is the same house,

172

the "trimountain:

there are the same relations, the same
friends ; but no one comes to embrace them,
to clasp their hands ; they are clad in mourn
ing ; they weep ! Oh, they have had bad
news ! bad news!

VII.
THE " BRITISH QUEEN."
WHAT a fearful night was that from
the 27th to the 28th ! Yet it did not
begin badly ; the sailors, exhausted by their
unusual labors, hoped to obtain a little rest,
and I arranged my mattress as comfortably
as I could, and promised myself a sleep so
sound that it could be disturbed by no wind,
however violent. But the night terribly be
lied the promises of the evening.
Mr. Cook, who had not closed his eyes for
many days and nights, was agitated. The
captain seemed forever coming and- going ;
the crew were constantly on their feet. The
waves struck with such force and noise, that
they seemed to be hurling rocks against us,
and to take a ferocious joy in rendering all
(173)

174 THE "BRITISH QUEEN."
our foresight vain and destroying all our
carefully prepared defences.
The " Loch Earn " no longer rolls regu
larly from side to side, or pitches from stem
to stern, as at the beginning ofthe tempest ;
she is lifted, driven, thrown from one side
to the other, as if already a wreck.
I sleep by snatches, then awake suddenly
to find myself thrown off my mattress, and
far from the place on which I had been ly
ing. It seems incomprehensible how a ship
can resist such strokes ; it is a veritable
bombardment, and do what I will, the
thought will recur at each moment that the
ship must break asunder and sink down in
to the unfathomable depths of ocean. And
this lasts for ten hours ! Hope must indeed
be deeply rooted in our nature to continue
to struggle at such a moment, and indeed in
the English sailor hope and life go out toge
ther, and upon the sea, every one struggles
more or less against despair, for there, flight
is impossible. The sailors who are not oc-

THE "BRITISH QUEEN." 175
cupied, shelter themselves under the arched
doorway of the after cabin, for the forward
cabin is no longer habitable. It takes some
courage to cross the deck, and Blanc, who
had risen early, learns almost with surprise
that no one has yet been cast into the sea
while crossing it. The tempest has long
reduced our conversation to monosyllables,
but now there is complete silence ; each one
feels that the decisive moment is approach
ing, and what good would there be in say
ing it ? '
The deck presents a spectacle ofthe most
ruinous devastation. The thickest ropes
have been parted ; everything appears
broken, rent ; and d6bris of every kind
cover its surface. The carpenter enters,
pale, ghastly. He speaks to the captain in
a low voice ; but it is easy to divine what he
reports. The concussion of the waves has
separated the bulkhead from each of the
ship's sides ; the water flows in freely, and
with such force that it is projected into the

176 THE "BRITISH QUEEN:'
hold, more than a yard from the bulkhead
in a horizontal line. The end cannot be far
off. Viewed thus near, it seems scarcely
more to be dreaded than the three days and
three nights of poignant suspense which
have preceded it.
As the day advances, the wind moderates.
The sea, livid and agitated still, becomes
smoother. The captain descends from the
quarter-deck, and says gently to Mr. Cook,
who is very feeble, " There is a sail in sight !"
The news spreads like lightning; but it pro
duces no great sensation. Our being saved
at this last moment would appear such an
immediate interposition of God's provi
dence, that we scarcely dare believe in its
possibility. Nevertheless, the steward of
the vessel no sooner hears the news, than he
begins to search for bags, turns the captain's
cabin topsy-turvy, and sets himself to pack
ing. Cook rises, goes out from the cabin, pain
fully climbs the stairs to the after-deck, and

THE "BRITISH QUEEN." jyy
remains there motionless, with his gaze fixed
upon the sail becoming every moment more
clearly visible. It is a large three-masted
ship. One of her masts has been carried
away in the storm, but the others have all
their sails unfurled. Cook's eye never leaves
her ; so fixed is his attitude, that it almost
seems as if he were drawing her towards us
by the magnetic power of his look.
The English flag is hoisted on the stern
of the "Loch Earn." The three-masted
vessel replies to it by hoisting the American
flag, and slowly approaches. She passes so
near that we can read the name upon her
prow : it is the " British Queen." Captain
Robertson leans over the netting of the
quarter-deck, and calls to his confrere that
he will send a messenger to him.
A boat is lowered with much difficulty,
for the sea is still very rough. Four sailors
take their places in it, under command of
the first officer, who is directed to ask the
commander of the "British Queen" if he
12

