IV.

"In high spirits and full of courage, we now began a voyage, which

certainly was the most remarkable ever undertaken. Crowded together in

two wretched, open, and heavily laden boats, we had to cross a space

of not less than two hundred miles, in order to reach the nearest

shore, and this in a climate where the middle of summer is as cold as

our severest winters, and upon a sea covered with huge masses of ice,

which at one moment are stationary, and in the next hurled together by

a storm, with terrific force. Besides, we were weak from our previous

exertions, and had not really the strength to strive successfully

against the dangers which threatened us.

"As the eastern shore of Nova Zembla appeared to be bound up with

unbroken ice, Barents, with admirable prudence, had advised us to

steer towards the north, so that having passed round the northern

point of land, we might reach the western coast, and from there run

for some Russian port, where we might hope to meet some vessel bound

for the Netherlands. We had not gone far on this projected route, when

we found ourselves so hemmed in by icebergs, as to be totally unable

to make any further progress. Such an unpropitious commencement would

have disheartened many men, but fortunately, we were accustomed to

danger and disappointment in every shape; so we kept up our spirits,

and cast anchor in order to wait until the breaking up of the ice

should afford us an opportunity of proceeding on our journey again. In

the meantime we employed ourselves in seeking bird's eggs for our

sick, of whom we now had several, and in melting snow by the fire for

drinking water. On the 15th of June, the ice in which we were

embedded, broke up, and a favorable wind springing up, our men handled

their oars so well, that by the 17th we had reached the most northerly

point of the island. But, unfortunately, on the same day the icebergs

were put in such violent agitation by a storm, and struck the boats

with such force, that the boldest grew disheartened. We took a last

farewell of each other, and expected every moment would be our last.

In this fearful extremity we held a consultation as to what was best

to be done; no other means of safety could we see, than to work our

way out of the floating ice, and get upon some iceberg. But all our

endeavors to get alongside of one of these were in vain, and unable to

endure longer the lamentations of my companions, I caught hold of the

end of a rope, and leaped like a frog from one place to another, until

I reached the firm ice. As the rope was fastened to the two boats,

they were quickly drawn to the spot I had reached, when the men took

out their cargoes and pulled them upon the ice. We found they were so

much injured by striking against the ice, as to need a thorough

overhauling, which we set about without delay. The driftwood, which

lay along the shore in considerable quantities, now stood us in good

need, as by means of it we were enabled to boil our pitch and tar.

"For four long and dreary days had we lain among ice and snow, when a

south wind sprang up, and once more opened a passage for us. We

hastily launched our boats again, and put their cargoes into them; but

hardly had we commenced to row when we found ourselves surrounded by

masses of ice again, and were obliged to pick our way out of them with

great difficulty; at last we reached the open sea once more, and were

able to continue our voyage until the 25th of June, when we were

obliged to cast anchor again near a field of ice. At the same time a

violent storm arose, and drove our miserable crafts to sea, where they

were tossed about in great danger of being dashed to pieces against an

iceberg, or upset by the wind. Our men now employed what little

strength they had left in striving to get back to the land, but as

this could not be done by simple rowing, we ventured to hoist a small

sail, which we had scarcely done when the foremast of the boat I

commanded suddenly broke in two places, and I found myself obliged, in

order to keep up with the shallop, to raise the mainsail, which,

however, I had to lower again immediately, or my boat would have been

inevitably upset.

"We now deemed our destruction inevitable, as the storm of wind, which

had hitherto blown from the south, suddenly changed to the north-east,

and drove us from the shore. In the meanwhile the shallop had

vanished, and we sought for it in vain for a long time, owing to a

thick fog which covered the sea. At last I ordered some shots to be

fired, and to my great joy they were answered by others from the

shallop. I afterwards employed this means of finding the whereabouts

of our comrades with great success on all such occasions.

"On the 28th of June we were again shut in, and obliged to anchor

alongside of an iceberg. As we were much fatigued by the incessant

tossing about of the boats, we erected a tent on it, and determined to

pass the night there; but that we might sleep in safety, we set a

watch, and it was a happy thing for us that we did so, for at midnight

we received a visit from three immense bears, who, had we not been on

our guard, would most assuredly have made a comfortable meal off of

some of us. At the cry of 'Bears! bears!' we seized our muskets, and

although they were loaded with shot merely, fired them at the animals,

who were so stupefied at the inhospitable reception their friendly

visit met with, that they allowed us time to load with ball. One of

them had fallen at the first fire, and the two others made off in all

haste. Pretty soon, however, they changed their minds, and coming

back, dragged their dead comrade away with them for a short distance,

and then set to work to devour him. As soon as we remarked this, we

let them have another shot, and this time they ran off in earnest.

Four of us now went to look at the carcass of the dead bear, and found

to our no little astonishment that they had devoured half of it. The

wind, on this and the two following days, blowing from the same

quarter, we were obliged to remain where we were.

"The night of the 1st of July, was one of the most fearful and

dangerous that we had as yet experienced. The storm gradually

increased in violence, and at last by hurling the floating masses of

ice against the firm bank on which we were encamped, broke off that

portion of it which held our boats, so that they got loose and were

driven away. Many bundles and casks fell into the sea, and it was with

great difficulty, that by springing from place to place, we succeeded

in securing our boats, in which were the sick. After the storm was

somewhat abated, we endeavored to collect our provisions and tools

together, but alas, missed a great many which were very necessary for

the completion of our voyage. Whilst one half of the men were thus

employed, the others went over the ice to the land, in order to get a

tree that they might mend the broken mast of the shallop. They found

not only what they sought, but also, wedges for splitting wood, and

wood already split, from which we judged that men had been in this

place before.

"About this time we lost two of our men, who had been sick for some

time, having been obliged to be carried from our hut to the boat, when

we started on our voyage. When Barents, who had also been ailing,

heard this, he assured us that his end too was approaching, but as he

at the same time regarded with attention, a chart of that part of the

country which we had seen, which I had prepared, we did not believe he

was so ill, and paid but little attention to his words. Pretty soon,

however, he laid down the chart and asked for water; but hardly had he

drank, when suddenly he bowed his head and died, to the great grief of

all of us. We lost in him a brave comrade and intelligent man, on

whose skill rested most of our hopes of again seeing our native land.

"Sorrowing deeply, we continued on our journey, and at length, on the

4th of August, reached the Russian coast, after having suffered much

from the cold, and also from the scurvy, which on account of the want

of fresh provisions, had broken out among us. We landed to try and

find some signs of life, but could see no habitations, and the ground

produced nothing but wild shrubs. Some of the party proposed that we

should continue our journey by land; but as we could easily lose our

way, and fall into great danger, in a desert, which was very likely

filled with wild animals, the majority decided in favor of continuing

along the coast. But we could not hold out much longer, for our

provisions were reduced to a few mouldy biscuits; the most of us,

tormented as we were by hunger and sickness, would have welcomed death

as a happy release. Happily, however, we discovered a Russian barque

coming towards us under full sail; when she reached us, Heemskirk

went on board, and taking some money in one hand, pointed with the

other to a cask of fish which stood on deck. The Russians understood

him, took the money, and gave him the fish, together with some little

cakes. Half starved as we were, we rejoiced greatly at this purchase,

and hastened to refresh ourselves with the food.

"We now very often met Russian vessels, and they sold or gave us, very

readily, a part of their scanty stock of provisions. By the 20th of

August, we reached the western shore of the White Sea, and by good

luck arrived at a spot where some little houses were standing. We

entered them and were received with great kindness by their owners,

who were poor Russian fishermen. They led us into a warm room, where

we could dry our wet clothes, and gave us a meal of good fish and

soup.

"After continuing our journey for several days more, we were obliged,

by a storm, to land again, and found a hut where three men dwelt. They

cordially welcomed us, and when at their request we had told them our

story, informed us that a vessel from the Netherlands was at anchor at

Kola, a Russian port not many miles distant. We entreated them to go

with one of our party to Kola by land, but as they could not go

themselves they sent a messenger, who in a few days returned without

our comrade, but with a letter, through which we learnt to our joy and

astonishment, that Ryp himself, the commander of the other vessel,

from whom we had separated at Bear's Island, had arrived at Kola in

safety, after seeking for an eastern passage in vain.

