The vessel did not send her boat, and no opportunity was offered to send this letter. We passed directly under her stern. She was a brig of two hundred tons, and bound to New York. This letter must remain on my hands till I reach the Brazos.
Sunday, February 7. A most melancholy event occurred on board today. As I was lying in my berth, about a quarter before twelve o’clock, Captain Wellman came into the cabin, somewhat agitated, and said to me, “Our steward is not to be found.” All hands were on deck in a moment, and a thorough search was made in all parts of the ship. The steward was not to be found anywhere. The appearance of the galley was conclusive as to his having thrown himself overboard. He was seen at half past eleven, and yet little or no preparation had been made for dinner. He had been observed to be moody and absent-minded in the course of the morning. We could assign no cause for the act. He had been treated well, and his duties were light. My servant had assisted him throughout the passage. His sudden disappearance whilst four men were on deck, in good smooth weather, caused us all to feel melancholy. We ate very little dinner. Our thoughts were sad, and we passed much of our time through the remainder of the day in recalling every little incident of the voyage having any connection with the unfortunate steward. The only thing which gave any light was certain expressions he had made use of, showing a melancholy and restless spirit. We found out, moreover, that he was suffering very severely from the bad disorder, contracted some two months since in Liverpool. This may have been the cause of his making way with himself.
Monday, February 8. We none of us passed a quiet night, in consequence of the distressing event of yesterday. One of the crew has been put into the galley, and things go on in the accustomed manner. This evening the effects of the steward were disposed of to the crew at auction; and so he has gone to his account, and our bark is pursuing her destined course. Our vessel has gone on very quietly the last two days.
Tuesday, February 9. We still have quiet times, and are gradually approaching the Brazos. With tolerable good luck we shall arrive there in two or three days. It is now evening and seven o’clock. There is every appearance of a norther. The captain has been somewhat anxiously pacing the deck for the last hour. It is now eight o’clock, and I will turn in for the night.
Wednesday, February 10. A severe norther came up about nine last evening, and is now sweeping over the Gulf. Our bark works admirably. Occasionally she ships a sea. But her deck for the most part is dry. The weather is very cold, and I have kept my berth nearly all day.
Thursday, February 11. The norther did not commence to abate till noon to-day. It is now six P.M. The water is comparatively smooth. I have been somewhat unwell for two or three days, but hope to become well with smoother weather.
Friday, February 12. We had a quiet night, and this morning we have scarcely a breath of wind. Our estimated distance from the Brazos is about sixty miles. We shall not arrive till to-morrow. I fear I shall not hear from you. There is some, yes, great doubt, whether letters to the army are forwarded by mail beyond New Orleans, in which event all your letters to me will remain in the New Orleans office; nor can they be forwarded till I can send for them by some ship going there.
Saturday, February 13. It is now about two P.M., and we are in direct view of the Brazos, which is some six miles distant. We are beating up against a head wind, and there is considerable doubt as to whether we shall make our anchorage to-night. The wind has gradually subsided, and it is now nearly a calm. Unless a fresh breeze should spring up, we shall require another day. This is our twenty-fifth day.
Sunday, February 14, five P.M. I have just reached the Brazos, and find General Worth, Colonel Totten, Lieutenants Mason and Tower, and many other officers here. An opportunity offers to send this letter. I will write again in a few days. I shall remain at the Brazos a few days longer. Remember me to Kidder and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Tinkham, Mr. Osgood, and love of course to the children and Mary.
Affectionately yours,
Isaac.