"You have roused our curiosity so," remarked the young man, when Gerhard, who had betrayed considerable warmth of manner, suddenly ceased speaking, "that it will really be an act of kindness to satisfy it; therefore, pray commence, at least this evening, a recital of your adventures, but steer your course so as not to fatigue yourself too much; sail along gently, for a day's journey, more or less you know, is of little consequence. But heave the anchor, Father Gerhard, if it please you."

"In God's name then," said Gerhard, and commenced as follows:

"You all know the difficulties and dangers of a voyage to the East Indies, but you do not know what wealth may be gained by a commercial intercourse with those distant regions, or that, as is very natural, men for a long time have had their attention turned to the discovery of a nearer route than any one at present known of. At first, repeated attempts were made to find out a strait which, as many still believe, divides the continent of America, but as the voyagers met with no success whatever, their attention was drawn to the Arctic Ocean, which washes the northern coasts of Asia and Europe. The enterprising merchants who had been engaged in former expeditions, now resolved to send one to that part of the world which though so near to them was so little known. It is true that a small squadron which was sent out for the purpose, and with which I sailed, failed in reaching its destination, owing to the advanced state of the season, but it was found that the northern coast of the continent ran off in a southeasternly direction, and great hopes were entertained that an expedition sent out at a more favourable season, would be attended with the happiest results. Although many who had engaged in enterprises like these, had lost both money and courage, yet, induced by the accounts which we brought home, and by my advice, the city of Amsterdam resolved to make another and final attempt. It fitted out at its own expense, a couple of vessels, and having provided them with all things necessary, entrusted them to the care of myself and three others, viz: Jacob Heemskerk, John Cornelius Ryp, and William Barents.

"On the 10th of May, 1569, we left Amsterdam, accompanied by the good wishes of the whole town, and as a favourable wind filled our sails, we made our way so rapidly towards the north, that by the 5th of June, we encountered vast floes of ice, which covered the sea as far as the eye could reach. Four days later, we discovered land, which was not noted down on the chart; it proved to be an island some four miles long, and evidently hitherto unknown. Some of the men took one of the boats and went ashore; they found many gull's eggs, and had a narrow escape from losing their lives. They ascended a hill of snow which was as solid as a block of marble, but in attempting to descend, they found themselves obliged to slide to the bottom, and were in imminent danger of being hurled upon the sharp rocks by which it was surrounded; happily, they received no injury. The next day we had a hard struggle with a polar bear, for dangerous as these creatures were, we always felt desirous of attacking them, and we now undertook to take one alive. Accordingly, seeing a big fellow not far from us, we took a boat, and set out with the intention of capturing him, by throwing a noose over his head, but when we came near to him we did not dare to attack him, on account of the ferocity he exhibited, but returned for more men, muskets, and pikes. Ryp's people were coming to our aid; we went after him again, but we were obliged to fight for more than four hours, as our shots did him very little harm. After having received a blow in the back with a hatchet, which was wielded by such a strong arm that it remained sticking in him, he attempted to swim off, but a cut on the head finished him. We took the carcase on board Ryp's vessel, and stripped off the hide, which measured twelve feet in length. The flesh we cooked, and some of us liked it as well as beef. In consequence of this adventure we named the island 'Bear's Island.'

"After remaining here for a few days, we continued our journey towards the north, and after sailing for ten days, through a sea blocked up with masses of ice, we arrived at a coast which ran off in an easterly direction, where we determined to cast anchor. We imagined it to be a part of Greenland, and as it was formed of sharp pointed hills, we gave it the name of 'Spitzbergen,' (pointed mountains.) We were not a little surprised to find an active vegetation existing in this high latitude, and went on shore to gather sorrel and scurvy grass, which are excellent preventatives against the scurvy, a disease which, as you know, breaks out with great violence on board of vessels going so far north, and is occasioned by a want of fresh meat. We saw also a great many bears, foxes, and reindeers, and also immense flocks of wild geese, which we drove from their nests in order to procure their eggs, which we found excellent.

"As the wind remained unfavorable, and the masses of ice continued to press closer together, we were obliged to give up our plan of reaching the most northern point of Spitzbergen, and then sailing towards the east, and return to Bear's Island. The two captains now differed in their opinion as to the best course to be pursued; Ryp persisted that if we were to keep on towards the north, we would without doubt, reach an open sea, while Barents thought we were already too far north; so it was finally determined that each should go his own way. Accordingly, on the 1st of July, the two vessels parted company, Ryp sailing for Spitzbergen, whilst we steered towards the south coast. From this moment commenced all the suffering and danger, which we experienced on our adventurous voyage."

II.

"After having with great difficulty and danger, worked our way between huge blocks of ice, for two weeks, we at last, on the 16th of July, at noon, came in sight of Nova Zembla, a spot very frequently visited by whalers, and steered our course along the western shore, as our object was to sail round the island, in order to make our way towards the east. But although it was now the middle of summer, we were much impeded by floating masses of ice, which covered the sea in every direction, as far as the eye could reach, and obliged us to wait until an opening offered, through which we might sail. We arrived at last at an island which from the number of crosses the whalers have there set up, is called the "Isle of Crosses." Here we anchored to take in a supply of fresh water. Heemskerk took one of the boats and went ashore to visit the crosses. I accompanied him, and we were walking along, not dreaming of danger, when suddenly we came upon a couple of bears, who were hid near by. As we were totally unprovided with weapons, we were not a little alarmed at the sight. The bears, as is customary with these animals, raised themselves on their hind legs, to find out what was going on, as they can smell further than they can see. As soon as they became aware of our presence, they came running towards us. Our hair now actually stood on end at the frightful danger we ran, and we started off for our boats as fast as we could go. But Heemskerk, who had far more presence of mind and courage, stood still, and swore that he would put a boat hook he held in his hand, into the first man who attempted to fly. 'If we run away one by one in this way,' cried he, 'some of us will most assuredly be torn to pieces, but if we stand still and raise a shrill cry all together, the bears will be frightened and retreat.' We followed his advice, and it turned out exactly as he predicted, so that whilst the bears stood stupified, we regained our boat. This shows how good a thing presence of mind is; fear always rushes into danger sooner than courage.

"After much suffering and danger, we at last reached the northern extremity of the island, and began to double it. Some of the men, who had been sent on shore to ascend a mountain, and report what was visible from it, surprised us with the joyful information that they believed the sea to be free from ice towards the east. But, alas, the next day showed how much they had been deceived; we had not sailed but a few miles further, when we encountered a huge bank of ice, which rendered further progress in that direction impossible. As the snow storm every hour raged more fiercely, and the cold grew more intense, we determined to retrace our course along the eastern shore, in order to reach the continent, there in some secure harbor to wait for more favorable weather. But we had only gone a short distance in this direction, when the ice closed in all around us, and on the twenty-sixth of August we remained firmly fixed in it. All our endeavors to float our vessel again, were in vain, and we very nearly lost three of our best men in the attempt; the ice on which they were standing suddenly gave way, but fortunately they were near the vessel, and very active, so they seized hold of the ropes which hung down from the yards, and clambered on board. It was an anxious moment for all parties, for they would most assuredly have been driven away with the ice and lost, had they not been saved by the aid of God, and their own activity.

"The ice was often in motion, but did not break up; but masses of it piled themselves up in all directions. In consequence of this, our vessel was hoisted up as if by pulleys, and then thrown on its side with such a fearful crash, that we expected every moment to see it go to pieces. We found it necessary to bring the boat and shallop to land, as in case of the ship's going to pieces, we depended on them for our safety. We also stored away, under a tent hastily constructed of sails, provisions, ammunition, and useful tools. The sea was now covered with ice as far as the eye could reach; part of it swam about in huge masses, whilst the rest was smooth and firm as a frozen mill-pond. The cold was now so intense, that we found it impossible to keep ourselves warm under the upper deck, where the kitchen was, but were obliged to remove the stove to the hold, and were almost smothered by the smoke in consequence.

"Some of the men, who had been sent further into the country, to ascertain its character, brought back the welcome news that there was a stream of excellent fresh water not far distant, and that along its banks lay piles of drift wood. As we considered it possible, after this discovery, to pass the winter here, we gave up the desperate plan we had formed, of making our way back to the continent in our two miserable boats, and commenced erecting a roomy and substantial hut. While thus occupied, we were much troubled by the increasing cold, and the hungry bears, who lay in wait for us in every direction. In order to give you a correct picture of our hardships, and miserable life, I will endeavor to relate to you the most note-worthy events as they occurred day by day, and in this way to keep the thread of my narrative unbroken.

