ing that if they did not soon make land they must be either drowned or recaptured. Two goat-skins sewn together served to hold fresh water. Okeley offered himself to carry through the gates canvas sufficient for a sail. He had not got a quarter of a mile from the town when, to his great agony, he saw the villanous spy who had before arrested him and Randall following him fast. The danger, however, gave him promptitude of mind; he at once walked boldly up to an English slave he saw washing clothes by the sea, and asked him to help him wash the canvas. They then pretended to wash the sail, and spread it to dry on the top of the very rock where the spy stood watching them. He soon went away, but Okeley, still fearful, waiting till the canvas was dry, carried it mournfully back to the city.

The day for attempting the escape was now fixed-June the 30th, 1644; the time, one hour "within night;" the place, a hill about a mile from the sea; and till then the conspirators dispersed, lurking here and there in hedges and ditches, till the blessed moment arrived.

There were two places thought suitable for putting together the boat, a hill and a valley. The hill, as we have before said, was first agreed upon, as having a good out-look; but when the night came they all suddenly preferred the valley, which was encompassed and sheltered by hedges. Near the top of the hill grew a fig-tree, and this tree two of the band were sent to saw down, as it was needful to strengthen the keel. Some Moors with barking dogs passed near the sawyers, but they keeping close, were not discovered. Moors were at work in a neighbouring garden, so that the Englishmen dared not speak, but they buckled to in good earnest at their serious work, pointing, pulling, nodding, and acting like builders of Babel, by signs and gestures.

"The two parts of our keel," says Okeley, we soon joined, then opening the timbers, which had already one nail in every joint, we groped out for the other hole, and put its nail into it; then we opened them at their full length, and applied them to the top of the keel, fastening them with ropeyarn and small cords, and so we served all the joints to keep them firm and stable; then we bound small canes all along the ribs lengthways, both to keep the ribs from wearing, and also to bear out the canvas very stiff against the pressing water. Then we made notches upon the ends of the ribs or timbers, wherein the oars might ply,

and, having tied down the seats, and strengthened our keel with the fig-tree, we lastly drew on our double canvas case, already fitted; and really the canvas seemed a winding-sheet for our boat, and our boat a coffin for us all.

"This done, four of our company took it upon their own shoulders, and carried it down towards the sea, which was about half a mile off. It was a little representation of a funeral, to see the four bearers marching in deep silence, with something very like a hearse and coffin upon their shoulders, and the rest of us decently attending the ceremony; but we wanted torches, and, besides, it is not usual for any to wait upon their own coffins. But we durst not grudge our boat that small and last office, to carry it half a mile, for we expected it should repay us that service and civility with interest, in carrying us many a league; we carried it at land, where it could not swim, that it might carry us at sea, where we could not walk. As we went along they that were in the gardens heard us passing by, and called to us, 'Who comes there?' but it was dark, and we had no mind to prate, and therefore, without any answer, we silently held on our way.

"When we came to the seaside we im

mediately stripped ourselves naked, and, putting our clothes into the boat, carried it and them as far into the sea as we could wade, and this we did lest our tender boat should be torn against the stones or rocks, and then all seven of us got into her. But here we soon found how our skill in calculating the lading of our vessel failed us; for we were no sooner embarked but she was ready to sink under us, the water coming in over the sides, so that once again we must entertain new counsels. At last one whose heart most failed him was willing to be shut out, and rather hazard the uncertain torments of the land than certainly be drowned at sea; then we made a second experiment, but still she was so deep laden that we all concluded there was no venturing out to sea; at length another_went ashore, and then she held her head very stoutly, and seemed hearty enough for our voyage.

up

"It was time now to commit and commend ourselves and vessel to the protection and conduct of God, who rules the winds and the waves, and whose kingdom is in the deep waters, imploring mercy for the pardon of our sins, and resigning up our souls to God, as if we had been presently to suffer death by the hand of the executioner; and, taking our solemn fare

well of our two companions, whom we left behind, and wishing them as much happiness as could be hoped for in slavery, and they to us as long a life as could be expected by men going to their graves, we launched out upon the 30th day of June, in the year of our Lord, 1644, a night for ever to be remembered by his poor creatures, who are ourselves great monuments of Divine Providence."

