Title: The Loss of the Australia - A narrative of the loss of the brig Australia by fire on - her voyage from Leith to Sydney
Author: Yule, Adam
Language: English
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THE LOSS OF THE AUSTRALIA:

  A NARRATIVE OF
  THE LOSS OF THE BRIG AUSTRALIA, BY FIRE,
  ON HER VOYAGE FROM LEITH TO SYDNEY.

  WITH AN ACCOUNT OF

  THE SUFFERINGS, RELIGIOUS EXERCISES, AND FINAL
  RESCUE OF THE CREW AND PASSENGERS.

  EDITED BY THE REV. JAMES R. M'GAVIN, DUNDEE.


  NEW YORK:
  ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS,
  285 BROADWAY.

  1853.



CONTENTS.


                                                Page

  PREFACE,                                         5

  LIST OF THE CREW AND PASSENGERS,                 7

  CHAPTER I.
  THE VOYAGE AND CATASTROPHE,                      9

  CHAPTER II.
  THE SUFFERINGS IN THE BOATS,                    28


  CHAPTER III.
  THE FORLORN LANDING,                            47

  CHAPTER IV.
  THE MELANCHOLY MARCH THROUGH THE WILDERNESS,    60

  CHAPTER V.
  THE RESCUE,                                     78



PREFACE BY THE EDITOR.


The short and simple narrative which is introduced to public notice
in the following pages, is a _plain statement of facts_; and is
submitted with unaffected diffidence, as an humble memorial of "the
loving kindness of the Lord, and his great goodness," in a season of
extremity. The only preface which can be necessary in a publication so
inconsiderable, is to certify its authenticity, by avowing the name and
affixing the responsibility of the author.

The following simple history of the narrative will, it is presumed,
be sufficient to remove all scruples as to its truthfulness and
reality. In the summer of 1844, Captain Adam Yule, of Dundee, committed
into my hands a large manuscript, containing the substance of the
following pages, with a request that I would use my utmost freedom
with the materials, and give them to the world in any form that was
most agreeable to myself. I learned that he had drawn up his account
at the Cape of Good Hope, immediately after the occurrences detailed
had happened, and that he had consigned it on his return to this
country, into the hands of a venerable friend, who had retained it
for two years, without finding the leisure necessary to correct and
prepare it for publication. In the execution of the trust reposed in
me, I considered it proper to reconstruct the narrative out of the
materials with which I was furnished; retaining, at the same time,
every important incident in its place, and in no case suppressing the
utterance of the devout experience of the writer. For the fidelity with
which I have adhered to the original facts, I hold myself responsible
alike to Captain Yule and to the Christian public; and I am happy to
acknowledge that I have received, both from himself and from several
of his fellow-survivors in that disastrous voyage, the most pleasing
assurances of the truthfulness of the statements. It is necessary
that, in such circumstances, I should exonerate Captain Yule from
all responsibility as to the _manner_ in which these facts are now
submitted to the public,--as I must be content, undividedly, to bear
whatever censure criticism may condescend to offer on the _literature_
of this publication.

The Editor dismisses his humble labours with satisfaction, that he
has been permitted to aid in rearing this simple tribute on behalf of
a class of men who must always hold a warm place in his interest and
affections; and whose perilous sacrifices of personal comfort and of
religious opportunities, in their calling, entitle them to the cordial
sympathy of all Christians. He accompanies the brief narrative with his
prayers, that it may be the instrument of spiritual benefit to many
souls, and may fulfil the only design in its publication, in promoting
piety among sailors, and confirming the promise of God, "that He is
nigh unto all them that call upon him, to all that call upon him in
truth."

                                                       JAMES R. M'GAVIN.
  DUNDEE, December, 1845.



LIST OF THE CREW AND PASSENGERS.


Adam Yule, master; Alexander Wallace, mate; John Yule, second mate;
William Yule, carpenter; George Young, steward; Thomas Bisset, cook;
George Davidson, Thomas Souter, William Hay, John Allan, seamen;
Benjamin Aitken, Alexander Matthew, and James Hill, apprentices.

CABIN PASSENGERS.

  Mr. Thomas Harris, London.
  Mr. ---- ----, surgeon.
  Miss Margaret Brown, Fife.
  Miss Ann Sim, Edinburgh.
  Miss Ann Knight, Turrif.

STEERAGE PASSENGERS.

  John Henderson, miller.
  Robert Elphinston.
  James Elphinston.
  James M'Lauchlan, farmer.
  George Peat.
  John Chisholm,    }
  George Chisholm,  }
  Jean Chisholm,    } An orphan family.
  Agnes Chisholm,   }
  Margery Chisholm, }



LOSS OF THE AUSTRALIA.

CHAPTER I.

THE VOYAGE AND CATASTROPHE.

    "They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in
    great waters, these men see the works of the Lord, and his
    wonders in the deep."


The life of a sailor, beyond the lot of most other men, discloses to a
reflecting mind an impressive series of divine mercies and judgments.
In a calling so singularly chequered by varying scenes and changing
incidents, life is spent amidst remarkable adventures and romantic
deliverances, so as to invest its course with an unusual interest, and
to crowd its experience with the most solemn and memorable instructions
of Heaven.

The individual by whom the materials of the following narrative were
contributed, is himself a sailor; and has borne a prominent part in
the painful scenes which are here depicted. His life has been prolonged
by divine mercy through almost every scene of sea-faring experience,
and it has been preserved by scarcely less than miracle, amidst perils
to which not many sailors have been exposed. The following story, in
all its facts and experience, is properly his own; and, therefore,
throughout he is preserved as the speaker. Only in the matter of
construction and expression, another party must be held responsible,
into whose hands the full materials were committed to give them form.
It was the devout desire of the original party not to forget Jehovah's
benefits; _having_, like the Psalmist (Psalm lxvi. 12,) "gone through
fire and through water," he felt solicitous to say with the same holy
minstrel, (verse 16,) "Come and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will
tell you what he hath done for my soul."

In the autumn of 1840, I accepted the command of the Australia,
of Dundee, bound for Sydney, New South Wales. On the 2d October,
our vessel set sail from Leith, having on board a general cargo of
merchandize. Our ship's company consisted of twenty-eight persons,
being thirteen of a crew, and fifteen passengers. My heart was buoyant
with hope and pleasing anticipations as I bade my family farewell,
and weighed anchor for my destination. Everything gave promise of
a propitious voyage. Our vessel was new and well found in every
necessary, the crew were able, and well selected, and the passengers
were agreeable, all being full of hope and fearless of evil. Indeed,
if we could have anticipated results, my company were most unlikely
and ill selected for enduring the hardships that awaited us; three of
the crew being but apprentice lads, and of the passengers, five being
females, besides two boys and a girl of very tender years. But who has
not seen, that while the helpless are sometimes the first to be visited
by the storm, they frequently are found, also, to survive its fury;
when the strong, who were the most likely to brave its blast, are
borne down and destroyed before it? "I returned and saw under the sun,
that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong--for
man also knoweth not his time: as the fishes that are taken in an evil
net, so are the sons of men snared, when it falleth suddenly upon them."

The commencement of our voyage was sufficiently prosperous. We rounded
Cape Wrath by an easy progress, and were in the latitude of Madeira in
seven days from Cape Clear. Nothing remarkable occurred till after our
departure from Rio de Janeiro, where we touched for a few days in the
beginning of December. We were then baffled with boisterous weather
and contrary winds, till the 27th of that month, when the wind became
fair, and the weather improved. On the evening of the 29th, December,
we had all sails set, with a strong fair wind, and a heavy sea. At
this time, by recent observations, I found that we must have been in
latitude 35° 51´ south, and longitude 8° 8´ east of Greenwich, or, in
round numbers, about 600 miles from the nearest land, which was the
Cape of Good Hope. Our passengers had as usual walked the deck after
tea, until about eight o'clock, when, feeling it cold, they had gone
below. In less than half an hour, I followed them to the after-cabin,
having given the chief mate his orders for the night. We were all in
excellent spirits, and speculating how soon, and how safely we should
reach our destination with so good a wind. Alas! how little did we
know the horrors that awaited us: destruction even then had begun its
frightful work, and was silently, but too surely consuming our solitary
and sea-girded habitation. Soon after entering the cabin, I was
affected with a sense of something burning; supposing that the ladies
might have set something in their bed-rooms on fire, I ran forward
in the dark to their cabins, but found everything safe. The sense of
burning, however, became more strong and decided. I therefore snatched
a light, and found, to my dismay, that smoke was issuing from the fore
bulk-head on the starboard side of the mainmast. It was but the work
of an instant to clear away the goods with which that untenanted berth
had been filled, if possible to reach the seat of the fire. My brother
William, and four or five seamen withstood resolutely the suffocating
smoke that surrounded them in this labour, while others stood arranged
and ready with buckets full of water, to dash upon the first appearance
of fire. But what was our horror to find, on emptying the berth, that
the evil lay deeper, and was every moment on the increase; in short,
that the _ship's hold was on fire_! This was too soon apparent, for,
on removing a plank from the bulk-head, we saw the whole interior
of the vessel like the womb of a volcano, and the entire cargo of
coals and combustible goods in a blaze. It was impossible, from the
superincumbent and intervening goods, to pour in water in sufficient
quantity to extinguish so extensive a conflagration; this I perceived
at first glance, and therefore at once drove in the board to confine
the flames, feeling, in the agony of despair, that _the ship was
irrecoverably to be consumed_.

