The Coming Wave by Oliver Optic

Harvey Barth stood on the high cliff and wept; not in a poetical sense, but cried like a little child, and the hot tears burned on his cold, thin pale cheeks. Captain 'Siah had always used him well; the rough mate had been kind to him; and the seamen, most of whom, like himself, were farmers' sons, had been friendly during the three months they were together. Even the passenger often seated himself in the galley to talk with him, as he smoked his pipe. Now they were all gone. So far as Harvey knew, every one of them, from the captain to the humblest seaman, had perished, either by the bolt from the clouds or in the mad waters. It was barely possible that the mate or passenger had escaped from the wreck on which they had taken refuge, as they had the whale-boat with them.

Harvey Barth, who had often told his shipmates that he had not much longer to live, was the only one saved from the whole ship's company. It seemed to him very strange that he should be spared while so many stronger men had been suddenly swept away. He dared not believe that any one else had been saved, and he could not but regard himself as a monument of the mercy, as well as of the mysterious ways of Providence. He thanked God from the depths of his heart that he was saved, and he was almost willing to believe that he might yet escape the fate to which his malady had doomed him.