DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.11448#0032
6
THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS.
[chap. ix.
which her flag has swept in triumph from the time of the Arma-
da, "when the winds and waves had commission from God to fight
under British banners;" until these latter days, when the for-
tresses of Syria crumbled into ruins beneath her thunder, and a
nation, containing one third of earth's inhabitants, bowed down
before her.*
But to turn to details of that sea-life which any of my read-
ers, who have not already experienced, may calculate upon hav-
ing to live ere long in these amphibious days. Our time flows
on smoothly and pleasantly enough ; its course is so monotonous
and even, that it seems rapid. The minds of sea-going men en-
joy entire freedom from the daily cares that fever ordinary life ;
there is no wealth to be lost or gained, no letters to disturb into
joy or sorrow, no intrusive visitors : you live in the open air,
between the awful ocean and the glorious sky : there is very
little loud laughter, but there is scarcely an anxious or a gloomy
brow. Every one finds a listener, and, still more easily, does
every one find communicativeness. Information on every sub-
ject that can interest the traveller only waits an audience. You
will hear places, that sound most strange and distant, spoken of
with the familiarity of citizens : if you inquire about any locality
in the wide East, up starts a native of the spot; and a gazetteer
of voices is ready to enlighten you on any subject of geography,
from Cairo to Hong-Kong.
On Sunday divine service was performed by a young mission-
ary clergyman, to a grave and decorous audience. It was a
striking scene—that little congregation of exiles observing the
ritual of their church in the midst of that stormy sea. The red
ensign was laid upon a small table, and formed an altar, not un-
appropriate to the occasion ; without, the wind was howling,
and the waters weltered, and all nature seemed in commotion ;
but within, the peace of heaven was being promised, and seemed
to shed its calm over the storm-tost listeners to its voice. I was
surprised to find that none of the crew except the officers, or
* The walls of Acre, impregnable even to Napoleon, lie heaped in ruins ;
Beyrout, Tyre, Sidon, Tortosa-Gibell, and Scanderoon are defenceless. The
" Flowery Land " is laid open to the world, and a pen in Downing Street
wrought the spell by which all this was wrought.
THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS.
[chap. ix.
which her flag has swept in triumph from the time of the Arma-
da, "when the winds and waves had commission from God to fight
under British banners;" until these latter days, when the for-
tresses of Syria crumbled into ruins beneath her thunder, and a
nation, containing one third of earth's inhabitants, bowed down
before her.*
But to turn to details of that sea-life which any of my read-
ers, who have not already experienced, may calculate upon hav-
ing to live ere long in these amphibious days. Our time flows
on smoothly and pleasantly enough ; its course is so monotonous
and even, that it seems rapid. The minds of sea-going men en-
joy entire freedom from the daily cares that fever ordinary life ;
there is no wealth to be lost or gained, no letters to disturb into
joy or sorrow, no intrusive visitors : you live in the open air,
between the awful ocean and the glorious sky : there is very
little loud laughter, but there is scarcely an anxious or a gloomy
brow. Every one finds a listener, and, still more easily, does
every one find communicativeness. Information on every sub-
ject that can interest the traveller only waits an audience. You
will hear places, that sound most strange and distant, spoken of
with the familiarity of citizens : if you inquire about any locality
in the wide East, up starts a native of the spot; and a gazetteer
of voices is ready to enlighten you on any subject of geography,
from Cairo to Hong-Kong.
On Sunday divine service was performed by a young mission-
ary clergyman, to a grave and decorous audience. It was a
striking scene—that little congregation of exiles observing the
ritual of their church in the midst of that stormy sea. The red
ensign was laid upon a small table, and formed an altar, not un-
appropriate to the occasion ; without, the wind was howling,
and the waters weltered, and all nature seemed in commotion ;
but within, the peace of heaven was being promised, and seemed
to shed its calm over the storm-tost listeners to its voice. I was
surprised to find that none of the crew except the officers, or
* The walls of Acre, impregnable even to Napoleon, lie heaped in ruins ;
Beyrout, Tyre, Sidon, Tortosa-Gibell, and Scanderoon are defenceless. The
" Flowery Land " is laid open to the world, and a pen in Downing Street
wrought the spell by which all this was wrought.