GLOOM, HORROR, AND DESPAIR. 383 
the commencement of the shadow of the valley of 
death. 
‘‘ Starboard !” 
Ecader, do you know what that single word meant? 
Would you see it drawn out into good old En^dish? 
It meant that there no longer existed a hope of being 
able to steam against the rushing tide with our powerless 
propeller and leaking boilers. It meant that we were to 
go to death upon the foaming reef in preference to being 
swept into his embrace in those gloomy depths. It meant 
that the throbbing brain of him whose slightest word was 
law even in that moment of awful suspense had decided 
to give up the unequal struggle and accept the hopeless 
alternative. It meant that by our own act we were re- 
signing the few minutes during which the struggle might 
be protracted, to rush headlong upon the less revolting 
death. It meant that at the end of those “few minutes” 
certain and instantaneous death awaited us, and that at 
the end of those few seconds possible salvation for a few 
hours was in store for him who should grasp a broken spar 
or buoyant cask when the vessel’s hull should be ground 
from under us, and the confused mass of shattered tim- 
bers, tangled gear, and mangled forms be swept over the 
boiling line into the fathomless W'ater beyond. It meant 
that the moment was at hand when the weak man was to 
find a speedy end, and ^vhen the strong man was to feel his 
sinewy arm slowly deaden from the protracted labour of 
self-preservation; slowly, but surely, all flesh must sink. 
And it meant that brave hearts were now to die, and 
that fond hearts in another hemisphere were to weep 
their unknown fate and languish in lonely sorrow until 
