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threatening wave beats in the quarter-gallery, or a rolling mountain dashes the stern windows into the cabin. The water now pouring upon you, from every opening, your fears are confirmed by the confusion of the moment, and you feel that the vessel is positively sinking. It has been my lot to experience precisely these sensations. At one time I have hurried upon the deck, in the intention of throwing myself into the sea, there to cling to a part of the wreck, in the hope of outliving the storm: at another I have sat in silence, upon my birth, with the water creeping up to my knees, and, hopeless of being saved, have resolved to submit to my fate, and seek the deep without useless bewailings. Quickly the accident has been repaired, and in the moment of despair, I have been greeted with tidings of safety.

'Often, in the midst of threatening appearances, and manifold disquietudes, you are visited by the carpenter, with the "dead-lights," who, fixing them in the stern windows, nails you up in darkness, as in a coffin, and with as much sang froid as men of his calling screw up the bodies of those who are actually dead at the same time replying, with unfeeling indifference, to your anxious and fearful inquiries regarding the necessity of that step being taken, that it is "only to keep the spray from breaking the windows!" But I am fatiguing you with a detail of what every one knows; what all have read; and most who have been at sea have felt let me therefore revert from storms in general to our present voyage, in which you will find perhaps more of novelty.

'After the violence of the first gale, most of our scattered fleet, owing to the great attention and exertions of admiral Christian and his officers, were again assembled, and we felicitated ourselves in the hope of proceeding to our place of destination without further interruption: but the turbulent mountains of a disordered sea were scarcely reduced to a more tranquil surface, before the storm was renewed with additional violence. Quickly we were more scattered than before. Many of the ships, unable to resist this second shock, were now much injured, and obliged to put back into port. Some, we suppose, again joined the admiral, and others wholly lost the con

voy. We were among the latter, but when the weather cleared we fell in with a small division of the fleet, with which we sailed in company for several days. Further repetitions of the storm again separated us, and we were tossed about, seeing no more than three, sometimes but two, and often only a single ship, until, at length, we found ourselves quite alone upon the broad and merciless ocean.

Previous to our final separation we witnessed a scene of a most melancholy and distressing nature. Knowing the exquisite sensibility of your feelings, on such occasions, I ought to spare them the sad relation, but that it may exhibit to you one of the dangers of the sea, in a point of view under which you may not, perhaps, have contemplated it. At the most furious and terrific part of the storm, we suffered the cruel affliction of seeing a neighbouring ship in the utmost danger of being lost, without having the power of affording her relief. She hoisted a flag, and fired guns of distress; but the gale was so dreadful, and the sea running so frightfully high, that it was totally impossible to give her assistance. We stood towards her, and kept her anxiously in view, in the hope of administering aid, should she be supported upon the surface until the weather became moderate. Unhappily the storm continued increasing rather than diminishing in violence. We looked fearfully on the ship, expecting every instant to see her go to the bottom. She repeated signals of distress. We heard them, and saw them, but were unable to obey them. It was a most melancholy and awful crisis. We regarded her in anxious forebodings, examined her, both with the eye and with the telescope, again and again. Her masts were standing; her sails entire; and the rigging apparently perfect; but this, which to landsmen would have seemed favourable, we discovered to be the very reverse; for, hence it was that our best sailors formed the fatal conclusion that her situation was hopeless, and that she must have sprung a leak!

We watched the heavens and the waters in painful solicitude, but saw no relaxation of the storm. Tremendous mountains at one moment concealed the wretched ship from our view: at another we appeared to be enveloped, together, in

the same dark and dismal gulf. You will conceive our sensations upon feeling, that, in one instant more, this deep pit of the ocean might be the grave of every soul on board. Signals, denoting the extreme of danger, were repeated: the sea rolled in terrific disorder: we bent our eyes in vain towards the vessel, deploring her threatened fate, and our own inability to prevent it! Night came on. We lost her in darkness, and -beheld her no more!

"At the period of separating from the fleet we knew not our place of destination, and hence it became necessary to open the sealed instructions: from which we discovered that Carlisle bay, in Barbadoes, was fixed as the general rendezvous of the fleet. Here, therefore, all our attractions lie, and to this port we are endeavouring to steer; but adverse winds, and unprosperous gales perpetually opposed our progress. It is now more than three weeks from the date of our departure, and we are yet beating about much nearer to you than you imagine, having hitherto advanced on our passage only twelve degrees of longitude, and three of latitude. But in whatever latitude or longitude-amidst whatever storms or dangers, I am always yours.

