The navigation of the Atlantic by means of the immense sea-going steamers of the present day, with all its superiority in most respects, is attended with one very serious disadvantage, at least for all romantic people, and those who particularly enjoy what is grand and sublime.  To passengers on board an Atlantic steamer, a storm at sea ­that spectacle which has, in former times, been so often described as the most grand and sublime of all the exhibitions which the course of nature presents to man ­is divested almost entirely of that imposing magnificence for which it was formerly so renowned.

There are several reasons for this.

First, the height of the waves appears far less impressive, when seen from on board an Atlantic steamer, than from any ordinary vessel; for the deck in the case of these steamers is so high, that the spectator, as it were, looks down upon them.  Any one who has ever ascended a mountain knows very well what the effect is upon the apparent height of all smaller hills, when they are seen from an elevation that is far higher than they.  In fact, a country that is really quite hilly is made to appear almost level, by being surveyed from any one summit that rises above the other elevations.  The same is the case with the waves of the sea, when seen from the promenade deck of one of these vast steamers.

The waves of the sea are never more than twelve or fifteen feet high, although a very common notion prevails that they run very much higher.  It has been well ascertained that they never rise more than twelve or fifteen feet above the general level of the water; and if we allow the same quantity for the depth of the trough, or hollow between two waves, we shall have from twenty-five to thirty feet as the utmost altitude which any swell of water can have, reckoning from the most depressed portions of the surface near it.  Now, in a first-class Atlantic steamer, there are two full stories, so to speak, above the surface of the sea, and a promenade deck above the uppermost one.  This brings the head of the spectator, when he stands upon the promenade dock and surveys the ocean around him, to the height of twenty-five or thirty feet above the surface of the water.  The elevation at which he stands varies considerably, it is true, at different portions of the voyage.  When the ship first comes out of port she is very heavily laden, as she has on board, in addition to the cargo, all the coal which she is to consume during the whole voyage.  This is an enormous quantity ­enough for the full lading of what used to be considered a large ship in former days.  This coal being gradually consumed during the voyage, the steamer is lightened; and thus she swims lighter and lighter as she proceeds, being four or five feet higher out of the water when she reaches the end of her voyage than she was at the beginning.

Thus the height at which the passenger stands above the waves, when walking on the promenade deck of an Atlantic steamer, varies somewhat during the progress of the voyage; but it is always, or almost always, so great as to bring his head above the crests of the waves.  Thus he looks down, as it were, upon the heaviest seas, and this greatly diminishes their apparent magnitude and elevation.  On the contrary, to one going to sea in vessels as small as those with which Columbus made the voyage when he discovered America, the loftiest billows would rise and swell, and toss their foaming crests far above his head, as he clung to the deck to gaze at them.  They would seem at times ready to overwhelm him with the vast and towering volumes of water which they raised around him.  Then, when the shock which was produced by the encounter of one of them was passed, and the ship, trembling from the concussion, rose buoyantly over the swell, being small in comparison with the volume of the wave, she was lifted so high that she seemed to hang trembling upon the brink of it, ready to plunge to certain destruction into the yawning gulf which opened below.

All this is, however, now changed.  The mighty steamer, twice as long, and nearly four times as massive as the ship, surpasses the seas now, as it were, in magnitude and momentum, as well as in power.  She not only triumphs over them in the contest of strength, but she towers above and overtops them in position.  The billow can now no longer toss her up so lightly to the summit of its crest; nor, when the crest of it is passed, will she sink her so fearfully into the hollow of the sea.  The spectator, raised above all apparent danger, and moving forward through the scene of wild commotion with a power greater far than that which the foaming surges can exert, surveys the scene around him with wonder and admiration, it is true, but without that overpowering sensation of awe which it could once inspire.

Then there is another thing.  A sailing vessel, which is always in a great measure dependent upon the wind, is absolutely at its mercy in a storm.  When the gale increases beyond a certain limit, she can no longer make head at all against its fury, but must turn and fly ­or be driven ­wherever the fury of the tempest may impel her.  In such cases, she goes bounding over the seas, away from her course, toward rocks, shoals, breakers, or any other dangers whatever which may lie in the way, without the least power or possibility of resistance.  She goes howling on, in such a case, over the wide waste of waters before her, wholly unable to escape from the dreadful fury of the master who is driving her, and with no hope of being released from his hand, until he chooses, of his own accord, to abate his rage.

