"After the sailing of the Empress, I returned to Troy, to await the news of her safe arrival at New Orleans. I felt gloomy and desolate, and for my uncompanionable humor received sundry playful jibes or open rebukes from my friends. In about a week I began to examine the shipping lists of the New York papers, in the hope of seeing some notice of the good ship that contained my heart's best treasure. But no record of her having been spoken at sea met my eyes as I scanned the newspapers day after day with an eager and increasing hope, until four, five, and six weeks had passed away. So much troubled had I now become, that I went down to New York to see the owners of the ship.
"'Has the Empress arrived out yet?' I asked, on entering their counting-room.
"'Not at the latest dates,' was the reply, made in a voice expressive of concern.
"'We should have had news of her arrival ten days ago.'
"'Never but once, and that after she was three days out.'
"'None better out of this port,' was the prompt answer.
"For ten days I remained in New York, eagerly examining each morning the shipping lists, and referring to all the southern papers to which I could get access. I met during that time but one reference to the Empress, and that was contained in a paragraph alluding to her long passage, and expressing great fears for her safety. This thrilled my heart with a more palpable and terrible fear. On the next day but one, I met in a New Orleans paper a farther allusion to her, coupled with the remark that a suspicious-looking vessel, clipper-built, with a black hull, had been seen several times during the past few weeks cruising in the Gulf, and expressing a fear lest she had come across the Empress. I thought this would have driven me beside myself. But why prolong this painful narration by attempting to describe my feelings, as day after day, week after week, and month after month passed, and no tidings came of the missing ship? From the day I parted with Eugenia, I have neither seen her nor heard from her. The noble vessel that bore her proudly away neither reached her destination, nor returned back with her precious freight. All--all found a grave in the dark depths of the ocean.
"It is a terrible thing, my friend, to be _thus_ reft of all you hold dearest in life. If I had seen her touched by the hand of disease, and watched the rose fading from her cheek, leaf after leaf falling away, until death claimed at last his victim, I could have borne the severe affliction with some degree of fortitude. Even if she had been struck down suddenly at my side, there would have been something for the bruised heart to rest upon. But to be taken from me thus! her fate shrouded in a most fearful mystery! Oh! it is terrible!"