Five men only after all started; Okeley, John Anthony, John Jephs, John, the carpenter, and William Adams, five men in a frail canvas boat, with an adverse wind raging against them, and Algiers upon the lee shrouded in the angry darkness.

"We were now," says the brave narrator, "without helm or pilot, without anchor, tackle, or compass, but God was these, all these, and more than all these. Our number was small, our work was great, we could not afford one idle hand, not one idle finger; four of the company continually wrought at the oars, and indeed we wrought for our lives, and then I shall not need to say how we wrought; but this I shall say, I can truly say it, I never saw strength so strained, nor the utmost of what nature could do for life and liberty exerted so much in all my life. The employment of the fifth man was more easy, but no less necessary, which was to free the boat of that water which by degrees leaked through our canvas.

"We laboured the harder that night, because we would gladly be out of the ken of our old masters by day; but when day appeared, we were yet within sight of their ships that lay in the haven and road, and off the land; but our boat being small, and lying close and snug upon the sea, either was not at all discovered, or else seemed something that was not worth the taking up; a little hope in the midst of great fears made us double and redouble our diligence; we tugged at the oars like those who are chained to the galleys, because we had no mind to be slaves to our old patrons.

"But upon all occasions we found our want of forecast, for now our bread, which was to be the staff of our decayed strength, had lain soaking in the salt water, like a drunken toast sopped in brine, and was quite spoiled; and our fresh water in the bottles stank of the tanned skins and owse, having lain in the salt water, which made it nauseous. But yet, that hope that hovered over us, and flattered us that we should one day mend our commons, sweetened all again. So long as bread was bread, we complained not; three days with

good husbandry it lasted, but then pale famine (which is the worst shape death can be painted in) stared us in the face."

The adverse wind doubled the cruel, ceaseless labour, and yet defeated it. They moved, but did not advance. The waves strove hard to swallow up those poor wretches toiling for life and liberty. One or two, soon losing heart, began to declare that God, whom the wind obeyed, was fighting against them, and proposed to bear up with the wind, and return to slavery in Algiers. But hope and Okeley again roused them, and at last they determined, whatever happened, to struggle on while they had breath, strength, and life. Their perseverance was rewarded as perseverance generally is. The wind presently shifted round like a feeble enemy, and sided with them.

Still the danger was very imminent. Unlike tired sentinels who watch on, knowing that the welcome relief will soon come, these poor fellows had to labour without intermission. They might shift, but they could never rest. Another great evil was the raging heat of the sun, which burned like a furnace. The only alleviation they could obtain was that the fifth man, who kept baling the frail boat, threw sea-water over them, for their skin now began to rise all over in blisters. In danger, in pain, and almost in despair, Okeley and his men toiled all day quite naked, at night putting on their shirts or loose coats, their only clothing. For steering they had no guide but a pocket dial; by night they were guided by the stars, and when the stars were hidden, by the motion of the clouds.

On

In this sad and miserable plight they continued four long days and nights. the fifth day despair took its dismal place among them, and hope flew from them. They laid down their oars, for their strength was all but gone, and gloomily baled the boat, loth to drown, loth to die, yet seeing no way to avoid a dreadful death from famine or the waves. They now resolved, in their dark and utter despair, to make to any vessel they could discover, even an Algerine. While in this dead ebb of hope, God, who saved "Israel at the sea, and the three young men in the fiery furnace," sent relief. As they lay in a lull they suddenly discovered floating near them a large sleeping tortoise. Not the sight of a Spanish plate fleet was more grateful to the eager eyes of Drake. The boat was silently rowed up, and they took the broad-shelled creature rejoicingly on board. Off went its head, the blood they caught in a pot, and

