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the captain, otherwise so courageous and composed as a seaman, in this horrible moment, lost his presence of mind. "God have mercy on us!" cried he, full of despair; "we are cast on the rocks, and in a few moments we shall be a wreck." JULIA. A wreck?

FATHER. This is what it is called in seamen's language, when a ship is either wholly swallowed up, and driven about on the billows-or at least so affected by the tempest, that it cannot proceed on its voyage, when, for example, it has lost its masts or rudder, as was the case with our ship.

The wreck is about sinking!" With horror they all heard this doom of deathin the greatest distress every one was looking for the moment when the wreck should go asunder, the sides be parted, the water press in, and all be swallowed up by the raging billows.

MARIA. Poor men! I tremble at the thought of their being so abandoned.

JULIA. Who could not here save themselves as Robinson Crusoe did himself, by swimming.

GUSTAVUS. And if they did fortunately swim through, where would they land? What means of living would they have found, where there was a desolate island? Robinson Crusoe was far better off; he found fruits, and a warm climate, where he could dry and warm himself. These poor people had nothing but snow and ice to look on. But, father

FATHER. Some anxious, dreadful moments passed before the unfortunate men could again recover their senses. The captain was the first to whose heart courage and composure returned. At the side of the calm pilot or steersman he left the cabin and went with him into the hold, that is, the lowest part of the ship, where they both saw, to their great joy, that the ship was entirely dry inside.

MARIA. How so? What good could this do?

FATHER. It proved thus much, that the body or hull of the ship had not suffered. The sea water, if it had been otherwise, would have come through, and the whole space or hold would have been filled with water. At the same time they noticed that the waves no longer beat so violently, and from this circumstance very

justly concluded that the storm, if it had not yet perfectly calmed, must have very considerably spent its rage. Inspired by new hope, they both of them hastened to their trembling associates, to carry to them a piece of news which, for the moment, must have been the most joyful. Now the calm pilot proposed to open one of the port-holes, which had been kept closed. MARIA. Port-holes?

FATHER. Gustavus, that belongs to your department.

GUSTAVUS. Port-holes are, in a ship, what loop-holes are in a wall or entrenchment, openings through which the muzzles of the cannon are run out. They are provided with doors that they may be shut in a storm, so that the swelling waves may not come into the ship.

FATHER. Now, the pilot opened such a port-hole, and looked up to the starry heavens above him. The feeble light which the stars gave was sufficient to distinguish, around the ship, an indistinct calm surface, which was lost afar off in the boundless distance. The pilot wondered at the silence of the waters, which still roared and raged continually and awfully on the other side of the ship. He called out to his companions. They all came together; then some one mounted on the quarter-deck.

JULIA. Is not that the highest part of the ship!

FATHER. Yes. We might compare it to the roof of a house, only that it is flat. The seamen often call it the upper promenade of the ship. Large ships have many decks, which as in a building, separate the different stories. You may thus often read the expression "threedecker," which commonly means a large ship of war.

They now mounted on the quarter-deck. The cold fresh air was the more beneficial to all as the unfortunate men had spent many days in the confined space of the cabin. But how great was their terror when they saw that the wide extent which the pilot took for a calm and quiet sea was a monstrous field of ice.

JULIA. Was this so very frightful? I should have thought it would be better than if the ship had been on a rock.

GUSTAVUS. One would be as dangerous as the other. Would it not father?

FATHER. And probably the dashing on the ice would be more dangerous than on a rock. A cliff can easier be climbed; there is in it some cleft, or gully, or cavern, which might afford protection or warmth; or perhaps a spring, a beast, or some plant which might serve as food for them when enfeebled. But of all this nothing is found on an empty field of ice. At the moment when the unfortunates mounted the upper deck it was clearer than in midday; the sun of the short day had risen, a small portion of the disc moved above the horizon, and diffused so much light that the poor men could perceive the horrors of their situation. The wreck lay in an iceberg bay, which was protected on three sides against the pressure of the waves. On the fourth, the sea was indeed open, but the current drove in monstrous heaps of ice, which shut fast the bay, so that it might be clearly seen how the return was more and more destroyed by every new mass of ice. Destruction seemed unavoidable, for only one great ice-cake was necessary to be driven against the wreck to crush and shatter it to pieces.

