to their oars. It was 9 p.m. when they departed. The moon was shining brightly in the east—the alabaster mountains of ice were scattered about upon the darkening waters—the craggy rocks sharply cut their black profiles against the distant sky, and the winds were gently but coldly blowing in sad harmony with the occasion. As they vanished from my view I said to myself, 'Will the civilized world ever see these desperate men again? It is next to a miracle if so. And yet what lesson do they teach me? If these nine men can undertake such a voyage, and under such wretched circumstances, with so little preparation, why should not I, having far better means, be able to accomplish mine?' 'For themselves,' I added, 'God be with them! I know not how just or unjust their cause may be, but I do know that human life is now at stake, and my sympathy goes with them.'"
Before I pass from this strange occurrence, it will be better to give the sequel of their history, so far as yet known, through three of the wretched crew who reached Indian Harbour, Labrador. The following particulars I gleaned at St. John's, Newfoundland, on my way home in the fall of 1862.
It seems that a Captain Nathan Norman, who does business in Labrador, and is also a magistrate, encountered the survivors of this boat's crew, and, hearing their tale, demanded from them a statement in writing; whereupon one of them, Sullivan by name, drew up an account, the original of which is in my possession. It was given to me by Robert Winton, Esq. editor and proprietor of the St. John's Daily News, through C. O. Leach, Esq., United States consul at that place. The following is a verbatim copy of Sullivan's written statement, made in the fall of 1861:—
"My name is John F. Sullivan. I left my home in South Hadley Falls, Mass. about the 1st of March, 1860, for Boston. I remained in Boston until the 20th of the same month. I applied at different offices for a chance to ship; being a stranger in the place, and a green hand, I found it very difficult to get a berth to suit me. At last I got a little discouraged, and that day signed my name at No. 172, Commercial Street, Boston, and left for New Bedford, Mass. Next morning I shipped to go aboard of the ship Daniel Webster, then laying at New Bedford, but to sail the same day on a whaling cruise to Davis's Straits, to be gone 18 months.
