Dickens, Charles – The Uncommercial Traveller

time. Heavens, what a scoop! What a deep scoop, what a hollow

scoop, what a long scoop! Will it ever end, and can we bear the

heavy mass of water we have taken on board, and which has let loose

all the table furniture in the officers’ mess, and has beaten open

the door of the little passage between the purser and me, and is

swashing about, even there and even here? The purser snores

reassuringly, and the ship’s bells striking, I hear the cheerful

‘All’s well!’ of the watch musically given back the length of the

deck, as the lately diving partition, now high in air, tries

(unsoftened by what we have gone through together) to force me out

of bed and berth.

‘All’s well!’ Comforting to know, though surely all might be

better. Put aside the rolling and the rush of water, and think of

darting through such darkness with such velocity. Think of any

other similar object coming in the opposite direction!

Whether there may be an attraction in two such moving bodies out at

sea, which may help accident to bring them into collision?

Thoughts, too, arise (the voice never silent all the while, but

marvellously suggestive) of the gulf below; of the strange,

unfruitful mountain ranges and deep valleys over which we are

passing; of monstrous fish midway; of the ship’s suddenly altering

her course on her own account, and with a wild plunge settling

down, and making THAT voyage with a crew of dead discoverers. Now,

too, one recalls an almost universal tendency on the part of

passengers to stumble, at some time or other in the day, on the

topic of a certain large steamer making this same run, which was

lost at sea, and never heard of more. Everybody has seemed under a

spell, compelling approach to the threshold of the grim subject,

stoppage, discomfiture, and pretence of never having been near it.

The boatswain’s whistle sounds! A change in the wind, hoarse

orders issuing, and the watch very busy. Sails come crashing home

overhead, ropes (that seem all knot) ditto; every man engaged

appears to have twenty feet, with twenty times the average amount

of stamping power in each. Gradually the noise slackens, the

hoarse cries die away, the boatswain’s whistle softens into the

soothing and contented notes, which rather reluctantly admit that

the job is done for the time, and the voice sets in again.

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Dickens, Charles – The Uncommercial Traveller

Thus come unintelligible dreams of up hill and down, and swinging

and swaying, until consciousness revives of atmospherical Windsor

soap and bilge-water, and the voice announces that the giant has

come for the water-cure again.

Such were my fanciful reminiscences as I lay, part of that day, in

the Bay of New York, O! Also as we passed clear of the Narrows,

and got out to sea; also in many an idle hour at sea in sunny

weather! At length the observations and computations showed that

we should make the coast of Ireland to-night. So I stood watch on

deck all night to-night, to see how we made the coast of Ireland.

Very dark, and the sea most brilliantly phosphorescent. Great way

on the ship, and double look-out kept. Vigilant captain on the

bridge, vigilant first officer looking over the port side, vigilant

second officer standing by the quarter-master at the compass,

vigilant third officer posted at the stern rail with a lantern. No

passengers on the quiet decks, but expectation everywhere

nevertheless. The two men at the wheel very steady, very serious,

and very prompt to answer orders. An order issued sharply now and

then, and echoed back; otherwise the night drags slowly, silently,

with no change.

All of a sudden, at the blank hour of two in the morning, a vague

movement of relief from a long strain expresses itself in all

hands; the third officer’s lantern tinkles, and he fires a rocket,

and another rocket. A sullen solitary light is pointed out to me

in the black sky yonder. A change is expected in the light, but

none takes place. ‘Give them two more rockets, Mr. Vigilant.’ Two

more, and a blue-light burnt. All eyes watch the light again. At

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