Thrilling Adventures By Land And Sea — Charged by a Rhinoceros; Burning of the Erie; Conflict with an Indian; Fire on the Prairies; The Captain's Story

CHASED BY A RHINOCEROS.

On the 22d, says Mr. Cumming, ordering my men to move on toward a fountain in the center of the plain, I rode forth with Ruyter, and held east through a grove of lofty and wide-spreading mimosas, most of which were more or less damaged by the gigantic strength of a troop of elephants, which had passed there about twelve months before.

Having proceeded about two miles with large herds of game on every side, I observed a crusty-looking, old bull borèlé, or black rhinoceros, cocking his ears one hundred yards in advance.

He had not observed us; and soon after he walked slowly toward us, and stood broadside to, eating some wait-a-bit thorns within fifty yards of me.

I fired from my saddle, and sent a bullet in behind his shoulder, upon which he rushed forward about one hundred yards in tremendous consternation, blowing like a grampus, and then stood looking about him.

Presently he made off.

I followed but found it hard to come up with him.

When I overtook him I saw the blood running freely from his wound.

[Illustration: ESCAPE FROM THE RHINOCEROS] The chase led through a large herd of blue wildebeests, zebras, and springboks, which gazed at us in utter amazement.

At length I fired my second barrel, but my horse was fidgety, and I missed.

I continued riding alongside of him, expecting in my ignorance that at length he would come to bay, which rhinoceroses never do; when suddenly he fell flat on his broadside on the ground, but recovering his feet, resumed his course as if nothing had happened.

Becoming at last annoyed at the length of the chase, as I wished to keep my horses fresh for the elephants, and being indifferent whether I got the rhinoceros or not, as I observed that his horn was completely worn down with age and the violence of his disposition, I determined to bring matters to a crisis;

so, spurring my horse, I dashed ahead, and rode right in his path.

Upon this, the hideous monster instantly charged me in the most resolute manner, blowing loudly through his nostrils; and, although I quickly wheeled about to my left, he followed me at such a furious pace for several hundred yards, with his horrid horny snout within a few yards of my horse's tail, that my little Bushman, who was looking on in great alarm, thought his master's destruction inevitable.

It was certainly a very near thing; my horse was extremely afraid, and exerted his utmost energies on the occasion.

The rhinoceros, however, wheeled about, and continued his former course; and I, being perfectly satisfied with the interview which I had already enjoyed with him, had no desire to cultivate his acquaintance any further, and accordingly made for camp.

BURNING OF THE ERIE.

The steamboat Erie, under command of Captain Titus, left the dock at Buffalo on the afternoon of August 9th, 1841, laden with merchandise, destined for Chicago.

As nearly as could be ascertained, she had on board about two hundred persons, including passengers and crew.

The boat had been thoroughly overhauled and recently varnished.

At the moment of her starting, though the wind was blowing fresh, every thing promised a pleasant and prosperous voyage.

Nothing occured to mar this prospect till about eight o'clock in the evening, when the boat was off Silver Creek, about eight miles from the shore, and thirty-three miles from the city, when a slight explosion was heard, and immediately, almost instantaneously, the whole vessel was enveloped in flames.

Among the passengers were six painters, who were going to Erie to paint the steamboat Madison.

They had with them some demijohns filled with spirits of turpentine and varnish, which, unknown to Captain Titus, were placed on the boiler-deck directly over the boilers.

One of the firemen who was saved, says he had occasion to go on deck, and seeing the demijons, removed them.

They were replaced, but by whom is not known.

Their inflammable contents undoubtedly aided the flames in their rapid progress.

Captain Titus, who was on the upper deck at the time of the explosion, rushed to the ladies' cabin to obtain the life-preservers, of which there were about one hundred on board; but, so violent was the heat, he found it impossible to enter the cabin.

He returned to the upper deck, on his way giving orders to the engineer to stop the engine, the wind and the headway of the boat increasing the fierceness of the flames and driving them aft.

The engineer replied, that in consequence of the flames he could not reach the engine.

