nger.

Another awful night was to be passed, yet the weather being
considerably more moderate, the sufferers entertained hopes that it
would be less disastrous than the one preceding; and to preserve
themselves from the cold, they crowded close together and covered
themselves with their few remaining rags. But the ravings of their
comrades who had drank salt water were truly horrible; all endeavors
to quiet them were ineffectual, and the power of sleep lost its
influence. In the middle of the night they were unexpectedly hailed by
the crew of the whale-boat; but the only object of the people on the
rock was water; they cried out to their shipmates for it, though in
vain. Earthen vessels only could have been procured, and these would
not bear being conveyed through the surf. The coxswain then said they
should be taken off the rock by a fishing vessel in the morning, and
with this assurance they were forced to be content. It was some
consolation to know that the boat was safe, and that relief had so far
been obtained.

All the people anxiously expected morning, and, for the first time
since being on the rock, the sun cheered them with its rays. Still the
fourth morning came and no tidings either of the boat or vessel. The
anxiety of the people increased, for inevitable death from famine, was
staring them in the face. What were they to do for self-preservation?
The misery and hunger which they endured, were extreme; they were not
ignorant of the means whereby other unfortunate mariners in the like
situation had protracted life, yet they viewed them with disgust.
Still when they had no alternative, they considered their urgent
necessities and found them affording some excuse. Offering prayers to
Heaven for forgiveness of the sinful act, they selected a young man
who had died the preceding night, and ventured to appease their hunger
with human flesh.

Whether the people were relieved is uncertain, for towards evening
death had made hasty strides among them, and many brave men drooped
under their hardships. Among these were the captain and first
lieutenant, two meritorious officers: and the sullen silence now
preserved by the survivors, shewed the state of their internal
feelings. Captain Palmer was in the 26th year of his age; amidst his
endeavors to comfort those under his command, his companions in
misfortune, his personal injuries were borne with patience and
resignation, and no murmurs escaped his lips; his virtuous