All this, too, is now changed.  This terrible master has now found his master in the sea-going steamer.  She turns not aside to the right hand or to the left, for all his power.  Boreas may send his gales from what quarter he pleases, and urge them with whatever violence he likes to display.  The steamer goes steadily on, pointing her unswerving prow directly toward her port of destination, and triumphing easily, and apparently without effort, over all the fury of the wind and the shocks and concussions of the waves.  The worst that the storm can do is to retard, in some degree, the swiftness of her motion.  Instead of driving her, as it would have done a sailing vessel, two or three hundred miles out of her course, away over the sea, it can only reduce her speed in her own proper and determined direction to eight miles an hour instead of twelve.

Now, this makes a great difference in the effect produced upon the mind by witnessing a storm at sea.  If the passenger, as he surveys the scene, feels that his ship, and all that it contains, has been seized by the terrific power which he sees raging around him, and that they are all entirely at its mercy, ­that it is sweeping them away over the sea, perhaps into the jaws of destruction, without any possible power, on their part, of resistance or escape, ­his mind is filled with the most grand and solemn emotions.  Such a flight as this, extending day after day, perhaps for five hundred miles, over a raging sea, is really sublime.

The Atlantic steamer never flies.  She never yields in any way to the fury of the gale, unless she gets disabled.  While her machinery stands, she moves steadily forward in her course; and so far as any idea of danger is concerned, the passengers in their cabins and state rooms below pay no more regard to the storm than a farmer’s family do to the whistling and howling of the wind among the chimneys of their house, in a blustering night on land.

So much for the philosophy of a storm at sea, as witnessed by the passengers on board an Atlantic steamer.

One night, when the steamer had been some time at sea, Rollo awoke, and found himself more than usually unsteady in his berth.  Sometimes he slept upon his couch, and sometimes in his berth.  This night he was in his berth, and he found himself rolling from side to side in it, very uneasily.  The croaking of the ship, too, seemed to be much more violent and incessant than it had been before.  Rollo turned over upon his other side, and drew up his knees in such a manner as to prevent himself from rolling about quite so much, and then went to sleep again.

His sleep, however, was very much broken and disturbed, and he was at last suddenly awakened by a violent lurch of the ship, which rolled him over hard against the outer edge of his berth, and then back against the inner edge of it again.  There was a sort of cord, with large knobs upon it, at different distances, which was hung like a bell cord from the back side of the berth.  Rollo had observed this cord before, but he did not know what it was for.  He now, however, discovered what it was for, as, by grasping these knobs in his hands, he found that the cord was an excellent thing for him to hold on by in a heavy sea.  By means of this support, he found that he could moor himself, as it were, quite well, and keep himself steady when a heavy swell came.

He was not long, however, at rest, for he found that his endeavors to go to sleep were disturbed by a little door that kept swinging to and fro, in his state room, as the ship rolled.  This was the door of a little cupboard under the wash stand.  When the door swung open, it would strike against a board which formed the front side of the couch that has already been described.  Then, when the ship rolled the other way, it would come to, and strike again upon its frame and sill.  Rollo endured this noise as long as he could, and then he resolved to get up and shut the door.  So he put his feet out of his berth upon the floor, ­which he could easily do, as the berth that he was in was the lower one, ­and sat there watching for a moment when the ship should be tolerably still.  When the right moment came, he ran across to the little door, shut it, and crowded it hard into its place; then darted back to his berth again, getting there just in time to save a tremendous lurch of the ship, which would have perhaps pitched him across the state room, if it had caught him when he was in the middle of the floor.

Rollo did not have time to fasten the little door with its lock; and this seemed in fact unnecessary, for it shut so hard and tight into its place that he was quite confident that the friction would hold it, and that it would not come open again.  To his great surprise, therefore, a few minutes afterwards, he heard a thumping sound, and, on turning over to see what the cause of it was, he found that the little door was loose again, and was swinging backward and forward as before.  The fact was, that, although the door had shut in tight at the moment when Rollo had closed it, the space into which it had been fitted had been opened wider by the springing of the timbers and framework of the ship at the next roll, and thus set the door free again.  So Rollo had to get up once more; and this time he locked the door when he had shut it, and so made it secure.

