No Prospect of reaching East Cape.—Painful Conviction.—The Province of Christian Faith.—The Wreck visited.—The Natives.—Hope unexpectedly revived.—Ship in Sight.—Comes near.—Signals from the Land.—No Assistance offered.—Sails down the Coast.—Indescribable State of our Minds.—Card in The Polynesian.

The prospect of reaching East Cape for the present was at length abandoned. A conclusion was arrived at, from the necessity of our condition, which was full of disappointed hope, and which required an unusual degree of patient courage to sustain our minds under the painful conviction that we must, after all, spend the next three quarters of a year, if we should live, in the northern regions. How the mind of man becomes shaped and adjusted to meet certain conditions of his being! If viewed in the light of unavoidable necessity, we see the force and independence of mind grappling with adverse circumstances, thus proving its original superiority over all outward disadvantages. It is, however, the province of Christian faith in the providences of an all-wise God, which secures to the mind true reconciliation, imparts hope in adversity, and awakens unearthly joy in seasons of sorrow and disappointment.

The next day after our arrival at our new habitations, the whole company rested, and got somewhat recruited as to our bodies, and, not the least in our circumstances of anticipated captivity for months, our minds became partially settled that we must make the best of a common disaster and a common destiny.

The day following, preparations were made by ourselves, in connection with the natives and their dog teams, to visit the wreck. One of the first questions asked, and the principal one in which the natives were more interested than in any other, was, whether there was any rum at the wreck. A keg of spirits had been washed ashore, as before stated, and a part of it had been used, and the remainder was in the keg in the tent, stowed away with other articles from the wreck.

A difficulty was now apprehended. If the natives should find the keg of rum, and become intoxicated, as they probably would, serious and perhaps fatal consequences might take place. To avoid any fears of this sort, and remove all grounds of contention, the captain sent two of his men ahead, with orders to knock in the head of the rum keg. It was done as commanded; no further difficulty, therefore, could arise from this source.

Self-preservation prompted to this; but in a multitude of instances no less striking, where property, reputation, and even life itself are concerned, a like decision, to knock in the head of the rum keg, or break jugs and bottles, and pour the source of evil upon the ground, would be highly commendable, and fraught with the most happy results.

In due time we reached the wreck, and, as was expected, the natives began to search for spirits; but for their advantage, as well as ours, they found none. They sought every where for it, ransacked every nook and corner, hauled over wreck stuff, looked into barrels, knocked to pieces oil casks, &c., to find it, but all in vain.

It appeared, furthermore, as if the natives supposed they had a right to whatever they could lay their hands upon, and what they found among the wreck, or on shore, was a lawful prize. Several pieces of white and blue cotton cloth had washed ashore since the wreck was last visited; these the natives appropriated to their own use. A slate was found, and upon it we wrote the name of the ship, her captain, and where the crew could be found, and placed it in a prominent position near the wreck, hoping that it might possibly meet the eye of some deliverer, though an event so much desired could now hardly be expected.

The company remained in the vicinity of the wreck until towards night, and then each man took with him a bag of bread, and, with the natives and their dog teams, we left for the settlement, which was about fifteen miles distant.

It was exceedingly hard to visit the scene of our recent disaster, and behold the desolation and end of the noble ship that had withstood so many storms and weathered so many gales, but now a promiscuous mass of broken timbers, planks, and spars; besides, her cargo thrown upon the beach. If possible, it was even harder to leave what remained of her behind, and to carry away a small quantity of provisions to eke out an existence which, under the most favorable circumstances, among the natives, must be most trying and painful. And then, again, all the provisions we expected to obtain from the wreck could last us but a few months, at the longest. If our lives, therefore, should be prolonged, we saw before us the only alternative of living as the natives did, being constant spectators of their extreme filthiness in person and habits, and sharing with them in the peculiarly offensive and disgusting character and preparation of their food.

The next day, the company remained in the settlement, wearied with the labor of the preceding day, and, the greatest calamity of all, oppressed in our minds, as we contemplated the future; and as we began to realize more and more what would probably be our destination for many long months to come.

"Hope deferred maketh the heart sick;" but hope revived—when well nigh abandoned and ready to expire, like the last flickerings of the lamp—hope revived imparts new life, and sends a thrill of joy through languishing minds. Thus the weak become strong, and the disheartened are animated and encouraged to put forth more earnest efforts. Hope revived under the circumstances in which these shipwrecked mariners were placed was like the introduction of light, comfort, and home into their wintry habitations. What intelligence more to be desired and sincerely asked for than the announcement of a sail in sight?

Think of them, as brooding over their anticipated doom; settling it, or having settled it in their minds, that their abode was doubtless fixed for the present; thoughts of home now and then rushing into their minds with overwhelming force, or, it may be, with the only exception of their sleeping moments, never out of their minds; indeed, their very dreams shaded, colored, and made treacherously illusive with joyous meetings of companions, parents, relatives, and friends! Think of them at such a time as this, when the hope of deliverance had taken its lowest dip, like the wintry sun of the Arctic passing below the horizon, its light and comfort quite departing; so hope in the minds of this company of wrecked mariners had fallen beyond any reasonable expectation of deliverance.

