The captain, who had behaved like a hero, was busy in overseeing the construction of rafts. He had ordered us all on deck, sick and well together, in order to give us a last chance, though a slender one. We sat huddled together, some praying, some crying, others too miserable to do either—silent, in hopeless despair. Such was our condition when, happening to look up, I was the very first to descry a sail, and almost at the same moment the shout was raised by half a dozen at once. It was a British ship, and a large one. She was rapidly coming up with us, and our despair was changed into the certainty of succor. It was a work of some danger to transfer so many helpless women from one ship to the other, but it was accomplished at last, the captain and Mother Mary being the last to leave the poor wreck. Nobody but myself understood English, and I was called upon to interpret. The ship was the Good Hope, trading from Bristol to New England, and now on her way to the town of Boston, from which, according to the reckoning of Captain Mayhew, we were but a short day's sail. Mother Mary was quite in despair. She offered large rewards to the captain to alter his course and sail for the St. Lawrence, but in vain. The captain said his ship had been damaged, and was in no state for such a voyage; that he was overdue at Boston, and that his wife would be anxious about him. He would engage that Mother Mary and her companions should meet with every civility and accommodation, but to the St. Lawrence, he could not and would not go—"and that was all about it." There was no opportunity to argue the matter further, for poor Mother Mary was taken very ill once more and had to be carried to the cabin which the sailors had hastily arranged for us. The captain apologized for its narrowness, saying that he had another small cabin which should be ours so soon as its occupant, a gentleman passenger who had been hurt in the storm, should give it up, adding, however, that he hoped to set us all on dry ground before that time to-morrow. From the moment that I set foot on the deck of the Good Hope my mind was made up. I would tell the captain my story, throw myself on his mercy, and entreat him to rescue me. If he refused to do so I would contrive to effect my escape while we were in Boston. Surely in a town full of Protestants there must be some one who would protect me.