The night passed—I scarcely know how—and, contrary to our anticipation, morning found us still afloat. The storm was yet raging, and the sailors were still busy pumping and heaving cargo overboard. I took my position at the cabin door again, standing in water six or eight inches deep—for the water had made its way into the cabin, where my trunk was leisurely soaking. I heard the first mate tell one of the sailors to climb up to the mast-head and keep a look out for a vessel. Shortly afterward he came to the door, held it a little way open and said: “Mr. Smith, just glance out! There is the wildest sight I ever saw, during all my experience at sea!” And he pointed to windward. I looked; but how shall I describe that sublime and awful picture! The sun was shining brightly, the wind blowing so fiercely that it shattered the green waves, lifted up the waters bodily and dispersed them into a thick spray, so that I could not discern where sea and sky met. The next moment we were enveloped in such a cloud that we could not see thirty yards around us; the heavens grew black and it began to look like the dusk of evening. A minute later, the clouds had swept over, and the bright sun burst once more upon that scene of fearful grandeur. Never did the god of day shed light on a wilder picture! It was grand—majestically grand—awfully grand, beyond the expression of human tongue! Notwithstanding our prospect of speedy death, I was lost and swallowed up in momentary admiration. How vividly came to my mind, as I stood there gazing on the tempestuous scene, those sublime words from the one-hundred-and-seventh Psalm—words that I had never before properly appreciated— “They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; “These see the works of the LORD, and his wonders in the deep. “For he commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, _which lifteth up the waves thereof_. “They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths; their soul is melted because of trouble. “They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit’s end.” Presently the whole wild picture was again wrapped in gloom, and I was only conscious of the thunder of the waves beating over the ship, of the howling wind and dashing, blinding spray; a moment of gloom: then the clouds were dashed away by the wind, the sun burst out and the wild day shone round again. We were in the Gulf Stream, which is of a warmer temperature than the other waters of the Atlantic in the same latitude; and the cooler wind seemed to grasp the water up and dash it into the sky; so that, at times, as the spray mounted up and formed in clouds, the sea and sky appeared to leave their places, rushing about through space and commingling in unutterable confusion.