Refresh thy servant’s soul, whose hopes
On thee alone depend.
To my repeated, humble prayer,
O Lord, attentive be;
When troubled, I on thee will call,
For thou wilt answer me.
Some few days after Mr. Shaw’s removal from the barracks, one evening, the exact date of which has escaped me entirely, I was aroused by a great confusion in the fort, a noise of shouting, and, apparently, of rejoicing. While I was standing at my window, trying to discover the meaning of the uproar, my prison door was opened, and a man put in. He was in sailor’s dress, was apparently an American, and looked terrified and bewildered.
I accosted him immediately, in English—asked who he was, saying that he was probably a prisoner, like myself. The guards in the next room were in such a state of excitement that they allowed us to converse unchecked.
He told me that he was the mate of an English brig, the Eliza Cornish, of Liverpool, bound from Valparaiso to Liverpool; that the vessel had anchored in Sandy Bay, intending to lay over for the night; that the captain, Capt. Talbot, of Liverpool, had landed in the brig’s boat, with a boy, a son of his owner, who was passenger on board, and one or two seamen; that they had been seized and put in irons the moment they were out of sight of the brig. The boat was then sent back to the vessel, with five or six men in her, who came on board and told the mate that the captain wanted him to come on shore; but that while he was hesitating what to do, they, seeing the small number of the crew, attacked and overpowered them, and took possession of the brig. They then demanded of him whatever money was on board, threatening him with instant death if he did not give it up at once. The brig had on board about ninety or one hundred thousand dollars, in bars of gold and silver, which they seized and brought on shore, together with the mate and crew. Some of the bars of gold were cut up before his eyes, and distributed around among the soldiers; and their exultation at the sight of their booty had raised the general shout which I had heard. This man was kept in my room during all the rest of our imprisonment. He was a well meaning fellow, but evidently not much accustomed to depend upon himself, and very much intimidated by the dread of approaching death, by these rebels. I constantly found it necessary to encourage him, and prevail upon him to show a bold face before our captors, were it only to command their respect. For myself, I was not really much afraid of them. I was afraid of dying, for my danger made me realize how unfit I was for another world; and my dread of death was such as a man might have during a dangerous illness.
At midnight, on December 2d, I was aroused from my sleep by the report of muskets, of which they seemed to me to number about ten or twelve. A short time afterwards there was another report, and our guards began to run out of the next room. The whole encampment seemed in great confusion, and I became alarmed, thinking some of our companions had been shot, and that our turn was coming next. I dared not ask any questions of the guard, some of whom I saw looking through the door of our room, which always stood open at night. The mate of the E. Cornish spoke to me, and said, “That is foul play, captain Brown; something desperate is going on. I am afraid my captain and Mr. Shaw are gone for it.” Then, throwing himself upon his face, he began to cry.