Chapter 20

Three days more passed over in inexpressible anguish, when they constructed a smaller and more manageable raft, in the hope of directing it to the shore; but on trial it was found insufficient. On the seventeenth day, a brig was seen; which, after exciting the vicissitude of hope and fear, proved to be the Argus, sent out in quest of the Medusa. The inhabitants of the raft were all received on board, and were again very nearly perishing, by a fire which broke out in the night. The six boats which had so cruelly cast them adrift, reached the coast of Africa in safety; and after many dangers among the Moors, the survivors arrived at St. Louis.

After this, a vessel was dispatched to the wreck of the Medusa, to carry away the money and provisions; after beating about for eight days, she was forced to return. She again put to sea, but after being away five days, again came back. Ten days more were lost in repairing her; and she did not reach the spot till fifty-two days after the vessel had been lost; and dreadful to relate, three miserable sufferers were found on board. Sixty men had been abandoned there by their magnanimous countrymen. All these had been carried off except seventeen, some of whom were drunk, and others refused to leave the vessel. They remained at peace as long as their provisions lasted. Twelve embarked on board a raft, for Sahara, and were never more heard of. Another put to sea on a hen-coop, and sunk immediately. Four remained behind, one of whom, exhausted with hunger and fatigue, perished. The other three lived in separate corners of the wreck, and never met but to run at each other with drawn _knives_. They were put on board the vessel, with all that could be saved from the wreck of the Medusa.

The vessel was no sooner seen returning to St. Louis, than every heart beat high with joy, in the hope of recovering some property. The men and officers of the Medusa jumped on board, and asked if any thing had been saved. "Yes," was the reply, "but it is all ours now;" and the naked Frenchmen, whose calamities had found pity from the Moors of the desert, were now deliberately plundered by their own countrymen.

A fair was held in the town, which lasted eight days. The clothes, furniture, and necessary articles of life belonging to the men and officers of the Medusa, were publicly sold before their faces. Such of the French as were able, proceeded to the camp at Daceard, and the sick remained at St. Louis. The French governor had promised them clothes and provisions, but sent none; and during five months, they owed their existence to strangers--to the British.

HUNTING THE MOOSE.

The habits of the moose, in his manner of defence and attack, are similar to those of the stag, and may be illustrated by the following anecdote from the "Random Sketches of a Kentuckian:"

Who ever saw Bravo without loving him? His sloe-black eyes, his glossy skin, flecked here and there with blue; his wide-spread thighs, clean shoulders, broad back, and low-drooping chest, bespoke him the true stag-hound; and none, who ever saw his bounding form, or heard his deep-toned bay, as the swift-footed stag flew before him, would dispute his title. List, gentle reader, and I will tell you an adventure which will make you love him all the more.

A bright, frosty morning in November, 1838, tempted me to visit the forest hunting-grounds. On this occasion, I was followed by a fine-looking hound, which had been presented to me a few days before by a fellow-sportsman. I was anxious to test his qualities, and, knowing that a mean dog will not often hunt well with a good one, I had tied up the eager Bravo, and was attended by the strange dog alone. A brisk canter of half an hour brought me to the wild forest hills. Slackening the rein, I slowly wound my way up a brushy slope some three hundred yards in length. I had ascended about half way, when the hound began to exhibit signs of uneasiness, and, at the same instant a stag sprang out from some underbrush near by, and rushed like a whirlwind up the slope. A word, and the hound was crouching at my feet, and my trained Cherokee, with ear erect, and flashing eye, watched the course of the affrighted animal.

"On the very summit of the ridge, full one hundred and fifty yards, every limb standing out in bold relief against the clear, blue sky, the stag paused, and looked proudly down upon us. After a moment of indecision, I raised my rifle, and sent the whizzing lead upon its errand. A single bound, and the antlered monarch was hidden from my view. Hastily running down a ball, I ascended the slope; my blood ran a little faster as I saw the gouts of blood' which stained the withered leaves where he had stood. One moment more, and the excited hound was leaping breast high on his trail, and the gallant Cherokee bore his rider like lightning after them.

