Morning service was
very fully attended, and it was interesting to hear the voices of people
of so many different creeds and countries joining in that divinely-taught
prayer which proclaims the universal brotherhood of the human race,
knowing that in a few hours those who then met in adoration would be
separated, to meet no more till summoned by the sound of the last trumpet.
Those who expected to spend Sunday night on shore were disappointed. A
gale came suddenly on us about four o'clock, sails were hastily taken in,
orders were hurriedly given and executed, and the stewards were in
despair, when a heavy lurch of the ship threw most of the things off the
table before dinner, mingling cutlery, pickles, and broken glass and
china, in one chaotic heap on the floor. As darkness came on, the gale
rose higher, the moon was obscured, the rack in heavy masses was driving
across the stormy sky, and scuds of sleet and spray made the few venturous
persons on deck cower under the nearest shelter to cogitate the lines -
"Nights like these,
When the rough winds wake western seas,
Brook not of glee."
I might dwell upon the fury of that night - upon the awful blasts which
seemed about to sweep the seas of every human work - upon our unanswered
signals - upon the length of time while we were
"Drifting, drifting, drifting,
On the shifting
Currents of the restless main" -
upon the difficulty of getting the pilot on board - and the heavy seas
through which our storm-tossed bark entered the calmer waters of the
Mersey:
