which was wrecked on a rock called Boon
Island, off the coast of Massachusetts. About
two days afterwards—the narrative is not
very clear in its details—the cook died on
the rock. "Therefore," writes the captain,
"we laid him in a convenient place for the
sea to carry him away. None then proposed
to eat his body, though several afterwards
acknowledged that they, as well as myself,
had thoughts of it." They were "tolerably
well supplied with fresh-water throughout."
But, when they had been upon the rock about
a fortnight, and had eaten all their provisions,
the carpenter died. And then the captain
writes: " We suffered the body to remain
with us till morning, when I desired those
who were best able to remove it. I crept out
myself to see whether Providence had yet
sent us anything to satisfy our craving appetites.
Returning before noon, and observing
that the dead body still remained, I asked
the men why they had not removed it: to
which they answered, that all were not able.
I therefore fastened a rope to it, and, giving
the utmost of my assistance, we, with some
difficulty, got it out of the tent. But the
fatigue and consideration of our misery
together, so overcame my spirits, that, being
ready to faint, I crept into the tent and was
no sooner there, than, as the highest aggravation
of distress, the men began requesting
me to give them the body of their lifeless
comrade to eat, the better to support their
own existence." The captain ultimately
complied. They became brutalised and
ferocious; but they suffered him to keep
the remains on a high part of the rock: and
they were not consumed when relief arrived.

The fourth and last case, is the wreck of the
St. Lawrence, bound from Quebec for New
York. An ensign of foot, bringing home
despatches, relates how she went ashore on a
desolate part of the coast of North America,
and how those who were saved from the wreck
suffered great hardships, both by land and
sea, and were thinned in their numbers
by death, and buried their dead. All this
time they had some provisions, though they
ran short, but at length they were reduced to
live upon weeds and tallow and melted snow.
The tallow being all gone, they lived on
weed and snow for three days, and then
the ensign came to this: " The time was now
arrived when I thought it highly expedient
to put the plan before mentioned (casting
lots who should be killed) into execution;
but on feeling the pulse of my companions,
I found some of them rather averse
to the proposal. The desire of life still
prevailed above every other sentiment,
notwithstanding the wretchedness of our condition,
and the impossibility of preserving it by any
other method. I thought it an extraordinary
instance of infatuation, that men should prefer
the certainty of a lingering and miserable
death, to the distant chance of escaping one
more immediate and less painful. However,
on consulting with the mate what was to be
done, I found that although they objected to
the proposal of casting lots for the victim,
yet all concurred in the necessity of some
one being sacrificed for the preservation of
the rest. The only question was how it
should be determined; when by a kind of
reasoning more agreeable to the dictates of
self-love than justice, it was agreed, that as
the captain was now so exceedingly reduced
as to be evidently the first who would sink
under our present complicated misery; as he
had been the person to whom we considered
ourselves in some measure indebted for all
our misfortunes; and further, as he had
ever since our shipwreck been the most
remiss in his exertions towards the general
good—he was undoubtedly the person
who should be the first sacrificed." The
design of which the ensign writes with
this remarkable coolness, was not carried
into execution, by reason of their falling
in with some Indians; but, some of the
party who were afterwards separated from
the rest, declared when they rejoined them,
that they had eaten of the remains of their
deceased companions. Of this case it is to be
noticed that the captain is alleged to have
been a mere kidnapper, sailing under false
pretences, and therefore not likely to have
had by any means a choice crew; that the
greater part of them got drunk when the
ship was in danger; and that they had not a
very sensitive associate in the ensign, on his
own highly disagreeable showing.

It appears to us that the influence of great
privation upon the lower and least disciplined
class of character, is much more bewildering
and maddening at sea than on shore.
The confined space, the monotonous aspect of
the waves, the mournful winds, the
monotonous motion, the dead uniformity of colour,
the abundance of water that cannot be drunk
to quench the raging thirst (which the
Ancient Mariner perceived to be one of his
torments)—these seem to engender a diseased
mind with greater quickness and of a worse
sort. The conviction on the part of the
sufferers that they hear voices calling for them;
that they descry ships coming to their aid;
that they hear the firing of guns, and see the
flash; that they can plunge into the waves
without injury, to fetch something or to meet
somebody; is not often paralleled among
suffering travellers by land. The mirage
excepted—a delusion of the desert, which
has its counterpart upon the sea, not included
under these heads—we remember nothing
of this sort experienced by BRUCE, for
instance, or by MUNGO PARK: least of all
by Franklin in the memorable book we
have quoted. Our comparison of the
records of the two kinds of trial, leads us
to believe, that even man who might be in
danger of the last resource at sea, would be
very likely to pine away by degrees, and
never come to it, ashore.