Severe and terrific storms of wind, rain, hail, and snow had swept over the northern ocean, and ere this it was supposed that every ship had sought a more southern and genial clime.

What, then, was our unexpected and glad surprise, on the following day, when, amid the tumult and confusion, as well as the excitement of the natives, both in and around the huts, it was announced that a sail was in sight!

With all possible speed we hastened to a high cliff bordering the sea shore, and there we saw, indeed, what our eyes delighted to behold, and our bosoms swelled with grateful emotions to contemplate—a ship under sail, some ten or twelve miles distant, and standing in directly for the shore. As we looked, never before with more exhilarated spirits and reviving hope, on, on the vessel came, approaching nearer and nearer, until her davits were plainly seen, and men walking to and fro on deck. The ship now was not more than two miles distant. She came to, main yard hauled back, and lay in that position a quarter of an hour or more.

With these indications, all doubt had nearly or quite left our minds that the intentions of those on board were to take us off. Still, no boat was lowered, nor was there any answering signal. This surely was mysterious, and betokened fear. And yet could it be that within so short a distance no deliverance would be extended? It was contrary to reason to believe so; the thought must not be cherished a single moment. We should soon tread a friendly deck, and share again a sailor's home on the deep. Thus whispered hope, suddenly revived in all our hearts.

But in order to make the case doubly sure, and remove all suspicion in the minds of those on board that those on shore were not all natives, two colors, one white and the other blue, were raised upon poles to the height of full thirty feet. It was plainly seen by those on board, as subsequent testimony from the officers abundantly proved. Besides, these were signals of civilization, of common brotherhood, of pressing emergency, and strongly excited hope. But, alas! they met with no response from that vessel's deck.

Lest there should be a lurking distrust in the minds of the captain and officers of the ship that these signals were a mere trickery or device of the natives to get on board of the ship, or for the ship to send a boat ashore, the company on shore separated themselves from the natives, so that with the aid of a glass, or even with the naked eye, a distinction in manner, movement, and dress could be easily seen by those on shipboard. This expedient also failed.

As another resort to attract attention, a fire was kindled; and yet the rising and curling smoke met with no cordial response, no friendly salutation; no boat came to our rescue. Shortly after, the ship filled away, passed down the coast, and was seen no more.

We felt, what no language can adequately express, that this was an instance of cold, deliberate, and even infamous neglect. Could it be they were ignorant of the ordinary laws of humanity, and wilfully misconstrued the most obvious signs of needy and suffering seamen? Instances have, indeed, occurred, in which vessels at sea have been known to pass near shipwrecked mariners, and yet they were not discovered. They were upon a low raft, perhaps, or had no means of raising a signal, and were therefore passed. The imploring cries and stretched-out hands of the sufferers were alike unheeded; not from any intentional neglect, by any means, but simply because they were not seen from the vessel's deck.

It is sad to contemplate an oversight even like this, in which the hopes and lives of a number of unfortunate seamen were suspended upon the bare possibility of being recognized by the passing ship.

How many, many have doubtless perished in mid ocean, whose eyes beheld again and again the approaching and departing sail, whose hearts alternately rose in hope and sunk in despondency, and yet at last died without the precious boon of deliverance!

Other instances have, however, occurred, of a far different character. Suffering, exhausted, and dying mariners, either upon wrecks or rafts, have been left uncared for and abandoned by the passing ship.

If the records of the past did not furnish conclusive evidence of the truth of the foregoing statement, it would seem that the bare announcement of the fact would be sufficient not only to appall the hardest heart, and cover with deep and lasting shame the perpetrators of such a deed, but to place it in the frightful category of those events absolutely beyond both human experience and credulity.

Revelation informs us that "the sea shall give up its dead;" so will there be a resurrection both of the good and bad in human conduct. A virtuous and benevolent act performed upon the ocean will never be concealed. The winds, as they sweep over its surface, will declare it. And so, on the other hand, an act of inhumanity, capriciousness, cruelty, or turning a deaf ear to the expostulations and entreaties of the dependent and suffering, will never slumber. The mighty waves, as they traverse the great deep, will speak in thunder tones that the deed lives.

The hopes of thirty-three persons in the cold and dreary region of the north, in the province of perpetual ice and snow, were suddenly and unexpectedly revived by the near approach of a ship within trumpet hail; signals of wrecked mariners on shore, the ship remaining more than fifteen minutes with her yards back, and those on board beholding the demonstrations of intense anxiety of those on shore that deliverance might be sent to them, and yet not one motion made for our rescue! The ship is soon on her way, and out of sight. If hope was ever suddenly and unexpectedly revived, it was then; if hope was ever suddenly cast down to its lowest depths, it was then.