The steersman was instantly directed to put the helm hard a-starboard.

She swung slowly around, heading to the shore, and the boats--there were three on board--were then ordered to be lowered.

Two of the boats were lowered, but, in consequence of the heavy sea on, and the headway of the vessel, they both swamped as soon as they touched the water.

We will not attempt to describe the awful and appalling condition of the passengers.

Some were frantic with fear and horror, others plunged headlong madly into the water, others again seized upon any thing buoyant upon which they could lay hands.

The small boat forward had been lowered.

It was alongside the wheel, with three or four persons in it, when the captain jumped in, and the boat immediately dropped astern, filled with water.

A lady floated by with a life-preserver on.

She cried for help.

There was no safety in the boat.

The captain threw her the only oar in the boat.

She caught the oar and was saved.

It was Mrs. Lynde of Milwaukie, and she was the only lady who escaped.

In this condition, the boat, a mass of fierce fire, and the passengers and crew endeavoring to save themselves by swimming or supporting themselves by whatever they could reach, they were found by the steamboat Clinton, at about ten o'clock that night.

The Clinton had left Buffalo in the morning, but, in consequence of the wind, had put into Dunkirk.

She lay there till near sunset, at which time she ran out, and had proceeded as far as Barcelona, when just at twilight the fire of the Erie was discovered, some twenty miles astern.

The Clinton immediately put about, and reached the burning wreck.

It was a fearful sight.

All the upper works of the Erie had been burned away.

The engine was standing, but the hull was a mass of dull, red flames.

The passengers and crew were floating around, screaming in their agony, and shrieking for help.

The boats of the Clinton were instantly lowered and manned, and every person that could be seen or heard was picked up, and every possible relief afforded.

The Lady, a little steamboat lying at Dunkirk, went out of that harbor as soon as possible, after the discovery of the fire, and arrived soon after the Clinton.

By one o'clock in the morning, all was still except the melancholy crackling of the flames.

Not a solitary individual could be seen or heard on the wild waste of waters.

A line was then made fast to the remains of the Erie's rudder, and an effort made to tow the hapless hulk ashore.

About this time the Chautauque came up and lent her assistance.

The hull of the Erie was towed within about four miles of shore, when it sank in eleven fathoms of water.

By this time it was daylight.

The lines were cast oft.

The Clinton headed her course toward Buffalo, which place she reached about six o'clock.

Upon inquiry it was found that there had been between thirty and forty cabin passengers, of whom ten or twelve were ladies.

In the steerage there were about one hundred and forty passengers, nearly all of whom were Swiss and German emigrants.

The whole number of persons on board, who were saved, did not exceed twenty-seven.

All that imagination can conceive of the terrible and heart-rending was realized in the awful destruction of this boat.

Scores sank despairingly under the wild waters; but there is reason to fear that many, very many, strong men, helpless women, and tender children perished in the flames.

Among the passengers were a young gentleman and lady, who first became acquainted with each other on board.

The lady was accompanied by her father.

Upon an intimacy of a few hours an attachment seems to have been formed between this couple.

When the passengers rushed to the deck, after the bursting forth of the flames, the lady discovered her new acquaintance on a distant part of the deck, forced her way to him, and implored him to save her.

The only alternative left them was to jump overboard, or to submit to a more horrible fate.

They immediately jumped, the gentleman making the first plunge, with a view of securing for the young and fair being, who had measurably committed to his hands her safety, a plank floating a short distance from the boat.

As soon as the plank was secured, the lady leaped into the water and was buoyed up by her clothes, until the gentleman was enabled to float the plank to her.

For a short time the young man thought that his fair charge was safe; but soon his hopes were blasted--one of the fallen timbers struck the lady on the head, her form sank upon the water, a momentary quivering was perceptible, and she disappeared from human view.

Her father was lost, but the young gentleman was among the number picked up by the Clinton.

There was a fine race-horse on board, who, soon after the alarm, broke from his halter at the bow of the boat, and dashed through the crowd of passengers, prostrating all in his way; and then, rendered frantic by terror and pain, he reared and plunged into the devouring fire, and there ended his agony.

