CHAPTER VIII.
Our last night on the American Continent was hot and oppressive. I lay awake hour after hour, thinking over the strange fate that had befallen our country, and forecasting the destinies of the little remnant of which I was leader. America was become a geographical expression. Her amazing wealth and fame were no more:—
"Fuit Ilium, et ingens gloria Teucrorum."
But even as these sad words crossed my mind there came by way of contrast and consolation others more cheering:—
"The remnant that is escaped shall again take root downward, and bear fruit upward."
So was it written of the old House of Judah, and was it not possible that after a more complete and terrible uprooting our national vine might have a still more glorious renewal than they? As I pondered these things and thought how we were about to commit the whole population of a continent to three frail undermanned ships, I trembled
