Some moments later I met Captain Corsican, and told him of the scene I had just witnessed. He understood, as well as I did, that the situation of affairs was growing more and more serious. Ah! could I have foreseen all that would happen, how I should have longed to hasten the speed of the “Great Eastern,” and put the broad ocean between Fabian and Harry Drake! On leaving each other, Captain Corsican and I agreed to watch the actors in this drama more narrowly than ever. The “Australasian,” a Cunard steamer, running between Liverpool and New York, was expected this day. She was to leave America on Wednesday morning, and therefore would not be long before passing us. A watch was kept; however, she did not come in sight. About eleven o’clock the English passengers organized a subscription on behalf of the wounded on board, some of whom had not been able to leave the hospital; among them was the boatswain, threatened with an incurable lameness. There was soon a long list of signatures, not however, without some objections having been raised. At noon a very exact observation was able to be made— Long. 58°, 37´ W. Lat. 41° 41´ 11´ N. Course, 257 miles. We had the latitude to a second. When the young engaged couple read the notice they did not look remarkably pleased, and they had good reason to be discontented with the steam. Before lunch, Captain Anderson wishing to divert the passengers from the tedium of their long voyage, arranged some gymnastic exercises, which he directed in person. About fifty unemployed men, each armed, like himself, with a stick, imitated all his movements with a strict exactitude. These improvised gymnasts, with their firm set mouths, worked as methodically as a band of riflemen on parade. Another entertainment was announced for this evening. I was not present, for the same amusement, night after night, only wearied me. A new paper, a rival of the “Ocean Times,” was to be the great attraction.