I78 THE "BRITISH QUEEN:'
will consent to remain for a day alongside
of the " Loch Earn." The boat returns in a
quarter of an hour. In the meantime Cap
tain Robertson has called his crew together
and said to them, " I come to ask if you will
remain with me. The vessel is not yet a
wreck. I would like to put sail on her and
not leave her till she is positively sinking.
This was my reason for asking the ' British
Queen ' to remain near us for a day."
A sailor steps forward from the group of
his companions, and replies, " Captain, you
have a right to force us to remain with you ;
but we will not do so voluntarily. We know
that in a few hours the ' Loch Earn ' will be
at the bottom of the sea, and we have no
desire to risk our lives for the satisfaction
of having her go down under our feet,
though you may, if you will, force us to re
main." From the group of those who have ex
pressed their will through this man, an old
Mexican soldier now separated himself, and

THE "BRITISH QUEEN." \yg
drawing near the captain, said simply, " For
me, I stay with you."
The captain answers, " I can do nothing
with one man alone, and I will not force
any." Then he withdraws.
The boat returns ; the " British Queen "
is ready to receive the passengers and crew
of the " Loch Earn," but cannot stay
longer than the time necessary to make the
transhipment. Captain Robertson will not
be able to try his experiment. A second
boat is lowered, and into it are thrown, pell-
mell, instruments, clothing, books, the two
passengers and some of the crew ; then it
rows away to the side of the "British
Queen." The sea, which had seemed com
paratively calm from the deck of the " Loch
Earn," as we look upon it from our own
level, resembles alternate mountains and
valleys of water, which we cannot hope to
cross. Driven by the foaming waves, we at
last reach the " British Queen." Mr. Cook
sees a rope-ladder hanging from the ship's

l8o THE "BRITISH QUEEN."
side, and seizing it, is quickly on deck.
Blanc, with his right hand wrapped up and
helpless, is raised to the deck by a rope.
Captain Marsters receives them both cor
dially, and seeing that their clothing is satu
rated "with sea-water, and that they are
very cold, he takes them into his cabin
and makes them welcome to his ward
robe as well as to his ship, adding, " Here
you are safe, except it may be from fam
ine." " But we have quantities of provisions on
board the ' Loch Earn ;' cannot you send for
some ? "
" Oh, no ! as soon as the rest of the men
arrive, we must set sail ; for this is only a
lull in the storm, it will not last."
One hour after, the thirty-one men of the
" Loch Earn " and the three saved from the
shipwreck of the " Ville-du-Havre," were
united again on the "British Queen." The
officers and many of the sailors clasped the
hands of Cook and his companion, saying,

THE "BRITISH QUEEN!' \%\
" Thanks to your prayers, we are saved ;
God has heard your prayers."
Five minutes afterward, the heavens be
came almost instantaneously overcast, and
the tempest began again to howl. It blew
in the right direction, and the " British
Queen" spread her sails and rapidly left the
"Loch Earn," whose injuries seen from a
distance appeared frightful. We saw her
oscillate from side to side, but we lost sight
of her, before the ocean had closed over her.
An officer of the " British Queen " said that
the tempest had forced them to change their
course twice during the night, to which
Cook replied : " Of course, for it was neces
sary that you should come to our aid."
" Yes," added I, " and it is well that you
came just when you did ; for if you had
come later, and we had been obliged to en
ter the small boats in this tempest, we should
soon have been at the bottom of the sea."
The steward and the sailors began to
empty the bags, and to make themselves at

!82 THE "BRITISH QUEEN."
home. Among the objects which they
drew forth from the bundles containing
the clothes of some of the sailors, were
three cats and a dog which had made part
of our company on the " Loch Earn."
The Englishman has a profound regard
for every kind of animal, and the sailor, who
knows better than any one what a costly
thing life is, will never abandon a ship with
out carrying with him every living thing.
The dog was full of spirits, and Captain
Marsters greatly enjoyed him. He was an
animal of remarkable sagacity. During the
whole of the tempest, he was certainly the
most unhappy creature on board the " Loch
Earn." Whether standing, or sitting, or
lying down, he could not maintain his posi
tion, but was rolled about like a ball from
one side of the cabin to the other. He
evinced great gratitude to Cook and Blanc
whenever they helped to steady him, by
placing him between them. Two hours be
fore the arrival of the " British Queen," he