"It was not long before he arrived himself, in a boat loaded with

provisions, and after a warm greeting we took, for the first time

since many days, our usual food and drink. Favored by the wind,

Heemskerk soon brought us to Kala, where the Russian governor listened

with great sympathy to the history of our adventures and sufferings,

and ordered our two boats to be preserved as memorials of our wondrous

journey.

"On the 18th of September we set sail, and after a prosperous voyage

entered the Meuse. From there we went to Amsterdam, and doubtless it

is still fresh in your memories, how we were conducted into the town,

dressed in the fox skins we had worn at Nova Zembla, and followed by

the acclamations of the whole population."

Father Gerhard ceased speaking, and for a while the young people kept

silent too, so much had they been astonished by the recital of such

strange adventures. Most did they marvel at the calm resignation of

the voyagers to their sad fate, and they hoped that in the voyages

which they themselves might hereafter make, that they should have as

excellent and brave companions.

They now thanked their patron for the trouble he had taken to gratify

them, and with a hearty squeeze of the hand wished him good night.

The Shipwreck.

A few years ago a company of one of the English regiments of infantry,

consisting of eleven officers and two hundred soldiers embarked in a

large, strongly built ship, to sail from Quebec to Halifax. Besides

the troops, there were forty-eight passengers on board, most of them

women and children, and the whole number of persons, including the

sailors, amounted to upwards of three hundred.

On the evening of the tenth day, when they were clear of the Gulf of

St. Lawrence, and a brisk wind had driven them out many leagues to

seaward, the pilot who, for the greater security of the troops had

been kept on board, directed the course of the vessel to the westward,

hoping on the next day to run her into Halifax. From the windward side

of the otherwise clear heavens a dark cloud showed itself on the

horizon, and in a short time afterwards the ship was enveloped in one

of those dense fogs, which make a voyage along these coasts so

perilous, during the greater part of the year. They had now come

within that space of the ocean in which it was usual to hold a ship's

course in sailing from England to the West Indies; torrents of rain

increased the thickness of the fog, and fearful gusts of wind

increased the danger, and the officers in charge of the troops,

thought it expedient to hold a consultation with the captain, as to

what course was best to be pursued in the present circumstances. The

result of this conference was a determination to keep on the course

deemed expedient by the pilot, but with as little sail set as

possible. For their further safety a watch was stationed on the

foredeck, with the company's drums which they beat from to time, and

taking besides every other precaution against their coming into

collision with another vessel.

Among the officers, was a lieutenant named Stewart, a young man of

uncommon steadiness and bravery, and who in his zeal for the comfort

of the soldiers and the discipline necessary to be observed for

maintaining order in the ship, had during the whole voyage, limited

his own hours of rest to the smallest possible number. One night,

completely worn out, he was about to betake himself to his hammock,

when the colonel requested in view of the danger that every moment

threatened, that he would remain all night upon deck. Stewart rallied

his remaining strength, and conquering the importunate demands of

sleep, he took his station with ten men on the foredeck, whilst the

captain, with eight soldiers, kept watch at the stern. The rain poured

down in streams, squalls of wind and angry waves caused the good ship

to reel and turn like one drunk, and to add to the horrors of their

situation, the night was so dark they could not see half the length of

the ship before them, and the fog enshrouded them in its oppressive

vapor. At ten o'clock, the watch on the bowsprit called out to the

lieutenant on the foredeck, and directed his attention to a clear spot

which he declared to proceed from a light. Stewart at once proceeded

to the stern where he found the pilot seated on the rudder,

apparently watching the same appearance, but when he inquired of him

what it meant, he received a very short uncourteous reply, together

with a command from the captain who was by, to go back to his post. He

did so, and not long after the man on the bowsprit once more called

out, that notwithstanding the thick fog he saw a light distinctly;

Stewart looked in the direction the sailor pointed out, and plainly

saw the glimmer of the friendly beacon, and knew it at once as the

signal placed to warn ships from approaching too near the cliffs which

lined the shore. Notwithstanding his first repulse, he approached the

pilot a second time; but he met with a second repulse;--he was

answered--"Sir, I have been royal pilot on this coast for twenty-five

years, and I ought to know where I am." The captain too, in a sterner

manner then before, commanded Stewart to return to his watch. The

lieutenant dared utter no further remonstrance, but with a heart,

heavy with sad forebodings, busied himself to keep up the failing

spirits of his men who were as apprehensive of the threatened danger

as himself. And his sad foreboding was only too soon fulfilled, for

whilst the pilot imagined his vessel to be sailing on the open sea,

she was already among the rocks that lay but a mile and an half from

the coast, but yet were sixty distant from the roadstead by which they

were to enter Halifax.

By midnight, Stewart felt himself so fairly exhausted by cold and long

watching, that he left the quarter deck, and went below to snatch, if

possible, a few minutes sleep. He had been in his cabin only long

enough to change his damp clothing for dry, when a fearful crash told

him the ship had struck upon the rocks. In a moment he was back on the

quarter deck. He found that a surging billow had struck the hinder

part of the ship, tore off part of the sheathing, and carried away the

watch-house in which two women were sleeping--all efforts to rescue

them were in vain. Whilst the storm-tossed ocean raged and foamed

around the devoted ship, and night shrouded all objects in her veil of

impenetrable darkness, wild shrieks and cries arose from the women and

children, increasing the horrors of the moment, and filled the

stoutest hearted among the mariners and soldiers with dread and

despair. Among the soldiers all discipline was at an end, and in many

families this hour of terrors had loosed the bonds of affection and

dependence, that until now had subsisted for years. The men forsook

their wives in the endeavour to save their own lives; their wives and

children were entreating the help from strangers denied them by

husbands and fathers, and an officer who had heretofore been

considered not only as a most courageous soldier, but had showed

himself a kind and affectionate husband, now turned a deaf ear to the

prayers of his wife, and intent only on his own deliverance, climbed

up into the rigging of the mainmast, left her to her fate below,

whatever it might be. In the meantime, the captain had ordered the

ship to be examined, he found that she had struck upon a hidden rock,

and the waves beating over the quarter deck had already filled all the

rooms with water. Several men had been washed overboard as they rushed

from their hammocks to the deck at the moment of the ship striking,

but the greater number had reached the foredeck where they crowded

closely together, awaiting in painful anxiety for what the morning

would bring.

At length the dappling clouds in the east proclaimed the hour of

dawning--the day struggled into existence, and showed to the great joy

of the shipwrecked, a rock about fifty yards distant, which raising

its dark head above the foaming sea, promised present safety if it

could be reached, although the white waves broke furiously against it.

But how were they to reach it? The only hope--and it was a weak

one--was if they could succeed in passing a rope from the ship to the

rock, and fastening it there so firmly that by its aid all might be

able to leave the wreck. But who was the adventurous one to carry it

thither? The most experienced officers on board, declared it

impossible for any one to brave those angry breakers successfully, and

the best and most resolute of the sailors, who, perhaps, would have

ventured encountering such a risk, had broken into the spirit room and

were now lying drunk, seeking to drown the bitterness of death which

they were so certain of meeting, by steeping their senses in

oblivion.

In the meantime, Lieutenant Stewart with folded arms and thoughtful

mien, stood on the foredeck, measuring with his eyes the distance

between the wreck and the rock. After some minutes spent in deep

consideration, he threw off his coat, fastened a rope round his body,

and plunged into the boiling surf. The soldiers looked on in anxious

silence--for the bold swimmer had almost immediately disappeared from

their view--a wave had buried him deep in its bosom--but again his

head was seen above its foaming crest, and with strong arms he parted

the angry waters as he swam boldly forward, like one determined to

battle with and conquer fate. His strength would not have sufficed to

enable him to accomplish his aim, had not a huge wave borne him

onward, and dashing powerfully against the rocky ledge left him behind

as it retreated. Stunned by the violence with which he was thrown, he

lay for some moments deprived of all consciousness; his senses at

length returning, he rose hastily and mustering all his strength,

essayed to climb the steep and rugged rock, the difficulty of the

assent being increased by the slippery sea-grass with which it was

covered. After many toilsome efforts he reached the top, where he

succeeded in fastening his rope. But as it was impossible for him to

be seen from this height by those on the wreck, on account of the

thick fog, he was obliged to descend to the shore, where, as he was

nearer the ship, he hoped he might be visible, and thus relieve part

of their anxiety. On the side next the ship the breakers dashed so

violently that he dreaded making the attempt, and venturing on the

other, he fell from the steep and slippery path down into the sea.

