"After the ceremony was o'er, I slipped awa' doun into the kitchen again amang the rest o' the servants to see if the dinner was a' right. But in a wee time our maister cam' into the kitchen, an' says, 'Betty,' says he. 'Sir,' says I. 'Betty,' says he, 'ye must consider that ye're no longer my servant, but my wife,' says he; 'and therefore ye must come up stairs and sit amongst the rest of the company,' says he. 'Verra weel, sir,' says I. Sae what could I do, but gang up stairs to the rest of the company, an' sit doun among them? I sat there in a corner, as weel out o' sight as I could, for they were a' speaking to me or looking at me, an' I didna ken how to behave amang sic braw company, or how to answer them. I sat there till it was gey late, and our maister made me drink the company's healths, and they gaed a' away.
"When the company were a' gaen awa', I went doun to the kitchen, and saw that every thing was right; and after I put a candle into my maister's bed-room, I took another, and gaed away up to my ain wee room, in the garret. Just whan I was casting aff my shune, I hears our maister first gang into his ain room, and then come straight awa' up towards mine. I think I can hear him yet, for it was siccan extraord'nar thing, and I never saw him there afore; and every stamp o' his feet gaed thunt, thunt to my very hert. He stood at the cheek o' the door, and said, very saftly, 'Betty,' says he. 'Sir,' says I—'But what brought ye here, sir,' says I. 'Naething,' says he. 'Verra weel, naething be it, sir,' says I. 'But,' says he, 'remember that ye're no longer my servant, but my wife,' says he. 'Verra weel, sir,' says I; 'I will remember that.' 'And ye must come down stairs,' says he. 'Verra weel, sir,' says I; for what could I do? I had always obeyed my maister before, and it was nae time to disobey him now.
"Sae, Jean, that was a' that was about my courtship or marriage."
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
REMINISCENCE:
OR, STORY OF A SHIPWRECK.
In the year 1797, I left the United States, having under my control a new clipper built schooner of about eighty tons, bound to Cape Francais, in the island of St. Domingo, with a cargo, chiefly munitions of war, for the colonial government of that island. The harbor of Cape Francais is one of the best in the world,—capacious, safe, and of easy access; the entrance under a high point of land,—on the side of which is a strong fortification called Fort Picolet, which completely commands the pass. Above the fort, on very elevated ground, was placed the observatory, in view of the town, although two or three miles distant.
England being then at war with France, and having the command of the West India seas, the direct intercourse of the island with France was rare and uncertain—European news generally reaching them by the way of the United States. My business at the Cape being nearly finished, it became necessary, for a particular mercantile speculation, that I should return to the United States by the way of St. Thomas. Three or four days before I was prepared to sail, early one forenoon, I observed all at once a singular excitement in the streets,—drums beating, alarm guns firing, &c. Upon making inquiry into the occasion, I was informed that the signals at the observatory indicated a fleet to windward standing for the port. The leading frigate was soon seen from the town, making signals to the fort, and without molestation stood directly in, and proved to be a squadron from France, under the command of Commodore Barney, with a number of prizes in company, which altogether made a very imposing appearance. The day before I had intended to leave the Cape, I was accosted in the street by a stout sailor looking man, who civilly inquired if I had not a vessel in port bound to St Thomas, and could he get a passage in her—adding, that he was an Englishman, had been captain of one of the brigs then in port, captured by Commodore Barney, on his passage out from Liverpool to Barbadoes; and as he had not been armed he was not held as a prisoner, but turned ashore pennyless, to shift for himself as he best might—that could he get to St. Thomas, he could raise funds by bills on his consignees at Barbadoes, and would pay whatever the charge might be for his passage up. I told him I believed that it was the custom for unfortunate seamen to receive assistance from their fellows, without thinking of recompense—that he was entirely welcome to a passage; and as the schooner would leave the port early the next morning, I would give him a note to the captain, and advise him to take his baggage and go immediately on board. He observed that his baggage was easily removed—that although he had considerable property on board of the brig when captured, belonging to himself, the captors had left him nothing but a sailor's bag to take care of. Next morning we left Cape Francais, with a view of beating up to St Thomas. This is a voyage of some difficulty, being a