tain
destruction into the yawning gulf which opened below.

All this is, however, now changed. The mighty steamer, twice as long,
and nearly four times as massive as the ship, surpasses the seas now, as
it were, in magnitude and momentum, as well as in power. She not only
triumphs over them in the contest of strength, but she towers above and
overtops them in position. The billow can now no longer toss her up so
lightly to the summit of its crest; nor, when the crest of it is passed,
will she sink her so fearfully into the hollow of the sea. The
spectator, raised above all apparent danger, and moving forward through
the scene of wild commotion with a power greater far than that which the
foaming surges can exert, surveys the scene around him with wonder and
admiration, it is true, but without that overpowering sensation of awe
which it could once inspire.

Then there is another thing. A sailing vessel, which is always in a
great measure dependent upon the wind, is absolutely at its mercy in a
storm. When the gale increases beyond a certain limit, she can no longer
make head at all against its fury, but must turn and fly--or be
driven--wherever the fury of the tempest may impel her. In such cases,
she goes bounding over the seas, away from her course, toward rocks,
shoals, breakers, or any other dangers whatever which may lie in the
way, without the least power or possibility of resistance. She goes
howling on, in such a case, over the wide waste of waters before her,
wholly unable to escape from the dreadful fury of the master who is
driving her, and with no hope of being released from his hand, until he
chooses, of his own accord, to abate his rage.

All this, too, is now changed. This terrible master has now found _his_
master in the sea-going steamer. She turns not aside to the right hand
or to the left, for all his power. Boreas may send his gales from what
quarter he pleases, and urge them with whatever violence he likes to
display. The steamer goes steadily on, pointing her unswerving prow
directly toward her port of destination, and triumphing easily, and
apparently without effort, over all the fury of the wind and the shocks
and concussions of the waves. The worst that the storm can do is to
retard, in some degree, the swiftness of her motion. Instead of driving
her, as it would have done a sailing vessel, two or three hundred miles
out of her course, away over the sea, it can only reduce her speed in
her own