Still, however, he could not sleep.  As soon as he began in the least degree to lose consciousness, so as to relax his hold upon the knobs of his cord, some heavy lurch of the sea would come, and roll him violently from side to side, and thus wake him up again.  He tried to brace himself up with pillows, but he had not pillows enough.  He climbed up to the upper berth, and brought down the bolster and pillow that belonged there; and thus he packed and wedged himself in.  But the incessant rolling and pitching of the ship kept every thing in such a state of motion that the pillows soon worked loose again.

After making several ineffectual attempts to secure for himself a quiet and fixed position in his berth, Rollo finally concluded to shift his quarters to the other side of the state room, and try the couch.  The couch had a sort of side board, which passed along the front side of it, and which was higher somewhat than the one forming the front of the berth.  This board was made movable, so that it could be shifted from the front to the back side, and vice versa, at pleasure.  By putting this side board back, the place became a sort of sofa or couch, and it was usually in this state during the day; but by bringing it forward, which was done at night, it became a berth, and one somewhat larger and more comfortable than the permanent berths on the other side.

So Rollo began to make preparations for a removal.  He threw the bolster and pillows across first, and then, getting out of the berth, and holding firmly to the edge of it, he waited for a moment’s pause in the motion of the ship; and then, when he thought that the right time had come, he ran across.  It happened, however, that he made a miscalculation as to the time; for the ship was then just beginning to careen violently in the direction in which he was going, and thus he was pitched head foremost over into the couch, where he floundered about several minutes among the pillows and bolsters before he could recover the command of himself.

At last he lay down, and attempted to compose himself to sleep; but he soon experienced a new trouble.  It happened that there were some cloaks and coats hanging up upon a brass hook above him, and, as the ship rolled from side to side, the lower ends of them were continually swinging to and fro, directly over Rollo’s face.  He tried for a time to get out of the way of them, by moving his head one way and the other; but they seemed to follow him wherever he went, and so he was obliged at last to climb up and take them all off the hook, and throw them away into a corner.  Then he lay down again, thinking that he should now be able to rest in peace.

At length, when he became finally settled, and began to think at last that perhaps he should be able to go to sleep, he thought that he heard something rolling about in Jennie’s state room, and also, at intervals, a mewing sound.  He listened.  The door between the two state rooms was always put open a little way every night, and secured so by the chambermaid, so that either of the children might call to the other if any thing were wanted.  It was thus that Rollo heard the sound that came from Jennie’s room.  After listening a moment, he heard Jennie’s voice calling to him.

“Rollo,” said she, “are you awake?”

“Yes,” said Rollo.

“Then I wish you would come and help my kitten.  Here she is, shut up in her cage, and rolling in it all about the room.”

It was even so.  Jennie had put Tiger into the cage at night when she went to bed, as she was accustomed to do, and then had set the cage in the corner of the state room.  The violent motion of the ship had upset the cage, and it was now rolling about from one side of the state room to the other ­the poor kitten mewing piteously all the time, and wondering what could be the cause of the astonishing gyrations that she was undergoing.  Maria was asleep all the time, and heard nothing of it all.

Rollo said he would get up and help the kitten.  So he disengaged himself from the wedgings of pillows and bolsters in which he had been packed, and, clinging all the time to something for support, he made his way into Jennie’s state room.  There was a dim light shining there, which came through a pane of glass on one side of the state room, near the door.  This light was not sufficient to enable Rollo to see any thing very distinctly.  He however at length succeeded, by holding to the side of Jennie’s berth with one hand, while he groped about the floor with the other, in finding the cage and securing it.

“I’ve got it,” said Rollo, holding it up to the light.  “It is the cage, and Tiger is in it.  Poor thing! she looks frightened half to death.  Would you let her out?”

“O, no,” said Jennie.  “She’ll only be rolled about the rooms herself.”

“Why, she could hold on with her claws, I should think,” said Rollo.

“No,” said Jennie, “keep her in the cage, and put the cage in some safe place where it can’t get away.”

