The Narrative of A. Gordon Pym (Raven Edition)

INTRODUCTORY NOTE

Upon my return to the United States a few months ago, after the

extraordinary series of adventure in the South Seas and

elsewhere, of which an account is given in the following pages,

accident threw me into the society of several gentlemen in

Richmond, Va., who felt deep interest in all matters relating to

the regions I had visited, and who were constantly urging it upon

me, as a duty, to give my narrative to the public. I had several

reasons, however, for declining to do so, some of which were of a

nature altogether private, and concern no person but myself;

others not so much so. One consideration which deterred me was

that, having kept no journal during a greater portion of the time

in which I was absent, I feared I should not be able to write,

from mere memory, a statement so minute and connected as to have

the _appearance_of that truth it would really possess, barring

only the natural and unavoidable exaggeration to which all of us

are prone when detailing events which have had powerful influence

in exciting the imaginative faculties. Another reason was, that

the incidents to be narrated were of a nature so positively

marvellous that, unsupported as my assertions must necessarily be

(except by the evidence of a single individual, and he a

half-breed Indian), I could only hope for belief among my family,

and those of my friends who have had reason, through life, to put

faith in my veracity—the probability being that the public at

large would regard what I should put forth as merely an impudent

and ingenious fiction. A distrust in my own abilities as a writer

was, nevertheless, one of the principal causes which prevented me

from complying with the suggestions of my advisers.

Among those gentlemen in Virginia who expressed the greatest

interest in my statement, more particularly in regard to that

portion of it which related to the Antarctic Ocean, was Mr. Poe,

lately editor of the “Southern Literary Messenger,” a monthly

magazine, published by Mr. Thomas W. White, in the city of

Richmond. He strongly advised me, among others, to prepare at

once a full account of what I had seen and undergone, and trust

to the shrewdness and common-sense of the public—insisting, with

great plausibility, that however roughly, as regards mere

authorship, my book should be got up, its very uncouthness, if

there were any, would give it all the better chance of being

received as truth.

Notwithstanding this representation, I did not make up my mind to

do as he suggested. He afterward proposed (finding that I would

not stir in the matter) that I should allow him to draw up, in

his own words, a narrative of the earlier portion of my

adventures, from facts afforded by myself, publishing it in the

“Southern Messenger” _under the garb of fiction. _To this,

perceiving no objection, I consented, stipulating only that my

real name should be retained. Two numbers of the pretended

fiction appeared, consequently, in the “Messenger” for January

and February (1837), and, in order that it might certainly be

regarded as fiction, the name of Mr. Poe was affixed to the

articles in the table of contents of the magazine.

The manner in which this ruse was received has induced me at

length to undertake a regular compilation and publication of the

adventures in question; for I found that, in spite of the air of

fable which had been so ingeniously thrown around that portion of

my statement which appeared in the “Messenger” (without altering

or distorting a single fact), the public were still not at all

disposed to receive it as fable, and several letters were sent to

Mr. P.’s address, distinctly expressing a conviction to the

contrary. I thence concluded that the facts of my narrative would

prove of such a nature as to carry with them sufficient evidence

of their own authenticity, and that I had consequently little to

fear on the score of popular incredulity.

This _exposé_being made, it will be seen at once how much of what

follows I claim to be my own writing; and it will also be

understood that no fact is misrepresented in the first few pages

which were written by Mr. Poe. Even to those readers who have not

seen the “Messenger,” it will be unnecessary to point out where

his portion ends and my own commences; the difference in point of

style will be readily perceived.

A. G. PYM.

CHAPTER 1

My name is Arthur Gordon Pym. My father was a respectable trader

in sea-stores at Nantucket, where I was born. My maternal

grandfather was an attorney in good practice. He was fortunate in

every thing, and had speculated very successfully in stocks of

the Edgarton New Bank, as it was formerly called. By these and

other means he had managed to lay by a tolerable sum of money. He

was more attached to myself, I believe, than to any other person

in the world, and I expected to inherit the most of his property

at his death. He sent me, at six years of age, to the school of

old Mr. Ricketts, a gentleman with only one arm and of eccentric

manners—he is well known to almost every person who has visited

New Bedford. I stayed at his school until I was sixteen, when I

left him for Mr. E. Ronald’s academy on the hill. Here I became

intimate with the son of Mr. Barnard, a sea-captain, who

generally sailed in the employ of Lloyd and Vredenburgh—Mr.

Barnard is also very well known in New Bedford, and has many

relations, I am certain, in Edgarton. His son was named Augustus,

and he was nearly two years older than myself. He had been on a

whaling voyage with his father in the John Donaldson, and was

always talking to me of his adventures in the South Pacific

Ocean. I used frequently to go home with him, and remain all day,

and sometimes all night. We occupied the same bed, and he would

be sure to keep me awake until almost light, telling me stories

of the natives of the Island of Tinian, and other places he had

visited in his travels. At last I could not help being interested

in what he said, and by degrees I felt the greatest desire to go

to sea. I owned a sailboat called the Ariel, and worth about

seventy-five dollars. She had a half-deck or cuddy, and was

rigged sloop-fashion—I forget her tonnage, but she would hold ten

persons without much crowding. In this boat we were in the habit

of going on some of the maddest freaks in the world; and, when I

now think of them, it appears to me a thousand wonders that I am

alive to-day.

I will relate one of these adventures by way of introduction to a

longer and more momentous narrative. One night there was a party

at Mr. Barnard’s, and both Augustus and myself were not a little

intoxicated toward the close of it. As usual, in such cases, I

took part of his bed in preference to going home. He went to

sleep, as I thought, very quietly (it being near one when the

party broke up), and without saying a word on his favorite topic.

It might have been half an hour from the time of our getting in

bed, and I was just about falling into a doze, when he suddenly

started up, and swore with a terrible oath that he would not go

to sleep for any Arthur Pym in Christendom, when there was so

glorious a breeze from the southwest. I never was so astonished

in my life, not knowing what he intended, and thinking that the

wines and liquors he had drunk had set him entirely beside

himself. He proceeded to talk very coolly, however, saying he

knew that I supposed him intoxicated, but that he was never more

sober in his life. He was only tired, he added, of lying in bed

on such a fine night like a dog, and was determined to get up and

dress, and go out on a frolic with the boat. I can hardly tell

what possessed me, but the words were no sooner out of his mouth

than I felt a thrill of the greatest excitement and pleasure, and

thought his mad idea one of the most delightful and most

reasonable things in the world. It was blowing almost a gale, and

the weather was very cold—it being late in October. I sprang out

of bed, nevertheless, in a kind of ecstasy, and told him I was

quite as brave as himself, and quite as tired as he was of lying

in bed like a dog, and quite as ready for any fun or frolic as

any Augustus Barnard in Nantucket.

We lost no time in getting on our clothes and hurrying down to

the boat. She was lying at the old decayed wharf by the

lumber-yard of Pankey & Co., and almost thumping her side out

against the rough logs. Augustus got into her and bailed her, for

she was nearly half full of water. This being done, we hoisted

jib and mainsail, kept full, and started boldly out to sea.

The wind, as I before said, blew freshly from the southwest. The

night was very clear and cold. Augustus had taken the helm, and I

stationed myself by the mast, on the deck of the cuddy. We flew

along at a great rate—neither of us having said a word since

casting loose from the wharf. I now asked my companion what

course he intended to steer, and what time he thought it probable

we should get back. He whistled for a few minutes, and then said

crustily: “I am going to sea—you may go home if you think

proper.” Turning my eyes upon him, I perceived at once that, in

spite of his assumed nonchalance, he was greatly agitated. I

could see him distinctly by the light of the moon—his face was

paler than any marble, and his hand shook so excessively that he

could scarcely retain hold of the tiller. I found that something

had gone wrong, and became seriously alarmed. At this period I

knew little about the management of a boat, and was now depending

entirely upon the nautical skill of my friend. The wind, too, had

suddenly increased, as we were fast getting out of the lee of the

land—still I was ashamed to betray any trepidation, and for

almost half an hour maintained a resolute silence. I could stand

it no longer, however, and spoke to Augustus about the propriety

of turning back. As before, it was nearly a minute before he made

answer, or took any notice of my suggestion. “By-and-by,” said he

at length—“time enough—home by-and-by.” I had expected a similar

reply, but there was something in the tone of these words which

filled me with an indescribable feeling of dread. I again looked

at the speaker attentively. His lips were perfectly livid, and

his knees shook so violently together that he seemed scarcely

able to stand. “For God’s sake, Augustus,” I screamed, now

heartily frightened, “what ails you?—what is the matter?—what

are you going to do?” “Matter!” he stammered, in the greatest

apparent surprise, letting go the tiller at the same moment, and

falling forward into the bottom of the boat—“matter—why, nothing

is the—matter—going home—d—d—don’t you see?” The whole truth now

flashed upon me. I flew to him and raised him up. He was

drunk—beastly drunk—he could no longer either stand, speak, or

see. His eyes were perfectly glazed; and as I let him go in the

extremity of my despair, he rolled like a mere log into the

bilge-water, from which I had lifted him. It was evident that,

during the evening, he had drunk far more than I suspected, and

that his conduct in bed had been the result of a

highly-concentrated state of intoxication—a state which, like

madness, frequently enables the victim to imitate the outward

demeanour of one in perfect possession of his senses. The

coolness of the night air, however, had had its usual effect—the

mental energy began to yield before its influence—and the

confused perception which he no doubt then had of his perilous

situation had assisted in hastening the catastrophe. He was now

thoroughly insensible, and there was no probability that he would

be otherwise for many hours.

It is hardly possible to conceive the extremity of my terror. The

fumes of the wine lately taken had evaporated, leaving me doubly

timid and irresolute. I knew that I was altogether incapable of

managing the boat, and that a fierce wind and strong ebb tide

were hurrying us to destruction. A storm was evidently gathering

behind us; we had neither compass nor provisions; and it was

clear that, if we held our present course, we should be out of

sight of land before daybreak. These thoughts, with a crowd of

others equally fearful, flashed through my mind with a

bewildering rapidity, and for some moments paralyzed me beyond

the possibility of making any exertion. The boat was going

through the water at a terrible rate—full before the wind—no reef

in either jib or mainsail—running her bows completely under the

foam. It was a thousand wonders she did not broach to—Augustus

having let go the tiller, as I said before, and I being too much

agitated to think of taking it myself. By good luck, however, she

kept steady, and gradually I recovered some degree of presence of

mind. Still the wind was increasing fearfully, and whenever we

rose from a plunge forward, the sea behind fell combing over our

counter, and deluged us with water. I was so utterly benumbed,

too, in every limb, as to be nearly unconscious of sensation. At

length I summoned up the resolution of despair, and rushing to

the mainsail let it go by the run. As might have been expected,

it flew over the bows, and, getting drenched with water, carried

away the mast short off by the board. This latter accident alone

saved me from instant destruction. Under the jib only, I now

boomed along before the wind, shipping heavy seas occasionally

over the counter, but relieved from the terror of immediate

death. I took the helm, and breathed with greater freedom as I

found that there yet remained to us a chance of ultimate escape.

Augustus still lay senseless in the bottom of the boat; and as

there was imminent danger of his drowning (the water being nearly

a foot deep just where he fell), I contrived to raise him

partially up, and keep him in a sitting position, by passing a

rope round his waist, and lashing it to a ringbolt in the deck of

the cuddy. Having thus arranged every thing as well as I could in

my chilled and agitated condition, I recommended myself to God,

and made up my mind to bear whatever might happen with all the

fortitude in my power.

Hardly had I come to this resolution, when, suddenly, a loud and

long scream or yell, as if from the throats of a thousand demons,

seemed to pervade the whole atmosphere around and above the boat.

Never while I live shall I forget the intense agony of terror I

experienced at that moment. My hair stood erect on my head—I felt

the blood congealing in my veins—my heart ceased utterly to beat,

and without having once raised my eyes to learn the source of my

alarm, I tumbled headlong and insensible upon the body of my

fallen companion.

I found myself, upon reviving, in the cabin of a large

whaling-ship (the Penguin) bound to Nantucket. Several persons

were standing over me, and Augustus, paler than death, was busily

occupied in chafing my hands. Upon seeing me open my eyes, his

exclamations of gratitude and joy excited alternate laughter and

tears from the rough-looking personages who were present. The

mystery of our being in existence was now soon explained. We had

been run down by the whaling-ship, which was close-hauled,

beating up to Nantucket with every sail she could venture to set,

and consequently running almost at right angles to our own

course. Several men were on the look-out forward, but did not

perceive our boat until it was an impossibility to avoid coming

in contact—their shouts of warning upon seeing us were what so

terribly alarmed me. The huge ship, I was told, rode immediately

over us with as much ease as our own little vessel would have

passed over a feather, and without the least perceptible

impediment to her progress. Not a scream arose from the deck of

the victim—there was a slight grating sound to be heard mingling

with the roar of wind and water, as the frail bark which was

swallowed up rubbed for a moment along the keel of her

destroyer—but this was all. Thinking our boat (which it will be

remembered was dismasted) some mere shell cut adrift as useless,

the captain (Captain E. T. V. Block, of New London) was for

proceeding on his course without troubling himself further about

the matter. Luckily, there were two of the look-out who swore

positively to having seen some person at our helm, and

represented the possibility of yet saving him. A discussion

ensued, when Block grew angry, and, after a while, said that “it

was no business of his to be eternally watching for egg-shells;

that the ship should not put about for any such nonsense; and if

there was a man run down, it was nobody’s fault but his own, he

might drown and be dammed” or some language to that effect.

Henderson, the first mate, now took the matter up, being justly

indignant, as well as the whole ship’s crew, at a speech evincing

so base a degree of heartless atrocity. He spoke plainly, seeing

himself upheld by the men, told the captain he considered him a

fit subject for the gallows, and that he would disobey his orders

if he were hanged for it the moment he set his foot on shore. He

strode aft, jostling Block (who turned pale and made no answer)

on one side, and seizing the helm, gave the word, in a firm

voice, Hard-a-lee! The men flew to their posts, and the ship went

cleverly about. All this had occupied nearly five minutes, and it

was supposed to be hardly within the bounds of possibility that

any individual could be saved—allowing any to have been on board

the boat. Yet, as the reader has seen, both Augustus and myself

were rescued; and our deliverance seemed to have been brought

about by two of those almost inconceivable pieces of good fortune

which are attributed by the wise and pious to the special

interference of Providence.

While the ship was yet in stays, the mate lowered the jolly-boat

and jumped into her with the very two men, I believe, who spoke

up as having seen me at the helm. They had just left the lee of

the vessel (the moon still shining brightly) when she made a long

and heavy roll to windward, and Henderson, at the same moment,

starting up in his seat bawled out to his crew to back water. He

would say nothing else—repeating his cry impatiently, back water!

back water! The men put back as speedily as possible, but by this

time the ship had gone round, and gotten fully under headway,

although all hands on board were making great exertions to take

in sail. In despite of the danger of the attempt, the mate clung

to the main-chains as soon as they came within his reach. Another

huge lurch now brought the starboard side of the vessel out of

water nearly as far as her keel, when the cause of his anxiety

was rendered obvious enough. The body of a man was seen to be

affixed in the most singular manner to the smooth and shining

bottom (the Penguin was coppered and copper-fastened), and

beating violently against it with every movement of the hull.

After several ineffectual efforts, made during the lurches of the

ship, and at the imminent risk of swamping the boat I was finally

disengaged from my perilous situation and taken on board—for the

body proved to be my own. It appeared that one of the

timber-bolts having started and broken a passage through the

copper, it had arrested my progress as I passed under the ship,

and fastened me in so extraordinary a manner to her bottom. The

head of the bolt had made its way through the collar of the green

baize jacket I had on, and through the back part of my neck,

forcing itself out between two sinews and just below the right

ear. I was immediately put to bed—although life seemed to be

totally extinct. There was no surgeon on board. The captain,

however, treated me with every attention—to make amends, I

presume, in the eyes of his crew, for his atrocious behaviour in

the previous portion of the adventure.

In the meantime, Henderson had again put off from the ship,

although the wind was now blowing almost a hurricane. He had not

been gone many minutes when he fell in with some fragments of our

boat, and shortly afterward one of the men with him asserted that

he could distinguish a cry for help at intervals amid the roaring

of the tempest. This induced the hardy seamen to persevere in

their search for more than half an hour, although repeated

signals to return were made them by Captain Block, and although

every moment on the water in so frail a boat was fraught to them

with the most imminent and deadly peril. Indeed, it is nearly

impossible to conceive how the small jolly they were in could

have escaped destruction for a single instant. She was built,

however, for the whaling service, and was fitted, as I have since

had reason to believe, with air-boxes, in the manner of some

life-boats used on the coast of Wales.

After searching in vain for about the period of time just

mentioned, it was determined to get back to the ship. They had

scarcely made this resolve when a feeble cry arose from a dark

object that floated rapidly by. They pursued and soon overtook

it. It proved to be the entire deck of the Ariel’s cuddy.

Augustus was struggling near it, apparently in the last agonies.

Upon getting hold of him it was found that he was attached by a

rope to the floating timber. This rope, it will be remembered, I

had myself tied around his waist, and made fast to a ringbolt,

for the purpose of keeping him in an upright position, and my so

doing, it appeared, had been ultimately the means of preserving

his life. The Ariel was slightly put together, and in going down

her frame naturally went to pieces; the deck of the cuddy, as

might have been expected, was lifted, by the force of the water

rushing in, entirely from the main timbers, and floated (with

other fragments, no doubt) to the surface—Augustus was buoyed up

with it, and thus escaped a terrible death.

It was more than an hour after being taken on board the Penguin

before he could give any account of himself, or be made to

comprehend the nature of the accident which had befallen our

boat. At length he became thoroughly aroused, and spoke much of

his sensations while in the water. Upon his first attaining any

degree of consciousness, he found himself beneath the surface,

whirling round and round with inconceivable rapidity, and with a

rope wrapped in three or four folds tightly about his neck. In an

instant afterward he felt himself going rapidly upward, when, his

head striking violently against a hard substance, he again

relapsed into insensibility. Upon once more reviving he was in

fuller possession of his reason—this was still, however, in the

greatest degree clouded and confused. He now knew that some

accident had occurred, and that he was in the water, although his

mouth was above the surface, and he could breathe with some

freedom. Possibly, at this period the deck was drifting rapidly

before the wind, and drawing him after it, as he floated upon his

back. Of course, as long as he could have retained this position,

it would have been nearly impossible that he should be drowned.

Presently a surge threw him directly athwart the deck, and this

post he endeavored to maintain, screaming at intervals for help.

Just before he was discovered by Mr. Henderson, he had been

obliged to relax his hold through exhaustion, and, falling into

the sea, had given himself up for lost. During the whole period

of his struggles he had not the faintest recollection of the

Ariel, nor of the matters in connexion with the source of his

disaster. A vague feeling of terror and despair had taken entire

possession of his faculties. When he was finally picked up, every

power of his mind had failed him; and, as before said, it was

nearly an hour after getting on board the Penguin before he

became fully aware of his condition. In regard to myself—I was

resuscitated from a state bordering very nearly upon death (and

after every other means had been tried in vain for three hours

and a half) by vigorous friction with flannels bathed in hot

oil—a proceeding suggested by Augustus. The wound in my neck,

although of an ugly appearance, proved of little real

consequence, and I soon recovered from its effects.

The Penguin got into port about nine o’clock in the morning,

after encountering one of the severest gales ever experienced off

Nantucket. Both Augustus and myself managed to appear at Mr.

Barnard’s in time for breakfast—which, luckily, was somewhat

late, owing to the party over night. I suppose all at the table

were too much fatigued themselves to notice our jaded

appearance—of course, it would not have borne a very rigid

scrutiny. Schoolboys, however, can accomplish wonders in the way

of deception, and I verily believe not one of our friends in

Nantucket had the slightest suspicion that the terrible story

told by some sailors in town of their having run down a vessel at

sea and drowned some thirty or forty poor devils, had reference

either to the Ariel, my companion, or myself. We two have since

very frequently talked the matter over—but never without a

shudder. In one of our conversations Augustus frankly confessed

to me, that in his whole life he had at no time experienced so

excruciating a sense of dismay, as when on board our little boat

he first discovered the extent of his intoxication, and felt

himself sinking beneath its influence.

CHAPTER 2

In no affairs of mere prejudice, pro or con, do we deduce

inferences with entire certainty, even from the most simple data.

It might be supposed that a catastrophe such as I have just

related would have effectually cooled my incipient passion for

the sea. On the contrary, I never experienced a more ardent

longing for the wild adventures incident to the life of a

navigator than within a week after our miraculous deliverance.

This short period proved amply long enough to erase from my

memory the shadows, and bring out in vivid light all the

pleasurably exciting points of color, all the picturesqueness, of

the late perilous accident. My conversations with Augustus grew

daily more frequent and more intensely full of interest. He had a

manner of relating his stories of the ocean (more than one half

of which I now suspect to have been sheer fabrications) well

adapted to have weight with one of my enthusiastic temperament

and somewhat gloomy although glowing imagination. It is strange,

too, that he most strongly enlisted my feelings in behalf of the

life of a seaman, when he depicted his more terrible moments of

suffering and despair. For the bright side of the painting I had

a limited sympathy. My visions were of shipwreck and famine; of

death or captivity among barbarian hordes; of a lifetime dragged

out in sorrow and tears, upon some gray and desolate rock, in an

ocean unapproachable and unknown. Such visions or desires—for

they amounted to desires—are common, I have since been assured,

to the whole numerous race of the melancholy among men—at the

time of which I speak I regarded them only as prophetic glimpses

of a destiny which I felt myself in a measure bound to fulfil.

Augustus thoroughly entered into my state of mind. It is

probable, indeed, that our intimate communion had resulted in a

partial interchange of character.

About eighteen months after the period of the Ariel’s disaster,

the firm of Lloyd and Vredenburgh (a house connected in some

manner with the Messieurs Enderby, I believe, of Liverpool) were

engaged in repairing and fitting out the brig Grampus for a

whaling voyage. She was an old hulk, and scarcely seaworthy when

all was done to her that could be done. I hardly know why she was

chosen in preference to other good vessels belonging to the same

owners—but so it was. Mr. Barnard was appointed to command her,

and Augustus was going with him. While the brig was getting

ready, he frequently urged upon me the excellency of the

opportunity now offered for indulging my desire of travel. He

found me by no means an unwilling listener—yet the matter could

not be so easily arranged. My father made no direct opposition;

but my mother went into hysterics at the bare mention of the

design; and, more than all, my grandfather, from whom I expected

much, vowed to cut me off with a shilling if I should ever broach

the subject to him again. These difficulties, however, so far

from abating my desire, only added fuel to the flame. I

determined to go at all hazards; and, having made known my

intentions to Augustus, we set about arranging a plan by which it

might be accomplished. In the meantime I forbore speaking to any

of my relations in regard to the voyage, and, as I busied myself

ostensibly with my usual studies, it was supposed that I had

abandoned the design. I have since frequently examined my conduct

on this occasion with sentiments of displeasure as well as of

surprise. The intense hypocrisy I made use of for the furtherance

of my project—an hypocrisy pervading every word and action of my

life for so long a period of time—could only have been rendered

tolerable to myself by the wild and burning expectation with

which I looked forward to the fulfilment of my long-cherished

visions of travel.

In pursuance of my scheme of deception, I was necessarily obliged

to leave much to the management of Augustus, who was employed for

the greater part of every day on board the Grampus, attending to

some arrangements for his father in the cabin and cabin hold. At

night, however, we were sure to have a conference and talk over

our hopes. After nearly a month passed in this manner, without

our hitting upon any plan we thought likely to succeed, he told

me at last that he had determined upon everything necessary. I

had a relation living in New Bedford, a Mr. Ross, at whose house

I was in the habit of spending occasionally two or three weeks at

a time. The brig was to sail about the middle of June (June,

1827), and it was agreed that, a day or two before her putting to

sea, my father was to receive a note, as usual, from Mr. Ross,

asking me to come over and spend a fortnight with Robert and

Emmet (his sons). Augustus charged himself with the inditing of

this note and getting it delivered. Having set out as supposed,

for New Bedford, I was then to report myself to my companion, who

would contrive a hiding-place for me in the Grampus. This

hiding-place, he assured me, would be rendered sufficiently

comfortable for a residence of many days, during which I was not

to make my appearance. When the brig had proceeded so far on her

course as to make any turning back a matter out of question, I

should then, he said, be formally installed in all the comforts

of the cabin; and as to his father, he would only laugh heartily

at the joke. Vessels enough would be met with by which a letter

might be sent home explaining the adventure to my parents.

The middle of June at length arrived, and every thing had been

matured. The note was written and delivered, and on a Monday

morning I left the house for the New Bedford packet, as supposed.

I went, however, straight to Augustus, who was waiting for me at

the corner of a street. It had been our original plan that I

should keep out of the way until dark, and then slip on board the

brig; but, as there was now a thick fog in our favor, it was

agreed to lose no time in secreting me. Augustus led the way to

the wharf, and I followed at a little distance, enveloped in a

thick seaman’s cloak, which he had brought with him, so that my

person might not be easily recognized. Just as we turned the

second corner, after passing Mr. Edmund’s well, who should

appear, standing right in front of me, and looking me full in the

face, but old Mr. Peterson, my grandfather. “Why, bless my soul,

Gordon,” said he, after a long pause, “why, why,—whose dirty

cloak is that you have on?” “Sir!” I replied, assuming, as well

as I could, in the exigency of the moment, an air of offended

surprise, and talking in the gruffest of all imaginable

tones—“sir! you are a sum’mat mistaken—my name, in the first

place, bee’nt nothing at all like Goddin, and I’d want you for to

know better, you blackguard, than to call my new obercoat a darty

one.” For my life I could hardly refrain from screaming with

laughter at the odd manner in which the old gentleman received

this handsome rebuke. He started back two or three steps, turned

first pale and then excessively red, threw up his spectacles,

then, putting them down, ran full tilt at me, with his umbrella

uplifted. He stopped short, however, in his career, as if struck

with a sudden recollection; and presently, turning round, hobbled

off down the street, shaking all the while with rage, and

muttering between his teeth: “Won’t do—new glasses—thought it was

Gordon—d—d good-for-nothing salt water Long Tom.”

After this narrow escape we proceeded with greater caution, and

arrived at our point of destination in safety. There were only

one or two of the hands on board, and these were busy forward,

doing something to the forecastle combings. Captain Barnard, we

knew very well, was engaged at Lloyd and Vredenburgh’s, and would

remain there until late in the evening, so we had little to

apprehend on his account. Augustus went first up the vessel’s

side, and in a short while I followed him, without being noticed

by the men at work. We proceeded at once into the cabin, and

found no person there. It was fitted up in the most comfortable

style—a thing somewhat unusual in a whaling-vessel. There were

four very excellent staterooms, with wide and convenient berths.

There was also a large stove, I took notice, and a remarkably

thick and valuable carpet covering the floor of both the cabin

and staterooms. The ceiling was full seven feet high, and, in

short, every thing appeared of a more roomy and agreeable nature

than I had anticipated. Augustus, however, would allow me but

little time for observation, insisting upon the necessity of my

concealing myself as soon as possible. He led the way into his

own stateroom, which was on the starboard side of the brig, and

next to the bulkheads. Upon entering, he closed the door and

bolted it. I thought I had never seen a nicer little room than

the one in which I now found myself. It was about ten feet long,

and had only one berth, which, as I said before, was wide and

convenient. In that portion of the closet nearest the bulkheads

there was a space of four feet square, containing a table, a

chair, and a set of hanging shelves full of books, chiefly books

of voyages and travels. There were many other little comforts in

the room, among which I ought not to forget a kind of safe or

refrigerator, in which Augustus pointed out to me a host of

delicacies, both in the eating and drinking department.

He now pressed with his knuckles upon a certain spot of the

carpet in one corner of the space just mentioned, letting me know

that a portion of the flooring, about sixteen inches square, had

been neatly cut out and again adjusted. As he pressed, this

portion rose up at one end sufficiently to allow the passage of

his finger beneath. In this manner he raised the mouth of the

trap (to which the carpet was still fastened by tacks), and I

found that it led into the after hold. He next lit a small taper

by means of a phosphorous match, and, placing the light in a dark

lantern, descended with it through the opening, bidding me

follow. I did so, and he then pulled the cover upon the hole, by

means of a nail driven into the under side—the carpet, of course,

resuming its original position on the floor of the stateroom, and

all traces of the aperture being concealed.

The taper gave out so feeble a ray that it was with the greatest

difficulty I could grope my way through the confused mass of

lumber among which I now found myself. By degrees, however, my

eyes became accustomed to the gloom, and I proceeded with less

trouble, holding on to the skirts of my friend’s coat. He brought

me, at length, after creeping and winding through innumerable

narrow passages, to an iron-bound box, such as is used sometimes

for packing fine earthenware. It was nearly four feet high, and

full six long, but very narrow. Two large empty oil-casks lay on

the top of it, and above these, again, a vast quantity of straw

matting, piled up as high as the floor of the cabin. In every

other direction around was wedged as closely as possible, even up

to the ceiling, a complete chaos of almost every species of

ship-furniture, together with a heterogeneous medley of crates,

hampers, barrels, and bales, so that it seemed a matter no less

than miraculous that we had discovered any passage at all to the

box. I afterward found that Augustus had purposely arranged the

stowage in this hold with a view to affording me a thorough

concealment, having had only one assistant in the labour, a man

not going out in the brig.

My companion now showed me that one of the ends of the box could

be removed at pleasure. He slipped it aside and displayed the

interior, at which I was excessively amused. A mattress from one

of the cabin berths covered the whole of its bottom, and it

contained almost every article of mere comfort which could be

crowded into so small a space, allowing me, at the same time,

sufficient room for my accommodation, either in a sitting

position or lying at full length. Among other things, there were

some books, pen, ink, and paper, three blankets, a large jug full

of water, a keg of sea-biscuit, three or four immense Bologna

sausages, an enormous ham, a cold leg of roast mutton, and half a

dozen bottles of cordials and liqueurs. I proceeded immediately

to take possession of my little apartment, and this with feelings

of higher satisfaction, I am sure, than any monarch ever

experienced upon entering a new palace. Augustus now pointed out

to me the method of fastening the open end of the box, and then,

holding the taper close to the deck, showed me a piece of dark

whipcord lying along it. This, he said, extended from my

hiding-place throughout all the necessary windings among the

lumber, to a nail which was driven into the deck of the hold,

immediately beneath the trap-door leading into his stateroom. By

means of this cord I should be enabled readily to trace my way

out without his guidance, provided any unlooked-for accident

should render such a step necessary. He now took his departure,

leaving with me the lantern, together with a copious supply of

tapers and phosphorous, and promising to pay me a visit as often

as he could contrive to do so without observation. This was on

the seventeenth of June.

I remained three days and nights (as nearly as I could guess) in

my hiding-place without getting out of it at all, except twice

for the purpose of stretching my limbs by standing erect between

two crates just opposite the opening. During the whole period I

saw nothing of Augustus; but this occasioned me little

uneasiness, as I knew the brig was expected to put to sea every

hour, and in the bustle he would not easily find opportunities of

coming down to me. At length I heard the trap open and shut, and

presently he called in a low voice, asking if all was well, and

if there was any thing I wanted. “Nothing,” I replied; “I am as

comfortable as can be; when will the brig sail?” “She will be

under weigh in less than half an hour,” he answered. “I came to

let you know, and for fear you should be uneasy at my absence. I

shall not have a chance of coming down again for some

time—perhaps for three or four days more. All is going on right

aboveboard. After I go up and close the trap, do you creep along

by the whipcord to where the nail is driven in. You will find my

watch there—it may be useful to you, as you have no daylight to

keep time by. I suppose you can’t tell how long you have been

buried—only three days—this is the twentieth. I would bring the

watch to your box, but am afraid of being missed.” With this he

went up.

In about an hour after he had gone I distinctly felt the brig in

motion, and congratulated myself upon having at length fairly

commenced a voyage. Satisfied with this idea, I determined to

make my mind as easy as possible, and await the course of events

until I should be permitted to exchange the box for the more

roomy, although hardly more comfortable, accommodations of the

cabin. My first care was to get the watch. Leaving the taper

burning, I groped along in the dark, following the cord through

windings innumerable, in some of which I discovered that, after

toiling a long distance, I was brought back within a foot or two

of a former position. At length I reached the nail, and securing

the object of my journey, returned with it in safety. I now

looked over the books which had been so thoughtfully provided,

and selected the expedition of Lewis and Clarke to the mouth of

the Columbia. With this I amused myself for some time, when,

growing sleepy, I extinguished the light with great care, and

soon fell into a sound slumber.

Upon awakening I felt strangely confused in mind, and some time

elapsed before I could bring to recollection all the various

circumstances of my situation. By degrees, however, I remembered

all. Striking a light, I looked at the watch; but it was run

down, and there were, consequently, no means of determining how

long I slept. My limbs were greatly cramped, and I was forced to

relieve them by standing between the crates. Presently feeling an

almost ravenous appetite, I bethought myself of the cold mutton,

some of which I had eaten just before going to sleep, and found

excellent. What was my astonishment in discovering it to be in a

state of absolute putrefaction! This circumstance occasioned me

great disquietude; for, connecting it with the disorder of mind I

experienced upon awakening, I began to suppose that I must have

slept for an inordinately long period of time. The close

atmosphere of the hold might have had something to do with this,

and might, in the end, be productive of the most serious results.

My head ached excessively; I fancied that I drew every breath

with difficulty; and, in short, I was oppressed with a multitude

of gloomy feelings. Still I could not venture to make any

disturbance by opening the trap or otherwise, and, having wound

up the watch, contented myself as well as possible.

Throughout the whole of the next tedious twenty-four hours no

person came to my relief, and I could not help accusing Augustus

of the grossest inattention. What alarmed me chiefly was, that

the water in my jug was reduced to about half a pint, and I was

suffering much from thirst, having eaten freely of the Bologna

sausages after the loss of my mutton. I became very uneasy, and

could no longer take any interest in my books. I was overpowered,

too, with a desire to sleep, yet trembled at the thought of

indulging it, lest there might exist some pernicious influence,

like that of burning charcoal, in the confined air of the hold.

In the meantime the roll of the brig told me that we were far in

the main ocean, and a dull humming sound, which reached my ears

as if from an immense distance, convinced me no ordinary gale was

blowing. I could not imagine a reason for the absence of

Augustus. We were surely far enough advanced on our voyage to

allow of my going up. Some accident might have happened to

him—but I could think of none which would account for his

suffering me to remain so long a prisoner, except, indeed, his

having suddenly died or fallen overboard, and upon this idea I

could not dwell with any degree of patience. It was possible that

we had been baffled by head winds, and were still in the near

vicinity of Nantucket. This notion, however, I was forced to

abandon; for such being the case, the brig must have frequently

gone about; and I was entirely satisfied, from her continual

inclination to the larboard, that she had been sailing all along

with a steady breeze on her starboard quarter. Besides, granting

that we were still in the neighborhood of the island, why should

not Augustus have visited me and informed me of the circumstance?

Pondering in this manner upon the difficulties of my solitary and

cheerless condition, I resolved to wait yet another twenty-four

hours, when, if no relief were obtained, I would make my way to

the trap, and endeavour either to hold a parley with my friend,

or get at least a little fresh air through the opening, and a

further supply of water from the stateroom. While occupied with

this thought, however, I fell in spite of every exertion to the

contrary, into a state of profound sleep, or rather stupor. My

dreams were of the most terrific description. Every species of

calamity and horror befell me. Among other miseries I was

smothered to death between huge pillows, by demons of the most

ghastly and ferocious aspect. Immense serpents held me in their

embrace, and looked earnestly in my face with their fearfully

shining eyes. Then deserts, limitless, and of the most forlorn

and awe-inspiring character, spread themselves out before me.

Immensely tall trunks of trees, gray and leafless, rose up in

endless succession as far as the eye could reach. Their roots

were concealed in wide-spreading morasses, whose dreary water lay

intensely black, still, and altogether terrible, beneath. And the

strange trees seemed endowed with a human vitality, and waving to

and fro their skeleton arms, were crying to the silent waters for

mercy, in the shrill and piercing accents of the most acute agony

and despair. The scene changed; and I stood, naked and alone,

amidst the burning sand-plains of Sahara. At my feet lay crouched

a fierce lion of the tropics. Suddenly his wild eyes opened and

fell upon me. With a conclusive bound he sprang to his feet, and

laid bare his horrible teeth. In another instant there burst from

his red throat a roar like the thunder of the firmament, and I

fell impetuously to the earth. Stifling in a paroxysm of terror,

I at last found myself partially awake. My dream, then, was not

all a dream. Now, at least, I was in possession of my senses. The

paws of some huge and real monster were pressing heavily upon my

bosom—his hot breath was in my ear—and his white and ghastly

fangs were gleaming upon me through the gloom.

Had a thousand lives hung upon the movement of a limb or the

utterance of a syllable, I could have neither stirred nor spoken.

The beast, whatever it was, retained his position without

attempting any immediate violence, while I lay in an utterly

helpless, and, I fancied, a dying condition beneath him. I felt

that my powers of body and mind were fast leaving me—in a word,

that I was perishing, and perishing of sheer fright. My brain

swam—I grew deadly sick—my vision failed—even the glaring

eyeballs above me grew dim. Making a last strong effort, I at

length breathed a faint ejaculation to God, and resigned myself

to die. The sound of my voice seemed to arouse all the latent

fury of the animal. He precipitated himself at full length upon

my body; but what was my astonishment, when, with a long and low

whine, he commenced licking my face and hands with the greatest

eagerness, and with the most extravagant demonstration of

affection and joy! I was bewildered, utterly lost in

amazement—but I could not forget the peculiar whine of my

Newfoundland dog Tiger, and the odd manner of his caresses I well

knew. It was he. I experienced a sudden rush of blood to my

temples—a giddy and overpowering sense of deliverance and

reanimation. I rose hurriedly from the mattress upon which I had

been lying, and, throwing myself upon the neck of my faithful

follower and friend, relieved the long oppression of my bosom in

a flood of the most passionate tears.

As upon a former occasion my conceptions were in a state of the

greatest indistinctness and confusion after leaving the mattress.

For a long time I found it nearly impossible to connect any

ideas; but, by very slow degrees, my thinking faculties returned,

and I again called to memory the several incidents of my

condition. For the presence of Tiger I tried in vain to account;

and after busying myself with a thousand different conjectures

respecting him, was forced to content myself with rejoicing that

he was with me to share my dreary solitude, and render me comfort

by his caresses. Most people love their dogs—but for Tiger I had

an affection far more ardent than common; and never, certainly,

did any creature more truly deserve it. For seven years he had

been my inseparable companion, and in a multitude of instances

had given evidence of all the noble qualities for which we value

the animal. I had rescued him, when a puppy, from the clutches of

a malignant little villain in Nantucket who was leading him, with

a rope around his neck, to the water; and the grown dog repaid

the obligation, about three years afterward, by saving me from

the bludgeon of a street robber.

Getting now hold of the watch, I found, upon applying it to my

ear, that it had again run down; but at this I was not at all

surprised, being convinced, from the peculiar state of my

feelings, that I had slept, as before, for a very long period of

time, how long, it was of course impossible to say. I was burning

up with fever, and my thirst was almost intolerable. I felt about

the box for my little remaining supply of water, for I had no

light, the taper having burnt to the socket of the lantern, and

the phosphorus-box not coming readily to hand. Upon finding the

jug, however, I discovered it to be empty—Tiger, no doubt, having

been tempted to drink it, as well as to devour the remnant of

mutton, the bone of which lay, well picked, by the opening of the

box. The spoiled meat I could well spare, but my heart sank as I

thought of the water. I was feeble in the extreme—so much so that

I shook all over, as with an ague, at the slightest movement or

exertion. To add to my troubles, the brig was pitching and

rolling with great violence, and the oil-casks which lay upon my

box were in momentary danger of falling down, so as to block up

the only way of ingress or egress. I felt, also, terrible

sufferings from sea-sickness. These considerations determined me

to make my way, at all hazards, to the trap, and obtain immediate

relief, before I should be incapacitated from doing so

altogether. Having come to this resolve, I again felt about for

the phosphorus-box and tapers. The former I found after some

little trouble; but, not discovering the tapers as soon as I had

expected (for I remembered very nearly the spot in which I had

placed them), I gave up the search for the present, and bidding

Tiger lie quiet, began at once my journey toward the trap.

In this attempt my great feebleness became more than ever

apparent. It was with the utmost difficulty I could crawl along

at all, and very frequently my limbs sank suddenly from beneath

me; when, falling prostrate on my face, I would remain for some

minutes in a state bordering on insensibility. Still I struggled

forward by slow degrees, dreading every moment that I should

swoon amid the narrow and intricate windings of the lumber, in

which event I had nothing but death to expect as the result. At

length, upon making a push forward with all the energy I could

command, I struck my forehead violently against the sharp corner

of an iron-bound crate. The accident only stunned me for a few

moments; but I found, to my inexpressible grief, that the quick

and violent roll of the vessel had thrown the crate entirely

across my path, so as effectually to block up the passage. With

my utmost exertions I could not move it a single inch from its

position, it being closely wedged in among the surrounding boxes

and ship-furniture. It became necessary, therefore, enfeebled as

I was, either to leave the guidance of the whipcord and seek out

a new passage, or to climb over the obstacle, and resume the path

on the other side. The former alternative presented too many

difficulties and dangers to be thought of without a shudder. In

my present weak state of both mind and body, I should infallibly

lose my way if I attempted it, and perish miserably amid the

dismal and disgusting labyrinths of the hold. I proceeded,

therefore, without hesitation, to summon up all my remaining

strength and fortitude, and endeavour, as I best might, to

clamber over the crate.

Upon standing erect, with this end in view, I found the

undertaking even a more serious task than my fears had led me to

imagine. On each side of the narrow passage arose a complete wall

of various heavy lumber, which the least blunder on my part might

be the means of bringing down upon my head; or, if this accident

did not occur, the path might be effectually blocked up against

my return by the descending mass, as it was in front by the

obstacle there. The crate itself was a long and unwieldy box,

upon which no foothold could be obtained. In vain I attempted, by

every means in my power, to reach the top, with the hope of being

thus enabled to draw myself up. Had I succeeded in reaching it,

it is certain that my strength would have proved utterly

inadequate to the task of getting over, and it was better in

every respect that I failed. At length, in a desperate effort to

force the crate from its ground, I felt a strong vibration in the

side next me. I thrust my hand eagerly to the edge of the planks,

and found that a very large one was loose. With my pocket-knife,

which, luckily, I had with me, I succeeded, after great labour,

in prying it entirely off; and getting it through the aperture,

discovered, to my exceeding joy, that there were no boards on the

opposite side—in other words, that the top was wanting, it being

the bottom through which I had forced my way. I now met with no

important difficulty in proceeding along the line until I finally

reached the nail. With a beating heart I stood erect, and with a

gentle touch pressed against the cover of the trap. It did not

rise as soon as I had expected, and I pressed it with somewhat

more determination, still dreading lest some other person than

Augustus might be in his state-room. The door, however, to my

astonishment, remained steady, and I became somewhat uneasy, for

I knew that it had formerly required but little or no effort to

remove it. I pushed it strongly—it was nevertheless firm: with

all my strength—it still did not give way: with rage, with fury,

with despair—it set at defiance my utmost efforts; and it was

evident, from the unyielding nature of the resistance, that the

hole had either been discovered and effectually nailed up, or

that some immense weight had been placed upon it, which it was

useless to think of removing.

My sensations were those of extreme horror and dismay. In vain I

attempted to reason on the probable cause of my being thus

entombed. I could summon up no connected chain of reflection,

and, sinking on the floor, gave way, unresistingly, to the most

gloomy imaginings, in which the dreadful deaths of thirst,

famine, suffocation, and premature interment crowded upon me as

the prominent disasters to be encountered. At length there

returned to me some portion of presence of mind. I arose, and

felt with my fingers for the seams or cracks of the aperture.

Having found them, I examined them closely to ascertain if they

emitted any light from the state-room; but none was visible. I

then forced the blade of my pen-knife through them, until I met

with some hard obstacle. Scraping against it, I discovered it to

be a solid mass of iron, which, from its peculiar wavy feel as I

passed the blade along it, I concluded to be a chain-cable. The

only course now left me was to retrace my way to the box, and

there either yield to my sad fate, or try so to tranquilize my

mind as to admit of my arranging some plan of escape. I

immediately set about the attempt, and succeeded, after

innumerable difficulties, in getting back. As I sank, utterly

exhausted, upon the mattress, Tiger threw himself at full length

by my side, and seemed as if desirous, by his caresses, of

consoling me in my troubles, and urging me to bear them with

fortitude.

The singularity of his behavior at length forcibly arrested my

attention. After licking my face and hands for some minutes, he

would suddenly cease doing so, and utter a low whine. Upon

reaching out my hand toward him, I then invariably found him

lying on his back, with his paws uplifted. This conduct, so

frequently repeated, appeared strange, and I could in no manner

account for it. As the dog seemed distressed, I concluded that he

had received some injury; and, taking his paws in my hands, I

examined them one by one, but found no sign of any hurt. I then

supposed him hungry, and gave him a large piece of ham, which he

devoured with avidity—afterward, however, resuming his

extraordinary manoeuvres. I now imagined that he was suffering,

like myself, the torments of thirst, and was about adopting this

conclusion as the true one, when the idea occurred to me that I

had as yet only examined his paws, and that there might possibly

be a wound upon some portion of his body or head. The latter I

felt carefully over, but found nothing. On passing my hand,

however, along his back, I perceived a slight erection of the

hair extending completely across it. Probing this with my finger,

I discovered a string, and tracing it up, found that it encircled

the whole body. Upon a closer scrutiny, I came across a small

slip of what had the feeling of letter paper, through which the

string had been fastened in such a manner as to bring it

immediately beneath the left shoulder of the animal.

CHAPTER 3

The thought instantly occurred to me that the paper was a note

from Augustus, and that some unaccountable accident having

happened to prevent his relieving me from my dungeon, he had

devised this method of acquainting me with the true state of

affairs. Trembling with eagerness, I now commenced another search

for my phosphorus matches and tapers. I had a confused

recollection of having put them carefully away just before

falling asleep; and, indeed, previously to my last journey to the

trap, I had been able to remember the exact spot where I had

deposited them. But now I endeavored in vain to call it to mind,

and busied myself for a full hour in a fruitless and vexatious

search for the missing articles; never, surely, was there a more

tantalizing state of anxiety and suspense. At length, while

groping about, with my head close to the ballast, near the

opening of the box, and outside of it, I perceived a faint

glimmering of light in the direction of the steerage. Greatly

surprised, I endeavored to make my way toward it, as it appeared

to be but a few feet from my position. Scarcely had I moved with

this intention, when I lost sight of the glimmer entirely, and,

before I could bring it into view again, was obliged to feel

along by the box until I had exactly resumed my original

situation. Now, moving my head with caution to and fro, I found

that, by proceeding slowly, with great care, in an opposite

direction to that in which I had at first started, I was enabled

to draw near the light, still keeping it in view. Presently I

came directly upon it (having squeezed my way through innumerable

narrow windings), and found that it proceeded from some fragments

of my matches lying in an empty barrel turned upon its side. I

was wondering how they came in such a place, when my hand fell

upon two or three pieces of taper wax, which had been evidently

mumbled by the dog. I concluded at once that he had devoured the

whole of my supply of candles, and I felt hopeless of being ever

able to read the note of Augustus. The small remnants of the wax

were so mashed up among other rubbish in the barrel, that I

despaired of deriving any service from them, and left them as

they were. The phosphorus, of which there was only a speck or

two, I gathered up as well as I could, and returned with it,

after much difficulty, to my box, where Tiger had all the while

remained.

What to do next I could not tell. The hold was so intensely dark

that I could not see my hand, however close I would hold it to my

face. The white slip of paper could barely be discerned, and not

even that when I looked at it directly; by turning the exterior

portions of the retina toward it—that is to say, by surveying it

slightly askance, I found that it became in some measure

perceptible. Thus the gloom of my prison may be imagined, and the

note of my friend, if indeed it were a note from him, seemed only

likely to throw me into further trouble, by disquieting to no

purpose my already enfeebled and agitated mind. In vain I

revolved in my brain a multitude of absurd expedients for

procuring light—such expedients precisely as a man in the

perturbed sleep occasioned by opium would be apt to fall upon for

a similar purpose—each and all of which appear by turns to the

dreamer the most reasonable and the most preposterous of

conceptions, just as the reasoning or imaginative faculties

flicker, alternately, one above the other. At last an idea

occurred to me which seemed rational, and which gave me cause to

wonder, very justly, that I had not entertained it before. I

placed the slip of paper on the back of a book, and, collecting

the fragments of the phosphorus matches which I had brought from

the barrel, laid them together upon the paper. I then, with the

palm of my hand, rubbed the whole over quickly, yet steadily. A

clear light diffused itself immediately throughout the whole

surface; and had there been any writing upon it, I should not

have experienced the least difficulty, I am sure, in reading it.

Not a syllable was there, however—nothing but a dreary and

unsatisfactory blank; the illumination died away in a few

seconds, and my heart died away within me as it went.

I have before stated more than once that my intellect, for some

period prior to this, had been in a condition nearly bordering on

idiocy. There were, to be sure, momentary intervals of perfect

sanity, and, now and then, even of energy; but these were few. It

must be remembered that I had been, for many days certainly,

inhaling the almost pestilential atmosphere of a close hold in a

whaling vessel, and for a long portion of that time but scantily

supplied with water. For the last fourteen or fifteen hours I had

none—nor had I slept during that time. Salt provisions of the

most exciting kind had been my chief, and, indeed, since the loss

of the mutton, my only supply of food, with the exception of the

sea-biscuit; and these latter were utterly useless to me, as they

were too dry and hard to be swallowed in the swollen and parched

condition of my throat. I was now in a high state of fever, and

in every respect exceedingly ill. This will account for the fact

that many miserable hours of despondency elapsed after my last

adventure with the phosphorus, before the thought suggested

itself that I had examined only one side of the paper. I shall

not attempt to describe my feelings of rage (for I believe I was

more angry than any thing else) when the egregious oversight I

had committed flashed suddenly upon my perception. The blunder

itself would have been unimportant, had not my own folly and

impetuosity rendered it otherwise—in my disappointment at not

finding some words upon the slip, I had childishly torn it in

pieces and thrown it away, it was impossible to say where.

From the worst part of this dilemma I was relieved by the

sagacity of Tiger. Having got, after a long search, a small piece

of the note, I put it to the dog’s nose, and endeavored to make

him understand that he must bring me the rest of it. To my

astonishment, (for I had taught him none of the usual tricks for

which his breed are famous,) he seemed to enter at once into my

meaning, and, rummaging about for a few moments, soon found

another considerable portion. Bringing me this, he paused awhile,

and, rubbing his nose against my hand, appeared to be waiting for

my approval of what he had done. I patted him on the head, when

he immediately made off again. It was now some minutes before he

came back—but when he did come, he brought with him a large slip,

which proved to be all the paper missing—it having been torn, it

seems, only into three pieces. Luckily, I had no trouble in

finding what few fragments of the phosphorus were left—being

guided by the indistinct glow one or two of the particles still

emitted. My difficulties had taught me the necessity of caution,

and I now took time to reflect upon what I was about to do. It

was very probable, I considered, that some words were written

upon that side of the paper which had not been examined—but which

side was that? Fitting the pieces together gave me no clew in

this respect, although it assured me that the words (if there

were any) would be found all on one side, and connected in a

proper manner, as written. There was the greater necessity of

ascertaining the point in question beyond a doubt, as the

phosphorus remaining would be altogether insufficient for a third

attempt, should I fail in the one I was now about to make. I

placed the paper on a book as before, and sat for some minutes

thoughtfully revolving the matter over in my mind. At last I

thought it barely possible that the written side might have some

unevenness on its surface, which a delicate sense of feeling

might enable me to detect. I determined to make the experiment

and passed my finger very carefully over the side which first

presented itself. Nothing, however, was perceptible, and I turned

the paper, adjusting it on the book. I now again carried my

forefinger cautiously along, when I was aware of an exceedingly

slight, but still discernable glow, which followed as it

proceeded. This, I knew, must arise from some very minute

remaining particles of the phosphorus with which I had covered

the paper in my previous attempt. The other, or under side, then,

was that on which lay the writing, if writing there should

finally prove to be. Again I turned the note, and went to work as

I had previously done. Having rubbed in the phosphorus, a

brilliancy ensued as before—but this time several lines of MS. in

a large hand, and apparently in red ink, became distinctly

visible. The glimmer, although sufficiently bright, was but

momentary. Still, had I not been too greatly excited, there would

have been ample time enough for me to peruse the whole three

sentences before me—for I saw there were three. In my anxiety,

however, to read all at once, I succeeded only in reading the

seven concluding words, which thus appeared—“blood—your life

depends upon lying close.”

Had I been able to ascertain the entire contents of the note—the

full meaning of the admonition which my friend had thus attempted

to convey, that admonition, even although it should have revealed

a story of disaster the most unspeakable, could not, I am firmly

convinced, have imbued my mind with one tithe of the harrowing

and yet indefinable horror with which I was inspired by the

fragmentary warning thus received. And “blood,” too, that word of

all words—so rife at all times with mystery, and suffering, and

terror—how trebly full of import did it now appear—how chilly and

heavily (disjointed, as it thus was, from any foregoing words to

qualify or render it distinct) did its vague syllables fall, amid

the deep gloom of my prison, into the innermost recesses of my

soul!

Augustus had, undoubtedly, good reasons for wishing me to remain

concealed, and I formed a thousand surmises as to what they could

be—but I could think of nothing affording a satisfactory solution

of the mystery. Just after returning from my last journey to the

trap, and before my attention had been otherwise directed by the

singular conduct of Tiger, I had come to the resolution of making

myself heard at all events by those on board, or, if I could not

succeed in this directly, of trying to cut my way through the

orlop deck. The half certainty which I felt of being able to

accomplish one of these two purposes in the last emergency, had

given me courage (which I should not otherwise have had) to

endure the evils of my situation. The few words I had been able

to read, however, had cut me off from these final resources, and

I now, for the first time, felt all the misery of my fate. In a

paroxysm of despair I threw myself again upon the mattress,

where, for about the period of a day and night, I lay in a kind

of stupor, relieved only by momentary intervals of reason and

recollection.

At length I once more arose, and busied myself in reflection upon

the horrors which encompassed me. For another twenty-four hours

it was barely possible that I might exist without water—for a

longer time I could not do so. During the first portion of my

imprisonment I had made free use of the cordials with which

Augustus had supplied me, but they only served to excite fever,

without in the least degree assuaging thirst. I had now only

about a gill left, and this was of a species of strong peach

liqueur at which my stomach revolted. The sausages were entirely

consumed; of the ham nothing remained but a small piece of the

skin; and all the biscuit, except a few fragments of one, had

been eaten by Tiger. To add to my troubles, I found that my

headache was increasing momentarily, and with it the species of

delirium which had distressed me more or less since my first

falling asleep. For some hours past it had been with the greatest

difficulty I could breathe at all, and now each attempt at so

doing was attended with the most depressing spasmodic action of

the chest. But there was still another and very different source

of disquietude, and one, indeed, whose harassing terrors had been

the chief means of arousing me to exertion from my stupor on the

mattress. It arose from the demeanor of the dog.

I first observed an alteration in his conduct while rubbing in

the phosphorus on the paper in my last attempt. As I rubbed, he

ran his nose against my hand with a slight snarl; but I was too

greatly excited at the time to pay much attention to the

circumstance. Soon afterward, it will be remembered, I threw

myself on the mattress, and fell into a species of lethargy.

Presently I became aware of a singular hissing sound close at my

ears, and discovered it to proceed from Tiger, who was panting

and wheezing in a state of the greatest apparent excitement, his

eyeballs flashing fiercely through the gloom. I spoke to him,

when he replied with a low growl, and then remained quiet.

Presently I relapsed into my stupor, from which I was again

awakened in a similar manner. This was repeated three or four

times, until finally his behaviour inspired me with so great a

degree of fear, that I became fully aroused. He was now lying

close by the door of the box, snarling fearfully, although in a

kind of undertone, and grinding his teeth as if strongly

convulsed. I had no doubt whatever that the want of water or the

confined atmosphere of the hold had driven him mad, and I was at

a loss what course to pursue. I could not endure the thought of

killing him, yet it seemed absolutely necessary for my own

safety. I could distinctly perceive his eyes fastened upon me

with an expression of the most deadly animosity, and I expected

every instant that he would attack me. At last I could endure my

terrible situation no longer, and determined to make my way from

the box at all hazards, and dispatch him, if his opposition

should render it necessary for me to do so. To get out, I had to

pass directly over his body, and he already seemed to anticipate

my design—missing himself upon his fore-legs (as I perceived by

the altered position of his eyes), and displayed the whole of his

white fangs, which were easily discernible. I took the remains of

the ham-skin, and the bottle containing the liqueur, and secured

them about my person, together with a large carving-knife which

Augustus had left me—then, folding my cloak around me as closely

as possible, I made a movement toward the mouth of the box. No

sooner did I do this, than the dog sprang with a loud growl

toward my throat. The whole weight of his body struck me on the

right shoulder, and I fell violently to the left, while the

enraged animal passed entirely over me. I had fallen upon my

knees, with my head buried among the blankets, and these

protected me from a second furious assault, during which I felt

the sharp teeth pressing vigorously upon the woollen which

enveloped my neck—yet, luckily, without being able to penetrate

all the folds. I was now beneath the dog, and a few moments would

place me completely in his power. Despair gave me strength, and I

rose boldly up, shaking him from me by main force, and dragging

with me the blankets from the mattress. These I now threw over

him, and before he could extricate himself, I had got through the

door and closed it effectually against his pursuit. In this

struggle, however, I had been forced to drop the morsel of

ham-skin, and I now found my whole stock of provisions reduced to

a single gill of liqueur. As this reflection crossed my mind, I

felt myself actuated by one of those fits of perverseness which

might be supposed to influence a spoiled child in similar

circumstances, and, raising the bottle to my lips, I drained it

to the last drop, and dashed it furiously upon the floor.

Scarcely had the echo of the crash died away, when I heard my

name pronounced in an eager but subdued voice, issuing from the

direction of the steerage. So unexpected was anything of the

kind, and so intense was the emotion excited within me by the

sound, that I endeavoured in vain to reply. My powers of speech

totally failed, and in an agony of terror lest my friend should

conclude me dead, and return without attempting to reach me, I

stood up between the crates near the door of the box, trembling

convulsively, and gasping and struggling for utterance. Had a

thousand words depended upon a syllable, I could not have spoken

it. There was a slight movement now audible among the lumber

somewhere forward of my station. The sound presently grew less

distinct, then again less so, and still less. Shall I ever forget

my feelings at this moment? He was going—my friend, my companion,

from whom I had a right to expect so much—he was going—he would

abandon me—he was gone! He would leave me to perish miserably, to

expire in the most horrible and loathesome of dungeons—and one

word, one little syllable, would save me—yet that single syllable

I could not utter! I felt, I am sure, more than ten thousand

times the agonies of death itself. My brain reeled, and I fell,

deadly sick, against the end of the box.

As I fell the carving-knife was shaken out from the waist-band of

my pantaloons, and dropped with a rattling sound to the floor.

Never did any strain of the richest melody come so sweetly to my

ears! With the intensest anxiety I listened to ascertain the

effect of the noise upon Augustus—for I knew that the person who

called my name could be no one but himself. All was silent for

some moments. At length I again heard the word “Arthur!” repeated

in a low tone, and one full of hesitation. Reviving hope loosened

at once my powers of speech, and I now screamed at the top of my

voice, “Augustus! oh, Augustus!” “Hush! for God’s sake be

silent!” he replied, in a voice trembling with agitation; “I will

be with you immediately—as soon as I can make my way through the

hold.” For a long time I heard him moving among the lumber, and

every moment seemed to me an age. At length I felt his hand upon

my shoulder, and he placed, at the same moment, a bottle of water

to my lips. Those only who have been suddenly redeemed from the

jaws of the tomb, or who have known the insufferable torments of

thirst under circumstances as aggravated as those which

encompassed me in my dreary prison, can form any idea of the

unutterable transports which that one long draught of the richest

of all physical luxuries afforded.

When I had in some degree satisfied my thirst, Augustus produced

from his pocket three or four boiled potatoes, which I devoured

with the greatest avidity. He had brought with him a light in a

dark lantern, and the grateful rays afforded me scarcely less

comfort than the food and drink. But I was impatient to learn the

cause of his protracted absence, and he proceeded to recount what

had happened on board during my incarceration.

CHAPTER 4

The brig put to sea, as I had supposed, in about an hour after he

had left the watch. This was on the twentieth of June. It will be

remembered that I had then been in the hold for three days; and,

during this period, there was so constant a bustle on board, and

so much running to and fro, especially in the cabin and

staterooms, that he had had no chance of visiting me without the

risk of having the secret of the trap discovered. When at length

he did come, I had assured him that I was doing as well as

possible; and, therefore, for the two next days he felt but

little uneasiness on my account—still, however, watching an

opportunity of going down. It was not until the fourth day that

he found one. Several times during this interval he had made up

his mind to let his father know of the adventure, and have me

come up at once; but we were still within reaching distance of

Nantucket, and it was doubtful, from some expressions which had

escaped Captain Barnard, whether he would not immediately put

back if he discovered me to be on board. Besides, upon thinking

the matter over, Augustus, so he told me, could not imagine that

I was in immediate want, or that I would hesitate, in such case,

to make myself heard at the trap. When, therefore, he considered

everything he concluded to let me stay until he could meet with

an opportunity of visiting me unobserved. This, as I said before,

did not occur until the fourth day after his bringing me the

watch, and the seventh since I had first entered the hold. He

then went down without taking with him any water or provisions,

intending in the first place merely to call my attention, and get

me to come from the box to the trap,—when he would go up to the

stateroom and thence hand me down a supply. When he descended for

this purpose he found that I was asleep, for it seems that I was

snoring very loudly. From all the calculations I can make on the

subject, this must have been the slumber into which I fell just

after my return from the trap with the watch, and which,

consequently, must have lasted for more than three entire days

and nights at the very least. Latterly, I have had reason both

from my own experience and the assurance of others, to be

acquainted with the strong soporific effects of the stench

arising from old fish-oil when closely confined; and when I think

of the condition of the hold in which I was imprisoned, and the

long period during which the brig had been used as a whaling

vessel, I am more inclined to wonder that I awoke at all, after

once falling asleep, than that I should have slept

uninterruptedly for the period specified above.

Augustus called to me at first in a low voice and without closing

the trap—but I made him no reply. He then shut the trap, and

spoke to me in a louder, and finally in a very loud tone—still I

continued to snore. He was now at a loss what to do. It would

take him some time to make his way through the lumber to my box,

and in the meanwhile his absence would be noticed by Captain

Barnard, who had occasion for his services every minute, in

arranging and copying papers connected with the business of the

voyage. He determined, therefore, upon reflection, to ascend, and

await another opportunity of visiting me. He was the more easily

induced to this resolve, as my slumber appeared to be of the most

tranquil nature, and he could not suppose that I had undergone

any inconvenience from my incarceration. He had just made up his

mind on these points when his attention was arrested by an

unusual bustle, the sound of which proceeded apparently from the

cabin. He sprang through the trap as quickly as possible, closed

it, and threw open the door of his stateroom. No sooner had he

put his foot over the threshold than a pistol flashed in his

face, and he was knocked down, at the same moment, by a blow from

a handspike.

A strong hand held him on the cabin floor, with a tight grasp

upon his throat; still he was able to see what was going on

around him. His father was tied hand and foot, and lying along

the steps of the companion-way, with his head down, and a deep

wound in the forehead, from which the blood was flowing in a

continued stream. He spoke not a word, and was apparently dying.

Over him stood the first mate, eyeing him with an expression of

fiendish derision, and deliberately searching his pockets, from

which he presently drew forth a large wallet and a chronometer.

Seven of the crew (among whom was the cook, a negro) were

rummaging the staterooms on the larboard for arms, where they

soon equipped themselves with muskets and ammunition. Besides

Augustus and Captain Barnard, there were nine men altogether in

the cabin, and these among the most ruffianly of the brig’s

company. The villains now went upon deck, taking my friend with

them after having secured his arms behind his back. They

proceeded straight to the forecastle, which was fastened down—two

of the mutineers standing by it with axes—two also at the main

hatch. The mate called out in a loud voice: “Do you hear there

below? tumble up with you, one by one—now, mark that—and no

grumbling!” It was some minutes before any one appeared:—at last

an Englishman, who had shipped as a raw hand, came up, weeping

piteously, and entreating the mate, in the most humble manner, to

spare his life. The only reply was a blow on the forehead from an

axe. The poor fellow fell to the deck without a groan, and the

black cook lifted him up in his arms as he would a child, and

tossed him deliberately into the sea. Hearing the blow and the

plunge of the body, the men below could now be induced to venture

on deck neither by threats nor promises, until a proposition was

made to smoke them out. A general rush then ensued, and for a

moment it seemed possible that the brig might be retaken. The

mutineers, however, succeeded at last in closing the forecastle

effectually before more than six of their opponents could get up.

These six, finding themselves so greatly outnumbered and without

arms, submitted after a brief struggle. The mate gave them fair

words—no doubt with a view of inducing those below to yield, for

they had no difficulty in hearing all that was said on deck. The

result proved his sagacity, no less than his diabolical villainy.

All in the forecastle presently signified their intention of

submitting, and, ascending one by one, were pinioned and then

thrown on their backs, together with the first six—there being in

all, of the crew who were not concerned in the mutiny,

twenty-seven.

A scene of the most horrible butchery ensued. The bound seamen

were dragged to the gangway. Here the cook stood with an axe,

striking each victim on the head as he was forced over the side

of the vessel by the other mutineers. In this manner twenty-two

perished, and Augustus had given himself up for lost, expecting

every moment his own turn to come next. But it seemed that the

villains were now either weary, or in some measure disgusted with

their bloody labour; for the four remaining prisoners, together

with my friend, who had been thrown on the deck with the rest,

were respited while the mate sent below for rum, and the whole

murderous party held a drunken carouse, which lasted until

sunset. They now fell to disputing in regard to the fate of the

survivors, who lay not more than four paces off, and could

distinguish every word said. Upon some of the mutineers the

liquor appeared to have a softening effect, for several voices

were heard in favor of releasing the captives altogether, on

condition of joining the mutiny and sharing the profits. The

black cook, however (who in all respects was a perfect demon, and

who seemed to exert as much influence, if not more, than the mate

himself), would listen to no proposition of the kind, and rose

repeatedly for the purpose of resuming his work at the gangway.