distance of some six or seven hundred miles, with the trade wind dead ahead. Navigators of those seas know that in this passage there is a dangerous reef of sunken rocks, whose sharp points rarely reach the surface, called the Silver Keys, lying about midway between the northeast part of the island of St. Domingo, and the cluster of islands, keys and shoals, east of Turk's Island; and although the passage is probably a hundred miles wide, and the reef covers but a small space, yet many a fine vessel has been wrecked thereon. Knowing perfectly well the existence and location of this dangerous reef, and making my own observations on the run of the vessel, I had calculated on the third night that we were out—that if we neither saw nor heard any thing of it by midnight, we should have passed it; I therefore kept the deck until that hour, when concluding all was safe, went below. I had got to sleep, when I was awoke by the vessel's bottom and sides rubbing violently against the rocks. I immediately got upon deck, and looking round found we were in a most perilous situation; on all sides surrounded by rocks, which were plainly known by the waves gently breaking upon them. The moon was near her full, occasionally obscured by passing clouds—the wind moderate. The schooner was instantly put about, under the expectation of finding the way out by which we entered; she had only got cleverly under way when she went bows on, upon a sunken sharp pointed rock, and remained stationary. An immediate examination was made, when it was discovered that the rock had penetrated her bottom, and the water was pouring in. Our situation was in the highest degree alarming—the schooner evidently lost, and no chance for our safety but the boat, which for a vessel of eighty tons could not be large. There was nine of us, the captain, mate, English captain, myself and five colored seamen. Fortunately the weather was mild; the vessel quietly hanging to the rock, and not filling very fast, gave us time to make our arrangements. The boat was launched, a mast and sail prepared, short stanchions nailed to her gunwale, and a strip of sail cloth attached thereto, for the purpose of raising her sides, to prevent the spray of the sea washing in. We took also on board, the ship's compass, a bag of biscuit, a keg of water, and some bottles of brandy. No baggage was permitted. My own dress was shirt, pantaloons, shoes, hat, and an old surtout coat. I had taken the precaution to secure the papers relative to the voyage, my watch, and about sixty Spanish dollars tied up in a shot bag; the bag of dollars I made fast to the ringbolt in the boat's stern. We were probably a couple of hours in making those preparations. At length the schooner being nearly full of water, we settled ourselves in the boat and left her,—the captain, who steered, and myself in the stern sheets, the mate and English captain next, two of the seamen midships, with tin cans to bail the water out as it should splash in, the others forward. I had little expectation that the boat could possibly live as deeply loaded as she was, and such I believe was the opinion of all on board,—for the first two or three hours there was not a dozen words spoken. It was our object to make the island of St. Domingo, from which we were fifty or sixty miles distant, as soon as possible. To effect this all our exertions were used; but so miserably rigged as we were, and so deep withal, that we could do little more than run before the wind. Our oars were some how or other of little use. On the first day we made, that is we had a very distant view of land, on our larboard bow, which we supposed to be Point Isabella, the most northern part of the island of St. Domingo; the wind would not permit us to reach it. In the evening we had a severe squall; the wind blew, the waves increased; we lowered our sail, just sufficient to keep before the wind. Soon it commenced raining hard, the waves were stilled, we rode out the storm, and began to breathe more freely—entered into conversation, and entertained hopes of our ultimate safety, by getting to land somewhere, or being picked up; but neither land nor vessel appeared during the whole of the second day, we still running before the wind, making as much southing as the nature of our equipment would permit. On the morning of the third day we found ourselves off Monti Christi, and might probably have reached the land; but by this time we had become confident in our power to sustain ourselves, and determined to run for Cape Francais, which then lay direct to leeward, and which we reached in perfect safety about three o'clock that afternoon. Thus terminated a voyage of about two hundred and fifty miles, in about sixty hours, in the open sea, and in a small boat so deeply loaded, that her gunwale, on an even keel, could not be above four inches above the water—leaving us in a complete state of destitution; not a man but myself had saved any thing but the clothes around him.