THE following is an extract from the letter of an emigrant, addressed to one of his friends in this city, and received by the last mail from Boston. It contains a vivid and painful picture of the emigrant catastrophe in Canada. The letter is dated from the barque Bridgetown, lying off Grosse island, in front of Quebec, which, it appears, was converted to a vast burial place:–
We arrived here on the 22nd from Liverpool. I regret to tell you that fever broke out, and that seventy passengers and one sailor were committed to the deep on the voyage. There are several more ill. We buried six yesterday on shore. The carpenter and joiner are occupied making coffins. There are six more dead after the night. I cannot say when we can go to Quebec, as we cannot land the remainder of the sick at present, there being no room in the hospitals for them, though the front of the island is literally covered with sheds and tents.
The accounts from the shore are awful, and our condition on board you can form no idea of– helpless children without parents or relatives, the father buried in the deep last week, and the mother the week before,– their six children under similar unfortunate circumstances, and so on. I trust God will carry me through this trying ordeal– I was a few days sick, but am now recovered. Captain Wilson was complaining for a few days. It is an awful change from the joyous hopes with which most of us left our unfortunate country, expecting to be able to earn that livelihood denied us at home– all– all changed in many cases to bitter deep despair.