"September 1st.—This day we began to build our hut, and transported to it, on sledges, sufficient drift wood to be used for fires during the winter, which we piled up in convenient places. Whilst part of the men were occupied in this arduous task, the rest remained on board the vessel to prepare the meals, and keep a watch for the safety of those on shore. One day we received a visit from three huge bears; two of them came towards the ship, but the third remained hidden behind a piece of ice. It happened that a tub of salt meat, which we intended to soak in fresh water, was standing on the shore; one of the bears ran up to it, and putting his muzzle in, was about to help himself to a piece, when a shot struck him in the head so cleverly that he fell dead without a groan. It was curious to see how the second bear stood gazing at his motionless companion, with a stupified look, and then walked round him, trying to discover what was the matter with him. When he found that he could make nothing of him, he left him, and went away. But we had no idea of trusting the fellow, and as we wished to go ashore, we armed ourselves with muskets and pikes, in case he should come back, which he pretty soon did. He raised himself on his hind legs, in a threatening manner, but one of us shot him in the stomach, which caused him to sink down with a howl on all fours again, and make off as fast as he could go. We now took out the entrails of the dead bear, and placed him on his legs, in order that he might be frozen, and so preserved until spring, when we intended to take him home with us. Some time afterwards, one of the men was chased by a bear, and happened to come by this spot. His pursuer was close on his heels, but as soon as he saw his immovable companion, who was covered with snow, his front paws alone being visible, he stopped short, and approached him. In this way the sailor gained sufficient time to reach the ship, and alarm us with the cry of 'a bear! a bear!' We hastened on deck, but not one of us could see, so much had our eyes suffered with the thick smoke in which we had been obliged to remain during the bad weather, in order to escape being frozen. Our aid, however, was not needed, as the bear, when he saw the number of his opponents, made off in great haste.

"September 24th.—On this day we began to put up the beams of our hut, as the idea of being obliged to pass a winter here, filled us with great anxiety; but as the vessel was now firmly embedded in the ice, and we saw no prospect of getting it free again until the return of fine weather, we were obliged to make a virtue of necessity, and submit quietly to our hard fate. We tore up a part of the deck of our vessel, and made a roof for our hut of it; then we plastered the walls with pitch, and when, on the second of October, the building was finished, instead of putting on the roof, as is customary, a pole or bush, we erected a kind of staff, made of hard snow. We now took our sleds, and drew tools and provisions to it; but the cold was so intense that the beer casks burst, and their contents became a solid mass of ice. After we had, for greater security, drawn the boats on shore, and turned them upside down, we betook ourselves to our hut, and arranged every thing within it as well as we were able.

III.

"With the beginning of November, the cold became so intense, that we could venture out into the air for a very short time only, long enough merely to collect what fuel we needed, and to set the traps which we had placed round the hut to catch foxes, which I assure you were considered quite a dainty by us poor wretches, greedy as we were after fresh meat. On the 4th of November, the sun was no longer visible, and a long and dreary night set in. All the light we had came from the moon, aurora borealis, and the lamps which we hung around our hut, and fed with bear's fat. The only consolation left us was that with the sun the bears had left us, and we could now leave the hut without danger of being devoured. The cold still continued to increase hourly, and we were obliged to distribute our stock of clothing among the men, in order to protect them better against the frost, yet in spite of every precaution, hands and feet which were wrapped up in thick furs and cloths, became stiff and numb, when only a few paces from the fire. The best protection against the cold, we found to be heated stones. We felt the want of spirituous liquors sadly; those we had, froze, and when thawed lost both strength and flavour. Our health, however, was much better than we had reason to expect, when our mode of life is taken into consideration; but this, I imagine was owing to the good advice of the surgeon to bathe daily, which we always did. One morning, towards the end of November, one of us wishing to leave the hut, found the door tightly closed by the snow, and was obliged to dig through it. This work we had to repeat daily, or otherwise we should have been completely buried. On the 16th of November, we found that we had used all the fuel that was in the hut, and were therefore, obliged to dig out of the snow the rest of what we had gathered for use, and bring it into our dwelling. We worked alternately in couples, and had to make all the haste we could, for in spite of fox-skins and extra clothing, we were not able to endure the cold long. Until the 29th of December, we experienced dreadful weather; snow fell in abundance, and for three days we were unable to leave the hut. On the evening of the fourth day, it moderated somewhat, and one of the sailors ventured to make a hole through the wall, near to the door, and creep through it in order to see how things stood without. He came back pretty soon and told us that the snow was piled up higher than the hut, and that it was just as cold as ever; he said that if he had not returned, his ears would have been frozen. On the 29th of December, some of the men dug the door free again, and made a kind of a tunnel through the snow, out of which we emerged as from a cellar. But all our trouble was in vain, for the next day another fall of snow blocked up the door, and made us prisoners again. Stormy days were the more unendurable, as the fire would not burn, but filled the hut with smoke. At such times we commonly lay in our beds, which like the walls of the hut, were covered with a thick coating of ice, whenever the fire did not burn brightly. Whilst in this unpleasant situation, one of us happened to remember that there was a good store of coals on board the vessel, and the most hardy of the party immediately made an attempt to bring them to the hut, and after great exertions, succeeded in their attempt. We immediately kindled a good fire, and for the first time an agreeable warmth spread through the room. In order better to retain it, we stopped up the hole we had made to let the smoke escape, and merrier than usual, went to bed and began chatting together; but soon, giddiness and then stupefaction attacked us, and had not one of the party had the presence of mind to crawl to the door and open it, we would soon have been suffocated by the poisonous gas which came from the coal. Thus ended the year 1596. The next year commenced with the same unpleasant weather, so that we were obliged to pass New Year's day in the house. We had now used up all our split wood, and on account of the cold, were unable to go out to procure more. On the 5th of January, the weather at last moderated, and we got the door open, cleaned the house out, and split some more wood, as we were afraid that we should again be buried by the snow. After working hard all day, we began in the evening to talk about home, and it occurred to us that our countrymen were at that very moment celebrating one of their merriest festivals, namely, that of the Three Kings. We determined, therefore, to forget our sad lot for a while, and prepare a little feast. Each one of the men put by some of his biscuit, and the captain gave some wine. We now made a good wine soup, and prepared also some pancakes, which we made of a couple of pounds of starch which had been taken on board for the purpose of pasting cartridges, and some oil; the biscuits we soaked in wine. We now celebrated the evening in fine style, and for the time, forgot our sad lot, and imagined ourselves once more surrounded by our friends and relations. In this way we enjoyed our humble meal as much as if it had been a sumptuous feast. We got into such a good humor that we chose a king, as it is customary to do on such occasions, and saluted him by the title of "Lord of Nova Zembla," a kingdom which though of considerable size, is not very well provided with either inhabitants or revenue.

"On leaving the hut next day, we found the air a little less keen, and felt that since the snow had ceased to fall, the cold had somewhat abated. We could now hope to see the sun before long, and on the 8th of January we really perceived a faint glimmering in the sky, at which we rejoiced not a little. Eight days later we perceived a reddish tinge, which we hailed as the harbinger of the near approach of the sun. We perceived, also, a slight warmth in the wind, which, joined to the heat of our fire, partially melted the ice on the walls of the hut, which, until now, had remained perfectly solid. As the glimmering light grew stronger every day, we at length ventured, well-armed, to the ship, which still remained in the same position as formerly, but had been frequently visited by bears, as their footsteps in the snow plainly showed. We took a light, and descended into the hold, where we found the water a foot in depth, and frozen perfectly tight.

"As the weather remained fair, we went out into the open air daily. Our usual resort was a hill about a half mile distant, from which we brought stones to our hut, and heated them, in order to warm our beds. It now grew brighter every day, and we were soon able to amuse ourselves by shooting with a cross-bow, using for a mark the top of our snowy flag-staff, which, until now, we had been unable to see. Indeed, we took exercise in any way possible, and endeavored by throwing, running, and other gymnastic sports, to restore strength and suppleness to our half frozen limbs. The foxes, in capturing whom we had formerly been so busily engaged, now suddenly vanished, a sure sign of the re-appearance of the bears. These dangerous beasts soon visited us again, and the war against them was renewed; they evidently came from some more southerly climate, where they had been passing the long winter, as they were very fat. They often endeavored to break open the door of the hut, and one of them even clambered upon the roof, and endeavored to get inside through the hole we had made to allow the smoke to escape; it required the united energies of all of us to defeat his intentions.

"The 27th of January was a sad day for us, for on it one of our party died. He had been sick at the building of the hut, and we had been obliged to convey him to it on a sled. We buried him in the snow, with a prayer, and held a funeral feast to his honor; but we soon recovered our wonted flow of spirits, as we were now confidently expecting a speedy release from the wretched situation in which we had been placed.

"The cold continued unbroken for three months longer, although it was not so severe as formerly. Our provisions now gave out, and on the 3rd of May we cooked our last piece of pork. During the latter part of May we began to make preparations for our journey, and as we found our ship was no longer sea-worthy, we dug out the shallop and boat, which had been protected by the deep snow. We spent all the month of May in mending and fitting out these two vessels. Whilst we were prosecuting this work, we were more than once in great danger of being torn to pieces by the bears. We shot a great many of them, but it happened we found them more dangerous when dead than when alive. Being greatly in want of food we cooked a liver of one of them, and found it very palatable, but all of us fell sick in consequence, and some were so very ill that their lives were despaired of; they were covered from head to foot with a loathsome eruption. However, they at last recovered, for which we thanked God most sincerely, for had we lost them, the rest of us would not have had sufficient strength to launch the boats. In spite of this warning one of the men was imprudent enough, one day, to bring a pot of bear's liver to the fire, as he was hungry; but Heemskerk, who was standing by, threw it out of the window.

