From kevel to kevel, I managed to reach the paddles on the starboard side, the deck was damp and slippery from the spray and mist: I was just going to fasten myself to a stanchion of the bridge when a body rolled at my feet. [Illustration: WHEN A BODY ROLLED AT MY FEET.] It was Dr. Pitferge, my quaint friend: he scrambled on to his knees, and looking at me, said,— “That’s all right, the amplitude of the arc, described by the sides of the ‘Great Eastern,’ is forty degrees; that is, twenty degrees below the horizontal, and twenty above it.” “Indeed!” cried I, laughing, not at the observation, but at the circumstances under which it was made. “Yes!” replied the Doctor. “During the oscillation the speed of the sides is fifty-nine inches per second, a transatlantic boat half the size takes but the same time to recover her equilibrium.” “Then,” replied I, “since that is the case, there is an excess of stability in the ‘Great Eastern.’” “For her, yes, but not for her passengers,” answered Dean Pitferge gaily, “for you see they come back to the horizontal quicker than they care for.” The Doctor, delighted with his repartee, raised himself, and holding each other up, we managed to reach a seat on the poop. Dean Pitferge had come off very well, with only a few bruises, and I congratulated him on his lucky escape, as he might have broken his neck. “Oh, it is not over yet,” said he; “there is more trouble coming.” “To us?” “To the steamer, and consequently to me, to us, and to all the passengers.” “If you are speaking seriously, why did you come on board?” “To see what is going to happen, for I should not be at all ill-pleased to witness a shipwreck!” replied the Doctor, looking at me knowingly. “Is this the first time you have been on board the ‘Great Eastern’?” “No, I have already made several voyages in her, to satisfy my curiosity.” “You must not complain, then.” “I do not complain; I merely state facts, and patiently await the hour of the catastrophe.” Was the Doctor making fun of me? I did not know what to think, his small twinkling eyes looked very roguish; but I thought I would try him further. “Doctor,” I said, “I do not know on what facts your painful prognostics are founded, but allow me to remind you that the ‘Great Eastern’ has crossed the Atlantic twenty times, and most of her passages have been satisfactory.” “That’s of no consequence; this ship is bewitched, to use a common expression, she cannot escape her fate; I know it, and therefore have no confidence in her. Remember what difficulties the engineers had to launch her; I believe even that Brunel, who built her, died from the ‘effects of the operation,’ as we doctors say.” “Ah, Doctor,” said I, “are you inclined to be a materialist?” “Why ask me that question?” “Because I have noticed that many who do not believe in God believe in everything else, even in the evil eye.”