“‘Hast thou no confidence in the Great Being thy mother worships?’ he softly said, as he pressed him to his breast, but his eye was fairly fixed on one of the boats, in which he thought he could distinguish the garments of a female. The foaming waters seemed to threaten instant destruction to the frail barques, as they tost from wave to wave, sometimes half hid in the surf that broke over them. At this moment a mingled cry reached the shore, and but one boat was seen, the other was ’whelmed beneath the waters. Wiccónsat broke from the clinging arms of the youth, and plunged into the waves. For some time he was lost to their view, but his strong and sinewy arms forced a passage to the scene of distress, and in a short time he was seen returning, supporting, with one arm, the form of a female. The young James, who had been forcibly withheld from following, now rushed to meet him, and Rosalie (for it was she) opened her eyes to be clasped to the bosom of her son. She lived, she breathed, and the first word that trembled on her lips was the name of her husband. Scarcely had she spoken, ere the generous chief had again thrown himself into the waves. But his strength was exhausted by previous exertion, and when, with difficulty, he had nearly reached the overturned boat to which the husband of Rosalie, with others, now clung, a floating piece of the ship’s mast struck him on the temple. In the mean time, the other boat had safely landed its crew, and was despatched to the aid of the sufferers, who were all, with the exception of two, saved. “Rosalie had been conveyed to the nearest house, and restoratives were applied, which soon brought her to a state of recollection. She recognized with joy, the form of her husband, as he knelt by the side of her couch, and pressed, with a mother’s fondness, the hand of her affectionate son. But her eyes wandered around the room as if in search of another object. ‘It was a dream then,’ she murmured, ‘it was not his, but thy dear arm that drew thy mother from the waves.’ “‘Alas! no, it was he, the generous and the good,’ replied her son. “‘Wiccónsat! brave chief! but why those looks of anguish; is this, my son, a time for sorrow, when Heaven has been so kind? And my preserver, where lingers he?’ “‘Where his bright virtues will be best rewarded,’ replied her husband, solemnly. “‘What mean you? Surely he is safe.’ “‘He perished in an attempt to save my life.’ She heard no more, for she had fainted in the arms of her son, and it was long ere she revived, to mingle with theirs her tears of unavailing regret.