Chapter 9

"Ben," said the Captain of a smart-looking schooner, that under a heavy weight of canvas was manfully breasting the breeze, almost conscious, one might fancy, that it was steering for home.

"Ben," he inquired, addressing the mate, who had just come on deck, "what is that strange looking thing yonder?" indicating by his finger the direction of the object. The mate, a weather-beaten and experienced looking son of the ocean, glanced for a moment in the direction specified, without speaking.

"It looks to me," he said at length, "like a human being clinging to some box or chair, but it is floating fast this way, and we shall soon be able to tell."

Sure enough, in a moment or two, they were enabled to gain a full, clear view of it, and saw it to be a woman holding fast to a ring of some kind,--a life-preserver they judged it to be,--which kept her head above the waters.

"Let us bear down quick," said the Master, in an excited tone, for he was young and kind-hearted, and the sight of anything in distress, how much more a woman, was sufficient to arouse his warmest sympathies; and ere ten minutes had elapsed, the life-preserver, with its clinging burden, was safely landed on deck.

Agnes, for she it was, whom this worthy man had so promptly and providentially rescued, was partially insensible; but some restoratives, which fortunately they happened to have on hand, being applied, she soon recovered, at least sufficiently to explain from whence she came, and through what means she had been placed in such a perilous situation.

It appeared, from her statement, that after having embarked on board the boat during that tempestuous night, which witnessed the conflagration of their noble steamer, whose fate was recorded in a previous chapter, the sailors, who had, unknown to the captain, smuggled a large cask of spirits on board, began freely to imbibe them, to keep out, as they said, the cold. It was in vain that the ladies remonstrated with them, and pointed out the dangers which would ensue, should they become helpless through its means. Unfortunately they had lost sight, in consequence of the darkness and tempest, of the other boat, containing the remainder of the passengers, who had just time to push away from the burning wreck before its final submersion beneath the briny waves; and, having none to check them, the sailors, in spite of the entreaties of the women, continued to partake, from time to time, of the death-destroying liquid.

Morning dawned, but brought little alleviation. It is true, the storm had abated, and the sky was becoming clear, but the wind was still high, and the boat rocked fearfully, while the billows, that had not yet been hushed into quiet, threatened, every now and then, to submerge the frail and tempest-tossed bark. They had drifted,--so the sailors said,--a long way through the night, and must be somewhere near the coast of Newfoundland; but no indication of land was visible, nor was there to be seen the slightest trace of their companions in misfortune. All that day the sailors behaved pretty well; a bag of biscuits had been placed on board, and a jar of water, of which each partook, and all felt a little comforted and strengthened; but, as night came on, the men commenced afresh to drink. Most fortunately, the sea had become calm, so the boat drifted on, pretty much left to its own will. The next morning found the sailors in a state of almost helpless intoxication; but now land was in sight, though at a great distance, and the women, seizing the oars, strove to impel the boat in that direction; but soon, worn out with the struggle, and finding they made but little headway, most of them gave up to despair, and resigned themselves, as they said, to their fate. It was now high noon, at least so they judged from the look of the sun, and Agnes strove by every means to re-assure her fainting companions. She spoke of the power and goodness of their heavenly Father, and besought them to unite with her in earnest petitions to the throne of grace for timely succor, or for a preparation for a speedy exit from life. Some heard with attention, and united with agonizing earnestness in the petition, which, as it ascended from her lips, sounded like a seraph's pleading, and surely reached the ear of the Lord God of Sabaoth. Others listened with stolid indifference, or sullen despair. Throughout the precious years of prosperity, that had been vouchsafed to them, they had been neglecters of the "great salvation;" and now, in the article and hour of death, they knew not how to implore his mercy, of whom they had been hitherto utterly unmindful, much less adored and loved.

At length one of the women lifted her face, haggard with care and grief, and threw a glance, preternaturally sharpened, over the wild waste of waters:--

"I see a sail yonder," she cried wildly. "Look," she cried to Agnes, "can you not see it, too?"--but just at this moment one of the sailors, not quite so much stupefied as the others, hearing the exclamation, roused himself, and bent over the side of the boat, and instantly the frail bark was submerged beneath the waves.

Oh, what shrieks of agony filled the air.

"Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell, Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave."

Agnes had carefully retained the life-preserver, which had been given to her by her friend the minister, and with the instinct of self-preservation, almost unconsciously clung to it, while her companions, less fortunate, and worn out with previous grief, one by one sank to rise no more "till the sea shall give up its dead."

"I think," she said, as she concluded her narrative, "I must have been in the water more than half an hour, when I espied the sail, to which my unfortunate companion had alluded, and seeing it, seemed to inspire me with new life, for I had become so exhausted and enfeebled by the waves that surrounded me, that I felt nature could not much longer survive the icy chills which thrilled through my very frame; and when I found that you had seen me, and were sailing towards me, evidently with the intention of effecting my rescue, no language can describe the varied emotions of my heart,--joy, gratitude and hope preponderating."

Exhausted by the effort of speaking, Agnes sank back on the rude couch, that the sailors had with kind haste prepared for her.

"Land, yonder," sang one from the mast-head.

"I am heartily glad of it," said the Captain, "for all our sakes, for we shall soon have a terrible storm, but especially for this poor lady's, whose strength seems almost gone."

Prospered by a favoring breeze, a few hours sufficed to bear the vessel to its destined harbor; and that night, sheltered, in comparative comfort, beneath the hospitable roof of Mr. Williamson, Ellen's father, Agnes sank into deep and quiet repose.