d,
in getting Little Lucy to sleep, sang her a song. She had a soft,
melodious voice, and, when she had finished it, our people up and begged
for another. She sang them another, and after it had fallen dark ended
with the Evening Hymn. From that time, whenever anything could be heard
above the sea and wind, and while she had any voice left, nothing would
serve the people but that she should sing at sunset. She always did, and
always ended with the Evening Hymn. We mostly took up the last line, and
shed tears when it was done, but not miserably. We had a prayer night
and morning, also, when the weather allowed of it.

Twelve nights and eleven days we had been driving in the boat, when old
Mr. Rarx began to be delirious, and to cry out to me to throw the gold
overboard or it would sink us, and we should all be lost. For days past
the child had been declining, and that was the great cause of his
wildness. He had been over and over again shrieking out to me to give
her all the remaining meat, to give her all the remaining rum, to save
her at any cost, or we should all be ruined. At this time, she lay in
her mother's arms at my feet. One of her little hands was almost always
creeping about her mother's neck or chin. I had watched the wasting of
the little hand, and I knew it was nearly over.

The old man's cries were so discordant with the mother's love and
submission, that I called out to him in an angry voice, unless he held
his peace on the instant, I would order him to be knocked on the head and
thrown overboard. He was mute then, until the child died, very
peacefully, an hour afterwards: which was known to all in the boat by the
mother's breaking out into lamentations for the first time since the
wreck--for, she had great fortitude and constancy, though she was a
little gentle woman. Old Mr. Rarx then became quite ungovernable,
tearing what rags he had on him, raging in imprecations, and calling to
me that if I had thrown the gold overboard (always the gold with him!) I
might have saved the child. "And now," says he, in a terrible voice, "we
shall founder, and all go to the Devil, for our sins will sink us, when
we have no innocent child to bear us up!" We so discovered with
amazement, that this old wretch had only cared for the life of the pretty
little creature dear to all of us, because of the influence he
superstitiously hoped she might have in preserving him! Altogether it
was too much for the smit