21.--The first death took place last night, when a boy of five years succumbed to dysentery. In the afternoon a wail suddenly arose from the hold--a fine young woman had died from the same cause. Both were dropped into the sea at sunset. There are fewer seasick today, but the number ill from dysentery grows. Cornmeal was served out today instead of biscuit. It was an injury instead of a sustenance, for it being impossible to make stirabout of it owing to no provision having been made for a galley for the passengers, it had to be mixed with water and eaten raw. Some got hot water, but most had to use cold. Such food when dysentery threatens is poison. Today was cold with a headwind that sent the spray flying over the bows. Had a long talk this afternoon with a very decent man who is going to Peterborough, Canada West. He thinks it is not disease that ails the children, but cold and hunger. Food and clothes is what they need, not medicine. The number of sick grows. Sighted 2 ships today, both too far away to speak them. 22.--Why do we exert ourselves so little to help one another, when it takes so little to please? Aileen coaxed the steward to let her have some discarded biscuit bags. These she is fashioning into a sort of gowns to cover the nakedness of several girls who could not come on deck. The first she finished this afternoon, and no aristocratic miss could have been prouder of her first silk dress than was the poor child of the transformed canvas bag, which was her only garment. 23.--This is Sunday. The only change in the routine of the ship that marks the day is that the sailors gave an extra wash down to the decks and after that did no work except trim the sails. They spent the forenoon on the forecastle mending or washing their clothes. During the afternoon it grew cold, with a strong wind from the northeast, accompanied by driving showers. Towards sunset the sea was a lather of foam, and the wind had increased to a gale. When the waves began to flood the deck, the order was given to put the hatches on. God help the poor souls shut in beneath my feet! With hatches open, the hold was unbearable to me. With them closed, what will it be by morning? It is growing so dark I cannot see to write more, for a light is forbidden to us. The wind is still rising and the thump of the waves as they strike the ship’s side grows more violent. The shouting of orders, the tramp and rush of the sailors to obey them, the swaying of the ship, the groaning of her timbers and masts, and the constant swish of water rushing across the deck, combine to make me most melancholy and forebodings of evil darken my soul. Aileen is on her knees, the calm and resignation of a saint resting upon her face. There is a faith in God that rises above the worst of the world’s trials.