Fortunately he was so far overcome by intoxication as to be

easily restrained by the less bloodthirsty of the party, among

whom was a line-manager, who went by the name of Dirk Peters.

This man was the son of an Indian squaw of the tribe of

Upsarokas, who live among the fastnesses of the Black Hills, near

the source of the Missouri. His father was a fur-trader, I

believe, or at least connected in some manner with the Indian

trading-posts on Lewis river. Peters himself was one of the most

ferocious-looking men I ever beheld. He was short in stature, not

more than four feet eight inches high, but his limbs were of

Herculean mould. His hands, especially, were so enormously thick

and broad as hardly to retain a human shape. His arms, as well as

legs, were bowed in the most singular manner, and appeared to

possess no flexibility whatever. His head was equally deformed,

being of immense size, with an indentation on the crown (like

that on the head of most negroes), and entirely bald. To conceal

this latter deficiency, which did not proceed from old age, he

usually wore a wig formed of any hair-like material which

presented itself—occasionally the skin of a Spanish dog or

American grizzly bear. At the time spoken of, he had on a portion

of one of these bearskins; and it added no little to the natural

ferocity of his countenance, which betook of the Upsaroka

character. The mouth extended nearly from ear to ear, the lips

were thin, and seemed, like some other portions of his frame, to

be devoid of natural pliancy, so that the ruling expression never

varied under the influence of any emotion whatever. This ruling

expression may be conceived when it is considered that the teeth

were exceedingly long and protruding, and never even partially

covered, in any instance, by the lips. To pass this man with a

casual glance, one might imagine him to be convulsed with

laughter, but a second look would induce a shuddering

acknowledgment, that if such an expression were indicative of

merriment, the merriment must be that of a demon. Of this

singular being many anecdotes were prevalent among the seafaring

men of Nantucket. These anecdotes went to prove his prodigious

strength when under excitement, and some of them had given rise

to a doubt of his sanity. But on board the Grampus, it seems, he

was regarded, at the time of the mutiny, with feelings more of

derision than of anything else. I have been thus particular in

speaking of Dirk Peters, because, ferocious as he appeared, he

proved the main instrument in preserving the life of Augustus,

and because I shall have frequent occasion to mention him

hereafter in the course of my narrative—a narrative, let me here

say, which, in its latter portions, will be found to include

incidents of a nature so entirely out of the range of human

experience, and for this reason so far beyond the limits of human

credulity, that I proceed in utter hopelessness of obtaining

credence for all that I shall tell, yet confidently trusting in

time and progressing science to verify some of the most important

and most improbable of my statements.

After much indecision and two or three violent quarrels, it was

determined at last that all the prisoners (with the exception of

Augustus, whom Peters insisted in a jocular manner upon keeping

as his clerk) should be set adrift in one of the smallest

whaleboats. The mate went down into the cabin to see if Captain

Barnard was still living—for, it will be remembered, he was left

below when the mutineers came up. Presently the two made their

appearance, the captain pale as death, but somewhat recovered

from the effects of his wound. He spoke to the men in a voice

hardly articulate, entreated them not to set him adrift, but to

return to their duty, and promising to land them wherever they

chose, and to take no steps for bringing them to justice. He

might as well have spoken to the winds. Two of the ruffians

seized him by the arms and hurled him over the brig’s side into

the boat, which had been lowered while the mate went below. The

four men who were lying on the deck were then untied and ordered

to follow, which they did without attempting any

resistance—Augustus being still left in his painful position,

although he struggled and prayed only for the poor satisfaction

of being permitted to bid his father farewell. A handful of

sea-biscuit and a jug of water were now handed down; but neither

mast, sail, oar, nor compass. The boat was towed astern for a few

minutes, during which the mutineers held another consultation—it

was then finally cut adrift. By this time night had come on—there

were neither moon nor stars visible—and a short and ugly sea was

running, although there was no great deal of wind. The boat was

instantly out of sight, and little hope could be entertained for

the unfortunate sufferers who were in it. This event happened,

however, in latitude 35 degrees 30’ north, longitude 61 degrees

20’ west, and consequently at no very great distance from the

Bermuda Islands. Augustus therefore endeavored to console himself

with the idea that the boat might either succeed in reaching the

land, or come sufficiently near to be fallen in with by vessels

off the coast.

All sail was now put upon the brig, and she continued her

original course to the southwest—the mutineers being bent upon

some piratical expedition, in which, from all that could be

understood, a ship was to be intercepted on her way from the Cape

Verd Islands to Porto Rico. No attention was paid to Augustus,

who was untied and suffered to go about anywhere forward of the

cabin companion-way. Dirk Peters treated him with some degree of

kindness, and on one occasion saved him from the brutality of the

cook. His situation was still one of the most precarious, as the

men were continually intoxicated, and there was no relying upon

their continued good-humor or carelessness in regard to himself.

His anxiety on my account he represented, however, as the most

distressing result of his condition; and, indeed, I had never

reason to doubt the sincerity of his friendship. More than once

he had resolved to acquaint the mutineers with the secret of my

being on board, but was restrained from so doing, partly through

recollection of the atrocities he had already beheld, and partly

through a hope of being able soon to bring me relief. For the

latter purpose he was constantly on the watch; but, in spite of

the most constant vigilance, three days elapsed after the boat

was cut adrift before any chance occurred. At length, on the

night of the third day, there came on a heavy blow from the

eastward, and all hands were called up to take in sail. During

the confusion which ensued, he made his way below unobserved, and

into the stateroom. What was his grief and horror in discovering

that the latter had been rendered a place of deposit for a

variety of sea-stores and ship-furniture, and that several

fathoms of old chain-cable, which had been stowed away beneath

the companion-ladder, had been dragged thence to make room for a

chest, and were now lying immediately upon the trap! To remove it

without discovery was impossible, and he returned on deck as

quickly as he could. As he came up, the mate seized him by the

throat, and demanding what he had been doing in the cabin, was

about flinging him over the larboard bulwark, when his life was

again preserved through the interference of Dirk Peters. Augustus

was now put in handcuffs (of which there were several pairs on

board), and his feet lashed tightly together. He was then taken

into the steerage, and thrown into a lower berth next to the

forecastle bulkheads, with the assurance that he should never put

his foot on deck again “until the brig was no longer a brig.”

This was the expression of the cook, who threw him into the

berth—it is hardly possible to say what precise meaning intended

by the phrase. The whole affair, however, proved the ultimate

means of my relief, as will presently appear.

CHAPTER 5

For some minutes after the cook had left the forecastle, Augustus

abandoned himself to despair, never hoping to leave the berth

alive. He now came to the resolution of acquainting the first of

the men who should come down with my situation, thinking it

better to let me take my chance with the mutineers than perish of

thirst in the hold,—for it had been ten days since I was first

imprisoned, and my jug of water was not a plentiful supply even

for four. As he was thinking on this subject, the idea came all

at once into his head that it might be possible to communicate

with me by the way of the main hold. In any other circumstances,

the difficulty and hazard of the undertaking would have prevented

him from attempting it; but now he had, at all events, little

prospect of life, and consequently little to lose, he bent his

whole mind, therefore, upon the task.

His handcuffs were the first consideration. At first he saw no

method of removing them, and feared that he should thus be

baffled in the very outset; but upon a closer scrutiny he

discovered that the irons could be slipped off and on at

pleasure, with very little effort or inconvenience, merely by

squeezing his hands through them,—this species of manacle being

altogether ineffectual in confining young persons, in whom the

smaller bones readily yield to pressure. He now untied his feet,

and, leaving the cord in such a manner that it could easily be

readjusted in the event of any person’s coming down, proceeded to

examine the bulkhead where it joined the berth. The partition

here was of soft pine board, an inch thick, and he saw that he

should have little trouble in cutting his way through. A voice

was now heard at the forecastle companion-way, and he had just

time to put his right hand into its handcuff (the left had not

been removed) and to draw the rope in a slipknot around his

ankle, when Dirk Peters came below, followed by Tiger, who

immediately leaped into the berth and lay down. The dog had been

brought on board by Augustus, who knew my attachment to the

animal, and thought it would give me pleasure to have him with me

during the voyage. He went up to our house for him immediately

after first taking me into the hold, but did not think of

mentioning the circumstance upon his bringing the watch. Since

the mutiny, Augustus had not seen him before his appearance with

Dirk Peters, and had given him up for lost, supposing him to have

been thrown overboard by some of the malignant villains belonging

to the mate’s gang. It appeared afterward that he had crawled

into a hole beneath a whale-boat, from which, not having room to

turn round, he could not extricate himself. Peters at last let

him out, and, with a species of good feeling which my friend knew

well how to appreciate, had now brought him to him in the

forecastle as a companion, leaving at the same time some salt

junk and potatoes, with a can of water, he then went on deck,

promising to come down with something more to eat on the next

day.

When he had gone, Augustus freed both hands from the manacles and

unfastened his feet. He then turned down the head of the mattress

on which he had been lying, and with his penknife (for the

ruffians had not thought it worth while to search him) commenced

cutting vigorously across one of the partition planks, as closely

as possible to the floor of the berth. He chose to cut here,

because, if suddenly interrupted, he would be able to conceal

what had been done by letting the head of the mattress fall into

its proper position. For the remainder of the day, however, no

disturbance occurred, and by night he had completely divided the

plank. It should here be observed that none of the crew occupied

the forecastle as a sleeping-place, living altogether in the

cabin since the mutiny, drinking the wines and feasting on the

sea-stores of Captain Barnard, and giving no more heed than was

absolutely necessary to the navigation of the brig. These

circumstances proved fortunate both for myself and Augustus; for,

had matters been otherwise, he would have found it impossible to

reach me. As it was, he proceeded with confidence in his design.

It was near daybreak, however, before he completed the second

division of the board (which was about a foot above the first

cut), thus making an aperture quite large enough to admit his

passage through with facility to the main orlop deck. Having got

here, he made his way with but little trouble to the lower main

hatch, although in so doing he had to scramble over tiers of

oil-casks piled nearly as high as the upper deck, there being

barely room enough left for his body. Upon reaching the hatch he

found that Tiger had followed him below, squeezing between two

rows of the casks. It was now too late, however, to attempt

getting to me before dawn, as the chief difficulty lay in passing

through the close stowage in the lower hold. He therefore

resolved to return, and wait till the next night. With this

design, he proceeded to loosen the hatch, so that he might have

as little detention as possible when he should come again. No

sooner had he loosened it than Tiger sprang eagerly to the small

opening produced, snuffed for a moment, and then uttered a long

whine, scratching at the same time, as if anxious to remove the

covering with his paws. There could be no doubt, from his

behaviour, that he was aware of my being in the hold, and

Augustus thought it possible that he would be able to get to me

if he put him down. He now hit upon the expedient of sending the

note, as it was especially desirable that I should make no

attempt at forcing my way out at least under existing

circumstances, and there could be no certainty of his getting to

me himself on the morrow as he intended. After-events proved how

fortunate it was that the idea occurred to him as it did; for,

had it not been for the receipt of the note, I should undoubtedly

have fallen upon some plan, however desperate, of alarming the

crew, and both our lives would most probably have been sacrificed

in consequence.

Having concluded to write, the difficulty was now to procure the

materials for so doing. An old toothpick was soon made into a

pen; and this by means of feeling altogether, for the

between-decks was as dark as pitch. Paper enough was obtained

from the back of a letter—a duplicate of the forged letter from

Mr. Ross. This had been the original draught; but the handwriting

not being sufficiently well imitated, Augustus had written

another, thrusting the first, by good fortune, into his

coat-pocket, where it was now most opportunely discovered. Ink

alone was thus wanting, and a substitute was immediately found

for this by means of a slight incision with the pen-knife on the

back of a finger just above the nail—a copious flow of blood

ensuing, as usual, from wounds in that vicinity. The note was now

written, as well as it could be in the dark and under the

circumstances. It briefly explained that a mutiny had taken

place; that Captain Barnard was set adrift; and that I might

expect immediate relief as far as provisions were concerned, but

must not venture upon making any disturbance. It concluded with

these words: “_I have scrawled this with blood—your life depends

upon lying close._”

This slip of paper being tied upon the dog, he was now put down

the hatchway, and Augustus made the best of his way back to the

forecastle, where he found no reason to believe that any of the

crew had been in his absence. To conceal the hole in the

partition, he drove his knife in just above it, and hung up a

pea-jacket which he found in the berth. His handcuffs were then

replaced, and also the rope around his ankles.

These arrangements were scarcely completed when Dirk Peters came

below, very drunk, but in excellent humour, and bringing with him

my friend’s allowance of provision for the day. This consisted of

a dozen large Irish potatoes roasted, and a pitcher of water. He

sat for some time on a chest by the berth, and talked freely

about the mate and the general concerns of the brig. His

demeanour was exceedingly capricious, and even grotesque. At one

time Augustus was much alarmed by odd conduct. At last, however,

he went on deck, muttering a promise to bring his prisoner a good

dinner on the morrow. During the day two of the crew (harpooners)

came down, accompanied by the cook, all three in nearly the last

stage of intoxication. Like Peters, they made no scruple of

talking unreservedly about their plans. It appeared that they

were much divided among themselves as to their ultimate course,

agreeing in no point, except the attack on the ship from the Cape

Verd Islands, with which they were in hourly expectation of

meeting. As far as could be ascertained, the mutiny had not been

brought about altogether for the sake of booty; a private pique

of the chief mate’s against Captain Barnard having been the main

instigation. There now seemed to be two principal factions among

the crew—one headed by the mate, the other by the cook. The

former party were for seizing the first suitable vessel which

should present itself, and equipping it at some of the West India

Islands for a piratical cruise. The latter division, however,

which was the stronger, and included Dirk Peters among its

partisans, were bent upon pursuing the course originally laid out

for the brig into the South Pacific; there either to take whale,

or act otherwise, as circumstances should suggest. The

representations of Peters, who had frequently visited these

regions, had great weight, apparently, with the mutineers,

wavering, as they were, between half-engendered notions of profit

and pleasure. He dwelt on the world of novelty and amusement to

be found among the innumerable islands of the Pacific, on the

perfect security and freedom from all restraint to be enjoyed,

but, more particularly, on the deliciousness of the climate, on

the abundant means of good living, and on the voluptuous beauty

of the women. As yet, nothing had been absolutely determined

upon; but the pictures of the hybrid line-manager were taking

strong hold upon the ardent imaginations of the seamen, and there

was every possibility that his intentions would be finally

carried into effect.

The three men went away in about an hour, and no one else entered

the forecastle all day. Augustus lay quiet until nearly night. He

then freed himself from the rope and irons, and prepared for his

attempt. A bottle was found in one of the berths, and this he

filled with water from the pitcher left by Peters, storing his

pockets at the same time with cold potatoes. To his great joy he

also came across a lantern, with a small piece of tallow candle

in it. This he could light at any moment, as he had in his

possession a box of phosphorus matches. When it was quite dark,

he got through the hole in the bulkhead, having taken the

precaution to arrange the bedclothes in the berth so as to convey

the idea of a person covered up. When through, he hung up the

pea-jacket on his knife, as before, to conceal the aperture—this

manoeuvre being easily effected, as he did not readjust the piece

of plank taken out until afterward. He was now on the main orlop

deck, and proceeded to make his way, as before, between the upper

deck and the oil-casks to the main hatchway. Having reached this,

he lit the piece of candle, and descended, groping with extreme

difficulty among the compact stowage of the hold. In a few

moments he became alarmed at the insufferable stench and the

closeness of the atmosphere. He could not think it possible that

I had survived my confinement for so long a period breathing so

oppressive an air. He called my name repeatedly, but I made him

no reply, and his apprehensions seemed thus to be confirmed. The

brig was rolling violently, and there was so much noise in

consequence, that it was useless to listen for any weak sound,

such as those of my breathing or snoring. He threw open the

lantern, and held it as high as possible, whenever an opportunity

occurred, in order that, by observing the light, I might, if

alive, be aware that succor was approaching. Still nothing was

heard from me, and the supposition of my death began to assume

the character of certainty. He determined, nevertheless, to force

a passage, if possible, to the box, and at least ascertain beyond

a doubt the truth of his surmises. He pushed on for some time in

a most pitiable state of anxiety, until, at length, he found the

pathway utterly blocked up, and that there was no possibility of

making any farther way by the course in which he had set out.

Overcome now by his feelings, he threw himself among the lumber

in despair, and wept like a child. It was at this period that he

heard the crash occasioned by the bottle which I had thrown down.

Fortunate, indeed, was it that the incident occurred—for, upon

this incident, trivial as it appears, the thread of my destiny

depended. Many years elapsed, however, before I was aware of this

fact. A natural shame and regret for his weakness and indecision

prevented Augustus from confiding to me at once what a more

intimate and unreserved communion afterward induced him to

reveal. Upon finding his further progress in the hold impeded by

obstacles which he could not overcome, he had resolved to abandon

his attempt at reaching me, and return at once to the forecastle.

Before condemning him entirely on this head, the harassing

circumstances which embarrassed him should be taken into

consideration. The night was fast wearing away, and his absence

from the forecastle might be discovered; and indeed would

necessarily be so, if he should fail to get back to the berth by

daybreak. His candle was expiring in the socket, and there would

be the greatest difficulty in retracing his way to the hatchway

in the dark. It must be allowed, too, that he had every good

reason to believe me dead; in which event no benefit could result

to me from his reaching the box, and a world of danger would be

encountered to no purpose by himself. He had repeatedly called,

and I had made him no answer. I had been now eleven days and

nights with no more water than that contained in the jug which he

had left with me—a supply which it was not at all probable I had

hoarded in the beginning of my confinement, as I had every cause

to expect a speedy release. The atmosphere of the hold, too, must

have appeared to him, coming from the comparatively open air of

the steerage, of a nature absolutely poisonous, and by far more

intolerable than it had seemed to me upon my first taking up my

quarters in the box—the hatchways at that time having been

constantly open for many months previous. Add to these

considerations that of the scene of bloodshed and terror so

lately witnessed by my friend; his confinement, privations, and

narrow escapes from death, together with the frail and equivocal

tenure by which he still existed—circumstances all so well

calculated to prostrate every energy of mind—and the reader will

be easily brought, as I have been, to regard his apparent falling

off in friendship and in faith with sentiments rather of sorrow

than of anger.

The crash of the bottle was distinctly heard, yet Augustus was

not sure that it proceeded from the hold. The doubt, however, was

sufficient inducement to persevere. He clambered up nearly to the

orlop deck by means of the stowage, and then, watching for a lull

in the pitchings of the vessel, he called out to me in as loud a

tone as he could command, regardless, for the moment, of being

overheard by the crew. It will be remembered that on this

occasion the voice reached me, but I was so entirely overcome by

violent agitation as to be incapable of reply. Confident, now,

that his worst apprehensions were well founded, he descended,

with a view of getting back to the forecastle without loss of

time. In his haste some small boxes were thrown down, the noise

occasioned by which I heard, as will be recollected. He had made

considerable progress on his return when the fall of the knife

again caused him to hesitate. He retraced his steps immediately,

and, clambering up the stowage a second time, called out my name,

loudly as before, having watched for a lull. This time I found

voice to answer. Overjoyed at discovering me to be still alive,

he now resolved to brave every difficulty and danger in reaching

me. Having extricated himself as quickly as possible from the

labyrinth of lumber by which he was hemmed in, he at length

struck into an opening which promised better, and finally, after

a series of struggles, arrived at the box in a state of utter

exhaustion.

CHAPTER 6

The leading particulars of this narration were all that Augustus

communicated to me while we remained near the box. It was not

until afterward that he entered fully into all the details. He

was apprehensive of being missed, and I was wild with impatience

to leave my detested place of confinement. We resolved to make

our way at once to the hole in the bulkhead, near which I was to

remain for the present, while he went through to reconnoiter. To

leave Tiger in the box was what neither of us could endure to

think of, yet, how to act otherwise was the question. He now

seemed to be perfectly quiet, and we could not even distinguish

the sound of his breathing upon applying our ears closely to the

box. I was convinced that he was dead, and determined to open the

door. We found him lying at full length, apparently in a deep

stupor, yet still alive. No time was to be lost, yet I could not

bring myself to abandon an animal who had now been twice

instrumental in saving my life, without some attempt at

preserving him. We therefore dragged him along with us as well as

we could, although with the greatest difficulty and fatigue;

Augustus, during part of the time, being forced to clamber over

the impediments in our way with the huge dog in his arms—a feat

to which the feebleness of my frame rendered me totally

inadequate. At length we succeeded in reaching the hole, when

Augustus got through, and Tiger was pushed in afterward. All was

found to be safe, and we did not fail to return sincere thanks to

God for our deliverance from the imminent danger we had escaped.

For the present, it was agreed that I should remain near the

opening, through which my companion could readily supply me with

a part of his daily provision, and where I could have the

advantages of breathing an atmosphere comparatively pure.

In explanation of some portions of this narrative, wherein I have

spoken of the stowage of the brig, and which may appear ambiguous

to some of my readers who may have seen a proper or regular

stowage, I must here state that the manner in which this most

important duty had been performed on board the Grampus was a most

shameful piece of neglect on the part of Captain Barnard, who was

by no means as careful or as experienced a seaman as the

hazardous nature of the service on which he was employed would

seem necessarily to demand. A proper stowage cannot be

accomplished in a careless manner, and many most disastrous

accidents, even within the limits of my own experience, have

arisen from neglect or ignorance in this particular. Coasting

vessels, in the frequent hurry and bustle attendant upon taking

in or discharging cargo, are the most liable to mishap from the

want of a proper attention to stowage. The great point is to

allow no possibility of the cargo or ballast shifting position

even in the most violent rollings of the vessel. With this end,

great attention must be paid, not only to the bulk taken in, but

to the nature of the bulk, and whether there be a full or only a

partial cargo. In most kinds of freight the stowage is

accomplished by means of a screw. Thus, in a load of tobacco or

flour, the whole is screwed so tightly into the hold of the

vessel that the barrels or hogsheads, upon discharging, are found

to be completely flattened, and take some time to regain their

original shape. This screwing, however, is resorted to

principally with a view of obtaining more room in the hold; for

in a full load of any such commodities as flour or tobacco, there

can be no danger of any shifting whatever, at least none from

which inconvenience can result. There have been instances,

indeed, where this method of screwing has resulted in the most

lamentable consequences, arising from a cause altogether distinct

from the danger attendant upon a shifting of cargo. A load of

cotton, for example, tightly screwed while in certain conditions,

has been known, through the expansion of its bulk, to rend a

vessel asunder at sea. There can be no doubt either that the same

result would ensue in the case of tobacco, while undergoing its

usual course of fermentation, were it not for the interstices

consequent upon the rotundity of the hogsheads.

It is when a partial cargo is received that danger is chiefly to

be apprehended from shifting, and that precautions should be

always taken to guard against such misfortune. Only those who

have encountered a violent gale of wind, or rather who have

experienced the rolling of a vessel in a sudden calm after the

gale, can form an idea of the tremendous force of the plunges,

and of the consequent terrible impetus given to all loose

articles in the vessel. It is then that the necessity of a

cautious stowage, when there is a partial cargo, becomes obvious.

When lying-to (especially with a small head sail), a vessel which

is not properly modelled in the bows is frequently thrown upon

her beam-ends; this occurring even every fifteen or twenty

minutes upon an average, yet without any serious consequences

resulting, provided there be a proper stowage. If this, however,

has not been strictly attended to, in the first of these heavy

lurches the whole of the cargo tumbles over to the side of the

vessel which lies upon the water, and, being thus prevented from

regaining her equilibrium, as she would otherwise necessarily do,

she is certain to fill in a few seconds and go down. It is not

too much to say that at least one-half of the instances in which

vessels have foundered in heavy gales at sea may be attributed to

a shifting of cargo or of ballast.

When a partial cargo of any kind is taken on board, the whole,

after being first stowed as compactly as may be, should be

covered with a layer of stout shifting-boards, extending

completely across the vessel. Upon these boards strong temporary

stanchions should be erected, reaching to the timbers above, and

thus securing every thing in its place. In cargoes consisting of

grain, or any similar matter, additional precautions are

requisite. A hold filled entirely with grain upon leaving port

will be found not more than three fourths full upon reaching its

destination—this, too, although the freight, when measured bushel

by bushel by the consignee, will overrun by a vast deal (on

account of the swelling of the grain) the quantity consigned.

This result is occasioned by settling during the voyage, and is

the more perceptible in proportion to the roughness of the

weather experienced. If grain loosely thrown in a vessel, then,

is ever so well secured by shifting-boards and stanchions, it

will be liable to shift in a long passage so greatly as to bring

about the most distressing calamities. To prevent these, every

method should be employed before leaving port to settle the cargo

as much as possible; and for this there are many contrivances,

among which may be mentioned the driving of wedges into the

grain. Even after all this is done, and unusual pains taken to

secure the shifting-boards, no seaman who knows what he is about

will feel altogether secure in a gale of any violence with a

cargo of grain on board, and, least of all, with a partial cargo.

Yet there are hundreds of our coasting vessels, and, it is

likely, many more from the ports of Europe, which sail daily with

partial cargoes, even of the most dangerous species, and without

any precaution whatever. The wonder is that no more accidents

occur than do actually happen. A lamentable instance of this

heedlessness occurred to my knowledge in the case of Captain Joel

Rice of the schooner Firefly, which sailed from Richmond,

Virginia, to Madeira, with a cargo of corn, in the year 1825. The

captain had gone many voyages without serious accident, although

he was in the habit of paying no attention whatever to his

stowage, more than to secure it in the ordinary manner. He had

never before sailed with a cargo of grain, and on this occasion

had the corn thrown on board loosely, when it did not much more

than half fill the vessel. For the first portion of the voyage he

met with nothing more than light breezes; but when within a day’s

sail of Madeira there came on a strong gale from the N. N. E.

which forced him to lie-to. He brought the schooner to the wind

under a double-reefed foresail alone, when she rode as well as

any vessel could be expected to do, and shipped not a drop of

water. Toward night the gale somewhat abated, and she rolled with

more unsteadiness than before, but still did very well, until a

heavy lurch threw her upon her beam-ends to starboard. The corn

was then heard to shift bodily, the force of the movement

bursting open the main hatchway. The vessel went down like a

shot. This happened within hail of a small sloop from Madeira,

which picked up one of the crew (the only person saved), and

which rode out the gale in perfect security, as indeed a jolly

boat might have done under proper management.

The stowage on board the Grampus was most clumsily done, if

stowage that could be called which was little better than a

promiscuous huddling together of oil-casks {*1} and ship

furniture. I have already spoken of the condition of articles in

the hold. On the orlop deck there was space enough for my body

(as I have stated) between the oil-casks and the upper deck; a

space was left open around the main hatchway; and several other

large spaces were left in the stowage. Near the hole cut through

the bulkhead by Augustus there was room enough for an entire

cask, and in this space I found myself comfortably situated for

the present.

By the time my friend had got safely into the berth, and

readjusted his handcuffs and the rope, it was broad daylight. We

had made a narrow escape indeed; for scarcely had he arranged all

matters, when the mate came below, with Dirk Peters and the cook.

They talked for some time about the vessel from the Cape Verds,

and seemed to be excessively anxious for her appearance. At

length the cook came to the berth in which Augustus was lying,

and seated himself in it near the head. I could see and hear

every thing from my hiding-place, for the piece cut out had not

been put back, and I was in momentary expectation that the negro

would fall against the pea-jacket, which was hung up to conceal

the aperture, in which case all would have been discovered, and

our lives would, no doubt, have been instantly sacrificed. Our

good fortune prevailed, however; and although he frequently

touched it as the vessel rolled, he never pressed against it

sufficiently to bring about a discovery. The bottom of the jacket

had been carefully fastened to the bulkhead, so that the hole

might not be seen by its swinging to one side. All this time

Tiger was lying in the foot of the berth, and appeared to have

recovered in some measure his faculties, for I could see him

occasionally open his eyes and draw a long breath.

After a few minutes the mate and cook went above, leaving Dirk

Peters behind, who, as soon as they were gone, came and sat

himself down in the place just occupied by the mate. He began to

talk very sociably with Augustus, and we could now see that the

greater part of his apparent intoxication, while the two others

were with him, was a feint. He answered all my companion’s

questions with perfect freedom; told him that he had no doubt of

his father’s having been picked up, as there were no less than

five sail in sight just before sundown on the day he was cut

adrift; and used other language of a consolatory nature, which

occasioned me no less surprise than pleasure. Indeed, I began to

entertain hopes, that through the instrumentality of Peters we

might be finally enabled to regain possession of the brig, and

this idea I mentioned to Augustus as soon as I found an

opportunity. He thought the matter possible, but urged the

necessity of the greatest caution in making the attempt, as the

conduct of the hybrid appeared to be instigated by the most

arbitrary caprice alone; and, indeed, it was difficult to say if

he was at any moment of sound mind. Peters went upon deck in

about an hour, and did not return again until noon, when he

brought Augustus a plentiful supply of junk beef and pudding. Of

this, when we were left alone, I partook heartily, without

returning through the hole. No one else came down into the

forecastle during the day, and at night, I got into Augustus’

berth, where I slept soundly and sweetly until nearly daybreak,

when he awakened me upon hearing a stir upon deck, and I regained

my hiding-place as quickly as possible. When the day was fully

broke, we found that Tiger had recovered his strength almost

entirely, and gave no indications of hydrophobia, drinking a

little water that was offered him with great apparent eagerness.

During the day he regained all his former vigour and appetite.

His strange conduct had been brought on, no doubt, by the

deleterious quality of the air of the hold, and had no connexion

with canine madness. I could not sufficiently rejoice that I had

persisted in bringing him with me from the box. This day was the

thirtieth of June, and the thirteenth since the Grampus made sail

from Nantucket.

On the second of July the mate came below drunk as usual, and in

an excessively good-humor. He came to Augustus’s berth, and,

giving him a slap on the back, asked him if he thought he could

behave himself if he let him loose, and whether he would promise

not to be going into the cabin again. To this, of course, my

friend answered in the affirmative, when the ruffian set him at

liberty, after making him drink from a flask of rum which he drew

from his coat-pocket. Both now went on deck, and I did not see

Augustus for about three hours. He then came below with the good

news that he had obtained permission to go about the brig as he

pleased anywhere forward of the mainmast, and that he had been

ordered to sleep, as usual, in the forecastle. He brought me,

too, a good dinner, and a plentiful supply of water. The brig was

still cruising for the vessel from the Cape Verds, and a sail was

now in sight, which was thought to be the one in question. As the

events of the ensuing eight days were of little importance, and

had no direct bearing upon the main incidents of my narrative, I

will here throw them into the form of a journal, as I do not wish

to omit them altogether.

July 3. Augustus furnished me with three blankets, with which I

contrived a comfortable bed in my hiding-place. No one came

below, except my companion, during the day. Tiger took his

station in the berth just by the aperture, and slept heavily, as

if not yet entirely recovered from the effects of his sickness.

Toward night a flaw of wind struck the brig before sail could be

taken in, and very nearly capsized her. The puff died away

immediately, however, and no damage was done beyond the splitting

of the foretopsail. Dirk Peters treated Augustus all this day

with great kindness and entered into a long conversation with him

respecting the Pacific Ocean, and the islands he had visited in

that region. He asked him whether he would not like to go with

the mutineers on a kind of exploring and pleasure voyage in those

quarters, and said that the men were gradually coming over to the

mate’s views. To this Augustus thought it best to reply that he

would be glad to go on such an adventure, since nothing better

could be done, and that any thing was preferable to a piratical

life.

July 4th. The vessel in sight proved to be a small brig from

Liverpool, and was allowed to pass unmolested. Augustus spent

most of his time on deck, with a view of obtaining all the

information in his power respecting the intentions of the

mutineers. They had frequent and violent quarrels among

themselves, in one of which a harpooner, Jim Bonner, was thrown

overboard. The party of the mate was gaining ground. Jim Bonner

belonged to the cook’s gang, of which Peters was a partisan.

July 5th. About daybreak there came on a stiff breeze from the

west, which at noon freshened into a gale, so that the brig could

carry nothing more than her trysail and foresail. In taking in

the foretopsail, Simms, one of the common hands, and belonging

also to the cook’s gang, fell overboard, being very much in

liquor, and was drowned—no attempt being made to save him. The

whole number of persons on board was now thirteen, to wit: Dirk

Peters; Seymour, the black cook; Jones, Greely, Hartman Rogers

and William Allen, all of the cook’s party; the mate, whose name

I never learned; Absalom Hicks, Wilson, John Hunty Richard

Parker, of the mate’s party;—besides Augustus and myself.

July 6th. The gale lasted all this day, blowing in heavy squalls,

accompanied with rain. The brig took in a good deal of water

through her seams, and one of the pumps was kept continually

going, Augustus being forced to take his turn. Just at twilight a

large ship passed close by us, without having been discovered

until within hail. The ship was supposed to be the one for which

the mutineers were on the lookout. The mate hailed her, but the

reply was drowned in the roaring of the gale. At eleven, a sea

was shipped amidships, which tore away a great portion of the

larboard bulwarks, and did some other slight damage. Toward

morning the weather moderated, and at sunrise there was very

little wind.

July 7th. There was a heavy swell running all this day, during

which the brig, being light, rolled excessively, and many

articles broke loose in the hold, as I could hear distinctly from

my hiding-place. I suffered a great deal from sea-sickness.

Peters had a long conversation this day with Augustus, and told

him that two of his gang, Greely and Allen, had gone over to the

mate, and were resolved to turn pirates. He put several questions

to Augustus which he did not then exactly understand. During a

part of this evening the leak gained upon the vessel; and little

could be done to remedy it, as it was occasioned by the brig’s

straining, and taking in the water through her seams. A sail was

thrummed, and got under the bows, which aided us in some measure,

so that we began to gain upon the leak.

July 8th. A light breeze sprang up at sunrise from the eastward,

when the mate headed the brig to the southwest, with the

intention of making some of the West India islands in pursuance

of his piratical designs. No opposition was made by Peters or the

cook—at least none in the hearing of Augustus. All idea of taking

the vessel from the Cape Verds was abandoned. The leak was now

easily kept under by one pump going every three quarters of an

hour. The sail was drawn from beneath the bows. Spoke two small

schooners during the day.

July 9th. Fine weather. All hands employed in repairing bulwarks.

Peters had again a long conversation with Augustus, and spoke

more plainly than he had done heretofore. He said nothing should

induce him to come into the mate’s views, and even hinted his

intention of taking the brig out of his hands. He asked my friend

if he could depend upon his aid in such case, to which Augustus

said, “Yes,” without hesitation. Peters then said he would sound

the others of his party upon the subject, and went away. During

the remainder of the day Augustus had no opportunity of speaking

with him privately.

CHAPTER 7

July 10. Spoke a brig from Rio, bound to Norfolk. Weather hazy,

with a light baffling wind from the eastward. To-day Hartman

Rogers died, having been attacked on the eighth with spasms after

drinking a glass of grog. This man was of the cook’s party, and

one upon whom Peters placed his main reliance. He told Augustus

that he believed the mate had poisoned him, and that he expected,

if he did not be on the look-out, his own turn would come

shortly. There were now only himself, Jones, and the cook

belonging to his own gang—on the other side there were five. He

had spoken to Jones about taking the command from the mate; but

the project having been coolly received, he had been deterred

from pressing the matter any further, or from saying any thing to

the cook. It was well, as it happened, that he was so prudent,

for in the afternoon the cook expressed his determination of

siding with the mate, and went over formally to that party; while

Jones took an opportunity of quarrelling with Peters, and hinted

that he would let the mate know of the plan in agitation. There

was now, evidently, no time to be lost, and Peters expressed his

determination of attempting to take the vessel at all hazards,

provided Augustus would lend him his aid. My friend at once

assured him of his willingness to enter into any plan for that

purpose, and, thinking the opportunity a favourable one, made

known the fact of my being on board. At this the hybrid was not

more astonished than delighted, as he had no reliance whatever

upon Jones, whom he already considered as belonging to the party

of the mate. They went below immediately, when Augustus called to

me by name, and Peters and myself were soon made acquainted. It

was agreed that we should attempt to retake the vessel upon the

first good opportunity, leaving Jones altogether out of our

councils. In the event of success, we were to run the brig into

the first port that offered, and deliver her up. The desertion of

his party had frustrated Peters’ design of going into the

Pacific—an adventure which could not be accomplished without a

crew, and he depended upon either getting acquitted upon trial,

on the score of insanity (which he solemnly avowed had actuated

him in lending his aid to the mutiny), or upon obtaining a

pardon, if found guilty, through the representations of Augustus

and myself. Our deliberations were interrupted for the present by

the cry of, “All hands take in sail,” and Peters and Augustus ran

up on deck.

As usual, the crew were nearly all drunk; and, before sail could

be properly taken in, a violent squall laid the brig on her

beam-ends. By keeping her away, however, she righted, having

shipped a good deal of water. Scarcely was everything secure,

when another squall took the vessel, and immediately afterward

another—no damage being done. There was every appearance of a

gale of wind, which, indeed, shortly came on, with great fury,

from the northward and westward. All was made as snug as

possible, and we laid-to, as usual, under a close-reefed

foresail. As night drew on, the wind increased in violence, with

a remarkably heavy sea. Peters now came into the forecastle with

Augustus, and we resumed our deliberations.

We agreed that no opportunity could be more favourable than the

present for carrying our designs into effect, as an attempt at

such a moment would never be anticipated. As the brig was snugly

laid-to, there would be no necessity of manoeuvring her until

good weather, when, if we succeeded in our attempt, we might

liberate one, or perhaps two of the men, to aid us in taking her

into port. The main difficulty was the great disproportion in our

forces. There were only three of us, and in the cabin there were

nine. All the arms on board, too, were in their possession, with

the exception of a pair of small pistols which Peters had

concealed about his person, and the large seaman’s knife which he

always wore in the waistband of his pantaloons. From certain

indications, too—such, for example, as there being no such thing

as an axe or a handspike lying in their customary places—we began

to fear that the mate had his suspicions, at least in regard to

Peters, and that he would let slip no opportunity of getting rid

of him. It was clear, indeed, that what we should determine to do

could not be done too soon. Still the odds were too much against

us to allow of our proceeding without the greatest caution.

Peters proposed that he should go up on deck, and enter into

conversation with the watch (Allen), when he would be able to

throw him into the sea without trouble, and without making any

disturbance, by seizing a good opportunity, that Augustus and

myself should then come up, and endeavour to provide ourselves

with some kind of weapons from the deck, and that we should then

make a rush together, and secure the companion-way before any

opposition could be offered. I objected to this, because I could

not believe that the mate (who was a cunning fellow in all

matters which did not affect his superstitious prejudices) would

suffer himself to be so easily entrapped. The very fact of there

being a watch on deck at all was sufficient proof that he was

upon the alert,—it not being usual except in vessels where

discipline is most rigidly enforced, to station a watch on deck

when a vessel is lying-to in a gale of wind. As I address myself

principally, if not altogether, to persons who have never been to

sea, it may be as well to state the exact condition of a vessel

under such circumstances. Lying-to, or, in sea-parlance,

“laying-to,” is a measure resorted to for various purposes, and

effected in various manners. In moderate weather it is frequently

done with a view of merely bringing the vessel to a stand-still,

to wait for another vessel or any similar object. If the vessel

which lies-to is under full sail, the manoeuvre is usually

accomplished by throwing round some portion of her sails, so as

to let the wind take them aback, when she becomes stationary. But

we are now speaking of lying-to in a gale of wind. This is done

when the wind is ahead, and too violent to admit of carrying sail

without danger of capsizing; and sometimes even when the wind is

fair, but the sea too heavy for the vessel to be put before it.

If a vessel be suffered to scud before the wind in a very heavy

sea, much damage is usually done her by the shipping of water

over her stern, and sometimes by the violent plunges she makes

forward. This manoeuvre, then, is seldom resorted to in such

case, unless through necessity. When the vessel is in a leaky

condition she is often put before the wind even in the heaviest

seas; for, when lying-to, her seams are sure to be greatly opened

by her violent straining, and it is not so much the case when

scudding. Often, too, it becomes necessary to scud a vessel,

either when the blast is so exceedingly furious as to tear in

pieces the sail which is employed with a view of bringing her

head to the wind, or when, through the false modelling of the

frame or other causes, this main object cannot be effected.

Vessels in a gale of wind are laid-to in different manners,

according to their peculiar construction. Some lie-to best under

a foresail, and this, I believe, is the sail most usually

employed. Large square-rigged vessels have sails for the express

purpose, called storm-staysails. But the jib is occasionally

employed by itself,—sometimes the jib and foresail, or a

double-reefed foresail, and not unfrequently the after-sails, are

made use of. Foretopsails are very often found to answer the

purpose better than any other species of sail. The Grampus was

generally laid-to under a close-reefed foresail.

When a vessel is to be laid-to, her head is brought up to the

wind just so nearly as to fill the sail under which she lies when

hauled flat aft, that is, when brought diagonally across the

vessel. This being done, the bows point within a few degrees of

the direction from which the wind issues, and the windward bow of

course receives the shock of the waves. In this situation a good

vessel will ride out a very heavy gale of wind without shipping a

drop of water, and without any further attention being requisite

on the part of the crew. The helm is usually lashed down, but

this is altogether unnecessary (except on account of the noise it

makes when loose), for the rudder has no effect upon the vessel

when lying-to. Indeed, the helm had far better be left loose than

lashed very fast, for the rudder is apt to be torn off by heavy

seas if there be no room for the helm to play. As long as the

sail holds, a well modelled vessel will maintain her situation,

and ride every sea, as if instinct with life and reason. If the

violence of the wind, however, should tear the sail into pieces

(a feat which it requires a perfect hurricane to accomplish under

ordinary circumstances), there is then imminent danger. The

vessel falls off from the wind, and, coming broadside to the sea,

is completely at its mercy: the only resource in this case is to

put her quietly before the wind, letting her scud until some

other sail can be set. Some vessels will lie-to under no sail

whatever, but such are not to be trusted at sea.

But to return from this digression. It had never been customary

with the mate to have any watch on deck when lying-to in a gale

of wind, and the fact that he had now one, coupled with the

circumstance of the missing axes and handspikes, fully convinced

us that the crew were too well on the watch to be taken by

surprise in the manner Peters had suggested. Something, however,

was to be done, and that with as little delay as practicable, for

there could be no doubt that a suspicion having been once

entertained against Peters, he would be sacrificed upon the

earliest occasion, and one would certainly be either found or

made upon the breaking of the gale.

Augustus now suggested that if Peters could contrive to remove,

under any pretext, the piece of chain-cable which lay over the

trap in the stateroom, we might possibly be able to come upon

them unawares by means of the hold; but a little reflection

convinced us that the vessel rolled and pitched too violently for

any attempt of that nature.

By good fortune I at length hit upon the idea of working upon the

superstitious terrors and guilty conscience of the mate. It will

be remembered that one of the crew, Hartman Rogers, had died

during the morning, having been attacked two days before with

spasms after drinking some spirits and water. Peters had

expressed to us his opinion that this man had been poisoned by

the mate, and for this belief he had reasons, so he said, which

were incontrovertible, but which he could not be prevailed upon

to explain to us—this wayward refusal being only in keeping with

other points of his singular character. But whether or not he had

any better grounds for suspecting the mate than we had ourselves,

we were easily led to fall in with his suspicion, and determined

to act accordingly.

Rogers had died about eleven in the forenoon, in violent

convulsions; and the corpse presented in a few minutes after

death one of the most horrid and loathsome spectacles I ever

remember to have seen. The stomach was swollen immensely, like

that of a man who has been drowned and lain under water for many

weeks. The hands were in the same condition, while the face was

shrunken, shrivelled, and of a chalky whiteness, except where

relieved by two or three glaring red blotches like those

occasioned by the erysipelas: one of these blotches extended

diagonally across the face, completely covering up an eye as if

with a band of red velvet. In this disgusting condition the body

had been brought up from the cabin at noon to be thrown

overboard, when the mate getting a glimpse of it (for he now saw

it for the first time), and being either touched with remorse for

his crime or struck with terror at so horrible a sight, ordered

the men to sew the body up in its hammock, and allow it the usual

rites of sea-burial. Having given these directions, he went

below, as if to avoid any further sight of his victim. While

preparations were making to obey his orders, the gale came on

with great fury, and the design was abandoned for the present.

The corpse, left to itself, was washed into the larboard

scuppers, where it still lay at the time of which I speak,

floundering about with the furious lurches of the brig.

Having arranged our plan, we set about putting it in execution as

speedily as possible. Peters went upon deck, and, as he had

anticipated, was immediately accosted by Allen, who appeared to

be stationed more as a watch upon the forecastle than for any

other purpose. The fate of this villain, however, was speedily

and silently decided; for Peters, approaching him in a careless

manner, as if about to address him, seized him by the throat,

and, before he could utter a single cry, tossed him over the

bulwarks. He then called to us, and we came up. Our first

precaution was to look about for something with which to arm

ourselves, and in doing this we had to proceed with great care,

for it was impossible to stand on deck an instant without holding

fast, and violent seas broke over the vessel at every plunge

forward. It was indispensable, too, that we should be quick in

our operations, for every minute we expected the mate to be up to

set the pumps going, as it was evident the brig must be taking in

water very fast. After searching about for some time, we could

find nothing more fit for our purpose than the two pump-handles,

one of which Augustus took, and I the other. Having secured

these, we stripped off the shirt of the corpse and dropped the

body overboard. Peters and myself then went below, leaving

Augustus to watch upon deck, where he took his station just where

Allen had been placed, and with his back to the cabin

companionway, so that, if any of the mate’s gang should come up,

he might suppose it was the watch.

As soon as I got below I commenced disguising myself so as to

represent the corpse of Rogers. The shirt which we had taken from

the body aided us very much, for it was of singular form and

character, and easily recognizable—a kind of smock, which the

deceased wore over his other clothing. It was a blue stockinett,

with large white stripes running across. Having put this on, I

proceeded to equip myself with a false stomach, in imitation of

the horrible deformity of the swollen corpse. This was soon

effected by means of stuffing with some bedclothes. I then gave

the same appearance to my hands by drawing on a pair of white

woollen mittens, and filling them in with any kind of rags that

offered themselves. Peters then arranged my face, first rubbing

it well over with white chalk, and afterward blotching it with

blood, which he took from a cut in his finger. The streak across

the eye was not forgotten and presented a most shocking

appearance.

CHAPTER 8

As I viewed myself in a fragment of looking-glass which hung up

in the cabin, and by the dim light of a kind of battle-lantern, I

was so impressed with a sense of vague awe at my appearance, and

at the recollection of the terrific reality which I was thus

representing, that I was seized with a violent tremour, and could

scarcely summon resolution to go on with my part. It was

necessary, however, to act with decision, and Peters and myself

went upon deck.

We there found everything safe, and, keeping close to the

bulwarks, the three of us crept to the cabin companion-way. It

was only partially closed, precautions having been taken to

prevent its being suddenly pushed to from without, by means of

placing billets of wood on the upper step so as to interfere with

the shutting. We found no difficulty in getting a full view of

the interior of the cabin through the cracks where the hinges

were placed. It now proved to have been very fortunate for us

that we had not attempted to take them by surprise, for they were

evidently on the alert. Only one was asleep, and he lying just at

the foot of the companion-ladder, with a musket by his side. The

rest were seated on several mattresses, which had been taken from

the berths and thrown on the floor. They were engaged in earnest

conversation; and although they had been carousing, as appeared

from two empty jugs, with some tin tumblers which lay about, they

were not as much intoxicated as usual. All had knives, one or two

of them pistols, and a great many muskets were lying in a berth

close at hand.

We listened to their conversation for some time before we could

make up our minds how to act, having as yet resolved on nothing

determinate, except that we would attempt to paralyze their

exertions, when we should attack them, by means of the apparition

of Rogers. They were discussing their piratical plans, in which

all we could hear distinctly was, that they would unite with the

crew of a schooner Hornet, and, if possible, get the schooner

herself into their possession preparatory to some attempt on a

large scale, the particulars of which could not be made out by

either of us.

One of the men spoke of Peters, when the mate replied to him in a

low voice which could not be distinguished, and afterward added

more loudly, that “he could not understand his being so much

forward with the captain’s brat in the forecastle, and he thought

the sooner both of them were overboard the better.” To this no

answer was made, but we could easily perceive that the hint was

well received by the whole party, and more particularly by Jones.

At this period I was excessively agitated, the more so as I could

see that neither Augustus nor Peters could determine how to act.

I made up my mind, however, to sell my life as dearly as

possible, and not to suffer myself to be overcome by any feelings

of trepidation.

The tremendous noise made by the roaring of the wind in the

rigging, and the washing of the sea over the deck, prevented us

from hearing what was said, except during momentary lulls. In one

of these, we all distinctly heard the mate tell one of the men to

“go forward, have an eye upon them, for he wanted no such secret

doings on board the brig.” It was well for us that the pitching

of the vessel at this moment was so violent as to prevent this

order from being carried into instant execution. The cook got up

from his mattress to go for us, when a tremendous lurch, which I

thought would carry away the masts, threw him headlong against

one of the larboard stateroom doors, bursting it open, and

creating a good deal of other confusion. Luckily, neither of our

party was thrown from his position, and we had time to make a

precipitate retreat to the forecastle, and arrange a hurried plan

of action before the messenger made his appearance, or rather

before he put his head out of the companion-hatch, for he did not

come on deck. From this station he could not notice the absence

of Allen, and he accordingly bawled out, as if to him, repeating

the orders of the mate. Peters cried out, “Ay, ay,” in a

disguised voice, and the cook immediately went below, without

entertaining a suspicion that all was not right.

My two companions now proceeded boldly aft and down into the

cabin, Peters closing the door after him in the same manner he

had found it. The mate received them with feigned cordiality, and

told Augustus that, since he had behaved himself so well of late,

he might take up his quarters in the cabin and be one of them for

the future. He then poured him out a tumbler half full of rum,

and made him drink it. All this I saw and heard, for I followed

my friends to the cabin as soon as the door was shut, and took up

my old point of observation. I had brought with me the two

pump-handles, one of which I secured near the companion-way, to

be ready for use when required.

I now steadied myself as well as possible so as to have a good

view of all that was passing within, and endeavoured to nerve

myself to the task of descending among the mutineers when Peters

should make a signal to me, as agreed upon. Presently he

contrived to turn the conversation upon the bloody deeds of the

mutiny, and by degrees led the men to talk of the thousand

superstitions which are so universally current among seamen. I

could not make out all that was said, but I could plainly see the

effects of the conversation in the countenances of those present.

The mate was evidently much agitated, and presently, when some

one mentioned the terrific appearance of Rogers’ corpse, I

thought he was upon the point of swooning. Peters now asked him

if he did not think it would be better to have the body thrown

overboard at once as it was too horrible a sight to see it

floundering about in the scuppers. At this the villain absolutely

gasped for breath, and turned his head slowly round upon his

companions, as if imploring some one to go up and perform the

task. No one, however, stirred, and it was quite evident that the

whole party were wound up to the highest pitch of nervous

excitement. Peters now made me the signal. I immediately threw

open the door of the companion-way, and, descending, without

uttering a syllable, stood erect in the midst of the party.

The intense effect produced by this sudden apparition is not at

all to be wondered at when the various circumstances are taken

into consideration. Usually, in cases of a similar nature, there

is left in the mind of the spectator some glimmering of doubt as

to the reality of the vision before his eyes; a degree of hope,

however feeble, that he is the victim of chicanery, and that the

apparition is not actually a visitant from the old world of

shadows. It is not too much to say that such remnants of doubt

have been at the bottom of almost every such visitation, and that

the appalling horror which has sometimes been brought about, is

to be attributed, even in the cases most in point, and where most

suffering has been experienced, more to a kind of anticipative

horror, lest the apparition might possibly be real, than to an

unwavering belief in its reality. But, in the present instance,

it will be seen immediately, that in the minds of the mutineers

there was not even the shadow of a basis upon which to rest a

doubt that the apparition of Rogers was indeed a revivification

of his disgusting corpse, or at least its spiritual image. The

isolated situation of the brig, with its entire inaccessibility

on account of the gale, confined the apparently possible means of

deception within such narrow and definite limits, that they must

have thought themselves enabled to survey them all at a glance.

They had now been at sea twenty-four days, without holding more

than a speaking communication with any vessel whatever. The whole

of the crew, too—at least all whom they had the most remote

reason for suspecting to be on board—were assembled in the cabin,

with the exception of Allen, the watch; and his gigantic stature

(he was six feet six inches high) was too familiar in their eyes

to permit the notion that he was the apparition before them to

enter their minds even for an instant. Add to these

considerations the awe-inspiring nature of the tempest, and that

of the conversation brought about by Peters; the deep impression

which the loathsomeness of the actual corpse had made in the

morning upon the imaginations of the men; the excellence of the

imitation in my person, and the uncertain and wavering light in

which they beheld me, as the glare of the cabin lantern, swinging

violently to and fro, fell dubiously and fitfully upon my figure,

and there will be no reason to wonder that the deception had even

more than the entire effect which we had anticipated. The mate

sprang up from the mattress on which he was lying, and, without

uttering a syllable, fell back, stone dead, upon the cabin floor,

and was hurled to the leeward like a log by a heavy roll of the

brig. Of the remaining seven, there were but three who had at

first any degree of presence of mind. The four others sat for

some time rooted apparently to the floor, the most pitiable

objects of horror and utter despair my eyes ever encountered. The

only opposition we experienced at all was from the cook, John

Hunt, and Richard Parker; but they made but a feeble and

irresolute defence. The two former were shot instantly by Peters,

and I felled Parker with a blow on the head from the pump-handle

which I had brought with me. In the meantime, Augustus seized one

of the muskets lying on the floor and shot another mutineer

Wilson through the breast. There were now but three remaining;

but by this time they had become aroused from their lethargy, and

perhaps began to see that a deception had been practised upon

them, for they fought with great resolution and fury, and, but

for the immense muscular strength of Peters, might have

ultimately got the better of us. These three men were—Jones,

Greely, and Absolom Hicks. Jones had thrown Augustus to the

floor, stabbed him in several places along the right arm, and

would no doubt have soon dispatched him (as neither Peters nor

myself could immediately get rid of our own antagonists), had it

not been for the timely aid of a friend, upon whose assistance

we, surely, had never depended. This friend was no other than

Tiger. With a low growl, he bounded into the cabin, at a most

critical moment for Augustus, and throwing himself upon Jones,

pinned him to the floor in an instant. My friend, however, was

now too much injured to render us any aid whatever, and I was so

encumbered with my disguise that I could do but little. The dog

would not leave his hold upon the throat of Jones—Peters,

nevertheless, was far more than a match for the two men who

remained, and would, no doubt, have dispatched them sooner, had

it not been for the narrow space in which he had to act, and the

tremendous lurches of the vessel. Presently he was enabled to get

hold of a heavy stool, several of which lay about the floor. With

this he beat out the brains of Greely as he was in the act of

discharging a musket at me, and immediately afterward a roll of

the brig throwing him in contact with Hicks, he seized him by the

throat, and, by dint of sheer strength, strangled him

instantaneously. Thus, in far less time than I have taken to tell

it, we found ourselves masters of the brig.

The only person of our opponents who was left alive was Richard

Parker. This man, it will be remembered, I had knocked down with

a blow from the pump-handle at the commencement of the attack. He

now lay motionless by the door of the shattered stateroom; but,

upon Peters touching him with his foot, he spoke, and entreated

for mercy. His head was only slightly cut, and otherwise he had

received no injury, having been merely stunned by the blow. He

now got up, and, for the present, we secured his hands behind his

back. The dog was still growling over Jones; but, upon

examination, we found him completely dead, the blood issuing in a

stream from a deep wound in the throat, inflicted, no doubt, by

the sharp teeth of the animal.

It was now about one o’clock in the morning, and the wind was

still blowing tremendously. The brig evidently laboured much more

than usual, and it became absolutely necessary that something

should be done with a view of easing her in some measure. At

almost every roll to leeward she shipped a sea, several of which

came partially down into the cabin during our scuffle, the

hatchway having been left open by myself when I descended. The

entire range of bulwarks to larboard had been swept away, as well

as the caboose, together with the jollyboat from the counter. The

creaking and working of the mainmast, too, gave indication that

it was nearly sprung. To make room for more stowage in the

afterhold, the heel of this mast had been stepped between decks

(a very reprehensible practice, occasionally resorted to by

ignorant ship-builders), so that it was in imminent danger of

working from its step. But, to crown all our difficulties, we

plummed the well, and found no less than seven feet of water.

Leaving the bodies of the crew lying in the cabin, we got to work

immediately at the pumps—Parker, of course, being set at liberty

to assist us in the labour. Augustus’s arm was bound up as well

as we could effect it, and he did what he could, but that was not

much. However, we found that we could just manage to keep the

leak from gaining upon us by having one pump constantly going. As

there were only four of us, this was severe labour; but we

endeavoured to keep up our spirits, and looked anxiously for

daybreak, when we hoped to lighten the brig by cutting away the

mainmast.

In this manner we passed a night of terrible anxiety and fatigue,

and, when the day at length broke, the gale had neither abated in

the least, nor were there any signs of its abating. We now

dragged the bodies on deck and threw them overboard. Our next

care was to get rid of the mainmast. The necessary preparations

having been made, Peters cut away at the mast (having found axes

in the cabin), while the rest of us stood by the stays and

lanyards. As the brig gave a tremendous lee-lurch, the word was

given to cut away the weather-lanyards, which being done, the

whole mass of wood and rigging plunged into the sea, clear of the

brig, and without doing any material injury. We now found that

the vessel did not labour quite as much as before, but our

situation was still exceedingly precarious, and in spite of the

utmost exertions, we could not gain upon the leak without the aid

of both pumps. The little assistance which Augustus could render

us was not really of any importance. To add to our distress, a

heavy sea, striking the brig to the windward, threw her off

several points from the wind, and, before she could regain her

position, another broke completely over her, and hurled her full

upon her beam-ends. The ballast now shifted in a mass to leeward

(the stowage had been knocking about perfectly at random for some

time), and for a few moments we thought nothing could save us

from capsizing. Presently, however, we partially righted; but the

ballast still retaining its place to larboard, we lay so much

along that it was useless to think of working the pumps, which

indeed we could not have done much longer in any case, as our

hands were entirely raw with the excessive labour we had

undergone, and were bleeding in the most horrible manner.

Contrary to Parker’s advice, we now proceeded to cut away the

foremast, and at length accomplished it after much difficulty,

owing to the position in which we lay. In going overboard the

wreck took with it the bowsprit, and left us a complete hulk.

So far we had had reason to rejoice in the escape of our

longboat, which had received no damage from any of the huge seas

which had come on board. But we had not long to congratulate

ourselves; for the foremast having gone, and, of course, the

foresail with it, by which the brig had been steadied, every sea

now made a complete breach over us, and in five minutes our deck

was swept from stem to stern, the longboat and starboard bulwarks

torn off, and even the windlass shattered into fragments. It was,

indeed, hardly possible for us to be in a more pitiable

condition.

At noon there seemed to be some slight appearance of the gale’s

abating, but in this we were sadly disappointed, for it only

lulled for a few minutes to blow with redoubled fury. About four

in the afternoon it was utterly impossible to stand up against

the violence of the blast; and, as the night closed in upon us, I

had not a shadow of hope that the vessel would hold together

until morning.

By midnight we had settled very deep in the water, which was now

up to the orlop deck. The rudder went soon afterward, the sea

which tore it away lifting the after portion of the brig entirely

from the water, against which she thumped in her descent with

such a concussion as would be occasioned by going ashore. We had

all calculated that the rudder would hold its own to the last, as

it was unusually strong, being rigged as I have never seen one

rigged either before or since. Down its main timber there ran a

succession of stout iron hooks, and others in the same manner

down the stern-post. Through these hooks there extended a very

thick wrought-iron rod, the rudder being thus held to the

stern-post and swinging freely on the rod. The tremendous force

of the sea which tore it off may be estimated by the fact, that

the hooks in the stern-post, which ran entirely through it, being

clinched on the inside, were drawn every one of them completely

out of the solid wood.

We had scarcely time to draw breath after the violence of this

shock, when one of the most tremendous waves I had then ever

known broke right on board of us, sweeping the companion-way

clear off, bursting in the hatchways, and filling every inch of

the vessel with water.

CHAPTER 9

Luckily, just before night, all four of us had lashed ourselves

firmly to the fragments of the windlass, lying in this manner as

flat upon the deck as possible. This precaution alone saved us

from destruction. As it was, we were all more or less stunned by

the immense weight of water which tumbled upon us, and which did

not roll from above us until we were nearly exhausted. As soon as

I could recover breath, I called aloud to my companions. Augustus

alone replied, saying: “It is all over with us, and may God have

mercy upon our souls!” By-and-by both the others were enabled to

speak, when they exhorted us to take courage, as there was still

hope; it being impossible, from the nature of the cargo, that the

brig could go down, and there being every chance that the gale

would blow over by the morning. These words inspired me with new

life; for, strange as it may seem, although it was obvious that a

vessel with a cargo of empty oil-casks would not sink, I had been

hitherto so confused in mind as to have overlooked this

consideration altogether; and the danger which I had for some

time regarded as the most imminent was that of foundering. As

hope revived within me, I made use of every opportunity to

strengthen the lashings which held me to the remains of the

windlass, and in this occupation I soon discovered that my

companions were also busy. The night was as dark as it could

possibly be, and the horrible shrieking din and confusion which

surrounded us it is useless to attempt describing. Our deck lay

level with the sea, or rather we were encircled with a towering

ridge of foam, a portion of which swept over us every instant. It

is not too much to say that our heads were not fairly out of the

water more than one second in three. Although we lay close

together, no one of us could see the other, or, indeed, any

portion of the brig itself, upon which we were so tempestuously

hurled about. At intervals we called one to the other, thus

endeavouring to keep alive hope, and render consolation and

encouragement to such of us as stood most in need of it. The

feeble condition of Augustus made him an object of solicitude

with us all; and as, from the lacerated condition of his right

arm, it must have been impossible for him to secure his lashings

with any degree of firmness, we were in momentary expectation of

finding that he had gone overboard—yet to render him aid was a

thing altogether out of the question. Fortunately, his station

was more secure than that of any of the rest of us; for the upper

part of his body lying just beneath a portion of the shattered

windlass, the seas, as they tumbled in upon him, were greatly

broken in their violence. In any other situation than this (into

which he had been accidentally thrown after having lashed himself

in a very exposed spot) he must inevitably have perished before

morning. Owing to the brig’s lying so much along, we were all

less liable to be washed off than otherwise would have been the

case. The heel, as I have before stated, was to larboard, about

one half of the deck being constantly under water. The seas,

therefore, which struck us to starboard were much broken, by the

vessel’s side, only reaching us in fragments as we lay flat on

our faces; while those which came from larboard being what are

called back-water seas, and obtaining little hold upon us on

account of our posture, had not sufficient force to drag us from

our fastenings.

In this frightful situation we lay until the day broke so as to

show us more fully the horrors which surrounded us. The brig was

a mere log, rolling about at the mercy of every wave; the gale

was upon the increase, if any thing, blowing indeed a complete

hurricane, and there appeared to us no earthly prospect of

deliverance. For several hours we held on in silence, expecting

every moment that our lashings would either give way, that the

remains of the windlass would go by the board, or that some of

the huge seas, which roared in every direction around us and

above us, would drive the hulk so far beneath the water that we

should be drowned before it could regain the surface. By the

mercy of God, however, we were preserved from these imminent

dangers, and about midday were cheered by the light of the

blessed sun. Shortly afterward we could perceive a sensible

diminution in the force of the wind, when, now for the first time

since the latter part of the evening before, Augustus spoke,

asking Peters, who lay closest to him, if he thought there was

any possibility of our being saved. As no reply was at first made

to this question, we all concluded that the hybrid had been

drowned where he lay; but presently, to our great joy, he spoke,

although very feebly, saying that he was in great pain, being so

cut by the tightness of his lashings across the stomach, that he

must either find means of loosening them or perish, as it was

impossible that he could endure his misery much longer. This

occasioned us great distress, as it was altogether useless to

think of aiding him in any manner while the sea continued washing

over us as it did. We exhorted him to bear his sufferings with

fortitude, and promised to seize the first opportunity which

should offer itself to relieve him. He replied that it would soon

be too late; that it would be all over with him before we could

help him; and then, after moaning for some minutes, lay silent,

when we concluded that he had perished.

As the evening drew on, the sea had fallen so much that scarcely

more than one wave broke over the hulk from windward in the

course of five minutes, and the wind had abated a great deal,

although still blowing a severe gale. I had not heard any of my

companions speak for hours, and now called to Augustus. He

replied, although very feebly, so that I could not distinguish

what he said. I then spoke to Peters and to Parker, neither of

whom returned any answer.

Shortly after this period I fell into a state of partial

insensibility, during which the most pleasing images floated in

my imagination; such as green trees, waving meadows of ripe

grain, processions of dancing girls, troops of cavalry, and other

phantasies. I now remember that, in all which passed before my

mind’s eye, motion was a predominant idea. Thus, I never fancied

any stationary object, such as a house, a mountain, or any thing

of that kind; but windmills, ships, large birds, balloons, people

on horseback, carriages driving furiously, and similar moving

objects, presented themselves in endless succession. When I

recovered from this state, the sun was, as near as I could guess,

an hour high. I had the greatest difficulty in bringing to

recollection the various circumstances connected with my

situation, and for some time remained firmly convinced that I was

still in the hold of the brig, near the box, and that the body of

Parker was that of Tiger.

When I at length completely came to my senses, I found that the

wind blew no more than a moderate breeze, and that the sea was

comparatively calm; so much so that it only washed over the brig

amidships. My left arm had broken loose from its lashings, and

was much cut about the elbow; my right was entirely benumbed, and

the hand and wrist swollen prodigiously by the pressure of the

rope, which had worked from the shoulder downward. I was also in

great pain from another rope which went about my waist, and had

been drawn to an insufferable degree of tightness. Looking round

upon my companions, I saw that Peters still lived, although a

thick line was pulled so forcibly around his loins as to give him

the appearance of being cut nearly in two; as I stirred, he made

a feeble motion to me with his hand, pointing to the rope.