One of the persons saved, in describing the scene, says:--"The air was filled with shrieks of agony and despair.

The boldest turned pale.

I

shall never forget the wail of terror that went up from the poor German emigrants, who were huddled together on the forward deck.

Wives clung to their husbands, mothers frantically pressed their babes to their bosoms, and lovers clung madly to each other.

One venerable old man, his gray hairs streaming on the wind, stood on the bows, and, stretching out his bony hands, prayed to God in the language of his father-land.

"But if the scene forward was terrible, that aft was appalling, for there the flames were raging in their greatest fury.

Some madly rushed into the fire; others, with a yell like a demon, maddened with the flames, which were all around them, sprang headlong into the waves.

The officers of the boat, and the crew, were generally cool, and sprang to lower the boats, but these were every one successively swamped by those who threw themselves into them, regardless of the execrations of the sailors, and of every thing but their own safety.

"I tried to act coolly--I kept near the captain, who seemed to take courage from despair, and whose bearing was above all praise.

The boat was veering toward the shore, but the maddened flames now enveloped the wheel-house, and in a moment the machinery stopped.

The last hope had left us--a wilder shriek rose upon the air.

At this moment the second engineer, the one at the time on duty, who had stood by his machinery as long as it would work, was seen climbing the gallows-head, a black mass, with the flames curling all around him.

On either side he could not go, for it was now one mass of fire.

He sprang upward, came to the top, one moment felt madly around him, and then fell into the flames.

There was no more remaining on board, for the boat now broached around and rolled upon the swelling waves, a mass of fire.

I seized upon a settee near me, and gave one spring, just as the flames were bursting through the deck where I stood--one moment more and I should have been in the flames.

In another instant I found myself tossed on a wave, grasping my frail support with a desperate energy."

One of the not least interesting facts connected with the catastrophe, was that the helmsman was found burnt to a cinder at his post.

He had not deserted it even in the last extremity, but grasped with his charred fingers the wheel.

His name was Luther Fuller.

Honor to his memory!

A boy of twelve years of age, named Levi T. Beebee, belonging to Cleveland, Ohio, was among those saved.

He exhibited a degree of self-possession and fortitude rarely surpassed.

Though molten lead from the burning deck was dropping on his head, and his hands were scorched by the flames, he clung for at least two hours and a half to the chain leading from the stern to the rudder.

CONFLICT WITH AN INDIAN.

David Morgan had settled upon the Monongahela during the early part of the revolutionary war, and at this time had ventured to occupy a cabin at the distance of several miles from any settlement.

One morning, having sent his younger children out to a field at a considerable distance from the house, he became uneasy about them, and repaired to the spot where they were working.

He was armed, as usual, with a good rifle.

While sitting upon the fence and giving some directions as to their work, he observed two Indians upon the other side of the field gazing earnestly upon the party.

He instantly called to the children to make their escape, while he should attempt to cover their retreat.

The odds were greatly against him, as in addition to other circumstances, he was nearly seventy years of age, and, of course, unable to contend with his enemies in running.

The house was more than a mile distant, but the children, having two hundred yards the start, and being effectually covered by their father, were soon so far in front, that the Indians turned their attention entirely to the old man.

He ran for several hundred yards with an activity which astonished himself, but perceiving that he would be overtaken, long before he could reach his home, he fairly turned at bay, and prepared for a strenuous resistance.

The woods through which they were running were very thin, and consisted almost entirely of small trees, behind which, it was difficult to obtain proper shelter.

Morgan had just passed a large walnut, and, in order to resist with advantage, it became necessary to run back about ten steps in order to regain it.

The Indians were startled at the sudden advance of the fugitive, and halted among a cluster of saplings, where they anxiously strove to shelter themselves.

This, however, was impossible; and Morgan, who was an excellent marksman, saw enough of the person of one of them to justify him in risking a shot.

His enemy instantly fell, mortally wounded.