THE "BRITISH QUEEN:' 183
bounded. suddenly out of the cabin, where
he had till then lain close down to the floor,
and began to bark and to run over the deck
as if he were mad. He climbed to the after-
deck, spite of the wind and of the motion
which threatened to throw him into the sea,
and gave every sign of joy, cocking his ears
and shaking his tail, both of, which he had
carried in the most dejected, drooping man
ner for many days. The appearance of the
ship, which he had no doubt scented from
afar, gave the only explanation of this ex
traordinary change of manner, which he
afterwards maintained to the end of the
voyage. He evidently considered the cap
tain's cabin as his personal domain, and
showed great displeasure to him who had
brought the cats from the " Loch Earn " into
the cabin of the " British Queen." Seeing
them attract the attention of th© captain and
the sailors of his new home, he dared not
at first manifest his discontent except by
significant growls ; by degrees, however, he

1 84 THE "BRITISH QUEEN:'
grew bold enough to chase them, especially
when he found them enjoying any marked
favor. It happened that these cats soon
lost the captain's regard. Besides him and
his crew, there had long been no living
thing on board the " British Queen," ex
cept an old rat. The ship being itself old
and of wood, required the occasional use of
the pumps, but this was only twice a day,
and the rat had long been known on board
and moved freely about the ship, thanks to
the protection which each one gave the
more willingly from believing that his pres
ence furnished an element of security ; as
sailors know well that rats never remain on
board a ship which is about to sink. Cap
tain Marsters was therefore attached to this
old gray rat, and not a sailor on board the
ship would have dared to put his hand on
it. But before the " Loch Earn " cats had
had time to familiarize themselves with
these excellent and humane traditions, one
of them met the rat and strangled it with-

THE "BRITISH QUEEN." 185
out the least respect for its gray hairs. The
captain was as much saddened by this event
as if some misfortune had happened to his
ship, and as may well be supposed he hence
forth decidedly preferred the dog to the
cats. This little narrative will show that the
shipwrecked men were in good hands. In
truth these kind men were full of the ten
derest solicitude for them ; «6ervices of every
kind were offered them, and all that was on
board, whether of food or clothing, was
placed at their disposal.
Cook's strength was utterly exhausted.
The long sleeplessness on board the " Loch
Earn," fever, and an obstinate cough, made
him very ill. So a special and very com
fortable bed was arranged for him ; nothing
" was neglected that could alleviate his dis
tress. Suffer as he might, however, he
never forgot what he considered his duty as
a pastor, and from the first evening, by the
order of Captain Marsters, who was a re-

TIIE "BRITISH QUEENr

ligious man, the crew of the " British
Queen " united with that of the " Loch
Earn," in a worship all the more heart-felt,
because it celebrated a truly providential
deliverance. The fireman of the " Ville-du-Havre "
was never absent from these services, and
could find no words forcible enough to ex
press his emotions at seeing rescue brought
to us in the hour of our last extremity, and
at the precise moment in which a lull in the
storm and a calmer sea permitted us to
profit by it.
Captain Robertson was greatly depressed
at having been compelled to leave his ship,
but the conversation of his brother captain
soon restored his cheerfulness. Sitting by
their side in the after-cabin while they puffed
out clouds of smoke from their pipes, we
heard them narrate such stories of ship
wreck, as made our hair stand on end.
Those who navigate the sea in sailing ships,
are so frequently exposed to great dangers

THE "BRITISH QUEEN." i%y
that we cannot but admire their courage,
their boldness, and at last perhaps we find
ourselves not altogether free from their
slightly contemptuous feeling towards
steamers. The " Loch Earn " was abandoned in 480
10' North latitude, and in 300 30' West
longitude. She had, therefore, in six days,
or from the 22d to the 28th November,
drifted two hundred miles. Eleven hundred
miles still lay between the " British Queen "
and the entrance of the British Channel.
She was bound from Philadelphia to Ant
werp, with a cargo of petroleum. One of
her officers having said that their voyage
had already lasted twenty-five days, it was
plain that she was not a fast sailer. The
provisions on board were good, and abun
dant. It is true, there is considerable differ
ence bstween the cuisine of a transatlantic
packet and that of a small sailing vessel;.
but this was easily borne. The water was
ve.y bad on the " British Queen," and it