Augustus gave no indication of life whatever, and was bent nearly

double across a splinter of the windlass. Parker spoke to me when

he saw me moving, and asked me if I had not sufficient strength

to release him from his situation, saying that if I would summon

up what spirits I could, and contrive to untie him, we might yet

save our lives; but that otherwise we must all perish. I told him

to take courage, and I would endeavor to free him. Feeling in my

pantaloons’ pocket, I got hold of my penknife, and, after several

ineffectual attempts, at length succeeded in opening it. I then,

with my left hand, managed to free my right from its fastenings,

and afterward cut the other ropes which held me. Upon attempting,

however, to move from my position, I found that my legs failed me

altogether, and that I could not get up; neither could I move my

right arm in any direction. Upon mentioning this to Parker, he

advised me to lie quiet for a few minutes, holding on to the

windlass with my left hand, so as to allow time for the blood to

circulate. Doing this, the numbness presently began to die away

so that I could move first one of my legs, and then the other,

and, shortly afterward I regained the partial use of my right

arm. I now crawled with great caution toward Parker, without

getting on my legs, and soon cut loose all the lashings about

him, when, after a short delay, he also recovered the partial use

of his limbs. We now lost no time in getting loose the rope from

Peters. It had cut a deep gash through the waistband of his

woollen pantaloons, and through two shirts, and made its way into

his groin, from which the blood flowed out copiously as we

removed the cordage. No sooner had we removed it, however, than

he spoke, and seemed to experience instant relief—being able to

move with much greater ease than either Parker or myself—this was

no doubt owing to the discharge of blood.

We had little hopes that Augustus would recover, as he evinced no

signs of life; but, upon getting to him, we discovered that he

had merely swooned from the loss of blood, the bandages we had

placed around his wounded arm having been torn off by the water;

none of the ropes which held him to the windlass were drawn

sufficiently tight to occasion his death. Having relieved him

from the fastenings, and got him clear of the broken wood about

the windlass, we secured him in a dry place to windward, with his

head somewhat lower than his body, and all three of us busied

ourselves in chafing his limbs. In about half an hour he came to

himself, although it was not until the next morning that he gave

signs of recognizing any of us, or had sufficient strength to

speak. By the time we had thus got clear of our lashings it was

quite dark, and it began to cloud up, so that we were again in

the greatest agony lest it should come on to blow hard, in which

event nothing could have saved us from perishing, exhausted as we

were. By good fortune it continued very moderate during the

night, the sea subsiding every minute, which gave us great hopes

of ultimate preservation. A gentle breeze still blew from the N.

W., but the weather was not at all cold. Augustus was lashed

carefully to windward in such a manner as to prevent him from

slipping overboard with the rolls of the vessel, as he was still

too weak to hold on at all. For ourselves there was no such

necessity. We sat close together, supporting each other with the

aid of the broken ropes about the windlass, and devising methods

of escape from our frightful situation. We derived much comfort

from taking off our clothes and wringing the water from them.

When we put them on after this, they felt remarkably warm and

pleasant, and served to invigorate us in no little degree. We

helped Augustus off with his, and wrung them for him, when he

experienced the same comfort.

Our chief sufferings were now those of hunger and thirst, and

when we looked forward to the means of relief in this respect,

our hearts sunk within us, and we were induced to regret that we

had escaped the less dreadful perils of the sea. We endeavoured,

however, to console ourselves with the hope of being speedily

picked up by some vessel and encouraged each other to bear with

fortitude the evils that might happen.

The morning of the fourteenth at length dawned, and the weather

still continued clear and pleasant, with a steady but very light

breeze from the N. W. The sea was now quite smooth, and as, from

some cause which we could not determine, the brig did not lie so

much along as she had done before, the deck was comparatively

dry, and we could move about with freedom. We had now been better

than three entire days and nights without either food or drink,

and it became absolutely necessary that we should make an attempt

to get up something from below. As the brig was completely full

of water, we went to this work despondently, and with but little

expectation of being able to obtain anything. We made a kind of

drag by driving some nails which we broke out from the remains of

the companion-hatch into two pieces of wood. Tying these across

each other, and fastening them to the end of a rope, we threw

them into the cabin, and dragged them to and fro, in the faint

hope of being thus able to entangle some article which might be

of use to us for food, or which might at least render us

assistance in getting it. We spent the greater part of the

morning in this labour without effect, fishing up nothing more

than a few bedclothes, which were readily caught by the nails.

Indeed, our contrivance was so very clumsy that any greater

success was hardly to be anticipated.

We now tried the forecastle, but equally in vain, and were upon

the brink of despair, when Peters proposed that we should fasten

a rope to his body, and let him make an attempt to get up

something by diving into the cabin. This proposition we hailed

with all the delight which reviving hope could inspire. He

proceeded immediately to strip off his clothes with the exception

of his pantaloons; and a strong rope was then carefully fastened

around his middle, being brought up over his shoulders in such a

manner that there was no possibility of its slipping. The

undertaking was one of great difficulty and danger; for, as we

could hardly expect to find much, if any, provision in the cabin

itself, it was necessary that the diver, after letting himself

down, should make a turn to the right, and proceed under water a

distance of ten or twelve feet, in a narrow passage, to the

storeroom, and return, without drawing breath.

Everything being ready, Peters now descended in the cabin, going

down the companion-ladder until the water reached his chin. He

then plunged in, head first, turning to the right as he plunged,

and endeavouring to make his way to the storeroom. In this first

attempt, however, he was altogether unsuccessful. In less than

half a minute after his going down we felt the rope jerked

violently (the signal we had agreed upon when he desired to be

drawn up). We accordingly drew him up instantly, but so

incautiously as to bruise him badly against the ladder. He had

brought nothing with him, and had been unable to penetrate more

than a very little way into the passage, owing to the constant

exertions he found it necessary to make in order to keep himself

from floating up against the deck. Upon getting out he was very

much exhausted, and had to rest full fifteen minutes before he

could again venture to descend.

The second attempt met with even worse success; for he remained

so long under water without giving the signal, that, becoming

alarmed for his safety, we drew him out without it, and found

that he was almost at the last gasp, having, as he said,

repeatedly jerked at the rope without our feeling it. This was

probably owing to a portion of it having become entangled in the

balustrade at the foot of the ladder. This balustrade was,

indeed, so much in the way, that we determined to remove it, if

possible, before proceeding with our design. As we had no means

of getting it away except by main force, we all descended into

the water as far as we could on the ladder, and giving a pull

against it with our united strength, succeeded in breaking it

down.

The third attempt was equally unsuccessful with the two first,

and it now became evident that nothing could be done in this

manner without the aid of some weight with which the diver might

steady himself, and keep to the floor of the cabin while making

his search. For a long time we looked about in vain for something

which might answer this purpose; but at length, to our great joy,

we discovered one of the weather-forechains so loose that we had

not the least difficulty in wrenching it off. Having fastened

this securely to one of his ankles, Peters now made his fourth

descent into the cabin, and this time succeeded in making his way

to the door of the steward’s room. To his inexpressible grief,

however, he found it locked, and was obliged to return without

effecting an entrance, as, with the greatest exertion, he could

remain under water not more, at the utmost extent, than a single

minute. Our affairs now looked gloomy indeed, and neither

Augustus nor myself could refrain from bursting into tears, as we

thought of the host of difficulties which encompassed us, and the

slight probability which existed of our finally making an escape.

But this weakness was not of long duration. Throwing ourselves on

our knees to God, we implored His aid in the many dangers which

beset us; and arose with renewed hope and vigor to think what

could yet be done by mortal means toward accomplishing our

deliverance.

CHAPTER 10

Shortly afterward an incident occurred which I am induced to look

upon as more intensely productive of emotion, as far more replete

with the extremes first of delight and then of horror, than even

any of the thousand chances which afterward befell me in nine

long years, crowded with events of the most startling and, in

many cases, of the most unconceived and unconceivable character.

We were lying on the deck near the companion-way, and debating

the possibility of yet making our way into the storeroom, when,

looking toward Augustus, who lay fronting myself, I perceived

that he had become all at once deadly pale, and that his lips

were quivering in the most singular and unaccountable manner.

Greatly alarmed, I spoke to him, but he made me no reply, and I

was beginning to think that he was suddenly taken ill, when I

took notice of his eyes, which were glaring apparently at some

object behind me. I turned my head, and shall never forget the

ecstatic joy which thrilled through every particle of my frame,

when I perceived a large brig bearing down upon us, and not more

than a couple of miles off. I sprung to my feet as if a musket

bullet had suddenly struck me to the heart; and, stretching out

my arms in the direction of the vessel, stood in this manner,

motionless, and unable to articulate a syllable. Peters and

Parker were equally affected, although in different ways. The

former danced about the deck like a madman, uttering the most

extravagant rhodomontades, intermingled with howls and

imprecations, while the latter burst into tears, and continued

for many minutes weeping like a child.

The vessel in sight was a large hermaphrodite brig, of a Dutch

build, and painted black, with a tawdry gilt figure-head. She had

evidently seen a good deal of rough weather, and, we supposed,

had suffered much in the gale which had proved so disastrous to

ourselves; for her foretopmast was gone, and some of her

starboard bulwarks. When we first saw her, she was, as I have

already said, about two miles off and to windward, bearing down

upon us. The breeze was very gentle, and what astonished us

chiefly was, that she had no other sails set than her foremast

and mainsail, with a flying jib—of course she came down but

slowly, and our impatience amounted nearly to phrensy. The

awkward manner in which she steered, too, was remarked by all of

us, even excited as we were. She yawed about so considerably,

that once or twice we thought it impossible she could see us, or

imagined that, having seen us, and discovered no person on board,

she was about to tack and make off in another direction. Upon

each of these occasions we screamed and shouted at the top of our

voices, when the stranger would appear to change for a moment her

intention, and again hold on toward us—this singular conduct

being repeated two or three times, so that at last we could think

of no other manner of accounting for it than by supposing the

helmsman to be in liquor.

No person was seen upon her decks until she arrived within about

a quarter of a mile of us. We then saw three seamen, whom by

their dress we took to be Hollanders. Two of these were lying on

some old sails near the forecastle, and the third, who appeared

to be looking at us with great curiosity, was leaning over the

starboard bow near the bowsprit. This last was a stout and tall

man, with a very dark skin. He seemed by his manner to be

encouraging us to have patience, nodding to us in a cheerful

although rather odd way, and smiling constantly, so as to display

a set of the most brilliantly white teeth. As his vessel drew

nearer, we saw a red flannel cap which he had on fall from his

head into the water; but of this he took little or no notice,

continuing his odd smiles and gesticulations. I relate these

things and circumstances minutely, and I relate them, it must be

understood, precisely as they _appeared_to us.

The brig came on slowly, and now more steadily than before, and—I

cannot speak calmly of this event—our hearts leaped up wildly

within us, and we poured out our whole souls in shouts and

thanksgiving to God for the complete, unexpected, and glorious

deliverance that was so palpably at hand. Of a sudden, and all at

once, there came wafted over the ocean from the strange vessel

(which was now close upon us) a smell, a stench, such as the

whole world has no name for—no conception of—hellish—utterly

suffocating—insufferable, inconceivable. I gasped for breath, and

turning to my companions, perceived that they were paler than

marble. But we had now no time left for question or surmise—the

brig was within fifty feet of us, and it seemed to be her

intention to run under our counter, that we might board her

without putting out a boat. We rushed aft, when, suddenly, a wide

yaw threw her off full five or six points from the course she had

been running, and, as she passed under our stern at the distance

of about twenty feet, we had a full view of her decks. Shall I

ever forget the triple horror of that spectacle? Twenty-five or

thirty human bodies, among whom were several females, lay

scattered about between the counter and the galley in the last

and most loathsome state of putrefaction. We plainly saw that not

a soul lived in that fated vessel! Yet we could not help shouting

to the dead for help! Yes, long and loudly did we beg, in the

agony of the moment, that those silent and disgusting images

would stay for us, would not abandon us to become like them,

would receive us among their goodly company! We were raving with

horror and despair—thoroughly mad through the anguish of our

grievous disappointment.

As our first loud yell of terror broke forth, it was replied to

by something, from near the bowsprit of the stranger, so closely

resembling the scream of a human voice that the nicest ear might

have been startled and deceived. At this instant another sudden

yaw brought the region of the forecastle for a moment into view,

and we beheld at once the origin of the sound. We saw the tall

stout figure still leaning on the bulwark, and still nodding his

head to and fro, but his face was now turned from us so that we

could not behold it. His arms were extended over the rail, and

the palms of his hands fell outward. His knees were lodged upon a

stout rope, tightly stretched, and reaching from the heel of the

bowsprit to a cathead. On his back, from which a portion of the

shirt had been torn, leaving it bare, there sat a huge sea-gull,

busily gorging itself with the horrible flesh, its bill and

talons deep buried, and its white plumage spattered all over with

blood. As the brig moved farther round so as to bring us close in

view, the bird, with much apparent difficulty, drew out its

crimsoned head, and, after eyeing us for a moment as if

stupefied, arose lazily from the body upon which it had been

feasting, and, flying directly above our deck, hovered there a

while with a portion of clotted and liver-like substance in its

beak. The horrid morsel dropped at length with a sullen splash

immediately at the feet of Parker. May God forgive me, but now,

for the first time, there flashed through my mind a thought, a

thought which I will not mention, and I felt myself making a step

toward the ensanguined spot. I looked upward, and the eyes of

Augustus met my own with a degree of intense and eager meaning

which immediately brought me to my senses. I sprang forward

quickly, and, with a deep shudder, threw the frightful thing into

the sea.

The body from which it had been taken, resting as it did upon the

rope, had been easily swayed to and fro by the exertions of the

carnivorous bird, and it was this motion which had at first

impressed us with the belief of its being alive. As the gull

relieved it of its weight, it swung round and fell partially

over, so that the face was fully discovered. Never, surely, was

any object so terribly full of awe! The eyes were gone, and the

whole flesh around the mouth, leaving the teeth utterly naked.

This, then, was the smile which had cheered us on to hope! this

the—but I forbear. The brig, as I have already told, passed under

our stern, and made its way slowly but steadily to leeward. With

her and with her terrible crew went all our gay visions of

deliverance and joy. Deliberately as she went by, we might

possibly have found means of boarding her, had not our sudden

disappointment and the appalling nature of the discovery which

accompanied it laid entirely prostrate every active faculty of

mind and body. We had seen and felt, but we could neither think

nor act, until, alas! too late. How much our intellects had been

weakened by this incident may be estimated by the fact, that when

the vessel had proceeded so far that we could perceive no more

than the half of her hull, the proposition was seriously

entertained of attempting to overtake her by swimming!

I have, since this period, vainly endeavoured to obtain some clew

to the hideous uncertainty which enveloped the fate of the

stranger. Her build and general appearance, as I have before

stated, led us to the belief that she was a Dutch trader, and the

dresses of the crew also sustained this opinion. We might have

easily seen the name upon her stern, and, indeed, taken other

observations, which would have guided us in making out her

character; but the intense excitement of the moment blinded us to

every thing of that nature. From the saffron-like hue of such of

the corpses as were not entirely decayed, we concluded that the

whole of her company had perished by the yellow fever, or some

other virulent disease of the same fearful kind. If such were the

case (and I know not what else to imagine), death, to judge from

the positions of the bodies, must have come upon them in a manner

awfully sudden and overwhelming, in a way totally distinct from

that which generally characterizes even the most deadly

pestilences with which mankind are acquainted. It is possible,

indeed, that poison, accidentally introduced into some of their

sea-stores, may have brought about the disaster, or that the

eating of some unknown venomous species of fish, or other marine

animal, or oceanic bird, might have induced it—but it is utterly

useless to form conjectures where all is involved, and will, no

doubt, remain for ever involved, in the most appalling and

unfathomable mystery.

CHAPTER 11

We spent the remainder of the day in a condition of stupid

lethargy, gazing after the retreating vessel until the darkness,

hiding her from our sight, recalled us in some measure to our

senses. The pangs of hunger and thirst then returned, absorbing

all other cares and considerations. Nothing, however, could be

done until the morning, and, securing ourselves as well as

possible, we endeavoured to snatch a little repose. In this I

succeeded beyond my expectations, sleeping until my companions,

who had not been so fortunate, aroused me at daybreak to renew

our attempts at getting up provisions from the hull.

It was now a dead calm, with the sea as smooth as I have ever

known it,—the weather warm and pleasant. The brig was out of

sight. We commenced our operations by wrenching off, with some

trouble, another of the forechains; and having fastened both to

Peters’ feet, he again made an endeavour to reach the door of the

storeroom, thinking it possible that he might be able to force it

open, provided he could get at it in sufficient time; and this he

hoped to do, as the hulk lay much more steadily than before.

He succeeded very quickly in reaching the door, when, loosening

one of the chains from his ankle, he made every exertion to force

the passage with it, but in vain, the framework of the room being

far stronger than was anticipated. He was quite exhausted with

his long stay under water, and it became absolutely necessary

that some other one of us should take his place. For this service

Parker immediately volunteered; but, after making three

ineffectual efforts, found that he could never even succeed in

getting near the door. The condition of Augustus’s wounded arm

rendered it useless for him to attempt going down, as he would be

unable to force the room open should he reach it, and it

accordingly now devolved upon me to exert myself for our common

deliverance.

Peters had left one of the chains in the passage, and I found,

upon plunging in, that I had not sufficient balance to keep me

firmly down. I determined, therefore, to attempt no more, in my

first effort, than merely to recover the other chain. In groping

along the floor of the passage for this, I felt a hard substance,

which I immediately grasped, not having time to ascertain what it

was, but returning and ascending instantly to the surface. The

prize proved to be a bottle, and our joy may be conceived when I

say that it was found to be full of port wine. Giving thanks to

God for this timely and cheering assistance, we immediately drew

the cork with my penknife, and, each taking a moderate sup, felt

the most indescribable comfort from the warmth, strength, and

spirits with which it inspired us. We then carefully recorked the

bottle, and, by means of a handkerchief, swung it in such a

manner that there was no possibility of its getting broken.

Having rested a while after this fortunate discovery, I again

descended, and now recovered the chain, with which I instantly

came up. I then fastened it on and went down for the third time,

when I became fully satisfied that no exertions whatever, in that

situation, would enable me to force open the door of the

storeroom. I therefore returned in despair.

There seemed now to be no longer any room for hope, and I could

perceive in the countenances of my companions that they had made

up their minds to perish. The wine had evidently produced in them

a species of delirium, which, perhaps, I had been prevented from

feeling by the immersion I had undergone since drinking it. They

talked incoherently, and about matters unconnected with our

condition, Peters repeatedly asking me questions about Nantucket.

Augustus, too, I remember, approached me with a serious air, and

requested me to lend him a pocket-comb, as his hair was full of

fish-scales, and he wished to get them out before going on shore.

Parker appeared somewhat less affected, and urged me to dive at

random into the cabin, and bring up any article which might come

to hand. To this I consented, and, in the first attempt, after

staying under a full minute, brought up a small leather trunk

belonging to Captain Barnard. This was immediately opened in the

faint hope that it might contain something to eat or drink. We

found nothing, however, except a box of razors and two linen

shirts. I now went down again, and returned without any success.

As my head came above water I heard a crash on deck, and, upon

getting up, saw that my companions had ungratefully taken

advantage of my absence to drink the remainder of the wine,

having let the bottle fall in the endeavour to replace it before

I saw them. I remonstrated with them on the heartlessness of

their conduct, when Augustus burst into tears. The other two

endeavoured to laugh the matter off as a joke, but I hope never

again to behold laughter of such a species: the distortion of

countenance was absolutely frightful. Indeed, it was apparent

that the stimulus, in the empty state of their stomachs, had

taken instant and violent effect, and that they were all

exceedingly intoxicated. With great difficulty I prevailed upon

them to lie down, when they fell very soon into a heavy slumber,

accompanied with loud stertorous breathing.

I now found myself, as it were, alone in the brig, and my

reflections, to be sure, were of the most fearful and gloomy

nature. No prospect offered itself to my view but a lingering

death by famine, or, at the best, by being overwhelmed in the

first gale which should spring up, for in our present exhausted

condition we could have no hope of living through another.

The gnawing hunger which I now experienced was nearly

insupportable, and I felt myself capable of going to any lengths

in order to appease it. With my knife I cut off a small portion

of the leather trunk, and endeavoured to eat it, but found it

utterly impossible to swallow a single morsel, although I fancied

that some little alleviation of my suffering was obtained by

chewing small pieces of it and spitting them out. Toward night my

companions awoke, one by one, each in an indescribable state of

weakness and horror, brought on by the wine, whose fumes had now

evaporated. They shook as if with a violent ague, and uttered the

most lamentable cries for water. Their condition affected me in

the most lively degree, at the same time causing me to rejoice in

the fortunate train of circumstances which had prevented me from

indulging in the wine, and consequently from sharing their

melancholy and most distressing sensations. Their conduct,

however, gave me great uneasiness and alarm; for it was evident

that, unless some favourable change took place, they could afford

me no assistance in providing for our common safety. I had not

yet abandoned all idea of being able to get up something from

below; but the attempt could not possibly be resumed until some

one of them was sufficiently master of himself to aid me by

holding the end of the rope while I went down. Parker appeared to

be somewhat more in possession of his senses than the others, and

I endeavoured, by every means in my power, to rouse him. Thinking

that a plunge in the sea-water might have a beneficial effect, I

contrived to fasten the end of a rope around his body, and then,

leading him to the companion-way (he remaining quite passive all

the while), pushed him in, and immediately drew him out. I had

good reason to congratulate myself upon having made this

experiment; for he appeared much revived and invigorated, and,

upon getting out, asked me, in a rational manner, why I had so

served him. Having explained my object, he expressed himself

indebted to me, and said that he felt greatly better from the

immersion, afterward conversing sensibly upon our situation. We

then resolved to treat Augustus and Peters in the same way, which

we immediately did, when they both experienced much benefit from

the shock. This idea of sudden immersion had been suggested to me

by reading in some medical work the good effect of the

shower-bath in a case where the patient was suffering from _mania

a potu_.

Finding that I could now trust my companions to hold the end of

the rope, I again made three or four plunges into the cabin,

although it was now quite dark, and a gentle but long swell from

the northward rendered the hulk somewhat unsteady. In the course

of these attempts I succeeded in bringing up two case-knives, a

three-gallon jug, empty, and a blanket, but nothing which could

serve us for food. I continued my efforts, after getting these

articles, until I was completely exhausted, but brought up

nothing else. During the night Parker and Peters occupied

themselves by turns in the same manner; but nothing coming to

hand, we now gave up this attempt in despair, concluding that we

were exhausting ourselves in vain.

We passed the remainder of this night in a state of the most

intense mental and bodily anguish that can possibly be imagined.

The morning of the sixteenth at length dawned, and we looked

eagerly around the horizon for relief, but to no purpose. The sea

was still smooth, with only a long swell from the northward, as

on yesterday. This was the sixth day since we had tasted either

food or drink, with the exception of the bottle of port wine, and

it was clear that we could hold out but a very little while

longer unless something could be obtained. I never saw before,

nor wish to see again, human beings so utterly emaciated as

Peters and Augustus. Had I met them on shore in their present

condition I should not have had the slightest suspicion that I

had ever beheld them. Their countenances were totally changed in

character, so that I could not bring myself to believe them

really the same individuals with whom I had been in company but a

few days before. Parker, although sadly reduced, and so feeble

that he could not raise his head from his bosom, was not so far

gone as the other two. He suffered with great patience, making no

complaint, and endeavouring to inspire us with hope in every

manner he could devise. For myself, although at the commencement

of the voyage I had been in bad health, and was at all times of a

delicate constitution, I suffered less than any of us, being much

less reduced in frame, and retaining my powers of mind in a

surprising degree, while the rest were completely prostrated in

intellect, and seemed to be brought to a species of second

childhood, generally simpering in their expressions, with idiotic

smiles, and uttering the most absurd platitudes. At intervals,

however, they would appear to revive suddenly, as if inspired all

at once with a consciousness of their condition, when they would

spring upon their feet in a momentary flash of vigour, and speak,

for a short period, of their prospects, in a manner altogether

rational, although full of the most intense despair. It is

possible, however, that my companions may have entertained the

same opinion of their own condition as I did of mine, and that I

may have unwittingly been guilty of the same extravagances and

imbecilities as themselves—this is a matter which cannot be

determined.

About noon Parker declared that he saw land off the larboard

quarter, and it was with the utmost difficulty I could restrain

him from plunging into the sea with the view of swimming toward

it. Peters and Augustus took little notice of what he said, being

apparently wrapped up in moody contemplation. Upon looking in the

direction pointed out, I could not perceive the faintest

appearance of the shore—indeed, I was too well aware that we were

far from any land to indulge in a hope of that nature. It was a

long time, nevertheless, before I could convince Parker of his

mistake. He then burst into a flood of tears, weeping like a

child, with loud cries and sobs, for two or three hours, when

becoming exhausted, he fell asleep.

Peters and Augustus now made several ineffectual efforts to

swallow portions of the leather. I advised them to chew it and

spit it out; but they were too excessively debilitated to be able

to follow my advice. I continued to chew pieces of it at

intervals, and found some relief from so doing; my chief distress

was for water, and I was only prevented from taking a draught

from the sea by remembering the horrible consequences which thus

have resulted to others who were similarly situated with

ourselves.

The day wore on in this manner, when I suddenly discovered a sail

to the eastward, and on our larboard bow. She appeared to be a

large ship, and was coming nearly athwart us, being probably

twelve or fifteen miles distant. None of my companions had as yet

discovered her, and I forbore to tell them of her for the

present, lest we might again be disappointed of relief. At length

upon her getting nearer, I saw distinctly that she was heading

immediately for us, with her light sails filled. I could now

contain myself no longer, and pointed her out to my

fellow-sufferers. They immediately sprang to their feet, again

indulging in the most extravagant demonstrations of joy, weeping,

laughing in an idiotic manner, jumping, stamping upon the deck,

tearing their hair, and praying and cursing by turns. I was so

affected by their conduct, as well as by what I considered a sure

prospect of deliverance, that I could not refrain from joining in

with their madness, and gave way to the impulses of my gratitude

and ecstasy by lying and rolling on the deck, clapping my hands,

shouting, and other similar acts, until I was suddenly called to

my recollection, and once more to the extreme human misery and

despair, by perceiving the ship all at once with her stern fully

presented toward us, and steering in a direction nearly opposite

to that in which I had at first perceived her.

It was some time before I could induce my poor companions to

believe that this sad reverse in our prospects had actually taken

place. They replied to all my assertions with a stare and a

gesture implying that they were not to be deceived by such

misrepresentations. The conduct of Augustus most sensibly

affected me. In spite of all I could say or do to the contrary,

he persisted in saying that the ship was rapidly nearing us, and

in making preparations to go on board of her. Some seaweed

floating by the brig, he maintained that it was the ship’s boat,

and endeavoured to throw himself upon it, howling and shrieking

in the most heartrending manner, when I forcibly restrained him

from thus casting himself into the sea.

Having become in some degree pacified, we continued to watch the

ship until we finally lost sight of her, the weather becoming

hazy, with a light breeze springing up. As soon as she was

entirely gone, Parker turned suddenly toward me with an

expression of countenance which made me shudder. There was about

him an air of self-possession which I had not noticed in him

until now, and before he opened his lips my heart told me what he

would say. He proposed, in a few words, that one of us should die

to preserve the existence of the others.

CHAPTER 12

I had for some time past, dwelt upon the prospect of our being

reduced to this last horrible extremity, and had secretly made up

my mind to suffer death in any shape or under any circumstances

rather than resort to such a course. Nor was this resolution in

any degree weakened by the present intensity of hunger under

which I laboured. The proposition had not been heard by either

Peters or Augustus. I therefore took Parker aside; and mentally

praying to God for power to dissuade him from the horrible

purpose he entertained, I expostulated with him for a long time,

and in the most supplicating manner, begging him in the name of

every thing which he held sacred, and urging him by every species

of argument which the extremity of the case suggested, to abandon

the idea, and not to mention it to either of the other two.

He heard all I said without attempting to controvert any of my

arguments, and I had begun to hope that he would be prevailed

upon to do as I desired. But when I had ceased speaking, he said

that he knew very well all I had said was true, and that to

resort to such a course was the most horrible alternative which

could enter into the mind of man; but that he had now held out as

long as human nature could be sustained; that it was unnecessary

for all to perish, when, by the death of one, it was possible,

and even probable, that the rest might be finally preserved;

adding that I might save myself the trouble of trying to turn him

from his purpose, his mind having been thoroughly made up on the

subject even before the appearance of the ship, and that only her

heaving in sight had prevented him from mentioning his intention

at an earlier period.

I now begged him, if he would not be prevailed upon to abandon

his design, at least to defer it for another day, when some

vessel might come to our relief; again reiterating every argument

I could devise, and which I thought likely to have influence with

one of his rough nature. He said, in reply, that he had not

spoken until the very last possible moment, that he could exist

no longer without sustenance of some kind, and that therefore in

another day his suggestion would be too late, as regarded himself

at least.

Finding that he was not to be moved by anything I could say in a

mild tone, I now assumed a different demeanor, and told him that

he must be aware I had suffered less than any of us from our

calamities; that my health and strength, consequently, were at

that moment far better than his own, or than that either of

Peters or Augustus; in short, that I was in a condition to have

my own way by force if I found it necessary; and that if he

attempted in any manner to acquaint the others with his bloody

and cannibal designs, I would not hesitate to throw him into the

sea. Upon this he immediately seized me by the throat, and

drawing a knife, made several ineffectual efforts to stab me in

the stomach; an atrocity which his excessive debility alone

prevented him from accomplishing. In the meantime, being roused

to a high pitch of anger, I forced him to the vessel’s side, with

the full intention of throwing him overboard. He was saved from

his fate, however, by the interference of Peters, who now

approached and separated us, asking the cause of the disturbance.

This Parker told before I could find means in any manner to

prevent him.

The effect of his words was even more terrible than what I had

anticipated. Both Augustus and Peters, who, it seems, had long

secretly entertained the same fearful idea which Parker had been

merely the first to broach, joined with him in his design and

insisted upon its immediately being carried into effect. I had

calculated that one at least of the two former would be found

still possessed of sufficient strength of mind to side with

myself in resisting any attempt to execute so dreadful a purpose,

and, with the aid of either one of them, I had no fear of being

able to prevent its accomplishment. Being disappointed in this

expectation, it became absolutely necessary that I should attend

to my own safety, as a further resistance on my part might

possibly be considered by men in their frightful condition a

sufficient excuse for refusing me fair play in the tragedy that I

knew would speedily be enacted.

I now told them I was willing to submit to the proposal, merely

requesting a delay of about one hour, in order that the fog which

had gathered around us might have an opportunity of lifting, when

it was possible that the ship we had seen might be again in

sight. After great difficulty I obtained from them a promise to

wait thus long; and, as I had anticipated (a breeze rapidly

coming in), the fog lifted before the hour had expired, when, no

vessel appearing in sight, we prepared to draw lots.

It is with extreme reluctance that I dwell upon the appalling

scene which ensued; a scene which, with its minutest details, no

after events have been able to efface in the slightest degree

from my memory, and whose stern recollection will embitter every

future moment of my existence. Let me run over this portion of my

narrative with as much haste as the nature of the events to be

spoken of will permit. The only method we could devise for the

terrific lottery, in which we were to take each a chance, was

that of drawing straws. Small splinters of wood were made to

answer our purpose, and it was agreed that I should be the

holder. I retired to one end of the hulk, while my poor

companions silently took up their station in the other with their

backs turned toward me. The bitterest anxiety which I endured at

any period of this fearful drama was while I occupied myself in

the arrangement of the lots. There are few conditions into which

man can possibly fall where he will not feel a deep interest in

the preservation of his existence; an interest momentarily

increasing with the frailness of the tenure by which that

existence may be held. But now that the silent, definite, and

stern nature of the business in which I was engaged (so different

from the tumultuous dangers of the storm or the gradually

approaching horrors of famine) allowed me to reflect on the few

chances I had of escaping the most appalling of deaths—a death

for the most appalling of purposes—every particle of that energy

which had so long buoyed me up departed like feathers before the

wind, leaving me a helpless prey to the most abject and pitiable

terror. I could not, at first, even summon up sufficient strength

to tear and fit together the small splinters of wood, my fingers

absolutely refusing their office, and my knees knocking violently

against each other. My mind ran over rapidly a thousand absurd

projects by which to avoid becoming a partner in the awful

speculation. I thought of falling on my knees to my companions,

and entreating them to let me escape this necessity; of suddenly

rushing upon them, and, by putting one of them to death, of

rendering the decision by lot useless—in short, of every thing

but of going through with the matter I had in hand. At last,

after wasting a long time in this imbecile conduct, I was

recalled to my senses by the voice of Parker, who urged me to

relieve them at once from the terrible anxiety they were

enduring. Even then I could not bring myself to arrange the

splinters upon the spot, but thought over every species of

finesse by which I could trick some one of my fellow-sufferers to

draw the short straw, as it had been agreed that whoever drew the

shortest of four splinters from my hand was to die for the

preservation of the rest. Before any one condemn me for this

apparent heartlessness, let him be placed in a situation

precisely similar to my own.

At length delay was no longer possible, and, with a heart almost

bursting from my bosom, I advanced to the region of the

forecastle, where my companions were awaiting me. I held out my

hand with the splinters, and Peters immediately drew. He was

free—his, at least, was not the shortest; and there was now

another chance against my escape. I summoned up all my strength,

and passed the lots to Augustus. He also drew immediately, and he

also was free; and now, whether I should live or die, the chances

were no more than precisely even. At this moment all the

fierceness of the tiger possessed my bosom, and I felt toward my

poor fellow-creature, Parker, the most intense, the most

diabolical hatred. But the feeling did not last; and, at length,

with a convulsive shudder and closed eyes, I held out the two

remaining splinters toward him. It was fully five minutes before

he could summon resolution to draw, during which period of

heartrending suspense I never once opened my eyes. Presently one

of the two lots was quickly drawn from my hand. The decision was

then over, yet I knew not whether it was for me or against me. No

one spoke, and still I dared not satisfy myself by looking at the

splinter I held. Peters at length took me by the hand, and I

forced myself to look up, when I immediately saw by the

countenance of Parker that I was safe, and that he it was who had

been doomed to suffer. Gasping for breath, I fell senseless to

the deck.

I recovered from my swoon in time to behold the consummation of

the tragedy in the death of him who had been chiefly instrumental

in bringing it about. He made no resistance whatever, and was

stabbed in the back by Peters, when he fell instantly dead. I

must not dwell upon the fearful repast which immediately ensued.

Such things may be imagined, but words have no power to impress

the mind with the exquisite horror of their reality. Let it

suffice to say that, having in some measure appeased the raging

thirst which consumed us by the blood of the victim, and having

by common consent taken off the hands, feet, and head, throwing

them together with the entrails, into the sea, we devoured the

rest of the body, piecemeal, during the four ever memorable days

of the seventeenth, eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth of the

month.

On the nineteenth, there coming on a smart shower which lasted

fifteen or twenty minutes, we contrived to catch some water by

means of a sheet which had been fished up from the cabin by our

drag just after the gale. The quantity we took in all did not

amount to more than half a gallon; but even this scanty allowance

supplied us with comparative strength and hope.

On the twenty-first we were again reduced to the last necessity.

The weather still remained warm and pleasant, with occasional

fogs and light breezes, most usually from N. to W.

On the twenty-second, as we were sitting close huddled together,

gloomily revolving over our lamentable condition, there flashed

through my mind all at once an idea which inspired me with a

bright gleam of hope. I remembered that, when the foremast had

been cut away, Peters, being in the windward chains, passed one

of the axes into my hand, requesting me to put it, if possible,

in a place of security, and that a few minutes before the last

heavy sea struck the brig and filled her I had taken this axe

into the forecastle and laid it in one of the larboard berths. I

now thought it possible that, by getting at this axe, we might

cut through the deck over the storeroom, and thus readily supply

ourselves with provisions.

When I communicated this object to my companions, they uttered a

feeble shout of joy, and we all proceeded forthwith to the

forecastle. The difficulty of descending here was greater than

that of going down in the cabin, the opening being much smaller,

for it will be remembered that the whole framework about the

cabin companion-hatch had been carried away, whereas the

forecastle-way, being a simple hatch of only about three feet

square, had remained uninjured. I did not hesitate, however, to

attempt the descent; and a rope being fastened round my body as

before, I plunged boldly in, feet foremost, made my way quickly

to the berth, and at the first attempt brought up the axe. It was

hailed with the most ecstatic joy and triumph, and the ease with

which it had been obtained was regarded as an omen of our

ultimate preservation.

We now commenced cutting at the deck with all the energy of

rekindled hope, Peters and myself taking the axe by turns,

Augustus’s wounded arm not permitting him to aid us in any

degree. As we were still so feeble as to be scarcely able to

stand unsupported, and could consequently work but a minute or

two without resting, it soon became evident that many long hours

would be necessary to accomplish our task—that is, to cut an

opening sufficiently large to admit of a free access to the

storeroom. This consideration, however, did not discourage us;

and, working all night by the light of the moon, we succeeded in

effecting our purpose by daybreak on the morning of the

twenty-third.

Peters now volunteered to go down; and, having made all

arrangements as before, he descended, and soon returned bringing

up with him a small jar, which, to our great joy, proved to be

full of olives. Having shared these among us, and devoured them

with the greatest avidity, we proceeded to let him down again.

This time he succeeded beyond our utmost expectations, returning

instantly with a large ham and a bottle of Madeira wine. Of the

latter we each took a moderate sup, having learned by experience

the pernicious consequences of indulging too freely. The ham,

except about two pounds near the bone, was not in a condition to

be eaten, having been entirely spoiled by the salt water. The

sound part was divided among us. Peters and Augustus, not being

able to restrain their appetite, swallowed theirs upon the

instant; but I was more cautious, and ate but a small portion of

mine, dreading the thirst which I knew would ensue. We now rested

a while from our labors, which had been intolerably severe.

By noon, feeling somewhat strengthened and refreshed, we again

renewed our attempt at getting up provisions, Peters and myself

going down alternately, and always with more or less success,

until sundown. During this interval we had the good fortune to

bring up, altogether, four more small jars of olives, another

ham, a carboy containing nearly three gallons of excellent Cape

Madeira wine, and, what gave us still more delight, a small

tortoise of the Gallipago breed, several of which had been taken

on board by Captain Barnard, as the Grampus was leaving port,

from the schooner Mary Pitts, just returned from a sealing

voyage in the Pacific.

In a subsequent portion of this narrative I shall have frequent

occasion to mention this species of tortoise. It is found

principally, as most of my readers may know, in the group of

islands called the Gallipagos, which, indeed, derive their name

from the animal—the Spanish word Gallipago meaning a fresh-water

terrapin. From the peculiarity of their shape and action they

have been sometimes called the elephant tortoise. They are

frequently found of an enormous size. I have myself seen several

which would weigh from twelve to fifteen hundred pounds, although

I do not remember that any navigator speaks of having seen them

weighing more than eight hundred. Their appearance is singular,

and even disgusting. Their steps are very slow, measured, and

heavy, their bodies being carried about a foot from the ground.

Their neck is long, and exceedingly slender, from eighteen inches

to two feet is a very common length, and I killed one, where the

distance from the shoulder to the extremity of the head was no

less than three feet ten inches. The head has a striking

resemblance to that of a serpent. They can exist without food for

an almost incredible length of time, instances having been known

where they have been thrown into the hold of a vessel and lain

two years without nourishment of any kind—being as fat, and, in

every respect, in as good order at the expiration of the time as

when they were first put in. In one particular these

extraordinary animals bear a resemblance to the dromedary, or

camel of the desert. In a bag at the root of the neck they carry

with them a constant supply of water. In some instances, upon

killing them after a full year’s deprivation of all nourishment,

as much as three gallons of perfectly sweet and fresh water have

been found in their bags. Their food is chiefly wild parsley and

celery, with purslain, sea-kelp, and prickly pears, upon which

latter vegetable they thrive wonderfully, a great quantity of it

being usually found on the hillsides near the shore wherever the

animal itself is discovered. They are excellent and highly

nutritious food, and have, no doubt, been the means of preserving

the lives of thousands of seamen employed in the whale-fishery

and other pursuits in the Pacific.

The one which we had the good fortune to bring up from the

storeroom was not of a large size, weighing probably sixty-five

or seventy pounds. It was a female, and in excellent condition,

being exceedingly fat, and having more than a quart of limpid and

sweet water in its bag. This was indeed a treasure; and, falling

on our knees with one accord, we returned fervent thanks to God

for so seasonable a relief.

We had great difficulty in getting the animal up through the

opening, as its struggles were fierce and its strength

prodigious. It was upon the point of making its escape from

Peter’s grasp, and slipping back into the water, when Augustus,

throwing a rope with a slipknot around its throat, held it up in

this manner until I jumped into the hole by the side of Peters,

and assisted him in lifting it out.

The water we drew carefully from the bag into the jug; which, it

will be remembered, had been brought up before from the cabin.

Having done this, we broke off the neck of a bottle so as to

form, with the cork, a kind of glass, holding not quite half a

gill. We then each drank one of these measures full, and resolved

to limit ourselves to this quantity per day as long as it should

hold out.

During the last two or three days, the weather having been dry

and pleasant, the bedding we had obtained from the cabin, as well

as our clothing, had become thoroughly dry, so that we passed

this night (that of the twenty-third) in comparative comfort,

enjoying a tranquil repose, after having supped plentifully on

olives and ham, with a small allowance of the wine. Being afraid

of losing some of our stores overboard during the night, in the

event of a breeze springing up, we secured them as well as

possible with cordage to the fragments of the windlass. Our

tortoise, which we were anxious to preserve alive as long as we

could, we threw on its back, and otherwise carefully fastened.

CHAPTER 13

July 24. This morning saw us wonderfully recruited in spirits and

strength. Notwithstanding the perilous situation in which we were

still placed, ignorant of our position, although certainly at a

great distance from land, without more food than would last us

for a fortnight even with great care, almost entirely without

water, and floating about at the mercy of every wind and wave on

the merest wreck in the world, still the infinitely more terrible

distresses and dangers from which we had so lately and so

providentially been delivered caused us to regard what we now

endured as but little more than an ordinary evil—so strictly

comparative is either good or ill.

At sunrise we were preparing to renew our attempts at getting up

something from the storeroom, when, a smart shower coming on,

with some lightning, we turn our attention to the catching of

water by means of the sheet we had used before for this purpose.

We had no other means of collecting the rain than by holding the

sheet spread out with one of the forechain-plates in the middle

of it. The water, thus conducted to the centre, was drained

through into our jug. We had nearly filled it in this manner,

when, a heavy squall coming on from the northward, obliged us to

desist, as the hulk began once more to roll so violently that we

could no longer keep our feet. We now went forward, and, lashing

ourselves securely to the remnant of the windlass as before,

awaited the event with far more calmness than could have been

anticipated or would have been imagined possible under the

circumstances. At noon the wind had freshened into a two-reef

breeze, and by night into a stiff gale, accompanied with a

tremendously heavy swell. Experience having taught us, however,

the best method of arranging our lashings, we weathered this

dreary night in tolerable security, although thoroughly drenched

at almost every instant by the sea, and in momentary dread of

being washed off. Fortunately, the weather was so warm as to

render the water rather grateful than otherwise.

July 25. This morning the gale had diminished to a mere ten-knot

breeze, and the sea had gone down with it so considerably that we

were able to keep ourselves dry upon the deck. To our great

grief, however, we found that two jars of our olives, as well as

the whole of our ham, had been washed overboard, in spite of the

careful manner in which they had been fastened. We determined not

to kill the tortoise as yet, and contented ourselves for the

present with a breakfast on a few of the olives, and a measure of

water each, which latter we mixed half and half, with wine,

finding great relief and strength from the mixture, without the

distressing intoxication which had ensued upon drinking the port.

The sea was still far too rough for the renewal of our efforts at

getting up provision from the storeroom. Several articles, of no

importance to us in our present situation, floated up through the

opening during the day, and were immediately washed overboard. We

also now observed that the hulk lay more along than ever, so that

we could not stand an instant without lashing ourselves. On this

account we passed a gloomy and uncomfortable day. At noon the sun

appeared to be nearly vertical, and we had no doubt that we had

been driven down by the long succession of northward and

northwesterly winds into the near vicinity of the equator. Toward

evening we saw several sharks, and were somewhat alarmed by the

audacious manner in which an enormously large one approached us.

At one time, a lurch throwing the deck very far beneath the

water, the monster actually swam in upon us, floundering for some

moments just over the companion-hatch, and striking Peters

violently with his tail. A heavy sea at length hurled him

overboard, much to our relief. In moderate weather we might have

easily captured him.

July 26. This morning, the wind having greatly abated, and the

sea not being very rough, we determined to renew our exertions in

the storeroom. After a great deal of hard labor during the whole

day, we found that nothing further was to be expected from this

quarter, the partitions of the room having been stove during the

night, and its contents swept into the hold. This discovery, as

may be supposed, filled us with despair.

July 27. The sea nearly smooth, with a light wind, and still from

the northward and westward. The sun coming out hotly in the

afternoon, we occupied ourselves in drying our clothes. Found

great relief from thirst, and much comfort otherwise, by bathing

in the sea; in this, however, we were forced to use great

caution, being afraid of sharks, several of which were seen

swimming around the brig during the day.

July 28. Good weather still. The brig now began to lie along so

alarmingly that we feared she would eventually roll bottom up.

Prepared ourselves as well as we could for this emergency,

lashing our tortoise, waterjug, and two remaining jars of olives

as far as possible over to the windward, placing them outside the

hull below the main-chains. The sea very smooth all day, with

little or no wind.

July 29. A continuance of the same weather. Augustus’s wounded

arm began to evince symptoms of mortification. He complained of

drowsiness and excessive thirst, but no acute pain. Nothing could

be done for his relief beyond rubbing his wounds with a little of

the vinegar from the olives, and from this no benefit seemed to

be experienced. We did every thing in our power for his comfort,

and trebled his allowance of water.

July 30. An excessively hot day, with no wind. An enormous shark

kept close by the hulk during the whole of the forenoon. We made

several unsuccessful attempts to capture him by means of a noose.

Augustus much worse, and evidently sinking as much from want of

proper nourishment as from the effect of his wounds. He

constantly prayed to be relieved from his sufferings, wishing for

nothing but death. This evening we ate the last of our olives,

and found the water in our jug so putrid that we could not

swallow it at all without the addition of wine. Determined to

kill our tortoise in the morning.

July 31. After a night of excessive anxiety and fatigue, owing to

the position of the hulk, we set about killing and cutting up our

tortoise. He proved to be much smaller than we had supposed,

although in good condition,—the whole meat about him not

amounting to more than ten pounds. With a view of preserving a

portion of this as long as possible, we cut it into fine pieces,

and filled with them our three remaining olive jars and the

wine-bottle (all of which had been kept), pouring in afterward

the vinegar from the olives. In this manner we put away about

three pounds of the tortoise, intending not to touch it until we

had consumed the rest. We concluded to restrict ourselves to

about four ounces of the meat per day; the whole would thus last

us thirteen days. A brisk shower, with severe thunder and

lightning, came on about dusk, but lasted so short a time that we

only succeeded in catching about half a pint of water. The whole

of this, by common consent, was given to Augustus, who now

appeared to be in the last extremity. He drank the water from the

sheet as we caught it (we holding it above him as he lay so as to

let it run into his mouth), for we had now nothing left capable

of holding water, unless we had chosen to empty out our wine from

the carboy, or the stale water from the jug. Either of these

expedients would have been resorted to had the shower lasted.

The sufferer seemed to derive but little benefit from the

draught. His arm was completely black from the wrist to the

shoulder, and his feet were like ice. We expected every moment to

see him breathe his last. He was frightfully emaciated; so much

so that, although he weighed a hundred and twenty-seven pounds

upon his leaving Nantucket, he now did not weigh more than forty

or fifty at the farthest. His eyes were sunk far in his head,

being scarcely perceptible, and the skin of his cheeks hung so

loosely as to prevent his masticating any food, or even

swallowing any liquid, without great difficulty.

August 1. A continuance of the same calm weather, with an

oppressively hot sun. Suffered exceedingly from thirst, the water

in the jug being absolutely putrid and swarming with vermin. We

contrived, nevertheless, to swallow a portion of it by mixing it

with wine; our thirst, however, was but little abated. We found

more relief by bathing in the sea, but could not avail ourselves

of this expedient except at long intervals, on account of the

continual presence of sharks. We now saw clearly that Augustus

could not be saved; that he was evidently dying. We could do

nothing to relieve his sufferings, which appeared to be great.

About twelve o’clock he expired in strong convulsions, and

without having spoken for several hours. His death filled us with

the most gloomy forebodings, and had so great an effect upon our

spirits that we sat motionless by the corpse during the whole

day, and never addressed each other except in a whisper. It was

not until some time after dark that we took courage to get up and

throw the body overboard. It was then loathsome beyond

expression, and so far decayed that, as Peters attempted to lift

it, an entire leg came off in his grasp. As the mass of

putrefaction slipped over the vessel’s side into the water, the

glare of phosphoric light with which it was surrounded plainly

discovered to us seven or eight large sharks, the clashing of

whose horrible teeth, as their prey was torn to pieces among

them, might have been heard at the distance of a mile. We shrunk

within ourselves in the extremity of horror at the sound.

August 2. The same fearfully calm and hot weather. The dawn found

us in a state of pitiable dejection as well as bodily exhaustion.

The water in the jug was now absolutely useless, being a thick

gelatinous mass; nothing but frightful-looking worms mingled with

slime. We threw it out, and washed the jug well in the sea,

afterward pouring a little vinegar in it from our bottles of

pickled tortoise. Our thirst could now scarcely be endured, and

we tried in vain to relieve it by wine, which seemed only to add

fuel to the flame, and excited us to a high degree of

intoxication. We afterward endeavoured to relieve our sufferings

by mixing the wine with seawater; but this instantly brought

about the most violent retchings, so that we never again

attempted it. During the whole day we anxiously sought an

opportunity of bathing, but to no purpose; for the hulk was now

entirely besieged on all sides with sharks—no doubt the identical

monsters who had devoured our poor companion on the evening

before, and who were in momentary expectation of another similar

feast. This circumstance occasioned us the most bitter regret and

filled us with the most depressing and melancholy forebodings. We

had experienced indescribable relief in bathing, and to have this

resource cut off in so frightful a manner was more than we could

bear. Nor, indeed, were we altogether free from the apprehension

of immediate danger, for the least slip or false movement would

have thrown us at once within reach of those voracious fish, who

frequently thrust themselves directly upon us, swimming up to

leeward. No shouts or exertions on our part seemed to alarm them.

Even when one of the largest was struck with an axe by Peters and

much wounded, he persisted in his attempts to push in where we

were. A cloud came up at dusk, but, to our extreme anguish,

passed over without discharging itself. It is quite impossible to

conceive our sufferings from thirst at this period. We passed a

sleepless night, both on this account and through dread of the

sharks.

August 3. No prospect of relief, and the brig lying still more

and more along, so that now we could not maintain a footing upon

deck at all. Busied ourselves in securing our wine and

tortoise-meat, so that we might not lose them in the event of our

rolling over. Got out two stout spikes from the forechains, and,

by means of the axe, drove them into the hull to windward within

a couple of feet of the water, this not being very far from the

keel, as we were nearly upon our beam-ends. To these spikes we

now lashed our provisions, as being more secure than their former

position beneath the chains. Suffered great agony from thirst

during the whole day—no chance of bathing on account of the

sharks, which never left us for a moment. Found it impossible to

sleep.

August 4. A little before daybreak we perceived that the hulk was

heeling over, and aroused ourselves to prevent being thrown off

by the movement. At first the roll was slow and gradual, and we

contrived to clamber over to windward very well, having taken the

precaution to leave ropes hanging from the spikes we had driven

in for the provision. But we had not calculated sufficiently upon

the acceleration of the impetus; for, presently the heel became

too violent to allow of our keeping pace with it; and, before

either of us knew what was to happen, we found ourselves hurled

furiously into the sea, and struggling several fathoms beneath

the surface, with the huge hull immediately above us.

In going under the water I had been obliged to let go my hold

upon the rope; and finding that I was completely beneath the

vessel, and my strength nearly exhausted, I scarcely made a

struggle for life, and resigned myself, in a few seconds, to die.

But here again I was deceived, not having taken into

consideration the natural rebound of the hull to windward. The

whirl of the water upward, which the vessel occasioned in rolling

partially back, brought me to the surface still more violently

than I had been plunged beneath. Upon coming up I found myself

about twenty yards from the hulk, as near as I could judge. She

was lying keel up, rocking furiously from side to side, and the

sea in all directions around was much agitated, and full of

strong whirlpools. I could see nothing of Peters. An oil-cask was

floating within a few feet of me, and various other articles from

the brig were scattered about.

My principal terror was now on account of the sharks, which I

knew to be in my vicinity. In order to deter these, if possible,

from approaching me, I splashed the water vigorously with both

hands and feet as I swam towards the hulk, creating a body of

foam. I have no doubt that to this expedient, simple as it was, I

was indebted for my preservation; for the sea all round the brig,

just before her rolling over, was so crowded with these monsters,

that I must have been, and really was, in actual contact with

some of them during my progress. By great good fortune, however,

I reached the side of the vessel in safety, although so utterly

weakened by the violent exertion I had used that I should never

have been able to get upon it but for the timely assistance of

Peters, who, now, to my great joy, made his appearance (having

scrambled up to the keel from the opposite side of the hull), and

threw me the end of a rope—one of those which had been attached

to the spikes.

Having barely escaped this danger, our attention was now directed

to the dreadful imminency of another—that of absolute starvation.

Our whole stock of provision had been swept overboard in spite of

all our care in securing it; and seeing no longer the remotest

possibility of obtaining more, we gave way both of us to despair,

weeping aloud like children, and neither of us attempting to

offer consolation to the other. Such weakness can scarcely be

conceived, and to those who have never been similarly situated

will, no doubt, appear unnatural; but it must be remembered that

our intellects were so entirely disordered by the long course of

privation and terror to which we had been subjected, that we

could not justly be considered, at that period, in the light of

rational beings. In subsequent perils, nearly as great, if not

greater, I bore up with fortitude against all the evils of my

situation, and Peters, it will be seen, evinced a stoical

philosophy nearly as incredible as his present childlike

supineness and imbecility—the mental condition made the

difference.

The overturning of the brig, even with the consequent loss of the

wine and turtle, would not, in fact, have rendered our situation

more deplorable than before, except for the disappearance of the

bedclothes by which we had been hitherto enabled to catch

rainwater, and of the jug in which we had kept it when caught;

for we found the whole bottom, from within two or three feet of

the bends as far as the keel, together with the keel itself,

thickly covered with large barnacles, which proved to be

excellent and highly nutritious food. Thus, in two important

respects, the accident we had so greatly dreaded proved to be a

benefit rather than an injury; it had opened to us a supply of

provisions which we could not have exhausted, using it

moderately, in a month; and it had greatly contributed to our

comfort as regards position, we being much more at ease, and in

infinitely less danger, than before.

The difficulty, however, of now obtaining water blinded us to all

the benefits of the change in our condition. That we might be

ready to avail ourselves, as far as possible, of any shower which

might fall we took off our shirts, to make use of them as we had

of the sheets—not hoping, of course, to get more in this way,

even under the most favorable circumstances, than half a gill at

a time. No signs of a cloud appeared during the day, and the

agonies of our thirst were nearly intolerable. At night, Peters

obtained about an hour’s disturbed sleep, but my intense

sufferings would not permit me to close my eyes for a single

moment.

August 5. To-day, a gentle breeze springing up carried us through

a vast quantity of seaweed, among which we were so fortunate as

to find eleven small crabs, which afforded us several delicious

meals. Their shells being quite soft, we ate them entire, and

found that they irritated our thirst far less than the barnacles.

Seeing no trace of sharks among the seaweed, we also ventured to

bathe, and remained in the water for four or five hours, during

which we experienced a very sensible diminution of our thirst.

Were greatly refreshed, and spent the night somewhat more

comfortably than before, both of us snatching a little sleep.

August 6. This day we were blessed by a brisk and continual rain,

lasting from about noon until after dark. Bitterly did we now

regret the loss of our jug and carboy; for, in spite of the

little means we had of catching the water, we might have filled

one, if not both of them. As it was, we contrived to satisfy the

cravings of thirst by suffering the shirts to become saturated,

and then wringing them so as to let the grateful fluid trickle

into our mouths. In this occupation we passed the entire day.

August 7. Just at daybreak we both at the same instant descried a

sail to the eastward, and evidently coming towards us! We

hailed the glorious sight with a long, although feeble shout of

rapture; and began instantly to make every signal in our power,

by flaring the shirts in the air, leaping as high as our weak

condition would permit, and even by hallooing with all the

strength of our lungs, although the vessel could not have been

less than fifteen miles distant. However, she still continued to

near our hulk, and we felt that, if she but held her present

course, she must eventually come so close as to perceive us. In

about an hour after we first discovered her, we could clearly see

the people on her decks. She was a long, low, and rakish-looking

topsail schooner, with a black ball in her foretopsail, and had,

apparently, a full crew. We now became alarmed, for we could

hardly imagine it possible that she did not observe us, and were

apprehensive that she meant to leave us to perish as we were—an

act of fiendish barbarity, which, however incredible it may

appear, has been repeatedly perpetuated at sea, under

circumstances very nearly similar, and by beings who were

regarded as belonging to the human species. {*2} In this

instance, however, by the mercy of God, we were destined to be

most happily deceived; for, presently we were aware of a sudden

commotion on the deck of the stranger, who immediately afterward

ran up a British flag, and, hauling her wind, bore up directly

upon us. In half an hour more we found ourselves in her cabin.

She proved to be the Jane Guy, of Liverpool, Captain Guy, bound

on a sealing and trading voyage to the South Seas and Pacific.

CHAPTER 14

The Jane Guy was a fine-looking topsail schooner of a hundred

and eighty tons burden. She was unusually sharp in the bows, and

on a wind, in moderate weather, the fastest sailer I have ever

seen. Her qualities, however, as a rough sea-boat, were not so

good, and her draught of water was by far too great for the trade

to which she was destined. For this peculiar service, a larger

vessel, and one of a light proportionate draught, is

desirable—say a vessel of from three hundred to three hundred and

fifty tons. She should be bark-rigged, and in other respects of a

different construction from the usual South Sea ships. It is

absolutely necessary that she should be well armed. She should

have, say ten or twelve twelve-pound carronades, and two or three

long twelves, with brass blunderbusses, and water-tight

arm-chests for each top. Her anchors and cables should be of far

greater strength than is required for any other species of trade,

and, above all, her crew should be numerous and efficient—not

less, for such a vessel as I have described, than fifty or sixty

able-bodied men. The Jane Guy had a crew of thirty-five, all able

seamen, besides the captain and mate, but she was not altogether

as well armed or otherwise equipped, as a navigator acquainted

with the difficulties and dangers of the trade could have

desired.

Captain Guy was a gentleman of great urbanity of manner, and of

considerable experience in the southern traffic, to which he had

devoted a great portion of his life. He was deficient, however,

in energy, and, consequently, in that spirit of enterprise which

is here so absolutely requisite. He was part owner of the vessel

in which he sailed, and was invested with discretionary powers to

cruise in the South Seas for any cargo which might come most

readily to hand. He had on board, as usual in such voyages,

beads, looking-glasses, tinder-works, axes, hatchets, saws,

adzes, planes, chisels, gouges, gimlets, files, spokeshaves,

rasps, hammers, nails, knives, scissors, razors, needles, thread,

crockery-ware, calico, trinkets, and other similar articles.

The schooner sailed from Liverpool on the tenth of July, crossed

the Tropic of Cancer on the twenty-fifth, in longitude twenty

degrees west, and reached Sal, one of the Cape Verd islands, on

the twenty-ninth, where she took in salt and other necessaries

for the voyage. On the third of August, she left the Cape Verds

and steered southwest, stretching over toward the coast of

Brazil, so as to cross the equator between the meridians of

twenty-eight and thirty degrees west longitude. This is the

course usually taken by vessels bound from Europe to the Cape of

Good Hope, or by that route to the East Indies. By proceeding

thus they avoid the calms and strong contrary currents which

continually prevail on the coast of Guinea, while, in the end, it

is found to be the shortest track, as westerly winds are never

wanting afterward by which to reach the Cape. It was Captain

Guy’s intention to make his first stoppage at Kerguelen’s Land—I

hardly know for what reason. On the day we were picked up the

schooner was off Cape St. Roque, in longitude thirty-one degrees

west; so that, when found, we had drifted probably, from north to

south, not less than five-and-twenty degrees!

On board the Jane Guy we were treated with all the kindness our

distressed situation demanded. In about a fortnight, during which

time we continued steering to the southeast, with gentle breezes

and fine weather, both Peters and myself recovered entirely from

the effects of our late privation and dreadful sufferings, and we

began to remember what had passed rather as a frightful dream

from which we had been happily awakened, than as events which had

taken place in sober and naked reality. I have since found that

this species of partial oblivion is usually brought about by

sudden transition, whether from joy to sorrow or from sorrow to

joy—the degree of forgetfulness being proportioned to the degree

of difference in the exchange. Thus, in my own case, I now feel

it impossible to realize the full extent of the misery which I

endured during the days spent upon the hulk. The incidents are

remembered, but not the feelings which the incidents elicited at

the time of their occurrence. I only know, that when they did

occur, I then thought human nature could sustain nothing more of

agony.

We continued our voyage for some weeks without any incidents of

greater moment than the occasional meeting with whaling-ships,

and more frequently with the black or right whale, so called in

contradistinction to the spermaceti. These, however, were chiefly

found south of the twenty-fifth parallel. On the sixteenth of

September, being in the vicinity of the Cape of Good Hope, the

schooner encountered her first gale of any violence since leaving

Liverpool. In this neighborhood, but more frequently to the south

and east of the promontory (we were to the westward), navigators

have often to contend with storms from the northward, which rage

with great fury. They always bring with them a heavy sea, and one

of their most dangerous features is the instantaneous chopping

round of the wind, an occurrence almost certain to take place

during the greatest force of the gale. A perfect hurricane will

be blowing at one moment from the northward or northeast, and in

the next not a breath of wind will be felt in that direction,

while from the southwest it will come out all at once with a

violence almost inconceivable. A bright spot to the southward is

the sure forerunner of the change, and vessels are thus enabled

to take the proper precautions.

It was about six in the morning when the blow came on with a

white squall, and, as usual, from the northward. By eight it had

increased very much, and brought down upon us one of the most

tremendous seas I had then ever beheld. Every thing had been made

as snug as possible, but the schooner laboured excessively, and

gave evidence of her bad qualities as a seaboat, pitching her

forecastle under at every plunge and with the greatest difficulty

struggling up from one wave before she was buried in another.

Just before sunset the bright spot for which we had been on the

look-out made its appearance in the southwest, and in an hour

afterward we perceived the little headsail we carried flapping

listlessly against the mast. In two minutes more, in spite of

every preparation, we were hurled on our beam-ends, as if by

magic, and a perfect wilderness of foam made a clear breach over

us as we lay. The blow from the southwest, however, luckily

proved to be nothing more than a squall, and we had the good

fortune to right the vessel without the loss of a spar. A heavy

cross sea gave us great trouble for a few hours after this, but

toward morning we found ourselves in nearly as good condition as

before the gale. Captain Guy considered that he had made an

escape little less than miraculous.

On the thirteenth of October we came in sight of Prince Edward’s

Island, in latitude 46 degrees 53’ S., longitude 37 degrees 46’

E. Two days afterward we found ourselves near Possession Island,

and presently passed the islands of Crozet, in latitude 42

degrees 59’ S., longitude 48 degrees E. On the eighteenth we made

Kerguelen’s or Desolation Island, in the Southern Indian Ocean,

and came to anchor in Christmas Harbour, having four fathoms of

water.

This island, or rather group of islands, bears southeast from the

Cape of Good Hope, and is distant therefrom nearly eight hundred

leagues. It was first discovered in 1772, by the Baron de

Kergulen, or Kerguelen, a Frenchman, who, thinking the land to

form a portion of an extensive southern continent carried home

information to that effect, which produced much excitement at the

time. The government, taking the matter up, sent the baron back

in the following year for the purpose of giving his new discovery

a critical examination, when the mistake was discovered. In 1777,

Captain Cook fell in with the same group, and gave to the

principal one the name of Desolation Island, a title which it

certainly well deserves. Upon approaching the land, however, the

navigator might be induced to suppose otherwise, as the sides of

most of the hills, from September to March, are clothed with very

brilliant verdure. This deceitful appearance is caused by a small

plant resembling saxifrage, which is abundant, growing in large

patches on a species of crumbling moss. Besides this plant there

is scarcely a sign of vegetation on the island, if we except some

coarse rank grass near the harbor, some lichen, and a shrub which

bears resemblance to a cabbage shooting into seed, and which has

a bitter and acrid taste.

The face of the country is hilly, although none of the hills can

be called lofty. Their tops are perpetually covered with snow.

There are several harbors, of which Christmas Harbour is the most

convenient. It is the first to be met with on the northeast side

of the island after passing Cape Francois, which forms the

northern shore, and, by its peculiar shape, serves to distinguish

the harbour. Its projecting point terminates in a high rock,

through which is a large hole, forming a natural arch. The

entrance is in latitude 48 degrees 40’ S., longitude 69 degrees

6’ E. Passing in here, good anchorage may be found under the

shelter of several small islands, which form a sufficient

protection from all easterly winds. Proceeding on eastwardly from

this anchorage you come to Wasp Bay, at the head of the harbour.

This is a small basin, completely landlocked, into which you can

go with four fathoms, and find anchorage in from ten to three,

hard clay bottom. A ship might lie here with her best bower ahead

all the year round without risk. To the westward, at the head of

Wasp Bay, is a small stream of excellent water, easily procured.

Some seal of the fur and hair species are still to be found on

Kerguelen’s Island, and sea elephants abound. The feathered

tribes are discovered in great numbers. Penguins are very plenty,

and of these there are four different kinds. The royal penguin,

so called from its size and beautiful plumage, is the largest.

The upper part of the body is usually gray, sometimes of a lilac

tint; the under portion of the purest white imaginable. The head

is of a glossy and most brilliant black, the feet also. The chief

beauty of plumage, however, consists in two broad stripes of a

gold color, which pass along from the head to the breast. The

bill is long, and either pink or bright scarlet. These birds walk

erect; with a stately carriage. They carry their heads high with

their wings drooping like two arms, and, as their tails project

from their body in a line with the legs, the resemblance to a

human figure is very striking, and would be apt to deceive the

spectator at a casual glance or in the gloom of the evening. The

royal penguins which we met with on Kerguelen’s Land were rather

larger than a goose. The other kinds are the macaroni, the

jackass, and the rookery penguin. These are much smaller, less

beautiful in plumage, and different in other respects.

