and around us was that vast circumference bounded by the line, where water and sky appear to meet. The slate- colored sea broke in great foamless billows. The Great Eastern struck amidships, and supported by no sail, rolled frightfully, her bare masts describing immense circles in the air. There was no heaving to speak of, but the rolling was dreadful, it was impossible to stand upright. The officer on watch, clinging to the bridge, looked as if he was in a swing.
From one support to another I managed to reach the paddles on the starboard side, the deck was damp and slippery from the spray and mist : I was just going to fasten myself to a stanchion of the bridge when a body rolled at my feet.
It was Dr. Pitferge, my quaint friend: he scrambled on to his knees, and looking at me said: "That's all right, the amplitude of the arc, described by the sides of the Great Eastern, is forty degrees; that is, twenty degrees below the horizontal, and twenty above it."
"Indeed!" cried I, laughing, not at the observation, but at the circumstances under which it was made.
"Yes!" replied the Doctor. "During the oscillation the speed of the sides is fifty-nine inches per second, a transatlantic boat half the size takes but the same time to recover her equilibrium."
"Then," replied I, "since that is the case, there is an excess of stability in the Great Eastern."
"For her, yes, but not for her passengers," answered Dean Pitferge gayly, " for you see they come back to the horizontal quicker than they care for."
The Doctor, delighted with his repartee, raised himself, and holding each other up, we managed to reach a seat on the poop. Dean Pitferge had come off very well, with only a few bruises, and I congratulated him on his lucky escape, as he might have broken his neck.
"Oh, it is not over yet," said he; "there is more trouble coming."
"Tons?"
"To the steamer, and consequently to me, to us, and to all the passengers."
"If you are speaking seriously, why did you come on board?"
