begged they would defer such a dreadful alternative to the latest
minute.

"On the twenty-first night of our disaster, I had a most remarkable
dream: I thought I saw a fine ship bearing down to our assistance, and
that she was called "The London of London." I related my dream to my
companions, in hopes it might raise their spirits, which, however, it
failed to do; for nothing was to be seen on that dreary waste of water,
though we scanned the horizon in every direction. For upwards of two
hours after, we scarcely spoke a word, when suddenly the sun, which had
been obscured all the morning, shone out brightly and warm for the
season of the year. I mechanically raised myself and looked over the
bulwarks, when, to my astonishment and delight, I beheld a ship, the
very counterpart of the one I had seen in my dream, bearing down
directly for the wreck.

"It is not easy to describe our various feelings on this occasion: we
could scarcely believe our senses when the boat came along side. We
were so reduced by famine and exposure, that we had to be lifted into
her. In this state of exhaustion every attention was paid us by the
humane captain and crew.

"As soon as I was on board, I asked the name of the vessel, when I was
surprised to find she was called the 'Portaferry of Portaferry.'
Although the name was not that borne by the vessel of which I had
dreamed, it must be considered at least a remarkable coincidence.

"Great care was taken to prevent us eating too ravenously at first: we
received every kindness our weak condition required; but,
notwithstanding these precautions, two of my companions in misery died