The Morrow was
an English ship with, of course, but little accommo-
dation for passengers, of whom there were only
myself, a young woman and her servant, who was
a middle-aged negress. I thought it singular that a
travelling English girl should be so attended, but
she afterward explained to me that the woman had
been left with her family by a man and his wife
from South Carolina, both of whom had died on
the same day at the house of the young lady's father
in Devonshire--a circumstance in itself sufficiently
uncommon to remain rather distinctly in my mem-
ory, even had it not afterward transpired in conver-
sation with the young lady that the name of the
man was William Jarrett, the same as my own. I
knew that a branch of my family had settled in
South Carolina, but of them and their history I was
ignorant.
The Morrow sailed from the mouth of the Mersey
on the 15th of June, and for several weeks we had
fair breezes and unclouded skies. The skipper, an
admirable seaman but nothing more, favoured us
with very little of his society, except at his table; and
the young woman, Miss Janette Harford, and I be-
came very well acquainted. We were, in truth, nearly
always together, and being of an introspective turn
of mind I often endeavoured to analyse and define
the novel feeling with which she inspired me--a
secret, subtle, but powerful attraction which con-
stantly impelled me to seek her; but the attempt was
hopeless.
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