Nor could our eyes hardly believe what we were beholding. Was it all illusion, dream, or magic? No; it was a reality. We had been tantalized. The cup of the greatest earthly blessing had been held to our lips, and yet we were not allowed to drink of it, but it was dashed to the earth in our very presence. The departure of that ship was the departure of mercies to us, to procure which we would have been willing to make the greatest earthly sacrifice.

What a day of joy and sorrow was that to us! How many hitherto downcast countenances were lighted up! What words of good cheer passed from one to another! How many hearts bounded with thankfulness and gratitude at the thought of so speedy a deliverance!

Our families and friends at home were thus far ignorant of the distressing scenes through which we had passed, and also of our present condition; but ere long, as we believed, on our arrival at the islands, we should communicate to them the wreck of our ship, the loss of the voyage, and the fortunate rescue of so many of our number from a watery grave. We felt that we had much for which to be thankful to God, and that soon we should be able to send to anxious ones at home the happy intelligence that we were among the saved.

Such is hope when strongly excited. It ennobles and invigorates the human soul; it adorns the horizon with the gorgeous drapery of morning clouds; it paints the evening with the glories of departing day; it forgets the past; it is the elixir of life itself; without it man lives only in the present, and anticipates no future good.

But that was a day of sorrow too! It seemed as if we should sink into the very earth, and that we were unable to stand, with such a load and pressure upon our spirits. We were crushed both in body and mind. Contending emotions of indignation, abandoned hope, unmitigated grief, and poignant sorrow, swayed and strongly agitated every bosom. The whole company wept like children.

It may be asked, "Why did not the officers and crew avail themselves of the canoes of the natives, and go off to the ship?" It is true there were several canoes near the shore, but the natives were unwilling they should be touched; from what cause we could not understand. Our acquaintance with them, and theirs with us, had thus far been very slight; and it may be they had serious suspicions in their minds that we designed some evil towards them. They were doubtless governed by some notions, in refusing us the aid of their canoes, in keeping with their half-civilized or barbarous natures.

The captain and others offered to hire the canoes, at the same time presenting to them some little articles they had with them, as a pocket or jack knife, but all to no purpose. They resisted every proposition.

The officers and some of the crew were so anxious to get to the ship that they proposed twice to the captain to take forcible possession of the canoes, and follow the ship; and they would have done it, and risked all the consequences, had the captain approved of it. He, however, opposed this plan, on the ground that though a few might succeed in reaching the ship, yet those who were left behind, being entirely unarmed, would probably be instantly killed, and, therefore, it was bad policy to expose the lives of a majority of the company for the safety of only a few. Or, it may be, in their first efforts to seize the canoes, and before they could even get them into the water, the natives would fall upon us, and massacre the whole company on the spot. And still farther, we were wholly in their power, both for the present and for months to come, and without their kindness and good will we had no sort of chance for life; therefore the least misunderstanding or violent collision between the parties might lay the foundation for causes which would result, if not now, yet in some future time, in the destruction of the whole company. These considerations, suggested by the captain, dissuaded his men from attempting a forcible seizure of the canoes of the natives; and, therefore, for the good of the whole, that means whereby a few possibly might have reached the ship, was given up.

We leave this painful reminiscence of the past by copying from The Polynesian, published at Honolulu, November 19, 1853, the following

Card.

"The undersigned, late master of the whale ship Citizen, of New Bedford, feels it a duty he owes alike to the living and the dead to make known the following circumstances.

"On the 25th of September, 1852, in the Arctic Ocean, in lat. 68° 10´ N., the ship Citizen was wrecked, and five men were lost; himself and the balance of the crew reached the shore, without any thing but the clothes they stood in. It was very cold, and they kept alive by burning casks of oil that had floated ashore from the wreck; that they lived near the wreck until October 3, when the whale ship Citizen, of Nantucket, Captain Bailey, hove in sight; they immediately hoisted a flag upon a pole thirty feet high, and made every signal they could of distress; that the ship at first stood in as though she saw them, then hauled up and shivered in the wind, and afterwards filled away and left them. She was so close at one time that those on shore could see her davits. The feelings with which they saw the vessel leave them are indescribable, as no hope was left them but to endure the rigors of a winter's residence in that cold, bleak, and desolate region, if they should escape the tomahawk of the savage. That their signals were seen by Captain Bailey there can be no doubt, as Captain B. reported seeing his signals last fall. The mate of Captain Bailey's vessel reported to Captain B. that he could see sailors on shore, and requested a boat to go to their relief, which Captain B. refused.

"Through the inhumanity of Captain Bailey, we were compelled to remain nine months in that barren region, destitute of clothing and food, other than the natives could supply us from their scanty stores of blubber and furs. During this time, two of the crew perished from cold, and left their bones to bleach among the snows of the north, as a monument of 'man's inhumanity to man.'

"The natives were humane, kind, and hospitable to us, though wretchedly poor.

Thomas H. Norton."