It was an awful moment to every one of us. To die on so sudden
summoning, and to be summoned to _such a death_, were sufficient to
appal the stoutest heart. What were we to do?--beneath us was a burning
bier, and all beyond was a black and angry abyss. We could not abide
where we were, and to go forth scarcely promised a better fate, for no
little boat could live long in such a sea. I saw in the countenances
of the haggard beings around me, that they were fully alive to either
fate. Some, frantic with terror, sent forth cries, which found no
echo from our shoreless and surrounding solitude; others clung around
me, tormenting me with questions which I could not answer; while the
remainder stood silent and trembling, as if the presence of death had
smitten them dumb. It was easy to discern their emotions in their
demeanour--but why should I dilate on others' feelings, when I can but
faintly recall my own? I have a confused recollection of a tumultuous
throng of momentous interests rushing upon me with an overpowering
rapidity, and of a certain effort of self-possession seeking to stem,
while it received the tide. Visions of danger--of self-protection--of
death, mingled with thoughts of duty--of home--of a probably widowed
wife and fatherless family--all flashed wildly through my brain. I
felt that I stood in immediate contact with death, and the solemnities
of a judgment to come rose in array before me. It is not for me to
reveal the secrecies of such a situation; but I can only say as one who
has been "in deaths oft," and with all the solemnities of that hour
before me, that I know but one confidence that has proved unfailing and
infallible in such a crisis, and that is, _a personal interest in the
Lord Jesus Christ, and an implicit reliance on his perfect work_.

As I looked around upon the shivering group that had enclosed me,
I became filled with one solemn conviction,--it was my official
responsibility; and I was fired with one desperate effort--the
effort of rescue. Without a moment's delay, therefore, the plan of
arrangements was fixed, and the orders were given. The mate was
instructed to ease sail, and heave the ship to, in order to draw the
fire forward, and clear the after-part of the ship from smoke, so as to
allow us to labour with efficiency. A hole was then cut in the deck,
above the strongest seat of the fire, and an uninterrupted stream of
water poured down through the opening; but the rapid increase of smoke
and flame soon convinced us that all idea of subduing the fire, and
saving the ship, was impracticable. We then covered the deck with the
loose sails, to smother, as far as possible, the smoke and flame; for
by this time the deck-plank was blistering beneath our feet, and it
was impossible to breathe amidships. Our next efforts were directed to
launching the long-boat, which, as usual, was secured on deck. This
proved to be a work of great difficulty, and occasioned considerable
delay, not unmixed with danger. The boat had been converted into a
stall for two live bulls, and in attempting to get them over the side,
one of them, in the confusion, unfortunately got out of the slings, and
ran frantic along the deck. This accident, as may be supposed, greatly
increased the general consternation, and much invaluable time was lost
ere the ferocious animal could be secured and despatched; so that when
the tackles were hooked on to the boat, it was impossible to breathe in
that part of the ship. The men could only take a hasty pull and then
rush aft to breathe; and it was only after repeated efforts, and great
perseverance, that we got the bow of the long-boat sufficiently high
for launching. We then manned the after-tackle, but, unfortunately, it
unhooked aloft, and it required enormous exertions to get it replaced;
however, by fastening some guys round the rigging, and through the
blessing of God on our efforts, we at length got the boat launched,
and two good hands into her. To pass her aft, and preserve her from
swamping, were matters of great labour; for the roll of the sea was
so heavy, and the smoke was so dense over the lee-side, that we could
not see what we were doing. While these things were going on, I had
ordered the steward to prepare some bread, and small stores, to put
into the boat; and I now went down to see what progress he had made
for our supply, leaving the mate on deck to roll some water casks aft,
and after slinging them well, to drop them over the quarter to the
long-boat. Every moment, by this time, was invaluable; for the flames
had now made their appearance up the fore-hatch, and very soon caught
the rigging and sails. I can never sufficiently commend the energy of
the mate, and the steadiness and good behaviour of the men during these
exertions. There was no swearing, no inclination to fly to spirits;
every man was obedient to orders, and anxious to do his utmost. Even
the passengers revealed the same excellent spirit; I heard no screams
from the females, and even the children ceased to cry. All seemed to
feel that every effort was making for their safety, and they silently
acquiesced in the arrangements.

Our preparations were soon made. Two small bags of bread, two hams,
two cheeses, two or three canisters of preserved meat, and a few
bottles of wine, with a sextant, some charts, an almanac, my Bible and
Psalm-Book, and some flannel shirts and blankets, &c., were all that
we could secure amid the suffocating smoke. These were immediately
carried on deck, and secured in the skiff, which still hung in the
stern-davits. The mate, in the meantime, had rolled two casks of
rain-water aft, which was all that he could obtain. To secure their
safe transmission to the long-boat in such a sea, was no easy matter.
I therefore confided to the mate to lift them into the boat, and he
left the ship for this purpose. The first cask was well directed, but
in lifting it over the gunwale of the boat, it fell upon the mate and
another seaman, who were dreadfully bruised; it was a marvel, indeed,
that they were not killed. In consequence of their being disabled,
the second cask got out of the slings, and we lost it. This was a very
serious matter, but it was irreparable, as the whole front part of the
ship was now on fire, and quite impassable for any purpose. Finding
that I could make no further provision for the people, I put the ladies
and three children in the skiff, with two seamen, who were ordered to
cut the faulds, so soon as she touched the water, while we lowered
them from the davits. This was done in safety, which was a special
mercy, as the boat was greatly overloaded; having, besides the stores,
and the above company, two of the passengers, who, unknown to me, had
concealed themselves under the thafts. There were now left on board
the ship five or six persons, together with myself. These immediately
launched the small boat, which hung on the main-deck, and got safely
into it, so that, for a little season, I stood the last living thing
amid the burning mass. My position was alike novel and awful; two
horrid deaths were before me--one on either hand--and I stood but upon
a point between them. At that moment the flame was playing fearfully
over all the rigging; the topping-lifts had been burnt through, and the
trysail-boom came swinging down on the taffrail; the trysail itself was
on fire as high up as the third reef, and the mainmast every moment was
expected to fall above me. With a heavy heart I felt that I must quit
for ever the ship and property, of which I could no longer retain the
charge. Another and a still more sacred trust was beneath me; and as
I looked down upon the twenty-seven hapless beings, ghastly amid the
glare of the burning ship, and tossed above the billows that soon might
be our mutual tomb, I felt--oh, how I felt--that the charge of such
beings was _not mine_. Calmly as my momentary solitude would permit,
I lifted my soul to Him who "rules the raging of the sea," and cast
myself and company into his everlasting arms. If ever fervent prayer
was productive of immediate peace, my heart felt it at that moment;
for the words of God thrilled through me at the instant, as if his
own finger had inscribed them upon my bosom,--"Call upon me in the
day of trouble, I will deliver thee." I was recalled, however, from
my reverie by the mate imploring me to come into the boat, and as I
could do no more, I obeyed the summons; so, sliding down the tackles,
I got safely into the boat, among my wretched companions. At that
instant the mainmast fell with a tremendous crash over the side, and
the flames shot up with frightful fury from the cabin-skylight, as if
to intimate that the work of destruction was nearly completed, and that
our ill-fated vessel was no longer fit to be a refuge for living beings.

"One woe was past;" and although we knew well that others were awaiting
us, it was still an act of marvellous mercy that so many persons had
"come out of the midst of the fire" with "not a hair of any of our
heads singed." It is needless to speculate as to the cause of our
disaster; but, as it undoubtedly began in the lower hold among the
coals, it was most probably produced by spontaneous combustion. When
the last person left the ship, it must have been about eleven o'clock,
so that in less than three hours we had been cast forth from security
and comfort, amidst cold, and nakedness, and watching, to face dangers
and deaths in their most dismal aspect. It was my design to have
remained by the wreck till dawn, in the hope--a hope, alas, that was
not to be realized--that some friendly ship might be attracted by the
burning to our rescue. But the boats were in danger of being stove, it
being impossible at all times to prevent their chafing; and, ere long,
the rope by which we were made fast to the wreck became burnt through,
so that we were compelled to part even from the desolate companionship
of the burning vessel, and were cast adrift at midnight, upon the black
and boundless solitude of ocean. Still clinging to the hope of rescue,
I sought to keep the boats as close to the wreck as possible, and made
the best distribution of our company that I could. I took charge of the
long-boat with other sixteen souls in it; seven were in the skiff, and
four in the small-boat, and there we drifted till morning came.

It would be impossible to describe the grandeur and horrors of that
night. Let fancy paint, if it may, so many hapless beings huddled
together unpreparedly, exposed without shelter to the cold night sky,
and expecting every moment to be swallowed up. Ocean was ever fretting,
and curveting, and plunging beneath us, as if it had wrathfully
resolved to cast us from its "crested mane." The sky all above and
around was one scene of blackness, unbroken by one opening in its
cloud, and unblest by the radiance of one solitary star. Behind the
boats--in the region whither we were drifting, every thing was dark
as the grave. Light indeed attended us throughout that lone midnight,
but it was the glare of destruction, which, as it contended with the
surrounding darkness, only increased its horror. The flames long played
in magnificent grandeur, kindling the dark sky above, and reflecting
their lurid gleam from the ridge of every billow, as if they mocked
our misery by their majestic triumph. And ever and anon came some
terrific explosion--probably of the ship's spirits--which struck like a
death-knell upon our hearts, proclaiming that the work of ruin was well
nigh accomplished.

