What a wild night that was; the 17th of February, 1868; a savage night truly, and awful with the demoniacal fury of the warring elements. From somewhere in the frozen regions of the Northern Pole a hurricane had swept, bent on destruction, and in its giant might had so lashed the Atlantic that the ocean, like an untamed beast, broke into a maddened roar, and upheaved its mountainous waves as if to wash from the heavens themselves, the shuddering stars that seemed to peep affrighted from the rents in the ragged scud. It was an exciting night for mariners, and that cruel, bitter storm wind added largely to England’s wreck-roll.
Plunging into the troughs, and anon rising on her stern until she seemed to stand perfectly upright, the staunch steamship Roman Empire, struggled bravely on towards
