Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXI, No. 5, November 1842Various
General
Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXI, No. 5, November 1842
Various
Literature -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals
“Mother—father—I die happy, for we shall meet in heaven,” were the
words that fell in broken murmurs from his lips, and then he sunk back
on my lap and was dead. The sun, at the instant, was just sinking behind
the distant seaboard. Ah! little did his mother, as she gazed on the
declining luminary from her humble cottage window, think that that sun
beheld the dying hour of her boy. Little did she think, as she knelt
that night in prayer for him, that she was praying for one whose silent
corpse rocked far away on the fathomless sea. Let us hope that when, in
her sleep, she dreamed of hearing his loved voice once more, his spirit
was hovering over her, whispering comfort in her ear. Thank God that we
can believe the dead thus revisit earth, and become ministering angels
to the sorrowing who are left behind!
Another sun went and came, and even the stoutest of hearts began to give
way. For twenty-three days had we drifted on the pathless deep, and in
all that time not a sail had appeared—nothing had met our sight but the
brazen sky above and the unbroken deep below. During the greater portion
of that period we had lain motionless on the glittering sea, for a
succession of calms had prevailed, keeping us idly rocking on the long,
monotonous swell. When the sun of the twenty-fourth day rose, vast and
red, there was not one of us whose strength was more than that of an
infant; and though, at the first intimation of dawn, we gazed around the
horizon as we were wont, there was little of hope in our dim and glazing
eyes. Suddenly, however, the topman’s look became animated, and the
color went and came into his face, betokening his agitation. Following
the direction of his eyes, I saw a small, white speck far off on the
horizon. I felt the blood rushing to the ends of my fingers, while a
dizziness came over my sight. I controlled my emotion, however, with an
effort. At the same instant the doubts of the topman appeared to give
way, and waving his hand around his head, he shouted,
“A sail!—a sail!”
“Whereaway?” eagerly asked a dozen feeble voices, while others of the
crew who were too far gone to speak, turned their fading eyes in the
direction in which all were now looking.
“Just under yonder fleecy cloud.”
“I can’t see it,” said one, “surely there is a mistake.”
“No—we are in the trough of the sea—wait till we rise—there!”
“I see it—I see it—huzza!” shouted several.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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