Besides the penguin many other birds are here to be found, among

which may be mentioned sea-hens, blue peterels, teal, ducks, Port

Egmont hens, shags, Cape pigeons, the nelly, sea swallows, terns,

sea gulls, Mother Carey’s chickens, Mother Carey’s geese, or the

great peterel, and, lastly, the albatross.

The great peterel is as large as the common albatross, and is

carnivorous. It is frequently called the break-bones, or osprey

peterel. They are not at all shy, and, when properly cooked, are

palatable food. In flying they sometimes sail very close to the

surface of the water, with the wings expanded, without appearing

to move them in the least degree, or make any exertion with them

whatever.

The albatross is one of the largest and fiercest of the South Sea

birds. It is of the gull species, and takes its prey on the wing,

never coming on land except for the purpose of breeding. Between

this bird and the penguin the most singular friendship exists.

Their nests are constructed with great uniformity upon a plan

concerted between the two species—that of the albatross being

placed in the centre of a little square formed by the nests of

four penguins. Navigators have agreed in calling an assemblage of

such encampments a rookery. These rookeries have been often

described, but as my readers may not all have seen these

descriptions, and as I shall have occasion hereafter to speak of

the penguin and albatross, it will not be amiss to say something

here of their mode of building and living.

When the season for incubation arrives, the birds assemble in

vast numbers, and for some days appear to be deliberating upon

the proper course to be pursued. At length they proceed to

action. A level piece of ground is selected, of suitable extent,

usually comprising three or four acres, and situated as near the

sea as possible, being still beyond its reach. The spot is chosen

with reference to its evenness of surface, and that is preferred

which is the least encumbered with stones. This matter being

arranged, the birds proceed, with one accord, and actuated

apparently by one mind, to trace out, with mathematical accuracy,

either a square or other parallelogram, as may best suit the

nature of the ground, and of just sufficient size to accommodate

easily all the birds assembled, and no more—in this particular

seeming determined upon preventing the access of future

stragglers who have not participated in the labor of the

encampment. One side of the place thus marked out runs parallel

with the water’s edge, and is left open for ingress or egress.

Having defined the limits of the rookery, the colony now begin to

clear it of every species of rubbish, picking up stone by stone,

and carrying them outside of the lines, and close by them, so as

to form a wall on the three inland sides. Just within this wall a

perfectly level and smooth walk is formed, from six to eight feet

wide, and extending around the encampment—thus serving the

purpose of a general promenade.

The next process is to partition out the whole area into small

squares exactly equal in size. This is done by forming narrow

paths, very smooth, and crossing each other at right angles

throughout the entire extent of the rookery. At each intersection

of these paths the nest of an albatross is constructed, and a

penguin’s nest in the centre of each square—thus every penguin is

surrounded by four albatrosses, and each albatross by a like

number of penguins. The penguin’s nest consists of a hole in the

earth, very shallow, being only just of sufficient depth to keep

her single egg from rolling. The albatross is somewhat less

simple in her arrangements, erecting a hillock about a foot high

and two in diameter. This is made of earth, seaweed, and shells.

On its summit she builds her nest.

The birds take especial care never to leave their nests

unoccupied for an instant during the period of incubation, or,

indeed, until the young progeny are sufficiently strong to take

care of themselves. While the male is absent at sea in search of

food, the female remains on duty, and it is only upon the return

of her partner that she ventures abroad. The eggs are never left

uncovered at all—while one bird leaves the nest the other

nestling in by its side. This precaution is rendered necessary by

the thieving propensities prevalent in the rookery, the

inhabitants making no scruple to purloin each other’s eggs at

every good opportunity.

Although there are some rookeries in which the penguin and

albatross are the sole population, yet in most of them a variety

of oceanic birds are to be met with, enjoying all the privileges

of citizenship, and scattering their nests here and there,

wherever they can find room, never interfering, however, with the

stations of the larger species. The appearance of such

encampments, when seen from a distance, is exceedingly singular.

The whole atmosphere just above the settlement is darkened with

the immense number of the albatross (mingled with the smaller

tribes) which are continually hovering over it, either going to

the ocean or returning home. At the same time a crowd of penguins

are to be observed, some passing to and fro in the narrow alleys,

and some marching with the military strut so peculiar to them,

around the general promenade ground which encircles the rookery.

In short, survey it as we will, nothing can be more astonishing

than the spirit of reflection evinced by these feathered beings,

and nothing surely can be better calculated to elicit reflection

in every well-regulated human intellect.

On the morning after our arrival in Christmas Harbour the chief

mate, Mr. Patterson, took the boats, and (although it was

somewhat early in the season) went in search of seal, leaving the

captain and a young relation of his on a point of barren land to

the westward, they having some business, whose nature I could not

ascertain, to transact in the interior of the island. Captain Guy

took with him a bottle, in which was a sealed letter, and made

his way from the point on which he was set on shore toward one of

the highest peaks in the place. It is probable that his design

was to leave the letter on that height for some vessel which he

expected to come after him. As soon as we lost sight of him we

proceeded (Peters and myself being in the mate’s boat) on our

cruise around the coast, looking for seal. In this business we

were occupied about three weeks, examining with great care every

nook and corner, not only of Kerguelen’s Land, but of the several

small islands in the vicinity. Our labours, however, were not

crowned with any important success. We saw a great many fur seal,

but they were exceedingly shy, and with the greatest exertions,

we could only procure three hundred and fifty skins in all. Sea

elephants were abundant, especially on the western coast of the

mainland, but of these we killed only twenty, and this with great

difficulty. On the smaller islands we discovered a good many of

the hair seal, but did not molest them. We returned to the

schooner on the eleventh, where we found Captain Guy and his

nephew, who gave a very bad account of the interior, representing

it as one of the most dreary and utterly barren countries in the

world. They had remained two nights on the island, owing to some

misunderstanding, on the part of the second mate, in regard to

the sending a jollyboat from the schooner to take them off.

CHAPTER 15

On the twelfth we made sail from Christmas Harbour retracing our

way to the westward, and leaving Marion’s Island, one of Crozet’s

group, on the larboard. We afterward passed Prince Edward’s

Island, leaving it also on our left, then, steering more to the

northward, made, in fifteen days, the islands of Tristan

d’Acunha, in latitude 37 degrees 8’ S, longitude 12 degrees 8’ W.

This group, now so well known, and which consists of three

circular islands, was first discovered by the Portuguese, and was

visited afterward by the Dutch in 1643, and by the French in

1767. The three islands together form a triangle, and are distant

from each other about ten miles, there being fine open passages

between. The land in all of them is very high, especially in

Tristan d’Acunha, properly so called. This is the largest of the

group, being fifteen miles in circumference, and so elevated that

it can be seen in clear weather at the distance of eighty or

ninety miles. A part of the land toward the north rises more than

a thousand feet perpendicularly from the sea. A tableland at this

height extends back nearly to the centre of the island, and from

this tableland arises a lofty cone like that of Teneriffe. The

lower half of this cone is clothed with trees of good size, but

the upper region is barren rock, usually hidden among the clouds,

and covered with snow during the greater part of the year. There

are no shoals or other dangers about the island, the shores being

remarkably bold and the water deep. On the northwestern coast is

a bay, with a beach of black sand where a landing with boats can

be easily effected, provided there be a southerly wind. Plenty of

excellent water may here be readily procured; also cod and other

fish may be taken with hook and line.

The next island in point of size, and the most westwardly of the

group, is that called the Inaccessible. Its precise situation is

37 degrees 17’ S. latitude, longitude 12 degrees 24’ W. It is

seven or eight miles in circumference, and on all sides presents

a forbidding and precipitous aspect. Its top is perfectly flat,

and the whole region is sterile, nothing growing upon it except a

few stunted shrubs.

Nightingale Island, the smallest and most southerly, is in

latitude 37 degrees 26’ S., longitude 12 degrees 12’ W. Off its

southern extremity is a high ledge of rocky islets; a few also of

a similar appearance are seen to the northeast. The ground is

irregular and sterile, and a deep valley partially separates it.

The shores of these islands abound, in the proper season, with

sea lions, sea elephants, the hair and fur seal, together with a

great variety of oceanic birds. Whales are also plenty in their

vicinity. Owing to the ease with which these various animals were

here formerly taken, the group has been much visited since its

discovery. The Dutch and French frequented it at a very early

period. In 1790, Captain Patten, of the ship Industry, of

Philadelphia, made Tristan d’Acunha, where he remained seven

months (from August, 1790, to April, 1791) for the purpose of

collecting sealskins. In this time he gathered no less than five

thousand six hundred, and says that he would have had no

difficulty in loading a large ship with oil in three weeks. Upon

his arrival he found no quadrupeds, with the exception of a few

wild goats; the island now abounds with all our most valuable

domestic animals, which have been introduced by subsequent

navigators.

I believe it was not long after Captain Patten’s visit that

Captain Colquhoun, of the American brig Betsey, touched at the

largest of the islands for the purpose of refreshment. He planted

onions, potatoes, cabbages, and a great many other vegetables, an

abundance of all which is now to be met with.

In 1811, a Captain Haywood, in the Nereus, visited Tristan. He

found there three Americans, who were residing upon the island to

prepare sealskins and oil. One of these men was named Jonathan

Lambert, and he called himself the sovereign of the country. He

had cleared and cultivated about sixty acres of land, and turned

his attention to raising the coffee-plant and sugar-cane, with

which he had been furnished by the American Minister at Rio

Janeiro. This settlement, however, was finally abandoned, and in

1817 the islands were taken possession of by the British

Government, who sent a detachment for that purpose from the Cape

of Good Hope. They did not, however, retain them long; but, upon

the evacuation of the country as a British possession, two or

three English families took up their residence there

independently of the Government. On the twenty-fifth of March,

1824, the Berwick, Captain Jeffrey, from London to Van Diemen’s

Land, arrived at the place, where they found an Englishman of the

name of Glass, formerly a corporal in the British artillery. He

claimed to be supreme governor of the islands, and had under his

control twenty-one men and three women. He gave a very favourable

account of the salubrity of the climate and of the productiveness

of the soil. The population occupied themselves chiefly in

collecting sealskins and sea elephant oil, with which they traded

to the Cape of Good Hope, Glass owning a small schooner. At the

period of our arrival the governor was still a resident, but his

little community had multiplied, there being fifty-six persons

upon Tristan, besides a smaller settlement of seven on

Nightingale Island. We had no difficulty in procuring almost

every kind of refreshment which we required—sheep, hogs,

bullocks, rabbits, poultry, goats, fish in great variety, and

vegetables were abundant. Having come to anchor close in with the

large island, in eighteen fathoms, we took all we wanted on board

very conveniently. Captain Guy also purchased of Glass five

hundred sealskins and some ivory. We remained here a week, during

which the prevailing winds were from the northward and westward,

and the weather somewhat hazy. On the fifth of November we made

sail to the southward and westward, with the intention of having

a thorough search for a group of islands called the Auroras,

respecting whose existence a great diversity of opinion has

existed.

These islands are said to have been discovered as early as 1762,

by the commander of the ship Aurora. In 1790, Captain Manuel de

Oyarvido, in the ship Princess, belonging to the Royal Philippine

Company, sailed, as he asserts, directly among them. In 1794, the

Spanish corvette Atrevida went with the determination of

ascertaining their precise situation, and, in a paper published

by the Royal Hydrographical Society of Madrid in the year 1809,

the following language is used respecting this expedition: “The

corvette Atrevida practised, in their immediate vicinity, from

the twenty-first to the twenty-seventh of January, all the

necessary observations, and measured by chronometers the

difference of longitude between these islands and the port of

Soledad in the Manillas. The islands are three, they are very

nearly in the same meridian; the centre one is rather low, and

the other two may be seen at nine leagues’ distance.” The

observations made on board the Atrevida give the following

results as the precise situation of each island. The most

northern is in latitude 52 degrees 37’ 24” S., longitude 47

degrees, 43’ 15” W.; the middle one in latitude 53 degrees 2’ 40”

S., longitude 47 degrees 55’ 15” W.; and the most southern in

latitude 53 degrees 15’ 22” S., longitude 47 degrees 57’ 15” W.

On the twenty-seventh of January, 1820, Captain James Weddel, of

the British navy, sailed from Staten Land also in search of the

Auroras. He reports that, having made the most diligent search

and passed not only immediately over the spots indicated by the

commander of the Atrevida, but in every direction throughout the

vicinity of these spots, he could discover no indication of land.

These conflicting statements have induced other navigators to

look out for the islands; and, strange to say, while some have

sailed through every inch of sea where they are supposed to lie

without finding them, there have been not a few who declare

positively that they have seen them; and even been close in with

their shores. It was Captain Guy’s intention to make every

exertion within his power to settle the question so oddly in

dispute. {*3}

We kept on our course, between the south and west, with variable

weather, until the twentieth of the month, when we found

ourselves on the debated ground, being in latitude 53 degrees 15’

S., longitude 47 degrees 58’ W.—that is to say, very nearly upon

the spot indicated as the situation of the most southern of the

group. Not perceiving any sign of land, we continued to the

westward of the parallel of fifty-three degrees south, as far as

the meridian of fifty degrees west. We then stood to the north as

far as the parallel of fifty-two degrees south, when we turned to

the eastward, and kept our parallel by double altitudes, morning

and evening, and meridian altitudes of the planets and moon.

Having thus gone eastwardly to the meridian of the western coast

of Georgia, we kept that meridian until we were in the latitude

from which we set out. We then took diagonal courses throughout

the entire extent of sea circumscribed, keeping a lookout

constantly at the masthead, and repeating our examination with

the greatest care for a period of three weeks, during which the

weather was remarkably pleasant and fair, with no haze

whatsoever. Of course we were thoroughly satisfied that, whatever

islands might have existed in this vicinity at any former period,

no vestige of them remained at the present day. Since my return

home I find that the same ground was traced over, with equal

care, in 1822, by Captain Johnson, of the American schooner

Henry, and by Captain Morrell in the American schooner Wasp—in

both cases with the same result as in our own.

CHAPTER 16

It had been Captain Guy’s original intention, after satisfying

himself about the Auroras, to proceed through the Strait of

Magellan, and up along the western coast of Patagonia; but

information received at Tristan d’Acunha induced him to steer to

the southward, in the hope of falling in with some small islands

said to lie about the parallel of 60 degrees S., longitude 41

degrees 20’ W. In the event of his not discovering these lands,

he designed, should the season prove favourable, to push on

toward the pole. Accordingly, on the twelfth of December, we made

sail in that direction. On the eighteenth we found ourselves

about the station indicated by Glass, and cruised for three days

in that neighborhood without finding any traces of the islands he

had mentioned. On the twenty-first, the weather being unusually

pleasant, we again made sail to the southward, with the

resolution of penetrating in that course as far as possible.

Before entering upon this portion of my narrative, it may be as

well, for the information of those readers who have paid little

attention to the progress of discovery in these regions, to give

some brief account of the very few attempts at reaching the

southern pole which have hitherto been made.

That of Captain Cook was the first of which we have any distinct

account. In 1772 he sailed to the south in the Resolution,

accompanied by Lieutenant Furneaux in the Adventure. In December

he found himself as far as the fifty-eighth parallel of south

latitude, and in longitude 26 degrees 57’ E. Here he met with

narrow fields of ice, about eight or ten inches thick, and

running northwest and southeast. This ice was in large cakes, and

usually it was packed so closely that the vessel had great

difficulty in forcing a passage. At this period Captain Cook

supposed, from the vast number of birds to be seen, and from

other indications, that he was in the near vicinity of land. He

kept on to the southward, the weather being exceedingly cold,

until he reached the sixty-fourth parallel, in longitude 38

degrees 14’ E. Here he had mild weather, with gentle breezes, for

five days, the thermometer being at thirty-six. In January, 1773,

the vessels crossed the Antarctic circle, but did not succeed in

penetrating much farther; for upon reaching latitude 67 degrees

15’ they found all farther progress impeded by an immense body of

ice, extending all along the southern horizon as far as the eye

could reach. This ice was of every variety—and some large floes

of it, miles in extent, formed a compact mass, rising eighteen or

twenty feet above the water. It being late in the season, and no

hope entertained of rounding these obstructions, Captain Cook now

reluctantly turned to the northward.

In the November following he renewed his search in the Antarctic.

In latitude 59 degrees 40’ he met with a strong current setting

to the southward. In December, when the vessels were in latitude

67 degrees 31’, longitude 142 degrees 54’ W., the cold was

excessive, with heavy gales and fog. Here also birds were

abundant; the albatross, the penguin, and the peterel especially.

In latitude 70 degrees 23’ some large islands of ice were

encountered, and shortly afterward the clouds to the southward

were observed to be of a snowy whiteness, indicating the vicinity

of field ice. In latitude 71 degrees 10’, longitude 106 degrees

54’ W., the navigators were stopped, as before, by an immense

frozen expanse, which filled the whole area of the southern

horizon. The northern edge of this expanse was ragged and broken,

so firmly wedged together as to be utterly impassible, and

extending about a mile to the southward. Behind it the frozen

surface was comparatively smooth for some distance, until

terminated in the extreme background by gigantic ranges of ice

mountains, the one towering above the other. Captain Cook

concluded that this vast field reached the southern pole or was

joined to a continent. Mr. J. N. Reynolds, whose great exertions

and perseverance have at length succeeded in getting set on foot

a national expedition, partly for the purpose of exploring these

regions, thus speaks of the attempt of the Resolution. “We are

not surprised that Captain Cook was unable to go beyond 71

degrees 10’, but we are astonished that he did attain that point

on the meridian of 106 degrees 54’ west longitude. Palmer’s Land

lies south of the Shetland, latitude sixty-four degrees, and

tends to the southward and westward farther than any navigator

has yet penetrated. Cook was standing for this land when his

progress was arrested by the ice; which, we apprehend, must

always be the case in that point, and so early in the season as

the sixth of January—and we should not be surprised if a portion

of the icy mountains described was attached to the main body of

Palmer’s Land, or to some other portions of land lying farther to

the southward and westward.”

In 1803, Captains Kreutzenstern and Lisiausky were dispatched by

Alexander of Russia for the purpose of circumnavigating the

globe. In endeavouring to get south, they made no farther than 59

degrees 58’, in longitude 70 degrees 15’ W. They here met with

strong currents setting eastwardly. Whales were abundant, but

they saw no ice. In regard to this voyage, Mr. Reynolds observes

that, if Kreutzenstern had arrived where he did earlier in the

season, he must have encountered ice—it was March when he reached

the latitude specified. The winds, prevailing, as they do, from

the southward and westward, had carried the floes, aided by

currents, into that icy region bounded on the north by Georgia,

east by Sandwich Land and the South Orkneys, and west by the

South Shetland islands.

In 1822, Captain James Weddell, of the British navy, with two

very small vessels, penetrated farther to the south than any

previous navigator, and this, too, without encountering

extraordinary difficulties. He states that although he was

frequently hemmed in by ice before reaching the seventy-second

parallel, yet, upon attaining it, not a particle was to be

discovered, and that, upon arriving at the latitude of 74 degrees

15’, no fields, and only three islands of ice were visible. It is

somewhat remarkable that, although vast flocks of birds were

seen, and other usual indications of land, and although, south of

the Shetlands, unknown coasts were observed from the masthead

tending southwardly, Weddell discourages the idea of land

existing in the polar regions of the south.

On the 11th of January, 1823, Captain Benjamin Morrell, of the

American schooner Wasp, sailed from Kerguelen’s Land with a view

of penetrating as far south as possible. On the first of February

he found himself in latitude 64 degrees 52’ S., longitude 118

degrees 27’ E. The following passage is extracted from his

journal of that date. “The wind soon freshened to an eleven-knot

breeze, and we embraced this opportunity of making to the west;

being however convinced that the farther we went south beyond

latitude sixty-four degrees, the less ice was to be apprehended,

we steered a little to the southward, until we crossed the

Antarctic circle, and were in latitude 69 degrees 15’ E. In this

latitude there was no field ice, and very few ice islands in

sight.”

Under the date of March fourteenth I find also this entry. “The

sea was now entirely free of field ice, and there were not more

than a dozen ice islands in sight. At the same time the

temperature of the air and water was at least thirteen degrees

higher (more mild) than we had ever found it between the

parallels of sixty and sixty-two south. We were now in latitude

70 degrees 14’ S., and the temperature of the air was

forty-seven, and that of the water forty-four. In this situation

I found the variation to be 14 degrees 27’ easterly, per

azimuth… I have several times passed within the Antarctic

circle, on different meridians, and have uniformly found the

temperature, both of the air and the water, to become more and

more mild the farther I advanced beyond the sixty-fifth degree of

south latitude, and that the variation decreases in the same

proportion. While north of this latitude, say between sixty and

sixty-five south, we frequently had great difficulty in finding a

passage for the vessel between the immense and almost innumerable

ice islands, some of which were from one to two miles in

circumference, and more than five hundred feet above the surface

of the water.”

Being nearly destitute of fuel and water, and without proper

instruments, it being also late in the season, Captain Morrell

was now obliged to put back, without attempting any further

progress to the westward, although an entirely open, sea lay

before him. He expresses the opinion that, had not these

overruling considerations obliged him to retreat, he could have

penetrated, if not to the pole itself, at least to the

eighty-fifth parallel. I have given his ideas respecting these

matters somewhat at length, that the reader may have an

opportunity of seeing how far they were borne out by my own

subsequent experience.

In 1831, Captain Briscoe, in the employ of the Messieurs Enderby,

whale-ship owners of London, sailed in the brig Lively for the

South Seas, accompanied by the cutter Tula. On the twenty-eighth

of February, being in latitude 66 degrees 30’ S., longitude 47

degrees 31’ E., he descried land, and “clearly discovered through

the snow the black peaks of a range of mountains running E. S.

E.” He remained in this neighbourhood during the whole of the

following month, but was unable to approach the coast nearer than

within ten leagues, owing to the boisterous state of the weather.

Finding it impossible to make further discovery during this

season, he returned northward to winter in Van Diemen’s Land.

In the beginning of 1832 he again proceeded southwardly, and on

the fourth of February land was seen to the southeast in latitude

67 degrees 15’ longitude 69 degrees 29’ W. This was soon found to

be an island near the headland of the country he had first

discovered. On the twenty-first of the month he succeeded in

landing on the latter, and took possession of it in the name of

William IV, calling it Adelaide’s Island, in honour of the

English queen. These particulars being made known to the Royal

Geographical Society of London, the conclusion was drawn by that

body “that there is a continuous tract of land extending from 47

degrees 30’ E. to 69 degrees 29’ W. longitude, running the

parallel of from sixty-six to sixty-seven degrees south

latitude.” In respect to this conclusion Mr. Reynolds observes:

“In the correctness of it we by no means concur; nor do the

discoveries of Briscoe warrant any such indifference. It was

within these limits that Weddel proceeded south on a meridian to

the east of Georgia, Sandwich Land, and the South Orkney and

Shetland islands.” My own experience will be found to testify

most directly to the falsity of the conclusion arrived at by the

society.

These are the principal attempts which have been made at

penetrating to a high southern latitude, and it will now be seen

that there remained, previous to the voyage of the Jane, nearly

three hundred degrees of longitude in which the Antarctic circle

had not been crossed at all. Of course a wide field lay before us

for discovery, and it was with feelings of most intense interest

that I heard Captain Guy express his resolution of pushing boldly

to the southward.

CHAPTER 17

We kept our course southwardly for four days after giving up the

search for Glass’s islands, without meeting with any ice at all.

On the twenty-sixth, at noon, we were in latitude 63 degrees 23’

S., longitude 41 degrees 25’ W. We now saw several large ice

islands, and a floe of field ice, not, however, of any great

extent. The winds generally blew from the southeast, or the

northeast, but were very light. Whenever we had a westerly wind,

which was seldom, it was invariably attended with a rain squall.

Every day we had more or less snow. The thermometer, on the

twenty-seventh stood at thirty-five.

January 1, 1828.—This day we found ourselves completely hemmed in

by the ice, and our prospects looked cheerless indeed. A strong

gale blew, during the whole forenoon, from the northeast, and

drove large cakes of the drift against the rudder and counter

with such violence that we all trembled for the consequences.

Toward evening, the gale still blowing with fury, a large field

in front separated, and we were enabled, by carrying a press of

sail to force a passage through the smaller flakes into some open

water beyond. As we approached this space we took in sail by

degrees, and having at length got clear, lay-to under a single

reefed foresail.

January 2.—We had now tolerably pleasant weather. At noon we

found ourselves in latitude 69 degrees 10’ S, longitude 42

degrees 20’ W, having crossed the Antarctic circle. Very little

ice was to be seen to the southward, although large fields of it

lay behind us. This day we rigged some sounding gear, using a

large iron pot capable of holding twenty gallons, and a line of

two hundred fathoms. We found the current setting to the north,

about a quarter of a mile per hour. The temperature of the air

was now about thirty-three. Here we found the variation to be 14

degrees 28’ easterly, per azimuth.

January 5.—We had still held on to the southward without any very

great impediments. On this morning, however, being in latitude 73

degrees 15’ E., longitude 42 degrees 10’ W, we were again brought

to a stand by an immense expanse of firm ice. We saw,

nevertheless, much open water to the southward, and felt no doubt

of being able to reach it eventually. Standing to the eastward

along the edge of the floe, we at length came to a passage of

about a mile in width, through which we warped our way by

sundown. The sea in which we now were was thickly covered with

ice islands, but had no field ice, and we pushed on boldly as

before. The cold did not seem to increase, although we had snow

very frequently, and now and then hail squalls of great violence.

Immense flocks of the albatross flew over the schooner this day,

going from southeast to northwest.

January 7.—The sea still remained pretty well open, so that we

had no difficulty in holding on our course. To the westward we

saw some icebergs of incredible size, and in the afternoon passed

very near one whose summit could not have been less than four

hundred fathoms from the surface of the ocean. Its girth was

probably, at the base, three-quarters of a league, and several

streams of water were running from crevices in its sides. We

remained in sight of this island two days, and then only lost it

in a fog.

January 10.—Early this morning we had the misfortune to lose a

man overboard. He was an American named Peter Vredenburgh, a

native of New York, and was one of the most valuable hands on

board the schooner. In going over the bows his foot slipped, and

he fell between two cakes of ice, never rising again. At noon of

this day we were in latitude 78 degrees 30’, longitude 40 degrees

15’ W. The cold was now excessive, and we had hail squalls

continually from the northward and eastward. In this direction

also we saw several more immense icebergs, and the whole horizon

to the eastward appeared to be blocked up with field ice, rising

in tiers, one mass above the other. Some driftwood floated by

during the evening, and a great quantity of birds flew over,

among which were nellies, peterels, albatrosses, and a large bird

of a brilliant blue plumage. The variation here, per azimuth, was

less than it had been previously to our passing the Antarctic

circle.

January 12.—Our passage to the south again looked doubtful, as

nothing was to be seen in the direction of the pole but one

apparently limitless floe, backed by absolute mountains of ragged

ice, one precipice of which arose frowningly above the other. We

stood to the westward until the fourteenth, in the hope of

finding an entrance.

January 14.—This morning we reached the western extremity of the

field which had impeded us, and, weathering it, came to an open

sea, without a particle of ice. Upon sounding with two hundred

fathoms, we here found a current setting southwardly at the rate

of half a mile per hour. The temperature of the air was

forty-seven, that of the water thirty-four. We now sailed to the

southward without meeting any interruption of moment until the

sixteenth, when, at noon, we were in latitude 81 degrees 21’,

longitude 42 degrees W. We here again sounded, and found a

current setting still southwardly, and at the rate of three

quarters of a mile per hour. The variation per azimuth had

diminished, and the temperature of the air was mild and pleasant,

the thermometer being as high as fifty-one. At this period not a

particle of ice was to be discovered. All hands on board now felt

certain of attaining the pole.

January 17.—This day was full of incident. Innumerable flights of

birds flew over us from the southward, and several were shot from

the deck, one of them, a species of pelican, proved to be

excellent eating. About midday a small floe of ice was seen from

the masthead off the larboard bow, and upon it there appeared to

be some large animal. As the weather was good and nearly calm,

Captain Guy ordered out two of the boats to see what it was. Dirk

Peters and myself accompanied the mate in the larger boat. Upon

coming up with the floe, we perceived that it was in the

possession of a gigantic creature of the race of the Arctic bear,

but far exceeding in size the largest of these animals. Being

well armed, we made no scruple of attacking it at once. Several

shots were fired in quick succession, the most of which took

effect, apparently, in the head and body. Nothing discouraged,

however, the monster threw himself from the ice, and swam with

open jaws, to the boat in which were Peters and myself. Owing to

the confusion which ensued among us at this unexpected turn of

the adventure, no person was ready immediately with a second

shot, and the bear had actually succeeded in getting half his

vast bulk across our gunwale, and seizing one of the men by the

small of his back, before any efficient means were taken to repel

him. In this extremity nothing but the promptness and agility of

Peters saved us from destruction. Leaping upon the back of the

huge beast, he plunged the blade of a knife behind the neck,

reaching the spinal marrow at a blow. The brute tumbled into the

sea lifeless, and without a struggle, rolling over Peters as he

fell. The latter soon recovered himself, and a rope being thrown

him, he secured the carcass before entering the boat. We then

returned in triumph to the schooner, towing our trophy behind us.

This bear, upon admeasurement, proved to be full fifteen feet in

his greatest length. His wool was perfectly white, and very

coarse, curling tightly. The eyes were of a blood red, and larger

than those of the Arctic bear, the snout also more rounded,

rather resembling the snout of the bulldog. The meat was tender,

but excessively rank and fishy, although the men devoured it with

avidity, and declared it excellent eating.

Scarcely had we got our prize alongside, when the man at the

masthead gave the joyful shout of “land on the starboard bow!”

All hands were now upon the alert, and, a breeze springing up

very opportunely from the northward and eastward, we were soon

close in with the coast. It proved to be a low rocky islet, of

about a league in circumference, and altogether destitute of

vegetation, if we except a species of prickly pear. In

approaching it from the northward, a singular ledge of rock is

seen projecting into the sea, and bearing a strong resemblance to

corded bales of cotton. Around this ledge to the westward is a

small bay, at the bottom of which our boats effected a convenient

landing.

It did not take us long to explore every portion of the island,

but, with one exception, we found nothing worthy of our

observation. In the southern extremity, we picked up near the

shore, half buried in a pile of loose stones, a piece of wood,

which seemed to have formed the prow of a canoe. There had been

evidently some attempt at carving upon it, and Captain Guy

fancied that he made out the figure of a tortoise, but the

resemblance did not strike me very forcibly. Besides this prow,

if such it were, we found no other token that any living creature

had ever been here before. Around the coast we discovered

occasional small floes of ice—but these were very few. The exact

situation of the islet (to which Captain Guy gave the name of

Bennet’s Islet, in honour of his partner in the ownership of the

schooner) is 82 degrees 50’ S. latitude, 42 degrees 20’ W.

longitude.

We had now advanced to the southward more than eight degrees

farther than any previous navigators, and the sea still lay

perfectly open before us. We found, too, that the variation

uniformly decreased as we proceeded, and, what was still more

surprising, that the temperature of the air, and latterly of the

water, became milder. The weather might even be called pleasant,

and we had a steady but very gentle breeze always from some

northern point of the compass. The sky was usually clear, with

now and then a slight appearance of thin vapour in the southern

horizon—this, however, was invariably of brief duration. Two

difficulties alone presented themselves to our view; we were

getting short of fuel, and symptoms of scurvy had occurred among

several of the crew. These considerations began to impress upon

Captain Guy the necessity of returning, and he spoke of it

frequently. For my own part, confident as I was of soon arriving

at land of some description upon the course we were pursuing, and

having every reason to believe, from present appearances, that we

should not find it the sterile soil met with in the higher Arctic

latitudes, I warmly pressed upon him the expediency of

persevering, at least for a few days longer, in the direction we

were now holding. So tempting an opportunity of solving the great

problem in regard to an Antarctic continent had never yet been

afforded to man, and I confess that I felt myself bursting with

indignation at the timid and ill-timed suggestions of our

commander. I believe, indeed, that what I could not refrain from

saying to him on this head had the effect of inducing him to push

on. While, therefore, I cannot but lament the most unfortunate

and bloody events which immediately arose from my advice, I must

still be allowed to feel some degree of gratification at having

been instrumental, however remotely, in opening to the eye of

science one of the most intensely exciting secrets which has ever

engrossed its attention.

CHAPTER 18

January 18.—This morning {*4} we continued to the southward, with

the same pleasant weather as before. The sea was entirely smooth,

the air tolerably warm and from the northeast, the temperature of

the water fifty-three. We now again got our sounding-gear in

order, and, with a hundred and fifty fathoms of line, found the

current setting toward the pole at the rate of a mile an hour.

This constant tendency to the southward, both in the wind and

current, caused some degree of speculation, and even of alarm, in

different quarters of the schooner, and I saw distinctly that no

little impression had been made upon the mind of Captain Guy. He

was exceedingly sensitive to ridicule, however, and I finally

succeeded in laughing him out of his apprehensions. The variation

was now very trivial. In the course of the day we saw several

large whales of the right species, and innumerable flights of the

albatross passed over the vessel. We also picked up a bush, full

of red berries, like those of the hawthorn, and the carcass of a

singular-looking land-animal. It was three feet in length, and

but six inches in height, with four very short legs, the feet

armed with long claws of a brilliant scarlet, and resembling

coral in substance. The body was covered with a straight silky

hair, perfectly white. The tail was peaked like that of a rat,

and about a foot and a half long. The head resembled a cat’s,

with the exception of the ears—these were flopped like the ears

of a dog. The teeth were of the same brilliant scarlet as the

claws.

January 19.—To-day, being in latitude 83 degrees 20’, longitude

43 degrees 5’ W. (the sea being of an extraordinarily dark

colour), we again saw land from the masthead, and, upon a closer

scrutiny, found it to be one of a group of very large islands.

The shore was precipitous, and the interior seemed to be well

wooded, a circumstance which occasioned us great joy. In about

four hours from our first discovering the land we came to anchor

in ten fathoms, sandy bottom, a league from the coast, as a high

surf, with strong ripples here and there, rendered a nearer

approach of doubtful expediency. The two largest boats were now

ordered out, and a party, well armed (among whom were Peters and

myself), proceeded to look for an opening in the reef which

appeared to encircle the island. After searching about for some

time, we discovered an inlet, which we were entering, when we saw

four large canoes put off from the shore, filled with men who

seemed to be well armed. We waited for them to come up, and, as

they moved with great rapidity, they were soon within hail.

Captain Guy now held up a white handkerchief on the blade of an

oar, when the strangers made a full stop, and commenced a loud

jabbering all at once, intermingled with occasional shouts, in

which we could distinguish the words Anamoo-moo! and Lama-Lama!

They continued this for at least half an hour, during which we

had a good opportunity of observing their appearance.

In the four canoes, which might have been fifty feet long and

five broad, there were a hundred and ten savages in all. They

were about the ordinary stature of Europeans, but of a more

muscular and brawny frame. Their complexion a jet black, with

thick and long woolly hair. They were clothed in skins of an

unknown black animal, shaggy and silky, and made to fit the body

with some degree of skill, the hair being inside, except where

turned out about the neck, wrists, and ankles. Their arms

consisted principally of clubs, of a dark, and apparently very

heavy wood. Some spears, however, were observed among them,

headed with flint, and a few slings. The bottoms of the canoes

were full of black stones about the size of a large egg.

When they had concluded their harangue (for it was clear they

intended their jabbering for such), one of them who seemed to be

the chief stood up in the prow of his canoe, and made signs for

us to bring our boats alongside of him. This hint we pretended

not to understand, thinking it the wiser plan to maintain, if

possible, the interval between us, as their number more than

quadrupled our own. Finding this to be the case, the chief

ordered the three other canoes to hold back, while he advanced

toward us with his own. As soon as he came up with us he leaped

on board the largest of our boats, and seated himself by the side

of Captain Guy, pointing at the same time to the schooner, and

repeating the word Anamoo-moo! and Lama-Lama! We now put back to

the vessel, the four canoes following at a little distance.

Upon getting alongside, the chief evinced symptoms of extreme

surprise and delight, clapping his hands, slapping his thighs and

breast, and laughing obstreperously. His followers behind joined

in his merriment, and for some minutes the din was so excessive

as to be absolutely deafening. Quiet being at length restored,

Captain Guy ordered the boats to be hoisted up, as a necessary

precaution, and gave the chief (whose name we soon found to be

Too-wit) to understand that we could admit no more than twenty of

his men on deck at one time. With this arrangement he appeared

perfectly satisfied, and gave some directions to the canoes, when

one of them approached, the rest remaining about fifty yards off.

Twenty of the savages now got on board, and proceeded to ramble

over every part of the deck, and scramble about among the

rigging, making themselves much at home, and examining every

article with great inquisitiveness.

It was quite evident that they had never before seen any of the

white race—from whose complexion, indeed, they appeared to

recoil. They believed the Jane to be a living creature, and

seemed to be afraid of hurting it with the points of their

spears, carefully turning them up. Our crew were much amused with

the conduct of Too-wit in one instance. The cook was splitting

some wood near the galley, and, by accident, struck his axe into

the deck, making a gash of considerable depth. The chief

immediately ran up, and pushing the cook on one side rather

roughly, commenced a half whine, half howl, strongly indicative

of sympathy in what he considered the sufferings of the schooner,

patting and smoothing the gash with his hand, and washing it from

a bucket of seawater which stood by. This was a degree of

ignorance for which we were not prepared, and for my part I could

not help thinking some of it affected.

When the visitors had satisfied, as well as they could, their

curiosity in regard to our upper works, they were admitted below,

when their amazement exceeded all bounds. Their astonishment now

appeared to be far too deep for words, for they roamed about in

silence, broken only by low ejaculations. The arms afforded them

much food for speculation, and they were suffered to handle and

examine them at leisure. I do not believe that they had the least

suspicion of their actual use, but rather took them for idols,

seeing the care we had of them, and the attention with which we

watched their movements while handling them. At the great guns

their wonder was redoubled. They approached them with every mark

of the profoundest reverence and awe, but forbore to examine them

minutely. There were two large mirrors in the cabin, and here was

the acme of their amazement. Too-wit was the first to approach

them, and he had got in the middle of the cabin, with his face to

one and his back to the other, before he fairly perceived them.

Upon raising his eyes and seeing his reflected self in the glass,

I thought the savage would go mad; but, upon turning short round

to make a retreat, and beholding himself a second time in the

opposite direction, I was afraid he would expire upon the spot.

No persuasion could prevail upon him to take another look;

throwing himself upon the floor, with his face buried in his

hands, he remained thus until we were obliged to drag him upon

deck.

The whole of the savages were admitted on board in this manner,

twenty at a time, Too-wit being suffered to remain during the

entire period. We saw no disposition to thievery among them, nor

did we miss a single article after their departure. Throughout

the whole of their visit they evinced the most friendly manner.

There were, however, some points in their demeanour which we

found it impossible to understand; for example, we could not get

them to approach several very harmless objects—such as the

schooner’s sails, an egg, an open book, or a pan of flour. We

endeavoured to ascertain if they had among them any articles

which might be turned to account in the way of traffic, but found

great difficulty in being comprehended. We made out,

nevertheless, what greatly astonished us, that the islands

abounded in the large tortoise of the Gallipagos, one of which we

saw in the canoe of Too-wit. We saw also some biche de mer in the

hands of one of the savages, who was greedily devouring it in its

natural state. These anomalies—for they were such when considered

in regard to the latitude—induced Captain Guy to wish for a

thorough investigation of the country, in the hope of making a

profitable speculation in his discovery. For my own part, anxious

as I was to know something more of these islands, I was still

more earnestly bent on prosecuting the voyage to the southward

without delay. We had now fine weather, but there was no telling

how long it would last; and being already in the eighty-fourth

parallel, with an open sea before us, a current setting strongly

to the southward, and the wind fair, I could not listen with any

patience to a proposition of stopping longer than was absolutely

necessary for the health of the crew and the taking on board a

proper supply of fuel and fresh provisions. I represented to the

captain that we might easily make this group on our return, and

winter here in the event of being blocked up by the ice. He at

length came into my views (for in some way, hardly known to

myself, I had acquired much influence over him), and it was

finally resolved that, even in the event of our finding biche de

mer, we should only stay here a week to recruit, and then push on

to the southward while we might. Accordingly we made every

necessary preparation, and, under the guidance of Too-wit, got

the Jane through the reef in safety, coming to anchor about a

mile from the shore, in an excellent bay, completely landlocked,

on the southeastern coast of the main island, and in ten fathoms

of water, black sandy bottom. At the head of this bay there were

three fine springs (we were told) of good water, and we saw

abundance of wood in the vicinity. The four canoes followed us

in, keeping, however, at a respectful distance. Too-wit himself

remained on board, and, upon our dropping anchor, invited us to

accompany him on shore, and visit his village in the interior. To

this Captain Guy consented; and ten savages being left on board

as hostages, a party of us, twelve in all, got in readiness to

attend the chief. We took care to be well armed, yet without

evincing any distrust. The schooner had her guns run out, her

boarding-nettings up, and every other proper precaution was taken

to guard against surprise. Directions were left with the chief

mate to admit no person on board during our absence, and, in the

event of our not appearing in twelve hours, to send the cutter,

with a swivel, around the island in search of us.

At every step we took inland the conviction forced itself upon us

that we were in a country differing essentially from any hitherto

visited by civilized men. We saw nothing with which we had been

formerly conversant. The trees resembled no growth of either the

torrid, the temperate, or the northern frigid zones, and were

altogether unlike those of the lower southern latitudes we had

already traversed. The very rocks were novel in their mass, their

color, and their stratification; and the streams themselves,

utterly incredible as it may appear, had so little in common with

those of other climates, that we were scrupulous of tasting them,

and, indeed, had difficulty in bringing ourselves to believe that

their qualities were purely those of nature. At a small brook

which crossed our path (the first we had reached) Too-wit and his

attendants halted to drink. On account of the singular character

of the water, we refused to taste it, supposing it to be

polluted; and it was not until some time afterward we came to

understand that such was the appearance of the streams throughout

the whole group. I am at a loss to give a distinct idea of the

nature of this liquid, and cannot do so without many words.

Although it flowed with rapidity in all declivities where common

water would do so, yet never, except when falling in a cascade,

had it the customary appearance of limpidity. It was,

nevertheless, in point of fact, as perfectly limpid as any

limestone water in existence, the difference being only in

appearance. At first sight, and especially in cases where little

declivity was found, it bore resemblance, as regards consistency,

to a thick infusion of gum arabic in common water. But this was

only the least remarkable of its extraordinary qualities. It was

not colourless, nor was it of any one uniform colour—presenting

to the eye, as it flowed, every possible shade of purple; like

the hues of a changeable silk. This variation in shade was

produced in a manner which excited as profound astonishment in

the minds of our party as the mirror had done in the case of

Too-wit. Upon collecting a basinful, and allowing it to settle

thoroughly, we perceived that the whole mass of liquid was made

up of a number of distinct veins, each of a distinct hue; that

these veins did not commingle; and that their cohesion was

perfect in regard to their own particles among themselves, and

imperfect in regard to neighbouring veins. Upon passing the blade

of a knife athwart the veins, the water closed over it

immediately, as with us, and also, in withdrawing it, all traces

of the passage of the knife were instantly obliterated. If,

however, the blade was passed down accurately between the two

veins, a perfect separation was effected, which the power of

cohesion did not immediately rectify. The phenomena of this water

formed the first definite link in that vast chain of apparent

miracles with which I was destined to be at length encircled.

CHAPTER 19

We were nearly three hours in reaching the village, it being more

than nine miles in the interior, and the path lying through a

rugged country. As we passed along, the party of Too-wit (the

whole hundred and ten savages of the canoes) was momentarily

strengthened by smaller detachments, of from two to six or seven,

which joined us, as if by accident, at different turns of the

road. There appeared so much of system in this that I could not

help feeling distrust, and I spoke to Captain Guy of my

apprehensions. It was now too late, however, to recede, and we

concluded that our best security lay in evincing a perfect

confidence in the good faith of Too-wit. We accordingly went on,

keeping a wary eye upon the manoeuvres of the savages, and not

permitting them to divide our numbers by pushing in between. In

this way, passing through a precipitous ravine, we at length

reached what we were told was the only collection of habitations

upon the island. As we came in sight of them, the chief set up a

shout, and frequently repeated the word Klock-klock, which we

supposed to be the name of the village, or perhaps the generic

name for villages.

The dwellings were of the most miserable description imaginable,

and, unlike those of even the lowest of the savage races with

which mankind are acquainted, were of no uniform plan. Some of

them (and these we found belonged to the Wampoos or Yampoos, the

great men of the land) consisted of a tree cut down at about four

feet from the root, with a large black skin thrown over it, and

hanging in loose folds upon the ground. Under this the savage

nestled. Others were formed by means of rough limbs of trees,

with the withered foliage upon them, made to recline, at an angle

of forty-five degrees, against a bank of clay, heaped up, without

regular form, to the height of five or six feet. Others, again,

were mere holes dug in the earth perpendicularly, and covered

over with similar branches, these being removed when the tenant

was about to enter, and pulled on again when he had entered. A

few were built among the forked limbs of trees as they stood, the

upper limbs being partially cut through, so as to bend over upon

the lower, thus forming thicker shelter from the weather. The

greater number, however, consisted of small shallow caverns,

apparently scratched in the face of a precipitous ledge of dark

stone, resembling fuller’s earth, with which three sides of the

village were bounded. At the door of each of these primitive

caverns was a small rock, which the tenant carefully placed

before the entrance upon leaving his residence, for what purpose

I could not ascertain, as the stone itself was never of

sufficient size to close up more than a third of the opening.

This village, if it were worthy of the name, lay in a valley of

some depth, and could only be approached from the southward, the

precipitous ledge of which I have already spoken cutting off all

access in other directions. Through the middle of the valley ran

a brawling stream of the same magical-looking water which has

been described. We saw several strange animals about the

dwellings, all appearing to be thoroughly domesticated. The

largest of these creatures resembled our common hog in the

structure of the body and snout; the tail, however, was bushy,

and the legs slender as those of the antelope. Its motion was

exceedingly awkward and indecisive, and we never saw it attempt

to run. We noticed also several animals very similar in

appearance, but of a greater length of body, and covered with a

black wool. There were a great variety of tame fowls running

about, and these seemed to constitute the chief food of the

natives. To our astonishment we saw black albatross among these

birds in a state of entire domestication, going to sea

periodically for food, but always returning to the village as a

home, and using the southern shore in the vicinity as a place of

incubation. There they were joined by their friends the pelicans

as usual, but these latter never followed them to the dwellings

of the savages. Among the other kinds of tame fowls were ducks,

differing very little from the canvass-back of our own country,

black gannets, and a large bird not unlike the buzzard in

appearance, but not carnivorous. Of fish there seemed to be a

great abundance. We saw, during our visit, a quantity of dried

salmon, rock cod, blue dolphins, mackerel, blackfish, skate,

conger eels, elephantfish, mullets, soles, parrotfish,

leather-jackets, gurnards, hake, flounders, paracutas, and

innumerable other varieties. We noticed, too, that most of them

were similar to the fish about the group of Lord Auckland

Islands, in a latitude as low as fifty-one degrees south. The

Gallipago tortoise was also very plentiful. We saw but few wild

animals, and none of a large size, or of a species with which we

were familiar. One or two serpents of a formidable aspect crossed

our path, but the natives paid them little attention, and we

concluded that they were not venomous.

As we approached the village with Too-wit and his party, a vast

crowd of the people rushed out to meet us, with loud shouts,

among which we could only distinguish the everlasting Anamoo-moo!

and Lama-Lama! We were much surprised at perceiving that, with

one or two exceptions, these new comers were entirely naked, and

skins being used only by the men of the canoes. All the weapons

of the country seemed also to be in the possession of the latter,

for there was no appearance of any among the villagers. There

were a great many women and children, the former not altogether

wanting in what might be termed personal beauty. They were

straight, tall, and well formed, with a grace and freedom of

carriage not to be found in civilized society. Their lips,

however, like those of the men, were thick and clumsy, so that,

even when laughing, the teeth were never disclosed. Their hair

was of a finer texture than that of the males. Among these naked

villagers there might have been ten or twelve who were clothed,

like the party of Too-wit, in dresses of black skin, and armed

with lances and heavy clubs. These appeared to have great

influence among the rest, and were always addressed by the title

Wampoo. These, too, were the tenants of the black skin palaces.

That of Too-wit was situated in the centre of the village, and

was much larger and somewhat better constructed than others of

its kind. The tree which formed its support was cut off at a

distance of twelve feet or thereabouts from the root, and there

were several branches left just below the cut, these serving to

extend the covering, and in this way prevent its flapping about

the trunk. The covering, too, which consisted of four very large

skins fastened together with wooden skewers, was secured at the

bottom with pegs driven through it and into the ground. The floor

was strewed with a quantity of dry leaves by way of carpet.

To this hut we were conducted with great solemnity, and as many

of the natives crowded in after us as possible. Too-wit seated

himself on the leaves, and made signs that we should follow his

example. This we did, and presently found ourselves in a

situation peculiarly uncomfortable, if not indeed critical. We

were on the ground, twelve in number, with the savages, as many

as forty, sitting on their hams so closely around us that, if any

disturbance had arisen, we should have found it impossible to

make use of our arms, or indeed to have risen to our feet. The

pressure was not only inside the tent, but outside, where

probably was every individual on the whole island, the crowd

being prevented from trampling us to death only by the incessant

exertions and vociferations of Too-wit. Our chief security lay,

however, in the presence of Too-wit himself among us, and we

resolved to stick by him closely, as the best chance of

extricating ourselves from the dilemma, sacrificing him

immediately upon the first appearance of hostile design.

After some trouble a certain degree of quiet was restored, when

the chief addressed us in a speech of great length, and very

nearly resembling the one delivered in the canoes, with the

exception that the Anamoo-moos! were now somewhat more

strenuously insisted upon than the Lama-Lamas! We listened in

profound silence until the conclusion of this harangue, when

Captain Guy replied by assuring the chief of his eternal

friendship and goodwill, concluding what he had to say by a

present of several strings of blue beads and a knife. At the

former the monarch, much to our surprise, turned up his nose with

some expression of contempt, but the knife gave him the most

unlimited satisfaction, and he immediately ordered dinner. This

was handed into the tent over the heads of the attendants, and

consisted of the palpitating entrails of a specialis of unknown

animal, probably one of the slim-legged hogs which we had

observed in our approach to the village. Seeing us at a loss how

to proceed, he began, by way of setting us an example, to devour

yard after yard of the enticing food, until we could positively

stand it no longer, and evinced such manifest symptoms of

rebellion of stomach as inspired his majesty with a degree of

astonishment only inferior to that brought about by the

looking-glasses. We declined, however, partaking of the

delicacies before us, and endeavoured to make him understand that

we had no appetite whatever, having just finished a hearty

dejeuner.

When the monarch had made an end of his meal, we commenced a

series of cross-questioning in every ingenious manner we could

devise, with a view of discovering what were the chief

productions of the country, and whether any of them might be

turned to profit. At length he seemed to have some idea of our

meaning, and offered to accompany us to a part of coast where he

assured us the biche de mer (pointing to a specimen of that

animal) was to be found in great abundance. We were glad of this

early opportunity of escaping from the oppression of the crowd,

and signified our eagerness to proceed. We now left the tent,

and, accompanied by the whole population of the village, followed

the chief to the southeastern extremity of the island, nor far

from the bay where our vessel lay at anchor. We waited here for

about an hour, until the four canoes were brought around by some

of the savages to our station. The whole of our party then

getting into one of them, we were paddled along the edge of the

reef before mentioned, and of another still farther out, where we

saw a far greater quantity of biche de mer than the oldest seamen

among us had ever seen in those groups of the lower latitudes

most celebrated for this article of commerce. We stayed near

these reefs only long enough to satisfy ourselves that we could

easily load a dozen vessels with the animal if necessary, when we

were taken alongside the schooner, and parted with Too-wit, after

obtaining from him a promise that he would bring us, in the

course of twenty-four hours, as many of the canvass-back ducks

and Gallipago tortoises as his canoes would hold. In the whole of

this adventure we saw nothing in the demeanour of the natives

calculated to create suspicion, with the single exception of the

systematic manner in which their party was strengthened during

our route from the schooner to the village.

CHAPTER 20

The chief was as good as his word, and we were soon plentifully

supplied with fresh provisions. We found the tortoises as fine as

we had ever seen, and the ducks surpassed our best species of

wild fowl, being exceedingly tender, juicy, and well-flavoured.

Besides these, the savages brought us, upon our making them

comprehend our wishes, a vast quantity of brown celery and scurvy

grass, with a canoe-load of fresh fish and some dried. The celery

was a treat indeed, and the scurvy grass proved of incalculable

benefit in restoring those of our men who had shown symptoms of

disease. In a very short time we had not a single person on the

sick-list. We had also plenty of other kinds of fresh provisions,

among which may be mentioned a species of shellfish resembling

the mussel in shape, but with the taste of an oyster. Shrimps,

too, and prawns were abundant, and albatross and other birds’

eggs with dark shells. We took in, too, a plentiful stock of the

flesh of the hog which I have mentioned before. Most of the men

found it a palatable food, but I thought it fishy and otherwise

disagreeable. In return for these good things we presented the

natives with blue beads, brass trinkets, nails, knives, and

pieces of red cloth, they being fully delighted in the exchange.

We established a regular market on shore, just under the guns of

the schooner, where our barterings were carried on with every

appearance of good faith, and a degree of order which their

conduct at the village of Klock-klock had not led us to expect

from the savages.

Matters went on thus very amicably for several days, during which

parties of the natives were frequently on board the schooner, and

parties of our men frequently on shore, making long excursions

into the interior, and receiving no molestation whatever. Finding

the ease with which the vessel might be loaded with _biche de

mer_, owing to the friendly disposition of the islanders, and the

readiness with which they would render us assistance in

collecting it, Captain Guy resolved to enter into negotiations

with Too-wit for the erection of suitable houses in which to cure

the article, and for the services of himself and tribe in

gathering as much as possible, while he himself took advantage of

the fine weather to prosecute his voyage to the southward. Upon

mentioning this project to the chief he seemed very willing to

enter into an agreement. A bargain was accordingly struck,

perfectly satisfactory to both parties, by which it was arranged

that, after making the necessary preparations, such as laying off

the proper grounds, erecting a portion of the buildings, and

doing some other work in which the whole of our crew would be

required, the schooner should proceed on her route, leaving three

of her men on the island to superintend the fulfilment of the

project, and instruct the natives in drying the biche de mer.

In regard to terms, these were made to depend upon the exertions

of the savages in our absence. They were to receive a stipulated

quantity of blue beads, knives, red cloth, and so forth, for

every certain number of piculs of the biche de mer which should

be ready on our return.

A description of the nature of this important article of

commerce, and the method of preparing it, may prove of some

interest to my readers, and I can find no more suitable place

than this for introducing an account of it. The following

comprehensive notice of the substance is taken from a modern

history of a voyage to the South Seas.

“It is that mollusca from the Indian Seas which is known to

commerce by the French name bouche de mer (a nice morsel from

the sea). If I am not much mistaken, the celebrated Cuvier calls

it gasteropeda pulmonifera. It is abundantly gathered in the

coasts of the Pacific islands, and gathered especially for the

Chinese market, where it commands a great price, perhaps as much

as their much-talked-of edible birds’ nests, which are properly

made up of the gelatinous matter picked up by a species of

swallow from the body of these molluscae. They have no shell, no

legs, nor any prominent part, except an absorbing and an

excretory, opposite organs; but, by their elastic wings, like

caterpillars or worms, they creep in shallow waters, in which,

when low, they can be seen by a kind of swallow, the sharp bill

of which, inserted in the soft animal, draws a gummy and

filamentous substance, which, by drying, can be wrought into the

solid walls of their nest. Hence the name of _gasteropeda

pulmonifera_.

“This mollusca is oblong, and of different sizes, from three to

eighteen inches in length; and I have seen a few that were not

less than two feet long. They were nearly round, a little

flattish on one side, which lies next to the bottom of the sea;

and they are from one to eight inches thick. They crawl up into

shallow water at particular seasons of the year, probably for the

purpose of gendering, as we often find them in pairs. It is when

the sun has the most power on the water, rendering it tepid, that

they approach the shore; and they often go up into places so

shallow that, on the tide’s receding, they are left dry, exposed

to the beat of the sun. But they do not bring forth their young

in shallow water, as we never see any of their progeny, and

full-grown ones are always observed coming in from deep water.

They feed principally on that class of zoophytes which produce

the coral.

“The biche de mer is generally taken in three or four feet of

water; after which they are brought on shore, and split at one

end with a knife, the incision being one inch or more, according

to the size of the mollusca. Through this opening the entrails

are forced out by pressure, and they are much like those of any

other small tenant of the deep. The article is then washed, and

afterward boiled to a certain degree, which must not be too much

or too little. They are then buried in the ground for four hours,

then boiled again for a short time, after which they are dried,

either by the fire or the sun. Those cured by the sun are worth

the most; but where one picul (133 1/3 lbs.) can be cured that

way, I can cure thirty piculs by the fire. When once properly

cured, they can be kept in a dry place for two or three years

without any risk; but they should be examined once in every few

months, say four times a year, to see if any dampness is likely

to affect them.

“The Chinese, as before stated, consider biche de mer a very

great luxury, believing that it wonderfully strengthens and

nourishes the system, and renews the exhausted system of the

immoderate voluptuary. The first quality commands a high price in

Canton, being worth ninety dollars a picul; the second quality,

seventy-five dollars; the third, fifty dollars; the fourth,

thirty dollars; the fifth, twenty dollars; the sixth, twelve

dollars; the seventh, eight dollars; and the eighth, four

dollars; small cargoes, however, will often bring more in

Manilla, Singapore, and Batavia.”

An agreement having been thus entered into, we proceeded

immediately to land everything necessary for preparing the

buildings and clearing the ground. A large flat space near the

eastern shore of the bay was selected, where there was plenty of

both wood and water, and within a convenient distance of the

principal reefs on which the biche de mer was to be procured.

We now all set to work in good earnest, and soon, to the great

astonishment of the savages, had felled a sufficient number of

trees for our purpose, getting them quickly in order for the

framework of the houses, which in two or three days were so far

under way that we could safely trust the rest of the work to the

three men whom we intended to leave behind. These were John

Carson, Alfred Harris, and ___ Peterson (all natives of London, I

believe), who volunteered their services in this respect.

By the last of the month we had everything in readiness for

departure. We had agreed, however, to pay a formal visit of

leave-taking to the village, and Too-wit insisted so

pertinaciously upon our keeping the promise that we did not think

it advisable to run the risk of offending him by a final refusal.

I believe that not one of us had at this time the slightest

suspicion of the good faith of the savages. They had uniformly

behaved with the greatest decorum, aiding us with alacrity in our

work, offering us their commodities, frequently without price,

and never, in any instance, pilfering a single article, although

the high value they set upon the goods we had with us was evident

by the extravagant demonstrations of joy always manifested upon

our making them a present. The women especially were most

obliging in every respect, and, upon the whole, we should have

been the most suspicious of human beings had we entertained a

single thought of perfidy on the part of a people who treated us

so well. A very short while sufficed to prove that this apparent

kindness of disposition was only the result of a deeply laid plan

for our destruction, and that the islanders for whom we

entertained such inordinate feelings of esteem, were among the

most barbarous, subtle, and bloodthirsty wretches that ever

contaminated the face of the globe.

It was on the first of February that we went on shore for the

purpose of visiting the village. Although, as said before, we

entertained not the slightest suspicion, still no proper

precaution was neglected. Six men were left in the schooner, with

instructions to permit none of the savages to approach the vessel

during our absence, under any pretence whatever, and to remain

constantly on deck. The boarding-nettings were up, the guns

double-shotted with grape and canister, and the swivels loaded

with canisters of musket-balls. She lay, with her anchor apeak,

about a mile from the shore, and no canoe could approach her in

any direction without being distinctly seen and exposed to the

full fire of our swivels immediately.

The six men being left on board, our shore-party consisted of

thirty-two persons in all. We were armed to the teeth, having

with us muskets, pistols, and cutlasses; besides, each had a long

kind of seaman’s knife, somewhat resembling the bowie knife now

so much used throughout our western and southern country. A

hundred of the black skin warriors met us at the landing for the

purpose of accompanying us on our way. We noticed, however, with

some surprise, that they were now entirely without arms; and,

upon questioning Too-wit in relation to this circumstance, he

merely answered that Mattee non we pa pa si—meaning that there

was no need of arms where all were brothers. We took this in good

part, and proceeded.

We had passed the spring and rivulet of which I before spoke, and

were now entering upon a narrow gorge leading through the chain

of soapstone hills among which the village was situated. This

gorge was very rocky and uneven, so much so that it was with no

little difficulty we scrambled through it on our first visit to

Klock-klock. The whole length of the ravine might have been a

mile and a half, or probably two miles. It wound in every

possible direction through the hills (having apparently formed,

at some remote period, the bed of a torrent), in no instance

proceeding more than twenty yards without an abrupt turn. The

sides of this dell would have averaged, I am sure, seventy or

eighty feet in perpendicular altitude throughout the whole of

their extent, and in some portions they arose to an astonishing

height, overshadowing the pass so completely that but little of

the light of day could penetrate. The general width was about

forty feet, and occasionally it diminished so as not to allow the

passage of more than five or six persons abreast. In short, there

could be no place in the world better adapted for the

consummation of an ambuscade, and it was no more than natural

that we should look carefully to our arms as we entered upon it.

When I now think of our egregious folly, the chief subject of

astonishment seems to be, that we should have ever ventured,

under any circumstances, so completely into the power of unknown

savages as to permit them to march both before and behind us in

our progress through this ravine. Yet such was the order we

blindly took up, trusting foolishly to the force of our party,

the unarmed condition of Too-wit and his men, the certain

efficacy of our firearms (whose effect was yet a secret to the

natives), and, more than all, to the long-sustained pretension of

friendship kept up by these infamous wretches. Five or six of

them went on before, as if to lead the way, ostentatiously

busying themselves in removing the larger stones and rubbish from

the path. Next came our own party. We walked closely together,

taking care only to prevent separation. Behind followed the main

body of the savages, observing unusual order and decorum.

Dirk Peters, a man named Wilson Allen, and myself were on the

right of our companions, examining, as we went along, the

singular stratification of the precipice which overhung us. A

fissure in the soft rock attracted our attention. It was about

wide enough for one person to enter without squeezing, and

extended back into the hill some eighteen or twenty feet in a

straight course, sloping afterward to the left. The height of the

opening, is far as we could see into it from the main gorge, was

perhaps sixty or seventy feet. There were one or two stunted

shrubs growing from the crevices, bearing a species of filbert

which I felt some curiosity to examine, and pushed in briskly for

that purpose, gathering five or six of the nuts at a grasp, and

then hastily retreating. As I turned, I found that Peters and

Allen had followed me. I desired them to go back, as there was

not room for two persons to pass, saying they should have some of

my nuts. They accordingly turned, and were scrambling back, Allen

being close to the mouth of the fissure, when I was suddenly

aware of a concussion resembling nothing I had ever before

experienced, and which impressed me with a vague conception, if

indeed I then thought of anything, that the whole foundations of

the solid globe were suddenly rent asunder, and that the day of

universal dissolution was at hand.

CHAPTER 21

As soon as I could collect my scattered senses, I found myself

nearly suffocated, and grovelling in utter darkness among a

quantity of loose earth, which was also falling upon me heavily

in every direction, threatening to bury me entirely. Horribly

alarmed at this idea, I struggled to gain my feet, and at last

succeeded. I then remained motionless for some moments,

endeavouring to conceive what had happened to me, and where I

was. Presently I heard a deep groan just at my ear, and afterward

the smothered voice of Peters calling to me for aid in the name

of God. I scrambled one or two paces forward, when I fell

directly over the head and shoulders of my companion, who, I soon

discovered, was buried in a loose mass of earth as far as his

middle, and struggling desperately to free himself from the

pressure. I tore the dirt from around him with all the energy I

could command, and at length succeeded in getting him out.

As soon as we sufficiently recovered from our fright and surprise

to be capable of conversing rationally, we both came to the

conclusion that the walls of the fissure in which we had ventured

had, by some convulsion of nature, or probably from their own

weight, caved in overhead, and that we were consequently lost for

ever, being thus entombed alive. For a long time we gave up

supinely to the most intense agony and despair, such as cannot be

adequately imagined by those who have never been in a similar

position. I firmly believed that no incident ever occurring in

the course of human events is more adapted to inspire the

supremeness of mental and bodily distress than a case like our

own, of living inhumation. The blackness of darkness which

envelops the victim, the terrific oppression of lungs, the

stifling fumes from the damp earth, unite with the ghastly

considerations that we are beyond the remotest confines of hope,

and that such is the allotted portion of the dead, to carry into

the human heart a degree of appalling awe and horror not to be

tolerated—never to be conceived.

At length Peters proposed that we should endeavour to ascertain

precisely the extent of our calamity, and grope about our prison;

it being barely possible, he observed, that some opening might

yet be left us for escape. I caught eagerly at this hope, and,

arousing myself to exertion, attempted to force my way through

the loose earth. Hardly had I advanced a single step before a

glimmer of light became perceptible, enough to convince me that,

at all events, we should not immediately perish for want of air.

We now took some degree of heart, and encouraged each other to

hope for the best. Having scrambled over a bank of rubbish which

impeded our farther progress in the direction of the light, we

found less difficulty in advancing and also experienced some

relief from the excessive oppression of lungs which had tormented

us. Presently we were enabled to obtain a glimpse of the objects

around, and discovered that we were near the extremity of the

straight portion of the fissure, where it made a turn to the

left. A few struggles more, and we reached the bend, when to our

inexpressible joy, there appeared a long seam or crack extending

upward a vast distance, generally at an angle of about forty-five

degrees, although sometimes much more precipitous. We could not

see through the whole extent of this opening; but, as a good deal

of light came down it, we had little doubt of finding at the top

of it (if we could by any means reach the top) a clear passage

into the open air.

I now called to mind that three of us had entered the fissure

from the main gorge, and that our companion, Allen, was still

missing; we determined at once to retrace our steps and look for

him. After a long search, and much danger from the farther caving

in of the earth above us, Peters at length cried out to me that

he had hold of our companion’s foot, and that his whole body was

deeply buried beneath the rubbish beyond the possibility of

extricating him. I soon found that what he said was too true, and

that, of course, life had been long extinct. With sorrowful

hearts, therefore, we left the corpse to its fate, and again made

our way to the bend.

