8 THE LIFE OF E. J. PECK 



from the earthquake or the thunder as on Sinai. 

 There is a certain agreement and harmony between 

 them. 



But we should be inclined to say that the confused 

 discords of Babel were no surroundings for the 

 Spirit of Pentecost. And yet it was a veritable 

 Babel on board ship between thirty and forty years 

 ago, in which the Holy Breath came into the life of 

 young Peck and took possession of him. 



There was no nook for quiet meditation where a 

 seaman could be alone. Every place was public, 

 every place was noisy. Here is a group playing a 

 forbidden game of cards under cover of a barrier 

 formed of piled-up " ditty boxes," a mess kettle, and 

 other unshorelike obstacles. There is a man play- 

 ing his banjo with his eternal tumma-tumma-tum- 

 tum. In another part is a concertina in full swing 

 playing " Jack's the Lad," while a score or more of 

 step-dancers execute wonderful performances with 

 their bare feet on the deck, their rough : soles sound- 

 ing like the rasp of a knife being cleaned on a brick- 

 dust board. In another part are seen two young 

 fellows, locked in each other's arms in orthodox 

 ballroom fashion, whirling gracefully round in the 

 dreamy mazes of a valse, the music being hummed 

 by the pair in turn. 



Yet again a sombre-minded sailor chants dole- 

 fully that dreariest of all ditties, " Babara Allan," 

 beloved of Jack years ago. Close by him, another 