The other Indian, taking advantage of Morgan's empty gun, sprung from the shelter, and advanced rapidly upon him.

The old man, having no time to reload, was compelled to fly a second time.

The Indian gained rapidly upon him, and, when within twenty steps, fired, but with so unsteady an aim, that Morgan was wholly unhurt, the ball having passed over his shoulder.

He now again stood at bay, clubbing his rifle for a blow, while the Indian, dropping his empty gun, brandished his tomahawk and prepared to throw it at his enemy.

Morgan struck with the butt of his gun, and the Indian hurled his tomahawk at one and the same moment.

Both blows took effect; and both of the combatants were at once wounded and disarmed.

The breech of the rifle was broken against the Indian's skull, and the edge of the tomahawk was shattered against the barrel of the rifle, having first cut off two of the fingers of Morgan's left hand.

The Indian then attempting to draw his knife, Morgan grappled him, and bore him to the ground.

A furious struggle ensued, in which the old man's strength failed, and the Indian succeeded in turning him.

Planting his knee on the breast of his enemy, and yelling loudly, as is usual with the barbarians upon any turn of fortune, he again felt for his knife, in order to terminate the struggle at once; but having lately stolen a woman's apron, and tied it around his waist, his knife was so much confined, that he had great difficulty in finding the handle.

Morgan, in the meantime, being an accomplished pugilist, and perfectly at home in a ground struggle, took advantage of the awkwardness of the Indian, and got one of the fingers of his right hand between his teeth.

The Indian tugged and roared in vain, struggling to extricate it.

Morgan held him fast, and began to assist him in hunting for the knife.

Each seized it at the same moment, the Indian by the blade, and Morgan by the handle, but with a very slight hold.

[Illustration: THE LAST SHOT.

] The Indian, having the firmest hold, began to draw the knife further out of its sheath, when Morgan, suddenly giving his finger a furious bite, twitched the knife dexterously through his hand, cutting it severely.

Both now sprung to their feet, Morgan brandishing his adversary's knife, and still holding his finger between his teeth.

In vain the poor Indian struggled to get away, rearing, plunging, and bolting, like an unbroken colt.

The teeth of the white man were like a vice, and he at length succeeded in giving his savage foe a stab in the side.

The Indian received it without falling, the knife having struck his ribs; but a second blow, aimed at the stomach, proved more effectual, and the savage fell.

Morgan thrust the knife, handle and all, into the body, directed it upward, and, starting to his feet, made the best of his way home.

FIRE ON THE PRAIRIES.

The following account of one of those fearfully sublime spectacles--a fire on the prairie--is from the "_Wild Western Scenes_" by J. B.

Jones.

The hunters have been out and are overtaken by night, and are lost in the darkness.

Ere long, a change came over the scene.

About two-thirds of the distance around the verge of the horizon a faint light appeared, resembling the scene when a dense curtain of clouds hangs overhead, and the rays of the morning sun steal under the edge of the thick vapor.

But the stars could be seen, and the only appearance of clouds was immediately above the circle of light.

In a very few minutes the terrible truth flashed upon the mind of Glenn.

The dim light along the horizon was changed to an approaching flame.

Columns of smoke could be seen rolling upward, while the fire beneath imparted a lurid glare to them.

The wind blew more fiercely, and the fire approached from almost every quarter with the swiftness of a race-horse.

The darkened vault above became gradually illuminated with a crimson reflection, and the young man shuddered with the horrid apprehension of being burnt alive!

It was madness to proceed in a direction that must inevitably hasten their fate, the fire extending in one unbroken line from left to right, and in front of them, and they now turned in a course which seemed to place the greatest distance between them and the furious element.

Ever and anon a frightened deer or elk leaped past, and the hounds no longer noticed them, but remained close to the horses.

The flames came on with awful rapidity.

The light increased in brilliance, and objects were distinguishable far over the prairie.

A red glare could be seen on the sides of the deer as they bounded over the tall dry grass, which was soon to be no longer a refuge for them.

