land.

Very early on the morning of the tenth day we heard the cry of "A sail!" We started up from our rocky beds, and stood, without daring to speak. There was a little upright shadow, about as large as a finger, against the sky. Every eye was turned to it, but no one yet dared to confirm it; and, even if it were a sail, those on board the vessel might not see our island, it was so low, or our flag of distress, as we had nothing on which to raise it very high. We stood for several minutes, without daring to look at each other with the consciousness that we were saved. We presently saw that there were two little schooners beating up against the wind, directly towards us, and that they carried the red English flag. They had been catching turtles on the Mosquito Coast. As soon as our boat reached them, they unloaded their turtles (which occupied them a day), with the exception of three large ones which they reserved for us, and then started at once.

These small vessels were unequal to carrying away half the people on the island, and they had no arrangements for the comfort of passengers. A considerable number decided to embark on them, and commenced doing so; while the larger part of the company remained on the spot, to take their chance of escape in some other way, since communication with the world was now established.

The next day we were all rejoiced by the appearance of two United States gunboats from Aspinwall, which point was reached by our other boat, after a rough experience; the waves having capsized her during the passage, and swallowed up the provisions and nautical instruments.

It was then decided that all the company should be taken to Aspinwall by the United States vessels, and their boats and ours were at once put to service in transferring the people from the island; who, as they gathered up such fragments of their property as had been rescued from the wreck, and tied it up in bedquilts or blankets, shouldered their bundles, and moved slowly down to the point of departure,—their garments weather-stained and crab-eaten, some of them without shoes or hats, and all with much-bronzed faces,—presented a picturesque and beggarly appearance, in striking contrast to their aspect before the wreck.

We were treated with the greatest kindness by every one connected with the gunboats. They took us in their arms, and carried us into the boats, and stood all night beside us, offering ice-water and wine. They greatly bewailed our misfortunes, and told us, that, when they heard of our condition, they put on every pound of steam the vessels would bear, in order to reach us as speedily as possible, fearing that some greater calamity might befall us,—that our supply of water might entirely fail, or that the trade-wind might change, and a storm bring the sea over the island. They told us, too, that we were very far off the track of vessels; and, if our boats had failed to bring succor, in all probability no one would ever have come there in search of us.

The two schooners decided to remain a while, and wreck the vessel. As we steamed away from the reef, we passed her huge skeleton upon the rocks, the bell still hanging to the iron part of the frame.

On the second day we reached Aspinwall, and disembarked. As we sat on the wharf, in little groups, on pieces of lumber or on our bundles, waiting for arrangements to be made for our transportation across the Isthmus, a black man, employed there, fixed his eye upon our dark-skinned Julia, and, approaching, asked if she "got free in the Linkum war." I told him that she did, and asked him where he came from. He said he was from Jamaica; and I said, "I suppose you have been free a long time?" to which he, replied, with great energy, "Before I was born, I was free," and repeated it again and again,—"before I was born."

We found that Julia, to whom all things were new in the land of freedom, thought that the island where we spent so many days was a regular stopping-place on the way to California, and that the wreck was a legitimate mode of stopping; as one day she inquired if that was the way they always went to San Francisco, and said, if she had known travelling was so hard, she would not have started. This accounted for her equanimity, which surprised me, after the vessel struck the reef, as she sat quietly eating her cakes, while every thing was going to destruction around us, and the sea broke above our heads.

In crossing the Isthmus of Panama, we were delighted with the neat appearance of the natives, whom we saw along the roadside, or sitting in their little huts near by, which were made of the trunks of the tall palm-trees, in columns, open at the side, and thatched with leaves. These people were clad in clean white garments, the women with muslins and laces drooping from their bare shoulders, and with bright flowers in their hair.

On reaching Panama, the women there greeted us with great kindness and sympathy. One of them threw her arms around one of the first women of our party that she saw, and exclaimed, "Oh, we have thought so much about you! we were afraid you would die for want of water." It seemed strange that they should have cared so much, when a little while before they never knew of our existence. I felt as if I had hardly had a chance before in my life to know what mere humanity meant, apart from individual interest, and how strong a feeling it is. We realized still more the kindness of these "dear, dark-eyed sisters," when we opened the trunk of clothing which they sent on board the "America," the steamer that took us to San Francisco.

The voyage up the Pacific coast was long and wearisome. For some days we felt seriously the ill effects of the island life and the tropic heat, and could only endure; until, one morning, we came up on deck, and there were the beautiful serrated hills of Old California. We had rounded Cape St. Lucas, and had a strong, exhilarating breeze from the coast, and began to be ourselves again.

The monotony of our sea-life was broken by one event of special interest,—the addition of another human being to our large number. I must mention first,—for it seems as if they brought her,—that all one day we sailed in a cloud of beautiful gray-and-white gulls, flying incessantly over and around us, with their pretty orange bills and fringed wings and white fan-tails. They were very gentle and dove-like. They staid with us only that day. The last thing that I saw at night, far into the dark, was one flying after us; and, the next morning, we heard of the birth of the baby. She was christened in the cabin, the day after, by the Micronesian missionary, in the presence of a large company. A conch-shell from the reef served as the christening-basin. The American flag was festooned overhead; and, as far as possible, the cabin was put into festive array. She was named "Roncadora America," from the reef, and the vessel on which she was born. The captain gave her some little garments he was carrying home to his own unborn baby, and the gold ties for her sleeves. When her name was pronounced, the ship's gun was fired; then the captain addressed the father, who held her, and presented him with a purse of fifty dollars from the passengers, ending in triumph with—

"And now, my friends, see Roncadora,
With freedom's banner floating o'er her."

The father then uncovered her; she having made herself quite apparent before by wrestling with her little fists under the counterpane, and uttering a variety of wild and incomprehensible sounds. She proved a handsome baby, large and red, with a profusion of soft, dark