Night came on, and we all toddled off to roost.  I am habitually a very sound sleeper, dropping off the moment I turn in, and never awaking till daylight.  On this occasion, however, I awoke about two o’clock A.M., and, do what I would, I could not coax myself to sleep again.  While tossing from side to side, I felt the vessel strike as if gently touching a bank; and wood being a good conductor of sound, I heard the water, as it were, gurgling in.  My first idea was, “We are snagged;” then, remembering how slight the concussion had been, I calmed my fears and turned over on my side, determined to bottle off a little more sleep if possible.  Scarce had the thought crossed the threshold of my mind, when men with hasty steps rushed into the saloon, banging frantically at the cabin-doors, and the piercing cry was heard—­“Turn out! turn out!—­we’re sinking!” Passengers flew from their beds, and opened their doors to get what scanty light the lamps in the saloon might afford.  A mysterious and solemn silence prevailed; all was action; no time for words; dress, catch up what you can, and bolt for your life.  As I got to the side of the vessel, I saw a steamer alongside, and felt the boat I was in careening over.  A neighbour, in fear and desperation, caught hold of me as a drowning man catches at a straw; no time for compliments this, when it is neck or nothing; so, by a right-hander in the pit of the stomach, I got quit of his clutch, and, throwing my desk over to the other boat, I grasped the wooden fender and slid down.  Thank God, I was safe!—­my companion was already safe also.

It was about half-past four A.M., a drizzly, wet morning, quite dark, except the flame of the torches.  A plank was got on board of the sinking boat, along which more passengers and even some luggage were saved.  The crew of the sound boat had hard work to keep people from trying to return and save their luggage, thus risking not only their own lives but at the same time impeding the escape of others.  From the gallery above I was looking down upon the wreck, lit up by the lurid light of some dozen torches, when, with a crash like thunder, she went clean over and broke into a thousand pieces; eighty head of cattle, fastened by the horns, vainly struggled to escape a watery grave.  It was indeed a terrific and awful scene to witness.  From the first striking till she went to pieces, not a quarter of an hour had elapsed; but who was saved?  Who knew, and—­alas! that I must add—­who cared?

The crew worked hard enough to rescue all, and to them be every credit for their exertions; but the indifference exhibited by those who had been snatched from the jaws of death was absolutely appalling.  The moment they escaped, they found their way to the bar and the stove, and there they were smoking, drinking, and passing the ribald jest, even before the wreck had gone to pieces, or the fate of one-half of their companions been ascertained.  Yet there was a scene