1828.] True Story of a Storm at Sea. 139 
danger (for such I considered it), so far from increasing the uneasiness 
that I had felt for the last two or three hours, completely set it at rest. 
Until now, I had been hampered between an indistinct and phantom- 
like apparition of danger, and a feeling that nothing of the kind 
existed ; and my mind was kept floating about, backwards and forwards, 
between the two, without being able to dwell with either. But now, I 
knew what I had to expect, and felt that the best thing I could do was to 
prepare for the worst ; and, accordingly, I did so, as coolly as ever I did 
any thing in my life. Whether there actually was imminent danger, or 
not, is not the question ; I felt sure that there was, and was prepared to 
meet the consequences of it as collectedly as if there had been nothing 
terrible in them. That death was at hand, I believed as firmly as any 
one can believe it who is in good health, and does not see the blow of the 
executioner actually impending over him; but, instead of being stirred 
and agitated by this belief, I was entirely calmed by it, and will confi- 
dently say that I never felt, much less uttered, a single impatient mur- 
mur. I was prepared (much more fully than I had been before) to watch 
for, and make use of, any means of safety that might offer themselves 
when it came to the worst ; and, in default of these, I was prepared to 
bear that worst as I might. I was prepared, also, in the mean time, to 
watch all that was taking place before me, with the eye cf a mere spec- 
tator ; and I did this, nearly in the same manner that I should if I had 
not been involved in the consequences. I noted the words and counte- 
nances of all present, and endeavoured to trace there what was passing in 
their minds, as if I had been looking at a picture ; and I more than once 
remember to have congratulated myself on having been thrown into such 
remarkable circumstances—partly as a matter of experience and curio- 
sity—but chiefly from a feeling of self-respect at the manner in which I 
found that I was capable of conducting myself under them. I had often 
thought—* What would I give to be in a storm at sea, but without the 
danger attending it ’’—And here I was, in one at last—not without the 
danger, it is true—but I did not choose to think of that at the moment ; 
and besides, it might pass away. But the fact of my being actually in a 
storm was, at all events, certain; and I remember sophisticating with 
myself in this way, till I was more than half pleased at what had hap- 
pened. Let me not forget to state, however, that for one moment, when 
i thought death was really at hand, I did feel a pang not to be forgotten, 
but not to be described. The storm was at its height, when, at a momen- 
tary interval of silence in the great cabin, and just as I was looking 
towards the folding-doors of a smaller inner cabin, where a few beds 
were placed, and which was entirely occupied by female passengers, a 
sudden shout and scream was heard in that part of the vessel; and, one 
of the folding-doors bursting open, the female attendant of the vessel 
rushed out in apparent terror, and exclaimed—“ The dead lights! the 
dead lights !” 
I shall never forget the effect of these portentous sounds (for they 
were, indeed, under the circumstances, nothing less,) on all who heard 
them without knowing their import, and even on some who did know 
it. I, for one, if I had given myself a moment to think, should have 
that the “ dead lights” meant nothing more than those wooden 
lutters which they place outside the cabin-windows, to preserve them 
hen a rough sea is likely to beat against them. But I recollected 
nothing but the sounds themselves—not their import ; and, preceded as 
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