a week, or more, perhaps,' observed La Motte; she is evidently outward-bound, and many a long day may pass before we get back to England.'

'Better that than being swamped or dying by inches,' was the

answer.

Finally, we discovered that all the men, including Andrews, had made up their minds to be quit of the boat at all events. La Motte told me that he knew how anxious I was to return home, and that he was ready, if I wished it, to remain with me in the boat, and to endeavour to make the shore.

Sincerely I thanked him for this mark of his friendship and kindness. I debated in my mind whether I ought to accept his offer. In my anxiety to reach home, I would have risked everything; still I thought that I ought not to expose the life of another person for my sake. How I might have decided, I scarcely know. I suspect that I should have accepted his offer, but the matter was pretty well settled for us.

Clouds had been gathering for some time in the sky, and while we were speaking, thin flakes of snow began to fall, and continued increasing in density, so that we could scarcely see the approaching ship. We could not ascertain whether we had been seen by those on board before the snowstorm came on, and, if not, there was too great a probability that she would pass us. At all events, she was now completely hidden

from our view.

We calculated that if she kept on the exact course she was on when last seen, we should be rather to the southward of her. We therefore got out our oars, and endeavoured to pull up to her. Every one, however, was so weak, that it was with difficulty we could urge the boat through the water. Our last morsel of food had been consumed that morning; indeed, for the two previous days we had taken barely enough to support life.

GET ALONGSIDE AN EMIGRANT SHIP.

303

We looked about-we could not see the ship-we shouted at the top of our voices-all was silent-we pulled on-again we shouted, or rather shrieked out. A hail came from the eastward. It sounded loud and clear compared to the hollow tones of our voices. Presently the dark hull and wide-spreading sails of a ship broke on our sight through the veil of falling snow, and directly afterwards we dropped alongside her.

She hailed us in German. I understood a little of the language, but La Motte spoke it perfectly. Great indeed was our satisfaction to find from this that she belonged to a friendly power. She appeared to have a great number of passengers on board, for they crowded the sides and gangway to look at us, and very miserable objects, I daresay, we appeared.

Thinking probably that we were afraid of them, they told us that the ship was the Nieuwland, belonging to Bremen, bound for Baltimore, in the United States, and that the people we saw were Hanoverian emigrants.

When we told them in return that we were Englishmen escaping from a French privateer which had captured us, they warmly pressed us to come on board. When, however, we tried to get up to climb up the sides, we found that we could scarcely stand on our legs, much less help ourselves on deck. Three or four of our companions were so weak and ill that they could not rise even from the bottom of the boat, and it was sad to see them, as they lay on their backs, stretching out their hands for help. to those who were looking down on them over the ship's side.

Certainly we all must have presented a perfect picture of woe and misery-half-frozen and famished-pale, haggard, shivering, with our beards unshaven, and our hair hanging lank and wet over our faces, our lips blue, our eyes bloodshot, our clothes dripping with moisture. Our condition was bad enough to excite the compassion of any one.

The master and seamen of the ship and the emigrants evidently felt for us, by the exclamations we heard them utter. They quickly fitted slings, which were lowered to hoist us up, and the seamen came into the boat to help us. One after the other we were conveyed on board, and at once carried below. Not one of us could have stood, had it been to save our lives.

I felt grateful for the looks of pity which were cast on us as we were lifted along the deck, while many of the emigrants volunteered to give up their berths. I remember how delightful I felt it to find myself stripped of my damp clothing, lying between dry blankets, with a bottle of hot water at my feet and another on my chest, while kind-hearted people were rubbing my limbs to restore circulation. It was some time, however, before anything like the proper amount of heat came back to my chilled frame. Then some warm drink was given me, and I fell into a deep slumber.

I believe that I slept nearly twenty-four hours on a stretch without once waking. At last, when I opened my eyes, daylight was streaming down on me through the open hatchway. The doctor came and felt my pulse. He spoke a little English, and told me to keep up my spirits, and that I should do very well. Then some broth was brought me by one of the emigrants, and after I had taken it I felt very much better. I inquired after my companions.

They are not all in as good case as you are,' said the doctor. Two poor fellows have died, and a third, I fear, will not be long with us.'

'Which of them have gone?' I asked. 'I trust the officer, La Motte, is doing well.'

'He is weak, and suffers much, but still I have hopes that he may recover,' was the answer.

I was very sad on hearing this, yet I felt what cause I had to be