e
night of the steerage had filled them with horror. I had myself
suffered, even in my decent second-cabin berth, from the lack of air;
and as the night promised to be fine and quiet, I determined to sleep on
deck, and advised all who complained of their quarters to follow my
example. I dare say a dozen of others agreed to do so, and I thought we
should have been quite a party. Yet, when I brought up my rug about
seven bells, there was no one to be seen but the watch. That chimerical
terror of good night-air, which makes men close their windows, list
their doors, and seal themselves up with their own poisonous
exhalations, had sent all these healthy workmen down below. One would
think we had been brought up in a fever country; yet in England the
most malarious districts are in the bed-chambers.

I felt saddened at this defection, and yet half-pleased to have the
night so quietly to myself. The wind had hauled a little ahead on the
starboard bow, and was dry but chilly. I found a shelter near the
fire-hole, and made myself snug for the night. The ship moved over the
uneven sea with a gentle and cradling movement. The ponderous, organic
labours of the engine in her bowels occupied the mind, and prepared it
for slumber. From time to time a heavier lurch would disturb me as I
lay, and recall me to the obscure borders of consciousness; or I heard,
as it were through a veil, the clear note of the clapper on the brass
and the beautiful sea-cry, "All's well!" I know nothing, whether for
poetry or music, that can surpass the effect of these two syllables in
the darkness of a night at sea.

The day dawned fairly enough, and during the early part we had some
pleasant hours to improve acquaintance in the open air; but towards
nightfall the wind freshened, the rain began to fall, and the sea rose
so high that it was difficult to keep one's footing on the deck. I have
spoken of our concerts. We were indeed a musical ship's company, and
cheered our way into exile with the fiddle, the accordion, and the songs
of all nations. Good, bad, or indifferent--Scottish, English, Irish,
Russian, German or Norse,--the songs were received with generous
applause. Once or twice, a recitation, very spiritedly rendered in a
powerful Scottish accent, varied the proceedings; and once we sought in
vain to dance a quadrille, eight men of us together, to the music of the
violin. The performers were all humorous, frisky fellows, who loved to
cut capers in