MARIA. If the passage now, at least, had remained open!

use.

FATHER. This would have been of little The ship was a wreck, without sail; they could no longer steer and guide it; to undertake a long voyage with it would be impossible, as the unfortunates knew not in what region they were. If the storm was indeed really over, yet, suppose they could reach navigable water, it would be so high up, and in so open a sea, that the wreck could not long bear their shattering motion. In a word, dear children, destruction seemed only too certain. JULIA. What, then, did the poor people do?

FATHER. You can easily imagine their situation. In the first moment, when they gained the, fearful conviction of the horrible certainty, they were driven almost to desperation. On all sides they saw danger and death; nowhere did the slightest ray of hope appear of their being able to save themselves. In such a condition man sees only misfortune; fear blinds him against every possible means of deliverance. When the unfortunate man in some degree composes him

self he will first be more regardful of everything; he thinks of them more accurately, and oftentimes it happens to him to discover a new and hitherto unknown mode of relief-he begins to hope, the new hope teaches him to know his new powers, increases his activity to use them, despair vanishes, and the unfortunate man is no longer wholly miserable.

GUSTAVUS. And it was so, was it not, with our unfortunates?

FATHER. As you might expect from brave persons, whom not their conduct but their profession had brought into misfortune.

After some hours the little glimmer of light which in this zone at this time of the year they call day, disappeared; the captain took an observation, and then found that they were in the seventy-first degree of north latitude. this expression? plained it to you. what occasion? MAX. O yes, sir. When we were taking our voyage round the world with Cook and Kotzebue.

66

Do you understand I have heretofore exDo you recollect on

FATHER. It was now September. Only a few weeks remained, and entire night would set in, a circumstance which much increased the anxiety of our unfortunates. They heard this news with horror. The captain, a firm, composed man, who had in numerous voyages contended with many dangers, and had conquered, first recovered his presence of mind and courage. He caused the whole ship's company to gather around him. 'Friends," he began, "that I would gladly help you all, even at the sacrifice of mine own life, you may well believe; but you see that in this case I can do nothing. We are in the hands of Almighty God, and must give up ourselves to his will. Without his aid nothing will help us; if he wills to save us he can do it, though this iceberg may tower around us yet higher, and the sea become more impetuous. He can save us when and how he will. Only we must do our duty. Faint-heartedness and mute despair will do us no good; they only injure us. have been almost three days without an ordinary meal, and without a moment of sleep. We ought not to neglect our bodies; we know not yet how greatly we may need our powers to contend with dan

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gers of which we are not aware. If we keep our bodies sound and powerful, our minds and spirits too will be the more active and lively." He commanded them, therefore to light up the ship's lanterns; the cook must prepare a good nourishing meal; all must eat and drink heartily, and then they must lie down in their hammocks to sleep. The captain did so, but it was in vain for him to close his eyes; he could not get the desired repose. He thought of his unfortunate companions, who were under his command, and whose fate was placed in his hands; he felt that he must care for them, and a care of this sort, joined to the most torturing anxiety for his own life, would allow no one to obtain slumber.

MARIA. The captain must certainly have been a good man. Many others in his place would have been occupied with himself only, without caring for others.

FATHER. Certainly; he was a brave man, who indeed had deserved a better lot. But especially the fate of Ivan and Gregory lay near his heart. He recollected that he had advised them to the voyage, and had induced them also to undertake it contrary to their father's will. He read in their countenances the bitterest repentance for their conduct towards their father; and now reproached himself most severely for it.

GUSTAVUS. But Ivan and Gregory had written to their father?

MOTHER. You think, then, that this was enough? How now if their poor

father had not consented when he sorrowfully, and in vain stretched forth his hands to his dear Ivan? How, if the pain of seeing himself forsaken by his son, and having lost all the hopes founded on him, had brought the old man upon a sick bed and to the grave? Would all this be repaired by a letter?

FATHER. Surely not! I hope Gustavus will feel this, and not act so that he will be obliged to reproach himself. Especially the captain pitied the good Ivan. It did not escape him how cast down and sorrowful the young man was. He knew, too, that want of courage was not the cause of his being so downcast, for Ivan was a young man of very resolute feelings; but he felt firmly convinced that it was Ivan's grief at having made his

father drink so deeply of sorrow which lay heavy on his heart.