The young man heard a low continued roar, that increased every moment in loudness, and, looking in the direction whence they supposed it proceeded, they observed an immense, dark, moving mass, the nature of which they could not divine, but it threatened to annihilate every thing that opposed it.

While gazing at this additional source of danger, the horses, blinded by the surrounding light, plunged into a deep ditch that the rain had washed in the rich soil.

Neither men nor horses, fortunately, were injured; and, after several ineffectual efforts to extricate themselves, they here resolved to await the coming of the fire.

Ringwood and Jowler whined fearfully on the verge of the ditch for an instant, and then sprang in and crouched trembling at the feet of their master.

The next instant the dark, thundering mass passed overhead, being nothing less than an immense herd of buffaloes driven forward by the flames.

The horses bowed their heads as if a thunderbolt were passing.

The fire and the heavens were hid from view, and the roar above resembled the rush of mighty waters.

When the last animal had sprung over the chasm, Glenn thanked the propitious accident that thus providentially prevented him from being crushed to atoms, and uttered a prayer to Heaven that he might by a like means be rescued from the fiery ordeal that awaited him.

It now occurred to him that the accumulation of weeds and grass in the chasm, which saved them from injury when falling in, would prove fatal when the flames arrived.

And after groping some distance along the trench, he found the depth diminished, but the fire was not three hundred paces distant.

His heart sank within him.

But when on the eve of returning to his former position, with a resolution to remove as much of the combustible matter as possible, a gleam of joy spread over his features, as, casting a glance in a contrary direction from that they had recently pursued, he beheld the identical mound he had ascended before dark, and from which his unsteady and erratic riding in the night had fortunately prevented a distant separation.

They now led their horses forth, and, mounting without delay, whipped forward for life or death.

Could the summit of the mound be attained, they were in safety--for there the soil was not encumbered with decayed vegetation--and they spurred their animals to the top of their speed.

It was a noble sight to see the majestic white steed flying toward the mound with the velocity of the wind, while the diminutive pony miraculously followed in the wake like an inseparable shadow.

The careering flames were not far behind, and, when the horses gained the summit and Glenn looked back, the fire had reached the base!

Fortunately, that portion of the plain over which the scathing element had spent its fury, was the direction the party should pursue in retracing their way homeward.

The light, dry grass had been soon consumed, and the earth now wore a blackened appearance, and was as smooth as if vegetation had never covered the surface.

As the party rode briskly along, (and the pony now kept in advance,) the horses' hoofs rattled as loudly on the baked ground as if it were a plank floor.

The reflection of the fire in the distance still threw a lurid glare over the extended heath.

As the smoke gradually ascended, objects could be discerned at a great distance, and occasionally a half-roasted deer or elk was seen plunging about, driven to madness by its tortures.

And frequently they found the dead bodies of smaller animals that could find no safety in flight.

THE CAPTAIN'S STORY.

At the close of the war with Great Britain, in the year 1815, I took command of the brig Ganges, owned by Ebenezer Sage, Esq.

, then a wealthy and respectable merchant at Middleton.

I sailed from New York on the 20th of August, bound for Turk's Island for a cargo of salt, and, on the 5th of September, I arrived at my destined port.

It being the season for hurricanes in that region, it was thought most safe for us to go around into a small harbor on the south side of the island.

In order to reach this harbor, we had to go through a narrow, crooked channel, with rocks and dangerous reefs on every side, but, with a skillful pilot, we made our way through safely, and came to anchor.

On the next day we commenced taking in our cargo of salt.

On the 9th of September, a day that I shall ever remember, my pilot came to me somewhat agitated, and said that there were strong indications of an approaching hurricane, and advised me to make all possible preparations to encounter it.

We therefore quit taking in salt, and made every thing about the ship snug as possible.

At twelve o'clock, midnight, the gale commenced, as the pilot had anticipated, and continued to increase until six in the morning, at which time it became most terrific.

Every blast grew more and more violent until our cables all parted, and we were left to the mercy of the gale.

It blew directly from the land.

We got the ship before the wind, as the only course we could pursue.