"Away--away! for hours we did thus hasten on, without once being at fault, or checking our headlong speed. The chase had led us miles from the starting-point, and now appeared to be bearing up a creek, on one side of which arose a precipitous hill, some two miles in length, which I knew the wounded animal would never ascend.

"Half a mile further on, another hill reared its bleak and barren head on the opposite side of the rivulet. Once fairly in the gorge, there was no exit save at the upper end of the ravine. Here, then, I must intercept my game, which I was able to do by taking a nearer cut over the ridge, that saved at least a mile.

"Giving one parting shout to cheer my dog, Cherokee bore me headlong to the pass. I had scarcely arrived, when, black with sweat, the stag came laboring up the gorge, seemingly, totally reckless of our presence. Again I poured forth the 'leaden messenger of death,' as meteor-like he flashed by us. One bound, and the noble animal lay prostrate within fifty feet of where I stood. Leaping from my horse, and placing one knee upon his shoulder, and a hand upon his antlers, I drew my hunting knife; but scarcely had its keen point touched his neck, when, with a sudden bound, he threw me from his body, and my knife was hurled from my hand. In hunters' parlance, I had only 'creased him.' I at once saw my danger, but it was too late. With one bound, he was upon me, wounding and almost disabling me with his sharp feet and horns. I seized him by his wide-spread antlers, and sought to regain possession of my knife, but in vain; each new struggle drew us further from it. Cherokee, frightened at the unusual scene, had madly fled to the top of the ridge, where he stood looking down upon the combat, trembling and quivering in every limb.

"The ridge road I had taken placed us far in advance of the hound, whose bay I could not now hear. The struggles of the furious animal had become dreadful, and every moment I could feel his sharp hoofs cutting deep into my flesh; my grasp upon his antlers was growing less and less firm, and yet I relinquished not my hold. The struggle had brought us near a deep ditch, washed by the fall rains, and into this I endeavored to force my adversary, but my strength was unequal to the effort; when we approached to the very brink, he leaped over the drain. I relinquished my hold and rolled in, hoping thus to escape him; but he returned to the attack, and, throwing himself upon me, inflicted numerous severe cuts upon my face and breast before I could again seize him. Locking my arms around his antlers, I drew his head close to my breast, and was thus, by great effort, enabled to prevent his doing me any serious injury. But I felt that this could not last long; every muscle and fiber of my frame was called into action, and human nature could not long bear up under such exertion. Faltering a silent prayer to Heaven, I prepared to meet my fate.

"At this moment of despair, I heard the faint bayings of the hound; the stag, too, heard the sound, and, springing from the ditch, drew me with him. His efforts were now redoubled, and I could scarcely cling to him. Yet that blessed sound came nearer and nearer! Oh how wildly beat my heart, as I saw the hound emerge from the ravine, and spring forward with a short, quick bark, as his eye rested on his game. I released my hold of the stag, who turned upon the new enemy. Exhausted, and unable to rise, I still cheered the dog, that, dastard-like, fled before the infuriated animal, who, seemingly despising such an enemy, again threw himself upon me. Again did I succeed in throwing my arms around his antlers, but not until he had inflicted several deep and dangerous wounds upon my head and face, cutting to the very bone.

"Blinded by the flowing blood, exhausted and despairing, I cursed the coward dog, who stood near, baying furiously, yet refusing to seize his game. Oh! how I prayed for Bravo! The thoughts of death were bitter. To die thus in the wild forest, alone, with none to help! Thoughts of home and friends coursed like lightning through my brain. At that moment, when Hope herself had fled, deep and clear over the neighboring hill, came the baying of my gallant Bravo! I should have known his voice among a thousand. I pealed forth in one faint shout, 'On Bravo, on!' The next moment, with tiger-like bounds, the noble dog came leaping down the declivity, scattering the dried autumnal leaves like a whirlwind in his path. 'No pause he knew,' but, fixing his fangs in the stag's throat, he at once commenced the struggle.