"The weather often grew milder, and the sea began to be free from ice, but a single north wind brought back the most intense cold, and the sea was again covered with ice. In the meanwhile we worked hard to get out of our leaky vessel all that was necessary for our dangerous voyage, but suddenly we experienced a more dreadful storm of snow, hail, and rain, than had yet overtaken us, and which we did not expect at this time of the year. The weather was so bad that we were obliged to leave every thing and retreat to the hut. But we found this in a miserable condition, for we had used the boards, of which the roof was composed, to mend our vessels, and a piece of sail, which had taken their place, answered its purpose so badly that the hut was full of water. Often and often did our courage sink, and we give up in despair, but Heemskerk always cried, 'If you do not wish to remain in Nova Zembla, and dig your graves in the snow, you must exert all your remaining strength to equip the boats, on which depend all our hopes of safety.' These words acted like an electrical shock on us, and spurred us on to do what seemed almost impossible.

"In the beginning of June, we dragged the two boats to the vessel, in order, when all was ready, to take them from there to the edge of the ice and launch them into the sea. Suddenly another storm arose unexpectedly, and we were in constant dread lest the ice should break up, and all our property be lost. In that case there would be no hope for us; but Providence watched over us, and the storm passed by, and did us not the slightest harm. We had now to perform our last but most difficult task, viz: to open a passage through the ice from the ship to the open sea, through which we might take the shallop. This, after incredible toil, we accomplished, and loaded our two boats with the tools and provisions we had just taken from the wreck, which consisted of thirteen casks of biscuits, and several more of bacon, oil, and wine. Then being all ready, we started on our voyage on the morning of the 14th of June, 1597.

IV.

"In high spirits and full of courage, we now began a voyage, which certainly was the most remarkable ever undertaken. Crowded together in two wretched, open, and heavily laden boats, we had to cross a space of not less than two hundred miles, in order to reach the nearest shore, and this in a climate where the middle of summer is as cold as our severest winters, and upon a sea covered with huge masses of ice, which at one moment are stationary, and in the next hurled together by a storm, with terrific force. Besides, we were weak from our previous exertions, and had not really the strength to strive successfully against the dangers which threatened us.

"As the eastern shore of Nova Zembla appeared to be bound up with unbroken ice, Barents, with admirable prudence, had advised us to steer towards the north, so that having passed round the northern point of land, we might reach the western coast, and from there run for some Russian port, where we might hope to meet some vessel bound for the Netherlands. We had not gone far on this projected route, when we found ourselves so hemmed in by icebergs, as to be totally unable to make any further progress. Such an unpropitious commencement would have disheartened many men, but fortunately, we were accustomed to danger and disappointment in every shape; so we kept up our spirits, and cast anchor in order to wait until the breaking up of the ice should afford us an opportunity of proceeding on our journey again. In the meantime we employed ourselves in seeking bird's eggs for our sick, of whom we now had several, and in melting snow by the fire for drinking water. On the 15th of June, the ice in which we were embedded, broke up, and a favorable wind springing up, our men handled their oars so well, that by the 17th we had reached the most northerly point of the island. But, unfortunately, on the same day the icebergs were put in such violent agitation by a storm, and struck the boats with such force, that the boldest grew disheartened. We took a last farewell of each other, and expected every moment would be our last. In this fearful extremity we held a consultation as to what was best to be done; no other means of safety could we see, than to work our way out of the floating ice, and get upon some iceberg. But all our endeavors to get alongside of one of these were in vain, and unable to endure longer the lamentations of my companions, I caught hold of the end of a rope, and leaped like a frog from one place to another, until I reached the firm ice. As the rope was fastened to the two boats, they were quickly drawn to the spot I had reached, when the men took out their cargoes and pulled them upon the ice. We found they were so much injured by striking against the ice, as to need a thorough overhauling, which we set about without delay. The driftwood, which lay along the shore in considerable quantities, now stood us in good need, as by means of it we were enabled to boil our pitch and tar.

"For four long and dreary days had we lain among ice and snow, when a south wind sprang up, and once more opened a passage for us. We hastily launched our boats again, and put their cargoes into them; but hardly had we commenced to row when we found ourselves surrounded by masses of ice again, and were obliged to pick our way out of them with great difficulty; at last we reached the open sea once more, and were able to continue our voyage until the 25th of June, when we were obliged to cast anchor again near a field of ice. At the same time a violent storm arose, and drove our miserable crafts to sea, where they were tossed about in great danger of being dashed to pieces against an iceberg, or upset by the wind. Our men now employed what little strength they had left in striving to get back to the land, but as this could not be done by simple rowing, we ventured to hoist a small sail, which we had scarcely done when the foremast of the boat I commanded suddenly broke in two places, and I found myself obliged, in order to keep up with the shallop, to raise the mainsail, which, however, I had to lower again immediately, or my boat would have been inevitably upset.

"We now deemed our destruction inevitable, as the storm of wind, which had hitherto blown from the south, suddenly changed to the north-east, and drove us from the shore. In the meanwhile the shallop had vanished, and we sought for it in vain for a long time, owing to a thick fog which covered the sea. At last I ordered some shots to be fired, and to my great joy they were answered by others from the shallop. I afterwards employed this means of finding the whereabouts of our comrades with great success on all such occasions.

"On the 28th of June we were again shut in, and obliged to anchor alongside of an iceberg. As we were much fatigued by the incessant tossing about of the boats, we erected a tent on it, and determined to pass the night there; but that we might sleep in safety, we set a watch, and it was a happy thing for us that we did so, for at midnight we received a visit from three immense bears, who, had we not been on our guard, would most assuredly have made a comfortable meal off of some of us. At the cry of 'Bears! bears!' we seized our muskets, and although they were loaded with shot merely, fired them at the animals, who were so stupefied at the inhospitable reception their friendly visit met with, that they allowed us time to load with ball. One of them had fallen at the first fire, and the two others made off in all haste. Pretty soon, however, they changed their minds, and coming back, dragged their dead comrade away with them for a short distance, and then set to work to devour him. As soon as we remarked this, we let them have another shot, and this time they ran off in earnest. Four of us now went to look at the carcass of the dead bear, and found to our no little astonishment that they had devoured half of it. The wind, on this and the two following days, blowing from the same quarter, we were obliged to remain where we were.

"The night of the 1st of July, was one of the most fearful and dangerous that we had as yet experienced. The storm gradually increased in violence, and at last by hurling the floating masses of ice against the firm bank on which we were encamped, broke off that portion of it which held our boats, so that they got loose and were driven away. Many bundles and casks fell into the sea, and it was with great difficulty, that by springing from place to place, we succeeded in securing our boats, in which were the sick. After the storm was somewhat abated, we endeavored to collect our provisions and tools together, but alas, missed a great many which were very necessary for the completion of our voyage. Whilst one half of the men were thus employed, the others went over the ice to the land, in order to get a tree that they might mend the broken mast of the shallop. They found not only what they sought, but also, wedges for splitting wood, and wood already split, from which we judged that men had been in this place before.

"About this time we lost two of our men, who had been sick for some time, having been obliged to be carried from our hut to the boat, when we started on our voyage. When Barents, who had also been ailing, heard this, he assured us that his end too was approaching, but as he at the same time regarded with attention, a chart of that part of the country which we had seen, which I had prepared, we did not believe he was so ill, and paid but little attention to his words. Pretty soon, however, he laid down the chart and asked for water; but hardly had he drank, when suddenly he bowed his head and died, to the great grief of all of us. We lost in him a brave comrade and intelligent man, on whose skill rested most of our hopes of again seeing our native land.

"Sorrowing deeply, we continued on our journey, and at length, on the 4th of August, reached the Russian coast, after having suffered much from the cold, and also from the scurvy, which on account of the want of fresh provisions, had broken out among us. We landed to try and find some signs of life, but could see no habitations, and the ground produced nothing but wild shrubs. Some of the party proposed that we should continue our journey by land; but as we could easily lose our way, and fall into great danger, in a desert, which was very likely filled with wild animals, the majority decided in favor of continuing along the coast. But we could not hold out much longer, for our provisions were reduced to a few mouldy biscuits; the most of us, tormented as we were by hunger and sickness, would have welcomed death as a happy release. Happily, however, we discovered a Russian barque coming towards us under full sail; when she reached us, Heemskirk went on board, and taking some money in one hand, pointed with the other to a cask of fish which stood on deck. The Russians understood him, took the money, and gave him the fish, together with some little cakes. Half starved as we were, we rejoiced greatly at this purchase, and hastened to refresh ourselves with the food.

