--We did not put in yesterday. We were kept out at sea by a gale of wind that came rushing in from the Atlantic. What a day it was! No rest for anyone. The waves swept us from stem to stern, knocking us about till our timbers creaked; and the wind howled dismally in the rigging; and all day long there were shocks of crashing pottery and racing engines. It was a perfect Pandemonium. Being new to this kind of work I thought it alarming at first; and I shall never forget the chill that swept over me when, early in the morning, I looked out into the grey wilderness of leaping waves. I was quickly reassured by my friends. Colonel Trent laughed at the storm; the officers looked, if anything, more cheerful than usual; and the pale-faced ladies, who sat about in the saloon, were as calm as if they had been in their own drawing-rooms at home. I made acquaintance with several this morning, notably one Mrs. Lyster, whom I think I shall like. In the night the wind abated, and when I looked out this morning I found that we were entering the Straits. The weather was delightful, much warmer than it had been, the sun flooding the sea with silver light, and a pleasant breeze blowing. The ship is steady, too, which, after yesterday's experiences, has been a great comfort to us all. --I meant to have written every day; but since we left Gibraltar it has not been possible to do anything that requires attention, and writing has been out of the question. What a Mediterranean it has been! Stormy days, nights of black darkness and pelting rain; hurricanes that seem to drive the ship before them; and every day, and all day long, the wild symphony of the tempest in our ears. I think, however, looking back, that I have liked it. I have had a curious, inexplicable feeling of relief. I have not been obliged to do anything--even to think. That sense of responsibility, which, since my life fell into its new conditions, has weighed upon me so cruelly, was for the moment taken away. Sometimes, with an awe that was not altogether painful, I would wonder how it would be with me if I knew that the freedom was not for a few moments, but altogether; if, with one of those shocks of wave and wind, the engines should break, and the helm cease to work, and the ship settle down into the boiling sea, and the officers come with white faces to bid us prepare for death. After the first up-springing of passionate regret--I suppose there must be that while we are human--would there be this sense of relief intensified? No more beating about of the troubled spirit, seeking the right way and finding it not; no more pricking, heart-tearing activities; but in their place resignation, a quiet acceptance of the decree of the All-Merciful!