In doing this we were well aware of the dangerous channel we had to pass, and my only hope was, that we might get to sea clear of the land.

But this hope soon vanished.

In about twenty minutes after we started, the ship struck a rock, which knocked off her rudder, and set her leaking badly.

The rudder being gone, we of course had no control of the vessel.

She came around side to the wind, and at this moment her mainmast was blown over the side.

We at once cut away the rigging that attached it to the hull, and it floated off, and the foremast still standing, the ship swung off again a little before the wind.

All hands were soon set to pumping, but we found that in spite of all our exertions, the water rapidly increased in the hold.

The appearance of the elements at this time almost baffles description.

So violent was their commotion that no one could stand without grasping something for support.

Not a word could be heard that was uttered.

I had to communicate every order by means of signs, while I stood on the quarter-deck holding on to the cabin doors.

In this situation I endeavored calmly to reflect.

Here we were, as we supposed, on the open ocean,--in a tempest of unparalleled violence--with no rudder--one mast gone--boats all lost--and the ship settling under us from the weight of water in the hold.

The sky was black almost as midnight above us, and the waves beneath, and around, and over us--for they dashed at quick intervals, like so many furies, across the devoted ship--seemed ready to drown us ere we sank into their dread abyss.

The voice of the gale as it howled through the rigging, mingled with the creaking of timbers, and the roar of waters as they struck the vessel, was an awful wail, as it appeared to me, over bodies devoted to almost instant death.

Destruction seemed inevitable.

It would not, to all human calculation, be protracted even an hour.

We were sinking down, down--inch following inch of the fated vessel in rapid succession--down remedilessly to our graves in the maddened sea, amid the monsters of its great deep.

I descended to the cabin, and attempted calmly to surrender myself to Him who made me.

My thoughts--oh, how they flew at once to my wife and children at home!

I attempted to pray, and for the first time since I had left my pious mother.

I _did_ pray--for my family first--and oh how fervently, in closing my supplications, I besought for myself pardon and forgiveness through Him who is ever ready to hear the penitent!

The water had now got on to the cabin floor, I therefore placed myself on the stairs leading on deck.

Shortly after this the wind shifted, and in a few minutes the ship struck with a tremendous crash.

I rushed on deck, and at once saw rocks fifty feet high, and perpendicular, but a few feet from the after part of the ship, which now soon filled with water, and rolled over toward the land.

At its fore part, and at the only point where we could by any possibility have been saved, the rocks descended gradually, and the foremast leaned over them.

Not a moment was to be lost.

We crawled up the rigging, and, swinging ourselves on to the rocks, made our way up the precipice on our hands and feet, and, reaching the summit, at once sought, in holes in the rock, shelter from the tempest, which still continued so violent that no one could stand upon his feet.

Our escape happened about ten o'clock in the morning; at five in the afternoon the gale had so moderated that we could stand.

We then crawled out from our hiding places, and, assembling together, found that all were safe except my brother, who was mate of the ship, and he, we supposed, was lost, in attempting to get on shore.

We soon, as was very natural, approached the precipice to learn the fate of the ship.

Nothing was to be seen of her but plank, timbers, spars, sails, and rigging, all in one confused, broken mass, and washing up against the rocks.

It was truly to us a most deplorable spectacle.

We had no resource in the vessel; not a thing of value was left.

As night was approaching, we now walked along before the wind toward the south part of the island, and there found, by the side of a huge pile of rocks, a hole or sort of cave, about eight feet square and five feet high.

Here we all crawled in, wet and cold, but with hearts grateful to God for our wonderful preservation.

As we were packed very close to each other, the natural warmth of our bodies soon relieved us considerably from the sensation of wetness and cold, and we passed the night as comfortably as our varied miseries would allow.

Morning came, and we left our cave.

The gale had much abated, and we could see some distance.

We found that we were on a small desolate island, about a mile long, half a mile wide, and about ten miles from the place we left the day before.

It was covered mostly with huge rocks, with here and there a small patch of soil, overrun with prickly pear, and inhabited by no living animal excepting lizards and small poisonous snakes.

