Thus far on life's perplexing path, Thus far the Lord our steps hath led; Safe from the _flame's_ pursuing wrath, Unharmed though _floods_ hung o'er our head. Here let us pause--look back--adore, Like ransom'd Israel from the shore.
THE MELANCHOLY MARCH THROUGH THE WILDERNESS.
"They wandered in the wilderness in a solitary way, they found no city to dwell in. Hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted in them. Then they cried unto the Lord in their trouble, and he delivered them out of their distresses."
The first view of our solitary landing-place revealed to us a wild and barren region. Neither traces of cultivation, nor marks of human abode, nor even tracks of living creature, met our eye in all the adjacent landscape; and my heart misgave me at the prospect, lest we had only exchanged the scene of our miseries, but not escaped from them. The idea of delay in obtaining succours was too painful to indulge, for every hour only added to the horrors of our situation.
Our scanty supplies were rapidly wasting away, and the strength of the people was already well nigh spent by fatigue and famine. I dared not to anticipate the consequences of even a short continuance of such a state of things, and felt that our utmost efforts must be directed to urgent measures for immediate deliverance.
Meanwhile, every arrangement was made for present exigencies. A small refreshment was distributed immediately after landing, and our weary men set about the erection of tents, which were soon reared, by lashing a few spars together and overlaying them with sails and blankets. This shelter was peculiarly seasonable to persons, who, for nine days and nights had not known the luxury of lying down, or resting their exhausted frames; especially as an African sun was blazing in noon-tide brilliancy, and with insufferable fierceness over our heads. Our wasted people soon betook themselves to repose and I was pleased to find that the greater number of them were soon lost in sweet forgetfulness of all their woes. As for myself, sleep had so long been a stranger to my aching frame, that it refused at first to revisit me, and my mind was too anxiously concerned for the future to court its present approach. So soon, therefore, as I found the others asleep, Mr. Wallace the mate, and I--who had lain down together, and were alike wakeful--rose up and went forth to consult as to our future course of proceeding. We were agreed in thinking that the parched and desolate appearance of the place gave little hope of finding water, or of obtaining relief; and that our whole and instant efforts must be directed to discover succours by sea or land. Two courses only presented themselves: the first, which was to re-enter the boats, and endeavour to reach the Cape colony by sea, was plainly impracticable from the severity of the weather; the sea at that moment being visible below us in its wildest majesty, as it thundered its mountainous billows against the base of the rocks, and scattered its angry foam over the cliffs to a hundred and twenty feet above its bed. Besides, we were conscious that even in calmest weather, our company could not possibly survive for twenty-four hours, under a renewed exposure and crowding in the boats, without a fresh supply of water and provisions. We were shut up, therefore, to the only available alternative of seeking succour by a land journey, and by keeping a southerly course in the direction of the Cape, we hoped that we might soon reach some human habitation. I proposed that we should remain till the expiry of the following day, in order to recruit our people for the journey, and to complete the necessary preparations for our departure. Meanwhile a search could be made for water, and I would endeavour to obtain an observation at noon, in order to certify our exact latitude, and ascertain our distance from the Cape. This course was afterwards submitted to the whole company, and as it met their approval, it was adopted.