1 88 THE "BRITISH QUEEN."
was served out sparingly, but fortunately
for the two passengers, they had lost the
excessive thirst from which they had suffer
ed so much on the " Loch Earn."
The petroleum was in tins, not hermetically
sealed, for every time the pumps were used,
there flowed out no small quantity of it mixed
with the water. This streamed over the deck
and down into the sea, over which it spread
for some distance a glistening and colored
surface. The deck was literally coated with
petroleum, which made it very slippery,
and excited at first some anxiety about fire.
The officer to whom I ventured to remark
that the sailors smoked constantly upon this
deck, replied quickly, " Oh ! this petroleum
does not burn ; it is superfine, double-refined
petroleum. It would not blaze if you should
put a match to it."
And so one ends by becoming habituated
to a fire at sea, as one gets habituated to so
many other things.
In the meantime, the " British Queen "

THE "BRITISH QUEEN." \%g
seems to comprehend the impatience of her
guests, and, driven by the tempest, sails
more rapidly than usual. On the first of
December she has only six or seven hundred
miles more to make. But the voyage seems
to us interminable ; we would gladly see her
fly; we long for the tempest again to drive
her on. Cook's fever increases his impa
tience. " It seems to me," he says, "that I hear
my wife and children calling me, and asking
what has become of me."
"Yes, according to the calculations of
Captain Robertson, the ' Trimountain ' must
have arrived in England before this time,
and so they must know how we were left."
" Oh, I would like, if I could, to spare my
dear ones this long anxiety, for we are not
yet at the end of our voyage."
" The wind has lessened and we are going
more slowly, yet I think in five or six days
we shall be in sight of land ; unless, indeed,
the wind should become contrary."

190 THE "BRITISH QUEEN."
" I am not afraid for ourselves ; I feel as
sured that we are saved ; if only they could
know it ;" and tears flowed from his eyes.
" I think that you are too anxious. God,
who has strengthened us, will also sustain
those who are expecting us, and who are
praying to Him for us."
"I do all I can not.to think on my family ;
but sometimes, in spite of me, the image of
home rises suddenly, as if it stood before my
eyes." "Think how many causes of gratitude we
have. Since the shipwreck of the ' Ville-
du-Havre,' every one has shown us such
kindness." " We have been truly favored in falling in
with crews so devout and charitable. Did
you observe the first officer when he came
this morning to offer me some of his best
clothes?" " Yes, and he did it so simply, so much as
a matter of course. And the sailors of the
' Loch Earn,' there is not one of them that

THE "BRITISH QUEEN!' igj
would not strip himself of the best he had
for us."
" They are, besides, polite, quiet, respect
ful. Everything is done here gently, peace
ably, without disputing."
" Captain Marsters told me to-day that he
was very glad to have us, and would like
nothing better than to keep us with him till
he arrived at Antwerp."
" He told me so too ; but I made him un
derstand that there were those who were
expecting us with the utmost patience."
"And what did he reply?"
" He said, ' Oh, I have a wife in Phila
delphia, and she will be obliged to expect
me for many months, since I shall undoubt
edly go from Antwerp to Mobile, and from
Mobile to tbe Gulf of Mexico. She does
not torment herself for such trifling affairs.' "
"That is delightful ! It seems to me, if I
was a woman and saw my husband embark
on an old ship lik? this, to be gone f >r
months, 1 should not be so tranquil."

