She always did, and
always ended with the Evening Hymn. We mostly took up the last line, and
shed tears when it was done, but not miserably. We had a prayer night
and morning, also, when the weather allowed of it.
Twelve nights and eleven days we had been driving in the boat, when old
Mr. Rarx began to be delirious, and to cry out to me to throw the gold
overboard or it would sink us, and we should all be lost. For days past
the child had been declining, and that was the great cause of his
wildness. He had been over and over again shrieking out to me to give
her all the remaining meat, to give her all the remaining rum, to save
her at any cost, or we should all be ruined. At this time, she lay in
her mother's arms at my feet. One of her little hands was almost always
creeping about her mother's neck or chin. I had watched the wasting of
the little hand, and I knew it was nearly over.
The old man's cries were so discordant with the mother's love and
submission, that I called out to him in an angry voice, unless he held
his peace on the instant, I would order him to be knocked on the head and
thrown overboard.
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