Vermont Phœnix

INTERESTING NARRATIVE

Among the vessels lost on the Florida reef during the memorable gale of the 7th and 8th of September last, our readers may remember the brig Olney, Captain Thomas. This vessel, which had left St. Jago de Cuba a few days previous, with a cargo composed of a million of cigars, a quantity of tobacco, and a large number of cedar logs, was wrecked on Friday, the 8th September, about 20 miles to the north of Cape Florida. She had attempted to anchor, but the tempest was so violent that both her anchors snapped like pack thread, and she was driven high and dry on the Florida shore. The persons on board, comprising the crew of seven men, and a single passenger, remained in the brig in the continual expectation that the wreckers in the neighborhood would come to their relief. Two days after the Olney had gone ashore, while the captain and crew were at breakfast, the report of rifles was heard. Every one rejoiced in the belief that assistance was at hand. On ascending the deck, what were the surprise and horror of these poor fellows, at beholding the brig in possession of some twenty ferocious and well armed Indians, who had collected on the starboard quarter, and who menaced them with immediate death in case of the slightest resistance. The crew were totally unarmed, and implicit obedience to the merciless savages constituted their sole chance of ultimate safety.

They were ordered by signs to remove the cigars from the hold and throw them on the beach. About one hundred half boxes had been removed, when Captain Thomas, a bold and irritable man, refused unconditionally to throw away any more of his cargo. One of the savages, enraged at his disobedience, knocked him down with the butt end of his rifle. This was the signal of attack. A volley of bullets was immediately discharged at the unfortunate commander, and having been pierced by two rifle balls, he was hurled, yet breathing, on the beach. One of the wretches, perceiving that he still lived, seized the hatch bar and plunged it into his breast, extinguishing every remnant of life. The crew were then commanded to go ashore. Scarcely had they touched the land, when a second discharge of rifles was made, by which five were killed. Of the remaining two, one who had escaped unwounded, fled so fast that the Indians were unable to overtake him. The other, Johnson by name, sprung towards some low bushes which grew at a short distance, and having heard that green branches were considered by the savages as a token of peace, fortunately bethought himself of making an effort to have his life spared. He plucked one of the bushes from the ground, fell on his knees, and held it up with signs of supplication. The appeal succeeded, and he was for a moment safe. They gave him an axe, and pointing to a smack which was lying at some distance on the shore, bottom upwards, he was commanded to cut a hole into it. He obeyed, and the Indians took a quantity of beef out of it, which they made him carry to their encampment, which was some miles from the spot. Having arrived there, it appeared that the savages had only postponed the death of the poor fellow, for several of them levelled their rifles at him, and were about to fire, when a squaw rushed out of a wigwam, placed herself before him, and interceded so powerfully for his life, that the Indians let him unharmed, and entered their tents.

As soon as Johnson found himself unobserved, he started with all the speed which the love of life could infuse in his frame, and soon reached the brig. He ascended her sides, and stowed himself among a number of cedar blocks which were on the deck. He lay there for 24 hours, trembling with apprehension, and expecting momentarily the return of the Indians, when most happily, two wreckers came in sight; the crew jumped on board the Olney, and were felicitating themselves on the excellent prize they had obtained, when the Indians were once more seen approaching. Johnson immediately appeared from his hiding place, and called to them to save themselves. They all jumped on the shore from the bows of the brig, which lay about two feet from the water, Johnson followed, and such was the desperate resolution produced by the dread of death, that though he knew nothing of swimming, he boldly struck out into the deep water, reached the wreckers' boats, was taken, conveyed on board the America, from thence was carried to Key West, afterwards to Havana, in the United States schooner Wave, and was eventually conveyed to New Orleans. The other individual who saved himself by running, was likewise taken up by the America, and is now in Mobile.

We have this simple but thrilling narrative from the lips of George Johnson himself and have little doubt of its entire accuracy. We have given it almost in the very language employed by him. As is not uncommon, he is indebted for his life to the interposition of a woman.—N. O. Bee.