little baby in her arms. If I remember aright,
we made the boy drink some lamp oil as an
emetic. At any rate, he survived the calomel.
And now the first mate, upon whose decision
and firmness much depended, having lost his
presence of mind, had drunk deeply of whisky.
He was intoxicated, and so, too, were many of
the sailors, who had followed his example. What
was to become of us with a fast sinking ship
and a parcel of drunken men for our protectors?
The captain had been busily employed in
ordering out food and water to supply the boats,
collecting his ship's papers, examining his charts,
&c. The lowering of the boats he had entrusted
to his officers. On hearing of the drunkenness
on deck, his first thought was to get the women
and children off at once, for should the sailors
seize the boats, what would become of us? Two
boats had already been smashed whilst lowering
them into the sea, and there were only two
remaining. Forty-seven people to cram into two
frail boats, fifteen hundred miles from land.
Delicately-nurtured women, helpless children,
drunken and desperate men.

The captain and the second officer (a Scotchman
from Greenock) behaved admirably at this
time. By the help of the most sober of the
sailors, the captain's own boat was lowered;
some small mattresses, pillows, blankets, a cask
of water, sacks of biscuit, and nautical
instruments necessary for the captain's use were first
put in; then we were let down by ropes. It
seems marvellous, when I think of it now, that
in our descent we were not dashed to pieces
against the ship's side. We had to wait for
each descent a favourable moment whilst she
was leaning over. Then the word of command
was given, and we were slung down like sheep.
My heart stood still whilst my little one was
going down, and then I followed. It was a
terrible sight for a woman to see that poor
creature whose baby was born the night before,
looking like a corpse in a long dressing-gown of
white flannel, with the poor little atom of
mortality tightly clasped in her arms. I thought
she would die before the day was over.

At last we were all in the boat; four women,
five children, the second mate, and sixteen sailors.
The captain stayed on the ship, providing for
the safety of the drunken creatures who could
not take care of themselves, and then he joined
us. How small our boat looked by the side of
that large ship! And we had to get quickly
out of her reach, for she was rolling so heavily
that the waters near her boiled up like a
maëlstrom.

The chief officer, three passengers, and the
remaining sailors, were still on board the David
Brown when we left her. I suppose they were
soon in their boat, for they overtook us some
hours after.

It was no light trial to look at that once
beautiful ship, left to her fate in the stormy sea,
with all my little treasures in her, for the waters
to close over. Yet still how little was the
worth to me of everything she contained in
comparison with my child. And dark as the
future looked, yet she was with me, so far safe
and well.

Away we drifted, a mere speck upon the
ocean. Before night there came a storm of
thunder, lightning, wind, and rain, that lasted
through the darkness, and by which we were
drenched through and through. I sat up for
some twelve or fourteen hours on a narrow
plank, with my child in my arms, utterly
miserable, cold, and hopeless, soaked to the skin,
blinded by the salt spray, my face and hands
smarting intolerably with the unusual
exposure. When daylight came we all looked
wan and lost. There was a faint light in the
distance, which we hoped might be a ship's light,
but it proved to be on board the other boat,
with its now sobered crew. For three days
we kept in sight of each other, but the
third day we parted company, and saw them no
more.

During the storm and confusion the greater
part of our biscuits had been soaked with salt
water and made useless. It was also discovered
that the food collected for the captain's boat
had been thrown by mistake into the other,
therefore it was necessary at once to put us on
allowance; half a pint of water, and half a
biscuit a day to each person. Except the
biscuit, there were only a few small tins of
preserved strawberries and Indian corn, and
these were given to the ladies. How the poor
children cried with hunger as the days dragged
on! Think what it must have been to the
mothers to hear children delicately nurtured
sobbing ravenously for a piece of bread or a
drink of water, craving for it all day, falling
asleep whilst asking for it, awaking in the
night with the same heartrending cry, and the
broken-hearted mothers utterly powerless to
satisfy them. I felt desperate, mad, at that
time. I would have flung myself thankfully
into the waves, if by so doing I could have
procured bread for my child.

For the first two or three days we were full
of hope that we should meet a ship, and
consoled each other by labouring to make light
of our difficulties. Yet had it not been that we
were shipwrecked in warm latitudes, we could
not have saved our lives.

The boat leaked from the beginning, and the
sailors by turns baled the water out in little
cans. Thus we were continually lying or sitting
in salt water. The part of the boat set apart
for the women and children was amidships, and
about seven feet square. There we always
remained huddled together from sunset to sunrise,
when we had to leave our places, and in the
daytime stow ourselves anywhere to give the
men room for their rowing.

Exposed to the glare of a tropical sun for
hours together, nearly mad with thirst, bearing
my child in my weak arms, for she was too much
exhausted to stand, there was a feeling of burning,
sickening heat on my brain, and the horrid
disgust for everybody and everything around me
was almost more than I could endure. I never
shed any tears. Often I would sit for hours