"We now very often met Russian vessels, and they sold or gave us, very readily, a part of their scanty stock of provisions. By the 20th of August, we reached the western shore of the White Sea, and by good luck arrived at a spot where some little houses were standing. We entered them and were received with great kindness by their owners, who were poor Russian fishermen. They led us into a warm room, where we could dry our wet clothes, and gave us a meal of good fish and soup.

"After continuing our journey for several days more, we were obliged, by a storm, to land again, and found a hut where three men dwelt. They cordially welcomed us, and when at their request we had told them our story, informed us that a vessel from the Netherlands was at anchor at Kola, a Russian port not many miles distant. We entreated them to go with one of our party to Kola by land, but as they could not go themselves they sent a messenger, who in a few days returned without our comrade, but with a letter, through which we learnt to our joy and astonishment, that Ryp himself, the commander of the other vessel, from whom we had separated at Bear's Island, had arrived at Kola in safety, after seeking for an eastern passage in vain.

"It was not long before he arrived himself, in a boat loaded with provisions, and after a warm greeting we took, for the first time since many days, our usual food and drink. Favored by the wind, Heemskerk soon brought us to Kala, where the Russian governor listened with great sympathy to the history of our adventures and sufferings, and ordered our two boats to be preserved as memorials of our wondrous journey.

"On the 18th of September we set sail, and after a prosperous voyage entered the Meuse. From there we went to Amsterdam, and doubtless it is still fresh in your memories, how we were conducted into the town, dressed in the fox skins we had worn at Nova Zembla, and followed by the acclamations of the whole population."

Father Gerhard ceased speaking, and for a while the young people kept silent too, so much had they been astonished by the recital of such strange adventures. Most did they marvel at the calm resignation of the voyagers to their sad fate, and they hoped that in the voyages which they themselves might hereafter make, that they should have as excellent and brave companions.

They now thanked their patron for the trouble he had taken to gratify them, and with a hearty squeeze of the hand wished him good night.



The Shipwreck.

A few years ago a company of one of the English regiments of infantry, consisting of eleven officers and two hundred soldiers embarked in a large, strongly built ship, to sail from Quebec to Halifax. Besides the troops, there were forty-eight passengers on board, most of them women and children, and the whole number of persons, including the sailors, amounted to upwards of three hundred.

On the evening of the tenth day, when they were clear of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and a brisk wind had driven them out many leagues to seaward, the pilot who, for the greater security of the troops had been kept on board, directed the course of the vessel to the westward, hoping on the next day to run her into Halifax. From the windward side of the otherwise clear heavens a dark cloud showed itself on the horizon, and in a short time afterwards the ship was enveloped in one of those dense fogs, which make a voyage along these coasts so perilous, during the greater part of the year. They had now come within that space of the ocean in which it was usual to hold a ship's course in sailing from England to the West Indies; torrents of rain increased the thickness of the fog, and fearful gusts of wind increased the danger, and the officers in charge of the troops, thought it expedient to hold a consultation with the captain, as to what course was best to be pursued in the present circumstances. The result of this conference was a determination to keep on the course deemed expedient by the pilot, but with as little sail set as possible. For their further safety a watch was stationed on the foredeck, with the company's drums which they beat from to time, and taking besides every other precaution against their coming into collision with another vessel.

Among the officers, was a lieutenant named Stewart, a young man of uncommon steadiness and bravery, and who in his zeal for the comfort of the soldiers and the discipline necessary to be observed for maintaining order in the ship, had during the whole voyage, limited his own hours of rest to the smallest possible number. One night, completely worn out, he was about to betake himself to his hammock, when the colonel requested in view of the danger that every moment threatened, that he would remain all night upon deck. Stewart rallied his remaining strength, and conquering the importunate demands of sleep, he took his station with ten men on the foredeck, whilst the captain, with eight soldiers, kept watch at the stern. The rain poured down in streams, squalls of wind and angry waves caused the good ship to reel and turn like one drunk, and to add to the horrors of their situation, the night was so dark they could not see half the length of the ship before them, and the fog enshrouded them in its oppressive vapor. At ten o'clock, the watch on the bowsprit called out to the lieutenant on the foredeck, and directed his attention to a clear spot which he declared to proceed from a light. Stewart at once proceeded to the stern where he found the pilot seated on the rudder, apparently watching the same appearance, but when he inquired of him what it meant, he received a very short uncourteous reply, together with a command from the captain who was by, to go back to his post. He did so, and not long after the man on the bowsprit once more called out, that notwithstanding the thick fog he saw a light distinctly; Stewart looked in the direction the sailor pointed out, and plainly saw the glimmer of the friendly beacon, and knew it at once as the signal placed to warn ships from approaching too near the cliffs which lined the shore. Notwithstanding his first repulse, he approached the pilot a second time; but he met with a second repulse;—he was answered—"Sir, I have been royal pilot on this coast for twenty-five years, and I ought to know where I am." The captain too, in a sterner manner then before, commanded Stewart to return to his watch. The lieutenant dared utter no further remonstrance, but with a heart, heavy with sad forebodings, busied himself to keep up the failing spirits of his men who were as apprehensive of the threatened danger as himself. And his sad foreboding was only too soon fulfilled, for whilst the pilot imagined his vessel to be sailing on the open sea, she was already among the rocks that lay but a mile and an half from the coast, but yet were sixty distant from the roadstead by which they were to enter Halifax.

By midnight, Stewart felt himself so fairly exhausted by cold and long watching, that he left the quarter deck, and went below to snatch, if possible, a few minutes sleep. He had been in his cabin only long enough to change his damp clothing for dry, when a fearful crash told him the ship had struck upon the rocks. In a moment he was back on the quarter deck. He found that a surging billow had struck the hinder part of the ship, tore off part of the sheathing, and carried away the watch-house in which two women were sleeping—all efforts to rescue them were in vain. Whilst the storm-tossed ocean raged and foamed around the devoted ship, and night shrouded all objects in her veil of impenetrable darkness, wild shrieks and cries arose from the women and children, increasing the horrors of the moment, and filled the stoutest hearted among the mariners and soldiers with dread and despair. Among the soldiers all discipline was at an end, and in many families this hour of terrors had loosed the bonds of affection and dependence, that until now had subsisted for years. The men forsook their wives in the endeavour to save their own lives; their wives and children were entreating the help from strangers denied them by husbands and fathers, and an officer who had heretofore been considered not only as a most courageous soldier, but had showed himself a kind and affectionate husband, now turned a deaf ear to the prayers of his wife, and intent only on his own deliverance, climbed up into the rigging of the mainmast, left her to her fate below, whatever it might be. In the meantime, the captain had ordered the ship to be examined, he found that she had struck upon a hidden rock, and the waves beating over the quarter deck had already filled all the rooms with water. Several men had been washed overboard as they rushed from their hammocks to the deck at the moment of the ship striking, but the greater number had reached the foredeck where they crowded closely together, awaiting in painful anxiety for what the morning would bring.

At length the dappling clouds in the east proclaimed the hour of dawning—the day struggled into existence, and showed to the great joy of the shipwrecked, a rock about fifty yards distant, which raising its dark head above the foaming sea, promised present safety if it could be reached, although the white waves broke furiously against it. But how were they to reach it? The only hope—and it was a weak one—was if they could succeed in passing a rope from the ship to the rock, and fastening it there so firmly that by its aid all might be able to leave the wreck. But who was the adventurous one to carry it thither? The most experienced officers on board, declared it impossible for any one to brave those angry breakers successfully, and the best and most resolute of the sailors, who, perhaps, would have ventured encountering such a risk, had broken into the spirit room and were now lying drunk, seeking to drown the bitterness of death which they were so certain of meeting, by steeping their senses in oblivion.

In the meantime, Lieutenant Stewart with folded arms and thoughtful mien, stood on the foredeck, measuring with his eyes the distance between the wreck and the rock. After some minutes spent in deep consideration, he threw off his coat, fastened a rope round his body, and plunged into the boiling surf. The soldiers looked on in anxious silence—for the bold swimmer had almost immediately disappeared from their view—a wave had buried him deep in its bosom—but again his head was seen above its foaming crest, and with strong arms he parted the angry waters as he swam boldly forward, like one determined to battle with and conquer fate. His strength would not have sufficed to enable him to accomplish his aim, had not a huge wave borne him onward, and dashing powerfully against the rocky ledge left him behind as it retreated. Stunned by the violence with which he was thrown, he lay for some moments deprived of all consciousness; his senses at length returning, he rose hastily and mustering all his strength, essayed to climb the steep and rugged rock, the difficulty of the assent being increased by the slippery sea-grass with which it was covered. After many toilsome efforts he reached the top, where he succeeded in fastening his rope. But as it was impossible for him to be seen from this height by those on the wreck, on account of the thick fog, he was obliged to descend to the shore, where, as he was nearer the ship, he hoped he might be visible, and thus relieve part of their anxiety. On the side next the ship the breakers dashed so violently that he dreaded making the attempt, and venturing on the other, he fell from the steep and slippery path down into the sea.

