Letters from England | Page 3

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This etext was prepared by Jane Duff and proofed by David Price,
email [email protected] from the 1904 Smith, Elder and Co.
edition.

LETTERS FROM ENGLAND 1846-1849

LETTER: TO W.D.B. AND A.B. LIVERPOOL, October 26, 1846

My dear sons: Thank God with me that we are once more on TERRA
FIRMA. We arrived yesterday morning at ten o'clock, after a very
rough voyage and after riding all night in the Channel in a tremendous
gale, so bad that no pilot could reach us to bring us in on Saturday
evening. A record of a sea voyage will be only interesting to you who
love me, but I must give it to you that you may know what to expect if
you ever undertake it; but first, I must sum it all up by saying that of all
horrors, of all physical miseries, tortures, and distresses, a sea voyage is
the greatest . . . The Liverpool paper this morning, after announcing our
arrival says: "The GREAT WESTERn, notwithstanding she
encountered throughout a series of most severe gales, accomplished the
passage in sixteen days and twelve hours."
To begin at the moment I left New York: I was so absorbed by the pain
of parting from you that I was in a state of complete apathy with regard
to all about me. I did not sentimentalize about "the receding shores of
my country;" I hardly looked at them, indeed. Friday I was awoke in
the middle of the night by the roaring of the wind and sea and SUCH
motion of the vessel.
The gale lasted all Saturday and Sunday, strong from the North, and as
we were in the region where the waters of the Bay of Fundy run out and
meet those of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, afterwards we had a strong
cross sea. May you never experience a "cross sea." . . . Oh how I
wished it had pleased God to plant some little islands as resting-places
in the great waste of waters, some resting station. But no, we must keep
on, on, with everything in motion that your eye could rest on.
Everything tumbling about . . . We lived through it, however, and the

sun of Sunday morn rose clear and bright. A pilot got on board about
seven and at ten we were in Liverpool.
We are at the Adelphi. Before I had taken off my bonnet Mr. Richard
Rathbone, one of the wealthiest merchants here, called to invite us to
dine the next day . . . Mrs. Richard Rathbone has written that beautiful
"Diary of Lady Willoughby," and, what is more, they say it is a perfect
reflect of her own lovely life and character. When she published the
book no one knew of it