Benumbed with cold, and sorely wounded by the sharp edges of the

rocks, he was at first scarcely able to move, but still he managed to

keep his head above the water, and after an half hour spent in a

vigorous struggle with death, a rushing wave once more carried him to

the shore, where bruised and bleeding he lay on his back like one

dead. He felt like giving up the contest, but he saw the sinking ship

and his doomed companions--with great effort, therefore, he raised

himself, gave the appointed signal to show that he had succeeded in

fastening the rope, and a gleam of joy shot through his heart as he

heard the loud cheers with which the news was hailed on board.

In less than a minute, the only boat belonging to the ship was let

down, and manned with but one stout sailor. Slipping along by the rope

which Stewart had drawn he guided his frail craft to the rock, to

which he fastened a stronger one, brought with him for that purpose:

this being done, he returned to the wreck in order to bring off the

passengers. It was determined to send away the women and children

first, and accordingly two grown females or a mother with several

children were bound together and sent off, the little boat which was

guided by two sailors being too small to hold any more.

Stewart assured that the slippery surface of the rock where he had

stood when fastening the rope, would not afford sufficient space for

all on board, even to stand upon, was half in despair, but just at the

moment however, that the boat containing the colonel's wife, her two

children, and the surgeon of the regiment, pushed off from the ship,

the fog lifted and parting at the coast, showed another rock of

greater height and broader extent a few yards distant from the one on

which he stood. The boat almost touched the one first reached--he gave

the sailors a sign--it was understood, and they rowed to the second

rock where the surf was much less dangerous, and the breakers small in

comparison with those that beat against the other. A better landing

was to be obtained here, and without the loss of a single life or any

untoward occurrence, the women and children reached this place of

safety if not of comfort Whilst this was being done, they made a

running noose to slip along on the rope that Stewart had fastened to

the rock on which he now stood, which rope as we before have said

reached to the ship. By this contrivance the officers and most of the

soldiers attained the smaller rock, and in the course of two or three

hours all on board were safely rescued. By a merciful Providence the

ship groaning, creaking, tottering, and gradually sinking, just kept

above the water until the last man was taken off; then a surging wave

dashed over her, and she was seen no more--a few circling eddies alone

showed the spot where she went down.

When the men who, as we have said had landed on the smaller rock had

assembled, they found it incapable of holding so many--all could not

stand in the narrow space its surface afforded, and too closely

crowded, they could not resist the pressure of the waves that

sometimes broke over it. The higher rock where the women and children

were landed showed that there was still room for many more of the

shipwrecked; the colonel, therefore, proposed that the officers should

be rowed thither in the boat, but to this the soldiers would not

listen. With death staring them in the face, they declared all

subordination was at an end--that preference on account of rank and

birth was not to be thought of--all were now on an equality, life was

as dear to the meanest soldier as to the highest in command; no! no

preference should be given--it must be decided by lot, who should go,

and who remain. All efforts to still the angry tumult that now arose

among the excited troops was in vain, and the little island whose

rock-covered surface, lifted for ages above that boiling flood, where

wave contended with wave, and had never before been pressed by the

foot of man, now became a scene of strife and confusion.

In the midst of the crowd who could thus strive with each other in the

very presence of death, lay Stewart, senseless and covered with the

blood that flowed plentifully from his wounds. All believed him to be

dying, and only a few cared to trouble themselves about the noble

young officer, to whose disinterested daring the whole crew owed their

lives. His strong constitution, however, soon triumphed over his

temporary exhaustion, and he awoke to consciousness, just when the

oaths and outcries of the striving soldiers was at the loudest. Slowly

and painfully he arose on his stiffened limbs, and supported on the

arm of one of his own men from whom he learned the cause of the

tumult, he approached and commanded silence. This in the presence of

his superior officers was out of place, but distinction was at an end,

and beloved as he was by all the soldiers, the command was obeyed at

once. "My friends," he began, "death, inevitable death awaits us all

alike, both on the other rock and here where the angry waves beat over

us, if we do not soon obtain help. Our only hope for deliverance is by

means of the boat, through which we may, perhaps, obtain it from the

land, which cannot be very distant. Let the officers and sailors then

go over to the other rock, where there is more room than on this, and

the surf being less violent and itself nearer to the coast, they can

better venture to seek the help, without which we must all perish. We

will remain here in peace together, awaiting the issue whatever it

be; I will not leave you, but am ready to share every danger, and as I

was the first to spring into the foaming sea, to try what could be

done for the salvation of all, so I will be the very last to leave

this rock."

His words were answered by a cheer; the true heroic spirit which

breathed from his words--the magnanimity of his whole proceedings

since the first moment of the common danger, flashed upon the memories

of these rude men, and wrought an instant change. The soldiers calmed

and encouraged, no longer objected to the departure of the officers

and sailors for the other rock, and the boat at once began to ply

between. As it would not carry but two persons at once, it took some

time before the specified persons had passed over. At the last voyage

there was but one to go. This officer as he took his place on the seat

beside the rowers, called out to Stewart to "come along, for the flood

was rapidly rising on the rock, and his staying behind would do the

soldiers no good." The lieutenant however refused the invitation, with

the words that as he had promised the soldiers to remain with them, he

was determined to do so, whether the issue was life or death.

So, while the officers with the pilot and sailors were borne to a

place of comparative safety, Stewart stood with his two hundred

soldiers upon that naked rock that gradually grew less from the rising

of the encroaching waters.

Not without good ground for apprehension, had the last departing

officer warned the lieutenant of the danger that threatened from the

advancing tide. The rock on which two hundred human beings were now

crowded, hoping to escape or gain a respite from death, was one which

in nautical phrase is called a sunken reef, that is only above water

at ebb tide, while at flood, except when swayed by a sweeping north

wind, the sea buries it in a depth of ten or fifteen feet.

The pilot knew this well, and having made it known to the colonel,

this knowledge was the occasion of his heartless proposition, that the

officers should be saved, leaving the soldiers to perish.

But when men deal treacherously with the unfortunate, or seek to ruin

the unsuspecting, it is then that a kind Providence watches over

them--it is then that the hand of the Most High is stretched forth for

their protection;--throughout the whole of this day, the only wind

that held the flood tide in check, namely the north-east, swept over

the still angry ocean and restrained its perilous advance.

Soon after the ship went down, the sea became covered with boxes and

barrels, together with many other articles of the stores on board

which had been floated from the hold; the confined air between the

decks had caused an explosion, and burst the vessel in every part.

This was providential, if those casks of provisions would only flock

toward the rock, they might be able to secure enough to support them

until help could be obtained either by a passing vessel, or from the

shore.

In the meantime, the still rising water had encroached so far upon the

rock that but one dry place was left; here the soldiers clustered,

standing close to one another, for the confined space admitted but

little movement. In order to judge of the rapidity with which the tide

was rising, Lieutenant Stewart ordered two large stones to be placed

on a rocky projection, whose surface at this time was just even with

the water. Leaving the spot and returning after a time, they found

them completely hidden. They then placed two others on a spot somewhat

higher, and turning away, scarce daring to hope that they should see

them again. But what was their joy on returning, to find not only the

two last dry, but the first two entirely out of the water; they were

thus assured the tide had reached its highest mark.

But now another trouble arose which threatened every moment to

increase the sufferings of the shipwrecked. As the waves dashed over

them for many hours, they had swallowed a large quantity of sea water,

this created a burning thirst, that was increased by their clothing

being entirely saturated with salt water. Whilst thus suffering, an

object was seen floating on the surface of the water, and approaching

the shore, which promised help in this moment of due necessity. One of

the sergeants was the first to remark it, and hastening to Stewart,

remarked that a cask was being washed by the waves to the edge of the

rock, and that he was sure it contained rum. The lieutenant, who

dreaded the effect of strong drink on the men as the greatest possible

evil, bade the sergeant to sink it as soon as it reached the shore.

