sixteen years old—­in one of the boats, for fear they should be washed overboard.  The youngest of them is the only son of his mother, a widow; and you could see how she loved him by the way she had made his clothes, and fitted him out all through.  He was altogether too well found for a ship like ours, but now most of his things are lost.  His chest could not be got up from below, and though I borrowed an old bread-bag from the steward, it was not half big enough, and his sea-boots and things his mother had given him to keep him dry and cover his bed—­not oilskins, like ours.’—­’Mackintoshes,’ I suggested.—­’Yes, that’s the name—­they were all lost.  It did seem a pity.  The boy never thought there was much danger till this morning, when I told him all hope was gone, as the American ship had sailed away from us.  He said, “Will the ship go to the bottom?” and I replied, “I fear so; but we have good boats, so keep up your heart, little man.”  He made no further remark, but laid down gently again, and cried a little.’

This poor child was dreadfully frightened in the small boat coming alongside, and his look of joy and relief, when once he got safely on board, was a treat to me.  Every one on board, including the captain, seems to have been very kind to him.  One of the men had his foot broken by the sea, and the captain himself had his leg severely injured; so the Doctor has some cases at last.

It was almost impossible to sleep during the night, owing to the heavy rolling, by far the most violent that we have yet experienced.

Friday, September 29th.—­Again a fine morning.  A fair breeze sprang up, and, the dreaded storm having apparently passed over, we ceased steaming at 6 a.m.

All on board are now settling down into something like order.  The stewards are arranging matters below, and measuring out the stores, to allowance the men for twelve days.  The men belonging respectively to the port and starboard watches of the ‘Monkshaven’ have been placed in the corresponding watches on board the ‘Sunbeam.’  The cook and steward are assisting ours below, and the two boys are very happy, helping in the kitchen, and making themselves generally useful.  The deck does not look quite as neat as usual.  Such of the men’s sea-chests as have been saved are lashed round the steam-chest, so that they can be got at easily, while their bags and other odd things have been stowed on deck, wherever they can be kept dry; for every inch of available space below is occupied.  Captain Runciman is writing, with tears in his eyes, the account of the loss of his fine ship.  He tells me that he tried in vain to save sixty pounds’ worth of his own private charts from his cabin, but it was impossible, on account of the stifling atmosphere, which nearly overpowered him.  Fortunately, all his things are insured.  He drowned his favourite dog, a splendid Newfoundland, just before leaving the ship; for, although a capital watch-dog, and very faithful, he was rather large and fierce; and when it was known that the ‘Sunbeam’ was a yacht, with ladies and children on board, he feared to introduce him.  Poor fellow!  I wish I had known about it in time to save his life!