ABSTRACT
Dr. Homily and his guests were, as we before related, in deep discussion, when a servant entered, crying, ‘A most sad misfortune; poor creatures! they must all perish! what a bitter night it is!’ On inquiry, they found that a boat with passengers from Staten Island had been blocked up in the ice, and that they had been obliged to land on a small morass, or swampy islet, on which there was no house, or shelter, except one small stunted tree. It was a dark and dismal night in the month of February; and rendered more dreadful by a violent snow-storm which had raged for some hours. The cries of the people could be heard very distinctly, and our hero could scarcely be restrained by the company from venturing immediately over to their relief. In less / than an hour the storm abated, and the sky became clear. Tim then, with Sancho and another black, launched a small canoe, with two oars, and a boathook, on the ice, over which they pushed her towards the marsh, directed by the cries, and the light of the moon. They had many difficulties to encounter from fissures in the floating cakes of ice, and from one part of the river, where the swift current was not closed, but full of small detached masses.