The cask came nearer--a huge wave lifted it high and dry upon the

rock. The sergeant could not obey Stewart's order--the soldiers at

once clustered around it, and having been slightly broken as it was

dashed upon the rugged resting place, to their great delight,

discovered that it held--not rum, but pure sweet water, and in such

quantity that all could drink to their satisfaction.

Thus delivered from dread of being washed away and the torment of

thirst, new hope and increased courage sprang up in the breasts of the

shipwrecked, and beginning to think over how they might better their

condition, their first act was to prepare a comfortable place for

their wounded lieutenant, who seemed to be rapidly sinking from loss

of blood and the effect of his severe exertions. One corner of the

rock, the highest above the sea, presented a smoother surface than the

rest; they cleared the slippery sea-grass from the spot, and wrapping

a cloak round him, laid him down. Two soldiers, one on the right hand,

the other on the left, lay down near to screen him from the cutting

sea breeze, some others lay across these, thus forming a pyramid of

bodies that secured to the wounded a shelter from wind and rain. The

rest of the soldiers threw themselves on the rocky surface, whereon

they could find a place, and in a few moments were as sound asleep as

if reposing in the most luxurious chamber.

The day closed in, but the fog still continued; the rain poured down

in torrents on those half naked men, and the piercing north-east wind

made them shiver as it swept over them in their thin and sea-soaked

garments. At last all desire for sleep was banished, and rising from

their uncomfortable lodging places, each one looked out into the

darksome night in hopes of discovering a delivering ship. Sometimes

the silence that brooded over the little island was interrupted by the

joyful cry of "a ship! a ship!" but directly after, some foam-crested

billow rising high above the surrounding waves, showed what had

caused the delusion.

The sufferings of the unhappy men after this one short alleviation

again increased, the tide rose higher than before, for the wind had

now chopped round to the west, there was no restraining influence from

it as at first. The sea, as if claiming the rock as part of his

domain, advanced higher and higher, until at last only one dry spot

remained upon which the soldiers clustered so closely, that those who

stood in the middle could scarcely breathe. All believed that death

was approaching--all hope of deliverance had faded from each heart,

and every one of the seemingly doomed party who could control his

thoughts in that dreadful hour, summoned his last effort to be

expended in prayer.

As they stood there in silence with hearts darkened by the utter

extinction of hope, a red light was seen above the rolling waves--its

ruddy glow as it glanced upon the white-capped billows caused those

sunken hearts to beat with renewed activity--they gazed far out upon

the sea, but no man spoke; in a moment more the form of a ship was

seen, dimly but certainly in the enveloping fog. The loud and joyful

huzza that burst from the shipwrecked soldiers proved to those on

board the vessel sent to their rescue, that the rock was still

unsubmerged, and that life was there, and they returned the cheer with

great good-will. It appeared afterwards that some of the sailors had

attempted to reach the shore in the jolly boat; that they encountered

great toil and danger, but were at last so fortunate as to come up

with two fishing vessels. One of these had already taken the officers

and women from the larger rock and landed them on the coast; the other

turned about to look after the soldiers, although the captain of the

wrecked vessel declared it was folly to expect to find any of them

living, for he was convinced that the "sunken reef" had long ere this

been hidden beneath the foaming waters.

For fear of the ship being injured by the rocks, they could only

approach within a certain distance, and with only one small boat.

Stewart called through a speaking trumpet to the sailors, and inquired

how many they could take at one time in the boat. They answered,

"twelve," at the same time recommending to the shipwrecked to embark

quietly, and not rush in such numbers as to peril their own safety.

Stewart, exhausted as he was, enforced the necessity there was for

this caution, and marshaling his men as well as was possible in the

narrow space, he divided off the first twelve, and his command was

obeyed with promptness and without confusion. In the meantime, the

little boat had reached the rock, and the embarcation began, and

without the least disorder. The night came on, but nineteen times the

boat made its way through the darkness, from the ship to the now

nearly submerged rock, still bearing its living freight in safety, and

it was only at the last voyage that they shipped the two last

soldiers, and the noble hearted, heroic Stewart, whose soul was full

of blissful feelings at the thought that by his courage, obtained

through confidence in God, he had saved the lives of three hundred

men.

Voyage to the East Indies.

Soon after embarking, and wearied by the exertions I had been obliged

to make for the last few days, I betook myself to my cabin and to

rest. When I again ascended to the deck, I looked towards the shore we

had left, but nothing was to be seen, but a long gray stripe that lay

like a dim cloud along the distant horizon. It was the last sight of

my native land, and gradually its faint purple outline faded until it

was lost in the foam-crested waves. On all sides of me was the wild

waste of waters; as far as the eye could reach, it rested upon moving

masses like fields of sea-green. Above us was the blue and vaulted

heavens that were now illumined with the burnished rays of an August

sun, that was even now dipping his broad disk into the waves that

formed the distant horizon.

All around was life and motion; ours had not been the only ship that

had taken advantage of a favorable wind to put out from Cuxhaven to

the open sea. Four or five other ships were sailing along side, and as

they spread their snowy sails, on which the bright rays of the summer

sun was playing, they skimmed like white-winged sea-mews over the dark

green waters.

And now one of the pilot boats that lie here at anchor, yet tossed

year in and year out by the restless waves, sending on board both, to

the homeward and outward bound a skilful guide, to steer the ship

through the perilous shoals and sand banks that lie on this coast,

approached, to take up the pilot that had steered us safely into the

open sea. He took charge of all our letters--from those written to

parent, friend, or lady love left behind, to the tender lines penned

by the least shipboy, taking a long farewell of the mother who

standing on the pier, waved her hand to her child whose home was

henceforward to be on the deep, until long after we sailed. The pilot

thrust them all into his great leathern bag, held out his sea-hardened

hand to bid each one farewell and gave us his sailor-like greeting:

"Farewell, and a lucky voyage to you." He jumped into the boat, four

lusty rowers sat on the benches, and it flew over the glancing waters

with the speed of a bird until it reached the one-sailed craft he

called his pilot ship. This was our final adieu to the homes we had

left, for with the departure of the pilot from on board, the last link

that unites the sailor to his native land is broken, and it is then

the traveller feels how really every rolling wave increases the

distance between him and the fireside joys he has left behind.

Light winds soon drove us into the English channel, where we saw the

chalk cliffs of Dover shimmering in the bright sunshine on one

side--the coast of France like a soft blue cloud dipping into the sea

on the other. We approached so near to the British shore, that we

could distinguish the buildings and light-houses plainly. Near to

Dover, and on a rocky precipice, stands an old fortress of the middle

ages, looking out threateningly with bristling canon on the town and

over the sea that breaks and murmurs at its rocky base.

As it became dark, numerous beacon lights blazed from the watch-towers,

some speedily vanishing, others twinkling and glancing like meteors that

beguile the wanderer from his way, but many with clear and steady

ray, shone brightly over the face of the deep and guided the sailor

on his adventurous course. The first were the so-called fire drakes,

covered partly by metallic plates which turn, and thus is caused the

appearing and vanishing of the light so speedily, the latter is the

steady beacon of the light-house, which distinguishable from all

others by its brilliancy and the color of its flame, enables the

seaman to direct his craft safely through the channel. Hundreds of

other lights were glancing everywhere, like the fire flies of the

tropics upon the face of night, those were the burning lanterns

carried at the prow of the steamboats, warning each other of

approaching too near, and giving the same intelligence to ships.

On the following morning we found ourselves in the neighbourhood of

the Isle of Wight, and vainly looked out for some compassionate fisher

boat, that for a flask of brandy or some salted fish, would carry our

last letters to some port, from whence they might be forwarded to our

homes. A few days later, and we lost sight of the English coast; and

with it the last land in Europe faded from our eyes. We found

ourselves on the open sea, and with lightly swelling sails, steering

for the Cape de Verd Islands. Of the many vessels which we hailed or

passed in the British channel, not one was to be seen; here every ship

held silently on her own monotonous way, without troubling herself

about the fate of another; and here instead of the life and bustle to

be met with on a coasting voyage, nothing was to be seen, but the dark

blue waves of the broad Atlantic and the bright resplendent sky.

