ing poised himself carefully, read a discourse, sulphurous but
sincere; the Mowing Machine Man thrusting his elbow into my side in a
most startling manner at every particularly blue point. We were
evidently in sympathy; but I could have dispensed with the expression of
it. We closed with the doxology, standing upon our feet and swaying back
and forth as though it had been a Shaker chant, led by an improvised
choir and the Jersey Man.

At night we descended into the depths of the steamer to worship with the
steerage passengers. It was like one of Rembrandt's pictures--the
darkness, the wild, strangely-attired people, the weird light from the
lanterns piercing the gloom, and bringing out group after group with
fearful distinctness; the pale, earnest face of the preacher, made
almost unearthly by the glare of the yellow light--a face with its
thin-drawn lips, its eyes like coals of fire such as the flames of
martyrdom lit once, I imagine. Close beside him stood the Cattle Man,
towering like Saul above the people, and with an air that plainly said,
"Beware--I stand by the parson."

"There is a land of pure delight,"

repeated the minister; and in a moment the words rolled out of the
Cattle Man's mouth while he beckoned with his long arm for the people to
rise. Throwing back his head, he sang with an unction indescribable,
verse after verse, caught doubtless at some western camp-meeting, where
he had tormented the saints. One after another took up the strain. Clear
and strong came the tones from every dark corner, until, like one mighty
voice, while the steamer rolled and the waves dashed against its sides,
rose the words

"Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood,
Shall fright us from that shore."

A great stillness fell upon the people as the minister gave out his
text, and began his discourse. He had lacked freedom in the saloon, but
here he forgot everything save the words given him; hard words they
seemed to me, containing little of the love of God. I glanced at the
Mowing Machine Man, who had made a seat of half a barrel under the
stairs. He winked in a fearful manner, as though he would say, "Just see
how he's a goin' on!" But the people received it gladly. One after
another of the sailors crept down the stairs and stood in the shadow. I
watched them curiously. It may be that this stern, hard doctrine suited
these stern, hard men. It made me shudder.

But the record of all the