'At sea, January 24, 1796.

ON concluding my former letter, I had pleased myself with the expectation of not communicating another sentence of woe; but seven long weeks now have passed, and with difficulty can it be said that we have had an interval of one diurnal round, free from the perils of raging winds, or of the huge and shattered mountains thereby engendered!

You, who know me, are well aware that my mind delights not to dwell on the dark surface of events. The severity of the trial is perhaps at an end. Undaunted, I yet look forward to the happy termination of our passage; and even in our present suffering, see much of eventual good, for it will arm me against a multitude of future alarms; already, indeed, am I become so courageous a sailor as to regard the recurring gales with patient firmness; and to look with tranquil eye at the immense mountains which strike the ship, or the dashing

waves which out-top her masts: indeed I can almost fancy that a good ship is imperishable at open sea; and could you know what hours has borne, you would be inclined to embrace the opinion. She has amply proved herself to be what the sailors term a good sea boat; and, from what I have said of our passage, you will feel the force of the technical expression that she can live in all weathers. The shocks and beatings she has withstood, are almost incredible. Often have I felt astonished that the huge seas and raking winds have not torn every plank asunder, and shivered her to atoms. Her topmasts, yards, and different parts of the rigging have been carried away--her sails spilt-the quarter boards stove in: things have been washed overboard from the deck-seas have broken over her--sprays dashed in the cabin windows-and various other accidents and disasters have befallen her: yet all have been repaired, and she still rides triumphant !

Often our party meet with drooping countenances, and sit down in gloomy silence, not recovering their spirits throughout the day! At other times they grow restless and irritable, and cannot remain a quarter of an hour in the same place.---During the severity of the storm I have often remarked how differently the scene has affected the minds of those accustomed, and those who are unaccustomed to the sea. The sailor patiently observes the gale, lowers the yards and topmasts, furls or reefs his sails, makes all snug, and thanks the tempest for a holiday :---heedless of the perils which surround him, he extends himself in his hammock, or reclines his head on a plank or a locker, and, courting the tranquil embraces of Morpheus, regards the howlings of the storm as his peaceful lullaby. The landsman, on the contrary, is restless and impatient---listens in terror to the wind-and shrinks in agitation at every sound: the dangers that are, he magnifies, and his mind is tortured in the creation of others, which do not exist. Each moment to him breeds new alarms. He goes upon deck looks round with affrighted eyes--his feet are unable to support his trembling body-he clings to the companion doorway, and thence ventures to steal a look at the ocean and its waves. His head grows dizzy-nausea seizes him, and he

again descends to the cabin in extreme anxiety. He fixes himself in the leeward corner--places his elbows on his knees ---his head on his hands, and, concealing his eyes, bewails his wretched fate! Suddenly he again seeks the deck--multiplies all the perils of the moment--storms the captain and sailors with new questions, all expressive of his terror-fastens again to the companion door-way-gazes at the masts and sails--observes the yards dip into the ocean-feels the yieldings of the ship---imagines she is upset---fancies the masts are falling overboard, and in each rolling wave beholds a devouring sea. Destruction occupies his mind! He returns below----impatiently seats himself-seeks relief in a book--is unable to read--throws away the volume---again takes it up, and again throws it down: nausea returns, and he is seized with dizziness and reaching. His bodily feelings now augment the anguish and disquietude of his mind, and at length as a remedy for both, he prostrates himself in his birth; but is still wretched and comfortless---all rest is denied him--sickness and anxiety remain--and he lies rolling, in fear and anguish, to wear out the fury of the storm!

When from the tossing of the ship we are unable to walk, or even to remain upon our legs, we seek a quiet corner of the cabin---seat ourselves----take up a book--and in patient reading hope for better weather. Occasionally we venture, in giddy and stumbling steps, as high as the companion door-way, and looking round prophesy gentle breezes and smooth seas. In these visits we often feel wonder and amazement at observing the carpenter and his mates working, quietly, in the tops: and the sailors hanging about the yards and rigging, in seeming unconcern--tossed by each rolling sea from side to side, far beyond the limits of the ship, and, not unfrequently, while seated at the end of the yard dipped and drenched in the foaming billows of the ocean! The indifference of sea-faring men to the dangers around them is exemplified in every part of their conduct, and even in their common expressions. Often when we have felt the most vivid apprehensions from the fierceness of the ocean, and have tremblingly sought relief, by an appeal to the captain or the mate, we have met only a look

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