To enjoy a sea-voyage one must have entirely overcome the severe

ordeal of sea-sickness, and then with the high health that generally

follows the departure of this disagreeable visitant, life on the ocean

is not without a beauty and variety of its own. In a fortnight one

becomes sufficiently versed in the laws of equilibrium to maintain his

place in his hammock from a sudden lurching of the ship in a squall or

night of tempest, or so skilfully to balance himself and his plate at

table, that neither shall be thrown to the right or left. By degrees,

too, one becomes accustomed to the slovenliness of the cabin servants,

and the dusky appearance of stained and soiled table cloths, and at

last even ceases to miss the newspapers and the absence of cream in

his coffee.

During the first part of our voyage we had most beautiful weather; the

deep blue sea upon which the foam-crested waves chased each other as

if at play, and the bright heavens where thin and transparent clouds

were floating like veils of gossamer, filled the heart with gladness

and disposed it to profitable musings. Light winds filled the sails

that swelled beautifully on their masts and drove the ship, that under

a cloud of white canvass looked like a stately queen, onward.

Sometimes she would lie motionless on the waves for a time, then urged

by the breeze she would glide forth like a capricious beauty, cutting

the water at the rate of more than four miles an hour. So gentle was

the motion, that in the cabin one could scarce hear the murmur of the

waves as the ship kissed them with her bowsprit, or raised a track of

foam as she divided them with her sharp keel or directing rudder.

It may seem strange, but it is nevertheless true, that on the land,

the Sabbath never speaks to man with such solemn voice as it does in

beautiful weather on the deep blue sea. Then it seems as if wind and

wave and sun and sky were all holding sacred festival, and Nature,

such as she appears on that wide and wonderful expanse, invited man,

the favored creature, to worship with her in her grand and sacred

temple. On week days, with the perpetual industry usual on board a

ship, the bustling of the sailors as they pursue their several

avocations, the call of the boatswain, the noise of the carpenters'

hammer that cannot be excluded from the cabin, contrasts vividly with

the calm brought by the solemn stillness of the Sabbath,--its

influence is visible on all. No tar-bucket is seen on deck, no

paint-pot stands in the way, the sailor intermits his weekly task of

mending the sails, and the ropes that are to be repaired are laid

aside. The deck is scoured white and smooth with sand; everything is

clean, even the cabin-boy and the table-cloth, two articles that on

weekdays seem to hold themselves privileged to be dirty.

The sailors indeed, that is only some of them, take advantage of the

time bestowed by the Sabbath, to mend their jackets and stockings, or

patch up old boots and shoes; others lie stretched out on the deck

with a book in their hands or a cigar in their mouths, murmuring

something to which the waves are the only listeners; others are down

in the forecastle looking over their chests and coffers, the sight of

their humble effects, or perhaps some cherished keepsake, recalling

thoughts of loved ones at home. But in whatever business engaged, the

influence of the Sabbath is seen on all, for there is no countenance

but speaks the calm and quiet content, which this blessed day, so

wisely ordered as a respite from toil and care, brings to all, whether

on land or sea.

We were out four weeks without having seen anything but sky and water,

when one day we saw the rugged crest of a high mountain rising above a

pile of thick gray clouds. It was the high hill of the island of St.

Anthony, the most westerly of the Cape de Verd group. Little by little

the low-lying clouds ascend like a drawn up curtain, and the whole

island lay spread out, a living panorama, to our view. But alas! we

passengers were not permitted to leave the ship, and as soon as we had

taken in provisions and water, the anchor was lifted and we held on

our way towards the south.

As in all lands lying in the warm latitudes, the works of nature are

found in greater and more vigorous beauty than beneath our colder and

melancholy skies, so also do the tropical seas present appearances

never seen in the northern waters. If a storm arises, the whole

creation seems to be dissolving. No words can be found adequate to

describe the scene, or in any measure to convey the frightful

experience the sailor has to undergo. But on the other hand, in clear

and calm weather, the tropical sea presents an aspect of gorgeousness

and grandeur, with which the loveliest natural scenery of a northern

climate cannot compare. Here the rising of the sun from his bed of

waves, presents a spectacle that fills the heart with reverence and

awe at the same time that it swells with rapture of the purest kind.

The thick clouds that rested like a veil of darkness upon the

illimitable surface of the sea, at the coming of the god of day,

disperse in their vapors. The twinkling stars grow paler as he

approaches, the dark gray color of the water changes to a cheerful

blue, and streaks of clear purple are seen in the east, increasing

each moment to a varied hue, and as the horizon brightens, darkness

flies far from the bosom of the waters. Suddenly rays of glorious

light break forth from heaven and pour their golden glory on the sea,

the sun rises in his glowing strength above the bank of purple clouds,

and as they disperse themselves over the azure firmament, various are

the shapes, whether beautiful or grotesque, that they assume. One can

imagine he sees towns, hills, castles with tall towers, ships, and a

thousand other objects in their flitting shapes, but yet scarcely

formed ere they lose their evanescent beauty both of form and color,

as the sun mounts above the horizon.

The animal kingdom of the tropical ocean is extraordinarily rich and

varied. The sea birds are distinguished by their size, and beauty of

plumage, and greatly surpass those that belong to the north. Thousands

of flying fish spring above the surface, in order to escape some

lurking enemy below, only to find their death on the deck of the ship,

but oftener to fall an easy prey to some rapacious bird. Nothing can

equal the gay colors of the Bonito and Dorado, a smaller kind of

ravenous fish peculiar to the Southern seas, and which are always

found in close pursuit of their neighbors, the flying fish. With what

enchantment does the astonished spectator fasten his gaze upon the

lightly moving waters. His eye penetrates the depths that lie far

below the crystal surface, and is lost in wonder at beholding the

myriads of living creatures with which the mighty ocean teems! Not a

moment but what presents some new and interesting subject for inquiry

or contemplation, thus breaking in pleasantly on the otherwise

monotonous current of sea life.

So the day passes over, full of interest, if man will only take the

trouble to secure it; and the sun that here regularly measures his

diurnal course in twelve hours, is declining to his setting. Again the

attendant clouds, that at times assume the appearance of burning

volcanoes, gather around him, as though to curtain him as he sinks to

rest, but as his glancing rays reflected on the smooth water are

refracted in gushing vapors, thousands of fireballs seemed to rise as

from a crater, and streams of burning lava to flow into the ocean. At

length the sun is hidden beneath the waves; for a few minutes the

western horizon is like a sea of glowing purple, and then night comes,

shrouding all in her darksome veil. But there is no gloom; thousands

of stars far brighter than those of northern lands glitter in the

firmament, and are mirrored in the chrystal waters; fiery meteors dart

through the heavens, and the whole surface of the ocean is covered

with luminous insects.

Pleasant as is life on shipboard, even in a slow voyage, when with

sufficient wind, which is mostly the case in this latitude, to

keep the vessel moving, bringing refreshing coolness to the

sailor, and spreading life and healthful motion over the sea; not

less uncomfortable is the condition of a vessel when becalmed, as is

not seldom the case for many weeks together. With heavy heart the

mariner sees the breeze that so lately rippled the waves, gradually

die away, and leave the bosom of the ocean calm as a slumbering lake.

The sails hang flapping from the yards, the sea is motionless,

presenting a dull expanse of water as far as the eye can reach, and

no zephyrs float through the atmosphere to give relief from the

burning rays of the sun. The ship lies like a log on the water,

the discontent and murmurs of the crew increase every day, and in vain

do they try to drive the tedium away by practising all sorts of

diversion. But the night brings some relief, not only in her calm

beauty, but cooling dews refresh the heated atmosphere, and the moon

and stars shine forth in unsurpassable glory in the cloudless

heavens.