He

GUSTAVUS. But, dear father, Ivan's object was, however, praiseworthy. had undertaken the voyage for his own improvement.

FATHER. This was indeed far better than if a blameworthy levity had determined him to do so, but it does not excuse him. Ivan deeply felt this. With the thought of his poor father, his conscience was aroused, which is never the case with any one except when he does wrong; and so Ivan was obliged to suffer the reproaches of his own heart without, alas! the consolation which others had-that they had brought themselves into this misfortune in the pursuit of their calling, and attending to their duty.

MARIA. That reminds me of Robinson Crusoe.

JULIA. It is true; and it was just so, too, he thought of himself, when he was on the desolate island.

MOTHER. Ivan would have done better, if he had reflected on all this beforehand, as he might have done, and had conducted himself according to this conviction. His own heart would have been spared many sorrows, if he had thought deeply of the consequence of his conduct. Never act as he did, my dear children. Who of you would wish yourself to be in Ivan's or Robinson Crusoe's place, and to feel the reproaches which they both made to themselves?

MARIA. Certainly no one of us, mother dear.

FATHER. Ivan lay on his bed continually awake, while others were sleeping. Finally, he ceased to be conscious of his thoughts, but it was more the perfect exhaustion and wearisomeness, more a fainting away, than slumber. How long he lay in this state of unconsciousness, he could not determine when the captain woke him. "Let the others sleep quietly," he said. "They are fortunate; we will not disturb them. It tranquillizes me to know that they are happier than I am." "What shall I then do?" asked Ivan, raising himself up. "You must accompany me." "And whither ?" "I have not been able to shut my eyes from disquiet. I must have certainty." what?" "As to our fate. I have ob.

"As to

served that in a short time now it will be day. I saw it from the quarter-deck. At the same time, I noticed that the ice is piled up continually higher above the wreck. We must see whether there is no land to be discovered."

Still half buried in his swooning slumber, Ivan took his gun. With difficulty they both climbed up a high cake of ice frozen close to the wreck. On their left hand the sun, although it was mid-day, appearing deep and bloody red through the mist, stood at the horizon. The air blew piercingly. A vast boundless field of ice, scattered over with sparkling flakes of snow, lay like a mirror before the eyes of both of them. With the most anxious observation, the captain, by the help of a spy-glass which he carried along with him, looked over the dead level, and who can describe his joy, when he clearly saw land afar off on the western horizon, and at the same time could distinguish some rocks and mountains!

MAX. God be praised! It certainly was an island.

JULIA. I am right glad that the poor people could see the land!

MARIA. And with what joy could they carry to the others this news!

MOTHER. Well observed, Maria! The joy of others is pleasant to the good man, and it makes him happy when he can impart something comforting to others.

FATHER. Both of them now went down to the deeply lying wreck. Many of the crew were awake, and sat thinking over their fate in deep meditation. "In the north there is land!" cried the captain, joyfully. "We have seen it; we can distinguish the particular mountains." This information enlivened them all with new hopes. Though the dangers were ever so great, the uncertainty of their fate ever so torturing, this one piece of tidings banished all their sorrows. The prospect of saving their lives filled them all with thankful joy, and confidence in the Divine aid again strongly entered into their souls.

MAX. But was the deliverance then already so sure, that they could rejoice in it with certainty?

FATHER. In the first moment of joy of the unfortunate man enlivened by hope, he does not think of this. It is enough for

him for the first only to be able to hope, and a little ray of hope calms his heart in the greatest danger. Our unfortunates were already satisfied, when they heard the word land. Whether it was a waste uncultivated island, or a ridge of barren, bare rocks whether they would find the means of living-whether they would ever have the opportunity to go back to their native country-or what sorrowful future might await them in the land discovered

of these things not one of them thought in the first moment of joy. Enough for them that they knew land to be near them. MAX. Now, did they go on it?

FATHER. That was not at once possible. All must not together leave the wreck, in order not to give up the means of living, and other supplies which were there. Besides, they were not yet acquainted with the country, and it was therefore concluded that first some of the ship's company should go there and bring back tidings to those who were left behind of what they found there. The captain called for volunteers for this enterprise, and at once Ivan and Gregory offered themselves to undertake the commission. To them was joined the Russian pilot, or steersman; and so they three went forth with their fire-arms, and a sufficient store of means of food, and of the supply of other wants.