"I fell back completely exhausted. Blinded with blood, I only knew that a terrible struggle was going on. In a few moments, all was still, and I felt the warm breath of my faithful dog, as he licked my wounds. Clearing my eyes from gore, I saw my late adversary dead at my feet, and Bravo, 'my own Bravo,' as the heroine of a modern novel would say standing over me. He yet bore around his neck a fragment of the rope with which I had tied him. He had gnawed it in two, and, following his master through all his windings, arrived in time to rescue him from a horrible death.

"I have recovered from my wounds. Bravo is lying at my feet. Who does not love Bravo? I am sure I do, and the rascal knows it--don't you, Bravo? Come here, sir!"

PERILOUS ESCAPE FROM DEATH.

In the narrative of Moses Van Campen, we find the following incident related. He was taken prisoner by the Seneca Indians, just after Sullivan's expedition in the Revolution, on the confines of the white settlements in one of the border counties of Pennsylvania. He was marched through the wilderness, and reached the headquarters of the savages near Fort Niagara. Here he was recognized as having, a year or two previously, escaped, with two others, from his guard, five of whom he slew in their sleep with his own hand.

On this discovery being made, the countenances of the savages grew dark and lowering. He saw at once that his fate was to be decided on the principles of Indian vengeance, and, being bound, had but little hope of escape. He, however, put on the appearance of as much unconcern as possible. The Indians withdrew by themselves to decide in what manner they should despatch their unhappy victim. They soon returned, their visages covered with a demoniac expression. A few went to gathering wood; another selected a spot, and soon a fire was kindled. Van Campen looked upon these preparations, which were being made to burn him alive, with feelings wrought up to the highest pitch of agony; yet he, with much effort, appeared calm and collected. At last, when the preparations were completed, two Indians approached, and began to unloose the cords with which he was bound. To this he submitted. But the moment he was fully loosed, he dashed the two Indians aside--felling one upon the earth with a blow of his fist--and darted off toward the fort, where he hoped to receive protection from the British officers. Tomahawks gleamed in the air behind him--rifle balls whistled around--but onward still he flew. One unarmed Indian stood in his path and intercepted him. With a giant spring, he struck him in the breast with his feet, and bore him to the earth. Recovering himself, he again started for the woods, and, as he was running for life--with the fire and faggot behind him, and a lingering death of torture--he soon outstripped all his pursuers. It being near night, he effected his escape, arrived at the fort, and was sent down the river to Montreal, to be out of the way of the savage Senecas, who thirsted for his blood as a recompense for that of their brethren whom he had slain.

FIRE IN THE FOREST.

"The summer of 1825 was unusually warm in both hemispheres, particularly in America, where its effects were fatally visible in the prevalence of epidemical disorders. During July and August, extensive fires raged in different parts of Nova Scotia, especially in the eastern division of the peninsular. The protracted drought of the summer, acting upon the aridity of the forests, had rendered them more than naturally combustible; and this, facilitating both the dispersion and the progress of the fires that appeared in the early part of the season, produced an unusual warmth. On the 6th of October, the fire was evidently approaching New Castle; at different intervals fitful blazes and flashes were observed to issue from different parts of the woods, particularly up the northwest, at the rear of New Castle, in the vicinity of Douglasstown and Moorfields, and along the banks of the Bartibog. Many persons heard the crackling of falling trees and shriveled branches, while a hoarse rumbling noise, not dissimilar to the roaring of distant thunder, and divided by pauses, like the intermittent discharges of artillery, was distinct and audible. On the 7th of October, the heat increased to such a degree, and became so very oppressive, that many complained of its enervating effects. About twelve o'clock, a pale, sickly mist, lightly tinged with purple, emerged from the forest and settled over it.

