Lincoln telegraph. [volume] (Bath, Me.) 1836-1846, 1838-07-19
BATH, THURSDAY, JULY 49, 1888.

cover my way, and get back to my home.
The Lost One remained and passed the
night at the foot of the same tree under
which his repast had been made. Refresh
ed by sound sleep, he started at dawn to
resume his weary march. The sun rose
bright, and he followed the direction of the
shadows. Still the drearness of the woods
was the same, and he was on the point Of
giving up in despair, when he observed
raccoon lying squat.ed in the grass. Rails
ing his axe, he drove it with such violence
through the helpless animal, that it expired
without struggle. What he had done
with the turtle, he now did with the rae
coon, the greater part Of which he actually
devoured at one meal. With more COM
Portable feelings, he then resumed his wan
behring's his journey cannot say-for al
though in the possession Of all his faculties,
and in broad daylight, he was worse off
than lame man groopng his ayin the
dark out of a dungeon, of which he knew
not where the door stood x4E
Days, one after another, passed-nay,
weeks in succession. He fed on cabbage
trees, then on frogs and snakes. All
that fell in his way was welcome and savo-
ny. Yet he became daily more emaciated,
until he could scarcely crawl. Forty
days had elapsed, by his own reckoning,
when he at last reached the banks of the
river. His clothes in taNers, his once
bright axe dimmed with rust, his face be-
grimmed with bread, his hair matted, and
his feeble frame little better than skele-
ton covered with parchf1nnt--there he
laid himself down to die. Amid the per-
turbed dreams of his favored fancy, he
thought he heard the sound, of oars away
on the silent river. He listened, but the
sound died away on his ear. 1t was indeed
dream, the last glimmer ofexpiring hope,
and now the light of life was about to be
quenched forever. But again, the sound
Of oars awoke him from his lethargy.
He listened SO eagerly, that the hum
of fly could not have escaped his ear.
They were indeed the measured beats of
oars, and now, JOY to the fbrlorn soul the
sound of human voices thrilled to his heart,
God and awoke thetumulthous pulses ofre-
turning hope. On his knees did the eye o.
see that poor man, by the broad still stream
that glittered. in the sun-beans; and hui
man eyes soon SEW him too-for round that
headland covered with tangled brush
wood, boldly advances the little boat, pro-
PEELED by its lusty rowcrs. The Lost One
raises his feeble voice on hight was a
loud shrill scream of Joy and fear The
rowers pause, and look around. Another,
but leebler scream, and they observe him.
1t omes,----his heart hutters, his sight is
dimmed, his brain reels, he gasps for
breath. 1t comes, ----it has RIM upon the
beach, and the Lost One is found!
This is no tale of fiction, but the relation
of an actual occurrence, which might be
embeIlished no doubt, but which is better
in the plain garb of truth. The notes by
which | recorded it were written in the
cabin of the once lve-oaker, about four
years after the painful incident occurred.
His amiable wife and loving children we're
present at the recital, and never shall for
get the tears that flowed from them as they
listened to it, albeit it had long been more
familiar to them than tale thrice told
Sincerely dol wish, good reader, that
neither you nor / may ever elicit such
sympathy, by having undergone such sui
ferings, although no doubt such sympathy
would be rich recompense for them.
1t only remains for me to say, that the
distance between the cabin and the live
oak hammock to which the woodsman was
bound, scarcely exceeded eight miles;
while the part ofthe river at which he was
found, was 38 miles from his house. Cal
culating his daily wanderngs at ten miles,
we may believe that they amounted in all
to 400. He must, therefore. have ram
bled in circuitous direction, which people
generally do in such circumstances. Moth.
ing but the great strength of his constitu1
ton, and the merciful aid of God. could
have supported him for SO long time.