The good warm food strengthened them at once both naturally and through the imagination; they fell to work like lions, and pulled hard, fast, and faster on. That did it. That very noon they discovered land low, faint, and blue in the far distance. Okeley lays down his pen, and finds it impossible to express the joy and triumph of that blessed moment. Fresh blood poured through their veins, fresh colour came to their cheeks; they looked like persons risen from the dead. Yet fear still held hope so chained and bound, that they could hardly believe that it was really land. It was new life only to them to see it, but five days of only sea and air, air and sea, and so many hopes deceived, made them distrust even land itself. Still the hope made them toil hard to see if they were deceived or no, and when they were fully convinced the land was no dream, their joy was extravagant. Regardless of the sharks that abounded in those seas, they all at once leaped like madmen into the water, to bathe and cool their streaming limbs. Then they all returned to the boat, and worn out with toil fell asleep.

Awaking in time to bale the boat, and refreshed by the sleep, they worked harder at the oars, but made but very little way. Towards evening another blue spot appeared on the horizon; that second island was Fromentiere, the first Minorca, as some of the sailors now recognised. All that night the men rowed hard, and on the evening of the next day, the 6th of July, reached the island at a place too rocky to climb. Just then a vessel, probably a Turkish corsair, passed, but they lay close, and gently creeping round the island landed in a safe place, and with great thankfulness to God, made fast their weather-beaten boat. After some danger from the shot of a Spaniard in a seaside watch-tower, Okeley and his companions reached a well, drank with great difficulty, and fell asleep. The next day, with feet raw and blistered with the sun and salt water, the five men crawled towards the city of Majorca, sleeping by the way beside a well. In the town they were kindly clothed and fed, and taken before the viceroy, who was anxious to know the strength of the Algerine fleet. From thence they went in a Spanish war galley to Alicante, from there, pursued by two Turkish pirates, in an English vessel to Gibraltar. From Cadiz, Okeley and his party got to St. Lucar. Thence an English vessel charitably took them to England, and

they arrived in the old country, after a five weeks' voyage, in September, 1644. Okeley's canvas boat was long hung up as a monument in the church at Majorca. This brave and excellent Puritan afterwards became bailiff to one of the Osbourn family at Chickson, in Bedfordshire, between Ampthill and Shefford. His narrative, which he called Ebenezer, or a Small Monument of Great Mercy, was not published till 1675, thirty-one years after the events; a third edition was published in 1764.

GEOFFREY LUTTRELL'S NARRATIVE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "IN THAT STATE OF LIFE," &c.

IN ELEVEN CHAPTERS. CHAPTER X.

As the morning wore on, I resolved to obtain an interview with Assunta; but how was this to be accomplished? Was it true that she was free? that this seclusion in her boudoir was voluntary? She did not appear at breakfast; I saw no sign of her about the house. If the maids in attendance upon her were spies, I must guard against arousing their suspicions. Mr. Ridgway was busy in his study with his translation of Horace's Odes, which he had talked of to me all breakfast-time, pointing out the difficulties of the task, and by what happy turns he had paraphrased the poet's verse in places. I was at my work in the crimson saloon, the windows of which overlooked the terraces and fountains at the back of the house. I listened to every footfall on the gravel, but only a gardener or two passed that way. Towards noon, I took up my hat, and strolled out. I passed her boudoir window; she was not there. I sauntered down to the water's edge, and watched the wild fowl stringing pearls along the surface of the lake; and then I turned, and made my way through a wire wicket into the great gardens at the other side of the house. I had traversed all the broad alleys, and was speculating on the small amount of pleasure this stately place could afford to its owner or his unhappy wife, when, on crossing a walk narrower than the rest, and screened by a thick yew-hedge from the house, I saw her whom I had despaired of finding, seated at the further end, as motionless as the Greek nymph with her urn on its pedestal above her. She raised her eyes as I approached, that was all. The hands lay listless on the long, stone-coloured cloak, which covered her to the very ground; the very outline