The sea still runs "choppy." It has been our worst night since we
came on board--"rocked in the cradle of the deep," but with no gentle
hand. The rocking continues this morning, and Mass is said by Father
Pichon and one or two other priests under considerable difficulties.
In the afternoon vespers are sung in the saloon, and in the evening,
after the Rosary, there is a sermon in English by the Rev. Father
Sloan, Pastor of Fallowfield, in the diocese of Ottawa. This is a
very distressing day to many of the passengers. There is longing for
the repose of smooth waters, and from four in the afternoon eager
eyes are scanning the distant horizon, in front of us, for a sight of
land. At six it is sighted--a vast rock in the form of a cathedral,
known as the "Skelligs," and by ten we are steering straight for the
Fastnet Light which flashes its welcome rays upon us at intervals of
a few seconds. The anger of ocean is fast subsiding, the stars are
out, and the Irish moon looks down upon us from a cloudless sky. It
is the feast of the Most Holy Trinity, and to-night, as in all the
nights since His creative hand hung those orbs in space, "The heavens
proclaim His glory, and the firmament of heaven shows forth the work
of His hands."
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