In this condition of extremity, one only hope remained to us--one last
grand anchor-hold to preserve us from despair. We remembered Him "who
maketh darkness his secret place, his pavilion round about him dark
waters, and thick clouds of the skies;" We thought of Him as "the
confidence of all the ends of the earth, and of them that are afar off
upon the sea, who stilleth the noise of the sea, and the noise of their
waves." And there, "out of the depths we cried unto Him." Mingling
with the voice of the wind and waters, and rising above their murmurs,
the sound of our praise and supplications ascended on the midnight
air, and was heard before the throne. It was a sacred relief to our
heavy hearts to feel that the eye of God still watched over us in our
misery, and that his ear was open to our cry: and although we knew not
the dark path that lay before us, yet we sought it with His words on
our lips,--"The floods have lifted up, O Lord, the floods have lifted
up their voice; the floods lift up their waves. THE LORD ON HIGH IS
MIGHTIER THAN THE NOISE OF MANY WATERS, YEA THAN THE MIGHTY WAVES OF
THE SEA."



CHAPTER II.

THE SUFFERINGS IN THE BOATS.

    "They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths;
    their soul is melted because of trouble."


"Joy cometh in the morning;" but it was not so with our forlorn
company. Daylight of the 30th December dawned only to reveal our
mutual wretchedness, and to aggravate our distress. Our hapless vessel
vanished in the distance as daylight appeared, and our hearts fainted
to discover that no friendly sail was visible within the range of the
horizon, for our rescue. Left alone in that vast solitude of sea and
sky, it only now remained for us to seek our safety by making for
the nearest land, or to die in the endeavour. We were but "in the
beginning of sorrows," and our first business was to commit ourselves
to God. Gathering our boats as closely as possible together, we
joined in singing the 38th Psalm, 1-5th verses, and by prayer "poured
out our complaint before God, and showed before him our trouble."
Being comforted by this exercise, we immediately thereafter commenced
active preparations for our melancholy voyage. Our first object was
to rig a mast and sail in each boat. We had only oars to form our
masts, and a top-gallant studding sail and royal fore sails. With some
small lines, shrouds and stays were made; and by six o'clock in the
morning all the three boats were under sail for our destination. I then
commenced to overhaul our stock of supplies, and found that we had two
small cheeses, two hams, only about twenty-four gallons of water, and
seventy or eighty pounds of bread, which was damaged by salt water,
with a half gallon of rum, a half gallon of brandy, and a few bottles
of wine. This supply was by no means adequate to sustain life among
such a company for many days. I therefore called the boats together,
and told the people that we could not expect to make the land in less
than ten or twelve days, and it might take a day or two more; that
our stock of water and provisions was far short, and that therefore
we must come at once on short allowance. I am happy to say that all
acquiesced with the proposition, and, indeed, showed throughout the
happiest spirit of subordination and harmony. Our small allowance was
then distributed, which gave a little bread, which was repeated in the
evening, and _only three table spoonfuls of water to each per day_. At
noon I got an observation for the latitude, and found it 35 deg. 37
sec. south, and longitude 9 deg. 15 sec. east of Greenwich. We again
engaged in the worship of God, and sought to keep the boats in close
company. But as day declined the weather looked wild; and the men in
the small boat, being afraid of her capsizing during the night, I
had to divide her company between the long-boat and skiff, and cast
her adrift. Nine persons were thus in the skiff, and nineteen in the
longboat, which sank us very deep in the water, and uncomfortably
overcrowded us. The long-boat was particularly uncomfortable, being
lumbered with our small stock of provisions; and, having been used as
a stall for cattle, we were not only soaked with seawater, but smeared
with filth. Our distressing situation may easily be supposed, with a
promiscuous company of ladies and children crowded together without the
means of separation, and exposed night and day to the action of all
the rudest elements. We however washed our boat, which served somewhat
to improve our condition. At the close of day we again sang praise to
God, and implored his protection and blessing. The regular performance
of this duty was a great comfort to us in our misery, and I was well
assisted in its discharge by Mr. Wallace the mate, my brother William,
and nephew John, as well as by some of the passengers, all of whom
occasionally conducted the devotions. We made it our endeavour to unite
both boats in one exercise of daily praise and prayer, and when this
was impracticable, service was separately conducted in the skiff by
George Davidson and Thomas Souter, seamen. In no case, to the best of
my knowledge, was this duty omitted from being performed three times a
day, so that we could say, with the Psalmist, "Evening, and morning,
and at noon, we pray and cry aloud, and he shall hear our voice."

During the night the wind blew freshly from the south, and the sea
was so heavy, that I was obliged to deviate to the north of my course
a little, in the hope of regaining my leeway by a future and more
favourable wind and sea. But although it would have been hard work
to fetch the Cape of Good Hope even with a fairer wind, we could not
help ourselves, as our little boats could not breast the billows, and
yet we hauled them as close to the wind as we dared. The moon shone
on us during a part of that night, and enabled us to keep the boats
together; but when she set, we were greatly distressed by the danger of
separating. At length day light came to the relief of our sleepless
and anxious watching, but only to the increase of our other sorrows.
This day the people pleaded with tears for an increase to the allowance
of water, and my soul yearned for the petitioners; but although I felt
the strength of their craving in my own fevered frame, I dared not
accede to their request. I knew that our distance from land rendered it
certain destruction for us to increase our expenditure, unless, indeed,
some friendly bark should cross our path, which we could not certify,
and which certainly never occurred. I therefore earnestly exhorted
them to make the best use of the small quantity allowed, by dividing
it into three daily distributions. This was done in the long-boat,
and we felt the benefit of it, in the more frequent moistening of our
palate, and the easier mastication of our bread. At noon I obtained
an observation, and found the latitude 34 deg. 49 min. south, and
calculated our longitude at 11 deg. 40 min. east. A little wine was
distributed this day along with the usual allowance of water, which
was greedily swallowed. Towards evening another earnest appeal came
from the people in the skiff for an additional allowance of water,
which I was compelled to refuse. Contrary to my injunctions, they had
swallowed their allowance at one draught, and were therefore in agony
till the time for next day's supply. I learned, also, that some of them
had begun to drink salt water, which I sought in vain to prevent. I
told them that if they persisted they would become delirious, which,
alas! was soon too painfully realized.

The wind lulled a little about midnight, but the darkness greatly
distressed us, and about four o'clock we lost sight of the skiff.
We immediately lowered our sail, and with difficulty got a light in
the lantern, awaiting the result with intense anxiety. For half an
hour this distressing suspense continued, when, to our great relief,
the boat re-appeared. Night ere long again departed, but with each
returning day we found the sufferings of our company on the increase;
cold and thirst were making shocking inroads among us. Up to this
time we had never been able to stretch our stiffened limbs, and we
had all the while been thoroughly drenched by the constant action of
the sea. This day, however, being more favourable, we got our clothes
partially dried, and managed to erect a temporary bulwark of blankets
on the weather-side, which afforded some additional shelter from
the elements. This enabled us to perform our worship "with a little
reviving," and we partook of our scanty allowance with increasing
appetite. My observation for this day was latitude 34 deg. 30 min.
south, and longitude 12 deg. 49 min. east. Towards evening the wind
and sea increased from the south-west, and as I could not make my
course good, I allowed the boats to run, so as to make all the easting
possible. At midnight the moon went down, and as the sea ran very high,
we had difficulty to preserve the boats in company during the darkness.
Our candles were scanty, so that we could not burn constant light,
and we longed exceedingly for the coming of day. By this time our
distresses were very grievous; the midnight sea had thoroughly soaked
every one of us, and several of our people gave decisive symptoms
of insanity, especially two of the passengers in the skiff, who had
persisted in drinking the salt water. In the morning the weather became
more moderate; at noon we were in latitude 34 deg. 34 min. south, and
longitude 14 deg. 37 min. east, so that I concluded, if the weather
should keep favourable, that in three days' sail we might make the
land. The wretched condition of our company towards evening constrained
me to administer a little wine, and an additional half of a wine
glassful of water to each; I exhorted them to use it sparingly, as I
dreaded a stormy night; but the people in the skiff consumed it on the
instant. Milder weather succeeded in the morning, which enabled us to
dry our clothes. In the afternoon we rigged a temporary jib, with a
sheet for a studding-sail, and the crew of the skiff did the same. I
tried for an observation, and found the latitude 34 deg. 12 min, but
my chronometer by this time was nearly useless for the calculation of
longitude, and I guessed it to be 15 deg. 47 min. east. The cry for
water at this time became heart-rending, especially from the children
in the skiff; their piercing screams went to my inmost soul, and yet
I durst not be subdued by them; therefore, with a feigned sternness,
which my heart disallowed, I was compelled to order the skiff to shear
off, so that I might at least be released from listening to their
anguish, which I could neither bear nor brave.

Again evening and morning came, and still as our course lengthened
our woes increased. The night and morning were intensely cold, and
a hollow sea again had drenched us to the skin. The people seemed
to have reached a state of utter exhaustion, not unmingled with the
indifference of despair. They appeared to have lost all relish for
food, and water was the only cry; several of them had persisted in
taking salt water, which it was impossible to prevent, as there were
but eight or nine inches of free side from the sea, so that they put
out their hand through the night and took it. The consequence was,
that two in our boat, and the same number in the skiff, were quite
delirious, while several others in both boats gave symptoms of the same
distressing state. The ladies throughout behaved with magnanimity, and
even the endurance of the children was admirable. The best arrangements
were indeed made for them which we could command. We appropriated the
stern sheets to the ladies, as the most comfortable; and for their
accommodation I had to sit upon the gunwale, while steering the boat.
This post was only filled by the mate and myself, as there was no other
to whom I could confide it; but he, being very unwell, from having been
crushed by the water-cask, the heaviest share of the duty devolved upon
me. The skiff was managed by Thomas Souter and George Davidson, whose
excellent seamanship was beyond all praise. The people seemed to be so
depressed and inclined to sleep, that in the evening I mixed a little
rum with their allowance of water, which partially revived them. The
night was setting in very gloomily, and as our evening song mingled
with the rising tempest, I am sure that our hearts sympathized with its
plea. It was Psalm vi.

