on the ship. . . . The emigrants are all poor people, but very wasteful, now that they have plenty. Every day enough bread is wasted on their deck to feed dozens of people, and this is swept up and thrown overboard by the sailors. . . . These emigrants are objectionable, in one way. In case of a panic, we would all go to the bottom. Nothing could control them, and we haven't enough boats to float twenty-five hundred people, even if order were maintained. But the "Princess Irene," the favorite, is carrying even more emigrants than the "Canada." I have never before been on a ship where the decks were black with emigrants; there are a few hundred on nearly every ship, but the crowd on the "Canada" frightens me.
Tuesday, May 6.—The weather remains fine, and
the sea is as smooth as we found it in the Red Sea, or
on the east coast of Africa. The Mediterranean narrows
up at its western end, as we approach Gibraltar,
and becomes a great harbor. At six o'clock this evening
we were within a few hundred yards of the mountainous
coast of Spain. The Mediterranean being narrow
at this point, we are seeing many ships: seven
were in sight at one time this evening.
Wednesday, May 7.—At 4:30 this morning, a
steward knocked on my door, and said:
"Gibraltar."