The breadth of the seam was barely sufficient to admit us, and,

after one or two ineffectual efforts at getting up, we began once

more to despair. I have before said that the chain of hills

through which ran the main gorge was composed of a species of

soft rock resembling soapstone. The sides of the cleft we were

now attempting to ascend were of the same material, and so

excessively slippery, being wet, that we could get but little

foothold upon them even in their least precipitous parts; in some

places, where the ascent was nearly perpendicular, the difficulty

was, of course, much aggravated; and, indeed, for some time we

thought insurmountable. We took courage, however, from despair,

and what, by dint of cutting steps in the soft stone with our

bowie knives, and swinging at the risk of our lives, to small

projecting points of a harder species of slaty rock which now and

then protruded from the general mass, we at length reached a

natural platform, from which was perceptible a patch of blue sky,

at the extremity of a thickly-wooded ravine. Looking back now,

with somewhat more leisure, at the passage through which we had

thus far proceeded, we clearly saw from the appearance of its

sides, that it was of late formation, and we concluded that the

concussion, whatever it was, which had so unexpectedly

overwhelmed us, had also, at the same moment, laid open this path

for escape. Being quite exhausted with exertion, and indeed, so

weak that we were scarcely able to stand or articulate, Peters

now proposed that we should endeavour to bring our companions to

the rescue by firing the pistols which still remained in our

girdles—the muskets as well as cutlasses had been lost among the

loose earth at the bottom of the chasm. Subsequent events proved

that, had we fired, we should have sorely repented it, but

luckily a half suspicion of foul play had by this time arisen in

my mind, and we forbore to let the savages know of our

whereabouts.

After having reposed for about an hour, we pushed on slowly up

the ravine, and had gone no great way before we heard a

succession of tremendous yells. At length we reached what might

be called the surface of the ground; for our path hitherto, since

leaving the platform, had lain beneath an archway of high rock

and foliage, at a vast distance overhead. With great caution we

stole to a narrow opening, through which we had a clear sight of

the surrounding country, when the whole dreadful secret of the

concussion broke upon us in one moment and at one view.

The spot from which we looked was not far from the summit of the

highest peak in the range of the soapstone hills. The gorge in

which our party of thirty-two had entered ran within fifty feet

to the left of us. But, for at least one hundred yards, the

channel or bed of this gorge was entirely filled up with the

chaotic ruins of more than a million tons of earth and stone that

had been artificially tumbled within it. The means by which the

vast mass had been precipitated were not more simple than

evident, for sure traces of the murderous work were yet

remaining. In several spots along the top of the eastern side of

the gorge (we were now on the western) might be seen stakes of

wood driven into the earth. In these spots the earth had not

given way, but throughout the whole extent of the face of the

precipice from which the mass had fallen, it was clear, from

marks left in the soil resembling those made by the drill of the

rock blaster, that stakes similar to those we saw standing had

been inserted, at not more than a yard apart, for the length of

perhaps three hundred feet, and ranging at about ten feet back

from the edge of the gulf. Strong cords of grape vine were

attached to the stakes still remaining on the hill, and it was

evident that such cords had also been attached to each of the

other stakes. I have already spoken of the singular

stratification of these soapstone hills; and the description just

given of the narrow and deep fissure through which we effected

our escape from inhumation will afford a further conception of

its nature. This was such that almost every natural convulsion

would be sure to split the soil into perpendicular layers or

ridges running parallel with one another, and a very moderate

exertion of art would be sufficient for effecting the same

purpose. Of this stratification the savages had availed

themselves to accomplish their treacherous ends. There can be no

doubt that, by the continuous line of stakes, a partial rupture

of the soil had been brought about probably to the depth of one

or two feet, when by means of a savage pulling at the end of each

of the cords (these cords being attached to the tops of the

stakes, and extending back from the edge of the cliff), a vast

leverage power was obtained, capable of hurling the whole face of

the hill, upon a given signal, into the bosom of the abyss below.

The fate of our poor companions was no longer a matter of

uncertainty. We alone had escaped from the tempest of that

overwhelming destruction. We were the only living white men upon

the island.

CHAPTER 22

Our situation, as it now appeared, was scarcely less dreadful

than when we had conceived ourselves entombed forever. We saw

before us no prospect but that of being put to death by the

savages, or of dragging out a miserable existence in captivity

among them. We might, to be sure, conceal ourselves for a time

from their observation among the fastnesses of the hills, and, as

a final resort, in the chasm from which we had just issued; but

we must either perish in the long polar winter through cold and

famine, or be ultimately discovered in our efforts to obtain

relief.

The whole country around us seemed to be swarming with savages,

crowds of whom, we now perceived, had come over from the islands

to the southward on flat rafts, doubtless with a view of lending

their aid in the capture and plunder of the Jane. The vessel

still lay calmly at anchor in the bay, those on board being

apparently quite unconscious of any danger awaiting them. How we

longed at that moment to be with them! either to aid in effecting

their escape, or to perish with them in attempting a defence. We

saw no chance even of warning them of their danger without

bringing immediate destruction upon our own heads, with but a

remote hope of benefit to them. A pistol fired might suffice to

apprise them that something wrong had occurred; but the report

could not possibly inform them that their only prospect of safety

lay in getting out of the harbour forthwith—it could not tell

them that no principles of honour now bound them to remain, that

their companions were no longer among the living. Upon hearing

the discharge they could not be more thoroughly prepared to meet

the foe, who were now getting ready to attack, than they already

were, and always had been. No good, therefore, and infinite harm,

would result from our firing, and after mature deliberation, we

forbore.

Our next thought was to attempt to rush toward the vessel, to

seize one of the four canoes which lay at the head of the bay,

and endeavour to force a passage on board. But the utter

impossibility of succeeding in this desperate task soon became

evident. The country, as I said before, was literally swarming

with the natives, skulking among the bushes and recesses of the

hills, so as not to be observed from the schooner. In our

immediate vicinity especially, and blockading the sole path by

which we could hope to attain the shore at the proper point were

stationed the whole party of the black skin warriors, with

Too-wit at their head, and apparently only waiting for some

re-enforcement to commence his onset upon the Jane. The canoes,

too, which lay at the head of the bay, were manned with savages,

unarmed, it is true, but who undoubtedly had arms within reach.

We were forced, therefore, however unwillingly, to remain in our

place of concealment, mere spectators of the conflict which

presently ensued.

In about half an hour we saw some sixty or seventy rafts, or

flatboats, without riggers, filled with savages, and coming round

the southern bight of the harbor. They appeared to have no arms

except short clubs, and stones which lay in the bottom of the

rafts. Immediately afterward another detachment, still larger,

appeared in an opposite direction, and with similar weapons. The

four canoes, too, were now quickly filled with natives, starting

up from the bushes at the head of the bay, and put off swiftly to

join the other parties. Thus, in less time than I have taken to

tell it, and as if by magic, the Jane saw herself surrounded by

an immense multitude of desperadoes evidently bent upon capturing

her at all hazards.

That they would succeed in so doing could not be doubted for an

instant. The six men left in the vessel, however resolutely they

might engage in her defence, were altogether unequal to the

proper management of the guns, or in any manner to sustain a

contest at such odds. I could hardly imagine that they would make

resistance at all, but in this was deceived; for presently I saw

them get springs upon the cable, and bring the vessel’s starboard

broadside to bear upon the canoes, which by this time were within

pistol range, the rafts being nearly a quarter of a mile to

windward. Owing to some cause unknown, but most probably to the

agitation of our poor friends at seeing themselves in so hopeless

a situation, the discharge was an entire failure. Not a canoe was

hit or a single savage injured, the shots striking short and

ricocheting over their heads. The only effect produced upon them

was astonishment at the unexpected report and smoke, which was so

excessive that for some moments I almost thought they would

abandon their design entirely, and return to the shore. And this

they would most likely have done had our men followed up their

broadside by a discharge of small arms, in which, as the canoes

were now so near at hand, they could not have failed in doing

some execution, sufficient, at least, to deter this party from a

farther advance, until they could have given the rafts also a

broadside. But, in place of this, they left the canoe party to

recover from their panic, and, by looking about them, to see that

no injury had been sustained, while they flew to the larboard to

get ready for the rafts.

The discharge to larboard produced the most terrible effect. The

star and double-headed shot of the large guns cut seven or eight

of the rafts completely asunder, and killed, perhaps, thirty or

forty of the savages outright, while a hundred of them, at least,

were thrown into the water, the most of them dreadfully wounded.

The remainder, frightened out of their senses, commenced at once

a precipitate retreat, not even waiting to pick up their maimed

companions, who were swimming about in every direction, screaming

and yelling for aid. This great success, however, came too late

for the salvation of our devoted people. The canoe party were

already on board the schooner to the number of more than a

hundred and fifty, the most of them having succeeded in

scrambling up the chains and over the boarding-netting even

before the matches had been applied to the larboard guns. Nothing

now could withstand their brute rage. Our men were borne down at

once, overwhelmed, trodden under foot, and absolutely torn to

pieces in an instant.

Seeing this, the savages on the rafts got the better of their

fears, and came up in shoals to the plunder. In five minutes the

Jane was a pitiable scene indeed of havoc and tumultuous outrage.

The decks were split open and ripped up; the cordage, sails, and

everything movable on deck demolished as if by magic, while, by

dint of pushing at the stern, towing with the canoes, and hauling

at the sides, as they swam in thousands around the vessel, the

wretches finally forced her on shore (the cable having been

slipped), and delivered her over to the good offices of Too-wit,

who, during the whole of the engagement, had maintained, like a

skilful general, his post of security and reconnaissance among

the hills, but, now that the victory was completed to his

satisfaction, condescended to scamper down with his warriors of

the black skin, and become a partaker in the spoils.

Too-wit’s descent left us at liberty to quit our hiding place and

reconnoitre the hill in the vicinity of the chasm. At about fifty

yards from the mouth of it we saw a small spring of water, at

which we slaked the burning thirst that now consumed us. Not far

from the spring we discovered several of the filbert-bushes which

I mentioned before. Upon tasting the nuts we found them

palatable, and very nearly resembling in flavour the common

English filbert. We collected our hats full immediately,

deposited them within the ravine, and returned for more. While we

were busily employed in gathering these, a rustling in the bushes

alarmed us, and we were upon the point of stealing back to our

covert, when a large black bird of the bittern species

strugglingly and slowly arose above the shrubs. I was so much

startled that I could do nothing, but Peters had sufficient

presence of mind to run up to it before it could make its escape,

and seize it by the neck. Its struggles and screams were

tremendous, and we had thoughts of letting it go, lest the noise

should alarm some of the savages who might be still lurking in

the neighbourhood. A stab with a bowie knife, however, at length

brought it to the ground, and we dragged it into the ravine,

congratulating ourselves that, at all events, we had thus

obtained a supply of food enough to last us for a week.

We now went out again to look about us, and ventured a

considerable distance down the southern declivity of the hill,

but met with nothing else which could serve us for food. We

therefore collected a quantity of dry wood and returned, seeing

one or two large parties of the natives on their way to the

village, laden with the plunder of the vessel, and who, we were

apprehensive, might discover us in passing beneath the hill.

Our next care was to render our place of concealment as secure as

possible, and with this object, we arranged some brushwood over

the aperture which I have before spoken of as the one through

which we saw the patch of blue sky, on reaching the platform from

the interior of the chasm. We left only a very small opening just

wide enough to admit of our seeing the bay, without the risk of

being discovered from below. Having done this, we congratulated

ourselves upon the security of the position; for we were now

completely excluded from observation, as long as we chose to

remain within the ravine itself, and not venture out upon the

hill, We could perceive no traces of the savages having ever been

within this hollow; but, indeed, when we came to reflect upon the

probability that the fissure through which we attained it had

been only just now created by the fall of the cliff opposite, and

that no other way of attaining it could be perceived, we were not

so much rejoiced at the thought of being secure from molestation

as fearful lest there should be absolutely no means left us for

descent. We resolved to explore the summit of the hill

thoroughly, when a good opportunity should offer. In the meantime

we watched the motions of the savages through our loophole.

They had already made a complete wreck of the vessel, and were

now preparing to set her on fire. In a little while we saw the

smoke ascending in huge volumes from her main hatchway, and,

shortly afterward, a dense mass of flame burst up from the

forecastle. The rigging, masts and what remained of the sails

caught immediately, and the fire spread rapidly along the decks.

Still a great many of the savages retained their stations about

her, hammering with large stones, axes, and cannon balls at the

bolts and other iron and copper work. On the beach, and in canoes

and rafts, there were not less, altogether, in the immediate

vicinity of the schooner, than ten thousand natives, besides the

shoals of them who, laden with booty, were making their way

inland and over to the neighbouring islands. We now anticipated a

catastrophe, and were not disappointed. First of all there came a

smart shock (which we felt as distinctly where we were as if we

had been slightly galvanized), but unattended with any visible

signs of an explosion. The savages were evidently startled, and

paused for an instant from their labours and yellings. They were

upon the point of recommencing, when suddenly a mass of smoke

puffed up from the decks, resembling a black and heavy

thundercloud—then, as if from its bowels, arose a tall stream of

vivid fire to the height, apparently, of a quarter of a mile—then

there came a sudden circular expansion of the flame—then the

whole atmosphere was magically crowded, in a single instant, with

a wild chaos of wood, and metal, and human limbs—and, lastly,

came the concussion in its fullest fury, which hurled us

impetuously from our feet, while the hills echoed and re-echoed

the tumult, and a dense shower of the minutest fragments of the

ruins tumbled headlong in every direction around us.

The havoc among the savages far exceeded our utmost expectation,

and they had now, indeed, reaped the full and perfect fruits of

their treachery. Perhaps a thousand perished by the explosion,

while at least an equal number were desperately mangled. The

whole surface of the bay was literally strewn with the struggling

and drowning wretches, and on shore matters were even worse. They

seemed utterly appalled by the suddenness and completeness of

their discomfiture, and made no efforts at assisting one another.

At length we observed a total change in their demeanour. From

absolute stupor, they appeared to be, all at once, aroused to the

highest pitch of excitement, and rushed wildly about, going to

and from a certain point on the beach, with the strangest

expressions of mingled horror, rage, and intense curiosity

depicted on their countenances, and shouting, at the top of their

voices, “Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!”

Presently we saw a large body go off into the hills, whence they

returned in a short time, carrying stakes of wood. These they

brought to the station where the crowd was the thickest, which

now separated so as to afford us a view of the object of all this

excitement. We perceived something white lying upon the ground,

but could not immediately make out what it was. At length we saw

that it was the carcass of the strange animal with the scarlet

teeth and claws which the schooner had picked up at sea on the

eighteenth of January. Captain Guy had had the body preserved for

the purpose of stuffing the skin and taking it to England. I

remember he had given some directions about it just before our

making the island, and it had been brought into the cabin and

stowed away in one of the lockers. It had now been thrown on

shore by the explosion; but why it had occasioned so much concern

among the savages was more than we could comprehend. Although

they crowded around the carcass at a little distance, none of

them seemed willing to approach it closely. By-and-by the men

with the stakes drove them in a circle around it, and no sooner

was this arrangement completed, than the whole of the vast

assemblage rushed into the interior of the island, with loud

screams of “Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!”

CHAPTER 23

During the six or seven days immediately following we remained in

our hiding-place upon the hill, going out only occasionally, and

then with the greatest precaution, for water and filberts. We had

made a kind of penthouse on the platform, furnishing it with a

bed of dry leaves, and placing in it three large flat stones,

which served us for both fireplace and table. We kindled a fire

without difficulty by rubbing two pieces of dry wood together,

the one soft, the other hard. The bird we had taken in such good

season proved excellent eating, although somewhat tough. It was

not an oceanic fowl, but a species of bittern, with jet black and

grizzly plumage, and diminutive wings in proportion to its bulk.

We afterward saw three of the same kind in the vicinity of the

ravine, apparently seeking for the one we had captured; but, as

they never alighted, we had no opportunity of catching them.

As long as this fowl lasted we suffered nothing from our

situation, but it was now entirely consumed, and it became

absolutely necessary that we should look out for provision. The

filberts would not satisfy the cravings of hunger, afflicting us,

too, with severe gripings of the bowels, and, if freely indulged

in, with violent headache. We had seen several large tortoises

near the seashore to the eastward of the hill, and perceived they

might be easily taken, if we could get at them without the

observation of the natives. It was resolved, therefore, to make

an attempt at descending.

We commenced by going down the southern declivity, which seemed

to offer the fewest difficulties, but had not proceeded a hundred

yards before (as we had anticipated from appearances on the

hilltop) our progress was entirely arrested by a branch of the

gorge in which our companions had perished. We now passed along

the edge of this for about a quarter of a mile, when we were

again stopped by a precipice of immense depth, and, not being

able to make our way along the brink of it, we were forced to

retrace our steps by the main ravine.

We now pushed over to the eastward, but with precisely similar

fortune. After an hour’s scramble, at the risk of breaking our

necks, we discovered that we had merely descended into a vast pit

of black granite, with fine dust at the bottom, and whence the

only egress was by the rugged path in which we had come down.

Toiling again up this path, we now tried the northern edge of the

hill. Here we were obliged to use the greatest possible caution

in our maneuvers, as the least indiscretion would expose us to

the full view of the savages in the village. We crawled along,

therefore, on our hands and knees, and, occasionally, were even

forced to throw ourselves at full length, dragging our bodies

along by means of the shrubbery. In this careful manner we had

proceeded but a little way, when we arrived at a chasm far deeper

than any we had yet seen, and leading directly into the main

gorge. Thus our fears were fully confirmed, and we found

ourselves cut off entirely from access to the world below.

Thoroughly exhausted by our exertions, we made the best of our

way back to the platform, and throwing ourselves upon the bed of

leaves, slept sweetly and soundly for some hours.

For several days after this fruitless search we were occupied in

exploring every part of the summit of the hill, in order to

inform ourselves of its actual resources. We found that it would

afford us no food, with the exception of the unwholesome

filberts, and a rank species of scurvy grass, which grew in a

little patch of not more than four rods square, and would be soon

exhausted. On the fifteenth of February, as near as I can

remember, there was not a blade of this left, and the nuts were

growing scarce; our situation, therefore, could hardly be more

lamentable. {*5} On the sixteenth we again went round the walls

of our prison, in hope of finding some avenue of escape; but to

no purpose. We also descended the chasm in which we had been

overwhelmed, with the faint expectation of discovering, through

this channel, some opening to the main ravine. Here, too, we were

disappointed, although we found and brought up with us a musket.

On the seventeenth we set out with the determination of examining

more thoroughly the chasm of black granite into which we had made

our way in the first search. We remembered that one of the

fissures in the sides of this pit had been but partially looked

into, and we were anxious to explore it, although with no

expectation of discovering here any opening.

We found no great difficulty in reaching the bottom of the hollow

as before, and were now sufficiently calm to survey it with some

attention. It was, indeed, one of the most singular-looking

places imaginable, and we could scarcely bring ourselves to

believe it altogether the work of nature. The pit, from its

eastern to its western extremity, was about five hundred yards in

length, when all its windings were threaded; the distance from

east to west in a straight line not being more (I should suppose,

having no means of accurate examination) than forty or fifty

yards. Upon first descending into the chasm, that is to say, for

a hundred feet downward from the summit of the hill, the sides of

the abyss bore little resemblance to each other, and, apparently,

had at no time been connected, the one surface being of the

soapstone, and the other of marl, granulated with some metallic

matter. The average breadth or interval between the two cliffs

was probably here sixty feet, but there seemed to be no

regularity of formation. Passing down, however, beyond the limit

spoken of, the interval rapidly contracted, and the sides began

to run parallel, although, for some distance farther, they were

still dissimilar in their material and form of surface. Upon

arriving within fifty feet of the bottom, a perfect regularity

commenced. The sides were now entirely uniform in substance, in

colour, and in lateral direction, the material being a very black

and shining granite, and the distance between the two sides, at

all points facing each other, exactly twenty yards. The precise

formation of the chasm will be best understood by means of a

delineation taken upon the spot; for I had luckily with me a

pocketbook and pencil, which I preserved with great care through

a long series of subsequent adventure, and to which I am indebted

for memoranda of many subjects which would otherwise have been

crowded from my remembrance.

This figure [No figures in text] gives the general outlines of

the chasm, without the minor cavities in the sides, of which

there were several, each cavity having a corresponding

protuberance opposite. The bottom of the gulf was covered to the

depth of three or four inches with a powder almost impalpable,

beneath which we found a continuation of the black granite. To

the right, at the lower extremity, will be noticed the appearance

of a small opening; this is the fissure alluded to above, and to

examine which more minutely than before was the object of our

second visit. We now pushed into it with vigor, cutting away a

quantity of brambles which impeded us, and removing a vast heap

of sharp flints somewhat resembling arrowheads in shape. We were

encouraged to persevere, however, by perceiving some little light

proceeding from the farther end. We at length squeezed our way

for about thirty feet, and found that the aperture was a low and

regularly formed arch, having a bottom of the same impalpable

powder as that in the main chasm. A strong light now broke upon

us, and, turning a short bend, we found ourselves in another

lofty chamber, similar to the one we had left in every respect

but longitudinal form. Its general figure is here given.

The total length of this chasm, commencing at the opening a and

proceeding round the curve b to the extremity d, is five

hundred and fifty yards. At c we discovered a small aperture

similar to the one through which we had issued from the other

chasm, and this was choked up in the same manner with brambles

and a quantity of the white arrowhead flints. We forced our way

through it, finding it about forty feet long, and emerged into a

third chasm. This, too, was precisely like the first, except in

its longitudinal shape, which was thus.

We found the entire length of the third chasm three hundred and

twenty yards. At the point a was an opening about six feet

wide, and extending fifteen feet into the rock, where it

terminated in a bed of marl, there being no other chasm beyond,

as we had expected. We were about leaving this fissure, into

which very little light was admitted, when Peters called my

attention to a range of singular-looking indentures in the

surface of the marl forming the termination of the cul-de-sac.

With a very slight exertion of the imagination, the left, or most

northern of these indentures might have been taken for the

intentional, although rude, representation of a human figure

standing erect, with outstretched arm. The rest of them bore also

some little resemblance to alphabetical characters, and Peters

was willing, at all events, to adopt the idle opinion that they

were really such. I convinced him of his error, finally, by

directing his attention to the floor of the fissure, where, among

the powder, we picked up, piece by piece, several large flakes of

the marl, which had evidently been broken off by some convulsion

from the surface where the indentures were found, and which had

projecting points exactly fitting the indentures; thus proving

them to have been the work of nature.

After satisfying ourselves that these singular caverns afforded

us no means of escape from our prison, we made our way back,

dejected and dispirited, to the summit of the hill. Nothing worth

mentioning occurred during the next twenty-four hours, except

that, in examining the ground to the eastward of the third chasm,

we found two triangular holes of great depth, and also with black

granite sides. Into these holes we did not think it worth while

to attempt descending, as they had the appearance of mere natural

wells, without outlet. They were each about twenty yards in

circumference, and their shape, as well as relative position in

regard to the third chasm, is shown in figure 5. {image}

CHAPTER 24

On the twentieth of the month, finding it altogether impossible

to subsist any longer upon the filberts, the use of which

occasioned us the most excruciating torment, we resolved to make

a desperate attempt at descending the southern declivity of the

hill. The face of the precipice was here of the softest species

of soapstone, although nearly perpendicular throughout its whole

extent (a depth of a hundred and fifty feet at the least), and in

many places even overarching. After a long search we discovered a

narrow ledge about twenty feet below the brink of the gulf; upon

this Peters contrived to leap, with what assistance I could

render him by means of our pocket-handkerchiefs tied together.

With somewhat more difficulty I also got down; and we then saw

the possibility of descending the whole way by the process in

which we had clambered up from the chasm when we had been buried

by the fall of the hill—that is, by cutting steps in the face of

the soapstone with our knives. The extreme hazard of the attempt

can scarcely be conceived; but, as there was no other resource,

we determined to undertake it.

Upon the ledge where we stood there grew some filbert-bushes; and

to one of these we made fast an end of our rope of handkerchiefs.

The other end being tied round Peters’ waist, I lowered him down

over the edge of the precipice until the handkerchiefs were

stretched tight. He now proceeded to dig a deep hole in the

soapstone (as far in as eight or ten inches), sloping away the

rock above to the height of a foot, or thereabout, so as to allow

of his driving, with the butt of a pistol, a tolerably strong peg

into the levelled surface. I then drew him up for about four

feet, when he made a hole similar to the one below, driving in a

peg as before, and having thus a resting-place for both feet and

hands. I now unfastened the handkerchiefs from the bush, throwing

him the end, which he tied to the peg in the uppermost hole,

letting himself down gently to a station about three feet lower

than he had yet been that is, to the full extent of the

handkerchiefs. Here he dug another hole, and drove another peg.

He then drew himself up, so as to rest his feet in the hole just

cut, taking hold with his hands upon the peg in the one above. It

was now necessary to untie the handkerchiefs from the topmost

peg, with the view of fastening them to the second; and here he

found that an error had been committed in cutting the holes at so

great a distance apart. However, after one or two unsuccessful

and dangerous attempts at reaching the knot (having to hold on

with his left hand while he labored to undo the fastening with

his right), he at length cut the string, leaving six inches of it

affixed to the peg. Tying the handkerchiefs now to the second

peg, he descended to a station below the third, taking care not

to go too far down. By these means (means which I should never

have conceived of myself, and for which we were indebted

altogether to Peters’ ingenuity and resolution) my companion

finally succeeded, with the occasional aid of projections in the

cliff, in reaching the bottom without accident.

It was some time before I could summon sufficient resolution to

follow him; but I did at length attempt it. Peters had taken off

his shirt before descending, and this, with my own, formed the

rope necessary for the adventure. After throwing down the musket

found in the chasm, I fastened this rope to the bushes, and let

myself down rapidly, striving, by the vigor of my movements, to

banish the trepidation which I could overcome in no other manner.

This answered sufficiently well for the first four or five steps;

but presently I found my imagination growing terribly excited by

thoughts of the vast depths yet to be descended, and the

precarious nature of the pegs and soapstone holes which were my

only support. It was in vain I endeavored to banish these

reflections, and to keep my eyes steadily bent upon the flat

surface of the cliff before me. The more earnestly I struggled

_not to think,_the more intensely vivid became my conceptions,

and the more horribly distinct. At length arrived that crisis of

fancy, so fearful in all similar cases, the crisis in which we

began to anticipate the feelings with which we _shall_fall—to

picture to ourselves the sickness, and dizziness, and the last

struggle, and the half swoon, and the final bitterness of the

rushing and headlong descent. And now I found these fancies

creating their own realities, and all imagined horrors crowding

upon me in fact. I felt my knees strike violently together, while

my fingers were gradually but certainly relaxing their grasp.

There was a ringing in my ears, and I said, “This is my knell of

death!” And now I was consumed with the irrepressible desire of

looking below. I could not, I would not, confine my glances to

the cliff; and, with a wild, indefinable emotion, half of horror,

half of a relieved oppression, I threw my vision far down into

the abyss. For one moment my fingers clutched convulsively upon

their hold, while, with the movement, the faintest possible idea

of ultimate escape wandered, like a shadow, through my mind—in

the next my whole soul was pervaded with a longing to fall; a

desire, a yearning, a passion utterly uncontrollable. I let go at

once my grasp upon the peg, and, turning half round from the

precipice, remained tottering for an instant against its naked

face. But now there came a spinning of the brain; a

shrill-sounding and phantom voice screamed within my ears; a

dusky, fiendish, and filmy figure stood immediately beneath me;

and, sighing, I sunk down with a bursting heart, and plunged

within its arms.

I had swooned, and Peters had caught me as I fell. He had

observed my proceedings from his station at the bottom of the

cliff; and perceiving my imminent danger, had endeavored to

inspire me with courage by every suggestion he could devise;

although my confusion of mind had been so great as to prevent my

hearing what he said, or being conscious that he had even spoken

to me at all. At length, seeing me totter, he hastened to ascend

to my rescue, and arrived just in time for my preservation. Had I

fallen with my full weight, the rope of linen would inevitably

have snapped, and I should have been precipitated into the abyss;

as it was, he contrived to let me down gently, so as to remain

suspended without danger until animation returned. This was in

about fifteen minutes. On recovery, my trepidation had entirely

vanished; I felt a new being, and, with some little further aid

from my companion, reached the bottom also in safety.

We now found ourselves not far from the ravine which had proved

the tomb of our friends, and to the southward of the spot where

the hill had fallen. The place was one of singular wildness, and

its aspect brought to my mind the descriptions given by

travellers of those dreary regions marking the site of degraded

Babylon. Not to speak of the ruins of the disrupted cliff, which

formed a chaotic barrier in the vista to the northward, the

surface of the ground in every other direction was strewn with

huge tumuli, apparently the wreck of some gigantic structures of

art; although, in detail, no semblance of art could be detected.

Scoria were abundant, and large shapeless blocks of the black

granite, intermingled with others of marl, {*6} and both

granulated with metal. Of vegetation there were no traces

whatsoever throughout the whole of the desolate area within

sight. Several immense scorpions were seen, and various reptiles

not elsewhere to be found in the high latitudes. As food was our

most immediate object, we resolved to make our way to the

seacoast, distant not more than half a mile, with a view of

catching turtle, several of which we had observed from our place

of concealment on the hill. We had proceeded some hundred yards,

threading our route cautiously between the huge rocks and tumuli,

when, upon turning a corner, five savages sprung upon us from a

small cavern, felling Peters to the ground with a blow from a

club. As he fell the whole party rushed upon him to secure their

victim, leaving me time to recover from my astonishment. I still

had the musket, but the barrel had received so much injury in

being thrown from the precipice that I cast it aside as useless,

preferring to trust my pistols, which had been carefully

preserved in order. With these I advanced upon the assailants,

firing one after the other in quick succession. Two savages fell,

and one, who was in the act of thrusting a spear into Peters,

sprung to his feet without accomplishing his purpose. My

companion being thus released, we had no further difficulty. He

had his pistols also, but prudently declined using them,

confiding in his great personal strength, which far exceeded that

of any person I have ever known. Seizing a club from one of the

savages who had fallen, he dashed out the brains of the three who

remained, killing each instantaneously with a single blow of the

weapon, and leaving us completely masters of the field.

So rapidly had these events passed, that we could scarcely

believe in their reality, and were standing over the bodies of

the dead in a species of stupid contemplation, when we were

brought to recollection by the sound of shouts in the distance.

It was clear that the savages had been alarmed by the firing, and

that we had little chance of avoiding discovery. To regain the

cliff, it would be necessary to proceed in the direction of the

shouts, and even should we succeed in arriving at its base, we

should never be able to ascend it without being seen. Our

situation was one of the greatest peril, and we were hesitating

in which path to commence a flight, when one of the savages

_whom_I had shot, and supposed dead, sprang briskly to his feet,

and attempted to make his escape. We overtook _him,_however,

before he had advanced many paces, and were about to put him to

death, when Peters suggested that we might derive some benefit

from forcing him to accompany us in our attempt to escape. We

therefore dragged him with us, making him understand that we

would shoot him if he offered resistance. In a few minutes he was

perfectly submissive, and ran by our sides as we pushed in among

the rocks, making for the seashore.

So far, the irregularities of the ground we had been traversing

hid the sea, except at intervals, from our sight, and, when we

first had it fairly in view, it was perhaps two hundred yards

distant. As we emerged into the open beach we saw, to our great

dismay, an immense crowd of the natives pouring from the village,

and from all visible quarters of the island, making toward us

with gesticulations of extreme fury, and howling like wild

beasts. We were upon the point of turning upon our steps, and

trying to secure a retreat among the fastnesses of the rougher

ground, when I discovered the bows of two canoes projecting from

behind a large rock which ran out into the water. Toward these we

now ran with all speed, and, reaching them, found them unguarded,

and without any other freight than three of the large Gallipago

turtles and the usual supply of paddles for sixty rowers. We

instantly took possession of one of them, and, forcing our

captive on board, pushed out to sea with all the strength we

could command.

We had not made, however, more than fifty yards from the shore

before we became sufficiently calm to perceive the great

oversight of which we had been guilty in leaving the other canoe

in the power of the savages, who, by this time, were not more

than twice as far from the beach as ourselves, and were rapidly

advancing to the pursuit. No time was now to be lost. Our hope

was, at best, a forlorn one, but we had none other. It was very

doubtful whether, with the utmost exertion, we could get back in

time to anticipate them in taking possession of the canoe; but

yet there was a chance that we could. We might save ourselves if

we succeeded, while not to make the attempt was to resign

ourselves to inevitable butchery.

The canoe was modelled with the bow and stern alike, and, in

place of turning it around, we merely changed our position in

paddling. As soon as the savages perceived this they redoubled

their yells, as well as their speed, and approached with

inconceivable rapidity. We pulled, however, with all the energy

of desperation, and arrived at the contested point before more

than one of the natives had attained it. This man paid dearly for

his superior agility, Peters shooting him through the head with a

pistol as he approached the shore. The foremost among the rest of

his party were probably some twenty or thirty paces distant as we

seized upon the canoe. We at first endeavored to pull her into

the deep water, beyond the reach of the savages, but, finding her

too firmly aground, and there being no time to spare, Peters,

with one or two heavy strokes from the butt of the musket,

succeeded in dashing out a large portion of the bow and of one

side. We then pushed off. Two of the natives by this time had got

hold of our boat, obstinately refusing to let go, until we were

forced to despatch them with our knives. We were now clear off,

and making great way out to sea. The main body of the savages,

upon reaching the broken canoe, set up the most tremendous yell

of rage and disappointment conceivable. In truth, from everything

I could see of these wretches, they appeared to be the most

wicked, hypocritical, vindictive, bloodthirsty, and altogether

fiendish race of men upon the face of the globe. It is clear we

should have had no mercy had we fallen into their hands. They

made a mad attempt at following us in the fractured canoe, but,

finding it useless, again vented their rage in a series of

hideous vociferations, and rushed up into the hills.

We were thus relieved from immediate danger, but our situation

was still sufficiently gloomy. We knew that four canoes of the

kind we had were at one time in the possession of the savages,

and were not aware of the fact (afterward ascertained from our

captive) that two of these had been blown to pieces in the

explosion of the _Jane Guy._We calculated, therefore, upon being

yet pursued, as soon as our enemies could get round to the bay

(distant about three miles) where the boats were usually laid up.

Fearing this, we made every exertion to leave the island behind

us, and went rapidly through the water, forcing the prisoner to

take a paddle. In about half an hour, when we had gained probably

five or six miles to the southward, a large fleet of the

flat-bottomed canoes or rafts were seen to emerge from the bay

evidently with the design of pursuit. Presently they put back,

despairing to overtake us.

CHAPTER 25

We now found ourselves in the wide and desolate Antarctic Ocean,

in a latitude exceeding eighty-four degrees, in a frail canoe,

and with no provision but the three turtles. The long polar

winter, too, could not be considered as far distant, and it

became necessary that we should deliberate well upon the course

to be pursued. There were six or seven islands in sight belonging

to the same group, and distant from each other about five or six

leagues; but upon neither of these had we any intention to

venture. In coming from the northward in the Jane Guy we had

been gradually leaving behind us the severest regions of

ice—this, however little it maybe in accordance with the

generally received notions respecting the Antarctic, was a

fact—experience would not permit us to deny. To attempt,

therefore, getting back would be folly—especially at so late a

period of the season. Only one course seemed to be left open for

hope. We resolved to steer boldly to the southward, where there

was at least a probability of discovering other lands, and more

than a probability of finding a still milder climate.

So far we had found the Antarctic, like the Arctic Ocean,

peculiarly free from violent storms or immoderately rough water;

but our canoe was, at best, of frail structure, although large,

and we set busily to work with a view of rendering her as safe as

the limited means in our possession would admit. The body of the

boat was of no better material than bark—the bark of a tree

unknown. The ribs were of a tough osier, well adapted to the

purpose for which it was used. We had fifty feet room from stem

to stern, from four to six in breadth, and in depth throughout

four feet and a half-the boats thus differing vastly in shape

from those of any other inhabitants of the Southern Ocean with

whom civilized nations are acquainted. We never did believe them

the workmanship of the ignorant islanders who owned them; and

some days after this period discovered, by questioning our

captive, that they were in fact made by the natives of a group to

the southwest of the country where we found them, having fallen

accidentally into the hands of our barbarians. What we could do

for the security of our boat was very little indeed. Several wide

rents were discovered near both ends, and these we contrived to

patch up with pieces of woollen jacket. With the help of the

superfluous paddles, of which there were a great many, we erected

a kind of framework about the bow, so as to break the force of

any seas which might threaten to fill us in that quarter. We also

set up two paddle-blades for masts, placing them opposite each

other, one by each gunwale, thus saving the necessity of a yard.

To these masts we attached a sail made of our shirts-doing this

with some difficulty, as here we could get no assistance from our

prisoner whatever, although he had been willing enough to labor

in all the other operations. The sight of the linen seemed to

affect him in a very singular manner. He could not be prevailed

upon to touch it or go near it, shuddering when we attempted to

force him, and shrieking out, “Tekeli-li!”

Having completed our arrangements in regard to the security of

the canoe, we now set sail to the south-southeast for the

present, with the view of weathering the most southerly of the

group in sight. This being done, we turned the bow full to the

southward. The weather could by no means be considered

disagreeable. We had a prevailing and very gentle wind from the

northward, a smooth sea, and continual daylight. No ice whatever

was to be seen; _nor did I ever see one particle of this after

leaving the parallel of Bennet’s Islet._Indeed, the temperature

of the water was here far too warm for its existence in any

quantity. Having killed the largest of our tortoises, and

obtained from him not only food but a copious supply of water, we

continued on our course, without any incident of moment, for

perhaps seven or eight days, during which period we must have

proceeded a vast distance to the southward, as the wind blew

constantly with us, and a very strong current set continually in

the direction we were pursuing.

March 1st. {*7}-Many unusual phenomena now—indicated that we

were entering upon a region of novelty and wonder. A high range

of light gray vapor appeared constantly in the southern horizon,

flaring up occasionally in lofty streaks, now darting from east

to west, now from west to east, and again presenting a level and

uniform summit—in short, having all the wild variations of the

Aurora Borealis. The average height of this vapor, as apparent

from our station, was about twenty-five degrees. The temperature

of the sea seemed to be increasing momentarily, and there was a

very perceptible alteration in its color.

March 2d.-To-day by repeated questioning of our captive, we

came to the knowledge of many particulars in regard to the island

of the massacre, its inhabitants, and customs—but with these how

can I now detain the reader? I may say, however, that we learned

there were eight islands in the group—that they were governed by

a common king, named _Tsalemon_or _Psalemoun,_who resided in one

of the smallest of the islands; that the black skins forming the

dress of the warriors came from an animal of huge size to be

found only in a valley near the court of the king—that the

inhabitants of the group fabricated no other boats than the

flat-bottomed rafts; the four canoes being all of the kind in

their possession, and, these having been obtained, by mere

accident, from some large island in the southwest—that his own

name was Nu-Nu—that he had no knowledge of Bennet’s Islet—and

that the appellation of the island he had left was Tsalal. The

commencement of the words _Tsalemon_and Tsalal was given with a

prolonged hissing sound, which we found it impossible to imitate,

even after repeated endeavors, and which was precisely the same

with the note of the black bittern we had eaten up on the summit

of the hill.

March 3d.-The heat of the water was now truly remarkable, and

in color was undergoing a rapid change, being no longer

transparent, but of a milky consistency and hue. In our immediate

vicinity it was usually smooth, never so rough as to endanger the

canoe—but we were frequently surprised at perceiving, to our

right and left, at different distances, sudden and extensive

agitations of the surface; these, we at length noticed, were

always preceded by wild flickerings in the region of vapor to the

southward.

March 4th.-To-day, with the view of widening our sail, the

breeze from the northward dying away perceptibly, I took from my

coat-pocket a white handkerchief. Nu-Nu was seated at my elbow,

and the linen accidentally flaring in his face, he became

violently affected with convulsions. These were succeeded by

drowsiness and stupor, and low murmurings of _“‘Tekeli-li!

Tekeli-li!”_

_March_5th.-The wind had entirely ceased, but it was evident that

we were still hurrying on to the southward, under the influence

of a powerful current. And now,—indeed, it would seem reasonable

that we should experience some alarm at the turn events were

taking—but we felt none. The countenance of Peters indicated

nothing of this nature, although it wore at times an expression I

could not fathom. The polar winter appeared to be coming on—but

coming without its terrors. I felt a numbness of body and mind—a

dreaminess of sensation but this was all.

March 6th.-The gray vapor had now arisen many more degrees

above the horizon, and was gradually losing its grayness of tint.

The heat of the water was extreme, even unpleasant to the touch,

and its milky hue was more evident than ever. Today a violent

agitation of the water occurred very close to the canoe. It was

attended, as usual, with a wild flaring up of the vapor at its

summit, and a momentary division at its base. A fine white

powder, resembling ashes—but certainly not such—fell over the

canoe and over a large surface of the water, as the flickering

died away among the vapor and the commotion subsided in the sea.

Nu-Nu now threw himself on his face in the bottom of the boat,

and no persuasions could induce him to arise.

March 7th.-This day we questioned Nu-Nu concerning the motives

of his countrymen in destroying our companions; but he appeared

to be too utterly overcome by terror to afford us any rational

reply. He still obstinately lay in the bottom of the boat; and,

upon reiterating the questions as to the motive, made use only of

idiotic gesticulations, such as raising with his forefinger the

upper lip, and displaying the teeth which lay beneath it. These

were black. We had never before seen the teeth of an inhabitant

of Tsalal.

March 8th.-To-day there floated by us one of the white animals

whose appearance upon the beach at Tsalal had occasioned so wild

a commotion among the savages. I would have picked it up, but

there came over me a sudden listlessness, and I forbore. The heat

of the water still increased, and the hand could no longer be

endured within it. Peters spoke little, and I knew not what to

think of his apathy. Nu-Nu breathed, and no more.

March 9th.-The whole ashy material fell now continually around

us, and in vast quantities. The range of vapor to the southward

had arisen prodigiously in the horizon, and began to assume more

distinctness of form. I can liken it to nothing but a limitless

cataract, rolling silently into the sea from some immense and

far-distant rampart in the heaven. The gigantic curtain ranged

along the whole extent of the southern horizon. It emitted no

sound.

March 21st.-A sullen darkness now hovered above us—but from out

the milky depths of the ocean a luminous glare arose, and stole

up along the bulwarks of the boat. We were nearly overwhelmed by

the white ashy shower which settled upon us and upon the canoe,

but melted into the water as it fell. The summit of the cataract

was utterly lost in the dimness and the distance. Yet we were

evidently approaching it with a hideous velocity. At intervals

there were visible in it wide, yawning, but momentary rents, and

from out these rents, within which was a chaos of flitting and

indistinct images, there came rushing and mighty, but soundless

winds, tearing up the enkindled ocean in their course.

March 22d.-The darkness had materially increased, relieved only

by the glare of the water thrown back from the white curtain

before us. Many gigantic and pallidly white birds flew

continuously now from beyond the veil, and their scream was the

eternal _Tekeli-li!_as they retreated from our vision. Hereupon

Nu-Nu stirred in the bottom of the boat; but upon touching him we

found his spirit departed. And now we rushed into the embraces of

the cataract, where a chasm threw itself open to receive us. But

there arose in our pathway a shrouded human figure, very far

larger in its proportions than any dweller among men. And the hue

of the skin of the figure was of the perfect whiteness of the

snow.

NOTE

THE circumstances connected with the late sudden and distressing

death of Mr. Pym are already well known to the public through the

medium of the daily press. It is feared that the few remaining

chapters which were to have completed his narrative, and which

were retained by him, while the above were in type, for the

purpose of revision, have been irrecoverably lost through the

accident by which he perished himself. This, however, may prove

not to be the case, and the papers, if ultimately found, will be

given to the public.

No means have been left untried to remedy the deficiency. The

gentleman whose name is mentioned in the preface, and who, from

the statement there made, might be supposed able to fill the

vacuum, has declined the task—this, for satisfactory reasons

connected with the general inaccuracy of the details afforded

him, and his disbelief in the entire truth of the latter portions

of the narration. Peters, from whom some information might be

expected, is still alive, and a resident of Illinois, but cannot

be met with at present. He may hereafter be found, and will, no

doubt, afford material for a conclusion of Mr. Pym’s account.

The loss of two or three final chapters (for there were but two

or three) is the more deeply to be regretted, as it can not be

doubted they contained matter relative to the Pole itself, or at

least to regions in its very near proximity; and as, too, the

statements of the author in relation to these regions may shortly

be verified or contradicted by means of the governmental

expedition now preparing for the Southern Ocean.

On one point in the narrative some remarks may well be offered;

and it would afford the writer of this appendix much pleasure if

what he may here observe should have a tendency to throw credit,

in any degree, upon the very singular pages now published. We

allude to the chasms found in the island of Tsalal, and to the

whole of the figures upon pages 245-47 {of the printed

edition—ed.}.

(Note: No figures were included with this text)

Mr. Pym has given the figures of the chasms without comment, and

speaks decidedly of the _indentures_found at the extremity of the

most easterly of these chasms as having but a fanciful

resemblance to alphabetical characters, and, in short, as being

positively _not such. _This assertion is made in a manner so

simple, and sustained by a species of demonstration so conclusive

(viz., the fitting of the projections of the fragments found

among the dust into the indentures upon the wall), that we are

forced to believe the writer in earnest; and no reasonable reader

should suppose otherwise. But as the facts in relation to all the

figures are most singular (especially when taken in connection

with statements made in the body of the narrative), it may be as

well to say a word or two concerning them all—this, too, the more

especially as the facts in question have, beyond doubt, escaped

the attention of Mr. Poe.

Figure 1, then, figure 2, figure 3, and figure 5, when conjoined

with one another in the precise order which the chasms themselves

presented, and when deprived of the small lateral branches or

arches (which, it will be remembered, served only as a means of

communication between the main chambers, and were of totally

distinct character), constitute an Ethiopian verbal root—the root

“To be shady,’—whence all the inflections of shadow or darkness.

In regard to the “left or most northwardly” of the indentures in

figure 4, it is more than probable that the opinion of Peters was

correct, and that the hieroglyphical appearance was really the

work of art, and intended as the representation of a human form.

The delineation is before the reader, and he may, or may not,

perceive the resemblance suggested; but the rest of the

indentures afford strong confirmation of Peters’ idea. The upper

range is evidently the Arabic verbal root “To be white,” whence

all the inflections of brilliancy and whiteness. The lower range

is not so immediately perspicuous. The characters are somewhat

broken and disjointed; nevertheless, it can not be doubted that,

in their perfect state, they formed the full Egyptian word, “The

region of the south.” It should be observed that these

interpretations confirm the opinion of Peters in regard to the

“most northwardly” of the figures. The arm is outstretched toward

the south.

Conclusions such as these open a wide field for speculation and

exciting conjecture. They should be regarded, perhaps, in

connection with some of the most faintly detailed incidents of

the narrative; although in no visible manner is this chain of

connection complete. Tekeli-li! was the cry of the affrighted

natives of Tsalal upon discovering the carcase of the

_white_animal picked up at sea. This also was the shuddering

exclamatives of Tsalal upon discovering the carcass of the

_white_materials in possession of Mr. Pym. This also was the

shriek of the swift-flying, _white, _and gigantic birds which

issued from the vapory _white_curtain of the South. Nothing

_white_was to be found at Tsalal, and nothing otherwise in the

subsequent voyage to the region beyond. It is not impossible that

“Tsalal,” the appellation of the island of the chasms, may be

found, upon minute philological scrutiny, to betray either some

alliance with the chasms themselves, or some reference to the

Ethiopian characters so mysteriously written in their windings.

_“I have graven it within the hills, and my vengeance upon the

dust within the rock.”_

NOTES TO THE THIRD VOLUME

{*1} Whaling vessels are usually fitted with iron oil-tanks—why

the Grampus was not I have never been able to ascertain.

{*2} The case of the brig Polly, of Boston, is one so much in

point, and her fate, in many respects, so remarkably similar to

our own, that I cannot forbear alluding to it here. This vessel,

of one hundred and thirty tons burden, sailed from Boston, with a

cargo of lumber and provisions, for Santa Croix, on the twelfth

of December, 1811, under the command of Captain Casneau. There

were eight souls on board besides the captain—the mate, four

seamen, and the cook, together with a Mr. Hunt, and a negro girl

belonging to him. On the fifteenth, having cleared the shoal of

Georges, she sprung a leak in a gale of wind from the southeast,

and was finally capsized; but, the masts going by the board, she

afterward righted. They remained in this situation, without fire,

and with very little provision, for the period of one hundred and

ninety-one days (from December the fifteenth to June the

twentieth), when Captain Casneau and Samuel Badger, the only

survivors, were taken off the wreck by the Fame, of Hull, Captain

Featherstone, bound home from Rio Janeiro. When picked up, they

were in latitude 28 degrees N., longitude 13 degrees W., having

drifted above two thousand miles! On the ninth of July the Fame

fell in with the brig Dromero, Captain Perkins, who landed the

two sufferers in Kennebeck. The narrative from which we gather

these details ends in the following words:

“It is natural to inquire how they could float such a vast

distance, upon the most frequented part of the Atlantic, and not

be discovered all this time. They were passed by more than a

dozen sail, one of which came so nigh them that they could

distinctly see the people on deck and on the rigging looking at

them; but, to the inexpressible disappointment of the starving

and freezing men, they stifled the dictates of compassion,

hoisted sail, and cruelly abandoned them to their fate.”

{*3} Among the vessels which at various times have professed to

meet with the Auroras may be mentioned the ship San Miguel, in

1769; the ship Aurora, in 1774; the brig Pearl, in 1779; and the

ship Dolores, in 1790. They all agree in giving the mean latitude

fifty-three degrees south.

{*4} The terms morning and evening, which I have made use of to

avoid confusion in my narrative, as far as possible, must not, of

course, be taken in their ordinary sense. For a long time past we

had had no night at all, the daylight being continual. The dates

throughout are according to nautical time, and the bearing must

be understood as per compass. I would also remark, in this place,

that I cannot, in the first portion of what is here written,

pretend to strict accuracy in respect to dates, or latitudes and

longitudes, having kept no regular journal until after the period

of which this first portion treats. In many instances I have

relied altogether upon memory.

{*5} This day was rendered remarkable by our observing in the

south several huge wreaths of the grayish vapour I have spoken

of.

{*6} The marl was also black; indeed, we noticed no light colored

substances of any kind upon the island.

{*7}For obvious reasons I cannot pretend to strict accuracy in

these dates. They are given principally with a view to perspicity

of narrative, and as set down in my pencil memorandum.

LIGEIA

And the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth the

mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For God is but a great

will pervading all things by nature of its intentness. Man doth

not yield himself to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save

only through the weakness of his feeble will.—Joseph Glanvill.

I cannot, for my soul, remember how, when, or even precisely

where, I first became acquainted with the lady Ligeia. Long years

have since elapsed, and my memory is feeble through much

suffering. Or, perhaps, I cannot now bring these points to mind,

because, in truth, the character of my beloved, her rare

learning, her singular yet placid cast of beauty, and the

thrilling and enthralling eloquence of her low musical language,

made their way into my heart by paces so steadily and stealthily

progressive that they have been unnoticed and unknown. Yet I

believe that I met her first and most frequently in some large,

old, decaying city near the Rhine. Of her family—I have surely

heard her speak. That it is of a remotely ancient date cannot be

doubted. Ligeia! Ligeia! Buried in studies of a nature more than

all else adapted to deaden impressions of the outward world, it

is by that sweet word alone—by Ligeia—that I bring before mine

eyes in fancy the image of her who is no more. And now, while I

write, a recollection flashes upon me that I have never known the

paternal name of her who was my friend and my betrothed, and who

became the partner of my studies, and finally the wife of my

bosom. Was it a playful charge on the part of my Ligeia? or was

it a test of my strength of affection, that I should institute no

inquiries upon this point? or was it rather a caprice of my own—a

wildly romantic offering on the shrine of the most passionate

devotion? I but indistinctly recall the fact itself—what wonder

that I have utterly forgotten the circumstances which originated

or attended it? And, indeed, if ever that spirit which is

entitled Romance—if ever she, the wan and the misty-winged

Ashtophet of idolatrous Egypt, presided, as they tell, over

marriages ill-omened, then most surely she presided over mine.

There is one dear topic, however, on which my memory fails me

not. It is the person of Ligeia. In stature she was tall,

somewhat slender, and, in her latter days, even emaciated. I

would in vain attempt to portray the majesty, the quiet ease, of

her demeanor, or the incomprehensible lightness and elasticity of

her footfall. She came and departed as a shadow. I was never made

aware of her entrance into my closed study save by the dear music

of her low sweet voice, as she placed her marble hand upon my

shoulder. In beauty of face no maiden ever equalled her. It was

the radiance of an opium-dream—an airy and spirit-lifting vision

more wildly divine than the phantasies which hovered about the

slumbering souls of the daughters of Delos. Yet her features were

not of that regular mould which we have been falsely taught to

worship in the classical labors of the heathen. “There is no

exquisite beauty,” says Bacon, Lord Verulam, speaking truly of

all the forms and genera of beauty, “without some strangeness in

the proportion.” Yet, although I saw that the features of Ligeia

were not of a classic regularity—although I perceived that her

loveliness was indeed “exquisite,” and felt that there was much

of “strangeness” pervading it, yet I have tried in vain to detect

the irregularity and to trace home my own perception of “the

strange.” I examined the contour of the lofty and pale

forehead—it was faultless—how cold indeed that word when applied

to a majesty so divine!—the skin rivalling the purest ivory, the

commanding extent and repose, the gentle prominence of the

regions above the temples; and then the raven-black, the glossy,

the luxuriant and naturally-curling tresses, setting forth the

full force of the Homeric epithet, “hyacinthine!” I looked at the

delicate outlines of the nose—and nowhere but in the graceful

medallions of the Hebrews had I beheld a similar perfection.

There were the same luxurious smoothness of surface, the same

scarcely perceptible tendency to the aquiline, the same

harmoniously curved nostrils speaking the free spirit. I regarded

the sweet mouth. Here was indeed the triumph of all things

heavenly—the magnificent turn of the short upper lip—the soft,

voluptuous slumber of the under—the dimples which sported, and

the color which spoke—the teeth glancing back, with a brilliancy

almost startling, every ray of the holy light which fell upon

them in her serene and placid, yet most exultingly radiant of all

smiles. I scrutinized the formation of the chin—and here, too, I

found the gentleness of breadth, the softness and the majesty,

the fullness and the spirituality, of the Greek—the contour which

the god Apollo revealed but in a dream, to Cleomenes, the son of

the Athenian. And then I peered into the large eyes of Ligeia.

For eyes we have no models in the remotely antique. It might have

been, too, that in these eyes of my beloved lay the secret to

which Lord Verulam alludes. They were, I must believe, far larger

than the ordinary eyes of our own race. They were even fuller

than the fullest of the gazelle eyes of the tribe of the valley

of Nourjahad. Yet it was only at intervals—in moments of intense

excitement—that this peculiarity became more than slightly

noticeable in Ligeia. And at such moments was her beauty—in my

heated fancy thus it appeared perhaps—the beauty of beings either

above or apart from the earth—the beauty of the fabulous Houri of

the Turk. The hue of the orbs was the most brilliant of black,

and, far over them, hung jetty lashes of great length. The brows,

slightly irregular in outline, had the same tint. The

“strangeness,” however, which I found in the eyes, was of a

nature distinct from the formation, or the color, or the

brilliancy of the features, and must, after all, be referred to

the expression. Ah, word of no meaning! behind whose vast

latitude of mere sound we intrench our ignorance of so much of

the spiritual. The expression of the eyes of Ligeia! How for long

hours have I pondered upon it! How have I, through the whole of a

midsummer night, struggled to fathom it! What was it—that

something more profound than the well of Democritus—which lay far

within the pupils of my beloved? What was it? I was possessed

with a passion to discover. Those eyes! those large, those

shining, those divine orbs! they became to me twin stars of Leda,

and I to them devoutest of astrologers.

There is no point, among the many incomprehensible anomalies of

the science of mind, more thrillingly exciting than the

fact—never, I believe, noticed in the schools—that, in our

endeavors to recall to memory something long forgotten, we often

find ourselves upon the very verge of remembrance, without being

able, in the end, to remember. And thus how frequently, in my

intense scrutiny of Ligeia’s eyes, have I felt approaching the

full knowledge of their expression—felt it approaching—yet not

quite be mine—and so at length entirely depart! And (strange, oh

strangest mystery of all!) I found, in the commonest objects of

the universe, a circle of analogies to that expression. I mean to

say that, subsequently to the period when Ligeia’s beauty passed

into my spirit, there dwelling as in a shrine, I derived, from

many existences in the material world, a sentiment such as I felt

always aroused within me by her large and luminous orbs. Yet not

the more could I define that sentiment, or analyze, or even

steadily view it. I recognized it, let me repeat, sometimes in

the survey of a rapidly-growing vine—in the contemplation of a

moth, a butterfly, a chrysalis, a stream of running water. I have

felt it in the ocean—in the falling of a meteor. I have felt it

in the glances of unusually aged people. And there are one or two

stars in heaven—(one especially, a star of the sixth magnitude,

double and changeable, to be found near the large star in Lyra)

in a telescopic scrutiny of which I have been made aware of the

feeling. I have been filled with it by certain sounds from

stringed instruments, and not unfrequently by passages from

books. Among innumerable other instances, I well remember

something in a volume of Joseph Glanvill, which (perhaps merely

from its quaintness—who shall say?) never failed to inspire me

with the sentiment: “And the will therein lieth, which dieth not.

Who knoweth the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For God is

but a great will pervading all things by nature of its

intentness. Man doth not yield him to the angels, nor unto death

utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will.”

Length of years, and subsequent reflection, have enabled me to

trace, indeed, some remote connection between this passage in the

English moralist and a portion of the character of Ligeia. An

intensity in thought, action, or speech, was possibly, in her, a

result, or at least an index, of that gigantic volition which,

during our long intercourse, failed to give other and more

immediate evidence of its existence. Of all the women whom I have

ever known, she, the outwardly calm, the ever-placid Ligeia, was

the most violently a prey to the tumultuous vultures of stern

passion. And of such passion I could form no estimate, save by

the miraculous expansion of those eyes which at once so delighted

and appalled me—by the almost magical melody, modulation,

distinctness and placidity of her very low voice—and by the

fierce energy (rendered doubly effective by contrast with her

manner of utterance) of the wild words which she habitually

uttered.

I have spoken of the learning of Ligeia: it was immense—such as I

have never known in woman. In the classical tongues was she

deeply proficient, and as far as my own acquaintance extended in

regard to the modern dialects of Europe, I have never known her

at fault. Indeed upon any theme of the most admired, because

simply the most abstruse of the boasted erudition of the academy,

have I ever found Ligeia at fault? How singularly—how

thrillingly, this one point in the nature of my wife has forced

itself, at this late period only, upon my attention! I said her

knowledge was such as I have never known in woman—but where

breathes the man who has traversed, and successfully, all the

wide areas of moral, physical, and mathematical science? I saw

not then what I now clearly perceive, that the acquisitions of

Ligeia were gigantic, were astounding; yet I was sufficiently

aware of her infinite supremacy to resign myself, with a

child-like confidence, to her guidance through the chaotic world

of metaphysical investigation at which I was most busily occupied

during the earlier years of our marriage. With how vast a

triumph—with how vivid a delight—with how much of all that is

ethereal in hope did I feel, as she bent over me in studies but

little sought—but less known—that delicious vista by slow degrees

expanding before me, down whose long, gorgeous, and all untrodden

path, I might at length pass onward to the goal of a wisdom too

divinely precious not to be forbidden!

How poignant, then, must have been the grief with which, after

some years, I beheld my well-grounded expectations take wings to

themselves and fly away! Without Ligeia I was but as a child

groping benighted. Her presence, her readings alone, rendered

vividly luminous the many mysteries of the transcendentalism in

which we were immersed. Wanting the radiant lustre of her eyes,

letters, lambent and golden, grew duller than Saturnian lead. And

now those eyes shone less and less frequently upon the pages over

which I pored. Ligeia grew ill. The wild eyes blazed with a

too—too glorious effulgence; the pale fingers became of the

transparent waxen hue of the grave; and the blue veins upon the

lofty forehead swelled and sank impetuously with the tides of the

gentle emotion. I saw that she must die—and I struggled

desperately in spirit with the grim Azrael. And the struggles of

the passionate wife were, to my astonishment, even more energetic

than my own. There had been much in her stern nature to impress

me with the belief that, to her, death would have come without

its terrors; but not so. Words are impotent to convey any just

idea of the fierceness of resistance with which she wrestled with

the Shadow. I groaned in anguish at the pitiable spectacle. I

would have soothed—I would have reasoned; but, in the intensity

of her wild desire for life,—for life—but for life—solace and

reason were the uttermost folly. Yet not until the last instance,

amid the most convulsive writhings of her fierce spirit, was

shaken the external placidity of her demeanor. Her voice grew

more gentle—grew more low—yet I would not wish to dwell upon the

wild meaning of the quietly uttered words. My brain reeled as I

hearkened, entranced, to a melody more than mortal—to assumptions

and aspirations which mortality had never before known.

That she loved me I should not have doubted; and I might have

been easily aware that, in a bosom such as hers, love would have

reigned no ordinary passion. But in death only, was I fully

impressed with the strength of her affection. For long hours,

detaining my hand, would she pour out before me the overflowing

of a heart whose more than passionate devotion amounted to

idolatry. How had I deserved to be so blessed by such

confessions?—how had I deserved to be so cursed with the removal

of my beloved in the hour of her making them? But upon this

subject I cannot bear to dilate. Let me say only, that in

Ligeia’s more than womanly abandonment to a love, alas! all

unmerited, all unworthily bestowed, I at length recognized the

principle of her longing with so wildly earnest a desire for the

life which was now fleeing so rapidly away. It is this wild

longing—it is this eager vehemence of desire for life—but for

life—that I have no power to portray—no utterance capable of

expressing.

At high noon of the night in which she departed, beckoning me,

peremptorily, to her side, she bade me repeat certain verses

composed by herself not many days before. I obeyed her. They were

these:

Lo! ’tis a gala night

Within the lonesome latter years!

An angel throng, bewinged, bedight

In veils, and drowned in tears,

Sit in a theatre, to see

A play of hopes and fears,

While the orchestra breathes fitfully

The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,

Mutter and mumble low,

And hither and thither fly;

Mere puppets they, who come and go

At bidding of vast formless things

That shift the scenery to and fro,

Flapping from out their Condor wings

Invisible Wo!

That motley drama!—oh, be sure

It shall not be forgot!

With its Phantom chased forever more,

By a crowd that seize it not,

Through a circle that ever returneth in

To the self-same spot,

And much of Madness and more of Sin

And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout,

A crawling shape intrude!

A blood-red thing that writhes from out

The scenic solitude!

It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs

The mimes become its food,

And the seraphs sob at vermin fangs

In human gore imbued.

Out—out are the lights—out all!

And over each quivering form,

The curtain, a funeral pall,

Comes down with the rush of a storm,

And the angels, all pallid and wan,

Uprising, unveiling, affirm

That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”

And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

“O God!” half shrieked Ligeia, leaping to her feet and extending

her arms aloft with a spasmodic movement, as I made an end of

these lines—“O God! O Divine Father!—shall these things be

undeviatingly so?—shall this Conqueror be not once conquered? Are

we not part and parcel in Thee? Who—who knoweth the mysteries of

the will with its vigor? Man doth not yield him to the angels,

nor unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his

feeble will.”

And now, as if exhausted with emotion, she suffered her white

arms to fall, and returned solemnly to her bed of death. And as

she breathed her last sighs, there came mingled with them a low

murmur from her lips. I bent to them my ear and distinguished,

again, the concluding words of the passage in Glanvill—“Man doth

not yield him to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only

through the weakness of his feeble will.”

She died: and I, crushed into the very dust with sorrow, could no

longer endure the lonely desolation of my dwelling in the dim and

decaying city by the Rhine. I had no lack of what the world calls

wealth. Ligeia had brought me far more, very far more than

ordinarily falls to the lot of mortals. After a few months,

therefore, of weary and aimless wandering, I purchased, and put

in some repair, an abbey, which I shall not name, in one of the

wildest and least frequented portions of fair England. The gloomy

and dreary grandeur of the building, the almost savage aspect of

the domain, the many melancholy and time-honored memories

connected with both, had much in unison with the feelings of

utter abandonment which had driven me into that remote and

unsocial region of the country. Yet although the external abbey,

with its verdant decay hanging about it, suffered but little

alteration, I gave way, with a child-like perversity, and

perchance with a faint hope of alleviating my sorrows, to a

display of more than regal magnificence within. For such follies,

even in childhood, I had imbibed a taste and now they came back

to me as if in the dotage of grief. Alas, I feel how much even of

incipient madness might have been discovered in the gorgeous and

fantastic draperies, in the solemn carvings of Egypt, in the wild

cornices and furniture, in the Bedlam patterns of the carpets of

tufted gold! I had become a bounden slave in the trammels of

opium, and my labors and my orders had taken a coloring from my

dreams. But these absurdities I must not pause to detail. Let me

speak only of that one chamber, ever accursed, whither in a

moment of mental alienation, I led from the altar as my bride—as

the successor of the unforgotten Ligeia—the fair-haired and

blue-eyed Lady Rowena Trevanion, of Tremaine.

There is no individual portion of the architecture and decoration

of that bridal chamber which is not now visibly before me. Where

were the souls of the haughty family of the bride, when, through

thirst of gold, they permitted to pass the threshold of an

apartment so bedecked, a maiden and a daughter so beloved? I have

said that I minutely remember the details of the chamber—yet I am

sadly forgetful on topics of deep moment—and here there was no

system, no keeping, in the fantastic display, to take hold upon

the memory. The room lay in a high turret of the castellated

abbey, was pentagonal in shape, and of capacious size. Occupying

the whole southern face of the pentagon was the sole window—an

immense sheet of unbroken glass from Venice—a single pane, and

tinted of a leaden hue, so that the rays of either the sun or

moon, passing through it, fell with a ghastly lustre on the

objects within. Over the upper portion of this huge window,

extended the trellice-work of an aged vine, which clambered up

the massy walls of the turret. The ceiling, of gloomy-looking

oak, was excessively lofty, vaulted, and elaborately fretted with

the wildest and most grotesque specimens of a semi-Gothic,

semi-Druidical device. From out the most central recess of this

melancholy vaulting, depended, by a single chain of gold with

long links, a huge censer of the same metal, Saracenic in

pattern, and with many perforations so contrived that there

writhed in and out of them, as if endued with a serpent vitality,

a continual succession of parti-colored fires.

