she said, "Mamma, I will pray to God." The
little one was only four years old, a blue-eyed,
golden-haired creature, with a wondrously 'fair
complexion and innocent face, and the contrast
of this pretty tiling kneeling in the desolate boat
with the wild, haggard-looking men and women
who surrounded her, was almost startling. Her
prayer was very simple; with clasped hands
and trustful eyes raised to heaven, she said:
"Please God send a ship." That was all. The hot
tears gushed to my eyes for the first time in that
boat, and I took her in my almost powerless
arms, and we both slept the sleep of exhaustion.

On the morning of the tenth day, about
eleven o'clock, some one called out, "A sail, a
sail." Wonderful sound! how we started,
almost upsetting the boat in our eagerness to
see where it was and what it was.

The next question was how could we make
her see us? We could see her, it is true, a
faint speck on the horizon, but we were so small,
such a pitiful little boat, and had no flags, no
signals of distress. What if she were to pass
us! Frightful thought—to be so near help and
yet not to reach it. We hoisted a white towel,
and shouted, and tried every means in our
power to attract attention. On she came, nearer
and nearer, until we could make out that she
was a barque. The captain could even
distinguish that she carried the Hamburg flag.
Why she had her flag hoisted, if she did not see
us, I cannot say. Never mind who or what she
was. She passed along and left us.

Then curses loud and deep came from the
sailors' lips. Then the women looked into each
other's faces, and the children cried, and the
wolfish eyes of the would-be cannibals were
fixed upon us, and I sat still for hours without
a word.

Forsaken apparently by God and man, I was
trying, with the stupor of despair, and (I think)
coming delirium, to meet my fate; and some
songs that I used to sing in San Francisco
came into my head. The notes would not come
right, and I wondered whether such a note was
G sharp, or A flat, and the sea looked red and
full of specks.

It was a burning hot day, and I was half
asleep about three P.M., when again was heard
the cry of "A sail, a sail." This time I made
a very feeble attempt to look about me, but the
captain and his crew were all alert, and a vessel
surely was in sight.

On she came, looking so large to our forlorn
eyes. Again our towel was hoisted. Would
she pass us?

"Let the women and children lie down in the
bottom of the boat," roared the captain; "if
she sees so many people, she will pass us like
that cursed thing this morning."

Down we went breathless.

Nearer and nearer she came, faster rowed our
hungry sailors, when there rose a wild shout,
"She has stopped!" and surely there she was at
rest in the waters, waiting to see what manner
of beings we were. "Row faster, my men, and
keep down the women and children." Ah!
did he think that the sight of us poor women
would frighten away that ship? And then
the sweet voice of my little one said, "Oh,
mamma, God has heard my prayer, he has sent
a ship to save us."

Oh, what a lovely afternoon that was when
we were saved—such a blaze of sunshine, such
blue skies, such a glistening, glowing sea, as
if even the treacherous ocean were rejoicing
with us. At length we were close alongside of
the ship, and saw crowds of human beings
clustering about to look at us—dark, swarthy
faces, for they were all Spaniards, but full of
pity, wonderment, and horror. They took us all
in one by one, and when they saw the women
and little children they wept. They could not
speak our language, and looked upon us with
bewilderment, but when I (who fortunately could
speak Spanish), kneeling down on deck, said
Gracias a Dios (thank God), their tongues were
loosened, and there was a flood of questions and
crowding round us, with weeping and laughing
and shaking of hands. How good were those
kind-hearted men! How I thank them all,
every one, now as I write, from the worthy
captain down to the lowest of his crew. And
they brought us bread and wine and water—
precious water, how good it was!

Saved at last, when we could have endured
no more. Let it at least be permitted to a
mother to believe that the prayer of her little
one had risen to the Mercy Seat.

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