while we still
felt the fury of the contrary sea, it was hard to recognize that we had
much to be grateful for. We saw one beautiful sight, though,--a vessel
going home, helped by the wind that hindered us. It was at night; and
the light struck up on her dark sails, and made them look like wings, as
she flew over the water. What bliss it seemed, to be nearing home, and
all things in her favor!

I could hear all about us a heavy sound like surf on the shore, which
was quite incomprehensible, as we were so far from land. But the water
drove us from the deck. The vessel plunged head foremost, and reeled
from side to side, with terrible groaning and straining. If we attempted
to move, we were violently thrown in one direction or another; and
finally found that all we could do was to lie still on the cabin-floor,
holding fast to any thing stationary that we could reach. We could hear
the water sweeping over the deck above us, and several times it poured
down in great sheets upon us. We ventured to ask the captain what he was
attempting to do. "Get out to sea," he said, "out of the reach of
storms." That is brave sailing, I thought, though I would not have gone
if I could have helped it. We struggled on in this way for a day and a
night, and then he said we were beyond the region of storms from land. I
am afraid I should, if left to myself, linger always with the
faint-hearted mariners who hug the shore, notwithstanding this great
experience of finding our safety by steering boldly off from every thing
wherein we had before considered our only security lay. After this, I
performed every day the great exploit of climbing to the deck, and
looking out at the waste of water. I saw only one poor old vessel,
pitching and reeling like a drunken man. I wondered if we could look so
to her. She was always half-seas-over. I came to the conclusion it was
best not to watch her, but it was hard to keep my eyes off of her. She
was our companion all the way down, always re-appearing after every gale
we weathered, though often far behind. I remember, just as we were
fairly under way, hearing a man sing out, "There's the old 'Brontes'
coming out of the straits." My associations with the name were gloomy in
the extreme.

When the wind and sea were at their worst, considering the extremity, we
felt called upon to offer some advice to the captain, and suggested
that, under such circumstances, it might be advisable to travel under
bare poles; bu