192 THE "BRITISH QUEEN!'
" We can form no idea how much confi
dence these bold, courageous sailors have in
their destiny."
" With all their boldness, they are kind,
patient, and full of feeling. Certainly pa
tience is one of the noblest virtues."
" Yes, for it is a very difficult virtue."
We approach the shore of England.
Cape Land's End is visible to the naked eye
on the 4th of December. The sight of this
land, long so vainly hoped for, renders our
impatience almost intolerable. But the
wind abates ; it changes. A gentle breeze
blows from the land, delaying the ships and
trying the calmness and resignation of those
who every day say to each other, " To-mor
row we shall land ; we shall see houses,
streets, firm, solid ground, a telegraphic
bureau, a railroad station."
The "British Queen" is forced to tack,
changing the movement of the tortoise for
that of the crab.
The captain and officers of the " Loch

THE "BRITISH QUEEN!' 193
Earn " smoke one pipe after another ;
after resting from their fatigue, they have
grown weary of inaction, and they now
walk the deck like caged animals, with a
measured, rapid, indefatigable step.
" Do you think this wind will last long ? "
asks Blanc, who has, in his turn, been seized
with the peripatetic contagion.
" We have passed three weeks on this
coast, waiting for a change in these easterly
winds." '' But that is frightful ! Is there no means
of cutting short this delay ?"
"Not unless we call a tow-boat to our
help, and that would be a foolish extrava
gance." " But what have you done when you were
so delayed?"
" We have taken patience, and supplied
ourselves with provisions, if we needed
them, from boats coming out from the
shore." The sea is like a mirror; great fish play
13

194 THR "BRITISH QUEEN!'
joyously about, for the temperature is very
mild. The sailors sit on the netting, and fish
with the line. All sorts of ships pass in the
distance. A steamer is of the number. It
moves through the water tranquilly, majesti
cally, towards the shore. It is so near that
we can distinguish the people on board.
" Oh ! " cried Blanc to Captain Marsters,
who was examining her with his glass, "if
we could only hail her ! "
"You are jesting."
" But we have been shipwrecked ! they
are expecting us ! "
" It cannot be helped. If you were ladies,
I might possibly permit myself such an in
fraction of regulations, but you are gentle
men and you are in no danger."
" But this weather will not last ; you say
yourself we may have a storm to-morrow,
and then who knows when we shall arrive ! "
" I can do nothing — rules are rules."
" Dura lex. sed lex," I exclaimed : " A
hard law, but law."

THE "BRITISH QUEEN." 195
The breeze changed into a dead calm.
The " British Queen " no longer tacked ; she
remained motionless as "a painted ship
upon a painted ocean." The evenings were
splendid ; great shadows loomed, up on the
coast, then lights twinkled and seemed to
mock us like Will-o'-the- Wisps. The sailors
reposing and free of care, met in groups
upon the forecastle and sung national
choruses, accompanying the singing with
the melancholy sound of a harmonica. It
seemed as if we were quarantined in some
enormous seaport. Ah, what a noble, what .
a sublime virtue is patience !
December 5th, in the evening, an almost
imperceptible wind — a zephyr — -arose and
suffered the " British Queen " ta pass be
tween the Land's End and the Scilly Islands,
a dangerous passage in bad weather, be
cause of a rock which is just in the middle
ofthe channel.
Cook makes his adieus to the crew of the
" British Queen," thanking them for their

196 THE "BRITISH QUEEN!'
kindness, and praying them sometimes to
remember the evenings they have passed
with the shipwrecked. He has need indeed
to feel the fn m earth under his feet, to be
once more at home, for the fever is visibly
preying on him.
In the night between the 5th and 6th of
December, a pilot-boat comes to ask if we
need a pilot. Half asleep, Captain Mar
sters answers, " No." The friends are seri
ously distressed at hearing this, and de
termine to express decidedly to the captain,
. that they do not wish to go to Antwerp. So
when they see the captain, Cook says to
him, " Why did you not tell them on that
pilot-boat, that you had thirty-four ship
wrecked men on board ? I told you that I
had friends at Falmouth, and you see I can
no longer get to them."
The captain said nothing, but from the
manner in which he shut the door of his
cabin, we knew that he was grieved, and
that he would not suffer us to lose another

TIIE "BRITISH QUEEN." ioy
opportunity. Breakfast began, and the first
officer came to announce another pilot-boat.
The captain rose and went to say to those
in command of the boat, that he was bound
for Antwerp, but that he had thirty-four
unfortunate shipwrecked people on board
whom he would be very glad to send on
shore. The captain of the boat raised both
hands in sign of assent, and added that he
vyould take no payment. And so we entered
another vessel. Captain Marsters insisted on
dividing with Cook the nine pounds sterling
which were all he had at that time; he gave
him four of them, saying : " If you have
need of them, keep them, they are yours;
if you have not, you can send them back."
I found some change in my pockets, and so
we managed.
We had to take leave of that worthy, ex
cellent Captain Marsters. Captain Robert
son left his dog Gipsey to him, as a souvenir,
and made a present to the crew of the three
cats. When the thirty-four are assembled