So Rollo put the kitten into the cage, and then put the cage itself in a narrow space between the foot of the couch and the end of the state room, where he wedged it in safely with a carpet bag.  Having done this, he was just about returning to his place, when he was dreadfully alarmed at the sound of a terrible concussion upon the side of the ship, succeeded by a noise as of something breaking open in his state room, and a rush of water which seemed to come pouring in there like a torrent, and falling on the floor.  Rollo’s first thought was that the ship had sprung a leak, and that she was filling with water, and would sink immediately.  Jennie, too, was exceedingly alarmed; while Maria, who had been sound asleep all this time, started up suddenly in great terror, calling out, ­

“Mercy on me! what’s that?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Rollo, “unless the ship is sinking.”

Maria put out her hand and rung the bell violently.  In the mean time, the noise that had so alarmed the children ceased, and nothing was heard in Rollo’s room but a sort of washing sound, as of water dashed to and fro on the floor.  Of course, the excessive fears which the children had felt at first were in a great measure allayed.

In a moment the chambermaid came in with a light in her hand, and asked what was the matter.

“I don’t know,” said Maria.  “Something or other has happened in Rollo’s state room.  Please look in and see.”

The chambermaid went in, and exclaimed, as she entered, ­

“What a goose!”

“Who’s a goose?” said Rollo, following her.

“I am,” said the chambermaid, “for forgetting to screw up your light.  But go back; you’ll get wet, if you come here.”

Rollo accordingly kept back in Jennie’s state room, though he advanced as near to the door as he could, and looked in to see what had happened.  He found that his little round window had been burst open by a heavy sea, and that a great quantity of water had rushed in.  His couch, which was directly under the window, was completely drenched, and so was the floor; though most of the water, except that which was retained by the bedding and the carpet, had run off through some unseen opening below.  When Rollo got where he could see, the chambermaid was busy screwing up his window tight into its place.  It has already been explained that this window was formed of one small and very thick pane of glass, of an oval form, and set in an iron frame, which was attached by a hinge on one side, and made to be secured when it was shut by a strong screw and clamp on the other.

“There,” said the chambermaid.  “It is safe now; only you can’t sleep upon the couch any more, it is so wet.  You must get into your berth again.  I will make you up a new bed on the couch in the morning.”

Rollo accordingly clambered up into his berth again, and the chambermaid left him to himself.  Presently, however, she came back with a dry pillow and bolster for him.

“What makes the ship pitch and toss about so?” said Rollo.

“Head wind and a heavy sea,” said the chambermaid; “that’s all.”

The chambermaid then, bidding Rollo go to sleep, passed on into Jennie’s state room, on her way to her own place of repose.  As she went by, Maria asked if there was not a storm coming on.

“Yes,” said the chambermaid, “a terrible storm.”

“How long will it be before morning?” asked Jennie.

“O, it is not two bells yet,” said the chambermaid.  “And you had better not get up when the morning comes.  You’ll only be knocking about the cabins if you do.  I’ll bring you some breakfast when it is time.”

So saying, the chambermaid went away, and, left the children and Maria to themselves.

Rollo tried for a long time after this to get to sleep, but all was in vain.  He heard two bells strike, and then three, and then four.  He turned over first one way, and then the other; his head aching, and his limbs cramped and benumbed from the confined and uncomfortable positions in which he was obliged to keep them.  In fact, when Jennie on one occasion, just after four bells struck, being very restless and wakeful herself, ventured to speak to him in a gentle tone, and ask him whether he was asleep, he replied that he was not; that he had been trying very hard, but he could not get any thing of him asleep except his legs.

At length the gray light of the morning began to shine in at his little round window.  This he was very glad to see, although it did not promise any decided relief to his misery; for the storm still continued with unabated violence.  At length, when breakfast time came, the chambermaid brought in some tea and toast for Maria and for both the children.  They took it, and felt much better for it ­so much so, that Rollo said he meant to get up and go and see the storm.

“Well,” said the chambermaid, “you may go, if you must.  Dress yourself, and go on the next deck above this, and walk along the passage way that leads aft, and there you’ll find a door that you can open and look out.  You’ll be safe there.”

“Which way is aft?” asked Rollo.

“That way,” replied the chambermaid, pointing.

