of a sailor. There were, of course, men on board who were familiar with gales and storms in all parts of the world; and there were some who had witnessed the tremendous hurricane which swept the Black Sea on the memorable 14th of November, when scores of vessels were lost and seamen perished by the thousands. But of all on board none had ever seen a fiercer or more dangerous sea than raged throughout that night and the following morning, tossing the Agamemnon from side to side like a mere plaything among the waters. The night was thick and very dark, the low black clouds almost hemming the vessel in; now and then a fiercer blast than usual drove the great masses slowly aside and showed the moon, a dim, greasy blotch upon the sky, with the ocean, white as driven snow, boiling and seething like a caldron. But these were only glimpses, which were soon lost, and again it was all darkness, through which the waves, suddenly upheaving, rushed upon the ship as though they must overwhelm it, and dealing it one staggering blow, went hissing and surging past into the darkness again. The grandeur of the scene was almost lost in its dangers and terrors, for of all the many forms in which death approaches man there is none so easy, in fact, so terrific in appearance, as death by shipwreck. Sleeping was impossible that night on board the Agamemnon. Even those in cots were thrown out, from their striking against the vessel's side as she pitched. The berths of wood fixed athwartships in the cabins on the main deck had worked to pieces. Chairs and tables were broken, chests of drawers capsized, and a little surf was running over the floors of the cabins themselves, pouring miniature seas into portmanteaus, and breaking over carpetbags of clean linen. Fast as it flowed off by the scuppers it came in faster by the hawse-holes and ports, while the beams and knees strained with a doleful noise, as though it was impossible they could hold together much longer, and on the whole it was as miserable and even anxious a night as ever was passed on board any line-of-battle ship in her Majesty's service. Captain Preedy never left the poop all night, though it was hard work to remain there, even holding on to the poop-rail with both hands. Morning brought no change, save that the storm was as fierce as ever, and though the sea could not be higher or wilder, yet the additional amount of broken water made it still more dangerous to the ship. Very dimly, and only now and then through the thick scud, the Niagara could be seen--one moment on a monstrous hill of water, and the next quite lost to view, as the Agamemnon went down between the waves. But even these glimpses showed us that our transatlantic consort was