On the first of October, we passed the equator. Neptune, as is his

custom with all ships, honored us with a visit. With the early

twilight, we heard a deep bass voice that seemed to rise up out of the

waves, hail the ship in true nautical style. The helmsman answered

through his speaking trumpet, to the usual questions of where we were

bound, and from whence we had sailed. Two of the ship boys were

listening with all their ears, and peering curiously but vainly over

the bulwarks in order to get a sight of old Neptune. At length the

voice from the bowsprit made itself more audible, and in the

following manner. "I see that there are a few on board that have never

before been in my territory, and must submit to the regulations I

demand, as it becomes them to do." As the last words were uttered a

gigantic figure, his head covered with a periwig of knotted sea-grass,

with a false nose, and his face painted in various colors, now

ascended the ship's side, and clambered on deck. He carried a speaking

trumpet of three feet long in his right hand, under his left arm was a

few thick books, and from the leg of his boot a huge wooden compass

protruded itself. A masculine woman in whose soot-begrimed lineaments

I, with some trouble, recognized those of our boatswain, personating

Amphitrite, followed the god of the sea, carrying a long lubberly boy

in her arms, wrapped up in an old sail. They were introduced to us by

Neptune as his wife and son. Having advanced to the after deck, where

the sailors were assembled, he opened one of his colossal books and

spread an old sea chart out upon the deck. "Hallo, helmsman," he

inquired, "what is your latitude and longitude?" The answer being

given, he grumbled something as he pulled his huge compass from his

boot, and having carefully measured his old chart, at last struck a

hole in it, as he exclaimed, "Here you are--all right--what course are

you steering?" "South, south-east!" "You must go four degrees to

westward--you will have a better wind," growled Neptune, and therewith

he doubled up the chart, and stuck the compass in his boot again. "I

must see after my new circumnavigators," he added in the same gruff

tone as he turned his eyes on the two before-mentioned boys and one

old sailor who, although he had followed the sea for twelve years, had

never, until now, crossed the equator; "we must make a nearer

acquaintance."

The name, birth, and age of each being inquired into, and duly

registered in one of the large books, each one after having his eyes

blindfolded, was led by the sailors to the forecastle and seated on a

plank, under which was placed a large tub of water. The next operation

was to shave them, and accordingly their faces were smeared over with

a horrible mixture of shoemaker's wax, train oil and soot, most

ungently laid on with a coarse painter's brush. Neptune then performed

the office of barber himself, taking a long piece of iron which had

once served as the hoop of a tun, he scraped their chins in the most

unmerciful manner.

No sooner was this operation ended, then they pulled away the props of

the plank on which the three tyros were seated, so that they fell over

head and ears in the tub of water below, and thus received what the

sailors call a "genuine Neptune's baptism." After all these ceremonies

he turned as if to go, but the young sea-god at this moment set up a

most fearful outcry--he bawled as loud and lustily as any mortal.

"Just listen," said Neptune; "now I cannot go back to my cave in

peace, but that cub will roar and bellow the whole night, so as to

disturb all the waves below,--nothing even quiets him but a stiff

glass of grog, for he likes that far better than sea water."

The captain understood the hint; he laughed and nodded to the steward.

Young Neptune continued his lamentation nearly a quarter of an hour; I

saw one of the cabin servants carrying a smoking bowl of punch to the

foredeck, and the joyful shouts and loud hurrah that attested how

welcome was its reception, reached us who were in the cabin below.

On the following day as the ship, driven by a light wind, moved lazily

through the waters, we observed two large sharks following in her

wake. The sailors were at great pains to take them, but greatly to the

vexation of themselves and the passengers who entered quite as eagerly

into this sport as themselves, the cunning fish disdained the bait and

swam slowly away. To my enquiries of why they had not seized upon the

meat thrown out as lure, sharks having always been represented as

voracious and greedy, one of the passengers answered,

"It all depends on whether or not they are hungry. In some soundings,

where fish abound, I have seen sharks by the hundred, which not only

refused the bait, but did not injure the men who went into the water

to bathe or accidentally fell overboard. Nevertheless, like yourself,

I wonder that these creatures did not bite, for the sharks of the

Atlantic are considered particularly greedy."

"I can tell ye," said the boatswain, who was standing close by, "why

they did not take hold of the bait. It is because we are just in the

track of the Brazilian slave ships; they throw many of the niggers

overboard, for many die, and there's no doubt but the creatures find

richer morsels than a bit of salt beef."

"Are there not several species of sharks?" I inquired of a passenger

who seemed well acquainted with natural history in all its variety.

"A great many," he answered, "and the largest and most rapacious is

the white shark, to which class those that have just left us belong.

He moves through the Atlantic as if it was his own realm, but is

seldom seen beyond the solstitial point, preferring the latitude

within the tropics; he is also found in the Mediterranean sea, and

also in the gulf of Lyons, where he is peculiarly savage. The blue

shark, seen in the English channel, is seldom dangerous; others,

larger but less harmless, infest the northern seas, and are often

pursued by the whalers merely for sport. Then there is the spotted or

tiger shark, not very large but exceedingly rapacious; the hammer

shark, which derives its name from the peculiar shape of its head, and

the ground shark, which is the most to be dreaded of any, since he

lies deep down in the water, and rising suddenly, seizes his prey

without any one suspecting his vicinity."

"Suppose a man is so unfortunate as to fall overboard, and a shark is

in the neighborhood," said I, "what can he do to save himself? Is

there no hope of escaping from his dreadful jaws?"

"The best means I have seen tried," he replied, "and with good effect

is, if a man is a good swimmer, to throw himself on his back, splash

the water with his feet, and shout with all his strength. The shark is

a great coward and easily frightened--noise will always drive him off.

When I was on a voyage to the West Indies, two or three years ago, I

had a Newfoundland dog with me, who was accustomed to spring into the

water from any height, and after anything. I was greatly attached to

the animal, and you may imagine my alarm as, one day we were lying

becalmed off the West India islands, I saw him jump down and with,

loud barkings, as if delighted with the sport, swim after a large

shark that was playing around the ship. I expected nothing else but to

see him devoured in an instant, but to my astonishment the monster

turned and swam vigorously, evidently frightened by the barking of the

dog who continued to follow him, until a boat was let down and himself

brought back by the sailors.

"A singular method," continued my learned fellow-passenger, "is

practised by the divers who collect pearls on the coast of Ceylon.

They often let themselves down an hundred feet in order to reach the

mud banks where the pearl oysters are to be found, and whilst they are

filling their baskets they must watch carefully on all sides lest a

shark fall upon them. If they see one near, they stir up the mud, and

then while the enemy is blinded by the turbid water they rise as

quickly as possible to the surface. Many escape in this manner, but

many also fall victims. Fair ladies as they adorn their persons with

these costly ornaments think little of the suffering by which they are

obtained,--the arduous adventurous life, or of the unfortunates who

are annually swallowed by those savages of the deep. When one

considers how often those poor Indians must dive to the bottom, to say

nothing of the loss of life, before a string of pearls can be

obtained, we may confidently assert that every necklace has been

purchased by at least the life of one human being."

Scudding now before a fresher wind, we steered towards the south and

soon found ourselves in a colder climate. The flying fish played

lively as ever around the ship, and one night so many fell on deck as

to furnish an excellent mess for breakfast. Black dolphins, the

greatest enemy of their flying neighbors, tumbled playfully about in

the rippling water, and at times encircled the ship in great numbers.

Their motion is swift and vigorous,--so much so that it is scarcely

possible to strike them with a harpoon.

On the 20th of October we reached the latitude of the Cape of Good

Hope. Flocks of sea birds fluttered around our masts, for this colder

region is the home of the beautiful sea dove, the great white

albatross and an innumerable multitude of smaller kinds, that on the

approach of stormy weather seem to rise, as by the stroke of a

magician's wand, from the sea. One of the few changes one meets with

on a voyage to Africa is angling for birds, for they are as easily

taken as the finny tribe, by baiting a fish-hook with a piece of fat

meat, and especially so in those rough seas, upon whose surface little

to nourish can be found, they seize greedily upon the hook, which

fastens itself readily in their crooked bills. All these sea birds are

clothed with a coat of feathers so thick and elastic that except in

one or two places they are invulnerable to a bullet.

