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[81] times before sleep could again visit their eyes. The prevalence of this uncomfortable sensation soon deprived the ship of the guard detailed from the regiment to pace the decks, and when the relief was sounded no relief guard was forthcoming — they were leaning over the ship's side gazing with intense interest into the deep and dark waters of the Atlantic.

Morning came. Sunday morning, but with little to distinguish it from the other days in the week. It was as foggy as on Saturday, and the ship's decks had the same coat of dirt on them that they have borne since the embarkation of the Pennsylvanians. At half-past 10 we lay to about three quarters of an hour, as the soundings gave less depth and there was some indication of the fog breaking away. About half-past 11 the little flag-ship Picket, with our General on board, came dancing along over the rolling sea, when the Pennsylvanians aroused themselves from the depression of sea-sickness to give three rousing cheers for our gallant chief. The fog blew off, and for half an hour left the white sand fully exposed to our view. The low white sand beach extended as far as the eye could reach, and at intervals the ribs of a half-imbedded hulk protruded, a fit monument to the achievements of ocean on this terrible coast. A straggling rail-fence runs along this bank about a mile from the beach, and a farm-house with out-houses is distinctly visible, although the first indication of vegetation is nowhere to be seen. The white rollers break on this beach for miles, running along the receding shore with the speed of locomotives.

We are soon again enveloped in fog, and the Picket has fallen astern and disappeared. The beach is obscured and soon entirely invisible. The lead is thrown over every few minutes and the cautious pilot paces the deck with a sharp eye ahead. The fog again blows off, and shows that the steamer Northerner, with the Twenty-first Massachusetts on board, has got ahead of us in the fog. No other craft is in sight. The low beach of Hatteras island stretches along and exhibits a recent wreck, high and dry, and the tent of some wrecker, who is engaged in dismantling her, close at hand. Her masts and upper deck are gone, but her bowsprit and jib-boom still remain.

The woods of Hatteras island are now visible in clumps, and one solitary tree, apparently miles from any others of its kind, raises its broad top amid a waste of sand. Another cloud of fog is approaching, and the Northerner, the beach, and the woods are again invisible. The steamer's whistle and bell are plied with energy, as we are closing on the Northerner, and must warn her of our presence. The fog has again cleared away, and Hatteras lighthouse is visible about ten miles south and west of us. This light is one hundred and fifty feet above the level of the sea, and can be seen at night at a distance of eighteen miles. The Northerner, the only one of our fleet visible, is abreast of us, and both steamers have the Union Jack flying at the foretopmast, the signal for a pilot. We are yet fifteen miles from the inlet, and can hardly make it before night sets in. It is therefore determined to lay off and on until morning, as no pilot appears. The great point of danger in approaching the inlet is a shoal that extends several miles below the cape.

As our steamer passed Cape Hatteras lighthouse, it became evident that to run down to the inlet against a head-wind would be impossible before dark, and Capt. Bennett determined to put back far enough to enable him to make the inlet at high tide the next morning. The sun was setting through a band of clear sky just above the horizon as our craft went about. The sky and water met in the west, at the Hatteras shoals, and the breakers as they arose in clouds of spray were distinctly pictured on the angry sky. Although the wind was a light soft southern wind, there was a heavy swell which made our good craft roll and pitch until the mirror suspended in the state-room described an angle of twenty degrees with the wall. In the smoothest weather there is a swell about Cape Hatteras which is always dangerous. The light here is the same that Com. Barron ordered to be extinguished, while he was in possession of the works at the inlet. It is to be hoped that before he leaves Fort Warren he will be made to atone for that and other treacherous acts.

The moon and stars shone brightly as we slowly steamed northward and westward. About seven o'clock we met the little steamer Picket, with Gen. Burnside on board, steaming bravely on towards the light. We hailed her as she passed, describing a circle in the air with her masts, and informed her we were too late to pass the bar that night, and kept on our way. The rollers broke on the sandy beach with a sullen murmur, and heaved up clouds of spray that glittered in the bright moonlight. To the eastward of us rolled the broad Atlantic, unbroken by an obstacle for thousands of miles. The steamer rose and fell on the swell and creaked through every timber as a cross-sea with the force of ten thousand sledge-hammers would strike her abeam and send her guard under on the opposite side. She soon righted herself, and pouring a sheet of water from her side, plunged forward to struggle with the next hill of water.

We held this course until half-past 11, calculating that against a head-wind, which was gradually increasing, we would regain the lighthouse by daylight. As we went about we got into the trough of the sea and rolled with a wheel out of water half the time, bringing the strain on one side or the other as we lurched from side to side. Those who escaped from seasickness during the early part of the passage were now brought to the rail, but as the duties of a faithful correspondent do not admit of indulgence in this weakness, the writer, perhaps through the power of the press, which even Neptune seems to acknowledge, maintained that equilibrium necessary to fully transcribe all he sees and hears.

At five minutes past seven on Monday morning,

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