We had been now over twenty-four hours without food or water.

Of the latter article, on searching around, we found a little in the hollows on the rocks, but it was about half salt, having been made so by the spray which the gale had thrown from the ocean quite over the island, and the more we drank of it the more thirsty we became.

As to food, we were soon convinced that this was out of the question.

Toward night, we found a cask near the beach, standing on one end, with one head out, which held about two gallons of water, that had rained in.

This was not salt, but smelled badly.

We, however, scooped out with our hands about one half of it, and left what remained for the next day.

We got some relief from this, and then we returned to our former resting-place for the night.

When we crawled out on the following morning we found that the weather had become fine and clear.

We could see vessels passing at a short distance from us, but had no means of making any signal, nor any for leaving the shore.

This being the third day of our distress and privation, some of us began to suffer much from hunger.

Others suffered more from thirst.

We, however, cheered each other with the faint hope that some thing would appear for our relief.

We wandered about as we had done the day before, seeking for water but found none.

We had nothing to dig with but our hands; these we used, but in vain; no water appeared.

Toward night we went to the cask, and drank what remained there.

We then returned again to our cave for the night, all much exhausted and low-spirited.

Despair began to shade every countenance.

Very little was said, and we passed the night well as we could, pressed by hunger and parched by thirst.

Morning came, and again we all left our shelter.

The weather continued fine and clear.

The men again separated in search of water, but being myself very feeble, I took my seat on some rocks near the cave, at a point from whence I could see every thing moving on the water, and with a lingering hope that something would appear for our deliverance.

About ten o'clock, an object loomed up in the distance.

I thought it was a boat, but could not at once tell.

It approached, and soon I saw it distinctly.

It _was_ a boat, with one sail, and was steering directly for a low beach not far from where I was seated.

My feelings at this moment were so overcome that I lost all power of utterance.

I could not, at first, rise from the rock, My strength, however, shortly returned a little, and I got up and made all the noise I could.

Some of the men near at hand heard me, and came up.

I at once pointed to the boat, which was now near the shore.

They shouted to their companions, and we were all soon at the beach near where the boat was landed.

A black man got out of the boat, and came to me with a letter--but, before reading it, I besought him for water.

To my surprise he had none, but instead of it had a bottle of rum and a small bag of biscuit.

I told him to bring these on shore, and, taking them, I gave each of my crew a swallow of the rum and a biscuit.

This had the effect of moistening a little our parched mouths and tongues.

I then opened the letter.

It was from my warm and faithful friend Mr. Tucker, of Turk's Island, and it read as follows, omitting my name: "To Captain ----, or any other unfortunate person or persons who may be found on any of the neighboring islands.

Come as many as can safely and, should any be left, I will find means to convey those that remain."

The two men, who came in the boat, hesitated about taking all of us at once, as we were nine in number, and with themselves might overload the boat.

We could not, however, bear the thought of leaving any behind.

We therefore all got aboard, shoved off, and made sail.

We had a fair wind, and a smooth sea, and at six o'clock arrived safely at the harbor we had left.

Many persons ran to the beach to meet us as we landed, and among the rest was our deliverer, Mr. Tucker.

The next morning, my friend and deliverer gave me a brief history of what had taken place with himself and his fellow-inhabitants on the island, during the gale.

Many of their houses were levelled to the ground, and some were blown into the sea.

Their cisterns, their only dependence for water, were mostly destroyed.

Even the cannon mounted on a small battery were dismounted, and most of the inhabitants were in great distress.

Every vessel and boat, that floated about the island, were blown to sea or destroyed.

Out of the twenty vessels that were at the island on which Mr. Tucker lived, when the gale came on, only six were heard ever from after.

Five out of these six were wrecked on adjacent islands, and every soul on board three of these perished.

The gale was said, by the oldest inhabitants, to be the most violent ever known in that region.

We remained on the island ten or twelve days, and then, taking passage in a ship bound for New York, reached that city safely on the last of November.