    Lord, in thy wrath rebuke me not;
    Nor in thy hot rage chasten me, &c.

Our chapter this evening was Acts xxvii., and we prayed that the God
who stood by Paul, in his perils and shipwreck, would preserve the
lives of all who sailed with us. The night was very dark and stormy,
with a heavy sea; every wave was broken on the top, and we were nearly
smothered by the spray. It required all our skill to keep the sea from
breaking on board of us. I gave orders to the men to stand ready with
our three buckets, in case, amid the darkness, any wave should make
a breach on us. At length, about midnight, one frightful billow rose
close to the boat, and broke right over us. A slight scream rose from
our company at the instant, and I thought our fate was sealed, as the
boat was nearly filled with water, and staggered under the stroke, as
if settling in the trough of the sea. I, however, got her right before
the wind, and during a short _smooth_ which providentially succeeded,
she was bailed with all despatch, and righted. The skiff had been in no
better condition, and nothing but the most masterly seamanship could
have preserved her afloat. Frequently we lost sight of each other
during the darkness, and our matches being wet, we could no longer hold
out a signal-light as formerly. "By the good hand of our God upon us,"
however, we were mutually preserved, and kept together during that
dismal night.

A frowning morning succeeded, and found our companions worse than
ever. I immediately served a small allowance, which revived us all;
indeed I was at this time myself greatly exhausted, having kept the
helm without stirring for thirty-six hours, on account of the illness
of the mate. My sextant having been spoiled by the loss of its top, I
was now no longer able to keep our reckoning, except by guess. I was
in hopes that the gale would subside at noon, and permit us to take a
more southerly course, so as to fetch the Cape, but I was unhappily
disappointed. The storm only increased in severity, and the sea broke
around us with redoubled fury, driving in the temporary bulwarks, which
we had re-erected after the night's disaster. I calculated that at this
time we were about seventy miles from land, but the brackish colour of
the water led me to suppose that we might be nearer, and, being afraid
to make the coast in the night, I resolved to stand to the north till
midnight, it being impossible to ride the boats by bridle or otherwise
in such a sea. To this all parties gave consent, and I issued orders
accordingly. I confess that I had almost no hope of seeing morning, and
therefore told the skiff's crew that if anything happened to us through
the night, they must stand in for the land, and do the best they could.
My gloomy forebodings were shared by all, except those--to the number
of six or seven--who were by this time insensible to everything around
them. After partaking of our allowance with thanksgiving, we committed
ourselves to the Lord of life and death, and took leave of each other
without the hope of meeting again in this world. In the early part of
the night our little boats behaved admirably in their conflict with the
tremendous sea, and at eleven o'clock we shifted our small sail, and
stood directly in for the land. The skiff followed, but at midnight
the wind and waves increased in fury, and a tremendous billow broke
close astern of us, which seemed to swallow up our dear companions. We
strained our aching vision to catch the re-appearance of their little
mast, but in vain; with trembling anxiety we then lowered down our
sail, and, after great difficulty, got a light in the lantern, but it
was soon extinguished, and, after long and anxious waiting, no trace
of the skiff was visible, and we gave them up as lost, believing "that
the deep had covered them." The sea was breaking so heavily over the
stern, while there was no _way_ on our boat, that we were in danger of
foundering, so that we were compelled, with deep distress, again to
make sail, and pursue our course. Life was now faint within me, and I
felt as if "the bitterness of death was past." A cold shiver had seized
my frame, and I was inclined to resign all further effort. By the
administration of a tea-spoonful of wine, however, I rallied a little,
and maintained my post at the helm throughout the night.

Morning at length broke, but there was no appearance of our companions,
and all hope of their restoration departed. Our morning meal was
consumed in melancholy silence, and our "grief was heavier than our
groaning" in our morning prayers. Four persons in our boat were
in extreme exhaustion, and one of them--a passenger--named George
Peat, was evidently in a dying state. The weather looked more mild,
and I sought to rally their spirits: with three of them I partially
succeeded, but Peat took no notice of anything, save to suck greedily
his allowance of water. In the forenoon the sun broke through the
clouds, and shed an agreeable warmth to which we had long been
strangers, so that we took off our wet clothes, and hung them up to
dry. The hope of seeing land revived the love of life within us, and,
with the former exceptions, our company, in spite of the absence of our
other boat, were in better spirits. At eleven o'clock A.M.
the mate relieved me from the helm, and all were intent in looking out
for the land. In this we were disappointed; but the mate thought he
descried something ahead like a mast or a sail. All eyes were turned
in the direction with eagerness, but for a considerable time we could
see nothing. At last another person saw something on the top of a heavy
wave, and, as we drew nearer, a mast without a sail became distinctly
visible. Could it be our brethren? was anxiously inquired by every
one; and indeed it was. Poor fellows! they had tasted nothing for more
than twenty-four hours. At the time when they disappeared they were
overwhelmed in the belly of a tremendous broken sea, and their boat
was nearly filled. Their little mast was carried away, and one of them
was washed overboard, but catching hold of the boat, they had hauled
him in again. By extraordinary exertions they then bailed their boat,
got their mast replaced, and, pursuing our course, in their anxiety to
overtake us, had actually passed us before daylight. How we ever met
again was a mystery to all; but "it was the Lord's doing, and it was
marvelous in our eyes." I shall not attempt to describe the scene of
our remarkable greeting. It was not joyous, for alas, we had now become
strangers to every emotion of gladness; but we grasped each other's
hands, and our full hearts found vent in silent tears. Our souls had
become knit together in the fellowship of suffering, and in the midst
of deaths, we celebrated their restoration as a deliverance from the
grave. Of course they received immediate refreshment and a little wine
was distributed to the whole company on the occasion. Our noontide
worship, which was mutually conducted, arose from overflowing hearts;
and although our common woes were nothing abated, we caught something
of the spirit of our hymn while we sung,

    Let troubles rise, and terrors frown,
      And days of darkness fall,
    Through Him all dangers we'll defy,
      And more than conquer all.



CHAPTER III.

THE FORLORN LANDING.

    "They are at their wit's end. Then they cry unto the Lord in
    their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses. He
    maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.
    Then are they glad because they be quiet."


So soon as our heartfelt congratulations had blended and been breathed
out in prayer, hope became faintly rekindled in each yet conscious
bosom of our distressed company; and with all our lingering energies
of life, we made for the yet invisible shore. "The wrath of God lay
hard upon us," and, for so many days "we had been afflicted with all
his waves," that we felt as if all safety consisted only in escape from
ocean's "deeps." And yet I was not without apprehension, that
what we so fondly anticipated as the occasion of deliverance, might
prove the fatal scene of our doom. The imminent danger of approaching
a comparatively unknown coast, especially amid the heavy roll of Cape
seas, and in such small boats as ours, demanded the exercise of every
possible precaution, and suggested forebodings of no very pleasing
issue. By my calculations we had been driven to the north of St. Helena
Bay, which, by its bend, gave us forty miles more of sea to traverse
than if we had been able to keep a more southerly course. On consulting
a small fragment of chart--which one of the ladies had preserved for
us, from the action of the sea, in her bosom,--I found, to our great
relief, that the coast for which we were making was free of any outside
shoals, and appeared favourable for our landing. We therefore made
all speed to reach the shore if possible before nightfall; in this,
however, we were disappointed; and a dense fog ahead hid the object
of our solicitude from view, until night descended, and shrouded the
surrounding landscape in darkness. The weather being moderate I
resolved to prosecute our course throughout the night, and endeavour to
effect our landing at daylight. The evening proved intensely cold, and
we endured more acute suffering from the wind and spray, during those
hours of darkness, than we had ever done before. This was probably
caused by our preserving a more southerly course, and keeping the sheet
hauled aft, which exposed us to the action of the sea, and sent the
wind right down on us from the sail. Ere morning came a cold shiver had
consequently seized every frame, and several persons in both boats were
quite unable to stir.

About five o'clock the skiff hailed us, and communicated the melancholy
tidings that the lad John Chisholm was dead. This was the first breach
made among us, and it fell among our wasting company like a forerunner
of our own fate. We were all closely "round the grave's devouring
mouth," and now that it had found its first victim, we felt assured
that others would follow. George Peat, in our boat, was only in life,
and several persons in both boats were visibly sinking fast into the
same unconscious state. I felt this visitation bitterly, as I was in
full hope of reaching land in a few hours, and was sustained--by the
signal mercy hitherto enjoyed--in the pleasing expectation that "God
would have given us the lives of all who sailed with us." But "He who
doeth according to his will" had deemed it otherwise, and our hearts
smote us to think that we had been preserved amid many perils, possibly
only to perish on the threshold of deliverance.

Visions of land floated before our aching and anxious gaze throughout
that weary night, and often we supposed that we could detect the dim
outline of the headlands between the sea and sky. Still we trembled in
uncertainty until morning came; but when the sun arose, it looked down
upon us from behind the African hills, which stood in distinct outline
before us at the distance of twelve miles. Then every heart bounded
with hope, and the fading energies of life revived within us. We
greeted the glad spectacle with our morning incense, and poured out our
thanksgiving to God our Ebenezer. There was a beautiful propriety in
the subject of our song, which then rose on the morning air, from the
margin of that mighty ocean. It was Psalm xlvi.,

    "God is our refuge and our strength,
       In straits a present aid;
     Therefore although the earth remove,
       We will not be afraid.

     Though hills amidst the seas be cast,
       Though waters roaring make
     And troubled be; yea, _though the hill
       By swelling seas do shake_."

