CHAPTER XI.

GRATITUDE.

“The bridegroom may forget the bride Was made his wedded wife yestreen The monarch may forget the crown That on his head an hour has been; The mother may forget her child That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; But I’ll remember thee, Glencairn, And a’ that thou hast done for me.” _Burns._

So far as ability and memory would permit I have given a plain unvarnished account of the incidents connected with the most trying time that I have ever experienced. Each day removes the date of the _Alert_ disaster further off; still, in quiet moments, when I look back on the 28th and 29th of last December, I cannot prevent a saddening sensation from stealing over me.

Mingled with the feeling, however, comes the thought that I can never be grateful enough, firstly to God, and secondly to the many kind friends by whose assistance I was snatched from the grave! I will be unworthy of the life they recalled if ever I forget those who befriended me in my need, therefore, through the pages of this little