An old man of the name of Woltemad, by birth an European, had a son in the citadel, who was a corporal, and among the first who had been ordered out, to Horse-Island, where the guard was to be set for the preservation of the shipwrecked goods. This worthy veteran borrowed a horse, and rode out in the morning, with a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread for his son’s breakfast. This happened so early that the gibbet had not been erected, nor the edict posted up, to point out to the traveller the nearest road to eternity. This hoary sire had no sooner delivered his son’s breakfast, than he heard the lamentations of the distressed crew from the wreck, when he resolved to ride his horse, which was a good swimmer, to the wreck, with a view to save some of them. He repeated this dangerous trip six times more, bringing each time two men alive on shore, and thus saved in all fourteen persons.

The horse was by this time so much fatigued, that he did not think it prudent to venture out again; but the cries and entreaties of the poor wretches on the wreck increasing, he ventured once more, which proved so unfortunate, that he lost his own life, as on this occasion too many rushed upon him at once, some of them catching hold of the horse’s tail, and others of the bridle, by which means the horse, both wearied out and now too heavy laden, turned head over heels, and all were drowned together. When the storm and waves had subsided, the ship was found to lie at so small a distance from the land, that a person might have almost leaped from it on shore.

The East India Directors in Holland, on receiving this intelligence, ordered one of their ships to be called after the name of Woltemad, and the story of his humanity to be painted on her stern; they further enjoined the regency at the Cape to provide for his descendants.

Unfortunately in the southern hemisphere they had not the same sentiments of gratitude. The young corporal, Woltemad, who had been an unavailing witness of his father’s having sacrificed himself in the service of the company and of mankind, wished in vain to be gratified with his father’s place, humble as it was, (keeper of the beasts in the menagerie.) Stung with the disappointment, he had left that ungrateful country, and was gone to Batavia, where he died, before the news of so great and unexpected a recommendation could reach him.

LOSS
OF THE
SIDNEY,
BOUND TO BENGAL,
Which ran upon a dangerous rock, May 20, 1806.

IN the “Asiatic Mirror,” (an Indian newspaper,) the commander of the Sidney gives an account of her loss, and the subsequent preservation of the greater part of the crew, in a letter, which for the satisfaction of our readers, is here copied verbatim.

SIR,

Calcutta, October 14, 1806.