Benumbed with cold, and sorely wounded by the sharp edges of the rocks, he was at first scarcely able to move, but still he managed to keep his head above the water, and after an half hour spent in a vigorous struggle with death, a rushing wave once more carried him to the shore, where bruised and bleeding he lay on his back like one dead. He felt like giving up the contest, but he saw the sinking ship and his doomed companions—with great effort, therefore, he raised himself, gave the appointed signal to show that he had succeeded in fastening the rope, and a gleam of joy shot through his heart as he heard the loud cheers with which the news was hailed on board.

In less than a minute, the only boat belonging to the ship was let down, and manned with but one stout sailor. Slipping along by the rope which Stewart had drawn he guided his frail craft to the rock, to which he fastened a stronger one, brought with him for that purpose: this being done, he returned to the wreck in order to bring off the passengers. It was determined to send away the women and children first, and accordingly two grown females or a mother with several children were bound together and sent off, the little boat which was guided by two sailors being too small to hold any more.

Stewart assured that the slippery surface of the rock where he had stood when fastening the rope, would not afford sufficient space for all on board, even to stand upon, was half in despair, but just at the moment however, that the boat containing the colonel's wife, her two children, and the surgeon of the regiment, pushed off from the ship, the fog lifted and parting at the coast, showed another rock of greater height and broader extent a few yards distant from the one on which he stood. The boat almost touched the one first reached—he gave the sailors a sign—it was understood, and they rowed to the second rock where the surf was much less dangerous, and the breakers small in comparison with those that beat against the other. A better landing was to be obtained here, and without the loss of a single life or any untoward occurrence, the women and children reached this place of safety if not of comfort Whilst this was being done, they made a running noose to slip along on the rope that Stewart had fastened to the rock on which he now stood, which rope as we before have said reached to the ship. By this contrivance the officers and most of the soldiers attained the smaller rock, and in the course of two or three hours all on board were safely rescued. By a merciful Providence the ship groaning, creaking, tottering, and gradually sinking, just kept above the water until the last man was taken off; then a surging wave dashed over her, and she was seen no more—a few circling eddies alone showed the spot where she went down.

When the men who, as we have said had landed on the smaller rock had assembled, they found it incapable of holding so many—all could not stand in the narrow space its surface afforded, and too closely crowded, they could not resist the pressure of the waves that sometimes broke over it. The higher rock where the women and children were landed showed that there was still room for many more of the shipwrecked; the colonel, therefore, proposed that the officers should be rowed thither in the boat, but to this the soldiers would not listen. With death staring them in the face, they declared all subordination was at an end—that preference on account of rank and birth was not to be thought of—all were now on an equality, life was as dear to the meanest soldier as to the highest in command; no! no preference should be given—it must be decided by lot, who should go, and who remain. All efforts to still the angry tumult that now arose among the excited troops was in vain, and the little island whose rock-covered surface, lifted for ages above that boiling flood, where wave contended with wave, and had never before been pressed by the foot of man, now became a scene of strife and confusion.

In the midst of the crowd who could thus strive with each other in the very presence of death, lay Stewart, senseless and covered with the blood that flowed plentifully from his wounds. All believed him to be dying, and only a few cared to trouble themselves about the noble young officer, to whose disinterested daring the whole crew owed their lives. His strong constitution, however, soon triumphed over his temporary exhaustion, and he awoke to consciousness, just when the oaths and outcries of the striving soldiers was at the loudest. Slowly and painfully he arose on his stiffened limbs, and supported on the arm of one of his own men from whom he learned the cause of the tumult, he approached and commanded silence. This in the presence of his superior officers was out of place, but distinction was at an end, and beloved as he was by all the soldiers, the command was obeyed at once. "My friends," he began, "death, inevitable death awaits us all alike, both on the other rock and here where the angry waves beat over us, if we do not soon obtain help. Our only hope for deliverance is by means of the boat, through which we may, perhaps, obtain it from the land, which cannot be very distant. Let the officers and sailors then go over to the other rock, where there is more room than on this, and the surf being less violent and itself nearer to the coast, they can better venture to seek the help, without which we must all perish. We will remain here in peace together, awaiting the issue whatever it be; I will not leave you, but am ready to share every danger, and as I was the first to spring into the foaming sea, to try what could be done for the salvation of all, so I will be the very last to leave this rock."

His words were answered by a cheer; the true heroic spirit which breathed from his words—the magnanimity of his whole proceedings since the first moment of the common danger, flashed upon the memories of these rude men, and wrought an instant change. The soldiers calmed and encouraged, no longer objected to the departure of the officers and sailors for the other rock, and the boat at once began to ply between. As it would not carry but two persons at once, it took some time before the specified persons had passed over. At the last voyage there was but one to go. This officer as he took his place on the seat beside the rowers, called out to Stewart to "come along, for the flood was rapidly rising on the rock, and his staying behind would do the soldiers no good." The lieutenant however refused the invitation, with the words that as he had promised the soldiers to remain with them, he was determined to do so, whether the issue was life or death.

So, while the officers with the pilot and sailors were borne to a place of comparative safety, Stewart stood with his two hundred soldiers upon that naked rock that gradually grew less from the rising of the encroaching waters.

Not without good ground for apprehension, had the last departing officer warned the lieutenant of the danger that threatened from the advancing tide. The rock on which two hundred human beings were now crowded, hoping to escape or gain a respite from death, was one which in nautical phrase is called a sunken reef, that is only above water at ebb tide, while at flood, except when swayed by a sweeping north wind, the sea buries it in a depth of ten or fifteen feet.

The pilot knew this well, and having made it known to the colonel, this knowledge was the occasion of his heartless proposition, that the officers should be saved, leaving the soldiers to perish.

But when men deal treacherously with the unfortunate, or seek to ruin the unsuspecting, it is then that a kind Providence watches over them—it is then that the hand of the Most High is stretched forth for their protection;—throughout the whole of this day, the only wind that held the flood tide in check, namely the north-east, swept over the still angry ocean and restrained its perilous advance.

Soon after the ship went down, the sea became covered with boxes and barrels, together with many other articles of the stores on board which had been floated from the hold; the confined air between the decks had caused an explosion, and burst the vessel in every part. This was providential, if those casks of provisions would only flock toward the rock, they might be able to secure enough to support them until help could be obtained either by a passing vessel, or from the shore.

In the meantime, the still rising water had encroached so far upon the rock that but one dry place was left; here the soldiers clustered, standing close to one another, for the confined space admitted but little movement. In order to judge of the rapidity with which the tide was rising, Lieutenant Stewart ordered two large stones to be placed on a rocky projection, whose surface at this time was just even with the water. Leaving the spot and returning after a time, they found them completely hidden. They then placed two others on a spot somewhat higher, and turning away, scarce daring to hope that they should see them again. But what was their joy on returning, to find not only the two last dry, but the first two entirely out of the water; they were thus assured the tide had reached its highest mark.

But now another trouble arose which threatened every moment to increase the sufferings of the shipwrecked. As the waves dashed over them for many hours, they had swallowed a large quantity of sea water, this created a burning thirst, that was increased by their clothing being entirely saturated with salt water. Whilst thus suffering, an object was seen floating on the surface of the water, and approaching the shore, which promised help in this moment of due necessity. One of the sergeants was the first to remark it, and hastening to Stewart, remarked that a cask was being washed by the waves to the edge of the rock, and that he was sure it contained rum. The lieutenant, who dreaded the effect of strong drink on the men as the greatest possible evil, bade the sergeant to sink it as soon as it reached the shore. The cask came nearer—a huge wave lifted it high and dry upon the rock. The sergeant could not obey Stewart's order—the soldiers at once clustered around it, and having been slightly broken as it was dashed upon the rugged resting place, to their great delight, discovered that it held—not rum, but pure sweet water, and in such quantity that all could drink to their satisfaction.

Thus delivered from dread of being washed away and the torment of thirst, new hope and increased courage sprang up in the breasts of the shipwrecked, and beginning to think over how they might better their condition, their first act was to prepare a comfortable place for their wounded lieutenant, who seemed to be rapidly sinking from loss of blood and the effect of his severe exertions. One corner of the rock, the highest above the sea, presented a smoother surface than the rest; they cleared the slippery sea-grass from the spot, and wrapping a cloak round him, laid him down. Two soldiers, one on the right hand, the other on the left, lay down near to screen him from the cutting sea breeze, some others lay across these, thus forming a pyramid of bodies that secured to the wounded a shelter from wind and rain. The rest of the soldiers threw themselves on the rocky surface, whereon they could find a place, and in a few moments were as sound asleep as if reposing in the most luxurious chamber.

The day closed in, but the fog still continued; the rain poured down in torrents on those half naked men, and the piercing north-east wind made them shiver as it swept over them in their thin and sea-soaked garments. At last all desire for sleep was banished, and rising from their uncomfortable lodging places, each one looked out into the darksome night in hopes of discovering a delivering ship. Sometimes the silence that brooded over the little island was interrupted by the joyful cry of "a ship! a ship!" but directly after, some foam-crested billow rising high above the surrounding waves, showed what had caused the delusion.

