On the 7th September, 1861, we embarked on board the steamer "Great Eastern," for New York, the Liverpool dock walls being lined with people to see the great ship start. She was far and away the largest vessel built up to that time, being 679 feet long, 83 feet beam, 48 feet deep, with a tonnage of 18,915; she was propelled by two sets of engines, paddle and screw. It was a memorable voyage. Three days out we encountered a heavy gale, which carried away our boats, then our paddle wheels. Finally our rudder broke, and the huge ship fell helplessly into the trough of the sea. Here we remained for three days, rolling so heavily that everything moveable broke adrift, the saloon was wrecked, and all the deck fittings broke loose. Two swans and a cow were precipitated into the saloon through the broken skylights. The cables broke adrift, and swaying to and fro burst through the plating on one side of the ship. The captain lost all control of his crew, and the condition of things was rendered still more alarming by the men breaking into the storerooms and becoming intoxicated. Some of the passengers were enrolled as guards; we wore a white handkerchief tied round our arms, and patrolled the ship in watches for so many hours each day. My father was badly cut in the face and head by being thrown into a mirror in the saloon, during a heavy lurch. I never knew a ship to roll so heavily, and her rolls to windward were not only remarkable but very dangerous, as the seas broke over her, shaking her from stem to stern, the noise reverberating through the vessel like thunder. We remained in this alarming condition three days, when chains were fixed to our rudder head and we were able with our screw-engines to get back to Queenstown. My father returned home, not caring to venture to sea again, but I embarked on board the "City of Washington," of the Inman Line, and after a sixteen-day passage arrived in New York.