preparations were accordingly made, and we left the schooner, with tide and wind in our teeth, and with the prospect of a severe, cold night. Our hands pulled well, and our bark was as light as our hearts. All went on merrily until dark night came on. The wind freshening, the cold augmenting, the provisions diminishing, the waters lowering, all—all depreciating except our enterprising dispositions. We found ourselves fast in the mud about 300 yards from a marshy shore, without the least hope of being able to raise a fire, for no trees except palm trees were near, and the _grand diable_ himself could not burn one of them. Our minds were soon made up to do—what? Why, to roll ourselves in our cloaks, and lay down, the best way we could, at the bottom of our light and beautiful barque. Good God, what a night! To sleep was impossible; the cold increased with the breeze, and every moment seemed an hour, from the time we stretched ourselves down until the first glimpse of the morn; but the morn came, clear as ever morn was, and the north-easter as cold as ever wind blew in this latitude. All hands half dead, and masters as nearly exhausted as the hands—stiffened with cold, light-clothed, and but slight hope of our nearing any shore; our only resort was, to leap into the mire, waste-deep, and to push the barque to a point, some five hundred or six hundred yards, where a few scrubby trees seem to have grown to save our lives on this occasion. "Push, boys, push! Push for your lives!", cry the generous Bulow, and the poor Audubon.—"All hands push!" Aye and well might we push: the mire was up to our breasts, our limbs becoming stiffened at every step we took. Our progress was slowly performed as if we had been clogged with heavy chains. It took us two and a half hours to reach the point, where the few trees of which I have spoken were; but, thank God, we did get there.