MAX. How far off was the land?

FATHER. This could not be accurately determined. Between the wreck and the land discovered, there was a field of ice smooth as glass, on which no distance can be measured, because no object could be distinguished, by means of its form and colour, for a standard. The sky was somewhat clouded, and the air foggy; our three travellers were therefore obliged to direct themselves by the regions of the sky in which the mountains were observed. Among the packages which they had taken with them were also some torches of pitch, in order to be able to light up and explore caverns and chasms which they might at any time discover. Besides, would soon be night; and then it was possible that they might meet with wild beasts, which, as is well known, mostly fly before fire. They had, too, another object in view. Ivan and his companions, if they found any cavern that could be

inhabited, or any dwelling, were to place a burning torch on the point of the rock, in order to give to those whom they had left behind on the wreck, a signal.

GUSTAVUS. That was like a signal-fire in mountainous countries.

FATHER. Very true. This signal-fire would show that a dwelling or residence had been found, and likewise serve as a guide to those who were to come on after them.

MAX. You speak of a dwelling. Could they expect to find anything of that kind here?

FATHER. At least this was not impossible. They knew not in what region they were, and could not determine whether the land discovered was a part of Greenland, or perhaps of Norway, where some dwellings are always found. But supposing also that the land was the island of Spitzbergen-as they afterwards found was really the case-this precaution was not without use.

MARIA. Are there any dwellings there? FATHER. All seamen are familiar with the story, according to which several sailors had passed a whole year on this barren island. The poor men had left the ship, which was inclosed by the ice, gone on land, and, on their return to the coast, saw that the ice and ship had disappeared. Previously some unfortunate persons had wintered there, who had built a hut in a valley.

MAX. Had this, then, really happened, or was it only a mere saying-a story?

FATHER. It was true, at least, as to the main thing. The history of the unfortunate sailors affords many particulars which confirm this story. You recollect, surely, of a Hollander, Heemsker, and of a Dane, Monke, who both of them had experienced the same fate. Yet supposing that this could not be reckoned on, the captain remembered to have heard, that the whale fishers, who venture into this region, had built huts in many places, in which the coopers made barrels for the preservation of their oil. It was, therefore, more than probable that three such well-prepared enterprising persons would find one of these huts, to which afterwards the shining torch might show the others the way.

From the wreck, they might easily take all necessary supplies to their new abode.

Then could they brave the winter, and continually be in expectation that the future summer would discover to them a ship, and this would again carry them back to their own land.

MAX. O, this caution was rightly thought of!

JULIA. Thank heaven, that the poor people are safe, and well preserved under a roof, and with the necessary supplies! FATHER. But are they so?

JULIA. O, now I imagine they must have left the wreck, did they not?

FATHER. I would gladly sketch for you a picture of the happy union again of those who were so separated from each other, and their return to their native land, but

MOTHER. Dear father, it is now late. You have related to us longer this evening than usual. To-morrow, my children, you may hear how it fared with the poor people.

JULIA. I wish, father, that you had not spoken that last sentence. Now I shall dream all night of these poor people.

GUSTAVUS. That is being better off than to freeze and starve with them in Spitzbergen.

(To be continued.)

Are

PUBLISHING FAULTS.-How natural it is for persons to publish the faults of others! A man's good deeds are seldom noticed, no matter how numerous or constant they are. But let a man whose general course is marked by every thing that is praiseworthy, commit only one fault, and how ready every one is to give it publicity! The news flies like wildfire from house to house, and everybody is ready to condemn. Why is this? evil deeds so rare in this sinful world of ours, that every act of the kind should be held up as a matter of curiosity? Or, are the good deeds so natural and plenty that they are not worth mentioning? Or, may we not ask, are we not all of us so guilty ourselves, that it is a kind of selfish gratification to find that others are no better than we are? Whatever may be the reason, there should be more of a disposition among men to cover the faults of others, and to hold up virtue by speaking of good acts when they are seen. "Do to others, as you would have them do unto you." That rule is always good.

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