Some few ottomans and golden candelabra, of Eastern figure, were

in various stations about—and there was the couch, too—bridal

couch—of an Indian model, and low, and sculptured of solid ebony,

with a pall-like canopy above. In each of the angles of the

chamber stood on end a gigantic sarcophagus of black granite,

from the tombs of the kings over against Luxor, with their aged

lids full of immemorial sculpture. But in the draping of the

apartment lay, alas! the chief phantasy of all. The lofty walls,

gigantic in height—even unproportionably so—were hung from summit

to foot, in vast folds, with a heavy and massive-looking

tapestry—tapestry of a material which was found alike as a carpet

on the floor, as a covering for the ottomans and the ebony bed,

as a canopy for the bed, and as the gorgeous volutes of the

curtains which partially shaded the window. The material was the

richest cloth of gold. It was spotted all over, at irregular

intervals, with arabesque figures, about a foot in diameter, and

wrought upon the cloth in patterns of the most jetty black. But

these figures partook of the true character of the arabesque only

when regarded from a single point of view. By a contrivance now

common, and indeed traceable to a very remote period of

antiquity, they were made changeable in aspect. To one entering

the room, they bore the appearance of simple monstrosities; but

upon a farther advance, this appearance gradually departed; and

step by step, as the visitor moved his station in the chamber, he

saw himself surrounded by an endless succession of the ghastly

forms which belong to the superstition of the Norman, or arise in

the guilty slumbers of the monk. The phantasmagoric effect was

vastly heightened by the artificial introduction of a strong

continual current of wind behind the draperies—giving a hideous

and uneasy animation to the whole.

In halls such as these—in a bridal chamber such as this—I passed,

with the Lady of Tremaine, the unhallowed hours of the first

month of our marriage—passed them with but little disquietude.

That my wife dreaded the fierce moodiness of my temper—that she

shunned me and loved me but little—I could not help perceiving;

but it gave me rather pleasure than otherwise. I loathed her with

a hatred belonging more to demon than to man. My memory flew

back, (oh, with what intensity of regret!) to Ligeia, the

beloved, the august, the beautiful, the entombed. I revelled in

recollections of her purity, of her wisdom, of her lofty, her

ethereal nature, of her passionate, her idolatrous love. Now,

then, did my spirit fully and freely burn with more than all the

fires of her own. In the excitement of my opium dreams (for I was

habitually fettered in the shackles of the drug) I would call

aloud upon her name, during the silence of the night, or among

the sheltered recesses of the glens by day, as if, through the

wild eagerness, the solemn passion, the consuming ardor of my

longing for the departed, I could restore her to the pathway she

had abandoned—ah, could it be forever?—upon the earth.

About the commencement of the second month of the marriage, the

Lady Rowena was attacked with sudden illness, from which her

recovery was slow. The fever which consumed her rendered her

nights uneasy; and in her perturbed state of half-slumber, she

spoke of sounds, and of motions, in and about the chamber of the

turret, which I concluded had no origin save in the distemper of

her fancy, or perhaps in the phantasmagoric influences of the

chamber itself. She became at length convalescent—finally well.

Yet but a brief period elapsed, ere a second more violent

disorder again threw her upon a bed of suffering; and from this

attack her frame, at all times feeble, never altogether

recovered. Her illnesses were, after this epoch, of alarming

character, and of more alarming recurrence, defying alike the

knowledge and the great exertions of her physicians. With the

increase of the chronic disease which had thus, apparently, taken

too sure hold upon her constitution to be eradicated by human

means, I could not fail to observe a similar increase in the

nervous irritation of her temperament, and in her excitability by

trivial causes of fear. She spoke again, and now more frequently

and pertinaciously, of the sounds—of the slight sounds—and of the

unusual motions among the tapestries, to which she had formerly

alluded.

One night, near the closing in of September, she pressed this

distressing subject with more than usual emphasis upon my

attention. She had just awakened from an unquiet slumber, and I

had been watching, with feelings half of anxiety, half of vague

terror, the workings of her emaciated countenance. I sat by the

side of her ebony bed, upon one of the ottomans of India. She

partly arose, and spoke, in an earnest low whisper, of sounds

which she then heard, but which I could not hear—of motions which

she then saw, but which I could not perceive. The wind was

rushing hurriedly behind the tapestries, and I wished to show her

(what, let me confess it, I could not all believe) that those

almost inarticulate breathings, and those very gentle variations

of the figures upon the wall, were but the natural effects of

that customary rushing of the wind. But a deadly pallor,

overspreading her face, had proved to me that my exertions to

reassure her would be fruitless. She appeared to be fainting, and

no attendants were within call. I remembered where was deposited

a decanter of light wine which had been ordered by her

physicians, and hastened across the chamber to procure it. But,

as I stepped beneath the light of the censer, two circumstances

of a startling nature attracted my attention. I had felt that

some palpable although invisible object had passed lightly by my

person; and I saw that there lay upon the golden carpet, in the

very middle of the rich lustre thrown from the censer, a shadow—a

faint, indefinite shadow of angelic aspect—such as might be

fancied for the shadow of a shade. But I was wild with the

excitement of an immoderate dose of opium, and heeded these

things but little, nor spoke of them to Rowena. Having found the

wine, I recrossed the chamber, and poured out a gobletful, which

I held to the lips of the fainting lady. She had now partially

recovered, however, and took the vessel herself, while I sank

upon an ottoman near me, with my eyes fastened upon her person.

It was then that I became distinctly aware of a gentle footfall

upon the carpet, and near the couch; and in a second thereafter,

as Rowena was in the act of raising the wine to her lips, I saw,

or may have dreamed that I saw, fall within the goblet, as if

from some invisible spring in the atmosphere of the room, three

or four large drops of a brilliant and ruby colored fluid. If

this I saw—not so Rowena. She swallowed the wine unhesitatingly,

and I forbore to speak to her of a circumstance which must, after

all, I considered, have been but the suggestion of a vivid

imagination, rendered morbidly active by the terror of the lady,

by the opium, and by the hour.

Yet I cannot conceal it from my own perception that, immediately

subsequent to the fall of the ruby-drops, a rapid change for the

worse took place in the disorder of my wife; so that, on the

third subsequent night, the hands of her menials prepared her for

the tomb, and on the fourth, I sat alone, with her shrouded body,

in that fantastic chamber which had received her as my bride.

Wild visions, opium-engendered, flitted, shadow-like, before me.

I gazed with unquiet eye upon the sarcophagi in the angles of the

room, upon the varying figures of the drapery, and upon the

writhing of the parti-colored fires in the censer overhead. My

eyes then fell, as I called to mind the circumstances of a former

night, to the spot beneath the glare of the censer where I had

seen the faint traces of the shadow. It was there, however, no

longer; and breathing with greater freedom, I turned my glances

to the pallid and rigid figure upon the bed. Then rushed upon me

a thousand memories of Ligeia—and then came back upon my heart,

with the turbulent violence of a flood, the whole of that

unutterable woe with which I had regarded her thus enshrouded.

The night waned; and still, with a bosom full of bitter thoughts

of the one only and supremely beloved, I remained gazing upon the

body of Rowena.

It might have been midnight, or perhaps earlier, or later, for I

had taken no note of time, when a sob, low, gentle, but very

distinct, startled me from my revery. I felt that it came from

the bed of ebony—the bed of death. I listened in an agony of

superstitious terror—but there was no repetition of the sound. I

strained my vision to detect any motion in the corpse—but there

was not the slightest perceptible. Yet I could not have been

deceived. I had heard the noise, however faint, and my soul was

awakened within me. I resolutely and perseveringly kept my

attention riveted upon the body. Many minutes elapsed before any

circumstance occurred tending to throw light upon the mystery. At

length it became evident that a slight, a very feeble, and barely

noticeable tinge of color had flushed up within the cheeks, and

along the sunken small veins of the eyelids. Through a species of

unutterable horror and awe, for which the language of mortality

has no sufficiently energetic expression, I felt my heart cease

to beat, my limbs grow rigid where I sat. Yet a sense of duty

finally operated to restore my self-possession. I could no longer

doubt that we had been precipitate in our preparations—that

Rowena still lived. It was necessary that some immediate exertion

be made; yet the turret was altogether apart from the portion of

the abbey tenanted by the servants—there were none within call—I

had no means of summoning them to my aid without leaving the room

for many minutes—and this I could not venture to do. I therefore

struggled alone in my endeavors to call back the spirit ill

hovering. In a short period it was certain, however, that a

relapse had taken place; the color disappeared from both eyelid

and cheek, leaving a wanness even more than that of marble; the

lips became doubly shrivelled and pinched up in the ghastly

expression of death; a repulsive clamminess and coldness

overspread rapidly the surface of the body; and all the usual

rigorous illness immediately supervened. I fell back with a

shudder upon the couch from which I had been so startlingly

aroused, and again gave myself up to passionate waking visions of

Ligeia.

An hour thus elapsed when (could it be possible?) I was a second

time aware of some vague sound issuing from the region of the

bed. I listened—in extremity of horror. The sound came again—it

was a sigh. Rushing to the corpse, I saw—distinctly saw—a tremor

upon the lips. In a minute afterward they relaxed, disclosing a

bright line of the pearly teeth. Amazement now struggled in my

bosom with the profound awe which had hitherto reigned there

alone. I felt that my vision grew dim, that my reason wandered;

and it was only by a violent effort that I at length succeeded in

nerving myself to the task which duty thus once more had pointed

out. There was now a partial glow upon the forehead and upon the

cheek and throat; a perceptible warmth pervaded the whole frame;

there was even a slight pulsation at the heart. The lady lived;

and with redoubled ardor I betook myself to the task of

restoration. I chafed and bathed the temples and the hands, and

used every exertion which experience, and no little medical

reading, could suggest. But in vain. Suddenly, the color fled,

the pulsation ceased, the lips resumed the expression of the

dead, and, in an instant afterward, the whole body took upon

itself the icy chilliness, the livid hue, the intense rigidity,

the sunken outline, and all the loathsome peculiarities of that

which has been, for many days, a tenant of the tomb.

And again I sunk into visions of Ligeia—and again, (what marvel

that I shudder while I write?), again there reached my ears a low

sob from the region of the ebony bed. But why shall I minutely

detail the unspeakable horrors of that night? Why shall I pause

to relate how, time after time, until near the period of the gray

dawn, this hideous drama of revivification was repeated; how each

terrific relapse was only into a sterner and apparently more

irredeemable death; how each agony wore the aspect of a struggle

with some invisible foe; and how each struggle was succeeded by I

know not what of wild change in the personal appearance of the

corpse? Let me hurry to a conclusion.

The greater part of the fearful night had worn away, and she who

had been dead, once again stirred—and now more vigorously than

hitherto, although arousing from a dissolution more appalling in

its utter hopelessness than any. I had long ceased to struggle or

to move, and remained sitting rigidly upon the ottoman, a

helpless prey to a whirl of violent emotions, of which extreme

awe was perhaps the least terrible, the least consuming. The

corpse, I repeat, stirred, and now more vigorously than before.

The hues of life flushed up with unwonted energy into the

countenance—the limbs relaxed—and, save that the eyelids were yet

pressed heavily together, and that the bandages and draperies of

the grave still imparted their charnel character to the figure, I

might have dreamed that Rowena had indeed shaken off, utterly,

the fetters of Death. But if this idea was not, even then,

altogether adopted, I could at least doubt no longer, when,

arising from the bed, tottering, with feeble steps, with closed

eyes, and with the manner of one bewildered in a dream, the thing

that was enshrouded advanced boldly and palpably into the middle

of the apartment.

I trembled not—I stirred not—for a crowd of unutterable fancies

connected with the air, the stature, the demeanor of the figure,

rushing hurriedly through my brain, had paralyzed—had chilled me

into stone. I stirred not—but gazed upon the apparition. There

was a mad disorder in my thoughts—a tumult unappeasable. Could

it, indeed, be the living Rowena who confronted me? Could it

indeed be Rowena at all—the fair-haired, the blue-eyed Lady

Rowena Trevanion of Tremaine? Why, why should I doubt it? The

bandage lay heavily about the mouth—but then might it not be the

mouth of the breathing Lady of Tremaine? And the cheeks—there

were the roses as in her noon of life—yes, these might indeed be

the fair cheeks of the living Lady of Tremaine. And the chin,

with its dimples, as in health, might it not be hers?—but had she

then grown taller since her malady? What inexpressible madness

seized me with that thought? One bound, and I had reached her

feet! Shrinking from my touch, she let fall from her head,

unloosened, the ghastly cerements which had confined it, and

there streamed forth, into the rushing atmosphere of the chamber,

huge masses of long and dishevelled hair; _it was blacker than

the raven wings of the midnight!_ And now slowly opened the eyes

of the figure which stood before me. “Here then, at least,” I

shrieked aloud, “can I never—can I never be mistaken—these are

the full, and the black, and the wild eyes—of my lost love—of the

Lady—of the LADY LIGEIA.”

MORELLA

Itself, by itself, solely, one everlasting, and single.

—PLATO—Sympos.

With a feeling of deep yet most singular affection I regarded my

friend Morella. Thrown by accident into her society many years

ago, my soul from our first meeting, burned with fires it had

never before known; but the fires were not of Eros, and bitter

and tormenting to my spirit was the gradual conviction that I

could in no manner define their unusual meaning or regulate their

vague intensity. Yet we met; and fate bound us together at the

altar; and I never spoke of passion nor thought of love. She,

however, shunned society, and, attaching herself to me alone

rendered me happy. It is a happiness to wonder; it is a happiness

to dream.

Morella’s erudition was profound. As I hope to live, her talents

were of no common order—her powers of mind were gigantic. I felt

this, and, in many matters, became her pupil. I soon, however,

found that, perhaps on account of her Presburg education, she

placed before me a number of those mystical writings which are

usually considered the mere dross of the early German literature.

These, for what reason I could not imagine, were her favourite

and constant study—and that in process of time they became my

own, should be attributed to the simple but effectual influence

of habit and example.

In all this, if I err not, my reason had little to do. My

convictions, or I forget myself, were in no manner acted upon by

the ideal, nor was any tincture of the mysticism which I read to

be discovered, unless I am greatly mistaken, either in my deeds

or in my thoughts. Persuaded of this, I abandoned myself

implicitly to the guidance of my wife, and entered with an

unflinching heart into the intricacies of her studies. And

then—then, when, poring over forbidden pages, I felt a forbidden

spirit enkindling within me—would Morella place her cold hand

upon my own, and rake up from the ashes of a dead philosophy some

low, singular words, whose strange meaning burned themselves in

upon my memory. And then, hour after hour, would I linger by her

side, and dwell upon the music of her voice, until at length its

melody was tainted with terror, and there fell a shadow upon my

soul, and I grew pale, and shuddered inwardly at those too

unearthly tones. And thus, joy suddenly faded into horror, and

the most beautiful became the most hideous, as Hinnon became

Ge-Henna.

It is unnecessary to state the exact character of those

disquisitions which, growing out of the volumes I have mentioned,

formed, for so long a time, almost the sole conversation of

Morella and myself. By the learned in what might be termed

theological morality they will be readily conceived, and by the

unlearned they would, at all events, be little understood. The

wild Pantheism of Fichte; the modified Paliggenedia of the

Pythagoreans; and, above all, the doctrines of Identity as urged

by Schelling, were generally the points of discussion presenting

the most of beauty to the imaginative Morella. That identity

which is termed personal, Mr. Locke, I think, truly defines to

consist in the saneness of rational being. And since by person we

understand an intelligent essence having reason, and since there

is a consciousness which always accompanies thinking, it is this

which makes us all to be that which we call ourselves—thereby

distinguishing us from other beings that think, and giving us our

personal identity. But the principium indivduationis, the

notion of that identity _which at death is or is not lost

forever_—was to me, at all times, a consideration of intense

interest; not more from the perplexing and exciting nature of its

consequences, than from the marked and agitated manner in which

Morella mentioned them.

But, indeed, the time had now arrived when the mystery of my

wife’s manner oppressed me as a spell. I could no longer bear the

touch of her wan fingers, nor the low tone of her musical

language, nor the lustre of her melancholy eyes. And she knew all

this, but did not upbraid; she seemed conscious of my weakness or

my folly, and, smiling, called it Fate. She seemed, also,

conscious of a cause, to me unknown, for the gradual alienation

of my regard; but she gave me no hint or token of its nature. Yet

was she woman, and pined away daily. In time the crimson spot

settled steadily upon the cheek, and the blue veins upon the pale

forehead became prominent; and one instant my nature melted into

pity, but in, next I met the glance of her meaning eyes, and then

my soul sickened and became giddy with the giddiness of one who

gazes downward into some dreary and unfathomable abyss.

Shall I then say that I longed with an earnest and consuming

desire for the moment of Morella’s decease? I did; but the

fragile spirit clung to its tenement of clay for many days—for

many weeks and irksome months, until my tortured nerves obtained

the mastery over my mind, and I grew furious through delay, and,

with the heart of a fiend, cursed the days and the hours and the

bitter moments, which seemed to lengthen and lengthen as her

gentle life declined—like shadows in the dying of the day.

But one autumnal evening, when the winds lay still in heaven,

Morella called me to her bedside. There was a dim mist over all

the earth, and a warm glow upon the waters, and amid the rich

October leaves of the forest, a rainbow from the firmament had

surely fallen.

“It is a day of days,” she said, as I approached; “a day of all

days either to live or die. It is a fair day for the sons of

earth and life—ah, more fair for the daughters of heaven and

death!”

I kissed her forehead, and she continued:

“I am dying, yet shall I live.”

“Morella!”

“The days have never been when thou couldst love me—but her whom

in life thou didst abhor, in death thou shalt adore.”

“Morella!”

“I repeat that I am dying. But within me is a pledge of that

affection—ah, how little!—which thou didst feel for me, Morella.

And when my spirit departs shall the child live—thy child and

mine, Morella’s. But thy days shall be days of sorrow—that sorrow

which is the most lasting of impressions, as the cypress is the

most enduring of trees. For the hours of thy happiness are over

and joy is not gathered twice in a life, as the roses of Paestum

twice in a year. Thou shalt no longer, then, play the Teian with

time, but, being ignorant of the myrtle and the vine, thou shalt

bear about with thee thy shroud on the earth, as do the Moslemin

at Mecca.”

“Morella!” I cried, “Morella! how knowest thou this?” but she

turned away her face upon the pillow and a slight tremor coming

over her limbs, she thus died, and I heard her voice no more.

Yet, as she had foretold, her child, to which in dying she had

given birth, which breathed not until the mother breathed no

more, her child, a daughter, lived. And she grew strangely in

stature and intellect, and was the perfect resemblance of her who

had departed, and I loved her with a love more fervent than I had

believed it possible to feel for any denizen of earth.

But, ere long the heaven of this pure affection became darkened,

and gloom, and horror, and grief swept over it in clouds. I said

the child grew strangely in stature and intelligence. Strange,

indeed, was her rapid increase in bodily size—but terrible, oh!

terrible were the tumultuous thoughts which crowded upon me while

watching the development of her mental being. Could it be

otherwise, when I daily discovered in the conceptions of the

child the adult powers and faculties of the woman?—when the

lessons of experience fell from the lips of infancy? and when the

wisdom or the passions of maturity I found hourly gleaming from

its full and speculative eye? When, I say, all this became

evident to my appalled senses—when I could no longer hide it from

my soul, nor throw it off from those perceptions which trembled

to receive it—is it to be wondered at that suspicions, of a

nature fearful and exciting, crept in upon my spirit, or that my

thoughts fell back aghast upon the wild tales and thrilling

theories of the entombed Morella? I snatched from the scrutiny of

the world a being whom destiny compelled me to adore, and in the

rigorous seclusion of my home, watched with an agonizing anxiety

over all which concerned the beloved.

And as years rolled away, and I gazed day after day upon her

holy, and mild, and eloquent face, and poured over her maturing

form, day after day did I discover new points of resemblance in

the child to her mother, the melancholy and the dead. And hourly

grew darker these shadows of similitude, and more full, and more

definite, and more perplexing, and more hideously terrible in

their aspect. For that her smile was like her mother’s I could

bear; but then I shuddered at its too perfect identity—that her

eyes were like Morella’s I could endure; but then they, too,

often looked down into the depths of my soul with Morella’s own

intense and bewildering meaning. And in the contour of the high

forehead, and in the ringlets of the silken hair, and in the wan

fingers which buried themselves therein, and in the sad musical

tones of her speech, and above all—oh! above all—in the phrases

and expressions of the dead on the lips of the loved and the

living, I found food for consuming thought and horror—for a worm

that would not die.

Thus passed away two lustra of her life, and as yet my daughter

remained nameless upon the earth. “My child,” and “my love,” were

the designations usually prompted by a father’s affection, and

the rigid seclusion of her days precluded all other intercourse.

Morella’s name died with her at her death. Of the mother I had

never spoken to the daughter;—it was impossible to speak. Indeed,

during the brief period of her existence, the latter had received

no impressions from the outward world, save such as might have

been afforded by the narrow limits of her privacy. But at length

the ceremony of baptism presented to my mind, in its unnerved and

agitated condition, a present deliverance from the terrors of my

destiny. And at the baptismal font I hesitated for a name. And

many titles of the wise and beautiful, of old and modern times,

of my own and foreign lands, came thronging to my lips, with

many, many fair titles of the gentle, and the happy, and the

good. What prompted me then to disturb the memory of the buried

dead? What demon urged me to breathe that sound, which in its

very recollection was wont to make ebb the purple blood in

torrents from the temples to the heart? What fiend spoke from the

recesses of my soul, when amid those dim aisles, and in the

silence of the night, I whispered within the ears of the holy man

the syllables—Morella? What more than fiend convulsed the

features of my child, and overspread them with hues of death, as

starting at that scarcely audible sound, she turned her glassy

eyes from the earth to heaven, and falling prostrate on the black

slabs of our ancestral vault, responded—“I am here!”

Distinct, coldly, calmly distinct, fell those few simple sounds

within my ear, and thence like molten lead rolled hissingly into

my brain. Years—years may pass away, but the memory of that

epoch—never! Nor was I indeed ignorant of the flowers and the

vine—but the hemlock and the cypress overshadowed me night and

day. And I kept no reckoning of time or place, and the stars of

my fate faded from heaven, and therefore the earth grew dark, and

its figures passed by me like flitting shadows, and among them

all I beheld only—Morella. The winds of the firmament breathed

but one sound within my ears, and the ripples upon the sea

murmured evermore—Morella. But she died; and with my own hands I

bore her to the tomb; and I laughed with a long and bitter laugh

as I found no traces of the first in the charnel where I laid the

second, Morella.

A TALE OF THE RAGGED MOUNTAINS

During the fall of the year 1827, while residing near

Charlottesville, Virginia, I casually made the acquaintance of

Mr. Augustus Bedloe. This young gentleman was remarkable in every

respect, and excited in me a profound interest and curiosity. I

found it impossible to comprehend him either in his moral or his

physical relations. Of his family I could obtain no satisfactory

account. Whence he came, I never ascertained. Even about his

age—although I call him a young gentleman—there was something

which perplexed me in no little degree. He certainly seemed

young—and he made a point of speaking about his youth—yet there

were moments when I should have had little trouble in imagining

him a hundred years of age. But in no regard was he more peculiar

than in his personal appearance. He was singularly tall and thin.

He stooped much. His limbs were exceedingly long and emaciated.

His forehead was broad and low. His complexion was absolutely

bloodless. His mouth was large and flexible, and his teeth were

more wildly uneven, although sound, than I had ever before seen

teeth in a human head. The expression of his smile, however, was

by no means unpleasing, as might be supposed; but it had no

variation whatever. It was one of profound melancholy—of a

phaseless and unceasing gloom. His eyes were abnormally large,

and round like those of a cat. The pupils, too, upon any

accession or diminution of light, underwent contraction or

dilation, just such as is observed in the feline tribe. In

moments of excitement the orbs grew bright to a degree almost

inconceivable; seeming to emit luminous rays, not of a reflected

but of an intrinsic lustre, as does a candle or the sun; yet

their ordinary condition was so totally vapid, filmy, and dull as

to convey the idea of the eyes of a long-interred corpse.

These peculiarities of person appeared to cause him much

annoyance, and he was continually alluding to them in a sort of

half explanatory, half apologetic strain, which, when I first

heard it, impressed me very painfully. I soon, however, grew

accustomed to it, and my uneasiness wore off. It seemed to be his

design rather to insinuate than directly to assert that,

physically, he had not always been what he was—that a long series

of neuralgic attacks had reduced him from a condition of more

than usual personal beauty, to that which I saw. For many years

past he had been attended by a physician, named Templeton—an old

gentleman, perhaps seventy years of age—whom he had first

encountered at Saratoga, and from whose attention, while there,

he either received, or fancied that he received, great benefit.

The result was that Bedloe, who was wealthy, had made an

arrangement with Dr. Templeton, by which the latter, in

consideration of a liberal annual allowance, had consented to

devote his time and medical experience exclusively to the care of

the invalid.

Doctor Templeton had been a traveller in his younger days, and at

Paris had become a convert, in great measure, to the doctrines of

Mesmer. It was altogether by means of magnetic remedies that he

had succeeded in alleviating the acute pains of his patient; and

this success had very naturally inspired the latter with a

certain degree of confidence in the opinions from which the

remedies had been educed. The Doctor, however, like all

enthusiasts, had struggled hard to make a thorough convert of his

pupil, and finally so far gained his point as to induce the

sufferer to submit to numerous experiments. By a frequent

repetition of these, a result had arisen, which of late days has

become so common as to attract little or no attention, but which,

at the period of which I write, had very rarely been known in

America. I mean to say, that between Doctor Templeton and Bedloe

there had grown up, little by little, a very distinct and

strongly marked rapport, or magnetic relation. I am not prepared

to assert, however, that this rapport extended beyond the limits

of the simple sleep-producing power, but this power itself had

attained great intensity. At the first attempt to induce the

magnetic somnolency, the mesmerist entirely failed. In the fifth

or sixth he succeeded very partially, and after long continued

effort. Only at the twelfth was the triumph complete. After this

the will of the patient succumbed rapidly to that of the

physician, so that, when I first became acquainted with the two,

sleep was brought about almost instantaneously by the mere

volition of the operator, even when the invalid was unaware of

his presence. It is only now, in the year 1845, when similar

miracles are witnessed daily by thousands, that I dare venture to

record this apparent impossibility as a matter of serious fact.

The temperature of Bedloe was, in the highest degree sensitive,

excitable, enthusiastic. His imagination was singularly vigorous

and creative; and no doubt it derived additional force from the

habitual use of morphine, which he swallowed in great quantity,

and without which he would have found it impossible to exist. It

was his practice to take a very large dose of it immediately

after breakfast each morning—or, rather, immediately after a cup

of strong coffee, for he ate nothing in the forenoon—and then set

forth alone, or attended only by a dog, upon a long ramble among

the chain of wild and dreary hills that lie westward and

southward of Charlottesville, and are there dignified by the

title of the Ragged Mountains.

Upon a dim, warm, misty day, toward the close of November, and

during the strange interregnum of the seasons which in America is

termed the Indian Summer, Mr. Bedloe departed as usual for the

hills. The day passed, and still he did not return.

About eight o’clock at night, having become seriously alarmed at

his protracted absence, we were about setting out in search of

him, when he unexpectedly made his appearance, in health no worse

than usual, and in rather more than ordinary spirits. The account

which he gave of his expedition, and of the events which had

detained him, was a singular one indeed.

“You will remember,” said he, “that it was about nine in the

morning when I left Charlottesville. I bent my steps immediately

to the mountains, and, about ten, entered a gorge which was

entirely new to me. I followed the windings of this pass with

much interest. The scenery which presented itself on all sides,

although scarcely entitled to be called grand, had about it an

indescribable and to me a delicious aspect of dreary desolation.

The solitude seemed absolutely virgin. I could not help believing

that the green sods and the gray rocks upon which I trod had been

trodden never before by the foot of a human being. So entirely

secluded, and in fact inaccessible, except through a series of

accidents, is the entrance of the ravine, that it is by no means

impossible that I was indeed the first adventurer—the very first

and sole adventurer who had ever penetrated its recesses.

“The thick and peculiar mist, or smoke, which distinguishes the

Indian Summer, and which now hung heavily over all objects,

served, no doubt, to deepen the vague impressions which these

objects created. So dense was this pleasant fog that I could at

no time see more than a dozen yards of the path before me. This

path was excessively sinuous, and as the sun could not be seen, I

soon lost all idea of the direction in which I journeyed. In the

meantime the morphine had its customary effect—that of enduing

all the external world with an intensity of interest. In the

quivering of a leaf—in the hue of a blade of grass—in the shape

of a trefoil—in the humming of a bee—in the gleaming of a

dew-drop—in the breathing of the wind—in the faint odors that

came from the forest—there came a whole universe of suggestion—a

gay and motley train of rhapsodical and immethodical thought.

“Busied in this, I walked on for several hours, during which the

mist deepened around me to so great an extent that at length I

was reduced to an absolute groping of the way. And now an

indescribable uneasiness possessed me—a species of nervous

hesitation and tremor. I feared to tread, lest I should be

precipitated into some abyss. I remembered, too, strange stories

told about these Ragged Hills, and of the uncouth and fierce

races of men who tenanted their groves and caverns. A thousand

vague fancies oppressed and disconcerted me—fancies the more

distressing because vague. Very suddenly my attention was

arrested by the loud beating of a drum.

“My amazement was, of course, extreme. A drum in these hills was

a thing unknown. I could not have been more surprised at the

sound of the trump of the Archangel. But a new and still more

astounding source of interest and perplexity arose. There came a

wild rattling or jingling sound, as if of a bunch of large keys,

and upon the instant a dusky-visaged and half-naked man rushed

past me with a shriek. He came so close to my person that I felt

his hot breath upon my face. He bore in one hand an instrument

composed of an assemblage of steel rings, and shook them

vigorously as he ran. Scarcely had he disappeared in the mist

before, panting after him, with open mouth and glaring eyes,

there darted a huge beast. I could not be mistaken in its

character. It was a hyena.

“The sight of this monster rather relieved than heightened my

terrors—for I now made sure that I dreamed, and endeavored to

arouse myself to waking consciousness. I stepped boldly and

briskly forward. I rubbed my eyes. I called aloud. I pinched my

limbs. A small spring of water presented itself to my view, and

here, stooping, I bathed my hands and my head and neck. This

seemed to dissipate the equivocal sensations which had hitherto

annoyed me. I arose, as I thought, a new man, and proceeded

steadily and complacently on my unknown way.

“At length, quite overcome by exertion, and by a certain

oppressive closeness of the atmosphere, I seated myself beneath a

tree. Presently there came a feeble gleam of sunshine, and the

shadow of the leaves of the tree fell faintly but definitely upon

the grass. At this shadow I gazed wonderingly for many minutes.

Its character stupefied me with astonishment. I looked upward.

The tree was a palm.

“I now arose hurriedly, and in a state of fearful agitation—for

the fancy that I dreamed would serve me no longer. I saw—I felt

that I had perfect command of my senses—and these senses now

brought to my soul a world of novel and singular sensation. The

heat became all at once intolerable. A strange odor loaded the

breeze. A low, continuous murmur, like that arising from a full,

but gently flowing river, came to my ears, intermingled with the

peculiar hum of multitudinous human voices.

“While I listened in an extremity of astonishment which I need

not attempt to describe, a strong and brief gust of wind bore off

the incumbent fog as if by the wand of an enchanter.

“I found myself at the foot of a high mountain, and looking down

into a vast plain, through which wound a majestic river. On the

margin of this river stood an Eastern-looking city, such as we

read of in the Arabian Tales, but of a character even more

singular than any there described. From my position, which was

far above the level of the town, I could perceive its every nook

and corner, as if delineated on a map. The streets seemed

innumerable, and crossed each other irregularly in all

directions, but were rather long winding alleys than streets, and

absolutely swarmed with inhabitants. The houses were wildly

picturesque. On every hand was a wilderness of balconies, of

verandas, of minarets, of shrines, and fantastically carved

oriels. Bazaars abounded; and in these were displayed rich wares

in infinite variety and profusion—silks, muslins, the most

dazzling cutlery, the most magnificent jewels and gems. Besides

these things, were seen, on all sides, banners and palanquins,

litters with stately dames close-veiled, elephants gorgeously

caparisoned, idols grotesquely hewn, drums, banners, and gongs,

spears, silver and gilded maces. And amid the crowd, and the

clamor, and the general intricacy and confusion—amid the million

of black and yellow men, turbaned and robed, and of flowing

beard, there roamed a countless multitude of holy filleted bulls,

while vast legions of the filthy but sacred ape clambered,

chattering and shrieking, about the cornices of the mosques, or

clung to the minarets and oriels. From the swarming streets to

the banks of the river, there descended innumerable flights of

steps leading to bathing places, while the river itself seemed to

force a passage with difficulty through the vast fleets of

deeply-burthened ships that far and wide encountered its surface.

Beyond the limits of the city arose, in frequent majestic groups,

the palm and the cocoa, with other gigantic and weird trees of

vast age; and here and there might be seen a field of rice, the

thatched hut of a peasant, a tank, a stray temple, a gypsy camp,

or a solitary graceful maiden taking her way, with a pitcher upon

her head, to the banks of the magnificent river.

“You will say now, of course, that I dreamed; but not so. What I

saw—what I heard—what I felt—what I thought—had about it nothing

of the unmistakable idiosyncrasy of the dream. All was rigorously

self-consistent. At first, doubting that I was really awake, I

entered into a series of tests, which soon convinced me that I

really was. Now, when one dreams, and, in the dream, suspects

that he dreams, the suspicion never fails to confirm itself, and

the sleeper is almost immediately aroused. Thus Novalis errs not

in saying that ‘we are near waking when we dream that we dream.’

Had the vision occurred to me as I describe it, without my

suspecting it as a dream, then a dream it might absolutely have

been, but, occurring as it did, and suspected and tested as it

was, I am forced to class it among other phenomena.”

“In this I am not sure that you are wrong,” observed Dr.

Templeton, “but proceed. You arose and descended into the city.”

“I arose,” continued Bedloe, regarding the Doctor with an air of

profound astonishment “I arose, as you say, and descended into

the city. On my way I fell in with an immense populace, crowding

through every avenue, all in the same direction, and exhibiting

in every action the wildest excitement. Very suddenly, and by

some inconceivable impulse, I became intensely imbued with

personal interest in what was going on. I seemed to feel that I

had an important part to play, without exactly understanding what

it was. Against the crowd which environed me, however, I

experienced a deep sentiment of animosity. I shrank from amid

them, and, swiftly, by a circuitous path, reached and entered the

city. Here all was the wildest tumult and contention. A small

party of men, clad in garments half Indian, half European, and

officered by gentlemen in a uniform partly British, were engaged,

at great odds, with the swarming rabble of the alleys. I joined

the weaker party, arming myself with the weapons of a fallen

officer, and fighting I knew not whom with the nervous ferocity

of despair. We were soon overpowered by numbers, and driven to

seek refuge in a species of kiosk. Here we barricaded ourselves,

and, for the present were secure. From a loop-hole near the

summit of the kiosk, I perceived a vast crowd, in furious

agitation, surrounding and assaulting a gay palace that overhung

the river. Presently, from an upper window of this place, there

descended an effeminate-looking person, by means of a string made

of the turbans of his attendants. A boat was at hand, in which he

escaped to the opposite bank of the river.

“And now a new object took possession of my soul. I spoke a few

hurried but energetic words to my companions, and, having

succeeded in gaining over a few of them to my purpose made a

frantic sally from the kiosk. We rushed amid the crowd that

surrounded it. They retreated, at first, before us. They rallied,

fought madly, and retreated again. In the mean time we were borne

far from the kiosk, and became bewildered and entangled among the

narrow streets of tall, overhanging houses, into the recesses of

which the sun had never been able to shine. The rabble pressed

impetuously upon us, harrassing us with their spears, and

overwhelming us with flights of arrows. These latter were very

remarkable, and resembled in some respects the writhing creese of

the Malay. They were made to imitate the body of a creeping

serpent, and were long and black, with a poisoned barb. One of

them struck me upon the right temple. I reeled and fell. An

instantaneous and dreadful sickness seized me. I struggled—I

gasped—I died.”

“You will hardly persist now,” said I smiling, “that the whole

of your adventure was not a dream. You are not prepared to

maintain that you are dead?”

When I said these words, I of course expected some lively sally

from Bedloe in reply, but, to my astonishment, he hesitated,

trembled, became fearfully pallid, and remained silent. I looked

toward Templeton. He sat erect and rigid in his chair—his teeth

chattered, and his eyes were starting from their sockets.

“Proceed!” he at length said hoarsely to Bedloe.

“For many minutes,” continued the latter, “my sole sentiment—my

sole feeling—was that of darkness and nonentity, with the

consciousness of death. At length there seemed to pass a violent

and sudden shock through my soul, as if of electricity. With it

came the sense of elasticity and of light. This latter I felt—not

saw. In an instant I seemed to rise from the ground. But I had no

bodily, no visible, audible, or palpable presence. The crowd had

departed. The tumult had ceased. The city was in comparative

repose. Beneath me lay my corpse, with the arrow in my temple,

the whole head greatly swollen and disfigured. But all these

things I felt—not saw. I took interest in nothing. Even the

corpse seemed a matter in which I had no concern. Volition I had

none, but appeared to be impelled into motion, and flitted

buoyantly out of the city, retracing the circuitous path by which

I had entered it. When I had attained that point of the ravine in

the mountains at which I had encountered the hyena, I again

experienced a shock as of a galvanic battery; the sense of

weight, of volition, of substance, returned. I became my original

self, and bent my steps eagerly homeward—but the past had not

lost the vividness of the real—and not now, even for an instant,

can I compel my understanding to regard it as a dream.”

“Nor was it,” said Templeton, with an air of deep solemnity, “yet

it would be difficult to say how otherwise it should be termed.

Let us suppose only, that the soul of the man of to-day is upon

the verge of some stupendous psychal discoveries. Let us content

ourselves with this supposition. For the rest I have some

explanation to make. Here is a watercolor drawing, which I should

have shown you before, but which an unaccountable sentiment of

horror has hitherto prevented me from showing.”

We looked at the picture which he presented. I saw nothing in it

of an extraordinary character, but its effect upon Bedloe was

prodigious. He nearly fainted as he gazed. And yet it was but a

miniature portrait—a miraculously accurate one, to be sure—of his

own very remarkable features. At least this was my thought as I

regarded it.

“You will perceive,” said Templeton, “the date of this picture—it

is here, scarcely visible, in this corner—1780. In this year was

the portrait taken. It is the likeness of a dead friend—a Mr.

Oldeb—to whom I became much attached at Calcutta, during the

administration of Warren Hastings. I was then only twenty years

old. When I first saw you, Mr. Bedloe, at Saratoga, it was the

miraculous similarity which existed between yourself and the

painting which induced me to accost you, to seek your friendship,

and to bring about those arrangements which resulted in my

becoming your constant companion. In accomplishing this point, I

was urged partly, and perhaps principally, by a regretful memory

of the deceased, but also, in part, by an uneasy, and not

altogether horrorless curiosity respecting yourself.

“In your detail of the vision which presented itself to you amid

the hills, you have described, with the minutest accuracy, the

Indian city of Benares, upon the Holy River. The riots, the

combat, the massacre, were the actual events of the insurrection

of Cheyte Sing, which took place in 1780, when Hastings was put

in imminent peril of his life. The man escaping by the string of

turbans was Cheyte Sing himself. The party in the kiosk were

sepoys and British officers, headed by Hastings. Of this party I

was one, and did all I could to prevent the rash and fatal sally

of the officer who fell, in the crowded alleys, by the poisoned

arrow of a Bengalee. That officer was my dearest friend. It was

Oldeb. You will perceive by these manuscripts,” (here the speaker

produced a note-book in which several pages appeared to have been

freshly written,) “that at the very period in which you fancied

these things amid the hills, I was engaged in detailing them upon

paper here at home.”

In about a week after this conversation, the following paragraphs

appeared in a Charlottesville paper:

“We have the painful duty of announcing the death of Mr. Augustus

Bedlo, a gentleman whose amiable manners and many virtues have

long endeared him to the citizens of Charlottesville.

“Mr. B., for some years past, has been subject to neuralgia,

which has often threatened to terminate fatally; but this can be

regarded only as the mediate cause of his decease. The proximate

cause was one of especial singularity. In an excursion to the

Ragged Mountains, a few days since, a slight cold and fever were

contracted, attended with great determination of blood to the

head. To relieve this, Dr. Templeton resorted to topical

bleeding. Leeches were applied to the temples. In a fearfully

brief period the patient died, when it appeared that in the jar

containing the leeches, had been introduced, by accident, one of

the venomous vermicular sangsues which are now and then found in

the neighboring ponds. This creature fastened itself upon a small

artery in the right temple. Its close resemblance to the

medicinal leech caused the mistake to be overlooked until too

late.

“N. B.—The poisonous sangsue of Charlottesville may always be

distinguished from the medicinal leech by its blackness, and

especially by its writhing or vermicular motions, which very

nearly resemble those of a snake.”

I was speaking with the editor of the paper in question, upon the

topic of this remarkable accident, when it occurred to me to ask

how it happened that the name of the deceased had been given as

Bedlo.

“I presume,” I said, “you have authority for this spelling, but I

have always supposed the name to be written with an e at the

end.”

“Authority?—no,” he replied. “It is a mere typographical error.

The name is Bedlo with an e, all the world over, and I never knew

it to be spelt otherwise in my life.”

“Then,” said I mutteringly, as I turned upon my heel, “then

indeed has it come to pass that one truth is stranger than any

fiction—for Bedloe, without the e, what is it but Oldeb

conversed! And this man tells me that it is a typographical

error.”

THE SPECTACLES

Many years ago, it was the fashion to ridicule the idea of “love

at first sight;” but those who think, not less than those who

feel deeply, have always advocated its existence. Modern

discoveries, indeed, in what may be termed ethical magnetism or

magnetoesthetics, render it probable that the most natural, and,

consequently, the truest and most intense of the human affections

are those which arise in the heart as if by electric sympathy—in

a word, that the brightest and most enduring of the psychal

fetters are those which are riveted by a glance. The confession I

am about to make will add another to the already almost

innumerable instances of the truth of the position.

My story requires that I should be somewhat minute. I am still a

very young man—not yet twenty-two years of age. My name, at

present, is a very usual and rather plebeian one—Simpson. I say

“at present;” for it is only lately that I have been so

called—having legislatively adopted this surname within the last

year in order to receive a large inheritance left me by a distant

male relative, Adolphus Simpson, Esq. The bequest was conditioned

upon my taking the name of the testator,—the family, not the

Christian name; my Christian name is Napoleon Bonaparte—or, more

properly, these are my first and middle appellations.

I assumed the name, Simpson, with some reluctance, as in my true

patronym, Froissart, I felt a very pardonable pride—believing

that I could trace a descent from the immortal author of the

“Chronicles.” While on the subject of names, by the bye, I may

mention a singular coincidence of sound attending the names of

some of my immediate predecessors. My father was a Monsieur

Froissart, of Paris. His wife—my mother, whom he married at

fifteen—was a Mademoiselle Croissart, eldest daughter of

Croissart the banker, whose wife, again, being only sixteen when

married, was the eldest daughter of one Victor Voissart. Monsieur

Voissart, very singularly, had married a lady of similar name—a

Mademoiselle Moissart. She, too, was quite a child when married;

and her mother, also, Madame Moissart, was only fourteen when led

to the altar. These early marriages are usual in France. Here,

however, are Moissart, Voissart, Croissart, and Froissart, all in

the direct line of descent. My own name, though, as I say, became

Simpson, by act of Legislature, and with so much repugnance on my

part, that, at one period, I actually hesitated about accepting

the legacy with the useless and annoying proviso attached.

As to personal endowments, I am by no means deficient. On the

contrary, I believe that I am well made, and possess what nine

tenths of the world would call a handsome face. In height I am

five feet eleven. My hair is black and curling. My nose is

sufficiently good. My eyes are large and gray; and although, in

fact they are weak to a very inconvenient degree, still no defect

in this regard would be suspected from their appearance. The

weakness itself, however, has always much annoyed me, and I have

resorted to every remedy—short of wearing glasses. Being youthful

and good-looking, I naturally dislike these, and have resolutely

refused to employ them. I know nothing, indeed, which so

disfigures the countenance of a young person, or so impresses

every feature with an air of demureness, if not altogether of

sanctimoniousness and of age. An eyeglass, on the other hand, has

a savor of downright foppery and affectation. I have hitherto

managed as well as I could without either. But something too much

of these merely personal details, which, after all, are of little

importance. I will content myself with saying, in addition, that

my temperament is sanguine, rash, ardent, enthusiastic—and that

all my life I have been a devoted admirer of the women.

One night last winter I entered a box at the P—— Theatre, in

company with a friend, Mr. Talbot. It was an opera night, and the

bills presented a very rare attraction, so that the house was

excessively crowded. We were in time, however, to obtain the

front seats which had been reserved for us, and into which, with

some little difficulty, we elbowed our way.

For two hours my companion, who was a musical fanatico, gave his

undivided attention to the stage; and, in the meantime, I amused

myself by observing the audience, which consisted, in chief part,

of the very elite of the city. Having satisfied myself upon this

point, I was about turning my eyes to the prima donna, when they

were arrested and riveted by a figure in one of the private boxes

which had escaped my observation.

If I live a thousand years, I can never forget the intense

emotion with which I regarded this figure. It was that of a

female, the most exquisite I had ever beheld. The face was so far

turned toward the stage that, for some minutes, I could not

obtain a view of it—but the form was divine; no other word can

sufficiently express its magnificent proportion—and even the term

“divine” seems ridiculously feeble as I write it.

The magic of a lovely form in woman—the necromancy of female

gracefulness—was always a power which I had found it impossible

to resist, but here was grace personified, incarnate, the beau

ideal of my wildest and most enthusiastic visions. The figure,

almost all of which the construction of the box permitted to be

seen, was somewhat above the medium height, and nearly

approached, without positively reaching, the majestic. Its

perfect fullness and tournure were delicious. The head, of which

only the back was visible, rivalled in outline that of the Greek

Psyche, and was rather displayed than concealed by an elegant cap

of gaze äérienne, which put me in mind of the ventum textilem

of Apuleius. The right arm hung over the balustrade of the box,

and thrilled every nerve of my frame with its exquisite symmetry.

Its upper portion was draperied by one of the loose open sleeves

now in fashion. This extended but little below the elbow. Beneath

it was worn an under one of some frail material, close-fitting,

and terminated by a cuff of rich lace, which fell gracefully over

the top of the hand, revealing only the delicate fingers, upon

one of which sparkled a diamond ring, which I at once saw was of

extraordinary value. The admirable roundness of the wrist was

well set off by a bracelet which encircled it, and which also was

ornamented and clasped by a magnificent aigrette of

jewels—telling, in words that could not be mistaken, at once of

the wealth and fastidious taste of the wearer.

I gazed at this queenly apparition for at least half an hour, as

if I had been suddenly converted to stone; and, during this

period, I felt the full force and truth of all that has been said

or sung concerning “love at first sight.” My feelings were

totally different from any which I had hitherto experienced, in

the presence of even the most celebrated specimens of female

loveliness. An unaccountable, and what I am compelled to consider

a magnetic, sympathy of soul for soul, seemed to rivet, not only

my vision, but my whole powers of thought and feeling, upon the

admirable object before me. I saw—I felt—I knew that I was

deeply, madly, irrevocably in love—and this even before seeing

the face of the person beloved. So intense, indeed, was the

passion that consumed me, that I really believe it would have

received little if any abatement had the features, yet unseen,

proved of merely ordinary character; so anomalous is the nature

of the only true love—of the love at first sight—and so little

really dependent is it upon the external conditions which only

seem to create and control it.

While I was thus wrapped in admiration of this lovely vision, a

sudden disturbance among the audience caused her to turn her head

partially toward me, so that I beheld the entire profile of the

face. Its beauty even exceeded my anticipations—and yet there was

something about it which disappointed me without my being able to

tell exactly what it was. I said “disappointed,” but this is not

altogether the word. My sentiments were at once quieted and

exalted. They partook less of transport and more of calm

enthusiasm—of enthusiastic repose. This state of feeling arose,

perhaps, from the Madonna-like and matronly air of the face; and

yet I at once understood that it could not have arisen entirely

from this. There was something else—some mystery which I could

not develope—some expression about the countenance which slightly

disturbed me while it greatly heightened my interest. In fact, I

was just in that condition of mind which prepares a young and

susceptible man for any act of extravagance. Had the lady been

alone, I should undoubtedly have entered her box and accosted her

at all hazards; but, fortunately, she was attended by two

companions—a gentleman, and a strikingly beautiful woman, to all

appearance a few years younger than herself.

I revolved in my mind a thousand schemes by which I might obtain,

hereafter, an introduction to the elder lady, or, for the

present, at all events, a more distinct view of her beauty. I

would have removed my position to one nearer her own, but the

crowded state of the theatre rendered this impossible; and the

stern decrees of Fashion had, of late, imperatively prohibited

the use of the opera-glass in a case such as this, even had I

been so fortunate as to have one with me—but I had not—and was

thus in despair.

At length I bethought me of applying to my companion.

“Talbot,” I said, “you have an opera-glass. Let me have it.”

“An opera-glass!—no!—what do you suppose I would be doing with an

opera-glass?” Here he turned impatiently toward the stage.

“But, Talbot,” I continued, pulling him by the shoulder, “listen

to me will you? Do you see the stage-box?—there!—no, the next.—

Did you ever behold as lovely a woman?”

“She is very beautiful, no doubt,” he said.

“I wonder who she can be?”

“Why, in the name of all that is angelic, don’t you know who she

is? ‘Not to know her argues yourself unknown.’ She is the

celebrated Madame Lalande—the beauty of the day par excellence,

and the talk of the whole town. Immensely wealthy too—a widow,

and a great match—has just arrived from Paris.”

“Do you know her?”

“Yes; I have the honor.”

“Will you introduce me?”

“Assuredly, with the greatest pleasure; when shall it be?”

“To-morrow, at one, I will call upon you at B—’s.”

“Very good; and now do hold your tongue, if you can.”

In this latter respect I was forced to take Talbot’s advice; for

he remained obstinately deaf to every further question or

suggestion, and occupied himself exclusively for the rest of the

evening with what was transacting upon the stage.

In the meantime I kept my eyes riveted on Madame Lalande, and at

length had the good fortune to obtain a full front view of her

face. It was exquisitely lovely—this, of course, my heart had

told me before, even had not Talbot fully satisfied me upon the

point—but still the unintelligible something disturbed me. I

finally concluded that my senses were impressed by a certain air

of gravity, sadness, or, still more properly, of weariness, which

took something from the youth and freshness of the countenance,

only to endow it with a seraphic tenderness and majesty, and

thus, of course, to my enthusiastic and romantic temperment, with

an interest tenfold.

While I thus feasted my eyes, I perceived, at last, to my great

trepidation, by an almost imperceptible start on the part of the

lady, that she had become suddenly aware of the intensity of my

gaze. Still, I was absolutely fascinated, and could not withdraw

it, even for an instant. She turned aside her face, and again I

saw only the chiselled contour of the back portion of the head.

After some minutes, as if urged by curiosity to see if I was

still looking, she gradually brought her face again around and

again encountered my burning gaze. Her large dark eyes fell

instantly, and a deep blush mantled her cheek. But what was my

astonishment at perceiving that she not only did not a second

time avert her head, but that she actually took from her girdle a

double eyeglass—elevated it—adjusted it—and then regarded me

through it, intently and deliberately, for the space of several

minutes.

Had a thunderbolt fallen at my feet I could not have been more

thoroughly astounded—astounded only—not offended or disgusted in

the slightest degree; although an action so bold in any other

woman would have been likely to offend or disgust. But the whole

thing was done with so much quietude—so much nonchalance—so much

repose—with so evident an air of the highest breeding, in

short—that nothing of mere effrontery was perceptible, and my

sole sentiments were those of admiration and surprise.

I observed that, upon her first elevation of the glass, she had

seemed satisfied with a momentary inspection of my person, and

was withdrawing the instrument, when, as if struck by a second

thought, she resumed it, and so continued to regard me with fixed

attention for the space of several minutes—for five minutes, at

the very least, I am sure.

This action, so remarkable in an American theatre, attracted very

general observation, and gave rise to an indefinite movement, or

buzz, among the audience, which for a moment filled me with

confusion, but produced no visible effect upon the countenance of

Madame Lalande.

Having satisfied her curiosity—if such it was—she dropped the

glass, and quietly gave her attention again to the stage; her

profile now being turned toward myself, as before. I continued to

watch her unremittingly, although I was fully conscious of my

rudeness in so doing. Presently I saw the head slowly and

slightly change its position; and soon I became convinced that

the lady, while pretending to look at the stage was, in fact,

attentively regarding myself. It is needless to say what effect

this conduct, on the part of so fascinating a woman, had upon my

excitable mind.

Having thus scrutinized me for perhaps a quarter of an hour, the

fair object of my passion addressed the gentleman who attended

her, and while she spoke, I saw distinctly, by the glances of

both, that the conversation had reference to myself.

Upon its conclusion, Madame Lalande again turned toward the

stage, and, for a few minutes, seemed absorbed in the

performance. At the expiration of this period, however, I was

thrown into an extremity of agitation by seeing her unfold, for

the second time, the eye-glass which hung at her side, fully

confront me as before, and, disregarding the renewed buzz of the

audience, survey me, from head to foot, with the same miraculous

composure which had previously so delighted and confounded my

soul.

This extraordinary behavior, by throwing me into a perfect fever

of excitement—into an absolute delirium of love—served rather to

embolden than to disconcert me. In the mad intensity of my

devotion, I forgot everything but the presence and the majestic

loveliness of the vision which confronted my gaze. Watching my

opportunity, when I thought the audience were fully engaged with

the opera, I at length caught the eyes of Madame Lalande, and,

upon the instant, made a slight but unmistakable bow.

She blushed very deeply—then averted her eyes—then slowly and

cautiously looked around, apparently to see if my rash action had

been noticed—then leaned over toward the gentleman who sat by her

side.

I now felt a burning sense of the impropriety I had committed,

and expected nothing less than instant exposure; while a vision

of pistols upon the morrow floated rapidly and uncomfortably

through my brain. I was greatly and immediately relieved,

however, when I saw the lady merely hand the gentleman a

play-bill, without speaking; but the reader may form some feeble

conception of my astonishment—of my profound amazement—my

delirious bewilderment of heart and soul—when, instantly

afterward, having again glanced furtively around, she allowed her

bright eyes to set fully and steadily upon my own, and then, with

a faint smile, disclosing a bright line of her pearly teeth, made

two distinct, pointed, and unequivocal affirmative inclinations

of the head.

It is useless, of course, to dwell upon my joy—upon my

transport—upon my illimitable ecstasy of heart. If ever man was

mad with excess of happiness, it was myself at that moment. I

loved. This was my first love—so I felt it to be. It was love

supreme—indescribable. It was “love at first sight;” and at first

sight, too, it had been appreciated and returned.

Yes, returned. How and why should I doubt it for an instant. What

other construction could I possibly put upon such conduct, on the

part of a lady so beautiful—so wealthy—evidently so

accomplished—of so high breeding—of so lofty a position in

society—in every regard so entirely respectable as I felt assured

was Madame Lalande? Yes, she loved me—she returned the enthusiasm

of my love, with an enthusiasm as blind—as uncompromising—as

uncalculating—as abandoned—and as utterly unbounded as my own!

These delicious fancies and reflections, however, were now

interrupted by the falling of the drop-curtain. The audience

arose; and the usual tumult immediately supervened. Quitting

Talbot abruptly, I made every effort to force my way into closer

proximity with Madame Lalande. Having failed in this, on account

of the crowd, I at length gave up the chase, and bent my steps

homeward; consoling myself for my disappointment in not having

been able to touch even the hem of her robe, by the reflection

that I should be introduced by Talbot, in due form, upon the

morrow.

This morrow at last came, that is to say, a day finally dawned

upon a long and weary night of impatience; and then the hours

until “one” were snail-paced, dreary, and innumerable. But even

Stamboul, it is said, shall have an end, and there came an end to

this long delay. The clock struck. As the last echo ceased, I

stepped into B——’s and inquired for Talbot.

“Out,” said the footman—Talbot’s own.

“Out!” I replied, staggering back half a dozen paces—“let me tell

you, my fine fellow, that this thing is thoroughly impossible and

impracticable; Mr. Talbot is not out. What do you mean?”

“Nothing, sir; only Mr. Talbot is not in, that’s all. He rode

over to S——, immediately after breakfast, and left word that he

would not be in town again for a week.”

I stood petrified with horror and rage. I endeavored to reply,

but my tongue refused its office. At length I turned on my heel,

livid with wrath, and inwardly consigning the whole tribe of the

Talbots to the innermost regions of Erebus. It was evident that

my considerate friend, il fanatico, had quite forgotten his

appointment with myself—had forgotten it as soon as it was made.

At no time was he a very scrupulous man of his word. There was no

help for it; so smothering my vexation as well as I could, I

strolled moodily up the street, propounding futile inquiries

about Madame Lalande to every male acquaintance I met. By report

she was known, I found, to all—to many by sight—but she had been

in town only a few weeks, and there were very few, therefore, who

claimed her personal acquaintance. These few, being still

comparatively strangers, could not, or would not, take the

liberty of introducing me through the formality of a morning

call. While I stood thus in despair, conversing with a trio of

friends upon the all-absorbing subject of my heart, it so

happened that the subject itself passed by.

“As I live, there she is!” cried one.

“Surprisingly beautiful!” exclaimed a second.

“An angel upon earth!” ejaculated a third.

I looked; and in an open carriage which approached us, passing

slowly down the street, sat the enchanting vision of the opera,

accompanied by the younger lady who had occupied a portion of her

box.

“Her companion also wears remarkably well,” said the one of my

trio who had spoken first.

“Astonishingly,” said the second; “still quite a brilliant air,

but art will do wonders. Upon my word, she looks better than she

did at Paris five years ago. A beautiful woman still;—don’t you

think so, Froissart?—Simpson, I mean.”

“Still!” said I, “and why shouldn’t she be? But compared with

her friend she is as a rush-light to the evening star—a glow-worm

to Antares.”

“Ha! ha! ha!—why, Simpson, you have an astonishing tact at making

discoveries—original ones, I mean.” And here we separated, while

one of the trio began humming a gay vaudeville, of which I

caught only the lines—

Ninon, Ninon, Ninon à bas—

A bas Ninon De L’Enclos!

During this little scene, however, one thing had served greatly

to console me, although it fed the passion by which I was

consumed. As the carriage of Madame Lalande rolled by our group,

I had observed that she recognized me; and more than this, she

had blessed me, by the most seraphic of all imaginable smiles,

with no equivocal mark of the recognition.

As for an introduction, I was obliged to abandon all hope of it

until such time as Talbot should think proper to return from the

country. In the meantime I perseveringly frequented every

reputable place of public amusement; and, at length, at the

theatre, where I first saw her, I had the supreme bliss of

meeting her, and of exchanging glances with her once again. This

did not occur, however, until the lapse of a fortnight. Every

day, in the interim, I had inquired for Talbot at his hotel, and

every day had been thrown into a spasm of wrath by the

everlasting “Not come home yet” of his footman.

Upon the evening in question, therefore, I was in a condition

little short of madness. Madame Lalande, I had been told, was a

Parisian—had lately arrived from Paris—might she not suddenly

return?—return before Talbot came back—and might she not be thus

lost to me forever? The thought was too terrible to bear. Since

my future happiness was at issue, I resolved to act with a manly

decision. In a word, upon the breaking up of the play, I traced

the lady to her residence, noted the address, and the next

morning sent her a full and elaborate letter, in which I poured

out my whole heart.

I spoke boldly, freely—in a word, I spoke with passion. I

concealed nothing—nothing even of my weakness. I alluded to the

romantic circumstances of our first meeting—even to the glances

which had passed between us. I went so far as to say that I felt

assured of her love; while I offered this assurance, and my own

intensity of devotion, as two excuses for my otherwise

unpardonable conduct. As a third, I spoke of my fear that she

might quit the city before I could have the opportunity of a

formal introduction. I concluded the most wildly enthusiastic

epistle ever penned, with a frank declaration of my worldly

circumstances—of my affluence—and with an offer of my heart and

of my hand.

In an agony of expectation I awaited the reply. After what seemed

the lapse of a century it came.

Yes, actually came. Romantic as all this may appear, I really

received a letter from Madame Lalande—the beautiful, the wealthy,

the idolized Madame Lalande. Her eyes—her magnificent eyes, had

not belied her noble heart. Like a true Frenchwoman as she was

she had obeyed the frank dictates of her reason—the generous

impulses of her nature—despising the conventional pruderies of

the world. She had not scorned my proposals. She had not

sheltered herself in silence. She had not returned my letter

unopened. She had even sent me, in reply, one penned by her own

exquisite fingers. It ran thus:

“Monsieur Simpson vill pardonne me for not compose de butefulle

tong of his contrée so vell as might. It is only de late dat I am

arrive, and not yet ave do opportunité for to—l’étudier.

“Vid dis apologie for the manière, I vill now say dat,

hélas!—Monsieur Simpson ave guess but de too true. Need I say de

more? Hélas! am I not ready speak de too moshe?

“EUGENIE LALAND.”

This noble-spirited note I kissed a million times, and committed,

no doubt, on its account, a thousand other extravagances that

have now escaped my memory. Still Talbot would not return.

Alas! could he have formed even the vaguest idea of the suffering

his absence had occasioned his friend, would not his sympathizing

nature have flown immediately to my relief? Still, however, he

came not. I wrote. He replied. He was detained by urgent

business—but would shortly return. He begged me not to be

impatient—to moderate my transports—to read soothing books—to

drink nothing stronger than Hock—and to bring the consolations of

philosophy to my aid. The fool! if he could not come himself,

why, in the name of every thing rational, could he not have

enclosed me a letter of presentation? I wrote him again,

entreating him to forward one forthwith. My letter was returned

by that footman, with the following endorsement in pencil. The

scoundrel had joined his master in the country:

“Left S—— yesterday, for parts unknown—did not say where—or when

be back—so thought best to return letter, knowing your

handwriting, and as how you is always, more or less, in a hurry.

“Yours sincerely,

“STUBBS.”

After this, it is needless to say, that I devoted to the infernal

deities both master and valet:—but there was little use in anger,

and no consolation at all in complaint.

But I had yet a resource left, in my constitutional audacity.

Hitherto it had served me well, and I now resolved to make it

avail me to the end. Besides, after the correspondence which had

passed between us, what act of mere informality could I commit,

within bounds, that ought to be regarded as indecorous by Madame

Lalande? Since the affair of the letter, I had been in the habit

of watching her house, and thus discovered that, about twilight,

it was her custom to promenade, attended only by a negro in

livery, in a public square overlooked by her windows. Here, amid

the luxuriant and shadowing groves, in the gray gloom of a sweet

midsummer evening, I observed my opportunity and accosted her.

The better to deceive the servant in attendance, I did this with

the assured air of an old and familiar acquaintance. With a

presence of mind truly Parisian, she took the cue at once, and,

to greet me, held out the most bewitchingly little of hands. The

valet at once fell into the rear, and now, with hearts full to

overflowing, we discoursed long and unreservedly of our love.

As Madame Lalande spoke English even less fluently than she wrote

it, our conversation was necessarily in French. In this sweet

tongue, so adapted to passion, I gave loose to the impetuous

enthusiasm of my nature, and, with all the eloquence I could

command, besought her to consent to an immediate marriage.

At this impatience she smiled. She urged the old story of

decorum—that bug-bear which deters so many from bliss until the

opportunity for bliss has forever gone by. I had most imprudently

made it known among my friends, she observed, that I desired her

acquaintance—thus that I did not possess it—thus, again, there

was no possibility of concealing the date of our first knowledge

of each other. And then she adverted, with a blush, to the

extreme recency of this date. To wed immediately would be

improper—would be indecorous—would be outre. All this she said

with a charming air of naivete which enraptured while it grieved

and convinced me. She went even so far as to accuse me,

laughingly, of rashness—of imprudence. She bade me remember that

I really even knew not who she was—what were her prospects, her

connections, her standing in society. She begged me, but with a

sigh, to reconsider my proposal, and termed my love an

infatuation—a will o’ the wisp—a fancy or fantasy of the moment—a

baseless and unstable creation rather of the imagination than of

the heart. These things she uttered as the shadows of the sweet

twilight gathered darkly and more darkly around us—and then, with

a gentle pressure of her fairy-like hand, overthrew, in a single

sweet instant, all the argumentative fabric she had reared.

I replied as best I could—as only a true lover can. I spoke at

length, and perseveringly of my devotion, of my passion—of her

exceeding beauty, and of my own enthusiastic admiration. In

conclusion, I dwelt, with a convincing energy, upon the perils

that encompass the course of love—that course of true love that

never did run smooth—and thus deduced the manifest danger of

rendering that course unnecessarily long.

This latter argument seemed finally to soften the rigor of her

determination. She relented; but there was yet an obstacle, she

said, which she felt assured I had not properly considered. This

was a delicate point—for a woman to urge, especially so; in

mentioning it, she saw that she must make a sacrifice of her

feelings; still, for me, every sacrifice should be made. She

alluded to the topic of age. Was I aware—was I fully aware of the

discrepancy between us? That the age of the husband, should

surpass by a few years—even by fifteen or twenty—the age of the

wife, was regarded by the world as admissible, and, indeed, as

even proper; but she had always entertained the belief that the

years of the wife should never exceed in number those of the

husband. A discrepancy of this unnatural kind gave rise, too

frequently, alas! to a life of unhappiness. Now she was aware

that my own age did not exceed two and twenty; and I, on the

contrary, perhaps, was not aware that the years of my Eugénie

extended very considerably beyond that sum.

About all this there was a nobility of soul—a dignity of

candor—which delighted—which enchanted me—which eternally riveted

my chains. I could scarcely restrain the excessive transport

which possessed me.

