hurling them with intense malignity at us, drove us from the deck to the cabin. Here the only practicable employment was holding on to some fixed object.
At night it seemed still worse, for the violent rolling of the ship loosened all things moveable, sending them rushing across the cabins. The noise beggared description. You might have imagined that all things had long since gone to destruction; but still the crash and clatter went on. At one time the steward's pantry-door was jerked open, and out flew a cheese, a keg of pickles, and other articles; with the next roll of the ship, back they went, entering our room, and tearing down our curtain; another roll, and they are off again, and so on, till captured and secured by the poor distracted steward. Our captain felt this weather sorely; angry with the winds, the waves, and all about him, he chafed, and fretted, and scolded, and swore. A stranger to the wellspring of peace, he attributed his unhappiness to his situation, rather than to its proper source—his want of trust in God. Discontented and grumbling, he declared that he would “buy a monkey, and turn music-grinder," if ever he got to America again, rather than go to sea.
