emotions that agitated my bosom. Though
delivered from the terror of immediate death, there was nothing in the
respite to give me any feeling of joy. It would be only a short
procrastination of my doom, for certainly in the morning I must die.
The slender chances of our seeing a sail were scarce worth
contemplating; and I derived no consolation by dwelling upon such a
contingency.

My fate, therefore, I looked upon as sealed. My protector could not
save me. He had done the utmost in his power, in procuring the reprieve
that was to give me this slight chance for my life. If it failed, he
would undoubtedly have to keep his word and surrender me up.

I felt as the condemned criminal whose hour of execution has been fixed,
and who knows it--with perhaps, only the difference that I could look
forward to the event with a clear conscience. I felt not as a criminal,
but a victim--a martyr among ruffians.

Of course I thought not of sleep--all sleep was banished from my
eyelids. With such a prospect before me how could I sleep? Sadly at
that crisis did I think of home, of parents, and kindred. Bitterly did
I repent that I ever ran away to sea!

Alas! like many others who have acted disobediently and rashly--my
experience had been too dearly purchased--my repentance came too late.

To-morrow by sunrise must I die; and oh! such a dreadful doom! My fate
would never be known; for, though I was made a sacrifice, it was not
likely that my executioners would long survive me. The chances that any
of them would ever reach land were slight indeed; and, even if they
should, it was not likely they would ever divulge that secret. I should
never more be heard of; neither friends or kindred would ever know my
sad fate, and it would be better that they should not. Oh! it was a
dreadful doom!

Suffering under such reflections, I lay stretched along the plank; my
protector was still by my side--so near that our shoulders touched, and
our heads were close together--I could have heard anything he might have
said, though uttered only in a whisper; but for a long time he did not
address a word to me. He appeared to be busied with his own thoughts--
as if buried in some deep cogitation--and did not desire to be spoken
to. Noticing this, I too remained silent.

The night came down and promised to be dark, most of the preceding
nights had been very clear, as there had been moonlight and scarce a
cloud in the sky for weeks before.