The sufferings of the unhappy men after this one short alleviation again increased, the tide rose higher than before, for the wind had now chopped round to the west, there was no restraining influence from it as at first. The sea, as if claiming the rock as part of his domain, advanced higher and higher, until at last only one dry spot remained upon which the soldiers clustered so closely, that those who stood in the middle could scarcely breathe. All believed that death was approaching—all hope of deliverance had faded from each heart, and every one of the seemingly doomed party who could control his thoughts in that dreadful hour, summoned his last effort to be expended in prayer.

As they stood there in silence with hearts darkened by the utter extinction of hope, a red light was seen above the rolling waves—its ruddy glow as it glanced upon the white-capped billows caused those sunken hearts to beat with renewed activity—they gazed far out upon the sea, but no man spoke; in a moment more the form of a ship was seen, dimly but certainly in the enveloping fog. The loud and joyful huzza that burst from the shipwrecked soldiers proved to those on board the vessel sent to their rescue, that the rock was still unsubmerged, and that life was there, and they returned the cheer with great good-will. It appeared afterwards that some of the sailors had attempted to reach the shore in the jolly boat; that they encountered great toil and danger, but were at last so fortunate as to come up with two fishing vessels. One of these had already taken the officers and women from the larger rock and landed them on the coast; the other turned about to look after the soldiers, although the captain of the wrecked vessel declared it was folly to expect to find any of them living, for he was convinced that the "sunken reef" had long ere this been hidden beneath the foaming waters.

For fear of the ship being injured by the rocks, they could only approach within a certain distance, and with only one small boat. Stewart called through a speaking trumpet to the sailors, and inquired how many they could take at one time in the boat. They answered, "twelve," at the same time recommending to the shipwrecked to embark quietly, and not rush in such numbers as to peril their own safety. Stewart, exhausted as he was, enforced the necessity there was for this caution, and marshaling his men as well as was possible in the narrow space, he divided off the first twelve, and his command was obeyed with promptness and without confusion. In the meantime, the little boat had reached the rock, and the embarcation began, and without the least disorder. The night came on, but nineteen times the boat made its way through the darkness, from the ship to the now nearly submerged rock, still bearing its living freight in safety, and it was only at the last voyage that they shipped the two last soldiers, and the noble hearted, heroic Stewart, whose soul was full of blissful feelings at the thought that by his courage, obtained through confidence in God, he had saved the lives of three hundred men.



Voyage to the East Indies.

Soon after embarking, and wearied by the exertions I had been obliged to make for the last few days, I betook myself to my cabin and to rest. When I again ascended to the deck, I looked towards the shore we had left, but nothing was to be seen, but a long gray stripe that lay like a dim cloud along the distant horizon. It was the last sight of my native land, and gradually its faint purple outline faded until it was lost in the foam-crested waves. On all sides of me was the wild waste of waters; as far as the eye could reach, it rested upon moving masses like fields of sea-green. Above us was the blue and vaulted heavens that were now illumined with the burnished rays of an August sun, that was even now dipping his broad disk into the waves that formed the distant horizon.

All around was life and motion; ours had not been the only ship that had taken advantage of a favorable wind to put out from Cuxhaven to the open sea. Four or five other ships were sailing along side, and as they spread their snowy sails, on which the bright rays of the summer sun was playing, they skimmed like white-winged sea-mews over the dark green waters.

And now one of the pilot boats that lie here at anchor, yet tossed year in and year out by the restless waves, sending on board both, to the homeward and outward bound a skilful guide, to steer the ship through the perilous shoals and sand banks that lie on this coast, approached, to take up the pilot that had steered us safely into the open sea. He took charge of all our letters—from those written to parent, friend, or lady love left behind, to the tender lines penned by the least shipboy, taking a long farewell of the mother who standing on the pier, waved her hand to her child whose home was henceforward to be on the deep, until long after we sailed. The pilot thrust them all into his great leathern bag, held out his sea-hardened hand to bid each one farewell and gave us his sailor-like greeting: "Farewell, and a lucky voyage to you." He jumped into the boat, four lusty rowers sat on the benches, and it flew over the glancing waters with the speed of a bird until it reached the one-sailed craft he called his pilot ship. This was our final adieu to the homes we had left, for with the departure of the pilot from on board, the last link that unites the sailor to his native land is broken, and it is then the traveller feels how really every rolling wave increases the distance between him and the fireside joys he has left behind.

Light winds soon drove us into the English channel, where we saw the chalk cliffs of Dover shimmering in the bright sunshine on one side—the coast of France like a soft blue cloud dipping into the sea on the other. We approached so near to the British shore, that we could distinguish the buildings and light-houses plainly. Near to Dover, and on a rocky precipice, stands an old fortress of the middle ages, looking out threateningly with bristling canon on the town and over the sea that breaks and murmurs at its rocky base.

As it became dark, numerous beacon lights blazed from the watch-towers, some speedily vanishing, others twinkling and glancing like meteors that beguile the wanderer from his way, but many with clear and steady ray, shone brightly over the face of the deep and guided the sailor on his adventurous course. The first were the so-called fire drakes, covered partly by metallic plates which turn, and thus is caused the appearing and vanishing of the light so speedily, the latter is the steady beacon of the light-house, which distinguishable from all others by its brilliancy and the color of its flame, enables the seaman to direct his craft safely through the channel. Hundreds of other lights were glancing everywhere, like the fire flies of the tropics upon the face of night, those were the burning lanterns carried at the prow of the steamboats, warning each other of approaching too near, and giving the same intelligence to ships.

On the following morning we found ourselves in the neighbourhood of the Isle of Wight, and vainly looked out for some compassionate fisher boat, that for a flask of brandy or some salted fish, would carry our last letters to some port, from whence they might be forwarded to our homes. A few days later, and we lost sight of the English coast; and with it the last land in Europe faded from our eyes. We found ourselves on the open sea, and with lightly swelling sails, steering for the Cape de Verd Islands. Of the many vessels which we hailed or passed in the British channel, not one was to be seen; here every ship held silently on her own monotonous way, without troubling herself about the fate of another; and here instead of the life and bustle to be met with on a coasting voyage, nothing was to be seen, but the dark blue waves of the broad Atlantic and the bright resplendent sky.

To enjoy a sea-voyage one must have entirely overcome the severe ordeal of sea-sickness, and then with the high health that generally follows the departure of this disagreeable visitant, life on the ocean is not without a beauty and variety of its own. In a fortnight one becomes sufficiently versed in the laws of equilibrium to maintain his place in his hammock from a sudden lurching of the ship in a squall or night of tempest, or so skilfully to balance himself and his plate at table, that neither shall be thrown to the right or left. By degrees, too, one becomes accustomed to the slovenliness of the cabin servants, and the dusky appearance of stained and soiled table cloths, and at last even ceases to miss the newspapers and the absence of cream in his coffee.

During the first part of our voyage we had most beautiful weather; the deep blue sea upon which the foam-crested waves chased each other as if at play, and the bright heavens where thin and transparent clouds were floating like veils of gossamer, filled the heart with gladness and disposed it to profitable musings. Light winds filled the sails that swelled beautifully on their masts and drove the ship, that under a cloud of white canvass looked like a stately queen, onward. Sometimes she would lie motionless on the waves for a time, then urged by the breeze she would glide forth like a capricious beauty, cutting the water at the rate of more than four miles an hour. So gentle was the motion, that in the cabin one could scarce hear the murmur of the waves as the ship kissed them with her bowsprit, or raised a track of foam as she divided them with her sharp keel or directing rudder.

It may seem strange, but it is nevertheless true, that on the land, the Sabbath never speaks to man with such solemn voice as it does in beautiful weather on the deep blue sea. Then it seems as if wind and wave and sun and sky were all holding sacred festival, and Nature, such as she appears on that wide and wonderful expanse, invited man, the favored creature, to worship with her in her grand and sacred temple. On week days, with the perpetual industry usual on board a ship, the bustling of the sailors as they pursue their several avocations, the call of the boatswain, the noise of the carpenters' hammer that cannot be excluded from the cabin, contrasts vividly with the calm brought by the solemn stillness of the Sabbath,—its influence is visible on all. No tar-bucket is seen on deck, no paint-pot stands in the way, the sailor intermits his weekly task of mending the sails, and the ropes that are to be repaired are laid aside. The deck is scoured white and smooth with sand; everything is clean, even the cabin-boy and the table-cloth, two articles that on weekdays seem to hold themselves privileged to be dirty.

The sailors indeed, that is only some of them, take advantage of the time bestowed by the Sabbath, to mend their jackets and stockings, or patch up old boots and shoes; others lie stretched out on the deck with a book in their hands or a cigar in their mouths, murmuring something to which the waves are the only listeners; others are down in the forecastle looking over their chests and coffers, the sight of their humble effects, or perhaps some cherished keepsake, recalling thoughts of loved ones at home. But in whatever business engaged, the influence of the Sabbath is seen on all, for there is no countenance but speaks the calm and quiet content, which this blessed day, so wisely ordered as a respite from toil and care, brings to all, whether on land or sea.

