272 FRESH FIELDS 



if the great steamer must carry her head above 

 them. But she does not quite do it. When she 

 enters this obscurity, there begins the hoarse bellow- 

 ing of her great whistle. As one dozes in his berth 

 or sits in the cabin reading, there comes a vague 

 impression that we are entering some port or har- 

 bor, the sound is so welcome, and is so suggestive 

 of the proximity of other vessels. But only once 

 did our loud and repeated hallooing awaken any 

 response. Everybody heard the answering whistle 

 out of the thick obscurity ahead, and was on the 

 alert. Our steamer instantly slowed her engines 

 and redoubled her tootings. The two vessels soon 

 got the bearing of each other, and the stranger 

 passed us on the starboard side, the hoarse voice of 

 her whistle alone revealing her course to us. 



Late one afternoon, as we neared the Banks, the 

 word spread on deck that the knobs and pinnacles 

 of a thunder-cloud sunk below the horizon, and 

 that deeply and sharply notched the western rim of 

 the sea, were icebergs. The captain was quoted as 

 authority. He probably encouraged the delusion. 

 The jaded passengers wanted a new sensation. 

 Everybody was willing, even anxious, to believe 

 them icebergs, and some persons would have them 

 so, and listened coldly and reluctantly to any proof 

 to the contrary. What we want to believe, what 

 it suits our convenience, or pleasure, or prejudice, 

 to believe, one need not go to sea to learn what 

 slender logic will incline us to believe. To a firm, 

 steady gaze, these icebergs were seen to be momently 