"This cloud soon retreated before a large, dark one, which, occupying its place, wrapped the firmament in a pall of vapor. This incumbrance retaining its position till about three o'clock, the heat became tormentingly sultry. There was not a breath of air; the atmosphere was overloaded; and irresistible lassitude seized the people. A stupefying dullness seemed to pervade every place but the woods, which now trembled, and rustled, and shook with an incessant and thrilling noise of explosions, rapidly following each other, and mingling their reports with a discordant variety of loud and boisterous sounds. At this time, the whole country appeared to be encircled by a _fiery zone_, which, gradually contracting its circle by the devastation it had made, seemed as if it would not converge into a point while any thing remained to be destroyed. A little after four o'clock, an immense pillar of smoke rose, in a vertical direction, at some distance northeast of New Castle, for a while, and the sky was absolutely blackened by this huge cloud; but a light, northerly breeze springing up, it gradually distended, and then dissipated into a variety of shapeless mists. About an hour after, or probably at half past five, innumerable large spires of smoke, issuing from different parts of the woods, and illuminated the flames that seemed to pierce them, mounted the sky. A heavy and suffocating canopy, extending to the utmost verge of observation, and appearing mere terrific by the vivid flashes and blazes that darted irregularly through it, now hung over New Castle and Douglass in threatening suspension, while showers of flaming brands, calcined leaves, ashes, and cinders, seemed to scream through the growling noise that prevailed in the woods. About nine o'clock, P.M., or shortly after, a succession of loud and appalling roars thundered through the forests. Peal after peal, crash after crash, announced the sentence of destruction. Every succeeding shock created fresh alarm; every clap came loaded with its own destructive energy. With greedy rapidity did the flames advance to the devoted scene of their ministry; nothing could impede their progress. They removed every obstacle by the desolation they occasioned, and several hundred miles of prostrate forests and smitten woods marked their devastating way.

"The river, tortured into violence by the hurricane, foamed with rage, and flung its boiling spray upon the land. The thunder pealed along the vault of heaven--the lightning appeared to rend the firmament. For a moment all was still, and a deep and awful silence reigned over every thing. All nature appeared to be hushed, when suddenly a lengthened and sullen roar came booming through the forests, driving a thousand massive and devouring flames before it. Then New Castle and Douglasstown, and the whole northern side of the river, extending from Bartibog to the Naashwaak, a distance of more than one hundred miles in length, became enveloped in an immense sheet of flame, that spread over nearly six thousand square miles! That the reader may form a faint idea of the desolation and misery, which no pen can describe, he must picture to himself a large and rapid river, thickly settled for one hundred miles or more on both sides of it. He must also fancy four thriving towns, two on each side of this river, and then reflect that these towns and settlements were all composed of wooden houses, stores, stables and barns; that these barns and stables were filled with crops, and that the arrival of the fall importations had stocked the warehouses and stores with spirits, powder, and a variety of cumbustible articles, as well as with the necessary supplies for the approaching winter. He must then remember that the cultivated or settled part of the river is but a long, narrow strip, about a quarter of a mile wide, lying between the river and almost interminable forests, stretching along the very edge of its precints and all around it. Extending his conception, he will see the forests thickly expanding over more than six thousand square miles, and absolutely parched into tinder by the protracted heat of a long summer.

"Let him then animate the picture, by scattering countless tribes of wild animals, and hundreds of domestic ones, and even thousands of men in the interior. Having done all this, he will have before him a feeble outline of the extent, features, and general circumstances of the country, which, in the course of a few hours, was suddenly enveloped in fire. A more ghastly or a more revolting picture of human misery can not well be imagined. The whole district of cultivated land was shrouded in the agonizing memorials of some dreadful deforming havoc. The songs of gladness that formerly resounded through it were no longer heard, for the voice of misery had hushed them. Nothing broke upon the ear but the accents of distress; the eye saw nothing but ruin, and desolation, and death. New Castle, yesterday a flourishing town, full of trade and spirit, and containing nearly one thousand inhabitants, was now a heap of smoking ruins; and Douglasstown, nearly one-third of its size, was reduced to the same miserable condition. Of the two hundred and sixty houses and storehouses, that composed the former, but twelve remained; and of the seventy that comprised the latter, but six were left. The confusion on board of one hundred and fifty large vessels, then lying in the Mirimachi, and exposed to imminent danger, was terrible--some burned to the water's edge, others burning, and the remainder occasionally on fire.