The fable of the Flying Dutchman is well known--the Demon ship is

still supposed to traverse his unwearied but unprofitable course in

the neighborhood of the Cape. The weather is stormy almost throughout

the year, the skies ever dark and cloudy, but while other ships,

scarcely able to keep themselves steadily afloat, dare show but one or

two storm sails, the phantom ship is scudding before the gale under a

full press of canvass. Our captain assured us with an expression of

countenance which showed that he himself believed what he asserted,

that he had once seen the Dutchman under crowded sail in Table Bay

hardly two English miles distant; that he had altered his course in

order to come up with him, but all at once he vanished, and although

he steered a long time in the same direction, he found no trace of

him. The thing easily explains itself when one considers that the sky

is always dark and foggy, the sea rough and tempestuous, and not

seldom sudden storms of hail and snow prevent the voyager from seeing

a quarter of a mile before him; how easy then to lose sight of a

vessel in an instant.

Much more dangerous than the Flying Dutchman are the floating bodies

of ice, found also in these latitudes; and which often cause great

damage to ships, for owing to the thickness of the atmosphere they are

not seen, until they are driven against them. A few years ago an

English frigate in doubling the Cape, ran foul of an iceberg with such

force that she sprung a leak, and broke the rudder in splinters.

Luckily a puff of wind that streamed from a cleft in the ice and threw

back the sails, freed the ship from her perilous condition since

another stroke upon the iceberg would have dashed her to pieces.

There is no climate where gurnets are found in such numbers as in the

neighborhood of the Cape. In stormy or cloudy nights the sparkle of

these beautiful sea-fish is the brightest. The troubled waves as they

dash their foam-crested waters against the ship, glitter as though

thousands of brilliant stars were seen among them, and as the rushing

keel divides them in her course, the effect is indescribable, and

recalls to the mind of the spectator tales of fairies and sea-nymphs

that come up from their ocean caves to gaze with bright and curious

eyes on the daring mortals that invade their realm.

After doubling the Cape, we had sailed a whole week with a steady and

favorable wind towards the Isle of Bourbon, when on one clear day

whilst all were assembled on the deck, we were startled by a cannon

shot fired at no great distance, and came booming over the waters like

the voice of thunder. The captain was hastily summoned from his cabin,

but ere he made his appearance a second report broke upon the deep

stillness that succeeded the first. At the same moment a sailor on the

lookout called out from above, that he "saw a light over the bows of

the ship, but could not make out what it was." "Is it a ship,"

inquired the captain, as he began hastily to ascend the mainmast. "No,

sir!" was the answer, "the light is too large to come from a ship's

lantern, and it cannot be the Isle of Bourbon." "It must be a vessel

on fire," exclaimed the captain, as many cannon shots broke upon the

silent air, "Bourbon lies much farther to the north. Aloft there!

crowd on sail--in order to carry help to those unfortunates before it

is too late!"

Whilst the sailors were busy in executing the captain's orders, he

bade the gunners fire the cannon so that the crew of the burning ship

might know that help was near. In half an hour from the first alarm,

we could plainly discern the blazing vessel with the naked eye, and

soon after distinguished the whirling columns of flame as they

towered above the masts. The night, too, had come on, and the

impression made by the lurid light that shone far over the quiet

waters, and the booming sound of cannon that from time to time burst

on its stillness, was one too awful to be soon forgotten. "If we only

do not reach them too late!" cried one of the passengers who, like the

sailors, never even turned their eyes away from the burning spectacle.

"I hope the crew have taken to their boats before this," said the

captain, who with his nightglass to his eye was steadfastly regarding

the unfortunate ship.

The breeze springing up more freshly, we sailed with increased speed

towards the distressed vessel, the forepart of which was now one sheet

of flame; we saw the angry fiery element enveloping the foremast from

top to bottom as in a garment, now sweep over to the mainmast, the

sails of which were instantly on fire. How far the conflagration had

proceeded inside we could not ascertain; but we were very certain the

crew had left her and taken to the boats, for our continued cannon

shots were answered by muskets fired from the barge and jolly boat.

As we approached carefully so as to avoid danger to ourselves from the

collision with the burning ship, a wild cry arose from the foredeck of

the latter--piercing yet mournful, and while pained and astonished we

looked about to discover what it meant, a spectacle singular as

fearful met our eyes. The ship had a number of animals on board which

were being taken to England for a menagerie. In their haste to leave,

the crew had either forgotten to unloose them, or feared that by

liberating them, they might meet in their rage a worse enemy than even

the fire. In wild and unavailing efforts, they dashed furiously

against the iron bars that inclosed them, and their fearful cries

almost drowned the hissing and crackling sound of the flames. At

length they reached the mizzenmast, and the falling yards loosened a

plank or two of one of the cages--a noble lion with flowing mane and

glaring eyes burst forth and sprung overboard. At the same instant an

elephant had freed himself from the rope which fettered his hind legs.

Flourishing his long proboscis he rushed into the midst of the fire,

but soon driven back by the heat he retreated to a portion of the

foredeck which had not yet ignited, and his death-cry echoed loud and

mournfully over the dusky ocean.

The falling of the mainmast ended the sad catastrophe. The cages of

the other animals had taken fire, and their wild occupants bursting

through the half burned planks, showed their dark forms here and

there on the deck, and maddened with pain, shrieked aloud in agony

as they plunged into the sea. The elephant drew himself up as for a

last effort, and was about to spring overboard, as one bright,

blinding glare shot athwart our eyes, and the next moment, vessel,

animals, all had vanished as if by magic. The explosion that followed

instantly--the sparkling brands that were hurled in all directions,

explained that the flames had reached the magazine and thus blown up

the luckless ship.

By this time, we had come up close to the boats, when a strange sound

of snorting and moaning caused us to turn our eyes once more to the

spot where the ship disappeared. We saw the huge form of the lion

contending with the waves; attracted by the voices of men he was

making every effort to reach the jolly boat. With consternation, the

crew of the frail craft observed the advance of this dangerous

messmate, for if he laid but one of his paws upon the side, overladen

as she was already, she must inevitably sink by the increased weight.

The sailors plied their oars with renewed force--the little boat shot

over the waters like an arrow, and the poor animal was left far

behind. For a long time, panting and toiling, he continued the

pursuit, battling vigorously with wind and waves; but at last his

strokes grew weaker, his breathing shorter, and we saw him finally

yield quietly to the waves that settled over him even as they had

closed above the devoted ship.

The captain now called the sailors, who silent and motionless were

standing about, regarding the singular and impressive spectacle, to

their several duties. The sails were taken in, ropes were thrown to

the boats, and such a number of dark figures clambered up the deck

that we began to be uneasy, and rather doubtful of the character of

the rescued. We soon, however, became convinced that we had to do with

honorable people, and who, singular as they looked to us in their

oriental garb, took all possible pains to show their gratitude for our

timely succor. From the few Europeans on board, we learned that the

ship was from Sumatra bound to London; we therefore landed them on the

Isle of Bourbon whose port we entered two days after.

With the cold climate that we exchanged for a warmer as we again

approached the equator, we lost sight of the countless flocks of

sea-birds that so long had accompanied us. It is something remarkable

that they only inhabit the colder latitudes, for in a warmer climate

it is a rare thing to find them. Sometimes a few weary land-birds that

have strayed from their homeward way, skim over the ocean, or rest

upon the masts; how they maintain themselves on the wing cannot be

conjectured, but certain it is, they have been seen on the trackless

ocean, when no point of land was within hundreds of miles.

On the first day of December, a long range of blue hills rose on the

far horizon as if springing from the sea; we soon found it to be the

coast of Sumatra. Contrary winds kept us beating about and prevented

our entering the straits of Sunda, but we found ourselves surrounded

by a number of ships from all nations sharing a like fate, and waiting

with the same impatience for a favoring wind to blow them into Sunda

Roads or to their different destinations. At last the wished for

breeze sprung up, the sails swelled, and our gallant ship sailed

proudly through the straits. On all sides were seen chains of blue

hills and richly wooded islands rising out of the water; the long

coast of Java and Sumatra covered with vegetation and groups of

beautiful trees, and the thousand little green islets that studded the

straits like emeralds cast at random, presented a lively picture that

contrasted pleasantly with the late monotony we had endured. Huge

trunks of pistangs and tops of cocoanut trees, broken off by the wind

were driven about in all directions, and as they met us, awakened

almost as much apprehension as would a reef of rocks. We passed many

islands uninhabited, and with their impervious forests still remaining

in primitive wildness, clothed in the beauty of a perpetual verdure

unknown in northern regions, and soon came in sight of the white

houses of the island of Java, which surrounded with lofty trees and

blooming gardens, proclaimed themselves the dwellings of Europeans.

