When I went down, Captain Eliot dragged me into the middle state-room, and gave vent to his jealous feelings.  He must have listened to all that Herbert had said.  His last words were that I should never leave that room alive.  I had a wretched night, and the first time I fell into an uneasy sleep I started suddenly up to find my husband flashing the light of a lantern across my eyes.  “Handsome and wicked,” he muttered—­“they always go together.”

I begged him to listen to the story of my engagement to Herbert, and he did listen, but it did not soften his heart.  If he ever loved me, his jealousy has swallowed it up.

I have been in this room just a week.  My husband does not starve or beat me, but his taunts and threats are fearful, and his eyes when he looks at me grow wild, as if he had the longing of a beast to tear me in pieces.

* * * * *

May 10.  I placed a copy of the paper that is pinned to this letter in a little bottle that had escaped my husband’s search, and threw it out of my window.

I am Waitstill Atwood Eliot, wife of Captain Eliot of the ship Sapphire.  I have been kept in solitary confinement and threatened with death for four weeks, for no just cause.  I believe him to be insane, as he constantly threatens to burn or sink the ship.  I pray that this paper may be picked up by some one who will board this ship and bring me help.

Of course it is a most forlorn hope, but it keeps me from utter despair.

20.  Herbert tried to communicate with me by slipping a paper under the door, but I did not get it, and he has been put in irons.  Captain Eliot boasts of it.  I wish he would bind us together and let us drown in one another’s arms, as they did in the Huguenot persecution.

28.  A little paper tied to a string hung in front of my bull’s-eye window to-day:  I took it in.  The first officer had lowered it down:  “Captain Eliot says you are ill, but I don’t believe it.  If he tries violence, scream, and I will break open the door.  I am always on the watch.  Keep your heart up.”

This is a drop of comfort in my black cup, but my little window was screwed down within an hour after I had read the paper.

June 10.  My spirit is worn out:  I can endure no more.  I have begged my husband to kill me and end my misery.  I don’t know why he hesitated.  He means to do it some time, but perhaps he cannot think of torture exquisite enough for his purpose.

11.  My husband came in about four in the afternoon, looking so vindictive that my heart stood still.  He gradually worked himself into a frenzy, and aimed a blow at my head:  instinct, rather than the love of life, made me parry it, and I got the stroke on my wrist.

I screamed, and at the same moment there was a tumult on deck, and the ship quivered as if she too had been violently struck.  Captain Eliot rushed on deck, and began to give hurried orders.  I could hear the first officer contradict them, and then there was a heavy fall, and two or three men stumbled down the cabin stairs, carrying some weight between them.