Scarcely had these sublime words passed our lips, ere we felt the awful
importance and value of the holy sentiment. Our eyes could now detect
a long line of frowning and iron-bound coast, fringed only with foam,
and hoary with tremendous breakers. No friendly opening was visible,
along that fearful barrier, and we looked in vain for some quiet creek
amid the strife, where ocean might peacefully surrender the helpless
charge which longed for escape from its horrors. As if to increase
the solemnity of our condition, the wind at this time began to rise,
and a heavy ground swell rolled in from the south-west, so that it
needed no ordinary faith to prepare with calmness for the approaching
crisis. But our only course was to face the danger, and trust to God
for deliverance. I sent the small boat ahead, to examine the coast, if
possible to find a creek for convenient landing, it being lighter than
our boat, and having thafts for easy rowing, which we had not. I then
sought to rally the spirits of my crew by a little exertion; getting
out the oars, I exhorted them to try the exercise of rowing a little,
and took a spell myself. With great difficulty I succeeded in inducing
the most of them to make the attempt, and we felt the benefit of the
effort, in a freer circulation of our blood, which served to relax our
stiffened joints, and relieved us of the cold shivering.

The breeze continued strong, and the sea was very heavy, until we
approached within half a mile of the shore; when God--as if in sympathy
with our situation, and preparing our way--subdued the wind, and made
the strife of waters partially to subside. This gracious interposition
made a deep impression upon us all, and we felt animated by it, in our
very critical circumstances, as a foretaste of deliverance. At this
time, a small rock which appeared to windward, presented to our eager
eyes for a season the likeness of a sail; and we were delighted for the
moment with the idea, that the coast which we were approaching might
be inhabited; but a nearer view soon dispelled the illusion, and left
us to a scene only of wild and desert solitude. Our small boat had now
gone close in with the shore, in search of a landing-place, while we
remained at a short distance on the outside, to wait for instructions.
Our companions, in their eagerness to execute their survey, had
unfortunately got themselves embayed, and in attempting to weather a
projecting point, they failed; so that, in their extremity, one course
only remained to them--for life or death they had to run for the beach.
We, seeing this sudden movement, and supposing that our friends had
discovered a favourable landing-place, bore up, and followed closely
in their track. By signs and cries they attempted to warn us off;
but we, mistaking their signals for encouragement, only pursued with
increasing speed. It was a moment of intense and trembling interest
to us all; death or deliverance hung upon the instant, and our hearts
were fully alive to the immediate and awful alternative. Every faded
and haggard countenance became flushed with eager excitement; every eye
was strained to watch on either hand the impending fate; every hand
grasped the gunwale with convulsive and trembling energy, and we held
our breath in awe, as we dashed among the breakers, and plunged amid
those fearful rocks and shoals. Surely the eye of heaven was watching
over us in that unchosen and accidental landing-scene; for amidst many
perils, it presented favourable opportunities for us--in a narrow
channel among a cluster of small rocks, which was crowned with a sand
beach--that no human foresight could have detected, and that was rare
on that coast. Our small boat, indeed, was in extreme jeopardy; for in
the midst of the breakers it struck upon a sharp rock, and some of the
crew were thrown overboard by the shock. The sail, however, being still
set, the next wave lifted it over, and the wind and sea being dead in
shore, drove them right up to the beach, where, amid many difficulties,
they effected a landing, and rescued their comrades in a state of great
exhaustion. We in the larger boat were somewhat more fortunate; for "by
the good hand of God upon us," we made our way safely through a narrow
channel, among the small rocks, without touching, until we came within
a boat's length of the beach, where we stuck fast upon a rock. There
being deep water between us and the shore, we were all plunged overhead
in our attempts to escape; but the ladies and children being assisted
by the mate and seamen, were soon placed in safety; and "so it came to
pass, that we escaped all safe to land."

This signal deliverance--alike so gracious and remarkable--revealed in
all its course and accomplishment, the direct and immediate agency of
God, and could be attributed solely to his marked interposition and
care. No human foresight or management could have availed to preserve
so helpless a company in such extremities. With boats so frail, and
means of sustenance so slender, nothing less than Omnipotent kindness
could have sustained us throughout a voyage so disproportionate to all
our preparations, and so encompassed with exceeding dangers. If our
course, indeed, revealed no miracles, it was at least replete with
special mercies; for had we been visited by a few days of head winds,
or been overtaken by any of the fearful squalls so common in Cape seas,
or even made our landfall on a bold and unbroken coast, not one of us
would have survived in such a case to tell the tale of our disasters,
and our last struggles would have been hid in the dark and terrible
secrets of ocean, which, like the grave, gives no revelations. We
had been led to look to God in all our way: even the good order and
discipline which had been maintained, we felt we owed to his grace;
and while we had used our best endeavours for our preservation, yet
without his blessing, we were conscious that every exertion must have
been without avail. Therefore, when God had "been better to us than our
fears," and "redeemed our lives from destruction," our utmost gratitude
was due to him, and we invite men "to see his hand," and "to praise the
Lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of
men."

If it had been possible, at that solemn hour, to have forgotten
or overlooked the signal kindness of heaven, even the continuous
manifestations of Divine goodness to us must have, on the instant,
rebuked such base ingratitude. Scarcely had the feet of our forlorn
company been permitted to touch the shore, when the storm, which had
lulled previously to our landing, burst forth with redoubled fury,
and raged without intermission during the whole time that we remained
in that place. The sea arose in ungovernable wrath, and as it lashed
the shore, lifted our little boats upon its billows to a height of
forty or fifty feet upon the beach. The narrow channel through which
we had reached the shore in safety instantly became one scene of
boiling surge, which would have shattered to pieces the proudest bark,
and engulphed every living thing on board of her. Who could fail to
discover the striking proof of a special and gracious Providence in
this occurrence? If it be said that such sudden storms frequently
occur in these latitudes, still the question arises,--why did that
storm come at the precise moment when we were immediately out of the
reach of its fury? There can be but one answer to this inquiry,--it
was the good pleasure of him "who gave to the sea its decree, that
it cannot pass, and who compasseth its waters with bounds." Our
company stood awe-stricken at the sight. We looked back upon the
scene of destruction, from which we had so recently escaped, with
mingled feelings of dismay and gratitude. Our deliverance, indeed,
was not yet complete. Alas! who could tell whether,--"having escaped
the sea,--vengeance might yet suffer us to live?" "The perils of the
wilderness" lay before us in all their unknown horrors of toil, and
thirst, and frightful famine. Still we had been delivered from "the
floods that affrighted us,"--our bosoms swelled with the full sense
of our rescue, and while we raised our song of deliverance and poured
out our grateful prayers to God, there were many devout hearts in our
circle who could appropriate the sentiment of the poet:--

    Thus far on life's perplexing path,
    Thus far the Lord our steps hath led;
    Safe from the _flame's_ pursuing wrath,
    Unharmed though _floods_ hung o'er our head.
    Here let us pause--look back--adore,
    Like ransom'd Israel from the shore.



CHAPTER IV.

THE MELANCHOLY MARCH THROUGH THE WILDERNESS.

    "They wandered in the wilderness in a solitary way, they found
    no city to dwell in. Hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted in
    them. Then they cried unto the Lord in their trouble, and he
    delivered them out of their distresses."


The first view of our solitary landing-place revealed to us a wild and
barren region. Neither traces of cultivation, nor marks of human abode,
nor even tracks of living creature, met our eye in all the adjacent
landscape; and my heart misgave me at the prospect, lest we had only
exchanged the scene of our miseries, but not escaped from them. The
idea of delay in obtaining succours was too painful to indulge, for
every hour only added to the horrors of our situation.

Our scanty supplies were rapidly wasting away, and the strength of the
people was already well nigh spent by fatigue and famine. I dared not
to anticipate the consequences of even a short continuance of such a
state of things, and felt that our utmost efforts must be directed to
urgent measures for immediate deliverance.

Meanwhile, every arrangement was made for present exigencies. A small
refreshment was distributed immediately after landing, and our weary
men set about the erection of tents, which were soon reared, by lashing
a few spars together and overlaying them with sails and blankets.
This shelter was peculiarly seasonable to persons, who, for nine days
and nights had not known the luxury of lying down, or resting their
exhausted frames; especially as an African sun was blazing in noon-tide
brilliancy, and with insufferable fierceness over our heads. Our wasted
people soon betook themselves to repose and I was pleased to find that
the greater number of them were soon lost in sweet forgetfulness of
all their woes. As for myself, sleep had so long been a stranger to my
aching frame, that it refused at first to revisit me, and my mind was
too anxiously concerned for the future to court its present approach.
So soon, therefore, as I found the others asleep, Mr. Wallace the mate,
and I--who had lain down together, and were alike wakeful--rose up
and went forth to consult as to our future course of proceeding. We
were agreed in thinking that the parched and desolate appearance of
the place gave little hope of finding water, or of obtaining relief;
and that our whole and instant efforts must be directed to discover
succours by sea or land. Two courses only presented themselves: the
first, which was to re-enter the boats, and endeavour to reach the
Cape colony by sea, was plainly impracticable from the severity of the
weather; the sea at that moment being visible below us in its wildest
majesty, as it thundered its mountainous billows against the base of
the rocks, and scattered its angry foam over the cliffs to a hundred
and twenty feet above its bed. Besides, we were conscious that even in
calmest weather, our company could not possibly survive for twenty-four
hours, under a renewed exposure and crowding in the boats, without a
fresh supply of water and provisions. We were shut up, therefore, to
the only available alternative of seeking succour by a land journey,
and by keeping a southerly course in the direction of the Cape, we
hoped that we might soon reach some human habitation. I proposed that
we should remain till the expiry of the following day, in order to
recruit our people for the journey, and to complete the necessary
preparations for our departure. Meanwhile a search could be made for
water, and I would endeavour to obtain an observation at noon, in order
to certify our exact latitude, and ascertain our distance from the
Cape. This course was afterwards submitted to the whole company, and as
it met their approval, it was adopted.

