wringing hands of the one and the deep groans of the other testifying the anguish and terror of their minds. Unawed by the dreadful turmoil above and the painful scene around her, Schillie alone seemed fearless and unmoved; steadying herself by the cabin door, she stood erect, and, as she looked at each of us, the calm undaunted expression of her countenance seemed to impart to us the courage her words would have given could we have heard them.

The heavy rolling of the ship became each moment more apparent; the timbers creaked and groaned; as if satisfied with the mischief it had done, the wind ceased its wild uproar, and, during the temporary calm that succeeded, we learned the loss of the seven men, hurled at once into eternity, the wreck of all on deck, and the fatal consequences still more likely to ensue from the sea we had shipped. The pumps were manned immediately, and a temporary rudder made from one of the spars. So little did the captain hide our danger from us that he accepted the offer for those that could to help at the pumps; this enabled him to spare two men for the rudder and other work he thought necessary.

Madame remained below with the children, beseeching for that aid which is equally necessary on sea or shore, and Hargrave, being helpless from fear and despair, remained with her. Wrapping ourselves up in warm close garments, we took our places, two at one and two at another pump, to help the men; and we had the exquisite gratification of finding that our labours were successful, for once more La Luna rode lightly on the waters, and our captain, in the broadest Scotch, which he always used when agitated, expressed his heartfelt happiness, while he let out, in broken exclamations of thankfulness, the fear he had entertained that her waterlogged condition might have proceeded from the starting of some of her timbers; and, indeed, the shocks and buffets she had received from the angry waves, with the straining and pitching, made us, inexperienced mariners as were, wonder, more than once, that she was not riven into a thousand pieces. Many were the fond words and endearing epithets bestowed on the brave La Luna by the good captain while he apostrophized her, as if endued with life and consciousness, beseeching her to hold on yet awhile, by all the good angels in heaven, by the mighty powers of the deep, by the love she bore to those within her, by the affection they bore to her, by the value of their lives, by the preciousness of the little innocent children, by the hopes she had given them of her strength and goodness; while he promised her in return every good thing on sea or in sky, fair breezes, bright sun, and ever-flowing sheet, with the devoted love and affection of all on board.

Towards evening, the moaning wind again rose in furious gusts, and we were recalled from the calm into which we had been sunk by the sudden and awful death that had befallen so many of our companions (a feeling only to be felt at sea) to a repetition of all we had undergone before, save in that one instance. In the language of scripture, "we strake sail, and so were driven." The sky was as pitch, the waves furious, the wind awful. Night and day passed without thought or heed. Working at the pumps had done us all good, diverting our minds from the loss we had sustained, and preventing us from dwelling on the perils surrounding us. But now we had nothing to do, and we experienced, in its full force, that heart-sickness consequent upon hope deferred. Hours sped on, yet still the ship was driven like a mad thing through the water. Bruised and sore, from the various falls and shocks we hourly received, hungry and faint from inability to get the food so necessary for our exhausted frames, death seemed our inevitable doom.