"Dispersed groups of half-famished, half-naked, and houseless creatures, all more or less injured in their persons, many lamenting the loss of some property, or children, or relations and friends, were wandering through the country. Of the human bodies, some were seen with their bowels protruding, others with the flesh all consumed, and the blackened skeletons smoking; some with headless trunks, and severed extremities; some bodies were burned to cinders, others reduced to ashes; many bloated and swollen by suffocation, and several lying in the last distorted position of convulsing torture; brief and violent was their passage from life to death, and rude and melancholy was their sepulchre--'unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.' The immediate loss of life was upward of five hundred beings! Thousands of wild beasts, too, had perished in the woods, and from their putrescent carcasses issued streams of effluvium and stench that formed contagious domes over the dismantled settlements. Domestic animals of all kinds lay dead and dying in different parts of the country. Myriads of salmon, trout, bass, and other fish, which, poisoned by the alkali formed by the ashes precipitated into the river, now lay dead or floundering and gasping on the scorched shores and beaches, and the countless variety of wild fowl and reptiles shared a similar fate.

"Such was the violence of the hurricane, that large bodies of ignited timber, and portions of the trunks of trees, and severed limbs, and also parts of flaming buildings, shingles, boards, &c., were hurried along through the frowning heavens with terrible velocity, outstripping the fleetest horses, spreading destruction far in the advance, thus cutting off retreat. The shrieks of the affrighted inhabitants, mingling with the discordant bellowing of cattle, the neighing of horses, the howling of dogs, and the strange notes of distress and fright from other domestic animals, strangely blending with the roar of the flames and the thunder of the tornado, beggars description.

"Their only means of safety was the river, to which there was a simultaneous rush, seizing whatever was buoyant, however inadequate; many attempted to effect a crossing; some succeeded; others failed, and were drowned. One woman actually seized a bull by the tail, just as he plunged into the river, and was safely towed to the opposite shore. Those who were unable to make their escape across plunged into the water to their necks, and, by a constant application of water to the head, while in this submerged condition, escaped a dreadful burning. In some portions of the country, the cattle were nearly all destroyed. Whole crews of men, camping in the interior, and engaged in timber-making, were consumed.

"Such was the awful conflagration of 1825, on the Mirimachi."

PIRATES OF THE RED SEA.

The commerce of the Red Sea has, almost from time immemorial, greatly suffered from the depredations of Arab pirates, who infest the entire coasts. The exploits of one individual is dwelt upon by his late _confreres_ with particular enthusiasm; and his career and deeds were of so extraordinary a character, that we feel justified in giving the following brief detail of them, as furnished by an English traveler:

This dreadful man, Ramah ibn Java, the _beau ideal_ of his order, the personation of an Arab sea robber, was a native of a small village near Jiddah. At an early period he commenced a mode of life congenial to his disposition and nature. Purchasing a boat, he, with a band of about twelve companions, commenced his career as a pirate, and in the course of a few months he had been so successful that he became the owner of a vessel of three hundred tons, and manned with a lawless crew. It was a part of his system to leave British vessels unmolested, and he even affected to be on good terms with them. We have heard an old officer describe his appearance. He was then about forty-five years of age, short in stature, but with a figure compact and square, a constitution vigorous, and the characteristic qualities of his countrymen--frugality, and patience of fatigue. Several scars already seamed his face, and the bone of his arm had been shattered by a matchlock ball when boarding a vessel. It is a remarkable fact that the intermediate bones sloughed away, and the arm, connected only by flesh and muscle, was still, by means of a silver tube affixed around it, capable of exertion.