We were out four weeks without having seen anything but sky and water, when one day we saw the rugged crest of a high mountain rising above a pile of thick gray clouds. It was the high hill of the island of St. Anthony, the most westerly of the Cape de Verd group. Little by little the low-lying clouds ascend like a drawn up curtain, and the whole island lay spread out, a living panorama, to our view. But alas! we passengers were not permitted to leave the ship, and as soon as we had taken in provisions and water, the anchor was lifted and we held on our way towards the south.

As in all lands lying in the warm latitudes, the works of nature are found in greater and more vigorous beauty than beneath our colder and melancholy skies, so also do the tropical seas present appearances never seen in the northern waters. If a storm arises, the whole creation seems to be dissolving. No words can be found adequate to describe the scene, or in any measure to convey the frightful experience the sailor has to undergo. But on the other hand, in clear and calm weather, the tropical sea presents an aspect of gorgeousness and grandeur, with which the loveliest natural scenery of a northern climate cannot compare. Here the rising of the sun from his bed of waves, presents a spectacle that fills the heart with reverence and awe at the same time that it swells with rapture of the purest kind. The thick clouds that rested like a veil of darkness upon the illimitable surface of the sea, at the coming of the god of day, disperse in their vapors. The twinkling stars grow paler as he approaches, the dark gray color of the water changes to a cheerful blue, and streaks of clear purple are seen in the east, increasing each moment to a varied hue, and as the horizon brightens, darkness flies far from the bosom of the waters. Suddenly rays of glorious light break forth from heaven and pour their golden glory on the sea, the sun rises in his glowing strength above the bank of purple clouds, and as they disperse themselves over the azure firmament, various are the shapes, whether beautiful or grotesque, that they assume. One can imagine he sees towns, hills, castles with tall towers, ships, and a thousand other objects in their flitting shapes, but yet scarcely formed ere they lose their evanescent beauty both of form and color, as the sun mounts above the horizon.

The animal kingdom of the tropical ocean is extraordinarily rich and varied. The sea birds are distinguished by their size, and beauty of plumage, and greatly surpass those that belong to the north. Thousands of flying fish spring above the surface, in order to escape some lurking enemy below, only to find their death on the deck of the ship, but oftener to fall an easy prey to some rapacious bird. Nothing can equal the gay colors of the Bonito and Dorado, a smaller kind of ravenous fish peculiar to the Southern seas, and which are always found in close pursuit of their neighbors, the flying fish. With what enchantment does the astonished spectator fasten his gaze upon the lightly moving waters. His eye penetrates the depths that lie far below the crystal surface, and is lost in wonder at beholding the myriads of living creatures with which the mighty ocean teems! Not a moment but what presents some new and interesting subject for inquiry or contemplation, thus breaking in pleasantly on the otherwise monotonous current of sea life.

So the day passes over, full of interest, if man will only take the trouble to secure it; and the sun that here regularly measures his diurnal course in twelve hours, is declining to his setting. Again the attendant clouds, that at times assume the appearance of burning volcanoes, gather around him, as though to curtain him as he sinks to rest, but as his glancing rays reflected on the smooth water are refracted in gushing vapors, thousands of fireballs seemed to rise as from a crater, and streams of burning lava to flow into the ocean. At length the sun is hidden beneath the waves; for a few minutes the western horizon is like a sea of glowing purple, and then night comes, shrouding all in her darksome veil. But there is no gloom; thousands of stars far brighter than those of northern lands glitter in the firmament, and are mirrored in the chrystal waters; fiery meteors dart through the heavens, and the whole surface of the ocean is covered with luminous insects.

Pleasant as is life on shipboard, even in a slow voyage, when with sufficient wind, which is mostly the case in this latitude, to keep the vessel moving, bringing refreshing coolness to the sailor, and spreading life and healthful motion over the sea; not less uncomfortable is the condition of a vessel when becalmed, as is not seldom the case for many weeks together. With heavy heart the mariner sees the breeze that so lately rippled the waves, gradually die away, and leave the bosom of the ocean calm as a slumbering lake. The sails hang flapping from the yards, the sea is motionless, presenting a dull expanse of water as far as the eye can reach, and no zephyrs float through the atmosphere to give relief from the burning rays of the sun. The ship lies like a log on the water, the discontent and murmurs of the crew increase every day, and in vain do they try to drive the tedium away by practising all sorts of diversion. But the night brings some relief, not only in her calm beauty, but cooling dews refresh the heated atmosphere, and the moon and stars shine forth in unsurpassable glory in the cloudless heavens.

On the first of October, we passed the equator. Neptune, as is his custom with all ships, honored us with a visit. With the early twilight, we heard a deep bass voice that seemed to rise up out of the waves, hail the ship in true nautical style. The helmsman answered through his speaking trumpet, to the usual questions of where we were bound, and from whence we had sailed. Two of the ship boys were listening with all their ears, and peering curiously but vainly over the bulwarks in order to get a sight of old Neptune. At length the voice from the bowsprit made itself more audible, and in the following manner. "I see that there are a few on board that have never before been in my territory, and must submit to the regulations I demand, as it becomes them to do." As the last words were uttered a gigantic figure, his head covered with a periwig of knotted sea-grass, with a false nose, and his face painted in various colors, now ascended the ship's side, and clambered on deck. He carried a speaking trumpet of three feet long in his right hand, under his left arm was a few thick books, and from the leg of his boot a huge wooden compass protruded itself. A masculine woman in whose soot-begrimed lineaments I, with some trouble, recognized those of our boatswain, personating Amphitrite, followed the god of the sea, carrying a long lubberly boy in her arms, wrapped up in an old sail. They were introduced to us by Neptune as his wife and son. Having advanced to the after deck, where the sailors were assembled, he opened one of his colossal books and spread an old sea chart out upon the deck. "Hallo, helmsman," he inquired, "what is your latitude and longitude?" The answer being given, he grumbled something as he pulled his huge compass from his boot, and having carefully measured his old chart, at last struck a hole in it, as he exclaimed, "Here you are—all right—what course are you steering?" "South, south-east!" "You must go four degrees to westward—you will have a better wind," growled Neptune, and therewith he doubled up the chart, and stuck the compass in his boot again. "I must see after my new circumnavigators," he added in the same gruff tone as he turned his eyes on the two before-mentioned boys and one old sailor who, although he had followed the sea for twelve years, had never, until now, crossed the equator; "we must make a nearer acquaintance."

The name, birth, and age of each being inquired into, and duly registered in one of the large books, each one after having his eyes blindfolded, was led by the sailors to the forecastle and seated on a plank, under which was placed a large tub of water. The next operation was to shave them, and accordingly their faces were smeared over with a horrible mixture of shoemaker's wax, train oil and soot, most ungently laid on with a coarse painter's brush. Neptune then performed the office of barber himself, taking a long piece of iron which had once served as the hoop of a tun, he scraped their chins in the most unmerciful manner.

No sooner was this operation ended, then they pulled away the props of the plank on which the three tyros were seated, so that they fell over head and ears in the tub of water below, and thus received what the sailors call a "genuine Neptune's baptism." After all these ceremonies he turned as if to go, but the young sea-god at this moment set up a most fearful outcry—he bawled as loud and lustily as any mortal. "Just listen," said Neptune; "now I cannot go back to my cave in peace, but that cub will roar and bellow the whole night, so as to disturb all the waves below,—nothing even quiets him but a stiff glass of grog, for he likes that far better than sea water."

The captain understood the hint; he laughed and nodded to the steward. Young Neptune continued his lamentation nearly a quarter of an hour; I saw one of the cabin servants carrying a smoking bowl of punch to the foredeck, and the joyful shouts and loud hurrah that attested how welcome was its reception, reached us who were in the cabin below.

On the following day as the ship, driven by a light wind, moved lazily through the waters, we observed two large sharks following in her wake. The sailors were at great pains to take them, but greatly to the vexation of themselves and the passengers who entered quite as eagerly into this sport as themselves, the cunning fish disdained the bait and swam slowly away. To my enquiries of why they had not seized upon the meat thrown out as lure, sharks having always been represented as voracious and greedy, one of the passengers answered,

"It all depends on whether or not they are hungry. In some soundings, where fish abound, I have seen sharks by the hundred, which not only refused the bait, but did not injure the men who went into the water to bathe or accidentally fell overboard. Nevertheless, like yourself, I wonder that these creatures did not bite, for the sharks of the Atlantic are considered particularly greedy."

"I can tell ye," said the boatswain, who was standing close by, "why they did not take hold of the bait. It is because we are just in the track of the Brazilian slave ships; they throw many of the niggers overboard, for many die, and there's no doubt but the creatures find richer morsels than a bit of salt beef."

"Are there not several species of sharks?" I inquired of a passenger who seemed well acquainted with natural history in all its variety.

