The Southwestern Historical Quarterly, Volume 66, July 1962 - April, 1963

Notes and Documents

utes in times of danger seem to be hours; but I thing I do not over-
estimate the time, if I say from the time our vessel struck and broke
up it was two hours before we landed in that dark night on the
desolate Last Island-for at that time there was no human inhabita-
tions on it. That brief space of a couple of hours, hanging between
life and death, seemed to us an eternity.
Those on the roof of the cabin landed securely. Of the five who
tried to save themselves by changing to the heavy beams of the walk-
ing beams, they had to cling there from the early morning we were
wrecked, also during the whole day and following night, the waves
being rather too high for them to swim ashore. We saw them but
could not help them; no boat or succor being on hand, on the second
morning when the sea was more calm, they attempted to swim ashore,
and two of them, good swimmers too, drowned.
Our situation on the Island was lonely and sad. A barrel of flour
accidentally floated ashore, we opened it, and by digging with our
hands holes in the sandy soil, we obtained brackish water to quench
our thirst. We found dry drift wood enough to make fire, we mixed
the flour with water, and by slapping it on boards and placing them
before the fire, we made shift to bake it, but it took great hunger to
relish it, and a grindstone of a stomach to digest it. Our bed was the
bare sand bank-all we had on was our clothing.
On the second evening of our wreck, a small farmer who was out
fishing with a boat discovered us. Our captain engaged him to take
off first the officers of the boat and two white ladies, for the boat was
so small it could not contain many. On the morning of the fourth day
he took us passengers off to his farm, and the boat being so small we
were packed like salt [page torn] last trip was for the [page torn].
This farmer was very kind, he landed us on his small farm, furnished
us with roast sweet potatoes, he had not coffee, and meat for us all,
and neither had we money to pay for an thing. From the farm we
footed it up for some 3o miles to the village of Pattersonville. The
wealthy planters on the road, made up no subscription in our aid nor
offered us a dinner, or subsistence. I did not need much, for I had not
a dime in money nor a hat, only shirt, pants and sorry shoes.
Arrived at Pattersonville, an American entertained me for some
days very hospitably, and by his recommendation, a French planter
who spoke Spanish employed me on his sugar plantation, giving me
liberal wages and clothing me before I began work. This man had a
beautiful daughter, she always addressed me so kindly and with a
smile, but unfortunately I could not speak French, nor did she under-
stand Spanish. If I could have talked to her, I would have fallen in
love. In love did I say? No-I was as poor as a church mouse-I could
not allow love to enter my mind, nor dare to propose to a rich
planter's daughter.

567

Texas State Historical Association. The Southwestern Historical Quarterly, Volume 66, July 1962 - April, 1963. Austin, Texas. The Portal to Texas History. http://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth101196/. Accessed September 22, 2014.