It may be wondered, by the uninitiated, how a heavy shower of rain could help us. It is not generally known that rain has a soothing effect on the angry sea. Yet, such is the case. No matter how fiercely the waves are running, let the wind lull, and a brisk rain of an hour will take all the rough edge off them. It is the dashing and breaking waves that sailors dread. A regular swelling wave, no matter how high it towers, will do no harm, as a vessel will rise with it, and ride lightly over. This rain of twenty-five or thirty minutes, so far soothed the turbulent waves as to place us out of immediate danger; and not long after, the wind sprung up again, command of the ship was recovered, and so the night passed—and the morning of Sunday, the seventeenth of March, St. Patrick’s Day, dawned upon the wide ocean. The wind was still blowing freshly, but the sky was clear, the sun shining brightly, and the waves of the sea rolling within the pale of moderation. They still washed the deck at intervals, but I had got used to that, for the deck had scarcely been free from the briny water since the middle of the previous day. The officers and sailors all wore high rubber boots, and oil-cloth hats and clothes. But still, the water dashed over them so violently, that they were wet to the skin all the time. If any one ever asks you, dear reader, whether a sailor’s life is a pleasant one or not, say “No!” * * * * * A strong breeze blew all day, and as night approached, it increased to a gale again. I had hoped the storm was over; but a storm at sea seldom subsides entirely within twenty-four hours. What we had experienced on Saturday night, was not to be compared with the terrors of that memorable Sunday night. I have suffered much, and undergone much danger in my time, but I never, either before or since, passed such a terrible night. The gale grew fierce again—fiercer even than before—and the lofty waves thundered over us so, that much of the time it was difficult to determine whether we were still floating or not. But the most fearful time was about midnight. Light clouds were hurrying over, driven by the mighty wind, while, at intervals, portions of the sky grew clear, and the moon shone down upon us. It was an odd sight—such an awful tempest seen in the moonlight. The wind blew with such violence that the ship was nearly the whole time on her beam-ends, that is, lying over on her side. At intervals she would struggle up for a moment, but the fierce blast would soon hurl her over again. On one occasion, while she stood up for a moment, the pumps were sounded, and the captain soon after called out, “Starboard watch to the pumps!”