I retired to my room at last, and “turned in.” That is the nautical phrase for “going to bed.” You never hear a sailor say he will “go to bed.” He never “goes to bed.” Such an expression would sound very odd at sea. “Turn in,” is the proper term there. If a sailor should hear a man talk about “going to bed,” he would think that man had actually never been out of sight of land in his life. I “turned in,” and slept. When I awoke again, the ship was tumbling about so that I wondered I had not been pitched out of my berth. Seeing one of the mates pass through the cabin, I accosted him with— “How is it, without?” “Blowing a regular gale,” he replied. “What time is it?” “Seven bells.” At sea, they never say eight, nine, ten, eleven, or half-past eleven o’clock. There is a large bell at the forecastle, which is tapped every half-hour. At half-past twelve, it receives one tap; which is called “one bell.” At one o’clock, it is tapped twice: that is, “two bells.” At half-past one, it is tapped three times: that is “three bells;” and so on, till four o’clock, which time is “eight bells.” Then at half-past four “one bell” is struck again; at five o’clock, “two bells;” and so on, up to eight o’clock, which is “eight bells,” again. Commencing at half-past eight, “one bell” is again sounded, “two bells” at nine; and so on till twelve, when “eight bells” is reached once more. So, when the mate told me it was “seven bells,” it will be perceived that it was half-past eleven. I tried to sleep again, and succeeded. How long I slept, I could not tell; but when I awoke again, the vessel was tossing about fearfully, and the waves dashing over her fore and aft, with a fierceness that threatened to burst her to pieces. But the wind had suddenly lulled. Not a breath of air was stirring; the lower main top-sail was flapping idly about; they had lost control of the ship, because she would no longer steer when the wind ceased; and so, falling fairly into the trough of the sea, she could not struggle up over the billows; and there she lay at the mercy of the waves, being buffeted by them without any mercy at all. It was indeed a perilous time. The captain, with his many years of experience at sea, knew our danger; but what could be done? Should this state of things continue long, the ship must inevitably be beaten to pieces. All hands had been called on deck; and I got out of my bunk and struggled to the cabin-door. I opened it a little way, but a fearful sea swept over and dashed it shut in my face. I could hear the voice of the captain giving hurried commands to the sailors who were at work securing the rigging. The shrouds were growing slack, and it was every minute expected that the masts would be carried away. No breeze came; and probably the angry sea would have crushed us down then and there, but that the clouds gathered thickly over, and a heavy rain came pattering upon the agitated waters—a very unusual accompaniment of a north-west wind.