From many eminences the Dutch flag was seen floating, and as we sailed

along, a Java village looked out from among the tall cocoanut trees;

little barks shot out from the shore and steered towards our ship, and

one European boat manned with eight Javanese rowers, and bearing the

flag of Holland at her stern reached us first.

A police officer, corpulent and full of importance, now came on board

and handed the captain a sheet of paper on which he was desired to

inscribe the name and destination of the vessel, from what port she

had sailed, what burthen she carried, and other notices of the same

kind.

This finished, the Javanese barks rowed swiftly along side; these

small crafts are generally made of the trunk of a tree, neatly

hollowed out; they are filled with fruit, fowls, eggs, apes, parrots,

shells, and such like wares, with which the owner drives a profitable

trade with the ships. He sits on a little bench in the midst of his

merchandize with a short, broad oar in either hand; with this he

propels his fragile vessel; which is often not more than an inch or

two above the water's edge. After we had exchanged our pure Spanish

piastres, which is the coin they most prefer, for such things as we

needed, the traffic with the sailors commenced.

Such old jackets, woolen shirts, caps and whatever other articles of

clothing they could spare were bartered for eggs, cocoanuts, pine

apples and other eatables. This accounts for the singular garb of the

Javanese boatmen,--striped shirts, woolen caps and duck trowsers are

strangely mingled with portions of the oriental dress, and a sailor's

jacket with large brass buttons is considered quite ornamental. Next

to clothing they prefer knives, scissors and articles of iron ware. In

general the Javanese are pretty good judges of the value of these

articles, and mostly contrive to make a more profitable traffic from

their fruit and poultry than the European sailor with his stock of old

clothes. In the evening it is often the case at this time of year that

constant lightnings play round the horizon, illumining the picturesque

shores of Java and Sumatra. Impenetrable darkness shrouds both earth

and sea, and only by the light of the electric flash is the mariner

shown how to keep off land, and with shortened sail holds on his way.

On board of all vessels, on binnacle, masts and spars are hung lighted

lanterns in order to avoid collision with each other, for in the thick

darkness that envelopes all around, no object can be discerned at a

distance of three yards. In the meantime the wind pipes shrilly

through the shrouds, and lashes the waves into foam white as

snow-wreaths. After a few hours all again is still, no breeze disturbs

the ocean, the sails flap lazily against the mast, the waves subside

to a glassy smoothness, and the rain gradually ceases as the dawn

approaches. So pass the nights in this climate during the rainy

season.

In the morning we found ourselves surrounded with a great number of

vessels, the white sails of European ships covered the sea on all

sides, contrasting strongly with the small coasters made of plaited

hemp that darted gaily over the blue waves, and fishing boats of all

sorts and sizes were crossing our path or following in our wake. We

were seemingly enclosed in a nest of small islands, and it was a

mystery to conceive how it would be possible to find our way out of

such a labyrinth. Only by the high volcanic hills, with their crowns

of light smoke were we able to recognize the mainland of Java, whilst

the flowery coast of Sumatra faded gradually from our view, until at

length it was lost on the distant horizon. But the experienced eye of

our captain discerned clearly the way that lay before us; for many

years he had guided his ship in safety through these dangerous seas,

and attentive to his duty and his chart, he disentangled her from

among this knot of islands and we found ourselves once more in a free

offing. Soon the Roads of Batavia were in sight, where more than fifty

large ships and an incredible number of smaller ones were lying at

anchor. The French, Dutch, Austrian and English flags greeted our

arrival, one ship after another welcomed us to the roads with their

thundering cannon, which was regularly answered by the guard ship

constantly stationed here. At last our anchor was let down and fell

rattling into the deep. But, different from Sumatra and the coast of

Java we had left, nothing was to be seen at Batavia but a flat, low

beach overgrown with bushes, behind which appeared some groups of

green trees, and in the far distance rose a chain of blue hills from

the summits of which clouds of smoke were issuing, that told of the

many volcanic fires that are constantly burning in the Island of

Java.

Home-Sickness of a Siberian.

Every Russian officer is permitted to choose their servants from

among the soldiers, the number varying according to the rank; the

under lieutenants having the right to one, the captains can demand

three, and the field marshal twenty-four. These men, although freed

from military duty, are still numbered as belonging to their several

regiments, which they are obliged to enter, whenever their master

pleases. They are better fed and clothed than their comrades, and

upon the whole, live an easier and pleasanter life. Among these

soldier-servants, I became acquainted with one, a Siberian, whose

regiment was quartered in a small town in the government of Pultowa.

He was a dragoon and servant to the Adjutant of the division, with

whom I spent many hours in playing chess, and this man waited on us,

bringing us tea, or whatever other refreshments we needed.

Fulfilling all his duties to his master not only with ability, but the

greatest fidelity, he was treated with more friendship, and allowed

indulgences denied to others of his class, the humane officer whom it

was his lot to serve, knowing how to appreciate his faithfulness, and

wishing to remove the deep melancholy under which he constantly

labored.

This he was not able to do--for it was caused by home-sickness. He

pined for his rude home in Siberia--for the ice-fields, the marshy

meadows, and the barren steppes of his fatherland--he saw no beauty in

the summer plains of the South, no charm in the cultivated fields, nor

found pleasure in the society into which he was thrown. His sadness

increased every day--he lost his flesh, and at length became incapable

of effort, reduced to the borders of the grave.

In vain did his kind master endeavor to soothe him with comforting

words--as vain the attempt of the garrison surgeon to cure him with

varied prescriptions. His malady grew in proportion with their efforts

to heal it, until it took the form of monomania. He saw no means by

which he could accomplish his return to his beloved country so as to

be able to remain there in safety,--did he leave his kind master and

fly, it would be of no avail, for the same power that had at first

compelled his forced service, would exact it anew and with greater

vigor. He, therefore, took the desperate resolution to get himself

banished. This he could not do except he committed the crime of

murder, and an opportunity soon offered itself.[A] The victim was a

young girl, a servant in the same house with himself. She was of a

taunting, irritating disposition, and disputes were constantly

occurring between them--he resolved she should be the sacrifice to his

home-sickness, and accordingly in the next provocation he received

from her, he gave her a blow which killed her. He was imprisoned,

tried by military law, and his judges not knowing him to be a

Siberian, and never guessing his motive for the deed which he

acknowledged he had committed, passed sentence of banishment for life

to Siberia.

But this decree was only to be fulfilled after a preliminary

punishment had been inflicted--a punishment of which he had not

thought, and which embittered, if it did not destroy, the hope of

seeing his fatherland once more.

Before he commenced his journey into banishment, he was to receive

seventy strokes of the knout, and the chances were that he would

die under the operation, few constitutions being able to endure

its severity. But he did survive it, and the fortitude with which

he bore it awoke the admiration of all. I was obliged to be one of

the spectators of the execution of this bloody sentence, so I had a

full opportunity of witnessing the stoical heroism with which the

unhappy man bore the strokes that tore his flesh from his back and

shoulders. But if I was astonished at this courageous endurance of

bodily pain, I was yet more so when I saw the look of eager

inquiry, that notwithstanding the terrible suffering he was

undergoing, he cast from time to time on his soldier's cap that lay

on the ground quite near him, into which according to the Russian

custom, the spectators were dropping money, and so great was their

admiration of his endurance, that it was filled to the brim with

gold and silver coin, together with bank notes of larger value.

Virtue and crime were so mingled in this man, that it was hard to

form an opinion of him. The love of country, one of the highest of

human emotions, and avarice, almost the lowest, gave the poor

criminal, after receiving the seventieth stroke, strength sufficient

to walk with the support of the jailor's arm to the hospital, from

whence a few weeks after, his wounds being healed, he was sent with

some other criminals to his beloved Siberia.

THE END

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[A] Capital punishment is very rare in Russia, murderers escaping with

sentence of banishment.