One day we fell in with a large iceberg whose spiral top towered far above our mast head. With this we sailed some time. About 9 P. M. it shut in with a heavy fog from the southeast so dense that we could not discern objects the length of the ship ahead of us. This rendered our situation the most unpleasant, floating as we were with so formidable a companion among such a host of fishermen as ever throng that place, with no means of testing our proximity to them. At length the sharp cry of the looker-out, "Hard port the helm," aroused all hands. The order was quickly obeyed, but not quick enough to avoid a severe blow from the ice. The shock aroused the captain, who came quickly upon deck. The pumps were rigged and every thing clewed up except the fore and main-top-sails, the yard lowered down and the reef-tackles rolled out; and thus we ran the remainder of the night. Heard the report of a gun mingled with the surf dashing, as we supposed, against the iron bound coast or against the ice. From the situation we were in we had much to fear, and in fact our terror could not be told, expecting each successive moment would bring us on to the rocks, or ice which would be even more certain destruction. Another gun was discharged, and the dashing grew still louder. Whither to steer we knew not. Every ear and eye was called into requisition. Hope could hardly point us to a safe deliverance. All were certain that a most dreadful crisis was rapidly approaching. Another gun was fired which sounded but a half stone's throw[283] from us, and the flash gleamed through the fog, and all was dark as before. Attentively listening I thought I could distinguish the strokes from the large paddle wheels of some Steamer, and a moment after our fears were greatly relieved by the rapid passing of one of the Liverpool line of steamers. Daylight appeared and we made all possible sail, notwithstanding the fog had cleared away but very little. Wind and weather favoring, we were soon safely anchored at the docks of St. Johns, and I was again in the bosom of my little family, where I remained working at rigging until the summer of 1843. CHAPTER XVIII. Command a Vessel. Sail for London. Come near going on the Goodwin Sands. Anchor at London. Sail for Mobile. Serious affair with the Seamen. Spirits discharged from the Ship. A Fortune-Teller. Sail for Liverpool. Sail as mate of the Ashburton. A Storm. Run upon the Rocks. Perilous Situation. Proceed to St. Johns, and go smuggling. Are taken, and ship sold. News from home. Go thither, and unknown. Conclusion.