We had carried George Peat ashore from the boat in a dying state. Every
thing was done for his comfort which our circumstances would permit,
but the poor lad was beyond the reach of relief. He lingered in painful
unconsciousness till the following morning, when he died. The body
of John Chisholm was also brought on shore in the skiff, and covered
with the Union Jack, until we had leisure to dig a grave. The two
youths were respectfully buried on the successive afternoons, divine
service being performed at their interment. They lie side by side on
that desert shore where they met their fate, and their pilgrimage
ceased,--where no footstep of friendship shall ever trace the unknown
scene of their last repose, and only the murmurs of ocean disturb its
solitary stillness.

After evening service had been conducted in the tent, we kindled a fire
to preserve us from any attacks of wild beasts, and committed ourselves
to rest. I enjoyed a few hours of sweet sleep that evening, for the
first time after my long watching, and awoke considerably refreshed
and invigorated. By four o'clock in the morning our whole party were
astir, and went off in detachments at daylight, to search for water;
but after wandering for two hours, in survey of all the surrounding
coast, they returned, as we feared, dispirited and unsuccessful. A
vegetable was found in great abundance which was full of sap, but on
tasting it we discovered that it was saturated with salt, and unfit
for use. The only supply which the region afforded was shell-fish,
which for the same reason, with our scanty allowance of water, could
only be sparingly used. The situation of our tent in the low grounds
was now found to be insufferable on account of the intense heat, so
that I proposed to shift it to the rising ground behind, in order to
obtain a freer circulation of air. But our people were so feeble as to
be unfit for the exertion, and it was only after great labour, and by
bribing them with a tea-spoonful of wine, that this measure of relief
was accomplished. The ladies meanwhile were employed, in preparations
for our journey of the following day, by making canvass bags to hold
our provisions; and the precious remainder of water was emptied from
the cask into bottles and jars, so as to be easy of carriage on the
road. I could only get an overhead observation for the latitude at
noon, in consequence of the sun being over the land. My calculation
agreed with my previous conjecture, that we were north of the Oliphant
(or Elephant's) River, about eleven miles; but as Norie's Epitome,
which was my only book of reference snatched from the burning ship,
gave me no example for working such an altitude, I could not certify
the accuracy of the reckoning. However, my repeated trials convinced
me that I could not be more than a mile or two from the truth, and we
determined, therefore, to start in that direction on the morrow, in the
hope of finding some settlement on the river's banks.

Our preparations for departure being completed, we lay down to
sleep, under the same precautions as on the previous night, and were
aroused at four o'clock to pursue our journey. Previous to starting,
I distributed among the ladies and cabin passengers, so far as they
would go, seven of my white shirts to serve as change of linen, they
having been discovered in the boat on our landing. We had at this time
six days' allowance of water, at the rate of three bottles a day to our
twenty-six persons, or scarcely three table-spoonfuls to each, which,
in our already fevered and maddening thirst, and under a broiling
tropical sun, was not nearly sufficient to sustain life. A small
surplus, however, was found in the water-cask after all our bottles
were filled, which was distributed among the company, and served to
refresh us at departure. We broke some oars for carrying-poles, and
distributed the stores among the responsible persons in the company,
with strict injunctions that they should restrict themselves to the
general allowance, as any breach of fidelity might sacrifice the lives
of the whole party. After the celebration of divine worship, in which
we committed our way to God, we set out on our melancholy journey. Our
road lay before us through "a waste howling wilderness," and we "went
out, not knowing whither we went;" but our trust was in that God, "who
had found Israel in a desert land, and kept him as the apple of his
eye," and we hoped that he would lead us also forth "by a right way,
that we might go to a place of habitation."

Our company presented a most wretched appearance in the march, and we
soon proved ourselves to be indeed miserable travellers. Our limbs
had swelled to an inordinate size in consequence of our confinement
and exposure in the boats, and they were so stiffened with inactivity
as only to be dragged along with difficulty. The ground over which we
toiled our way was unfavourable for progress in our faint condition,
being, for the most part, loose and sandy, and occasionally tangled
with small shrubs: and as we went our way, struggling, and staggering
beneath our light loads, we bore a striking resemblance to the last
remnant of a famished garrison, or the latest fugitive survivors of a
siege. We accomplished about a mile, when we sat down to rest,
and stripped ourselves of all our upper clothing, on account of the
oppressive heat. After a short pause we again resumed our journey,
and with great difficulty reached a similar distance. It was only
after much persuasion that I induced them again to stir; but there was
no shelter in the place from the fierce rays of the sun; and I was
extremely anxious, in our desperate circumstances, which were every
moment growing darker, to make all the progress possible. About noon
we discovered two huts under the cliff, and were of course anxious to
reach them; but they were inaccessible to us, in our weak condition. We
halloed, however, with all our might, to find if they had any inmates;
but as "there was no voice that answered, neither any that regarded,"
we justly concluded that they were uninhabited, and could furnish
no relief to us, so that we turned mournfully away, and pursued our
journey. I afterwards learned that these huts belonged to a fishing
company, and were deserted; a few casks of water were kept there, for
the supply of their vessels, but these were kept under ground, so that
we would have found no relief by visiting the place, and most probably
would have perished in the attempt. Soon after we likewise descried
traces of a path which led into the interior, which some of our people
were inclined to follow; but I dissuaded them from the attempt, as the
coast was the coolest region, as well as the most likely to lead us to
water; whereas we might only wander in the wilderness to die the most
horrid death. We accomplished altogether about six miles by this day's
journey, and halted at last, in utter exhaustion, on a promontory,
where we were exposed to the sea breeze.

On collecting our party, to overhaul our stock, I found that one of
the cabin passengers, who had been quite delirious for some days,
having fallen behind us on the day's march, on account of weakness, had
cast away his coat, containing two bottles of water, from anxiety to
overtake his party. Every search was made for this lost treasure and
valuable supply, but to no purpose. To add to the misfortune, another
cabin passenger, from whose education I might have expected better
conduct, alone, of all the people, proved himself unworthy of trust.
Of the two bottles committed to his charge, one was found empty. He
had stolen from his party during the day, under pretence of tracking
the path into the interior, and the temptation proving too strong for
him, he had consumed a whole bottle for his own use. This I concealed
from our people, for I am certain that, if they had known it, they
would have taken his life on the spot. But I was deeply grieved to find
that a whole day's supply of this scarce and vital commodity had been
lost to us through the imbecility and profligacy of our companions. To
prevent the recurrence of such a calamity, which would have endangered
the lives of all of us, I put the water, henceforth, under the charge
of my confidential seamen; and after our evening's repast and prayers,
we betook ourselves to sleep.

During night a heavy dew fell, mingled with a few drops of rain, which
roused us from our slumbers, and our people commenced greedily to suck
the moisture from the blankets; but they having been soaked by sea
water, and only dried in the sun, were so impregnated with salt that we
soon desisted from an endeavour which brought us no relief. As morning
dawned our pleasing expectation of rain departed, and with heavy hearts
we prepared to pursue our course. The condition of our people at this
time was extremely distressing, their faces had become bloated and
disfigured, and their lips were rent and chapped, while the painful
swelling in the arms and legs was rapidly on the increase, so that I
apprehended some of them would not be able to hold on till night. I
sought to rally their downcast spirits, by feigning a cheerfulness
which I did not feel, and pointing to some mountains in the south-east,
I prompted them to proceed, by assuring them, that wherever mountains
appeared, water was always to be found. I was certain, moreover, by the
calculations which I had made, that we could not be more than five
miles from Oliphant River, where I felt assured that relief would be
afforded. We made indeed most wretched progress in that morning's
journey; ere three quarters of a mile had been accomplished, we were
compelled to halt, and after receiving our allowance and singing a
hymn, we proceeded on our way. Scarcely another mile had been overtaken
ere we were again forced to rest ourselves, and here I felt alarmed
lest some of the company should never be able to resume the march.
The old gentleman, who had lost his coat on the previous day, was
especially overcome; he seemed so thoroughly exhausted in spirit,
and so worn out in frame--being covered over with sores in face and
limbs--that it seemed impossible to rouse him to any further effort,
and others were inclined, with him, to resign themselves to despair. I
was greatly perplexed how to act in this extremity. I could not bear
to leave the wretched alone to die; and to detain the others on their
account, would be certain destruction to us all. In this painful crisis
I secretly sought direction from God, and had resolved to remain
with the desperate, leaving the others to press on, and send back for
us if they should find succour. This purpose I only communicated to
my brother William, and urged him to use every exertion to reach a
place of safety, and in case of my death, to be kind to my dear wife
and family. He, however, sternly refused to accede to my wishes, and
declared his resolution, if I persisted, to abide and die with me.
By his persuasion I was shaken in my purpose, and by dint of great
exertion, we managed to assist our invalids on through another stage.