TIIE "BRITISH QUEEN."

on the deck of the pilot-boat, they utter
with one accord three formidable " Hur
rahs ! " in honor of the brave and generous
captain and crew of the " British Queen,"
who seem truly grieved at parting with
them. The pilot-boat bore the same number as
that which had taken the "Ville-du-Havre"
into New York in the preceding Septem
ber — number eight.
We were only forty miles from Plymouth,
but it seemed as if the elements had com
bined to stretch to the utmost limit the pa
tience of the shipwrecked, for it is still a
dead calm, and the boat, after advancing
very slowly for a little way, stops altogether.
The captain resorts to oars, but the shore,
always in sight, seems to approach no nearer.
A collation of slices of bread and butter,
with tea, is offered to the passengers and
gratefully accepted. It recalls to Cook and
Blanc, the sensation they had experienced
after the capitulation of Paris, when for the

THE "BRITISH QUEEN!' IQg
first time for two months they tasted real
bread and genuine butter. All Saturday,
the 6th day of December, was thus passed
upon the" open deck of a small boat, and
there Cook terminates his series of exhorta
tions. He knew that after their arrival at
Plymouth, he and his companion would
probably be separated from the crew of the
"Loch Earn," who had played so valiant a
part in the incidents ofthat agitating voyage.
Cook wished therefore to take leave of them
before landing, and chose as the subject of
his remarks, the last chapter of the book of
Acts, which contains the narrative of the
shipwreck of Saint Paul.
A very old and well-worn Bible was
found in this little boat. The English, trans
lation of this chapter containing the marine
terms now in use, the sailors listened to the
reading with great interest, as well as to the
exhortations of Mr. Cook, who entreated
them not to forget the religious instructions
ofthe days we had spent together. I added

200 THE "BRITISH QUEEN!'

a few words, thanking them for their fidelity
and kindness, and expressing the hope that
we should meet again in happier circum
stances — if not on earth, in heaven.
They resort to the oars again to bring the
boat near enough to the shore to catch the
breeze which is always found there. As.
evening approached the breeze reached us,
and at seven o'clock we entered the bay of
Plymouth. How strange to us — how new
seemed the quays, the lights, the houses !
The far-off whistle of a locomotive is heard,
and produces on us an emotion as agreeable
as the most delightful music could have
done. We land and make our appearance
at the Custom House.
" The ' Trimountain ' arrived nearly eight
days since," says Cook ; " we must be impa
tiently expected."
We had not a moment to lose. Clasping
for the last time the hands of the brave Cap
tain Robertson, and of his men, we ran to
the French Consulate to leave in the care of

THE "BRITISH QUEEN!' 2OI.
the consul the fireman of the "Ville-du-
Havre," then to the telegraph office to send
off our joyful despatches, then to the rail
road, u here we were just in time to take
places for London, with the hope of reach
ing Paris the next day.
We had paid only for places in a second-
class carriage, but at the recommendation
of the French consul they gave us seats in
a first-class. The door of the carriage is at
last closed, the locomotive whistles vigor
ously, and we are off. An Englishman, who
sits opposite the two travelers, and has been
made acquainted with their circumstances,
evidently believes himself in the presence of
two gentlemen who have just been drawn
from the water, and so hastens to uncork a
bottle of sherry, in order to restore their
exhausted powers.
Excited expectation forbids sleep, in spite
of the soft cushions and the easy movements.
We reach London at four o'clock in the
morning ; the streets are silent, the weather

