And, in fact, it
did not.
Meanwhile, what horrors--what complicated horrors--did not that
crowded deck present! Did the priestly miscreants of the middle ages
ever represent among the torments of purgatory the deck of a channel
steamer? If not, then they forgot the "lower deep," that Satan
doubtless thought about, according to Milton.
There were men and women of every age and complexion, with faces of
every possible shade of expression. Defiance, resolute and stern,
desperate resolves never to give in, and that very same defiant
determination sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought. A deep
abyss of abdominal discontent, revealing afar the shadow, the
penumbra, of the approaching retch. And there were _bouleversements,_
and hoarse confidences to the sea of every degree of misery. The wind
was really risen quite to a gale, and the sea ran with fearful power. Two
sailors, standing near, said, "I wouldn't say it only to you, Jack, but
in all the time I've crossed this here channel, I've seen nothin' like
this."
"Nor I neither," was the reply.
About mid channel a wave struck the windward quarter, just behind the
wheel, with a stroke like a rock from a ballista, smashed in the
bulwarks, stove the boat, which fell and hung in the water by one end,
and sent the ladies, who were sitting there with boxes, baskets,
shawls, hats, spectacles, umbrellas, cloaks, down to leeward, in a
pond of water.
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