ONE lovely morning, in September, 1848, in company with Dr. Dodd, of Clinton, Miss., W. G. Kendall, Esq., of New Orleans, and a boy of about seven years of age--the son of the gentleman last named--I started out, in an open sail-boat, to Horn Island, in the Gulf of Mexico, some fifteen or twenty miles from the main land. The object of my visit was to procure some sea-shells for one of the fair readers of the Repository, who has now in her possession the fruits of what proved to be a perilous voyage. The wind was favorable, and, after a pleasant sail of a few hours, we reached in safety our place of destination.

      We occupied ourselves, for several hours, gathering the shells with which the beach was strewn, and, about four o'clock in the evening, hoisted sail, and stood for home. The wind, however, was directly ahead, and night overtook us ten or twelve miles from the shore. The wind began to rise, and, as the land had been lost sight of as the night closed around us, we directed our course by the stars. The wind increased in violence, and the waves began to assume a threatening hight, and our little boat, which rode the billows like a sea-bird, seemed but a speck on the immensity of waters by which we were surrounded. The wind rose to a gale; our situation every moment became more perilous; more than once our boat careened so much as to take in water; and at length a flaw of wind, stronger than any which had preceded, struck us, and, the fastenings of our mast giving way, mast and sail were both precipitated over the side of the vessel. We were now in imminent danger of capsizing, and our prospect for escape was but a gloomy one. The mast, in falling, had become entangled in the rigging, and was still attached to the vessel. It was loosed as speedily as possible, the sail lowered, the mast laid along the boat, and she immediately righted. Our danger, however, was by no means over. Our mast was so disabled as to be useless, and the only resource left was our oars. These were quickly brought into requisition and worked with energy. Every stroke was followed by flashes of light and myriad sparks of phosphorescent spray; but, wind and waves being opposed to us, we were not able to make any progress toward the shore. Our only hope now was to keep our bow to the waves; for had they struck us on the side, our vessel would have filled in a moment. To prevent this, we threw out an anchor, and rode the waves; and thus, in the language of Paul, as quoted by one of our company, to whom the narrative of the apostle's shipwreck, doubtless, for the first time, was vividly present, "We cast out our anchor, and wished for the day."

      By this time the moon had arisen, and though it served, in some measure, to render our situation less cheerless, it also disclosed more fully the angry face of the storm-tossed deep, whose foam-crested waves seemed, at times, rushing forward to ingulf our frail bark. Though none of us were insensible of the great danger to which we were exposed, we were all much calmer and more collected than I had supposed possible under such circumstances. Once, however, our manhood was severely tested. We had laid Mr. Kendall's little son in the bottom of the boat, and covered him up with a cloak lest he should see and be alarmed at the dangers which threatened us. We thought that he slept; but all on a sudden he rose, and, being alarmed at our silence, our anxious faces, and the fearful appearance of the angry sea, he burst into tears, and earnestly asked to be taken to his mother. Poor little fellow! he only gave utterance to thoughts that were busy in our own hearts; for our eyes were then turned to the homes whose lights we sometimes thought we could discover in the distance; and more than once we wondered if our friends would suspect our danger, and send to our relief. The father was a man whom danger could not appall; but I doubt whether his heart was ever more severely tried than by the tearful appeal of his child on that night of storm. The whole scene recalled to my mind Virgil's description of the storm which dispersed the fleet of the daring Trojan; and I confess that the appearance of old Neptune, with his storm-ruling trident, would have been, by no means, unwelcome. In the condition above described we lay for several hours; but, about midnight, the storm increased so much that even to remain longer at anchor was fraught with danger. The waves became so large as to break over our boat, and we determined to draw up our anchor, and endeavor to reach Ship Island, the dim outline of which we could now discover, some six or eight miles farther out at sea. We turned our prow in that direction, and by dint of two hours hard rowing, we gained the eastern extremity of the island.

      Our perils, however, were not yet ended; for a heavy, rolling surf rendered our approach to the shore both difficult and dangerous; and, in our attempts to anchor our boat outside of the surf we narrowly escaped being swamped. In this we at length succeeded, and, abandoning our boat, we all made our way through the surf to the shore.

      We now presented a most forlorn appearance. Our garments were perfectly saturated with sea-water, and a piercing north wind chilled us with cold. We had been fortunate enough, however, to prevent some matches we had from getting wet, and, finding plenty of fuel in a neighboring forest of pines, we soon made a large fire, and, though wet and wearied with several hours exposure, we all stretched ourselves before it, and sought rest in sleep. The sole human occupant of this island, as we afterward learned, is Captain John Liddell, a Scotchman, who, several years before, had become disgusted with society, in consequence of having been despoiled of his all by some unprincipled [27] men--sought this desolate island, and has, since that time, made it his dwelling-place. He was then the owner of about one hundred and fifty head of cattle, a flock of fifty goats, beside chickens, turkeys, dogs, and other et cæteras. He had recently built himself quite a substantial house, and his leisure hours were taken up by the contents of a little library. He seems to have no desire to return to society, and his days pass in contentment and serenity.

      We landed several miles above the dwelling of this recluse, and in the morning we rowed there, in order to procure some refreshments and refit our boat. We found him on the shore, near his house, and made known to him our wants; and never were wants like ours more cheerfully or readily supplied. In his hospitality there was no parade or ostentation, no pressing, no apologies, and, indeed, no opportunity for even our thanks. The best fare he had was placed before us, a simple invitation to help ourselves was given, and we were left alone during our meal, admiring the goodness of heart which dictated the kind and unofficious hospitality of John Liddell; and should these lines ever meet his eye, we assure him that his kindness will never be forgotten, and any opportunity of returning it gladly embraced. By the time we had completed our repast and visited the pirate's look-out tree, our kind host had put our boat in sailing order, and we were ready to leave. We offered him money; but he refused to accept it, and urged us, in case of any mishap, to return and spend the night under his roof; but the day was calm, and the same evening we reached our homes, thankful that we had escaped the dangers of what we all agreed had been the most perilous night of our lives.

[The Ladies' Repository 12 (January 1852): 27-28.]

      William Baxter's "A Night on the Deep" was first published in The Ladies' Repository: A Monthly Periodical Devoted to Literature and Religion, Vol. 12, No. 1, January 1852, pp. 27-28. This volume, edited by W. C. Larrabee, was published in Cincinnati by L. Swormstedt and A. Poe and in New York by T. Carlton and Z. Phillips.

      Pagination in the electronic version has been represented by placing the page number in brackets following the last complete word on the printed page.

      Addenda and corrigenda are earnestly solicited.

Ernie Stefanik
Derry, PA

Created 16 April 2000.
Updated 28 June 2003.