So Rollo got up, and holding firmly to the side of his berth with one hand, and bracing himself between his berth and the side of his wash stand cupboard with his knees, as the ship lurched to and fro, he contrived to dress himself, though he was a long time in accomplishing the feat.  He then told Jennie that he was going up stairs to look out at some window or door, in order to see the storm.  Jennie did not make much reply, and so Rollo went away.

The ship rolled and pitched so violently that he could not stand alone for an instant.  If he attempted to do so, he would be thrown against one side or the other of the cabin or passage way by the most sudden and unaccountable impulses.  He finally succeeded in getting up upon the main deck, where he went into the enclosed space which has already been described.  This space was closely shut up now on all sides.  There were, however, two doors which led from it out upon the deck.  In order to go up upon the promenade deck, it was necessary to go out at one of these doors, and then ascend the promenade deck stairway.  Rollo had, however, no intention of doing this, though he thought that perhaps he might open one of the doors a little and look out.

While he was thinking of this, he heard steps behind him as of some one coming up stairs, and then a voice, saying, ­

“Halloo, Rollo!  Are you up here?”

Rollo turned round and saw Hilbert.  He was clinging to the side of the doorway.  Rollo himself was upon one of the settees.

Just then one of the outer doors opened, and a man came in.  He was an officer of the ship.  A terrible gust of wind came in with him.  The officer closed the door again immediately, and seeing the boys, he said to them, ­

“Well, boys, you are pretty good sailors, to be about the ship such weather as this.”

“I’m going up on the promenade deck,” said Hilbert.

“No,” said the officer, “you had better do no such thing.  You will get pitched into the lee scuppers before you know where you are.”

“Is there any place where we can look out and see the sea?” said Rollo.

“Yes,” replied the officer; “go aft, there, along that passage way, and you will find a door on the lee quarter where you can look out.”

So saying, the officer went away down into the cabin.

Hilbert did not know what was meant by getting pitched into the lee scuppers, and Rollo did not know what the lee quarter could be.  He however determined to go in the direction that the man had indicated, and see if he could find the door.

As for Hilbert, he said to Rollo that he was not afraid of the lee scuppers or any other scuppers, and he was going up on the promenade deck.  There was an iron railing, he said, that he could cling to all the way.

Rollo, in the mean time, went along the passage way, bracing his arms against the sides of it as he advanced.  The ship was rolling over from side to side so excessively that he was borne with his whole weight first against one side of the passage way, and then against the other, so heavily that he was every moment obliged to stop and wait until the ship came up again before he could go on.  At length he came into a small room with several doors opening from it.  In the back side of this room was the compartment where the helmsman stood with his wheel.  There were several men in this place with the helmsman, helping him to control the wheel.  Rollo observed, too, that there were a number of large rockets put away in a sort of frame in the coil overhead.

He went to one of the doors that was on the right-hand side of this room, and opened it a little way; but the wind and rain came in so violently that he thought he would go to the opposite side and try that door.  This idea proved a very fortunate one, for, being now on the sheltered side of the ship, he could open the door and look out without exposing himself to the fury of the storm.  He gazed for a time at the raging fury of the sea with a sentiment of profound admiration and awe.  The surface of the ocean was covered with foam, and the waves were tossing themselves up in prodigious heaps; the crests, as fast as they were formed, being seized and hurled away by the wind in a mass of driving spray, which went scudding over the water like drifting snow in a wintry storm on land.

After Rollo had looked upon this scene until he was satisfied, he shut the door, and returned along the passage way, intending to go down and give Jennie an account of his adventures.  As he advanced toward the little compartment where the landing was, from the stairs, he heard a sound as of some one in distress, and on drawing near he found Hilbert coming in perfectly drenched with sea water.  He was moaning and crying bitterly, and, as he staggered along, the water dripped from his clothes in streams.  Rollo asked him what was the matter; but he could get no answer.  Hilbert pressed on sullenly, crying and groaning as he went down to find his father.

The matter was, that, in attempting to go up on the promenade deck, he had unfortunately taken the stairway on the weather side; and when he had got half way up, a terrible sea struck the ship just forward of the paddle box.  A portion of the wave, and an immense mass of spray, dashed up on board the ship, and a quantity equal to several barrels of water came down upon the stairs where Hilbert was ascending.  The poor fellow was almost strangled by the shock.  He however clung manfully to the rope railing, and as soon as he recovered his breath he came back into the cabin.