The people were wholly occupied in reflections on the passing incidents; but their weakness increased as the day elapsed; one of the survivors describes himself as feeling the approach of annihilation, that his sight failed, and his senses became confused; that his strength was exhausted, and his eyes turned towards the setting sun, under the conviction that he should never see it rise again. Yet on the morning he survived, and he was surprised that Providence willed it should still be so, as several strong men had fallen in the course of the night. While the remainder were contemplating their forlorn condition, and judging this the last day of their lives, the approach of the boats was unexpectedly announced.—From the lowest ebb of despair, they were now elated with the most extravagant joy; and copious draughts of water, quickly landed, refreshed their languid bodies. Never before did they know the blessings which the single possession of water could afford; it tasted more delicious than the finest wines.
Anxious preparations were made for immediate departure from a place, which had been fatal to so many unhappy sufferers. Of one hundred and twenty-two persons on board the Nautilus when she struck, fifty-eight had perished. Eighteen were drowned, it was supposed, at the moment of the catastrophe, and one in attempting to reach the boat, five were lost on the small raft, and thirty-four died of famine. About fifty now embarked in four fishing vessels, and landed the same evening at the island of Cerigotto, making altogether sixty-four individuals, including those who escaped in the whale-boat. Six days had been passed on the rock, nor had the people, during that time, received any assistance, excepting from the human flesh of which they had participated.
The survivors landed at a small creek in the island of Cerigotto, after which they had to go to a considerable distance before reaching the dwellings of their friends. Their first care was to send for the master’s mate, who had escaped to the island of Pori, and had been left behind when the whale-boat came down to the rock. He and his companions had exhausted all the fresh water, but lived on the sheep and goats, which they caught among the rocks, and had drank their blood. There they had remained in a state of great uncertainty concerning the fate of those who had left them in the boat.
Though the Greeks could not aid the seamen in the care of their wounds, they treated them with great care and hospitality; but medical assistance being important, from the pain the sufferers endured, and having nothing to bind up their wounds but shirts which they tore into bandages, they were eager to reach Cerigo. The island of Cerigotto, where they had landed, was a dependency on the other, about fifteen miles long, ten broad, and of a barren and unproductive soil, with little cultivation. Twelve or fourteen families of Greek fishermen dwelt upon it, as the pilot had said, who were in a state of extreme poverty. Their houses, or rather huts, consisting of one or two rooms on the same floor, were, in general, built against the side of a rock; the walls composed of clay and straw, and the roof supported by a tree in the centre of the dwelling. Their food was a coarse kind of bread, formed of boiled pease and flour, which was made into a kind of paste for the strangers, with once or twice a bit of kid; and that was all which they could expect from their deliverers. But they made a liquor from corn, which having an agreeable flavour, and being a strong spirit, was drank with avidity by the sailors.
Cerigo was about twenty-five miles distant, and there, it was also said, an English consul resided. Eleven days elapsed, however, before the crew could leave Cerigotto, from the difficulty of persuading the Greeks to adventure to sea, in their frail barks, during tempestuous weather. The wind at last proving fair, with a smooth sea, they bade a grateful adieu to the families of their deliverers, who were tenderly affected by their distresses, and shed tears of regret when they departed. In six or eight hours, they reached Cerigo, where they were received with open arms. Immediately on arrival, they were met by the English vice-consul, Signor Manuel Caluci, a native of the island, who devoted his house, bed, credit and whole attention to their service; and the survivors unite in declaring their inability to express the obligations under which he laid them. The governor, commandant, bishop and principal people, all shewed equal hospitality, care and friendship, and exerted themselves to render the time agreeable; insomuch that it was with no little regret that these shipwrecked mariners thought of forsaking the island.
After the people had remained three weeks at Cerigo, they learnt that a Russian ship of war lay at anchor off the Morea about twelve leagues distant, being driven in by bad weather, and immediately sent letters to her commanding officer, narrating their misfortunes and soliciting a passage to Corfu.—The master of the Nautilus determining to make the most of the opportunity, took a boat to reach the Russian vessel; but he was at first so unfortunate as to be blown on the rocks in a heavy gale of wind, where he nearly perished, and the boat was staved in pieces. However, he luckily got to the ship, and after some difficulty, succeeded in procuring the desired passage for himself and his companions to Corfu. Her commander, to accommodate them, came down to Cerigo, and anchored at a small port called St. Nicholas, at the eastern extremity of the island. The English embarked on the 5th, but, owing to contrary winds, did not sail until the 15th of February, when they bade farewell to their friends. They next touched at Zante, another small island, abounding in currants and olives, the oil from the latter of which constitutes the chief riches of the people. After remaining there four days, they sailed for Corfu, where they arrived on the 2d of March 1807, nearly two months after the date of their shipwreck.
WRECK OF A SLAVE SHIP.
The following extract of a letter from Philadelphia, dated November 11th, 1762, gives an account of the melancholy disaster that befel the Phœnix, Capt. M’Gacher, in lat. 37 deg. N. and lon. 72 deg. W. from London, bound to Potomac, in Maryland, from the coast of Africa, with 332 slaves on board.