“My sweetest Eugénie,” I cried, “what is all this about which you

are discoursing? Your years surpass in some measure my own. But

what then? The customs of the world are so many conventional

follies. To those who love as ourselves, in what respect differs

a year from an hour? I am twenty-two, you say; granted: indeed,

you may as well call me, at once, twenty-three. Now you yourself,

my dearest Eugénie, can have numbered no more than—can have

numbered no more than—no more than—than—than—than—”

Here I paused for an instant, in the expectation that Madame

Lalande would interrupt me by supplying her true age. But a

Frenchwoman is seldom direct, and has always, by way of answer to

an embarrassing query, some little practical reply of her own. In

the present instance, Eugénie, who for a few moments past had

seemed to be searching for something in her bosom, at length let

fall upon the grass a miniature, which I immediately picked up

and presented to her.

“Keep it!” she said, with one of her most ravishing smiles. “Keep

it for my sake—for the sake of her whom it too flatteringly

represents. Besides, upon the back of the trinket you may

discover, perhaps, the very information you seem to desire. It is

now, to be sure, growing rather dark—but you can examine it at

your leisure in the morning. In the meantime, you shall be my

escort home to-night. My friends are about holding a little

musical levée. I can promise you, too, some good singing. We

French are not nearly so punctilious as you Americans, and I

shall have no difficulty in smuggling you in, in the character of

an old acquaintance.”

With this, she took my arm, and I attended her home. The mansion

was quite a fine one, and, I believe, furnished in good taste. Of

this latter point, however, I am scarcely qualified to judge; for

it was just dark as we arrived; and in American mansions of the

better sort lights seldom, during the heat of summer, make their

appearance at this, the most pleasant period of the day. In about

an hour after my arrival, to be sure, a single shaded solar lamp

was lit in the principal drawing-room; and this apartment, I

could thus see, was arranged with unusual good taste and even

splendor; but two other rooms of the suite, and in which the

company chiefly assembled, remained, during the whole evening, in

a very agreeable shadow. This is a well-conceived custom, giving

the party at least a choice of light or shade, and one which our

friends over the water could not do better than immediately

adopt.

The evening thus spent was unquestionably the most delicious of

my life. Madame Lalande had not overrated the musical abilities

of her friends; and the singing I here heard I had never heard

excelled in any private circle out of Vienna. The instrumental

performers were many and of superior talents. The vocalists were

chiefly ladies, and no individual sang less than well. At length,

upon a peremptory call for “Madame Lalande,” she arose at once,

without affectation or demur, from the chaise longue upon which

she had sat by my side, and, accompanied by one or two gentlemen

and her female friend of the opera, repaired to the piano in the

main drawing-room. I would have escorted her myself, but felt

that, under the circumstances of my introduction to the house, I

had better remain unobserved where I was. I was thus deprived of

the pleasure of seeing, although not of hearing, her sing.

The impression she produced upon the company seemed

electrical—but the effect upon myself was something even more. I

know not how adequately to describe it. It arose in part, no

doubt, from the sentiment of love with which I was imbued; but

chiefly from my conviction of the extreme sensibility of the

singer. It is beyond the reach of art to endow either air or

recitative with more impassioned expression than was hers. Her

utterance of the romance in Otello—the tone with which she gave

the words “Sul mio sasso,” in the Capuletti—is ringing in my

memory yet. Her lower tones were absolutely miraculous. Her voice

embraced three complete octaves, extending from the contralto D

to the D upper soprano, and, though sufficiently powerful to have

filled the San Carlos, executed, with the minutest precision,

every difficulty of vocal composition—ascending and descending

scales, cadences, or fiorituri. In the final of the Somnambula,

she brought about a most remarkable effect at the words:

Ah! non guinge uman pensiero

Al contento ond ’io son piena.

Here, in imitation of Malibran, she modified the original phrase

of Bellini, so as to let her voice descend to the tenor G, when,

by a rapid transition, she struck the G above the treble stave,

springing over an interval of two octaves.

Upon rising from the piano after these miracles of vocal

execution, she resumed her seat by my side; when I expressed to

her, in terms of the deepest enthusiasm, my delight at her

performance. Of my surprise I said nothing, and yet was I most

unfeignedly surprised; for a certain feebleness, or rather a

certain tremulous indecision of voice in ordinary conversation,

had prepared me to anticipate that, in singing, she would not

acquit herself with any remarkable ability.

Our conversation was now long, earnest, uninterrupted, and

totally unreserved. She made me relate many of the earlier

passages of my life, and listened with breathless attention to

every word of the narrative. I concealed nothing—felt that I had

a right to conceal nothing—from her confiding affection.

Encouraged by her candor upon the delicate point of her age, I

entered, with perfect frankness, not only into a detail of my

many minor vices, but made full confession of those moral and

even of those physical infirmities, the disclosure of which, in

demanding so much higher a degree of courage, is so much surer an

evidence of love. I touched upon my college indiscretions—upon my

extravagances—upon my carousals—upon my debts—upon my

flirtations. I even went so far as to speak of a slightly hectic

cough with which, at one time, I had been troubled—of a chronic

rheumatism—of a twinge of hereditary gout—and, in conclusion, of

the disagreeable and inconvenient, but hitherto carefully

concealed, weakness of my eyes.

“Upon this latter point,” said Madame Lalande, laughingly, “you

have been surely injudicious in coming to confession; for,

without the confession, I take it for granted that no one would

have accused you of the crime. By the by,” she continued, “have

you any recollection—” and here I fancied that a blush, even

through the gloom of the apartment, became distinctly visible

upon her cheek—“have you any recollection, mon cher ami, of

this little ocular assistant, which now depends from my neck?”

As she spoke she twirled in her fingers the identical double

eye-glass which had so overwhelmed me with confusion at the

opera.

“Full well—alas! do I remember it,” I exclaimed, pressing

passionately the delicate hand which offered the glasses for my

inspection. They formed a complex and magnificent toy, richly

chased and filigreed, and gleaming with jewels, which, even in

the deficient light, I could not help perceiving were of high

value.

“Eh bien! mon ami,” she resumed with a certain empressment of

manner that rather surprised me—“Eh bien! mon ami, you have

earnestly besought of me a favor which you have been pleased to

denominate priceless. You have demanded of me my hand upon the

morrow. Should I yield to your entreaties—and, I may add, to the

pleadings of my own bosom—would I not be entitled to demand of

you a very—a very little boon in return?”

“Name it!” I exclaimed with an energy that had nearly drawn upon

us the observation of the company, and restrained by their

presence alone from throwing myself impetuously at her feet.

“Name it, my beloved, my Eugénie, my own!—name it!—but, alas! it

is already yielded ere named.”

“You shall conquer, then, mon ami,” said she, “for the sake of

the Eugénie whom you love, this little weakness which you have at

last confessed—this weakness more moral than physical—and which,

let me assure you, is so unbecoming the nobility of your real

nature—so inconsistent with the candor of your usual

character—and which, if permitted further control, will assuredly

involve you, sooner or later, in some very disagreeable scrape.

You shall conquer, for my sake, this affectation which leads you,

as you yourself acknowledge, to the tacit or implied denial of

your infirmity of vision. For, this infirmity you virtually deny,

in refusing to employ the customary means for its relief. You

will understand me to say, then, that I wish you to wear

spectacles;—ah, hush!—you have already consented to wear them,

for my sake. You shall accept the little toy which I now hold in

my hand, and which, though admirable as an aid to vision, is

really of no very immense value as a gem. You perceive that, by a

trifling modification thus—or thus—it can be adapted to the eyes

in the form of spectacles, or worn in the waistcoat pocket as an

eye-glass. It is in the former mode, however, and habitually,

that you have already consented to wear it for my sake.”

This request—must I confess it?—confused me in no little degree.

But the condition with which it was coupled rendered hesitation,

of course, a matter altogether out of the question.

“It is done!” I cried, with all the enthusiasm that I could

muster at the moment. “It is done—it is most cheerfully agreed. I

sacrifice every feeling for your sake. To-night I wear this dear

eye-glass, as an eye-glass, and upon my heart; but with the

earliest dawn of that morning which gives me the pleasure of

calling you wife, I will place it upon my—upon my nose,—and there

wear it ever afterward, in the less romantic, and less

fashionable, but certainly in the more serviceable, form which

you desire.”

Our conversation now turned upon the details of our arrangements

for the morrow. Talbot, I learned from my betrothed, had just

arrived in town. I was to see him at once, and procure a

carriage. The soirée would scarcely break up before two; and by

this hour the vehicle was to be at the door; when, in the

confusion occasioned by the departure of the company, Madame L.

could easily enter it unobserved. We were then to call at the

house of a clergyman who would be in waiting; there be married,

drop Talbot, and proceed on a short tour to the East; leaving the

fashionable world at home to make whatever comments upon the

matter it thought best.

Having planned all this, I immediately took leave, and went in

search of Talbot, but, on the way, I could not refrain from

stepping into a hotel, for the purpose of inspecting the

miniature; and this I did by the powerful aid of the glasses. The

countenance was a surpassingly beautiful one! Those large

luminous eyes!—that proud Grecian nose!—those dark luxuriant

curls!—“Ah!” said I, exultingly to myself, “this is indeed the

speaking image of my beloved!” I turned the reverse, and

discovered the words—“Eugénie Lalande—aged twenty-seven years and

seven months.”

I found Talbot at home, and proceeded at once to acquaint him

with my good fortune. He professed excessive astonishment, of

course, but congratulated me most cordially, and proffered every

assistance in his power. In a word, we carried out our

arrangement to the letter, and, at two in the morning, just ten

minutes after the ceremony, I found myself in a close carriage

with Madame Lalande—with Mrs. Simpson, I should say—and driving

at a great rate out of town, in a direction northeast by north,

half-north.

It had been determined for us by Talbot, that, as we were to be

up all night, we should make our first stop at C——, a village

about twenty miles from the city, and there get an early

breakfast and some repose, before proceeding upon our route. At

four precisely, therefore, the carriage drew up at the door of

the principal inn. I handed my adored wife out, and ordered

breakfast forthwith. In the meantime we were shown into a small

parlor, and sat down.

It was now nearly if not altogether daylight; and, as I gazed,

enraptured, at the angel by my side, the singular idea came, all

at once, into my head, that this was really the very first moment

since my acquaintance with the celebrated loveliness of Madame

Lalande, that I had enjoyed a near inspection of that loveliness

by daylight at all.

“And now, mon ami,” said she, taking my hand, and so

interrupting this train of reflection, “and now, mon cher ami,

since we are indissolubly one—since I have yielded to your

passionate entreaties, and performed my portion of our

agreement—I presume you have not forgotten that you also have a

little favor to bestow—a little promise which it is your

intention to keep. Ah! let me see! Let me remember! Yes; full

easily do I call to mind the precise words of the dear promise

you made to Eugénie last night. Listen! You spoke thus: ‘It is

done!—it is most cheerfully agreed! I sacrifice every feeling for

your sake. To-night I wear this dear eye-glass as an eye-glass,

and upon my heart; but with the earliest dawn of that morning

which gives me the privilege of calling you wife, I will place it

upon my—upon my nose,—and there wear it ever afterward, in the

less romantic, and less fashionable, but certainly in the more

serviceable, form which you desire.’ These were the exact words,

my beloved husband, were they not?”

“They were,” I said; “you have an excellent memory; and

assuredly, my beautiful Eugénie, there is no disposition on my

part to evade the performance of the trivial promise they imply.

See! Behold! they are becoming—rather—are they not?” And here,

having arranged the glasses in the ordinary form of spectacles, I

applied them gingerly in their proper position; while Madame

Simpson, adjusting her cap, and folding her arms, sat bolt

upright in her chair, in a somewhat stiff and prim, and indeed,

in a somewhat undignified position.

“Goodness gracious me!” I exclaimed, almost at the very instant

that the rim of the spectacles had settled upon my nose—“My!

goodness gracious me!—why, what can be the matter with these

glasses?” and taking them quickly off, I wiped them carefully

with a silk handkerchief, and adjusted them again.

But if, in the first instance, there had occurred something which

occasioned me surprise, in the second, this surprise became

elevated into astonishment; and this astonishment was

profound—was extreme—indeed I may say it was horrific. What, in

the name of everything hideous, did this mean? Could I believe my

eyes?—could I?—that was the question. Was that—was that—was that

rouge? And were those—and were those—were those wrinkles, upon

the visage of Eugénie Lalande? And oh! Jupiter, and every one of

the gods and goddesses, little and big!—what—what—what—what had

become of her teeth? I dashed the spectacles violently to the

ground, and, leaping to my feet, stood erect in the middle of the

floor, confronting Mrs. Simpson, with my arms set a-kimbo, and

grinning and foaming, but, at the same time, utterly speechless

with terror and with rage.

Now I have already said that Madame Eugénie Lalande—that is to

say, Simpson—spoke the English language but very little better

than she wrote it, and for this reason she very properly never

attempted to speak it upon ordinary occasions. But rage will

carry a lady to any extreme; and in the present care it carried

Mrs. Simpson to the very extraordinary extreme of attempting to

hold a conversation in a tongue that she did not altogether

understand.

“Vell, Monsieur,” said she, after surveying me, in great apparent

astonishment, for some moments—“Vell, Monsieur?—and vat den?—vat

de matter now? Is it de dance of de Saint itusse dat you ave? If

not like me, vat for vy buy de pig in the poke?”

“You wretch!” said I, catching my breath—“you—you—you villainous

old hag!”

“Ag?—ole?—me not so ver ole, after all! Me not one single day

more dan de eighty-doo.”

“Eighty-two!” I ejaculated, staggering to the wall—“eighty-two

hundred thousand baboons! The miniature said twenty-seven years

and seven months!”

“To be sure!—dat is so!—ver true! but den de portraite has been

take for dese fifty-five year. Ven I go marry my segonde usbande,

Monsieur Lalande, at dat time I had de portraite take for my

daughter by my first usbande, Monsieur Moissart!”

“Moissart!” said I.

“Yes, Moissart,” said she, mimicking my pronunciation, which, to

speak the truth, was none of the best,—“and vat den? Vat you know

about de Moissart?”

“Nothing, you old fright!—I know nothing about him at all; only I

had an ancestor of that name, once upon a time.”

“Dat name! and vat you ave for say to dat name? ’Tis ver goot

name; and so is Voissart—dat is ver goot name too. My daughter,

Mademoiselle Moissart, she marry von Monsieur Voissart,—and de

name is bot ver respectable name.”

“Moissart?” I exclaimed, “and Voissart! Why, what is it you

mean?”

“Vat I mean?—I mean Moissart and Voissart; and for de matter of

dat, I mean Croissart and Froissart, too, if I only tink proper

to mean it. My daughter’s daughter, Mademoiselle Voissart, she

marry von Monsieur Croissart, and den again, my daughter’s grande

daughter, Mademoiselle Croissart, she marry von Monsieur

Froissart; and I suppose you say dat dat is not von ver

respectaable name.”

“Froissart!” said I, beginning to faint, “why, surely you don’t

say Moissart, and Voissart, and Croissart, and Froissart?”

“Yes,” she replied, leaning fully back in her chair, and

stretching out her lower limbs at great length; “yes, Moissart,

and Voissart, and Croissart, and Froissart. But Monsieur

Froissart, he vas von ver big vat you call fool—he vas von ver

great big donce like yourself—for he lef la belle France for

come to dis stupide Amérique—and ven he get here he went and ave

von ver stupid, von ver, ver stupide sonn, so I hear, dough I

not yet av ad de plaisir to meet vid him—neither me nor my

companion, de Madame Stéphanie Lalande. He is name de Napoleon

Bonaparte Froissart, and I suppose you say dat dat, too, is not

von ver respectable name.”

Either the length or the nature of this speech, had the effect of

working up Mrs. Simpson into a very extraordinary passion indeed;

and as she made an end of it, with great labor, she jumped up

from her chair like somebody bewitched, dropping upon the floor

an entire universe of bustle as she jumped. Once upon her feet,

she gnashed her gums, brandished her arms, rolled up her sleeves,

shook her fist in my face, and concluded the performance by

tearing the cap from her head, and with it an immense wig of the

most valuable and beautiful black hair, the whole of which she

dashed upon the ground with a yell, and there trammpled and

danced a fandango upon it, in an absolute ecstasy and agony of

rage.

Meantime I sank aghast into the chair which she had vacated.

“Moissart and Voissart!” I repeated, thoughtfully, as she cut one

of her pigeon-wings, and “Croissart and Froissart!” as she

completed another—“Moissart and Voissart and Croissart and

Napoleon Bonaparte Froissart!—why, you ineffable old serpent,

that’s me—that’s me—d’ye hear? that’s me”—here I screamed at the

top of my voice—“that’s me-e-e! I am Napoleon Bonaparte

Froissart! and if I havn’t married my great, great, grandmother,

I wish I may be everlastingly confounded!”

Madame Eugénie Lalande, quasi Simpson—formerly Moissart—was, in

sober fact, my great, great, grandmother. In her youth she had

been beautiful, and even at eighty-two, retained the majestic

height, the sculptural contour of head, the fine eyes and the

Grecian nose of her girlhood. By the aid of these, of

pearl-powder, of rouge, of false hair, false teeth, and false

tournure, as well as of the most skilful modistes of Paris, she

contrived to hold a respectable footing among the beauties _en

peu passées_ of the French metropolis. In this respect, indeed,

she might have been regarded as little less than the equal of the

celebrated Ninon De L’Enclos.

She was immensely wealthy, and being left, for the second time, a

widow without children, she bethought herself of my existence in

America, and for the purpose of making me her heir, paid a visit

to the United States, in company with a distant and exceedingly

lovely relative of her second husband’s—a Madame Stéphanie

Lalande.

At the opera, my great, great, grandmother’s attention was

arrested by my notice; and, upon surveying me through her

eye-glass, she was struck with a certain family resemblance to

herself. Thus interested, and knowing that the heir she sought

was actually in the city, she made inquiries of her party

respecting me. The gentleman who attended her knew my person, and

told her who I was. The information thus obtained induced her to

renew her scrutiny; and this scrutiny it was which so emboldened

me that I behaved in the absurd manner already detailed. She

returned my bow, however, under the impression that, by some odd

accident, I had discovered her identity. When, deceived by my

weakness of vision, and the arts of the toilet, in respect to the

age and charms of the strange lady, I demanded so

enthusiastically of Talbot who she was, he concluded that I meant

the younger beauty, as a matter of course, and so informed me,

with perfect truth, that she was “the celebrated widow, Madame

Lalande.”

In the street, next morning, my great, great, grandmother

encountered Talbot, an old Parisian acquaintance; and the

conversation, very naturally turned upon myself. My deficiencies

of vision were then explained; for these were notorious, although

I was entirely ignorant of their notoriety, and my good old

relative discovered, much to her chagrin, that she had been

deceived in supposing me aware of her identity, and that I had

been merely making a fool of myself in making open love, in a

theatre, to an old woman unknown. By way of punishing me for this

imprudence, she concocted with Talbot a plot. He purposely kept

out of my way to avoid giving me the introduction. My street

inquiries about “the lovely widow, Madame Lalande,” were supposed

to refer to the younger lady, of course, and thus the

conversation with the three gentlemen whom I encountered shortly

after leaving Talbot’s hotel will be easily explained, as also

their allusion to Ninon De L’Enclos. I had no opportunity of

seeing Madame Lalande closely during daylight; and, at her

musical soirée, my silly weakness in refusing the aid of

glasses effectually prevented me from making a discovery of her

age. When “Madame Lalande” was called upon to sing, the younger

lady was intended; and it was she who arose to obey the call; my

great, great, grandmother, to further the deception, arising at

the same moment and accompanying her to the piano in the main

drawing-room. Had I decided upon escorting her thither, it had

been her design to suggest the propriety of my remaining where I

was; but my own prudential views rendered this unnecessary. The

songs which I so much admired, and which so confirmed my

impression of the youth of my mistress, were executed by Madame

Stéphanie Lalande. The eyeglass was presented by way of adding a

reproof to the hoax—a sting to the epigram of the deception. Its

presentation afforded an opportunity for the lecture upon

affectation with which I was so especially edified. It is almost

superfluous to add that the glasses of the instrument, as worn by

the old lady, had been exchanged by her for a pair better adapted

to my years. They suited me, in fact, to a T.

The clergyman, who merely pretended to tie the fatal knot, was a

boon companion of Talbot’s, and no priest. He was an excellent

“whip,” however; and having doffed his cassock to put on a

great-coat, he drove the hack which conveyed the “happy couple”

out of town. Talbot took a seat at his side. The two scoundrels

were thus “in at the death,” and through a half-open window of

the back parlor of the inn, amused themselves in grinning at the

dénouement of the drama. I believe I shall be forced to call

them both out.

Nevertheless, I am not the husband of my great, great,

grandmother; and this is a reflection which affords me infinite

relief;—but I am the husband of Madame Lalande—of Madame

Stéphanie Lalande—with whom my good old relative, besides making

me her sole heir when she dies—if she ever does—has been at the

trouble of concocting me a match. In conclusion: I am done

forever with billets doux, and am never to be met without

SPECTACLES.

KING PEST

A Tale Containing an Allegory.

The gods do bear and will allow in kings

The things which they abhor in rascal routes.

—Buckhurst’s Tragedy of Ferrex and Porrex.

About twelve o’clock, one night in the month of October, and

during the chivalrous reign of the third Edward, two seamen

belonging to the crew of the >Free and Easy, a trading schooner

plying between Sluys and the Thames, and then at anchor in that

river, were much astonished to find themselves seated in the

tap-room of an ale-house in the parish of St. Andrews,

London—which ale-house bore for sign the portraiture of a “Jolly

Tar.”

The room, although ill-contrived, smoke-blackened, low-pitched,

and in every other respect agreeing with the general character of

such places at the period—was, nevertheless, in the opinion of

the grotesque groups scattered here and there within it,

sufficiently well adapted to its purpose.

Of these groups our two seamen formed, I think, the most

interesting, if not the most conspicuous.

The one who appeared to be the elder, and whom his companion

addressed by the characteristic appellation of “Legs,” was at the

same time much the taller of the two. He might have measured six

feet and a half, and an habitual stoop in the shoulders seemed to

have been the necessary consequence of an altitude so enormous.

Superfluities in height were, however, more than accounted for by

deficiencies in other respects. He was exceedingly thin; and

might, as his associates asserted, have answered, when drunk, for

a pennant at the mast-head, or, when sober, have served for a

jib-boom. But these jests, and others of a similar nature, had

evidently produced, at no time, any effect upon the cachinnatory

muscles of the tar. With high cheek-bones, a large hawk-nose,

retreating chin, fallen under-jaw, and huge protruding white

eyes, the expression of his countenance, although tinged with a

species of dogged indifference to matters and things in general,

was not the less utterly solemn and serious beyond all attempts

at imitation or description.

The younger seaman was, in all outward appearance, the converse

of his companion. His stature could not have exceeded four feet.

A pair of stumpy bow-legs supported his squat, unwieldy figure,

while his unusually short and thick arms, with no ordinary fists

at their extremities, swung off dangling from his sides like the

fins of a sea-turtle. Small eyes, of no particular color,

twinkled far back in his head. His nose remained buried in the

mass of flesh which enveloped his round, full, and purple face;

and his thick upper-lip rested upon the still thicker one beneath

with an air of complacent self-satisfaction, much heightened by

the owner’s habit of licking them at intervals. He evidently

regarded his tall shipmate with a feeling half-wondrous,

half-quizzical; and stared up occasionally in his face as the red

setting sun stares up at the crags of Ben Nevis.

Various and eventful, however, had been the peregrinations of the

worthy couple in and about the different tap-houses of the

neighbourhood during the earlier hours of the night. Funds even

the most ample, are not always everlasting: and it was with empty

pockets our friends had ventured upon the present hostelrie.

At the precise period, then, when this history properly

commences, Legs, and his fellow Hugh Tarpaulin, sat, each with

both elbows resting upon the large oaken table in the middle of

the floor, and with a hand upon either cheek. They were eyeing,

from behind a huge flagon of unpaid-for “humming-stuff,” the

portentous words, “No Chalk,” which to their indignation and

astonishment were scored over the doorway by means of that very

mineral whose presence they purported to deny. Not that the gift

of decyphering written characters—a gift among the commonalty of

that day considered little less cabalistical than the art of

inditing—could, in strict justice, have been laid to the charge

of either disciple of the sea; but there was, to say the truth, a

certain twist in the formation of the letters—an indescribable

lee-lurch about the whole—which foreboded, in the opinion of both

seamen, a long run of dirty weather; and determined them at once,

in the allegorical words of Legs himself, to “pump ship, clew up

all sail, and scud before the wind.”

Having accordingly disposed of what remained of the ale, and

looped up the points of their short doublets, they finally made a

bolt for the street. Although Tarpaulin rolled twice into the

fire-place, mistaking it for the door, yet their escape was at

length happily effected—and half after twelve o’clock found our

heroes ripe for mischief, and running for life down a dark alley

in the direction of St. Andrew’s Stair, hotly pursued by the

landlady of the “Jolly Tar.”

At the epoch of this eventful tale, and periodically, for many

years before and after, all England, but more especially the

metropolis, resounded with the fearful cry of “Plague!” The city

was in a great measure depopulated—and in those horrible regions,

in the vicinity of the Thames, where amid the dark, narrow, and

filthy lanes and alleys, the Demon of Disease was supposed to

have had his nativity, Awe, Terror, and Superstition were alone

to be found stalking abroad.

By authority of the king such districts were placed under ban,

and all persons forbidden, under pain of death, to intrude upon

their dismal solitude. Yet neither the mandate of the monarch,

nor the huge barriers erected at the entrances of the streets,

nor the prospect of that loathsome death which, with almost

absolute certainty, overwhelmed the wretch whom no peril could

deter from the adventure, prevented the unfurnished and

untenanted dwellings from being stripped, by the hand of nightly

rapine, of every article, such as iron, brass, or lead-work,

which could in any manner be turned to a profitable account.

Above all, it was usually found, upon the annual winter opening

of the barriers, that locks, bolts, and secret cellars, had

proved but slender protection to those rich stores of wines and

liquors which, in consideration of the risk and trouble of

removal, many of the numerous dealers having shops in the

neighbourhood had consented to trust, during the period of exile,

to so insufficient a security.

But there were very few of the terror-stricken people who

attributed these doings to the agency of human hands.

Pest-spirits, plague-goblins, and fever-demons, were the popular

imps of mischief; and tales so blood-chilling were hourly told,

that the whole mass of forbidden buildings was, at length,

enveloped in terror as in a shroud, and the plunderer himself was

often scared away by the horrors his own depreciations had

created; leaving the entire vast circuit of prohibited district

to gloom, silence, pestilence, and death.

It was by one of the terrific barriers already mentioned, and

which indicated the region beyond to be under the Pest-ban, that,

in scrambling down an alley, Legs and the worthy Hugh Tarpaulin

found their progress suddenly impeded. To return was out of the

question, and no time was to be lost, as their pursuers were

close upon their heels. With thorough-bred seamen to clamber up

the roughly fashioned plank-work was a trifle; and, maddened with

the twofold excitement of exercise and liquor, they leaped

unhesitatingly down within the enclosure, and holding on their

drunken course with shouts and yellings, were soon bewildered in

its noisome and intricate recesses.

Had they not, indeed, been intoxicated beyond moral sense, their

reeling footsteps must have been palsied by the horrors of their

situation. The air was cold and misty. The paving-stones,

loosened from their beds, lay in wild disorder amid the tall,

rank grass, which sprang up around the feet and ankles. Fallen

houses choked up the streets. The most fetid and poisonous smells

everywhere prevailed;—and by the aid of that ghastly light which,

even at midnight, never fails to emanate from a vapory and

pestilential atmosphere, might be discerned lying in the by-paths

and alleys, or rotting in the windowless habitations, the carcass

of many a nocturnal plunderer arrested by the hand of the plague

in the very perpetration of his robbery.

But it lay not in the power of images, or sensations, or

impediments such as these, to stay the course of men who,

naturally brave, and at that time especially, brimful of courage

and of “humming-stuff,” would have reeled, as straight as their

condition might have permitted, undauntedly into the very jaws of

Death. Onward—still onward stalked the grim Legs, making the

desolate solemnity echo and re-echo with yells like the terrific

war-whoop of the Indian; and onward, still onward rolled the

dumpy Tarpaulin, hanging on to the doublet of his more active

companion, and far surpassing the latter’s most strenuous

exertions in the way of vocal music, by bull-roarings in basso,

from the profundity of his stentorian lungs.

They had now evidently reached the strong hold of the pestilence.

Their way at every step or plunge grew more noisome and more

horrible—the paths more narrow and more intricate. Huge stones

and beams falling momently from the decaying roofs above them,

gave evidence, by their sullen and heavy descent, of the vast

height of the surrounding houses; and while actual exertion

became necessary to force a passage through frequent heaps of

rubbish, it was by no means seldom that the hand fell upon a

skeleton or rested upon a more fleshly corpse.

Suddenly, as the seamen stumbled against the entrance of a tall

and ghastly-looking building, a yell more than usually shrill

from the throat of the excited Legs, was replied to from within,

in a rapid succession of wild, laughter-like, and fiendish

shrieks. Nothing daunted at sounds which, of such a nature, at

such a time, and in such a place, might have curdled the very

blood in hearts less irrevocably on fire, the drunken couple

rushed headlong against the door, burst it open, and staggered

into the midst of things with a volley of curses.

The room within which they found themselves proved to be the shop

of an undertaker; but an open trap-door, in a corner of the floor

near the entrance, looked down upon a long range of wine-cellars,

whose depths the occasional sound of bursting bottles proclaimed

to be well stored with their appropriate contents. In the middle

of the room stood a table—in the centre of which again arose a

huge tub of what appeared to be punch. Bottles of various wines

and cordials, together with jugs, pitchers, and flagons of every

shape and quality, were scattered profusely upon the board.

Around it, upon coffin-tressels, was seated a company of six.

This company I will endeavor to delineate one by one.

Fronting the entrance, and elevated a little above his

companions, sat a personage who appeared to be the president of

the table. His stature was gaunt and tall, and Legs was

confounded to behold in him a figure more emaciated than himself.

His face was as yellow as saffron—but no feature excepting one

alone, was sufficiently marked to merit a particular description.

This one consisted in a forehead so unusually and hideously

lofty, as to have the appearance of a bonnet or crown of flesh

superadded upon the natural head. His mouth was puckered and

dimpled into an expression of ghastly affability, and his eyes,

as indeed the eyes of all at table, were glazed over with the

fumes of intoxication. This gentleman was clothed from head to

foot in a richly-embroidered black silk-velvet pall, wrapped

negligently around his form after the fashion of a Spanish cloak.

His head was stuck full of sable hearse-plumes, which he nodded

to and fro with a jaunty and knowing air; and, in his right hand,

he held a huge human thigh-bone, with which he appeared to have

been just knocking down some member of the company for a song.

Opposite him, and with her back to the door, was a lady of no

whit the less extraordinary character. Although quite as tall as

the person just described, she had no right to complain of his

unnatural emaciation. She was evidently in the last stage of a

dropsy; and her figure resembled nearly that of the huge puncheon

of October beer which stood, with the head driven in, close by

her side, in a corner of the chamber. Her face was exceedingly

round, red, and full; and the same peculiarity, or rather want of

peculiarity, attached itself to her countenance, which I before

mentioned in the case of the president—that is to say, only one

feature of her face was sufficiently distinguished to need a

separate characterization: indeed the acute Tarpaulin immediately

observed that the same remark might have applied to each

individual person of the party; every one of whom seemed to

possess a monopoly of some particular portion of physiognomy.

With the lady in question this portion proved to be the mouth.

Commencing at the right ear, it swept with a terrific chasm to

the left—the short pendants which she wore in either auricle

continually bobbing into the aperture. She made, however, every

exertion to keep her mouth closed and look dignified, in a dress

consisting of a newly starched and ironed shroud coming up close

under her chin, with a crimpled ruffle of cambric muslin.

At her right hand sat a diminutive young lady whom she appeared

to patronise. This delicate little creature, in the trembling of

her wasted fingers, in the livid hue of her lips, and in the

slight hectic spot which tinged her otherwise leaden complexion,

gave evident indications of a galloping consumption. An air of

extreme haut ton, however, pervaded her whole appearance; she

wore in a graceful and dégagé manner, a large and beautiful

winding-sheet of the finest India lawn; her hair hung in ringlets

over her neck; a soft smile played about her mouth; but her nose,

extremely long, thin, sinuous, flexible and pimpled, hung down

far below her under lip, and in spite of the delicate manner in

which she now and then moved it to one side or the other with her

tongue, gave to her countenance a somewhat equivocal expression.

Over against her, and upon the left of the dropsical lady, was

seated a little puffy, wheezing, and gouty old man, whose cheeks

reposed upon the shoulders of their owner, like two huge bladders

of Oporto wine. With his arms folded, and with one bandaged leg

deposited upon the table, he seemed to think himself entitled to

some consideration. He evidently prided himself much upon every

inch of his personal appearance, but took more especial delight

in calling attention to his gaudy-colored surtout. This, to say

the truth, must have cost him no little money, and was made to

fit him exceedingly well—being fashioned from one of the

curiously embroidered silken covers appertaining to those

glorious escutcheons which, in England and elsewhere, are

customarily hung up, in some conspicuous place, upon the

dwellings of departed aristocracy.

Next to him, and at the right hand of the president, was a

gentleman in long white hose and cotton drawers. His frame shook,

in a ridiculous manner, with a fit of what Tarpaulin called “the

horrors.” His jaws, which had been newly shaved, were tightly

tied up by a bandage of muslin; and his arms being fastened in a

similar way at the wrists, prevented him from helping himself too

freely to the liquors upon the table; a precaution rendered

necessary, in the opinion of Legs, by the peculiarly sottish and

wine-bibbing cast of his visage. A pair of prodigious ears,

nevertheless, which it was no doubt found impossible to confine,

towered away into the atmosphere of the apartment, and were

occasionally pricked up in a spasm, at the sound of the drawing

of a cork.

Fronting him, sixthly and lastly, was situated a singularly

stiff-looking personage, who, being afflicted with paralysis,

must, to speak seriously, have felt very ill at ease in his

unaccommodating habiliments. He was habited, somewhat uniquely,

in a new and handsome mahogany coffin. Its top or head-piece

pressed upon the skull of the wearer, and extended over it in the

fashion of a hood, giving to the entire face an air of

indescribable interest. Arm-holes had been cut in the sides, for

the sake not more of elegance than of convenience; but the dress,

nevertheless, prevented its proprietor from sitting as erect as

his associates; and as he lay reclining against his tressel, at

an angle of forty-five degrees, a pair of huge goggle eyes rolled

up their awful whites towards the ceiling in absolute amazement

at their own enormity.

Before each of the party lay a portion of a skull, which was used

as a drinking cup. Overhead was suspended a human skeleton, by

means of a rope tied round one of the legs and fastened to a ring

in the ceiling. The other limb, confined by no such fetter, stuck

off from the body at right angles, causing the whole loose and

rattling frame to dangle and twirl about at the caprice of every

occasional puff of wind which found its way into the apartment.

In the cranium of this hideous thing lay quantity of ignited

charcoal, which threw a fitful but vivid light over the entire

scene; while coffins, and other wares appertaining to the shop of

an undertaker, were piled high up around the room, and against

the windows, preventing any ray from escaping into the street.

At sight of this extraordinary assembly, and of their still more

extraordinary paraphernalia, our two seamen did not conduct

themselves with that degree of decorum which might have been

expected. Legs, leaning against the wall near which he happened

to be standing, dropped his lower jaw still lower than usual, and

spread open his eyes to their fullest extent: while Hugh

Tarpaulin, stooping down so as to bring his nose upon a level

with the table, and spreading out a palm upon either knee, burst

into a long, loud, and obstreperous roar of very ill-timed and

immoderate laughter.

Without, however, taking offence at behaviour so excessively

rude, the tall president smiled very graciously upon the

intruders—nodded to them in a dignified manner with his head of

sable plumes—and, arising, took each by an arm, and led him to a

seat which some others of the company had placed in the meantime

for his accommodation. Legs to all this offered not the slightest

resistance, but sat down as he was directed; while the gallant

Hugh, removing his coffin tressel from its station near the head

of the table, to the vicinity of the little consumptive lady in

the winding sheet, plumped down by her side in high glee, and

pouring out a skull of red wine, quaffed it to their better

acquaintance. But at this presumption the stiff gentleman in the

coffin seemed exceedingly nettled; and serious consequences might

have ensued, had not the president, rapping upon the table with

his truncheon, diverted the attention of all present to the

following speech:

“It becomes our duty upon the present happy occasion—”

“Avast there!” interrupted Legs, looking very serious, “avast

there a bit, I say, and tell us who the devil ye all are, and

what business ye have here, rigged off like the foul fiends, and

swilling the snug blue ruin stowed away for the winter by my

honest shipmate, Will Wimble, the undertaker!”

At this unpardonable piece of ill-breeding, all the original

company half started to their feet, and uttered the same rapid

succession of wild fiendish shrieks which had before caught the

attention of the seamen. The president, however, was the first to

recover his composure, and at length, turning to Legs with great

dignity, recommenced:

“Most willingly will we gratify any reasonable curiosity on the

part of guests so illustrious, unbidden though they be. Know then

that in these dominions I am monarch, and here rule with

undivided empire under the title of ‘King Pest the First.’

“This apartment, which you no doubt profanely suppose to be the

shop of Will Wimble the undertaker—a man whom we know not, and

whose plebeian appellation has never before this night thwarted

our royal ears—this apartment, I say, is the Dais-Chamber of our

Palace, devoted to the councils of our kingdom, and to other

sacred and lofty purposes.

“The noble lady who sits opposite is Queen Pest, our Serene

Consort. The other exalted personages whom you behold are all of

our family, and wear the insignia of the blood royal under the

respective titles of ‘His Grace the Arch Duke Pest-Iferous’—‘His

Grace the Duke Pest-Ilential’—‘His Grace the Duke Tem-Pest’—and

‘Her Serene Highness the Arch Duchess Ana-Pest.’

“As regards,” continued he, “your demand of the business upon

which we sit here in council, we might be pardoned for replying

that it concerns, and concerns alone, our own private and regal

interest, and is in no manner important to any other than

ourself. But in consideration of those rights to which as guests

and strangers you may feel yourselves entitled, we will

furthermore explain that we are here this night, prepared by deep

research and accurate investigation, to examine, analyze, and

thoroughly determine the indefinable spirit—the incomprehensible

qualities and nature—of those inestimable treasures of the

palate, the wines, ales, and liqueurs of this goodly metropolis:

by so doing to advance not more our own designs than the true

welfare of that unearthly sovereign whose reign is over us all,

whose dominions are unlimited, and whose name is ‘Death’.”

“Whose name is Davy Jones!” ejaculated Tarpaulin, helping the

lady by his side to a skull of liqueur, and pouring out a second

for himself.

“Profane varlet!” said the president, now turning his attention

to the worthy Hugh, “profane and execrable wretch!—we have said,

that in consideration of those rights which, even in thy filthy

person, we feel no inclination to violate, we have condescended

to make reply to thy rude and unseasonable inquiries. We

nevertheless, for your unhallowed intrusion upon our councils,

believe it our duty to mulct thee and thy companion in each a

gallon of Black Strap—having imbibed which to the prosperity of

our kingdom—at a single draught—and upon your bended knees—ye

shall be forthwith free either to proceed upon your way, or

remain and be admitted to the privileges of our table, according

to your respective and individual pleasures.”

“It would be a matter of utter impossibility,” replied Legs, whom

the assumptions and dignity of King Pest the First had evidently

inspired some feelings of respect, and who arose and steadied

himself by the table as he spoke—“it would, please your majesty,

be a matter of utter impossibility to stow away in my hold even

one-fourth part of the same liquor which your majesty has just

mentioned. To say nothing of the stuffs placed on board in the

forenoon by way of ballast, and not to mention the various ales

and liqueurs shipped this evening at different sea-ports, I have,

at present, a full cargo of ‘humming-stuff’ taken in and duly

paid for at the sign of the ‘Jolly Tar.’ You will, therefore,

please your majesty, be so good as to take the will for the

deed—for by no manner of means either can I or will I swallow

another drop—least of all a drop of that villainous bilge-water

that answers to the name of ‘Black Strap.’”

“Belay that!” interrupted Tarpaulin, astonished not more at the

length of his companion’s speech than at the nature of his

refusal—“Belay that you lubber!—and I say, Legs, none of your

palaver! My hull is still light, although I confess you

yourself seem to be a little top-heavy; and as for the matter of

your share of the cargo, why rather than raise a squall I would

find stowage-room for it myself, but—”

“This proceeding,” interposed the president, “is by no means in

accordance with the terms of the mulct or sentence, which is in

its nature Median, and not to be altered or recalled. The

conditions we have imposed must be fulfilled to the letter, and

that without a moment’s hesitation—in failure of which fulfilment

we decree that you do here be tied neck and heels together, and

duly drowned as rebels in yon hogshead of October beer!”

“A sentence!—a sentence!—a righteous and just sentence!—a

glorious decree!—a most worthy and upright, and holy

condemnation!” shouted the Pest family altogether. The king

elevated his forehead into innumerable wrinkles; the gouty little

old man puffed like a pair of bellows; the lady of the winding

sheet waved her nose to and fro; the gentleman in the cotton

drawers pricked up his ears; she of the shroud gasped like a

dying fish; and he of the coffin looked stiff and rolled up his

eyes.

“Ugh! ugh! ugh!” chuckled Tarpaulin without heeding the general

excitation, “ugh! ugh! ugh!—ugh! ugh! ugh!—ugh! ugh! ugh!—I was

saying,” said he, “I was saying when Mr. King Pest poked in his

marlin-spike, that as for the matter of two or three gallons more

or less of Black Strap, it was a trifle to a tight sea-boat like

myself not overstowed—but when it comes to drinking the health of

the Devil (whom God assoilzie) and going down upon my marrow

bones to his ill-favored majesty there, whom I know, as well as I

know myself to be a sinner, to be nobody in the whole world, but

Tim Hurlygurly the stage-player!—why! it’s quite another guess

sort of a thing, and utterly and altogether past my

comprehension.”

He was not allowed to finish this speech in tranquillity. At the

name Tim Hurlygurly the whole assembly leaped from their name

seats.

“Treason!” shouted his Majesty King Pest the First.

“Treason!” said the little man with the gout.

“Treason!” screamed the Arch Duchess Ana-Pest.

“Treason!” muttered the gentleman with his jaws tied up.

“Treason!” growled he of the coffin.

“Treason! treason!” shrieked her majesty of the mouth; and,

seizing by the hinder part of his breeches the unfortunate

Tarpaulin, who had just commenced pouring out for himself a skull

of liqueur, she lifted him high into the air, and let him fall

without ceremony into the huge open puncheon of his beloved ale.

Bobbing up and down, for a few seconds, like an apple in a bowl

of toddy, he, at length, finally disappeared amid the whirlpool

of foam which, in the already effervescent liquor, his struggles

easily succeeded in creating.

Not tamely, however, did the tall seaman behold the discomfiture

of his companion. Jostling King Pest through the open trap, the

valiant Legs slammed the door down upon him with an oath, and

strode towards the centre of the room. Here tearing down the

skeleton which swung over the table, he laid it about him with so

much energy and good will, that, as the last glimpses of light

died away within the apartment, he succeeded in knocking out the

brains of the little gentleman with the gout. Rushing then with

all his force against the fatal hogshead full of October ale and

Hugh Tarpaulin, he rolled it over and over in an instant. Out

burst a deluge of liquor so fierce—so impetuous—so

overwhelming—that the room was flooded from wall to wall—the

loaded table was overturned—the tressels were thrown upon their

backs—the tub of punch into the fire-place—and the ladies into

hysterics. Piles of death-furniture floundered about. Jugs,

pitchers, and carboys mingled promiscuously in the mêlée, and

wicker flagons encountered desperately with bottles of junk. The

man with the horrors was drowned upon the spot—the little stiff

gentleman floated off in his coffin—and the victorious Legs,

seizing by the waist the fat lady in the shroud, rushed out with

her into the street, and made a bee-line for the Free and Easy,

followed under easy sail by the redoubtable Hugh Tarpaulin, who,

having sneezed three or four times, panted and puffed after him

with the Arch Duchess Ana-Pest.

THREE SUNDAYS IN A WEEK

“You hard-headed, dunder-headed, obstinate, rusty, crusty, musty,

fusty, old savage!” said I, in fancy, one afternoon, to my grand

uncle Rumgudgeon—shaking my fist at him in imagination.

Only in imagination. The fact is, some trivial discrepancy did

exist, just then, between what I said and what I had not the

courage to say—between what I did and what I had half a mind to

do.

The old porpoise, as I opened the drawing-room door, was sitting

with his feet upon the mantel-piece, and a bumper of port in his

paw, making strenuous efforts to accomplish the ditty.

Remplis ton verre vide!

Vide ton verre plein!

“My dear uncle,” said I, closing the door gently, and

approaching him with the blandest of smiles, “you are always so

very kind and considerate, and have evinced your benevolence in

so many—so very many ways—that—that I feel I have only to suggest

this little point to you once more to make sure of your full

acquiescence.”

“Hem!” said he, “good boy! go on!”

“I am sure, my dearest uncle (you confounded old rascal!), that

you have no design really, seriously, to oppose my union with

Kate. This is merely a joke of yours, I know—ha! ha! ha!—how very

pleasant you are at times.”

“Ha! ha! ha!” said he, “curse you! yes!”

“To be sure—of course! I knew you were jesting. Now, uncle, all

that Kate and myself wish at present, is that you would oblige us

with your advice as—as regards the time—you know, uncle—in short,

when will it be most convenient for yourself, that the wedding

shall—shall—come off, you know?”

“Come off, you scoundrel!—what do you mean by that?—Better wait

till it goes on.”

“Ha! ha! ha!—he! he! he!—hi! hi! hi!—ho! ho! ho!—hu! hu! hu!—oh,

that’s good!—oh, that’s capital—such a wit! But all we want

just now, you know, uncle, is that you would indicate the time

precisely.”

“Ah!—precisely?”

“Yes, uncle—that is, if it would be quite agreeable to yourself.”

“Wouldn’t it answer, Bobby, if I were to leave it at random—some

time within a year or so, for example?—must I say precisely?”

“If you please, uncle—precisely.”

“Well, then, Bobby, my boy—you’re a fine fellow, aren’t

you?—since you will have the exact time I’ll—why I’ll oblige

you for once.”

“Dear uncle!”

“Hush, sir!” (drowning my voice)—“I’ll oblige you for once. You

shall have my consent—and the plum, we mus’n’t forget the

plum—let me see! when shall it be? To-day’s Sunday—isn’t it?

Well, then, you shall be married precisely—precisely, now

mind!—when three Sundays come together in a week! Do you hear

me, sir! What are you gaping at? I say, you shall have Kate and

her plum when three Sundays come together in a week—but not

till then—you young scapegrace—not till then, if I die for

it. You know me—I’m a man of my word—now be off!” Here he

swallowed his bumper of port, while I rushed from the room in

despair.

A very “fine old English gentleman,” was my grand-uncle

Rumgudgeon, but unlike him of the song, he had his weak points.

He was a little, pursy, pompous, passionate semicircular

somebody, with a red nose, a thick skull, a long purse, and a

strong sense of his own consequence. With the best heart in the

world, he contrived, through a predominant whim of contradiction,

to earn for himself, among those who only knew him superficially,

the character of a curmudgeon. Like many excellent people, he

seemed possessed with a spirit of tantalization, which might

easily, at a casual glance, have been mistaken for malevolence.

To every request, a positive “No!” was his immediate answer; but

in the end—in the long, long end—there were exceedingly few

requests which he refused. Against all attacks upon his purse he

made the most sturdy defence; but the amount extorted from him,

at last, was generally in direct ratio with the length of the

siege and the stubbornness of the resistance. In charity no one

gave more liberally or with a worse grace.

For the fine arts, and especially for the belles-lettres, he

entertained a profound contempt. With this he had been inspired

by Casimir Perier, whose pert little query “A quoi un poete est

il bon?” he was in the habit of quoting, with a very droll

pronunciation, as the ne plus ultra of logical wit. Thus my own

inkling for the Muses had excited his entire displeasure. He

assured me one day, when I asked him for a new copy of Horace,

that the translation of “Poeta nascitur non fit” was “a nasty

poet for nothing fit”—a remark which I took in high dudgeon. His

repugnance to “the humanities” had, also, much increased of late,

by an accidental bias in favor of what he supposed to be natural

science. Somebody had accosted him in the street, mistaking him

for no less a personage than Doctor Dubble L. Dee, the lecturer

upon quack physics. This set him off at a tangent; and just at

the epoch of this story—for story it is getting to be after

all—my grand-uncle Rumgudgeon was accessible and pacific only

upon points which happened to chime in with the caprioles of the

hobby he was riding. For the rest, he laughed with his arms and

legs, and his politics were stubborn and easily understood. He

thought, with Horsley, that “the people have nothing to do with

the laws but to obey them.”

I had lived with the old gentleman all my life. My parents, in

dying, had bequeathed me to him as a rich legacy. I believe the

old villain loved me as his own child—nearly if not quite as well

as he loved Kate—but it was a dog’s existence that he led me,

after all. From my first year until my fifth, he obliged me with

very regular floggings. From five to fifteen, he threatened me,

hourly, with the House of Correction. From fifteen to twenty, not

a day passed in which he did not promise to cut me off with a

shilling. I was a sad dog, it is true—but then it was a part of

my nature—a point of my faith. In Kate, however, I had a firm

friend, and I knew it. She was a good girl, and told me very

sweetly that I might have her (plum and all) whenever I could

badger my grand-uncle Rumgudgeon, into the necessary consent.

Poor girl!—she was barely fifteen, and without this consent, her

little amount in the funds was not come-at-able until five

immeasurable summers had “dragged their slow length along.” What,

then, to do? At fifteen, or even at twenty-one (for I had now

passed my fifth olympiad) five years in prospect are very much

the same as five hundred. In vain we besieged the old gentleman

with importunities. Here was a piece de resistance (as Messieurs

Ude and Careme would say) which suited his perverse fancy to a T.

It would have stiffed the indignation of Job himself, to see how

much like an old mouser he behaved to us two poor wretched little

mice. In his heart he wished for nothing more ardently than our

union. He had made up his mind to this all along. In fact, he

would have given ten thousand pounds from his own pocket (Kate’s

plum was her own) if he could have invented any thing like an

excuse for complying with our very natural wishes. But then we

had been so imprudent as to broach the subject ourselves. Not to

oppose it under such circumstances, I sincerely believe, was not

in his power.

I have said already that he had his weak points; but in speaking

of these, I must not be understood as referring to his obstinacy:

which was one of his strong points—“assurement ce n’ etait pas sa

foible.” When I mention his weakness I have allusion to a bizarre

old-womanish superstition which beset him. He was great in

dreams, portents, et id genus omne of rigmarole. He was

excessively punctilious, too, upon small points of honor, and,

after his own fashion, was a man of his word, beyond doubt. This

was, in fact, one of his hobbies. The spirit of his vows he made

no scruple of setting at naught, but the letter was a bond

inviolable. Now it was this latter peculiarity in his

disposition, of which Kate’s ingenuity enabled us one fine day,

not long after our interview in the dining-room, to take a very

unexpected advantage, and, having thus, in the fashion of all

modern bards and orators, exhausted in prolegomena, all the time

at my command, and nearly all the room at my disposal, I will sum

up in a few words what constitutes the whole pith of the story.

It happened then—so the Fates ordered it—that among the naval

acquaintances of my betrothed, were two gentlemen who had just

set foot upon the shores of England, after a year’s absence,

each, in foreign travel. In company with these gentlemen, my

cousin and I, preconcertedly paid uncle Rumgudgeon a visit on the

afternoon of Sunday, October the tenth,—just three weeks after

the memorable decision which had so cruelly defeated our hopes.

For about half an hour the conversation ran upon ordinary topics,

but at last, we contrived, quite naturally, to give it the

following turn:

CAPT. PRATT. “Well I have been absent just one year.—Just one

year to-day, as I live—let me see! yes!—this is October the

tenth. You remember, Mr. Rumgudgeon, I called, this day year to

bid you good-bye. And by the way, it does seem something like a

coincidence, does it not—that our friend, Captain Smitherton,

here, has been absent exactly a year also—a year to-day!”

SMITHERTON. “Yes! just one year to a fraction. You will remember,

Mr. Rumgudgeon, that I called with Capt. Pratol on this very day,

last year, to pay my parting respects.”

UNCLE. “Yes, yes, yes—I remember it very well—very queer indeed!

Both of you gone just one year. A very strange coincidence,

indeed! Just what Doctor Dubble L. Dee would denominate an

extraordinary concurrence of events. Doctor Dub—”

KATE. (Interrupting.) “To be sure, papa, it is something strange;

but then Captain Pratt and Captain Smitherton didn’t go

altogether the same route, and that makes a difference, you

know.”

UNCLE. “I don’t know any such thing, you huzzy! How should I? I

think it only makes the matter more remarkable, Doctor Dubble L.

Dee—”

KATE. “Why, papa, Captain Pratt went round Cape Horn, and Captain

Smitherton doubled the Cape of Good Hope.”

UNCLE. “Precisely!—the one went east and the other went west, you

jade, and they both have gone quite round the world. By the by,

Doctor Dubble L. Dee—”

MYSELF. (Hurriedly.) “Captain Pratt, you must come and spend the

evening with us to-morrow—you and Smitherton—you can tell us all

about your voyage, and we’ll have a game of whist and—”

PRATT. “Wist, my dear fellow—you forget. To-morrow will be

Sunday. Some other evening—”

KATE. “Oh, no, fie!—Robert’s not quite so bad as that. To-day’s

Sunday.”

PRATT. “I beg both your pardons—but I can’t be so much mistaken.

I know to-morrow’s Sunday, because-”

SMITHERTON. (Much surprised.) “What are you all thinking about?

Wasn’t yesterday, Sunday, I should like to know?”

ALL. “Yesterday indeed! you are out!”

UNCLE. “To-day’s Sunday, I say—don’t I know?”

PRATT. “Oh no!—to-morrow’s Sunday.”

SMITHERTON. “You are all mad—every one of you. I am as positive

that yesterday was Sunday as I am that I sit upon this chair.”

KATE. (Jumping up eagerly.) “I see it—I see it all. Papa, this is

a judgment upon you, about—about you know what. Let me alone, and

I’ll explain it all in a minute. It’s a very simple thing,

indeed. Captain Smitherton says that yesterday was Sunday: so it

was; he is right. Cousin Bobby, and uncle and I say that to-day

is Sunday: so it is; we are right. Captain Pratt maintains that

to-morrow will be Sunday: so it will; he is right, too. The fact

is, we are all right, and thus three Sundays have come together

in a week.”

SMITHERTON. (After a pause.) “By the by, Pratt, Kate has us

completely. What fools we two are! Mr. Rumgudgeon, the matter

stands thus: the earth, you know, is twenty-four thousand miles

in circumference. Now this globe of the earth turns upon its own

axis—revolves—spins round—these twenty-four thousand miles of

extent, going from west to east, in precisely twenty-four hours.

Do you understand, Mr. Rumgudgeon?—”

UNCLE. “To be sure—to be sure—Doctor Dub—”

SMITHERTON. (Drowning his voice.) “Well, sir; that is at the rate

of one thousand miles per hour. Now, suppose that I sail from

this position a thousand miles east. Of course I anticipate the

rising of the sun here at London by just one hour. I see the sun

rise one hour before you do. Proceeding, in the same direction,

yet another thousand miles, I anticipate the rising by two

hours—another thousand, and I anticipate it by three hours, and

so on, until I go entirely round the globe, and back to this

spot, when, having gone twenty-four thousand miles east, I

anticipate the rising of the London sun by no less than

twenty-four hours; that is to say, I am a day in advance of your

time. Understand, eh?”

UNCLE. “But Double L. Dee—”

SMITHERTON. (Speaking very loud.) “Captain Pratt, on the

contrary, when he had sailed a thousand miles west of this

position, was an hour, and when he had sailed twenty-four

thousand miles west, was twenty-four hours, or one day, behind

the time at London. Thus, with me, yesterday was Sunday—thus,

with you, to-day is Sunday—and thus, with Pratt, to-morrow will

be Sunday. And what is more, Mr. Rumgudgeon, it is positively

clear that we are all right; for there can be no philosophical

reason assigned why the idea of one of us should have preference

over that of the other.”

UNCLE. “My eyes!—well, Kate—well, Bobby!—this is a judgment upon

me, as you say. But I am a man of my word—mark that! you shall

have her, boy, (plum and all), when you please. Done up, by Jove!

Three Sundays all in a row! I’ll go, and take Dubble L. Dee’s

opinion upon that.”

CHAPTER 1

My name is Arthur Gordon Pym. My father was a respectable trader

in sea-stores at Nantucket, where I was born. My maternal

grandfather was an attorney in good practice. He was fortunate in

every thing, and had speculated very successfully in stocks of

the Edgarton New Bank, as it was formerly called. By these and

other means he had managed to lay by a tolerable sum of money. He

was more attached to myself, I believe, than to any other person

in the world, and I expected to inherit the most of his property

at his death. He sent me, at six years of age, to the school of

old Mr. Ricketts, a gentleman with only one arm and of eccentric

manners—he is well known to almost every person who has visited

New Bedford. I stayed at his school until I was sixteen, when I

left him for Mr. E. Ronald’s academy on the hill. Here I became

intimate with the son of Mr. Barnard, a sea-captain, who

generally sailed in the employ of Lloyd and Vredenburgh—Mr.

Barnard is also very well known in New Bedford, and has many

relations, I am certain, in Edgarton. His son was named Augustus,

and he was nearly two years older than myself. He had been on a

whaling voyage with his father in the John Donaldson, and was

always talking to me of his adventures in the South Pacific

Ocean. I used frequently to go home with him, and remain all day,

and sometimes all night. We occupied the same bed, and he would

be sure to keep me awake until almost light, telling me stories

of the natives of the Island of Tinian, and other places he had

visited in his travels. At last I could not help being interested

in what he said, and by degrees I felt the greatest desire to go

to sea. I owned a sailboat called the Ariel, and worth about

seventy-five dollars. She had a half-deck or cuddy, and was

rigged sloop-fashion—I forget her tonnage, but she would hold ten

persons without much crowding. In this boat we were in the habit

of going on some of the maddest freaks in the world; and, when I

now think of them, it appears to me a thousand wonders that I am

alive to-day.

I will relate one of these adventures by way of introduction to a

longer and more momentous narrative. One night there was a party

at Mr. Barnard’s, and both Augustus and myself were not a little

intoxicated toward the close of it. As usual, in such cases, I

took part of his bed in preference to going home. He went to

sleep, as I thought, very quietly (it being near one when the

party broke up), and without saying a word on his favorite topic.

It might have been half an hour from the time of our getting in

bed, and I was just about falling into a doze, when he suddenly

started up, and swore with a terrible oath that he would not go

to sleep for any Arthur Pym in Christendom, when there was so

glorious a breeze from the southwest. I never was so astonished

in my life, not knowing what he intended, and thinking that the

wines and liquors he had drunk had set him entirely beside

himself. He proceeded to talk very coolly, however, saying he

knew that I supposed him intoxicated, but that he was never more

sober in his life. He was only tired, he added, of lying in bed

on such a fine night like a dog, and was determined to get up and

dress, and go out on a frolic with the boat. I can hardly tell

what possessed me, but the words were no sooner out of his mouth

than I felt a thrill of the greatest excitement and pleasure, and

thought his mad idea one of the most delightful and most

reasonable things in the world. It was blowing almost a gale, and

the weather was very cold—it being late in October. I sprang out

of bed, nevertheless, in a kind of ecstasy, and told him I was

quite as brave as himself, and quite as tired as he was of lying

in bed like a dog, and quite as ready for any fun or frolic as

any Augustus Barnard in Nantucket.

We lost no time in getting on our clothes and hurrying down to

the boat. She was lying at the old decayed wharf by the

lumber-yard of Pankey & Co., and almost thumping her side out

against the rough logs. Augustus got into her and bailed her, for

she was nearly half full of water. This being done, we hoisted

jib and mainsail, kept full, and started boldly out to sea.

The wind, as I before said, blew freshly from the southwest. The

night was very clear and cold. Augustus had taken the helm, and I

stationed myself by the mast, on the deck of the cuddy. We flew

along at a great rate—neither of us having said a word since

casting loose from the wharf. I now asked my companion what

course he intended to steer, and what time he thought it probable

we should get back. He whistled for a few minutes, and then said

crustily: “I am going to sea—you may go home if you think

proper.” Turning my eyes upon him, I perceived at once that, in

spite of his assumed nonchalance, he was greatly agitated. I

could see him distinctly by the light of the moon—his face was

paler than any marble, and his hand shook so excessively that he

could scarcely retain hold of the tiller. I found that something

had gone wrong, and became seriously alarmed. At this period I

knew little about the management of a boat, and was now depending

entirely upon the nautical skill of my friend. The wind, too, had

suddenly increased, as we were fast getting out of the lee of the

land—still I was ashamed to betray any trepidation, and for

almost half an hour maintained a resolute silence. I could stand

it no longer, however, and spoke to Augustus about the propriety

of turning back. As before, it was nearly a minute before he made

answer, or took any notice of my suggestion. “By-and-by,” said he

at length—“time enough—home by-and-by.” I had expected a similar

reply, but there was something in the tone of these words which

filled me with an indescribable feeling of dread. I again looked

at the speaker attentively. His lips were perfectly livid, and

his knees shook so violently together that he seemed scarcely

able to stand. “For God’s sake, Augustus,” I screamed, now

heartily frightened, “what ails you?—what is the matter?—what

are you going to do?” “Matter!” he stammered, in the greatest

apparent surprise, letting go the tiller at the same moment, and

falling forward into the bottom of the boat—“matter—why, nothing

is the—matter—going home—d—d—don’t you see?” The whole truth now

flashed upon me. I flew to him and raised him up. He was

drunk—beastly drunk—he could no longer either stand, speak, or

see. His eyes were perfectly glazed; and as I let him go in the

extremity of my despair, he rolled like a mere log into the

bilge-water, from which I had lifted him. It was evident that,

during the evening, he had drunk far more than I suspected, and

that his conduct in bed had been the result of a

highly-concentrated state of intoxication—a state which, like

madness, frequently enables the victim to imitate the outward

demeanour of one in perfect possession of his senses. The

coolness of the night air, however, had had its usual effect—the

mental energy began to yield before its influence—and the

confused perception which he no doubt then had of his perilous

situation had assisted in hastening the catastrophe. He was now

thoroughly insensible, and there was no probability that he would

be otherwise for many hours.

It is hardly possible to conceive the extremity of my terror. The

fumes of the wine lately taken had evaporated, leaving me doubly

timid and irresolute. I knew that I was altogether incapable of

managing the boat, and that a fierce wind and strong ebb tide

were hurrying us to destruction. A storm was evidently gathering

behind us; we had neither compass nor provisions; and it was

clear that, if we held our present course, we should be out of

sight of land before daybreak. These thoughts, with a crowd of

others equally fearful, flashed through my mind with a

bewildering rapidity, and for some moments paralyzed me beyond

the possibility of making any exertion. The boat was going

through the water at a terrible rate—full before the wind—no reef

in either jib or mainsail—running her bows completely under the

foam. It was a thousand wonders she did not broach to—Augustus

having let go the tiller, as I said before, and I being too much

agitated to think of taking it myself. By good luck, however, she

kept steady, and gradually I recovered some degree of presence of

mind. Still the wind was increasing fearfully, and whenever we

rose from a plunge forward, the sea behind fell combing over our

counter, and deluged us with water. I was so utterly benumbed,

too, in every limb, as to be nearly unconscious of sensation. At

length I summoned up the resolution of despair, and rushing to

the mainsail let it go by the run. As might have been expected,

it flew over the bows, and, getting drenched with water, carried

away the mast short off by the board. This latter accident alone

saved me from instant destruction. Under the jib only, I now

boomed along before the wind, shipping heavy seas occasionally

over the counter, but relieved from the terror of immediate

death. I took the helm, and breathed with greater freedom as I

found that there yet remained to us a chance of ultimate escape.

Augustus still lay senseless in the bottom of the boat; and as

there was imminent danger of his drowning (the water being nearly

a foot deep just where he fell), I contrived to raise him

partially up, and keep him in a sitting position, by passing a

rope round his waist, and lashing it to a ringbolt in the deck of

the cuddy. Having thus arranged every thing as well as I could in

my chilled and agitated condition, I recommended myself to God,

and made up my mind to bear whatever might happen with all the

fortitude in my power.

Hardly had I come to this resolution, when, suddenly, a loud and

long scream or yell, as if from the throats of a thousand demons,

seemed to pervade the whole atmosphere around and above the boat.

Never while I live shall I forget the intense agony of terror I

experienced at that moment. My hair stood erect on my head—I felt

the blood congealing in my veins—my heart ceased utterly to beat,

and without having once raised my eyes to learn the source of my

alarm, I tumbled headlong and insensible upon the body of my

fallen companion.

I found myself, upon reviving, in the cabin of a large

whaling-ship (the Penguin) bound to Nantucket. Several persons

were standing over me, and Augustus, paler than death, was busily

occupied in chafing my hands. Upon seeing me open my eyes, his

exclamations of gratitude and joy excited alternate laughter and

tears from the rough-looking personages who were present. The

mystery of our being in existence was now soon explained. We had

been run down by the whaling-ship, which was close-hauled,

beating up to Nantucket with every sail she could venture to set,

and consequently running almost at right angles to our own

course. Several men were on the look-out forward, but did not

perceive our boat until it was an impossibility to avoid coming

in contact—their shouts of warning upon seeing us were what so

terribly alarmed me. The huge ship, I was told, rode immediately

over us with as much ease as our own little vessel would have

passed over a feather, and without the least perceptible

impediment to her progress. Not a scream arose from the deck of

the victim—there was a slight grating sound to be heard mingling

with the roar of wind and water, as the frail bark which was

swallowed up rubbed for a moment along the keel of her

destroyer—but this was all. Thinking our boat (which it will be

remembered was dismasted) some mere shell cut adrift as useless,

the captain (Captain E. T. V. Block, of New London) was for

proceeding on his course without troubling himself further about

the matter. Luckily, there were two of the look-out who swore

positively to having seen some person at our helm, and

represented the possibility of yet saving him. A discussion

ensued, when Block grew angry, and, after a while, said that “it

was no business of his to be eternally watching for egg-shells;

that the ship should not put about for any such nonsense; and if

there was a man run down, it was nobody’s fault but his own, he

might drown and be dammed” or some language to that effect.

