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commanders.
The accommodations are admirable — fare $140. Unless our ship should speak some one bound to America on the passage, you will probably not hear from me under two months.
Before two months had passed came vague rumors of a terrible shipwreck on the coast of
Ireland.
Then the tidings that the
Albion was lost.
Then came a letter from
Mr. Pond, at
Kinsale, Ireland, dated May 2, 1822:
You have doubtless heard of the shipwreck of the Albion packet of New York, bound to Liverpool.
It was a melancholy shipwreck.
It happened about four o'clock on the morning of the 22d of April. Professor Fisher, of Yale College, was one of the passengers.
Out of twenty-three cabin passengers, but one reached the shore.
He is a Mr. Everhart, of Chester County, Pennsylvania.
He informs me that Professor Fisher was injured by things that fetched away in the cabin at the time the ship was knocked down.
This was between 8 and 9 o'clock in the evening of the twenty-first. Mr. Fisher, though badly bruised, was calm and resolute, and assisted Captain Williams by taking the injured compass to his berth and repairing it. About five minutes before the vessel struck Captain Williams informed the passengers of their danger, and all went on deck except Professor Fisher, who remained sitting in his berth.
Mr. Everhart was the last person who left the cabin, and the last who ever saw Professor Fisher alive.
I should not have spoken of this incident of family history with such minuteness, except for the fact that it is so much a part of
Mrs. Stowe's life as to make it
