I watched the movements of the boat as much as I could. It seemed as if
the steamer could not withstand the furious powers that were upon her.
The front part of the boat would seem to settle down--down--lower and
lower if possible than it had been before. It looked to me, often, as
though we were going to plunge headforemost--alive, boat and all into the
deep. After a while the boat would straighten herself again and hope
revive for a moment; then I thought that our staunch boat was nobly
contending with the adverse winds and waves, for the lives of her
numerous passengers. The hope of her being able to outride the storm was
all the hope I had of ever reaching shore.
I saw the Captain on deck looking wishfully toward the land, while the
white-caps broke fearfully on our deck. The passengers were in a terrible
state of consternation. Some said we gained a little headway; others said
we did not. The most awful terror marked nearly every face. Some wept,
some prayed, some swore and a few looked calm and resigned. I was trying
to read my fate in other faces when an English lady, who came on the
canal boat with us, and who had remained in the cabin up to this, time,
rushed on deck, wringing her hands and crying at the top of her voice,
"We shall be lost! we shall be lost! oh! oh! oh! I have crossed the
Atlantic Ocean three times, and it never commenced with this! We shall be
lost! oh! oh! oh!"
One horse that stood on the bow of the boat died from the effects of the
storm.
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