"A great many," he answered, "and the largest and most rapacious is the white shark, to which class those that have just left us belong. He moves through the Atlantic as if it was his own realm, but is seldom seen beyond the solstitial point, preferring the latitude within the tropics; he is also found in the Mediterranean sea, and also in the gulf of Lyons, where he is peculiarly savage. The blue shark, seen in the English channel, is seldom dangerous; others, larger but less harmless, infest the northern seas, and are often pursued by the whalers merely for sport. Then there is the spotted or tiger shark, not very large but exceedingly rapacious; the hammer shark, which derives its name from the peculiar shape of its head, and the ground shark, which is the most to be dreaded of any, since he lies deep down in the water, and rising suddenly, seizes his prey without any one suspecting his vicinity."

"Suppose a man is so unfortunate as to fall overboard, and a shark is in the neighborhood," said I, "what can he do to save himself? Is there no hope of escaping from his dreadful jaws?"

"The best means I have seen tried," he replied, "and with good effect is, if a man is a good swimmer, to throw himself on his back, splash the water with his feet, and shout with all his strength. The shark is a great coward and easily frightened—noise will always drive him off. When I was on a voyage to the West Indies, two or three years ago, I had a Newfoundland dog with me, who was accustomed to spring into the water from any height, and after anything. I was greatly attached to the animal, and you may imagine my alarm as, one day we were lying becalmed off the West India islands, I saw him jump down and with, loud barkings, as if delighted with the sport, swim after a large shark that was playing around the ship. I expected nothing else but to see him devoured in an instant, but to my astonishment the monster turned and swam vigorously, evidently frightened by the barking of the dog who continued to follow him, until a boat was let down and himself brought back by the sailors.

"A singular method," continued my learned fellow-passenger, "is practised by the divers who collect pearls on the coast of Ceylon. They often let themselves down an hundred feet in order to reach the mud banks where the pearl oysters are to be found, and whilst they are filling their baskets they must watch carefully on all sides lest a shark fall upon them. If they see one near, they stir up the mud, and then while the enemy is blinded by the turbid water they rise as quickly as possible to the surface. Many escape in this manner, but many also fall victims. Fair ladies as they adorn their persons with these costly ornaments think little of the suffering by which they are obtained,—the arduous adventurous life, or of the unfortunates who are annually swallowed by those savages of the deep. When one considers how often those poor Indians must dive to the bottom, to say nothing of the loss of life, before a string of pearls can be obtained, we may confidently assert that every necklace has been purchased by at least the life of one human being."

Scudding now before a fresher wind, we steered towards the south and soon found ourselves in a colder climate. The flying fish played lively as ever around the ship, and one night so many fell on deck as to furnish an excellent mess for breakfast. Black dolphins, the greatest enemy of their flying neighbors, tumbled playfully about in the rippling water, and at times encircled the ship in great numbers. Their motion is swift and vigorous,—so much so that it is scarcely possible to strike them with a harpoon.

On the 20th of October we reached the latitude of the Cape of Good Hope. Flocks of sea birds fluttered around our masts, for this colder region is the home of the beautiful sea dove, the great white albatross and an innumerable multitude of smaller kinds, that on the approach of stormy weather seem to rise, as by the stroke of a magician's wand, from the sea. One of the few changes one meets with on a voyage to Africa is angling for birds, for they are as easily taken as the finny tribe, by baiting a fish-hook with a piece of fat meat, and especially so in those rough seas, upon whose surface little to nourish can be found, they seize greedily upon the hook, which fastens itself readily in their crooked bills. All these sea birds are clothed with a coat of feathers so thick and elastic that except in one or two places they are invulnerable to a bullet.

The fable of the Flying Dutchman is well known—the Demon ship is still supposed to traverse his unwearied but unprofitable course in the neighborhood of the Cape. The weather is stormy almost throughout the year, the skies ever dark and cloudy, but while other ships, scarcely able to keep themselves steadily afloat, dare show but one or two storm sails, the phantom ship is scudding before the gale under a full press of canvass. Our captain assured us with an expression of countenance which showed that he himself believed what he asserted, that he had once seen the Dutchman under crowded sail in Table Bay hardly two English miles distant; that he had altered his course in order to come up with him, but all at once he vanished, and although he steered a long time in the same direction, he found no trace of him. The thing easily explains itself when one considers that the sky is always dark and foggy, the sea rough and tempestuous, and not seldom sudden storms of hail and snow prevent the voyager from seeing a quarter of a mile before him; how easy then to lose sight of a vessel in an instant.

Much more dangerous than the Flying Dutchman are the floating bodies of ice, found also in these latitudes; and which often cause great damage to ships, for owing to the thickness of the atmosphere they are not seen, until they are driven against them. A few years ago an English frigate in doubling the Cape, ran foul of an iceberg with such force that she sprung a leak, and broke the rudder in splinters. Luckily a puff of wind that streamed from a cleft in the ice and threw back the sails, freed the ship from her perilous condition since another stroke upon the iceberg would have dashed her to pieces.

There is no climate where gurnets are found in such numbers as in the neighborhood of the Cape. In stormy or cloudy nights the sparkle of these beautiful sea-fish is the brightest. The troubled waves as they dash their foam-crested waters against the ship, glitter as though thousands of brilliant stars were seen among them, and as the rushing keel divides them in her course, the effect is indescribable, and recalls to the mind of the spectator tales of fairies and sea-nymphs that come up from their ocean caves to gaze with bright and curious eyes on the daring mortals that invade their realm.

After doubling the Cape, we had sailed a whole week with a steady and favorable wind towards the Isle of Bourbon, when on one clear day whilst all were assembled on the deck, we were startled by a cannon shot fired at no great distance, and came booming over the waters like the voice of thunder. The captain was hastily summoned from his cabin, but ere he made his appearance a second report broke upon the deep stillness that succeeded the first. At the same moment a sailor on the lookout called out from above, that he "saw a light over the bows of the ship, but could not make out what it was." "Is it a ship," inquired the captain, as he began hastily to ascend the mainmast. "No, sir!" was the answer, "the light is too large to come from a ship's lantern, and it cannot be the Isle of Bourbon." "It must be a vessel on fire," exclaimed the captain, as many cannon shots broke upon the silent air, "Bourbon lies much farther to the north. Aloft there! crowd on sail—in order to carry help to those unfortunates before it is too late!"

Whilst the sailors were busy in executing the captain's orders, he bade the gunners fire the cannon so that the crew of the burning ship might know that help was near. In half an hour from the first alarm, we could plainly discern the blazing vessel with the naked eye, and soon after distinguished the whirling columns of flame as they towered above the masts. The night, too, had come on, and the impression made by the lurid light that shone far over the quiet waters, and the booming sound of cannon that from time to time burst on its stillness, was one too awful to be soon forgotten. "If we only do not reach them too late!" cried one of the passengers who, like the sailors, never even turned their eyes away from the burning spectacle. "I hope the crew have taken to their boats before this," said the captain, who with his nightglass to his eye was steadfastly regarding the unfortunate ship.

The breeze springing up more freshly, we sailed with increased speed towards the distressed vessel, the forepart of which was now one sheet of flame; we saw the angry fiery element enveloping the foremast from top to bottom as in a garment, now sweep over to the mainmast, the sails of which were instantly on fire. How far the conflagration had proceeded inside we could not ascertain; but we were very certain the crew had left her and taken to the boats, for our continued cannon shots were answered by muskets fired from the barge and jolly boat.

As we approached carefully so as to avoid danger to ourselves from the collision with the burning ship, a wild cry arose from the foredeck of the latter—piercing yet mournful, and while pained and astonished we looked about to discover what it meant, a spectacle singular as fearful met our eyes. The ship had a number of animals on board which were being taken to England for a menagerie. In their haste to leave, the crew had either forgotten to unloose them, or feared that by liberating them, they might meet in their rage a worse enemy than even the fire. In wild and unavailing efforts, they dashed furiously against the iron bars that inclosed them, and their fearful cries almost drowned the hissing and crackling sound of the flames. At length they reached the mizzenmast, and the falling yards loosened a plank or two of one of the cages—a noble lion with flowing mane and glaring eyes burst forth and sprung overboard. At the same instant an elephant had freed himself from the rope which fettered his hind legs. Flourishing his long proboscis he rushed into the midst of the fire, but soon driven back by the heat he retreated to a portion of the foredeck which had not yet ignited, and his death-cry echoed loud and mournfully over the dusky ocean.

The falling of the mainmast ended the sad catastrophe. The cages of the other animals had taken fire, and their wild occupants bursting through the half burned planks, showed their dark forms here and there on the deck, and maddened with pain, shrieked aloud in agony as they plunged into the sea. The elephant drew himself up as for a last effort, and was about to spring overboard, as one bright, blinding glare shot athwart our eyes, and the next moment, vessel, animals, all had vanished as if by magic. The explosion that followed instantly—the sparkling brands that were hurled in all directions, explained that the flames had reached the magazine and thus blown up the luckless ship.