I tried to deceive
myself, to support my strength, by a feeble and delusive hope. M. Hirtel
swam well, the sailor still better; and the last words I had heard still
rung in my ears--'Do not be uneasy, I will save the child.' If I saw
anything floating at a distance, my heart began to beat, and I ran
towards the water; but I saw it was only wreck, which I could not even
reach. Some pieces were, however, thrown on shore, and with these and
our own raft I was enabled to make a sort of shelter, by resting them
against a rock. My poor children, by crouching under this, sheltered
themselves from the rain, or from the rays of the sun. I had the good
fortune to preserve a large beaver hat, which I wore at the time, and
this protected me; but these resources gave me little consolation; my
children were complaining of hunger, and I felt only how much we were in
want of. I had seen a shell-fish on the shore, resembling the oyster,
or muscle. I collected some, and, opening them with my knife, we made a
repast on them, which sufficed for the first day. Night came--my
children offered up their evening prayer, and I earnestly besought the
succour of the Almighty. I then lay down beside my babes on our raft, as
conveniently as we could, and they soon slept. The fearful thoughts of
the past, and dreadful anticipations of the future, prevented me from
sleeping.
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