The New Orleans crescent. [volume] (New Orleans, La.) 1866-1869, 1869-01-31


afeciionste child? Through that terrible danger,
| that long illness, those dark moments, when
| death lowered over me, but this one thought has
been mine: Are they still living. or have the mer
| CHESS waves long since swallowed them up? Fa.
Their in Heaven, have mercy-the wife, the mother,
cries ont TO thee from the depths of her doubt and
| despair. Give her strength, give her patience,
give her an unfaiing, unfaltering trust in thee.
Give her to say in grief or in Joy "Not my will,
| but thine, oh God be done.-
And once more feel returning life. May it not
| be that that lite is given me for q more Jealous
| guarding of my duiyg
May il not be that the slender thread, awhile
since so nearly riven in twain, may yet increase
to ligament binding me with tenfOld strength to
life blessed by those dear ones restored 70 me |?
Yet, dread the answer so fraught with IN.
| speakabe sorrow or gratitude.
Patience, my heart nerve thyself TO whatever
the future may bring. Trust and hope on, nor
yet grieve for those who may even now them
selves be mourning thee as forever lost.
They say we have been here nearly
four weeks. IT'S all blank time TO me.
recollect the parting kisses, as | was
| lowered into the boat, expecting them to
| follow me. Then was suddenly in darkness !;
| the boat, lifted upon great wave, was dashed
| from its fsstenings, and in another moment the
ships lights were fast receding from our sight
Our cries were vain: the roaring of wind and
waya. the screams OF drunken and desperate men.
the shrieks of women and the plaintive cry of
that poor little infant. mingled with beseech-
ings. We. were adrft, the second mate and we
three women, sparsely clad, and wet and be-
numbed.
Let me think All, mol cannot recall the
days and nights that followed. Thirst and hunger
only landmarks in that dreary waste of memory.
All, yes! one event indistinctly picture. That
poor English girl who died, talking of her mother
] shudder to think how paid and distorted her
face was when we two survivors, speeches., saw
the mate consign her remains 10 the sea, then 90
tranquil and placid. / do remember too, when
the cry of " Land! thank God, land ~ joyfully
broke from the mates lips; then-it seemed q
long time after--the boats bottom grated upon
the sand. This is all that my memory brings
back TO me.
And to- day Sherburne, who has watched night
and day by my side, as lay yonder pallet of
grass, has told me all ; has allowed me 10 sit up
once more, providing for me this stool of twisted
boughs, which be manufactured during my mo-
ments Of sleep; has pointed out to me the spot
where he followed grave for her who survived
with rs the perils by water. This old book,
drenched as il was, he found among the clothing
dear Robert had thrown into the boat, and now
write with the same pencil which his dear hands
placed there on the day we left port. How long
ago that seems And yet tits not over five weeks
since.
see little white flag waving from q staff upon
the hill top yonder, and Sherburne is standing
there too. Poor fellow How attentive, how
respectful, he has been. When my husband
interposed on the Calcutta wharyes that day TO
been drinking and were quarrelsome, how little
did he anticipate this return. i cannot draw him
into any extended conversation, save by constant
questioning. Yes, my lady," and mo, my
lady" are his invariable answers. He brought
me this morning two little fish be had caught by
a peculiar line and hook of his own make. And
here he has spread his jacket on the sand under
my feet, lest / should be in danger from the
dsmpness.
But can we fed subsistence here on this island
Sherburne tells me he has explored it for a mile
or so from the shore, and finds no traces Of any
human inhabitants. There is game in abundance.
bnt we have no gun OF any kind. He has, by the
aid of his jack knife, manufactured long bow,
and twisted together linen threads into bow
string, and then, by arrows cut in the forest and
sbaIpeued at the FIRE, has succeeded, he says, in
killing two good sized birds during my Illness A
clear spring babbles forth not hundred yards
away from me, and sends It's clear waters trick.
ling down the hillside to the seashore. By the
aid Of stakes and the timbers from our boat, he
has built for me q tolersble shelter matching It
with grsss on the roof and sides. Poor fellow, be
seems entirely forgetful OF self in his desire 70
protect the wife of bis chance benefactor.
Two months later the rainy season will set in.
bu, ere that Sherburne will, he hopes, have com.
pleied our new abode on the bill top. He is work
lng hard. be tells me, in his leisure moments, aud
have promised so soon as my strength will per-
nit TO give him ell the assistance in my power.
Bot see him coming down toward me again.
Perhaps he has seen ship. Three vessels have
passed in sight, he says, since we landed. One Of
them, apparently war vessel, came quite near in
and fred gun. Alas. we had no fire then, and
our flag staff was not ready. We could make no
signal ID reply.
-
JANUARY, Is, 1856.
Again venture out from the damp noisome
darkness Of yonder hut, and breathe the free pure
air, blowing fresh from the sea- which dances and
sparkles before me. God is indeed good to me in
thus again sparDg my life from the insidOus fever
which Fetnrned with incraaRRd viCOr einpa Last
wrote in these pages, only to leave me weak, irri
table, Respondent.
Time wears on, and brings us no succor. A
small trading boat came in quite close 10 US last
week, evidently intending to land, probably for
water, Sherburne says, but the wind came up
fresh from the eastward. and they went of to sea
again. ! am half dishesrtened, and can see in my
companions unhappy face what his lips will not
confess. BE has become On expert in the use of
the bow and the line, and we do not want for pro.
visions, which he takes good care to season with
salt gathered on the rocks. ] do not complain.
am but too thankful for these blessings. Yet,
which at times ell but drives me mad. will not
think of il.
The new house progresses but slowly. My ILL.,
ness, and the repeated calls upon his assistance,
give SherbUrne but little time TO work uninter-
rupedly. He begins too, now and then, to ven.
ture wish that | would hurry and be we'll in
order that / may help him. He needs me, he
says, to carry the wood which he cuts, and to
and sometimes think that before the house is com.
pleted only one viii remain to occupy it.
July sOh.
Ny husbands birthday, and Sunday too. sher.
burne, who is precise old mariner. has kept a
log since our arrival, religiously notching each
day when he awases in the morning.
The sun is very hot to-day, and l have sought |
shelter under tree whose bows, covered with |
luxurisnt verdure and bending TO the ground,
form q natural summer house. | know not WIN,
but am lighter of heart than for a long time |
past. Perhaps the spirits of those loved ones, |
still, trust, in the land Of the living are recall.
ing with mine the happy anniversary year since, |
and are inspiring the while mutual hopefulness |
Perhaps too my restored health comes to give me |
new courage. lis a wonder. survived that little |
hut with its pallet of grass.
Sberburne and quarrelled last week. For two !
days he was moody and morose, and on the third |
told me, abruptly, that he did not see how we |
were to get along hereafter the birds were get |
ting scarce and very timid at that aud the fish |
would not bite. ! saw he was cross. So was I, |
snd told HIM | did not believe what he said |
How ungrsteful Il was Of me. But have come 10 1
be utterly selfish and pitiless here, sometimes |
think. BE answered me roughly and went of. | |
did not see bin all that day: but next morning. |