On looking out for our next halting-place, I observed a rising ground
a little in advance of us, and urged our people to reach it ere they
rested. This was done, because I thought something like the entrance of
a river appeared beyond, and I was resolved to ascertain the fact by
crowning the hill. We had nearly reached the place, when the mate, who
was a little in advance, cried out, "There is the river." I ran forward
at the transporting tidings, and by advancing a few paces, a scene
of overpowering interest burst upon my view. Not only was the river
distinctly visible as it rolled its broad waters through a fertile
valley, until they mingled with ocean at our feet; but I could also
distinctly descry a settlement, with its dwelling-houses and offices,
on the opposite bank. Never did scene more sweet open upon human
vision, than met my ecstatic gaze in that landscape. I had no eye--no
heart for its natural beauties; but thoughts of life and of rescue
arose within me in that glance. It seemed to me an opening paradise:
visions of home--of happiness--rushed back upon my desolate soul. The
tide of sorrow, in a heart ready to perish, was turned within me, and
joy rose in such sudden revulsion from recent wretchedness, that I was
completely overpowered. The same excess of emotion filled every heart
that now crowded around at the tidings. We grasped each other's hands
in convulsive silence; our hearts were too full for utterance, and, for
a considerable time, tears were the only expression that came from
our overcharged bosoms. Rapture was in our glance when we saw human
beings moving about on the opposite bank, and we became rivetted in
delighted gaze upon the neat white-washed house, with its clear blue
smoke curling up into the sky, and all the accompaniments of European
comfort around it. I was the first to break the interesting silence,
by saying, "Now, my dear friends, the Lord has led us by a way that
we knew not, to a land inhabited." We then gave thanks to God, who
had done so great things for us, and we served out a little of our
remaining stock of water. As we were still a mile from the river, I
preserved a small portion, in case the river water should prove salt,
which, on reaching it, we found to be the case. We had carried our
English ensign as a signal in case of meeting any vessel, and now, by
tying two broken oars together, we elevated it to attract the notice
of the persons on the opposite bank. They evidently had descried us;
for we observed a boat push off from the shore, and advance straight
toward us across the stream. This was to us a gracious token that the
season of succour was at hand. We immediately thereupon drank off our
last remaining bottle of water, and prepared to greet our deliverers.
The moment of our rescue was especially interesting and solemn. While
the boat approached, we all joined hands and united in singing the 23d
Psalm, and, as the faint concert arose from our famished group, it
seemed, to our overflowing hearts, to ascend to heaven, alike as the
devout dirge of our departing sorrows, and the joyous anthem of our
coming deliverance.



CHAPTER V.

THE RESCUE.

    "When the poor and needy seek water, and there is none, and
    their tongue faileth for thirst, I the Lord will hear them,
    I the God of Israel will not forsake them. I will make the
    wilderness a pool of water, and the dry land springs of water."


The boat, which seemed to our view like a messenger of mercy,
approached within hail, when, with due precaution, it halted, and to
our delightful surprise a voice in the English language demanded to
know who we were, and what was our business. We immediately declared
our doleful story, when the party landed without farther ceremony,
and told us that we had come among a Christian people. The meeting
was most affecting on either side; it was with difficulty that our
people, in the ecstasy of rescue, could refrain from falling down at
the feet of their deliverers; and the strangers, as they surveyed our
emaciated and wretched company, were quite unable to suppress their
tears. Our first appeal to them was for water, and they communicated
the joyful intelligence to us, that there was an excellent fountain
on the other side, where our wants would be abundantly supplied.
I immediately embarked, in company with the ladies, and by three
successive trips, the whole of our people were safely landed on the
other side, where we were all received with unbounded affection and
hospitality. We instantly repaired, with incontrollable avidity, to the
fountain, where we sought to satiate our maddening thirst by deep and
frequent draughts, until we had gorged ourselves with the exquisite
supply, and felt life reflow in cooler currents through our parched
and fevered frames. A princely meal was also provided for us on the
instant, consisting of a whole sheep, and part of a wild buck, which
had been shot on the farm in the morning; but our hearts were too full
to possess a keen appetite, and we could only taste of the bounteous
provision amid many tears, when we contrasted the scantiness and misery
of our morning repast with our present profusion, and the hearts of
many of us rose in silent gratitude to "God, who had done so great
things for us, whereof we were glad."

We found that the settlement which we had reached belonged to a
warm-hearted Dutch farmer, named Mynheer Low, of whose unbounded
generosity and kindness it is impossible for me to speak in excessive
terms. His family consisted of an amiable wife and daughter, who shared
in all his own benevolence, and loaded us with attentions, which can
never be forgotten, and it would be impossible to repay.

The Englishman, who had accompanied our host in the boat which ferried
us over the river, and who acted as our interpreter during our stay,
was a sailor belonging to a whale and seal fishing company. He had been
left by his employers, in company with another person, to reside during
the fishing season, on a neighbouring island, in order to preserve the
fishing grounds, which were rented from the colonial government. He and
his partner were obliged to visit the settlement very frequently for
supplies of water, which they required to keep, alike for their own
use, and in case of their schooner running short during her voyage. I
learned from this person that the coast to the north of Oliphant River
is entirely destitute of water, and without inhabitants; and I mention
this in case any persons who peruse this narrative should be driven on
this coast, that they may know where to obtain succour. Mr. Low's farm
is situated on the south bank of the Oliphant River, about four miles
from the sea, and two hundred miles from the Cape of Good Hope.

Soon after our arrival I communicated with Mr. Low as to the necessary
provision for our future accommodation. It was impossible with his
limited resources, that he could lodge and sustain twenty-six persons
for many days; and it was plain from the distressing condition of our
people, that they would require several days of careful nursing and
rest, before they could bear removal by land journey.

Having learned that an English gentleman kept a store at Donkin's
Bay, twenty-four miles distant, I immediately despatched a messenger
to solicit his assistance. This person, whose name was Mr. R. Fryer,
proved to us to be indeed "a brother born for adversity." No language
can adequately express his unremitting kindness and unceasing exertions
for our welfare, and for which he would never listen to any proposals
of remuneration whatever. He came down on horseback immediately on
receiving notice of our condition, and despatched a message to the
nearest field cornet, to make provision for our succour. On his arrival
he proposed to take the ladies at once to his house, they being the
only parties fit to be removed. It may seem strange that the most
delicate members of our company should have borne the hardships of our
situation with greater hardihood than men of robust frame; and yet
it was remarkable throughout the whole of our afflictions, that the
ladies and even the children bore the sufferings with the greatest
magnanimity, and discovered a spirit of patient endurance which might
have put to shame the hardiest men. It is thus that God sometimes,
as of old, "out of weakness maketh strong," and causeth "things that
are not to be as though they were, that no flesh should glory in his
presence."

In accordance with this arrangement, our ladies set off in a waggon
for Mr. Fryer's house, under charge of our host's daughter, on the
evening after our arrival at Oliphant River; and in twenty-four hours,
the waggon returned loaded with provisions, luxuries and medicines.
Mr. Fryer also sent four sheep on the same day, and gave his shepherd
orders to supply us with as many as we wanted; and yet these things
were but a tithe of the kindness which we received at the hands of this
good Samaritan.

We were at this time also under great obligations to Mr. Francis J.
Troutar, who had come down the river at this time, along with his
mother-in-law and a few servants, to fish. The good old lady took our
three children to her hut, supplied them with frocks and underclothing,
and treated them with the solicitude and kindness of a mother, so as to
merit our warmest gratitude.

In the course of a few days, the effects of our long fasting and
exposure and fatigues began to appear, and to make shocking havoc on
the persons of our people, in loathsome bloaches on the face, and
excessive swelling of the arms and legs. The steward was particularly
in a pitiable condition with his face, and one of the cabin passengers
was confined to his couch. One of his legs burst, and his hand was
obliged to be laid open by a deep incision of a razor, so that I
was afraid at one time, that he would not rally. In the course,
however, of four or five days, through the unremitting nursing of the
Dutchman's family, and by the kind providence of God, we all began to
amend. Our recovery soon revealed itself in an incessant craving for
food; for some days it was almost impossible to satisfy our intense
appetite, and we were in danger of creating a famine in the Dutchman's
settlement, as a sheep was killed every day for our use, and we
consumed great quantities of wheat, which we prepared for boiling by
pounding it in a mortar, and sometimes made into bread after grinding
it in a hand-mill.

On the 13th January I received a letter from Mr. Rennyfield, civil
commissioner, Clan William, to meet him at Mr. Fryer's on the following
day, in company with Mr. Troutar. We accordingly set off next morning,
at five o'clock, and as I was but an indifferent horseman, I was
greatly exhausted by the ride. The country in this quarter is chiefly
sandy, and blows with the wind like dust, but it is thickly studded
with sundry kinds of shrubs and bushes, which are valuable for the
feeding of cattle and sheep. On reaching my destination, I was most
hospitably received by Mr. Fryer, and his lady, and was happy to find
my lady passengers in good health and spirits. The civil commissioner
made full arrangements with me for our journey to Cape Town. I
received a letter to produce to each field cornet on the route,
containing instructions to provide us with waggons, and to supply us
with every necessary on the road. Mr. Troutar, who was the field cornet
of the district, was to provide the waggons and to be our conductor
through the first stage; and our departure was arranged for the 19th of
January, by which time it was hoped that our invalids would be so far
recovered as to bear the journey.

On the day appointed we prepared for our departure amidst much bustle
and confusion. The yoking of fourteen or sixteen oxen in a waggon is
like getting an East India trader under weigh, and the chattering of
the Hottentots in the excitement of the occasion was quite amusing.
The scene of separation with our dear friends and deliverers was
exquisitely affecting. The kind Dutchman's family were weeping aloud;
Mr. Troutar's mother-in-law clung to our little orphan family, and
refused to part with them; even the Hottentots could not refrain their
tears. I confess that I never felt myself so unmanned in my life, and
it was only after an hour had been wasted in ineffectual efforts to
say farewell, that by a desperate resolution we at last tore ourselves
away. They followed us for a short distance, and then stood, and waved
their hands as long as we could see them. Thus we parted from kind
strangers, who had entwined themselves around our hearts in fondest
endearments; and while memory holds her seat in our bosoms, I trust
that we shall never cease to pray for richest blessings on the heads of
our benevolent friends of the Oliphant River.

