138 True Story of a Storm at Sea. [Aveust, 
great to come near, or be comprehended by us. They had heard, for an 
hour past, the winds roar, with a sound, or convocation of sounds, that they 
could none of them before have formed a conception of. They had felt 
the vessel pitch about upon the water like a shell, and_ the water knock 
against her sides as if it would beat them together. But these kind of 
effects they had been prepared for, from seeing, when they came on 
board, that it was “a rough night.” They saw nothing to frighten them in 
all this. But when, by a sudden blow of a wave on a particular part of 
the vessel, they heard and saw the crockery-ware, from the steward’s 
room, come rattling about their ears, I shall never forget the effect that 
took place. There was not one—man, woman, or child—that did not 
start from their places, and utter some exclamation ; some of pure fright 
and horror—some of anxious and eager inquiry—and some of indistinct 
fear, disguised under the form of an attempt at joke. From this moment 
the whole scene was totally changed, and all saw, or fancied they saw, 
the danger that awaited them. There was no more silence ; for the 
feeling of imminent danger destroys or counteracts all the impressiveness 
of the sounds or sights that may be connected with it. Before, they had . 
listened with a silent, though unconscious homage, to the voice of nature, 
shouting in the winds, and thundering in the waves ; because they did 
not feel that those sounds were fraught with peril. But now, their own 
personal safety was at stake ; and all other feelings, conscious or uncon- 
scious, were in a moment merged in that. If a water-spout had been 
passing, or an eruption of Mount Etna had been in sight, they would not 
have moved from their places to witness it. It was two hours after this 
before I was at all satisfied of the danger we were in; for, though I 
knew that the passage from Calais to the mouth of the river was an 
extremely dangerous one in bad weather, yet I could not discover any 
thing particularly suspicious in the looks of the captain and sailors— | 
though I could observe a good deal of whispering between them, and a 7 
restless and anxious air about the former, that was not exactly calculated 
to put one’s fears at rest. Meanwhile, the wind and rain seemed to 
increase, if possible ; and I had retired to my place in the cabin, close to 
the bottom of the steps, that I might occasionally go on deck,—when the 
captain came down, in rather a hurried manner, with the binnacle-lamp 
in his hand—which had been extinguished ;—and, while he was lighting 
it in the steward’s room, I had an opportunity of hearing part of what 
passed between them; which had the effect of completely setting my fears 
at rest ; that is to say, satisfying them that they were not without good 
reason on their side—which before I had very much doubted, and, con- 
sequently, had not permitted them to take any hold of me at all, but 
merely to flutter restlessly about me. What I learned from the talk 
between the steward and the captain was this :—that we were not far 
from the Goodwin Sands—that the wind was right in our teeth, and 
prevented the engine from making a yard of way against it—and that it 
would not do to go on ;—that, accordingly, the captain had determined 
to abandon his course to London—turn the vessel’s head—and make for 
Dover instead. For the captain of a packet (and he a Scotchman) t 
determine on giving up the profits of seventy or eighty passengers, 
two-and-thirty shillings each, and try to land them at Dover inste, 
London, where he could only demand half-a-guinea, was a very. 
ing. proof of the state of things! 
It is perhaps worth remarking, that this certain information as to 0 
er te. eee 