,202 THE "BRITISH QUEEN."
is cold — all the world seems wrapped in
slumber. " I am very much fatigued, and I am shiv
ering with cold," says Cook.
" Wc could stop "here some hours," replies
his companion ; " we have many friends who
would receive us with pleasure."
" Oh, no ! let us go on. I am ill, and if I
stopped for one day, 1 should never be able
to set out again."
They arrive at Charing Cross, where their
singular costumes excite the observations
of the curious, and the inquisitive glances
of the domestics and travelers. Now they
are at the train for Dover, and receive there
the same favor which was accorded them at
Plymouth. The day advances; it is Sun
day, the 7th of December ; the sun is shin
ing brightly ; the air is delicious. We move
on among the cupolas and bell-towers of the
capital, lifting their grey forms from a sea
of dazzling mist; we traverse the ever-green
garden of England, and leave the railway-

THE "BRITISH QUEEN." 203
carriage only to enter once more into a
packet-boat at Dover.
The channel is like a lake of silver
sparkling with jewels. The friends are
surprised to find that, in spite of this bril
liancy, the passengers have not forgotten
its traditional reputation for exciting sea
sickness. The friends, in their turn, excite surprises.
Cook in an overcoat much too tight for him,
and in a broad-brimmed, grey hat, looks like
a veritable sea-wolf. Blanc wearing a cap
of Captain Robertson's, an overcoat much
the worse for wear, and a sailor's pantaloons,
with his right hand in a sling, seems as if
he has just escaped from a battle in which
h,e has been not a little ill-used. People
look at them, question them, and find in
their answers reason for yet greater aston
ishment. At Calais we are just in time for the last
train. The sun has given place to a thick
fog. Cook changes his place from the

204 THE 'BRITISH QUEEN!'

middle to the rear of the train, saying, " I
am always afraid of a collision in such a
fog." Every one wishes to hear the adventures
ofthe strange-looking passengers, and Blanc
has to repeat them an incalculable number
of times. At every station he is invited to
eat and drink. A traveler, who has listened
to him with a gaping mouth of wonder,
cries out, " Pray give me your address, and
the next time you are going on a voyage I
will go with you ; I shall be sure, at least, of
returning." Another makes a calculation
by which he shows that the two ship
wrecked voyagers, in passing from New
York to Paris, had taken twenty-three days ;
and been in two steam-packets, two sailing-
vessels, and one pilot-boat — five vessels in all,
besides three boats; so that they have made
eight embarkations, not reckoning that short
passage across the water made without
any embarkation.
At last, God be praised ! here is the Paris

;p6t of the Northern Railway, and here
e Mrs. Cook and her children. The friends
parate ; this time they believe they are
:ally saved.

VIII.

CONCLUSION.

A FEW weeks after the events narrated
in the preceding chapter Mr. S. ar
rived. He had hurried from Chicago to his
wife, immediately on receiving the despatch
which announced her safety and the loss of
his little girls. With him came his friend,
Mr. G., with the hope of receiving from the
few surviving witnesses of the shipwreck,
some details of the last moments of his wife
and children, who had all perished. The
hope was disappointed ; none had seen
them on the deck at the time of the catas
trophe. I was, one evening, in a saloon of the fau
bourg St. Honore conversing with these
gentlemen, when Mr. G., having heard all
(206)

C0NCL USI0N.

207

that could be told him, said : " I am con
vinced that my wife and children perished
in their state-room. I love to think of them
thus passing all together into eternity. They
were united in life ; death did not separate
them ; and it will not be long before I rejoin
them." Addressing myself to Mr. S., I expressed
my regret at not having at the last moment
kept one of his little girls with me and at
least tried to save her.
" Do not say that," he replied. " One
day, on our voyage here, the captain took
Mr. G. and myself apart into his private
cabin, and said, ' I believe that we are now
passing the place where the "Ville-du-
Havre" sank. The reckoning was very
carefully made, and this must be the spot or
very near it.' I was deeply agitated, it is
true, but I could not represent to myself my
four little girls as buried there at the bottom
of the ocean. Involuntarily I lifted my eyes
to Heaven. Yes, I am sure they are there

that one of my children should be given
back to me."
A few weeks later, on the 29th of Janu
ary, 1874, Pastor Emile Cook, so often
named in this narrative, died at Hyeres, of
the consequences of his double shipwreck.
Thus, the number of passengers saved was
reduced to twenty-seven.
A few days before his death Pastor Cook
wrote to his friend the following words :
" I am strongly threatened with inflamma
tion of the lungs. I have a terrible fever —
BUT ALI IS WELL."

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