We reached Mr. Fryer's at Donkin's Bay about midnight, where our
party was rejoined by the ladies, and we remained in the enjoyment of
this excellent family's hospitality until the next afternoon. Another
painful scene of leave-taking had here to be repeated, and it was with
difficulty that our ladies could command themselves in parting, from
one who had proved so lavish in his generosity to all of us in our
distress. "May the Lord reward him," and "think upon him for good,"
according to all the kindness that he showed unto us.

It would be tedious to enter into minute details of our land journey to
the Cape. It presented all the usual adventures of that tedious mode
of travel;--sometimes ploughing sandy deserts deep to the axles,--and
occasionally land-locked by an interminable maze of tangled brushwood.
Frequently we lost our path in the darkness, the over-laboured brutes
were many times at a stand-still from exhaustion, and scarcity of
water; and once or twice, we had nearly suffered a second _shipwreck
in the desert_, to the great alarm of the ladies, and not without the
hazard of broken bones.

Mr. Troutar accompanied us with his waggons and cattle, through several
dreary stages, until we reached Mr. Vanzells' farm. This gentleman
was uncle to our worthy conductor, and also a field cornet. Here
we obtained fresh cattle, and started under a new convoy. It was
with extreme regret that we parted from Mr. Troutar, whose kind and
gentlemanly deportment had endeared him to us all. I was also compelled
to leave Mr. Harris our cabin passenger here, under charge of our
surgeon, as he was so ill as to be unable to proceed; Mr. Vanzells
promising to forward both gentlemen to Cape Town on horseback, so soon
as Mr. Harris was able to bear the journey. After travelling by uneasy
stages for several days, we crossed the Peak Berg range of mountains,
the Boers throughout treating us with unvarying kindness, and we
furnishing much amusement to the inquisitive and simple people, by the
strangeness of our dress, and speech, and psalmody.

At length on the 28th January at midnight, we entered Cape Town,
fatigued with our journeyings in the wilderness, and happy in being
able once more to mingle in the society of our countrymen. The luxury
of a good bed, which for the first time I had here enjoyed, since
leaving the ship, could not induce me to sleep. The whole scene of
dangers and deliverances, through which the Lord had led us, here rose
vividly before my view, and I could not refrain from giving fervent
thanks to Him, "who had not dealt with us after our sins, nor rewarded
us according to our iniquities." He had indeed "chastened us sore, but
he had not given us over to death;" and we could adopt the language of
the Psalmist, "Thou, who hast showed us great and sore troubles, shalt
quicken us again, and bring us again from the depths of the earth." "So
will we sing praises unto thy name for ever."

Immediately after breakfast, on the morning of the 29th January, I
waited on Colonel Bell, at that time Deputy-Governor of the Cape,
and represented to him the miserable condition in which my crew and
passengers were. He immediately sent for one of his officers to
accompany me to our lodgings, and to make arrangements for the payment
of our board. Being in miserable plight for want of clothing, I was
at this time greatly indebted to Captain Christie of London, who
presented me with an excellent suit of his own. I had the pleasure,
also, of meeting an excellent friend in Dr. Brown (belonging originally
to my native town of Peterhead), who took me to his own house, and
entertained me most hospitably during my stay at the Cape. Meanwhile,
the merchants and gentlemen of the place opened a public subscription
on our behalf, which was handsomely headed by Colonel Bell, and soon
amounted to the sum of £120. By this money, a sum equal to a month's
wages, was distributed in clothing to each of the crew, and the
passengers received a similar supply, in equitable proportions,--the
three children being fully furnished with all necessaries for the
continuance of their voyage, and the ladies being supplied with
clothing and a little money. I also received £10 of this money, along
with a letter of commendation, and I am thus minute in detailing the
benevolence of the people of Cape Colony, as it is deserving, alike of
personal gratitude and public praise.

Every effort was now made to forward the passengers to their
destinations, and to dispose of the crew by drafting them into
different ships. After a little exertion, this was happily accomplished
on behalf of all, with the exception of two steerage passengers, who
preferred to accept of situations in the colony. So soon as I had thus
discharged my obligations to the people under my care, I began to think
how to dispose of myself. After various friendly offers of employment,
none of which exactly suited me, I finally accepted of a passage home
in a London schooner belonging to Mr. Fletcher, and bound to Bristol.
My kind friends in Cape Town affectionately accompanied me to the ship,
and, after taking grateful leave of them, our vessel set sail for
England, and in due season, "by the good hand of my God upon me," I
returned in peace to the bosom of my wife and family.

Thus terminated a voyage replete with judgment and mercies. In the
review of its "affliction and misery--the wormwood and the gall--my
soul hath them still in remembrance, and is humbled within me." And
"may my right hand forget its cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof
of my mouth," if I forget that "God who answered us in the day of our
distress, and was with us in the way in which we went." I trust also
that the same spirit and resolution may abide upon all the survivors
of that disastrous voyage which appeared in the day of our calamity.
Even the most indifferent in religious things there owned that it was
"a good thing to call upon God," and "poured out a prayer when his
chastening hand was upon them." May it never be said of any of us that
"we flattered him with our mouth, and lied unto him with our tongues,"
or that "we forgat God and remembered not his wonders." The solemn
professions which we then made are still before his throne, and He will
never forget, however we may, the extraordinary obligations under which
we lie, to dedicate our spared lives to His service. O that we may
every day perform the vows which "our lips uttered--our mouths spake
when trouble was upon us;" and that our future lives may realize the
holy resolution of the man of God: "Thou hast delivered my soul from
death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling; therefore I will
walk before the Lord in the land of the living."

And surely this simple tribute to Divine goodness carries with it
a solemn message to every reader's heart. How impressively does it
declare _uncertainty of life, even in moments of greatest seeming
security_. It was when least expecting it, that the foregoing
calamities came. And who can tell how soon God may disturb our dreams
of security, by the summons to the judgment seat? "We stand in jeopardy
every hour." In a world so full of sorrow and evil, we are daily
exposed to the visitation of death. And does it not become us, in such
circumstances, "to be always ready--to have our loins girt, and our
lamps burning, and be like men that wait for the coming of the Lord?"
"O that we were wise--that we understood this, that we would consider
our latter end." Sailors, above most men, ought especially to cultivate
this spirit of habitual preparedness. Their calling preeminently
exposes them to peril, and they are found "in deaths oft." The breeze
that fills their sails, and wafts them to their destination, may
swell into tempest, and become "the breath of the blast of Jehovah's
nostrils" for their destruction. The ocean that spreads around them
a peaceful pathway to distant lands, may heave into huge and hoary
billows, that yawn only to engulf them in its horrid grave. The very
shore that greets them with gladness after long absence, may be changed
into a scene of fatal shipwreck, and death find them at the very door
of supposed deliverance. Who does not feel as he treads the deck of
his gallant vessel, that death is lurking near him in every element
that lies over, and around, and underneath his feet; and that God is
proclaiming, at every moment, in all the voice of nature, "As the Lord
liveth, and as thy soul liveth, _there is but a step between thee
and death_." And can we be safe, in such circumstances, to live in
unpreparedness for that which may meet us the next moment, and must
meet us ere long? Or ought we to feel satisfied, in any circumstances,
if we be living in a state of enmity with God? What can the sinner
do, and whither shall he flee, when judgments overtake him? He cannot
look up to a neglected and angry God; he dare not look down upon an
undone eternity; nothing remains for him but "a fearful looking for of
judgment and of fiery indignation to destroy him as an adversary." Why,
oh why, should we live in such a state of defenceless danger--exposed
at every accident to the destroying vengeance of heaven? Is not a
divine Saviour now offering us not only his protection, but also his
propitiation? The merit of his sacrifice is able to screen all who
confide in it, not only from temporal danger, but also from eternal
destruction. Let us seek our present safety, in acceptance with God,
through the blood of Immanuel; and we shall find our security from all
future evils in the covert of his covenant. Then, "though we walk in
the midst of trouble his right hand will save us," and we shall face
every danger with a fearless confidence, while we can exclaim--"The
Lord of Hosts is on our side, the God of Jacob is our refuge." For
Immanuel shall be "an hiding-place from the wind, and a covert from the
tempest, as rivers of waters in a dry place, and as the shadow of a
great rock in a weary land."

If any truth be confirmed by the foregoing narrative, it is the truth
of God's word, that "the Lord is good--a stronghold in the day of
trouble, and he knoweth them that trust in him." The "profiting" of
prayer in such a case must "be apparent to all." It was the smallest
part of its advantages that it preserved order, and prevented
excess,--that it filled the fainting hearts of the crew and passengers
with courage, and renewed their strength when they were sinking fast
into despair. It did more; their eyes turned heavenward in their
helplessness, and they found a power superior to their own, interpose
for their deliverance. These poor men cried, and "_the Lord heard
them_, and delivered them out of all their distresses." If any reader
should doubt the truth of this conclusion, or deny it, let him go and
"prove God," by the same means; let him "in everything by prayer and
supplication make known his request to God;" and if his prayer be
sincere the gracious answer will be certain; his own experience will
but accord with the infallible testimony of all ages. "Ye shall seek
me and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart." "FOR
THIS SHALL EVERY ONE THAT IS GODLY PRAY UNTO THEE IN A TIME WHEN THOU
MAYEST BE FOUND; SURELY IN THE FLOODS OF GREAT WATERS THEY SHALL NOT
COME NIGH UNTO HIM."



Transcriber's Note:

Punctuation has been standardised. Hyphenation and spelling has been
retrained as published in the original publication except as follows:

  Page 14
  qnantity to extinguish so extensive _changed to_
  quantity to extinguish so extensive

  Page 94
  the vows which "our lipsuttered--our moutths spake _changed to_
  the vows which "our lips uttered--our mouths spake





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