Henderson, the first mate, now took the matter up, being justly

indignant, as well as the whole ship’s crew, at a speech evincing

so base a degree of heartless atrocity. He spoke plainly, seeing

himself upheld by the men, told the captain he considered him a

fit subject for the gallows, and that he would disobey his orders

if he were hanged for it the moment he set his foot on shore. He

strode aft, jostling Block (who turned pale and made no answer)

on one side, and seizing the helm, gave the word, in a firm

voice, Hard-a-lee! The men flew to their posts, and the ship went

cleverly about. All this had occupied nearly five minutes, and it

was supposed to be hardly within the bounds of possibility that

any individual could be saved—allowing any to have been on board

the boat. Yet, as the reader has seen, both Augustus and myself

were rescued; and our deliverance seemed to have been brought

about by two of those almost inconceivable pieces of good fortune

which are attributed by the wise and pious to the special

interference of Providence.

While the ship was yet in stays, the mate lowered the jolly-boat

and jumped into her with the very two men, I believe, who spoke

up as having seen me at the helm. They had just left the lee of

the vessel (the moon still shining brightly) when she made a long

and heavy roll to windward, and Henderson, at the same moment,

starting up in his seat bawled out to his crew to back water. He

would say nothing else—repeating his cry impatiently, back water!

back water! The men put back as speedily as possible, but by this

time the ship had gone round, and gotten fully under headway,

although all hands on board were making great exertions to take

in sail. In despite of the danger of the attempt, the mate clung

to the main-chains as soon as they came within his reach. Another

huge lurch now brought the starboard side of the vessel out of

water nearly as far as her keel, when the cause of his anxiety

was rendered obvious enough. The body of a man was seen to be

affixed in the most singular manner to the smooth and shining

bottom (the Penguin was coppered and copper-fastened), and

beating violently against it with every movement of the hull.

After several ineffectual efforts, made during the lurches of the

ship, and at the imminent risk of swamping the boat I was finally

disengaged from my perilous situation and taken on board—for the

body proved to be my own. It appeared that one of the

timber-bolts having started and broken a passage through the

copper, it had arrested my progress as I passed under the ship,

and fastened me in so extraordinary a manner to her bottom. The

head of the bolt had made its way through the collar of the green

baize jacket I had on, and through the back part of my neck,

forcing itself out between two sinews and just below the right

ear. I was immediately put to bed—although life seemed to be

totally extinct. There was no surgeon on board. The captain,

however, treated me with every attention—to make amends, I

presume, in the eyes of his crew, for his atrocious behaviour in

the previous portion of the adventure.

In the meantime, Henderson had again put off from the ship,

although the wind was now blowing almost a hurricane. He had not

been gone many minutes when he fell in with some fragments of our

boat, and shortly afterward one of the men with him asserted that

he could distinguish a cry for help at intervals amid the roaring

of the tempest. This induced the hardy seamen to persevere in

their search for more than half an hour, although repeated

signals to return were made them by Captain Block, and although

every moment on the water in so frail a boat was fraught to them

with the most imminent and deadly peril. Indeed, it is nearly

impossible to conceive how the small jolly they were in could

have escaped destruction for a single instant. She was built,

however, for the whaling service, and was fitted, as I have since

had reason to believe, with air-boxes, in the manner of some

life-boats used on the coast of Wales.

After searching in vain for about the period of time just

mentioned, it was determined to get back to the ship. They had

scarcely made this resolve when a feeble cry arose from a dark

object that floated rapidly by. They pursued and soon overtook

it. It proved to be the entire deck of the Ariel’s cuddy.

Augustus was struggling near it, apparently in the last agonies.

Upon getting hold of him it was found that he was attached by a

rope to the floating timber. This rope, it will be remembered, I

had myself tied around his waist, and made fast to a ringbolt,

for the purpose of keeping him in an upright position, and my so

doing, it appeared, had been ultimately the means of preserving

his life. The Ariel was slightly put together, and in going down

her frame naturally went to pieces; the deck of the cuddy, as

might have been expected, was lifted, by the force of the water

rushing in, entirely from the main timbers, and floated (with

other fragments, no doubt) to the surface—Augustus was buoyed up

with it, and thus escaped a terrible death.

It was more than an hour after being taken on board the Penguin

before he could give any account of himself, or be made to

comprehend the nature of the accident which had befallen our

boat. At length he became thoroughly aroused, and spoke much of

his sensations while in the water. Upon his first attaining any

degree of consciousness, he found himself beneath the surface,

whirling round and round with inconceivable rapidity, and with a

rope wrapped in three or four folds tightly about his neck. In an

instant afterward he felt himself going rapidly upward, when, his

head striking violently against a hard substance, he again

relapsed into insensibility. Upon once more reviving he was in

fuller possession of his reason—this was still, however, in the

greatest degree clouded and confused. He now knew that some

accident had occurred, and that he was in the water, although his

mouth was above the surface, and he could breathe with some

freedom. Possibly, at this period the deck was drifting rapidly

before the wind, and drawing him after it, as he floated upon his

back. Of course, as long as he could have retained this position,

it would have been nearly impossible that he should be drowned.

Presently a surge threw him directly athwart the deck, and this

post he endeavored to maintain, screaming at intervals for help.

Just before he was discovered by Mr. Henderson, he had been

obliged to relax his hold through exhaustion, and, falling into

the sea, had given himself up for lost. During the whole period

of his struggles he had not the faintest recollection of the

Ariel, nor of the matters in connexion with the source of his

disaster. A vague feeling of terror and despair had taken entire

possession of his faculties. When he was finally picked up, every

power of his mind had failed him; and, as before said, it was

nearly an hour after getting on board the Penguin before he

became fully aware of his condition. In regard to myself—I was

resuscitated from a state bordering very nearly upon death (and

after every other means had been tried in vain for three hours

and a half) by vigorous friction with flannels bathed in hot

oil—a proceeding suggested by Augustus. The wound in my neck,

although of an ugly appearance, proved of little real

consequence, and I soon recovered from its effects.

The Penguin got into port about nine o’clock in the morning,

after encountering one of the severest gales ever experienced off

Nantucket. Both Augustus and myself managed to appear at Mr.

Barnard’s in time for breakfast—which, luckily, was somewhat

late, owing to the party over night. I suppose all at the table

were too much fatigued themselves to notice our jaded

appearance—of course, it would not have borne a very rigid

scrutiny. Schoolboys, however, can accomplish wonders in the way

of deception, and I verily believe not one of our friends in

Nantucket had the slightest suspicion that the terrible story

told by some sailors in town of their having run down a vessel at

sea and drowned some thirty or forty poor devils, had reference

either to the Ariel, my companion, or myself. We two have since

very frequently talked the matter over—but never without a

shudder. In one of our conversations Augustus frankly confessed

to me, that in his whole life he had at no time experienced so

excruciating a sense of dismay, as when on board our little boat

he first discovered the extent of his intoxication, and felt

himself sinking beneath its influence.

CHAPTER 2

In no affairs of mere prejudice, pro or con, do we deduce

inferences with entire certainty, even from the most simple data.

It might be supposed that a catastrophe such as I have just

related would have effectually cooled my incipient passion for

the sea. On the contrary, I never experienced a more ardent

longing for the wild adventures incident to the life of a

navigator than within a week after our miraculous deliverance.

This short period proved amply long enough to erase from my

memory the shadows, and bring out in vivid light all the

pleasurably exciting points of color, all the picturesqueness, of

the late perilous accident. My conversations with Augustus grew

daily more frequent and more intensely full of interest. He had a

manner of relating his stories of the ocean (more than one half

of which I now suspect to have been sheer fabrications) well

adapted to have weight with one of my enthusiastic temperament

and somewhat gloomy although glowing imagination. It is strange,

too, that he most strongly enlisted my feelings in behalf of the

life of a seaman, when he depicted his more terrible moments of

suffering and despair. For the bright side of the painting I had

a limited sympathy. My visions were of shipwreck and famine; of

death or captivity among barbarian hordes; of a lifetime dragged

out in sorrow and tears, upon some gray and desolate rock, in an

ocean unapproachable and unknown. Such visions or desires—for

they amounted to desires—are common, I have since been assured,

to the whole numerous race of the melancholy among men—at the

time of which I speak I regarded them only as prophetic glimpses

of a destiny which I felt myself in a measure bound to fulfil.

Augustus thoroughly entered into my state of mind. It is

probable, indeed, that our intimate communion had resulted in a

partial interchange of character.

About eighteen months after the period of the Ariel’s disaster,

the firm of Lloyd and Vredenburgh (a house connected in some

manner with the Messieurs Enderby, I believe, of Liverpool) were

engaged in repairing and fitting out the brig Grampus for a

whaling voyage. She was an old hulk, and scarcely seaworthy when

all was done to her that could be done. I hardly know why she was

chosen in preference to other good vessels belonging to the same

owners—but so it was. Mr. Barnard was appointed to command her,

and Augustus was going with him. While the brig was getting

ready, he frequently urged upon me the excellency of the

opportunity now offered for indulging my desire of travel. He

found me by no means an unwilling listener—yet the matter could

not be so easily arranged. My father made no direct opposition;

but my mother went into hysterics at the bare mention of the

design; and, more than all, my grandfather, from whom I expected

much, vowed to cut me off with a shilling if I should ever broach

the subject to him again. These difficulties, however, so far

from abating my desire, only added fuel to the flame. I

determined to go at all hazards; and, having made known my

intentions to Augustus, we set about arranging a plan by which it

might be accomplished. In the meantime I forbore speaking to any

of my relations in regard to the voyage, and, as I busied myself

ostensibly with my usual studies, it was supposed that I had

abandoned the design. I have since frequently examined my conduct

on this occasion with sentiments of displeasure as well as of

surprise. The intense hypocrisy I made use of for the furtherance

of my project—an hypocrisy pervading every word and action of my

life for so long a period of time—could only have been rendered

tolerable to myself by the wild and burning expectation with

which I looked forward to the fulfilment of my long-cherished

visions of travel.

In pursuance of my scheme of deception, I was necessarily obliged

to leave much to the management of Augustus, who was employed for

the greater part of every day on board the Grampus, attending to

some arrangements for his father in the cabin and cabin hold. At

night, however, we were sure to have a conference and talk over

our hopes. After nearly a month passed in this manner, without

our hitting upon any plan we thought likely to succeed, he told

me at last that he had determined upon everything necessary. I

had a relation living in New Bedford, a Mr. Ross, at whose house

I was in the habit of spending occasionally two or three weeks at

a time. The brig was to sail about the middle of June (June,

1827), and it was agreed that, a day or two before her putting to

sea, my father was to receive a note, as usual, from Mr. Ross,

asking me to come over and spend a fortnight with Robert and

Emmet (his sons). Augustus charged himself with the inditing of

this note and getting it delivered. Having set out as supposed,

for New Bedford, I was then to report myself to my companion, who

would contrive a hiding-place for me in the Grampus. This

hiding-place, he assured me, would be rendered sufficiently

comfortable for a residence of many days, during which I was not

to make my appearance. When the brig had proceeded so far on her

course as to make any turning back a matter out of question, I

should then, he said, be formally installed in all the comforts

of the cabin; and as to his father, he would only laugh heartily

at the joke. Vessels enough would be met with by which a letter

might be sent home explaining the adventure to my parents.

The middle of June at length arrived, and every thing had been

matured. The note was written and delivered, and on a Monday

morning I left the house for the New Bedford packet, as supposed.

I went, however, straight to Augustus, who was waiting for me at

the corner of a street. It had been our original plan that I

should keep out of the way until dark, and then slip on board the

brig; but, as there was now a thick fog in our favor, it was

agreed to lose no time in secreting me. Augustus led the way to

the wharf, and I followed at a little distance, enveloped in a

thick seaman’s cloak, which he had brought with him, so that my

person might not be easily recognized. Just as we turned the

second corner, after passing Mr. Edmund’s well, who should

appear, standing right in front of me, and looking me full in the

face, but old Mr. Peterson, my grandfather. “Why, bless my soul,

Gordon,” said he, after a long pause, “why, why,—whose dirty

cloak is that you have on?” “Sir!” I replied, assuming, as well

as I could, in the exigency of the moment, an air of offended

surprise, and talking in the gruffest of all imaginable

tones—“sir! you are a sum’mat mistaken—my name, in the first

place, bee’nt nothing at all like Goddin, and I’d want you for to

know better, you blackguard, than to call my new obercoat a darty

one.” For my life I could hardly refrain from screaming with

laughter at the odd manner in which the old gentleman received

this handsome rebuke. He started back two or three steps, turned

first pale and then excessively red, threw up his spectacles,

then, putting them down, ran full tilt at me, with his umbrella

uplifted. He stopped short, however, in his career, as if struck

with a sudden recollection; and presently, turning round, hobbled

off down the street, shaking all the while with rage, and

muttering between his teeth: “Won’t do—new glasses—thought it was

Gordon—d—d good-for-nothing salt water Long Tom.”

After this narrow escape we proceeded with greater caution, and

arrived at our point of destination in safety. There were only

one or two of the hands on board, and these were busy forward,

doing something to the forecastle combings. Captain Barnard, we

knew very well, was engaged at Lloyd and Vredenburgh’s, and would

remain there until late in the evening, so we had little to

apprehend on his account. Augustus went first up the vessel’s

side, and in a short while I followed him, without being noticed

by the men at work. We proceeded at once into the cabin, and

found no person there. It was fitted up in the most comfortable

style—a thing somewhat unusual in a whaling-vessel. There were

four very excellent staterooms, with wide and convenient berths.

There was also a large stove, I took notice, and a remarkably

thick and valuable carpet covering the floor of both the cabin

and staterooms. The ceiling was full seven feet high, and, in

short, every thing appeared of a more roomy and agreeable nature

than I had anticipated. Augustus, however, would allow me but

little time for observation, insisting upon the necessity of my

concealing myself as soon as possible. He led the way into his

own stateroom, which was on the starboard side of the brig, and

next to the bulkheads. Upon entering, he closed the door and

bolted it. I thought I had never seen a nicer little room than

the one in which I now found myself. It was about ten feet long,

and had only one berth, which, as I said before, was wide and

convenient. In that portion of the closet nearest the bulkheads

there was a space of four feet square, containing a table, a

chair, and a set of hanging shelves full of books, chiefly books

of voyages and travels. There were many other little comforts in

the room, among which I ought not to forget a kind of safe or

refrigerator, in which Augustus pointed out to me a host of

delicacies, both in the eating and drinking department.

He now pressed with his knuckles upon a certain spot of the

carpet in one corner of the space just mentioned, letting me know

that a portion of the flooring, about sixteen inches square, had

been neatly cut out and again adjusted. As he pressed, this

portion rose up at one end sufficiently to allow the passage of

his finger beneath. In this manner he raised the mouth of the

trap (to which the carpet was still fastened by tacks), and I

found that it led into the after hold. He next lit a small taper

by means of a phosphorous match, and, placing the light in a dark

lantern, descended with it through the opening, bidding me

follow. I did so, and he then pulled the cover upon the hole, by

means of a nail driven into the under side—the carpet, of course,

resuming its original position on the floor of the stateroom, and

all traces of the aperture being concealed.

The taper gave out so feeble a ray that it was with the greatest

difficulty I could grope my way through the confused mass of

lumber among which I now found myself. By degrees, however, my

eyes became accustomed to the gloom, and I proceeded with less

trouble, holding on to the skirts of my friend’s coat. He brought

me, at length, after creeping and winding through innumerable

narrow passages, to an iron-bound box, such as is used sometimes

for packing fine earthenware. It was nearly four feet high, and

full six long, but very narrow. Two large empty oil-casks lay on

the top of it, and above these, again, a vast quantity of straw

matting, piled up as high as the floor of the cabin. In every

other direction around was wedged as closely as possible, even up

to the ceiling, a complete chaos of almost every species of

ship-furniture, together with a heterogeneous medley of crates,

hampers, barrels, and bales, so that it seemed a matter no less

than miraculous that we had discovered any passage at all to the

box. I afterward found that Augustus had purposely arranged the

stowage in this hold with a view to affording me a thorough

concealment, having had only one assistant in the labour, a man

not going out in the brig.

My companion now showed me that one of the ends of the box could

be removed at pleasure. He slipped it aside and displayed the

interior, at which I was excessively amused. A mattress from one

of the cabin berths covered the whole of its bottom, and it

contained almost every article of mere comfort which could be

crowded into so small a space, allowing me, at the same time,

sufficient room for my accommodation, either in a sitting

position or lying at full length. Among other things, there were

some books, pen, ink, and paper, three blankets, a large jug full

of water, a keg of sea-biscuit, three or four immense Bologna

sausages, an enormous ham, a cold leg of roast mutton, and half a

dozen bottles of cordials and liqueurs. I proceeded immediately

to take possession of my little apartment, and this with feelings

of higher satisfaction, I am sure, than any monarch ever

experienced upon entering a new palace. Augustus now pointed out

to me the method of fastening the open end of the box, and then,

holding the taper close to the deck, showed me a piece of dark

whipcord lying along it. This, he said, extended from my

hiding-place throughout all the necessary windings among the

lumber, to a nail which was driven into the deck of the hold,

immediately beneath the trap-door leading into his stateroom. By

means of this cord I should be enabled readily to trace my way

out without his guidance, provided any unlooked-for accident

should render such a step necessary. He now took his departure,

leaving with me the lantern, together with a copious supply of

tapers and phosphorous, and promising to pay me a visit as often

as he could contrive to do so without observation. This was on

the seventeenth of June.

I remained three days and nights (as nearly as I could guess) in

my hiding-place without getting out of it at all, except twice

for the purpose of stretching my limbs by standing erect between

two crates just opposite the opening. During the whole period I

saw nothing of Augustus; but this occasioned me little

uneasiness, as I knew the brig was expected to put to sea every

hour, and in the bustle he would not easily find opportunities of

coming down to me. At length I heard the trap open and shut, and

presently he called in a low voice, asking if all was well, and

if there was any thing I wanted. “Nothing,” I replied; “I am as

comfortable as can be; when will the brig sail?” “She will be

under weigh in less than half an hour,” he answered. “I came to

let you know, and for fear you should be uneasy at my absence. I

shall not have a chance of coming down again for some

time—perhaps for three or four days more. All is going on right

aboveboard. After I go up and close the trap, do you creep along

by the whipcord to where the nail is driven in. You will find my

watch there—it may be useful to you, as you have no daylight to

keep time by. I suppose you can’t tell how long you have been

buried—only three days—this is the twentieth. I would bring the

watch to your box, but am afraid of being missed.” With this he

went up.

In about an hour after he had gone I distinctly felt the brig in

motion, and congratulated myself upon having at length fairly

commenced a voyage. Satisfied with this idea, I determined to

make my mind as easy as possible, and await the course of events

until I should be permitted to exchange the box for the more

roomy, although hardly more comfortable, accommodations of the

cabin. My first care was to get the watch. Leaving the taper

burning, I groped along in the dark, following the cord through

windings innumerable, in some of which I discovered that, after

toiling a long distance, I was brought back within a foot or two

of a former position. At length I reached the nail, and securing

the object of my journey, returned with it in safety. I now

looked over the books which had been so thoughtfully provided,

and selected the expedition of Lewis and Clarke to the mouth of

the Columbia. With this I amused myself for some time, when,

growing sleepy, I extinguished the light with great care, and

soon fell into a sound slumber.

Upon awakening I felt strangely confused in mind, and some time

elapsed before I could bring to recollection all the various

circumstances of my situation. By degrees, however, I remembered

all. Striking a light, I looked at the watch; but it was run

down, and there were, consequently, no means of determining how

long I slept. My limbs were greatly cramped, and I was forced to

relieve them by standing between the crates. Presently feeling an

almost ravenous appetite, I bethought myself of the cold mutton,

some of which I had eaten just before going to sleep, and found

excellent. What was my astonishment in discovering it to be in a

state of absolute putrefaction! This circumstance occasioned me

great disquietude; for, connecting it with the disorder of mind I

experienced upon awakening, I began to suppose that I must have

slept for an inordinately long period of time. The close

atmosphere of the hold might have had something to do with this,

and might, in the end, be productive of the most serious results.

My head ached excessively; I fancied that I drew every breath

with difficulty; and, in short, I was oppressed with a multitude

of gloomy feelings. Still I could not venture to make any

disturbance by opening the trap or otherwise, and, having wound

up the watch, contented myself as well as possible.

Throughout the whole of the next tedious twenty-four hours no

person came to my relief, and I could not help accusing Augustus

of the grossest inattention. What alarmed me chiefly was, that

the water in my jug was reduced to about half a pint, and I was

suffering much from thirst, having eaten freely of the Bologna

sausages after the loss of my mutton. I became very uneasy, and

could no longer take any interest in my books. I was overpowered,

too, with a desire to sleep, yet trembled at the thought of

indulging it, lest there might exist some pernicious influence,

like that of burning charcoal, in the confined air of the hold.

In the meantime the roll of the brig told me that we were far in

the main ocean, and a dull humming sound, which reached my ears

as if from an immense distance, convinced me no ordinary gale was

blowing. I could not imagine a reason for the absence of

Augustus. We were surely far enough advanced on our voyage to

allow of my going up. Some accident might have happened to

him—but I could think of none which would account for his

suffering me to remain so long a prisoner, except, indeed, his

having suddenly died or fallen overboard, and upon this idea I

could not dwell with any degree of patience. It was possible that

we had been baffled by head winds, and were still in the near

vicinity of Nantucket. This notion, however, I was forced to

abandon; for such being the case, the brig must have frequently

gone about; and I was entirely satisfied, from her continual

inclination to the larboard, that she had been sailing all along

with a steady breeze on her starboard quarter. Besides, granting

that we were still in the neighborhood of the island, why should

not Augustus have visited me and informed me of the circumstance?

Pondering in this manner upon the difficulties of my solitary and

cheerless condition, I resolved to wait yet another twenty-four

hours, when, if no relief were obtained, I would make my way to

the trap, and endeavour either to hold a parley with my friend,

or get at least a little fresh air through the opening, and a

further supply of water from the stateroom. While occupied with

this thought, however, I fell in spite of every exertion to the

contrary, into a state of profound sleep, or rather stupor. My

dreams were of the most terrific description. Every species of

calamity and horror befell me. Among other miseries I was

smothered to death between huge pillows, by demons of the most

ghastly and ferocious aspect. Immense serpents held me in their

embrace, and looked earnestly in my face with their fearfully

shining eyes. Then deserts, limitless, and of the most forlorn

and awe-inspiring character, spread themselves out before me.

Immensely tall trunks of trees, gray and leafless, rose up in

endless succession as far as the eye could reach. Their roots

were concealed in wide-spreading morasses, whose dreary water lay

intensely black, still, and altogether terrible, beneath. And the

strange trees seemed endowed with a human vitality, and waving to

and fro their skeleton arms, were crying to the silent waters for

mercy, in the shrill and piercing accents of the most acute agony

and despair. The scene changed; and I stood, naked and alone,

amidst the burning sand-plains of Sahara. At my feet lay crouched

a fierce lion of the tropics. Suddenly his wild eyes opened and

fell upon me. With a conclusive bound he sprang to his feet, and

laid bare his horrible teeth. In another instant there burst from

his red throat a roar like the thunder of the firmament, and I

fell impetuously to the earth. Stifling in a paroxysm of terror,

I at last found myself partially awake. My dream, then, was not

all a dream. Now, at least, I was in possession of my senses. The

paws of some huge and real monster were pressing heavily upon my

bosom—his hot breath was in my ear—and his white and ghastly

fangs were gleaming upon me through the gloom.

Had a thousand lives hung upon the movement of a limb or the

utterance of a syllable, I could have neither stirred nor spoken.

The beast, whatever it was, retained his position without

attempting any immediate violence, while I lay in an utterly

helpless, and, I fancied, a dying condition beneath him. I felt

that my powers of body and mind were fast leaving me—in a word,

that I was perishing, and perishing of sheer fright. My brain

swam—I grew deadly sick—my vision failed—even the glaring

eyeballs above me grew dim. Making a last strong effort, I at

length breathed a faint ejaculation to God, and resigned myself

to die. The sound of my voice seemed to arouse all the latent

fury of the animal. He precipitated himself at full length upon

my body; but what was my astonishment, when, with a long and low

whine, he commenced licking my face and hands with the greatest

eagerness, and with the most extravagant demonstration of

affection and joy! I was bewildered, utterly lost in

amazement—but I could not forget the peculiar whine of my

Newfoundland dog Tiger, and the odd manner of his caresses I well

knew. It was he. I experienced a sudden rush of blood to my

temples—a giddy and overpowering sense of deliverance and

reanimation. I rose hurriedly from the mattress upon which I had

been lying, and, throwing myself upon the neck of my faithful

follower and friend, relieved the long oppression of my bosom in

a flood of the most passionate tears.

As upon a former occasion my conceptions were in a state of the

greatest indistinctness and confusion after leaving the mattress.

For a long time I found it nearly impossible to connect any

ideas; but, by very slow degrees, my thinking faculties returned,

and I again called to memory the several incidents of my

condition. For the presence of Tiger I tried in vain to account;

and after busying myself with a thousand different conjectures

respecting him, was forced to content myself with rejoicing that

he was with me to share my dreary solitude, and render me comfort

by his caresses. Most people love their dogs—but for Tiger I had

an affection far more ardent than common; and never, certainly,

did any creature more truly deserve it. For seven years he had

been my inseparable companion, and in a multitude of instances

had given evidence of all the noble qualities for which we value

the animal. I had rescued him, when a puppy, from the clutches of

a malignant little villain in Nantucket who was leading him, with

a rope around his neck, to the water; and the grown dog repaid

the obligation, about three years afterward, by saving me from

the bludgeon of a street robber.

Getting now hold of the watch, I found, upon applying it to my

ear, that it had again run down; but at this I was not at all

surprised, being convinced, from the peculiar state of my

feelings, that I had slept, as before, for a very long period of

time, how long, it was of course impossible to say. I was burning

up with fever, and my thirst was almost intolerable. I felt about

the box for my little remaining supply of water, for I had no

light, the taper having burnt to the socket of the lantern, and

the phosphorus-box not coming readily to hand. Upon finding the

jug, however, I discovered it to be empty—Tiger, no doubt, having

been tempted to drink it, as well as to devour the remnant of

mutton, the bone of which lay, well picked, by the opening of the

box. The spoiled meat I could well spare, but my heart sank as I

thought of the water. I was feeble in the extreme—so much so that

I shook all over, as with an ague, at the slightest movement or

exertion. To add to my troubles, the brig was pitching and

rolling with great violence, and the oil-casks which lay upon my

box were in momentary danger of falling down, so as to block up

the only way of ingress or egress. I felt, also, terrible

sufferings from sea-sickness. These considerations determined me

to make my way, at all hazards, to the trap, and obtain immediate

relief, before I should be incapacitated from doing so

altogether. Having come to this resolve, I again felt about for

the phosphorus-box and tapers. The former I found after some

little trouble; but, not discovering the tapers as soon as I had

expected (for I remembered very nearly the spot in which I had

placed them), I gave up the search for the present, and bidding

Tiger lie quiet, began at once my journey toward the trap.

In this attempt my great feebleness became more than ever

apparent. It was with the utmost difficulty I could crawl along

at all, and very frequently my limbs sank suddenly from beneath

me; when, falling prostrate on my face, I would remain for some

minutes in a state bordering on insensibility. Still I struggled

forward by slow degrees, dreading every moment that I should

swoon amid the narrow and intricate windings of the lumber, in

which event I had nothing but death to expect as the result. At

length, upon making a push forward with all the energy I could

command, I struck my forehead violently against the sharp corner

of an iron-bound crate. The accident only stunned me for a few

moments; but I found, to my inexpressible grief, that the quick

and violent roll of the vessel had thrown the crate entirely

across my path, so as effectually to block up the passage. With

my utmost exertions I could not move it a single inch from its

position, it being closely wedged in among the surrounding boxes

and ship-furniture. It became necessary, therefore, enfeebled as

I was, either to leave the guidance of the whipcord and seek out

a new passage, or to climb over the obstacle, and resume the path

on the other side. The former alternative presented too many

difficulties and dangers to be thought of without a shudder. In

my present weak state of both mind and body, I should infallibly

lose my way if I attempted it, and perish miserably amid the

dismal and disgusting labyrinths of the hold. I proceeded,

therefore, without hesitation, to summon up all my remaining

strength and fortitude, and endeavour, as I best might, to

clamber over the crate.

Upon standing erect, with this end in view, I found the

undertaking even a more serious task than my fears had led me to

imagine. On each side of the narrow passage arose a complete wall

of various heavy lumber, which the least blunder on my part might

be the means of bringing down upon my head; or, if this accident

did not occur, the path might be effectually blocked up against

my return by the descending mass, as it was in front by the

obstacle there. The crate itself was a long and unwieldy box,

upon which no foothold could be obtained. In vain I attempted, by

every means in my power, to reach the top, with the hope of being

thus enabled to draw myself up. Had I succeeded in reaching it,

it is certain that my strength would have proved utterly

inadequate to the task of getting over, and it was better in

every respect that I failed. At length, in a desperate effort to

force the crate from its ground, I felt a strong vibration in the

side next me. I thrust my hand eagerly to the edge of the planks,

and found that a very large one was loose. With my pocket-knife,

which, luckily, I had with me, I succeeded, after great labour,

in prying it entirely off; and getting it through the aperture,

discovered, to my exceeding joy, that there were no boards on the

opposite side—in other words, that the top was wanting, it being

the bottom through which I had forced my way. I now met with no

important difficulty in proceeding along the line until I finally

reached the nail. With a beating heart I stood erect, and with a

gentle touch pressed against the cover of the trap. It did not

rise as soon as I had expected, and I pressed it with somewhat

more determination, still dreading lest some other person than

Augustus might be in his state-room. The door, however, to my

astonishment, remained steady, and I became somewhat uneasy, for

I knew that it had formerly required but little or no effort to

remove it. I pushed it strongly—it was nevertheless firm: with

all my strength—it still did not give way: with rage, with fury,

with despair—it set at defiance my utmost efforts; and it was

evident, from the unyielding nature of the resistance, that the

hole had either been discovered and effectually nailed up, or

that some immense weight had been placed upon it, which it was

useless to think of removing.

My sensations were those of extreme horror and dismay. In vain I

attempted to reason on the probable cause of my being thus

entombed. I could summon up no connected chain of reflection,

and, sinking on the floor, gave way, unresistingly, to the most

gloomy imaginings, in which the dreadful deaths of thirst,

famine, suffocation, and premature interment crowded upon me as

the prominent disasters to be encountered. At length there

returned to me some portion of presence of mind. I arose, and

felt with my fingers for the seams or cracks of the aperture.

Having found them, I examined them closely to ascertain if they

emitted any light from the state-room; but none was visible. I

then forced the blade of my pen-knife through them, until I met

with some hard obstacle. Scraping against it, I discovered it to

be a solid mass of iron, which, from its peculiar wavy feel as I

passed the blade along it, I concluded to be a chain-cable. The

only course now left me was to retrace my way to the box, and

there either yield to my sad fate, or try so to tranquilize my

mind as to admit of my arranging some plan of escape. I

immediately set about the attempt, and succeeded, after

innumerable difficulties, in getting back. As I sank, utterly

exhausted, upon the mattress, Tiger threw himself at full length

by my side, and seemed as if desirous, by his caresses, of

consoling me in my troubles, and urging me to bear them with

fortitude.

The singularity of his behavior at length forcibly arrested my

attention. After licking my face and hands for some minutes, he

would suddenly cease doing so, and utter a low whine. Upon

reaching out my hand toward him, I then invariably found him

lying on his back, with his paws uplifted. This conduct, so

frequently repeated, appeared strange, and I could in no manner

account for it. As the dog seemed distressed, I concluded that he

had received some injury; and, taking his paws in my hands, I

examined them one by one, but found no sign of any hurt. I then

supposed him hungry, and gave him a large piece of ham, which he

devoured with avidity—afterward, however, resuming his

extraordinary manoeuvres. I now imagined that he was suffering,

like myself, the torments of thirst, and was about adopting this

conclusion as the true one, when the idea occurred to me that I

had as yet only examined his paws, and that there might possibly

be a wound upon some portion of his body or head. The latter I

felt carefully over, but found nothing. On passing my hand,

however, along his back, I perceived a slight erection of the

hair extending completely across it. Probing this with my finger,

I discovered a string, and tracing it up, found that it encircled

the whole body. Upon a closer scrutiny, I came across a small

slip of what had the feeling of letter paper, through which the

string had been fastened in such a manner as to bring it

immediately beneath the left shoulder of the animal.

CHAPTER 3

The thought instantly occurred to me that the paper was a note

from Augustus, and that some unaccountable accident having

happened to prevent his relieving me from my dungeon, he had

devised this method of acquainting me with the true state of

affairs. Trembling with eagerness, I now commenced another search

for my phosphorus matches and tapers. I had a confused

recollection of having put them carefully away just before

falling asleep; and, indeed, previously to my last journey to the

trap, I had been able to remember the exact spot where I had

deposited them. But now I endeavored in vain to call it to mind,

and busied myself for a full hour in a fruitless and vexatious

search for the missing articles; never, surely, was there a more

tantalizing state of anxiety and suspense. At length, while

groping about, with my head close to the ballast, near the

opening of the box, and outside of it, I perceived a faint

glimmering of light in the direction of the steerage. Greatly

surprised, I endeavored to make my way toward it, as it appeared

to be but a few feet from my position. Scarcely had I moved with

this intention, when I lost sight of the glimmer entirely, and,

before I could bring it into view again, was obliged to feel

along by the box until I had exactly resumed my original

situation. Now, moving my head with caution to and fro, I found

that, by proceeding slowly, with great care, in an opposite

direction to that in which I had at first started, I was enabled

to draw near the light, still keeping it in view. Presently I

came directly upon it (having squeezed my way through innumerable

narrow windings), and found that it proceeded from some fragments

of my matches lying in an empty barrel turned upon its side. I

was wondering how they came in such a place, when my hand fell

upon two or three pieces of taper wax, which had been evidently

mumbled by the dog. I concluded at once that he had devoured the

whole of my supply of candles, and I felt hopeless of being ever

able to read the note of Augustus. The small remnants of the wax

were so mashed up among other rubbish in the barrel, that I

despaired of deriving any service from them, and left them as

they were. The phosphorus, of which there was only a speck or

two, I gathered up as well as I could, and returned with it,

after much difficulty, to my box, where Tiger had all the while

remained.

What to do next I could not tell. The hold was so intensely dark

that I could not see my hand, however close I would hold it to my

face. The white slip of paper could barely be discerned, and not

even that when I looked at it directly; by turning the exterior

portions of the retina toward it—that is to say, by surveying it

slightly askance, I found that it became in some measure

perceptible. Thus the gloom of my prison may be imagined, and the

note of my friend, if indeed it were a note from him, seemed only

likely to throw me into further trouble, by disquieting to no

purpose my already enfeebled and agitated mind. In vain I

revolved in my brain a multitude of absurd expedients for

procuring light—such expedients precisely as a man in the

perturbed sleep occasioned by opium would be apt to fall upon for

a similar purpose—each and all of which appear by turns to the

dreamer the most reasonable and the most preposterous of

conceptions, just as the reasoning or imaginative faculties

flicker, alternately, one above the other. At last an idea

occurred to me which seemed rational, and which gave me cause to

wonder, very justly, that I had not entertained it before. I

placed the slip of paper on the back of a book, and, collecting

the fragments of the phosphorus matches which I had brought from

the barrel, laid them together upon the paper. I then, with the

palm of my hand, rubbed the whole over quickly, yet steadily. A

clear light diffused itself immediately throughout the whole

surface; and had there been any writing upon it, I should not

have experienced the least difficulty, I am sure, in reading it.

Not a syllable was there, however—nothing but a dreary and

unsatisfactory blank; the illumination died away in a few

seconds, and my heart died away within me as it went.

I have before stated more than once that my intellect, for some

period prior to this, had been in a condition nearly bordering on

idiocy. There were, to be sure, momentary intervals of perfect

sanity, and, now and then, even of energy; but these were few. It

must be remembered that I had been, for many days certainly,

inhaling the almost pestilential atmosphere of a close hold in a

whaling vessel, and for a long portion of that time but scantily

supplied with water. For the last fourteen or fifteen hours I had

none—nor had I slept during that time. Salt provisions of the

most exciting kind had been my chief, and, indeed, since the loss

of the mutton, my only supply of food, with the exception of the

sea-biscuit; and these latter were utterly useless to me, as they

were too dry and hard to be swallowed in the swollen and parched

condition of my throat. I was now in a high state of fever, and

in every respect exceedingly ill. This will account for the fact

that many miserable hours of despondency elapsed after my last

adventure with the phosphorus, before the thought suggested

itself that I had examined only one side of the paper. I shall

not attempt to describe my feelings of rage (for I believe I was

more angry than any thing else) when the egregious oversight I

had committed flashed suddenly upon my perception. The blunder

itself would have been unimportant, had not my own folly and

impetuosity rendered it otherwise—in my disappointment at not

finding some words upon the slip, I had childishly torn it in

pieces and thrown it away, it was impossible to say where.

From the worst part of this dilemma I was relieved by the

sagacity of Tiger. Having got, after a long search, a small piece

of the note, I put it to the dog’s nose, and endeavored to make

him understand that he must bring me the rest of it. To my

astonishment, (for I had taught him none of the usual tricks for

which his breed are famous,) he seemed to enter at once into my

meaning, and, rummaging about for a few moments, soon found

another considerable portion. Bringing me this, he paused awhile,

and, rubbing his nose against my hand, appeared to be waiting for

my approval of what he had done. I patted him on the head, when

he immediately made off again. It was now some minutes before he

came back—but when he did come, he brought with him a large slip,

which proved to be all the paper missing—it having been torn, it

seems, only into three pieces. Luckily, I had no trouble in

finding what few fragments of the phosphorus were left—being

guided by the indistinct glow one or two of the particles still

emitted. My difficulties had taught me the necessity of caution,

and I now took time to reflect upon what I was about to do. It

was very probable, I considered, that some words were written

upon that side of the paper which had not been examined—but which

side was that? Fitting the pieces together gave me no clew in

this respect, although it assured me that the words (if there

were any) would be found all on one side, and connected in a

proper manner, as written. There was the greater necessity of

ascertaining the point in question beyond a doubt, as the

phosphorus remaining would be altogether insufficient for a third

attempt, should I fail in the one I was now about to make. I

placed the paper on a book as before, and sat for some minutes

thoughtfully revolving the matter over in my mind. At last I

thought it barely possible that the written side might have some

unevenness on its surface, which a delicate sense of feeling

might enable me to detect. I determined to make the experiment

and passed my finger very carefully over the side which first

presented itself. Nothing, however, was perceptible, and I turned

the paper, adjusting it on the book. I now again carried my

forefinger cautiously along, when I was aware of an exceedingly

slight, but still discernable glow, which followed as it

proceeded. This, I knew, must arise from some very minute

remaining particles of the phosphorus with which I had covered

the paper in my previous attempt. The other, or under side, then,

was that on which lay the writing, if writing there should

finally prove to be. Again I turned the note, and went to work as

I had previously done. Having rubbed in the phosphorus, a

brilliancy ensued as before—but this time several lines of MS. in

a large hand, and apparently in red ink, became distinctly

visible. The glimmer, although sufficiently bright, was but

momentary. Still, had I not been too greatly excited, there would

have been ample time enough for me to peruse the whole three

sentences before me—for I saw there were three. In my anxiety,

however, to read all at once, I succeeded only in reading the

seven concluding words, which thus appeared—“blood—your life

depends upon lying close.”

Had I been able to ascertain the entire contents of the note—the

full meaning of the admonition which my friend had thus attempted

to convey, that admonition, even although it should have revealed

a story of disaster the most unspeakable, could not, I am firmly

convinced, have imbued my mind with one tithe of the harrowing

and yet indefinable horror with which I was inspired by the

fragmentary warning thus received. And “blood,” too, that word of

all words—so rife at all times with mystery, and suffering, and

terror—how trebly full of import did it now appear—how chilly and

heavily (disjointed, as it thus was, from any foregoing words to

qualify or render it distinct) did its vague syllables fall, amid

the deep gloom of my prison, into the innermost recesses of my

soul!

Augustus had, undoubtedly, good reasons for wishing me to remain

concealed, and I formed a thousand surmises as to what they could

be—but I could think of nothing affording a satisfactory solution

of the mystery. Just after returning from my last journey to the

trap, and before my attention had been otherwise directed by the

singular conduct of Tiger, I had come to the resolution of making

myself heard at all events by those on board, or, if I could not

succeed in this directly, of trying to cut my way through the

orlop deck. The half certainty which I felt of being able to

accomplish one of these two purposes in the last emergency, had

given me courage (which I should not otherwise have had) to

endure the evils of my situation. The few words I had been able

to read, however, had cut me off from these final resources, and

I now, for the first time, felt all the misery of my fate. In a

paroxysm of despair I threw myself again upon the mattress,

where, for about the period of a day and night, I lay in a kind

of stupor, relieved only by momentary intervals of reason and

recollection.

At length I once more arose, and busied myself in reflection upon

the horrors which encompassed me. For another twenty-four hours

it was barely possible that I might exist without water—for a

longer time I could not do so. During the first portion of my

imprisonment I had made free use of the cordials with which

Augustus had supplied me, but they only served to excite fever,

without in the least degree assuaging thirst. I had now only

about a gill left, and this was of a species of strong peach

liqueur at which my stomach revolted. The sausages were entirely

consumed; of the ham nothing remained but a small piece of the

skin; and all the biscuit, except a few fragments of one, had

been eaten by Tiger. To add to my troubles, I found that my

headache was increasing momentarily, and with it the species of

delirium which had distressed me more or less since my first

falling asleep. For some hours past it had been with the greatest

difficulty I could breathe at all, and now each attempt at so

doing was attended with the most depressing spasmodic action of

the chest. But there was still another and very different source

of disquietude, and one, indeed, whose harassing terrors had been

the chief means of arousing me to exertion from my stupor on the

mattress. It arose from the demeanor of the dog.

I first observed an alteration in his conduct while rubbing in

the phosphorus on the paper in my last attempt. As I rubbed, he

ran his nose against my hand with a slight snarl; but I was too

greatly excited at the time to pay much attention to the

circumstance. Soon afterward, it will be remembered, I threw

myself on the mattress, and fell into a species of lethargy.

Presently I became aware of a singular hissing sound close at my

ears, and discovered it to proceed from Tiger, who was panting

and wheezing in a state of the greatest apparent excitement, his

eyeballs flashing fiercely through the gloom. I spoke to him,

when he replied with a low growl, and then remained quiet.

Presently I relapsed into my stupor, from which I was again

awakened in a similar manner. This was repeated three or four

times, until finally his behaviour inspired me with so great a

degree of fear, that I became fully aroused. He was now lying

close by the door of the box, snarling fearfully, although in a

kind of undertone, and grinding his teeth as if strongly

convulsed. I had no doubt whatever that the want of water or the

confined atmosphere of the hold had driven him mad, and I was at

a loss what course to pursue. I could not endure the thought of

killing him, yet it seemed absolutely necessary for my own

safety. I could distinctly perceive his eyes fastened upon me

with an expression of the most deadly animosity, and I expected

every instant that he would attack me. At last I could endure my

terrible situation no longer, and determined to make my way from

the box at all hazards, and dispatch him, if his opposition

should render it necessary for me to do so. To get out, I had to

pass directly over his body, and he already seemed to anticipate

my design—missing himself upon his fore-legs (as I perceived by

the altered position of his eyes), and displayed the whole of his

white fangs, which were easily discernible. I took the remains of

the ham-skin, and the bottle containing the liqueur, and secured

them about my person, together with a large carving-knife which

Augustus had left me—then, folding my cloak around me as closely

as possible, I made a movement toward the mouth of the box. No

sooner did I do this, than the dog sprang with a loud growl

toward my throat. The whole weight of his body struck me on the

right shoulder, and I fell violently to the left, while the

enraged animal passed entirely over me. I had fallen upon my

knees, with my head buried among the blankets, and these

protected me from a second furious assault, during which I felt

the sharp teeth pressing vigorously upon the woollen which

enveloped my neck—yet, luckily, without being able to penetrate

all the folds. I was now beneath the dog, and a few moments would

place me completely in his power. Despair gave me strength, and I

rose boldly up, shaking him from me by main force, and dragging

with me the blankets from the mattress. These I now threw over

him, and before he could extricate himself, I had got through the

door and closed it effectually against his pursuit. In this

struggle, however, I had been forced to drop the morsel of

ham-skin, and I now found my whole stock of provisions reduced to

a single gill of liqueur. As this reflection crossed my mind, I

felt myself actuated by one of those fits of perverseness which

might be supposed to influence a spoiled child in similar

circumstances, and, raising the bottle to my lips, I drained it

to the last drop, and dashed it furiously upon the floor.

Scarcely had the echo of the crash died away, when I heard my

name pronounced in an eager but subdued voice, issuing from the

direction of the steerage. So unexpected was anything of the

kind, and so intense was the emotion excited within me by the

sound, that I endeavoured in vain to reply. My powers of speech

totally failed, and in an agony of terror lest my friend should

conclude me dead, and return without attempting to reach me, I

stood up between the crates near the door of the box, trembling

convulsively, and gasping and struggling for utterance. Had a

thousand words depended upon a syllable, I could not have spoken

it. There was a slight movement now audible among the lumber

somewhere forward of my station. The sound presently grew less

distinct, then again less so, and still less. Shall I ever forget

my feelings at this moment? He was going—my friend, my companion,

from whom I had a right to expect so much—he was going—he would

abandon me—he was gone! He would leave me to perish miserably, to

expire in the most horrible and loathesome of dungeons—and one

word, one little syllable, would save me—yet that single syllable

I could not utter! I felt, I am sure, more than ten thousand

times the agonies of death itself. My brain reeled, and I fell,

deadly sick, against the end of the box.

As I fell the carving-knife was shaken out from the waist-band of

my pantaloons, and dropped with a rattling sound to the floor.

Never did any strain of the richest melody come so sweetly to my

ears! With the intensest anxiety I listened to ascertain the

effect of the noise upon Augustus—for I knew that the person who

called my name could be no one but himself. All was silent for

some moments. At length I again heard the word “Arthur!” repeated

in a low tone, and one full of hesitation. Reviving hope loosened

at once my powers of speech, and I now screamed at the top of my

voice, “Augustus! oh, Augustus!” “Hush! for God’s sake be

silent!” he replied, in a voice trembling with agitation; “I will

be with you immediately—as soon as I can make my way through the

hold.” For a long time I heard him moving among the lumber, and

every moment seemed to me an age. At length I felt his hand upon

my shoulder, and he placed, at the same moment, a bottle of water

to my lips. Those only who have been suddenly redeemed from the

jaws of the tomb, or who have known the insufferable torments of

thirst under circumstances as aggravated as those which

encompassed me in my dreary prison, can form any idea of the

unutterable transports which that one long draught of the richest

of all physical luxuries afforded.

When I had in some degree satisfied my thirst, Augustus produced

from his pocket three or four boiled potatoes, which I devoured

with the greatest avidity. He had brought with him a light in a

dark lantern, and the grateful rays afforded me scarcely less

comfort than the food and drink. But I was impatient to learn the

cause of his protracted absence, and he proceeded to recount what

had happened on board during my incarceration.

CHAPTER 4

The brig put to sea, as I had supposed, in about an hour after he

had left the watch. This was on the twentieth of June. It will be

remembered that I had then been in the hold for three days; and,

during this period, there was so constant a bustle on board, and

so much running to and fro, especially in the cabin and

staterooms, that he had had no chance of visiting me without the

risk of having the secret of the trap discovered. When at length

he did come, I had assured him that I was doing as well as

possible; and, therefore, for the two next days he felt but

little uneasiness on my account—still, however, watching an

opportunity of going down. It was not until the fourth day that

he found one. Several times during this interval he had made up

his mind to let his father know of the adventure, and have me

come up at once; but we were still within reaching distance of

Nantucket, and it was doubtful, from some expressions which had

escaped Captain Barnard, whether he would not immediately put

back if he discovered me to be on board. Besides, upon thinking

the matter over, Augustus, so he told me, could not imagine that

I was in immediate want, or that I would hesitate, in such case,

to make myself heard at the trap. When, therefore, he considered

everything he concluded to let me stay until he could meet with

an opportunity of visiting me unobserved. This, as I said before,

did not occur until the fourth day after his bringing me the

watch, and the seventh since I had first entered the hold. He

then went down without taking with him any water or provisions,

intending in the first place merely to call my attention, and get

me to come from the box to the trap,—when he would go up to the

stateroom and thence hand me down a supply. When he descended for

this purpose he found that I was asleep, for it seems that I was

snoring very loudly. From all the calculations I can make on the

subject, this must have been the slumber into which I fell just

after my return from the trap with the watch, and which,

consequently, must have lasted for more than three entire days

and nights at the very least. Latterly, I have had reason both

from my own experience and the assurance of others, to be

acquainted with the strong soporific effects of the stench

arising from old fish-oil when closely confined; and when I think

of the condition of the hold in which I was imprisoned, and the

long period during which the brig had been used as a whaling

vessel, I am more inclined to wonder that I awoke at all, after

once falling asleep, than that I should have slept

uninterruptedly for the period specified above.

Augustus called to me at first in a low voice and without closing

the trap—but I made him no reply. He then shut the trap, and

spoke to me in a louder, and finally in a very loud tone—still I

continued to snore. He was now at a loss what to do. It would

take him some time to make his way through the lumber to my box,

and in the meanwhile his absence would be noticed by Captain

Barnard, who had occasion for his services every minute, in

arranging and copying papers connected with the business of the

voyage. He determined, therefore, upon reflection, to ascend, and

await another opportunity of visiting me. He was the more easily

induced to this resolve, as my slumber appeared to be of the most

tranquil nature, and he could not suppose that I had undergone

any inconvenience from my incarceration. He had just made up his

mind on these points when his attention was arrested by an

unusual bustle, the sound of which proceeded apparently from the

cabin. He sprang through the trap as quickly as possible, closed

it, and threw open the door of his stateroom. No sooner had he

put his foot over the threshold than a pistol flashed in his

face, and he was knocked down, at the same moment, by a blow from

a handspike.

A strong hand held him on the cabin floor, with a tight grasp

upon his throat; still he was able to see what was going on

around him. His father was tied hand and foot, and lying along

the steps of the companion-way, with his head down, and a deep

wound in the forehead, from which the blood was flowing in a

continued stream. He spoke not a word, and was apparently dying.

Over him stood the first mate, eyeing him with an expression of

fiendish derision, and deliberately searching his pockets, from

which he presently drew forth a large wallet and a chronometer.

Seven of the crew (among whom was the cook, a negro) were

rummaging the staterooms on the larboard for arms, where they

soon equipped themselves with muskets and ammunition. Besides

Augustus and Captain Barnard, there were nine men altogether in

the cabin, and these among the most ruffianly of the brig’s

company. The villains now went upon deck, taking my friend with

them after having secured his arms behind his back. They

proceeded straight to the forecastle, which was fastened down—two

of the mutineers standing by it with axes—two also at the main

hatch. The mate called out in a loud voice: “Do you hear there

below? tumble up with you, one by one—now, mark that—and no

grumbling!” It was some minutes before any one appeared:—at last

an Englishman, who had shipped as a raw hand, came up, weeping

piteously, and entreating the mate, in the most humble manner, to

spare his life. The only reply was a blow on the forehead from an

axe. The poor fellow fell to the deck without a groan, and the

black cook lifted him up in his arms as he would a child, and

tossed him deliberately into the sea. Hearing the blow and the

plunge of the body, the men below could now be induced to venture

on deck neither by threats nor promises, until a proposition was

made to smoke them out. A general rush then ensued, and for a

moment it seemed possible that the brig might be retaken. The

mutineers, however, succeeded at last in closing the forecastle

effectually before more than six of their opponents could get up.

These six, finding themselves so greatly outnumbered and without

arms, submitted after a brief struggle. The mate gave them fair

words—no doubt with a view of inducing those below to yield, for

they had no difficulty in hearing all that was said on deck. The

result proved his sagacity, no less than his diabolical villainy.

All in the forecastle presently signified their intention of

submitting, and, ascending one by one, were pinioned and then

thrown on their backs, together with the first six—there being in

all, of the crew who were not concerned in the mutiny,

twenty-seven.

A scene of the most horrible butchery ensued. The bound seamen

were dragged to the gangway. Here the cook stood with an axe,

striking each victim on the head as he was forced over the side

of the vessel by the other mutineers. In this manner twenty-two

perished, and Augustus had given himself up for lost, expecting

every moment his own turn to come next. But it seemed that the

villains were now either weary, or in some measure disgusted with

their bloody labour; for the four remaining prisoners, together

with my friend, who had been thrown on the deck with the rest,

were respited while the mate sent below for rum, and the whole

murderous party held a drunken carouse, which lasted until

sunset. They now fell to disputing in regard to the fate of the

survivors, who lay not more than four paces off, and could

distinguish every word said. Upon some of the mutineers the

liquor appeared to have a softening effect, for several voices

were heard in favor of releasing the captives altogether, on

condition of joining the mutiny and sharing the profits. The

black cook, however (who in all respects was a perfect demon, and

who seemed to exert as much influence, if not more, than the mate

himself), would listen to no proposition of the kind, and rose

repeatedly for the purpose of resuming his work at the gangway.

Fortunately he was so far overcome by intoxication as to be

easily restrained by the less bloodthirsty of the party, among

whom was a line-manager, who went by the name of Dirk Peters.

This man was the son of an Indian squaw of the tribe of

Upsarokas, who live among the fastnesses of the Black Hills, near

the source of the Missouri. His father was a fur-trader, I

believe, or at least connected in some manner with the Indian

trading-posts on Lewis river. Peters himself was one of the most

ferocious-looking men I ever beheld. He was short in stature, not

more than four feet eight inches high, but his limbs were of

Herculean mould. His hands, especially, were so enormously thick

and broad as hardly to retain a human shape. His arms, as well as

legs, were bowed in the most singular manner, and appeared to

possess no flexibility whatever. His head was equally deformed,

being of immense size, with an indentation on the crown (like

that on the head of most negroes), and entirely bald. To conceal

this latter deficiency, which did not proceed from old age, he

usually wore a wig formed of any hair-like material which

presented itself—occasionally the skin of a Spanish dog or

American grizzly bear. At the time spoken of, he had on a portion

of one of these bearskins; and it added no little to the natural

ferocity of his countenance, which betook of the Upsaroka

character. The mouth extended nearly from ear to ear, the lips

were thin, and seemed, like some other portions of his frame, to

be devoid of natural pliancy, so that the ruling expression never

varied under the influence of any emotion whatever. This ruling

expression may be conceived when it is considered that the teeth

were exceedingly long and protruding, and never even partially

covered, in any instance, by the lips. To pass this man with a

casual glance, one might imagine him to be convulsed with

laughter, but a second look would induce a shuddering

acknowledgment, that if such an expression were indicative of

merriment, the merriment must be that of a demon. Of this

singular being many anecdotes were prevalent among the seafaring

men of Nantucket. These anecdotes went to prove his prodigious

strength when under excitement, and some of them had given rise

to a doubt of his sanity. But on board the Grampus, it seems, he

was regarded, at the time of the mutiny, with feelings more of

derision than of anything else. I have been thus particular in

speaking of Dirk Peters, because, ferocious as he appeared, he

proved the main instrument in preserving the life of Augustus,

and because I shall have frequent occasion to mention him

hereafter in the course of my narrative—a narrative, let me here

say, which, in its latter portions, will be found to include

incidents of a nature so entirely out of the range of human

experience, and for this reason so far beyond the limits of human

credulity, that I proceed in utter hopelessness of obtaining

credence for all that I shall tell, yet confidently trusting in

time and progressing science to verify some of the most important

and most improbable of my statements.

After much indecision and two or three violent quarrels, it was

determined at last that all the prisoners (with the exception of

Augustus, whom Peters insisted in a jocular manner upon keeping

as his clerk) should be set adrift in one of the smallest

whaleboats. The mate went down into the cabin to see if Captain

Barnard was still living—for, it will be remembered, he was left

below when the mutineers came up. Presently the two made their

appearance, the captain pale as death, but somewhat recovered

from the effects of his wound. He spoke to the men in a voice

hardly articulate, entreated them not to set him adrift, but to

return to their duty, and promising to land them wherever they

chose, and to take no steps for bringing them to justice. He

might as well have spoken to the winds. Two of the ruffians

seized him by the arms and hurled him over the brig’s side into

the boat, which had been lowered while the mate went below. The

four men who were lying on the deck were then untied and ordered

to follow, which they did without attempting any

resistance—Augustus being still left in his painful position,

although he struggled and prayed only for the poor satisfaction

of being permitted to bid his father farewell. A handful of

sea-biscuit and a jug of water were now handed down; but neither

mast, sail, oar, nor compass. The boat was towed astern for a few

minutes, during which the mutineers held another consultation—it

was then finally cut adrift. By this time night had come on—there

were neither moon nor stars visible—and a short and ugly sea was

running, although there was no great deal of wind. The boat was

instantly out of sight, and little hope could be entertained for

the unfortunate sufferers who were in it. This event happened,

however, in latitude 35 degrees 30’ north, longitude 61 degrees

20’ west, and consequently at no very great distance from the

Bermuda Islands. Augustus therefore endeavored to console himself

with the idea that the boat might either succeed in reaching the

land, or come sufficiently near to be fallen in with by vessels

off the coast.

All sail was now put upon the brig, and she continued her

original course to the southwest—the mutineers being bent upon

some piratical expedition, in which, from all that could be

understood, a ship was to be intercepted on her way from the Cape

Verd Islands to Porto Rico. No attention was paid to Augustus,

who was untied and suffered to go about anywhere forward of the

cabin companion-way. Dirk Peters treated him with some degree of

kindness, and on one occasion saved him from the brutality of the

cook. His situation was still one of the most precarious, as the

men were continually intoxicated, and there was no relying upon

their continued good-humor or carelessness in regard to himself.

His anxiety on my account he represented, however, as the most

distressing result of his condition; and, indeed, I had never

reason to doubt the sincerity of his friendship. More than once

he had resolved to acquaint the mutineers with the secret of my

being on board, but was restrained from so doing, partly through

recollection of the atrocities he had already beheld, and partly

through a hope of being able soon to bring me relief. For the

latter purpose he was constantly on the watch; but, in spite of

the most constant vigilance, three days elapsed after the boat

was cut adrift before any chance occurred. At length, on the

night of the third day, there came on a heavy blow from the

eastward, and all hands were called up to take in sail. During

the confusion which ensued, he made his way below unobserved, and

into the stateroom. What was his grief and horror in discovering

that the latter had been rendered a place of deposit for a

variety of sea-stores and ship-furniture, and that several

fathoms of old chain-cable, which had been stowed away beneath

the companion-ladder, had been dragged thence to make room for a

chest, and were now lying immediately upon the trap! To remove it

without discovery was impossible, and he returned on deck as

quickly as he could. As he came up, the mate seized him by the

throat, and demanding what he had been doing in the cabin, was

about flinging him over the larboard bulwark, when his life was

again preserved through the interference of Dirk Peters. Augustus

was now put in handcuffs (of which there were several pairs on

board), and his feet lashed tightly together. He was then taken

into the steerage, and thrown into a lower berth next to the

forecastle bulkheads, with the assurance that he should never put

his foot on deck again “until the brig was no longer a brig.”

This was the expression of the cook, who threw him into the

berth—it is hardly possible to say what precise meaning intended

by the phrase. The whole affair, however, proved the ultimate

means of my relief, as will presently appear.

CHAPTER 5

For some minutes after the cook had left the forecastle, Augustus

abandoned himself to despair, never hoping to leave the berth

alive. He now came to the resolution of acquainting the first of

the men who should come down with my situation, thinking it

better to let me take my chance with the mutineers than perish of

thirst in the hold,—for it had been ten days since I was first

imprisoned, and my jug of water was not a plentiful supply even

for four. As he was thinking on this subject, the idea came all

at once into his head that it might be possible to communicate

with me by the way of the main hold. In any other circumstances,

the difficulty and hazard of the undertaking would have prevented

him from attempting it; but now he had, at all events, little

prospect of life, and consequently little to lose, he bent his

whole mind, therefore, upon the task.

His handcuffs were the first consideration. At first he saw no

method of removing them, and feared that he should thus be

baffled in the very outset; but upon a closer scrutiny he

discovered that the irons could be slipped off and on at

pleasure, with very little effort or inconvenience, merely by

squeezing his hands through them,—this species of manacle being

altogether ineffectual in confining young persons, in whom the

smaller bones readily yield to pressure. He now untied his feet,

and, leaving the cord in such a manner that it could easily be

readjusted in the event of any person’s coming down, proceeded to

examine the bulkhead where it joined the berth. The partition

here was of soft pine board, an inch thick, and he saw that he

should have little trouble in cutting his way through. A voice

was now heard at the forecastle companion-way, and he had just

time to put his right hand into its handcuff (the left had not

been removed) and to draw the rope in a slipknot around his

ankle, when Dirk Peters came below, followed by Tiger, who

immediately leaped into the berth and lay down. The dog had been

brought on board by Augustus, who knew my attachment to the

animal, and thought it would give me pleasure to have him with me

during the voyage. He went up to our house for him immediately

after first taking me into the hold, but did not think of

mentioning the circumstance upon his bringing the watch. Since

the mutiny, Augustus had not seen him before his appearance with

Dirk Peters, and had given him up for lost, supposing him to have

been thrown overboard by some of the malignant villains belonging

to the mate’s gang. It appeared afterward that he had crawled

into a hole beneath a whale-boat, from which, not having room to

turn round, he could not extricate himself. Peters at last let

him out, and, with a species of good feeling which my friend knew

well how to appreciate, had now brought him to him in the

forecastle as a companion, leaving at the same time some salt

junk and potatoes, with a can of water, he then went on deck,

promising to come down with something more to eat on the next

day.

When he had gone, Augustus freed both hands from the manacles and

unfastened his feet. He then turned down the head of the mattress

on which he had been lying, and with his penknife (for the

ruffians had not thought it worth while to search him) commenced

cutting vigorously across one of the partition planks, as closely

as possible to the floor of the berth. He chose to cut here,

because, if suddenly interrupted, he would be able to conceal

what had been done by letting the head of the mattress fall into

its proper position. For the remainder of the day, however, no

disturbance occurred, and by night he had completely divided the

plank. It should here be observed that none of the crew occupied

the forecastle as a sleeping-place, living altogether in the

cabin since the mutiny, drinking the wines and feasting on the

sea-stores of Captain Barnard, and giving no more heed than was

absolutely necessary to the navigation of the brig. These

circumstances proved fortunate both for myself and Augustus; for,

had matters been otherwise, he would have found it impossible to

reach me. As it was, he proceeded with confidence in his design.

It was near daybreak, however, before he completed the second

division of the board (which was about a foot above the first

cut), thus making an aperture quite large enough to admit his

passage through with facility to the main orlop deck. Having got

here, he made his way with but little trouble to the lower main

hatch, although in so doing he had to scramble over tiers of

oil-casks piled nearly as high as the upper deck, there being

barely room enough left for his body. Upon reaching the hatch he

found that Tiger had followed him below, squeezing between two

rows of the casks. It was now too late, however, to attempt

getting to me before dawn, as the chief difficulty lay in passing

through the close stowage in the lower hold. He therefore

resolved to return, and wait till the next night. With this

design, he proceeded to loosen the hatch, so that he might have

as little detention as possible when he should come again. No

sooner had he loosened it than Tiger sprang eagerly to the small

opening produced, snuffed for a moment, and then uttered a long

whine, scratching at the same time, as if anxious to remove the

covering with his paws. There could be no doubt, from his

behaviour, that he was aware of my being in the hold, and

Augustus thought it possible that he would be able to get to me

if he put him down. He now hit upon the expedient of sending the

note, as it was especially desirable that I should make no

attempt at forcing my way out at least under existing

circumstances, and there could be no certainty of his getting to

me himself on the morrow as he intended. After-events proved how

fortunate it was that the idea occurred to him as it did; for,

had it not been for the receipt of the note, I should undoubtedly

have fallen upon some plan, however desperate, of alarming the

crew, and both our lives would most probably have been sacrificed

in consequence.

Having concluded to write, the difficulty was now to procure the

materials for so doing. An old toothpick was soon made into a

pen; and this by means of feeling altogether, for the

between-decks was as dark as pitch. Paper enough was obtained

from the back of a letter—a duplicate of the forged letter from

Mr. Ross. This had been the original draught; but the handwriting

not being sufficiently well imitated, Augustus had written

another, thrusting the first, by good fortune, into his

coat-pocket, where it was now most opportunely discovered. Ink

alone was thus wanting, and a substitute was immediately found

for this by means of a slight incision with the pen-knife on the

back of a finger just above the nail—a copious flow of blood

ensuing, as usual, from wounds in that vicinity. The note was now

written, as well as it could be in the dark and under the

circumstances. It briefly explained that a mutiny had taken

place; that Captain Barnard was set adrift; and that I might

expect immediate relief as far as provisions were concerned, but

must not venture upon making any disturbance. It concluded with

these words: “_I have scrawled this with blood—your life depends

upon lying close._”

This slip of paper being tied upon the dog, he was now put down

the hatchway, and Augustus made the best of his way back to the

forecastle, where he found no reason to believe that any of the

crew had been in his absence. To conceal the hole in the

partition, he drove his knife in just above it, and hung up a

pea-jacket which he found in the berth. His handcuffs were then

replaced, and also the rope around his ankles.

These arrangements were scarcely completed when Dirk Peters came

below, very drunk, but in excellent humour, and bringing with him

my friend’s allowance of provision for the day. This consisted of

a dozen large Irish potatoes roasted, and a pitcher of water. He

sat for some time on a chest by the berth, and talked freely

about the mate and the general concerns of the brig. His

demeanour was exceedingly capricious, and even grotesque. At one

time Augustus was much alarmed by odd conduct. At last, however,

he went on deck, muttering a promise to bring his prisoner a good

dinner on the morrow. During the day two of the crew (harpooners)

came down, accompanied by the cook, all three in nearly the last

stage of intoxication. Like Peters, they made no scruple of

talking unreservedly about their plans. It appeared that they

were much divided among themselves as to their ultimate course,

agreeing in no point, except the attack on the ship from the Cape

Verd Islands, with which they were in hourly expectation of

meeting. As far as could be ascertained, the mutiny had not been

brought about altogether for the sake of booty; a private pique

of the chief mate’s against Captain Barnard having been the main

instigation. There now seemed to be two principal factions among

the crew—one headed by the mate, the other by the cook. The

former party were for seizing the first suitable vessel which

should present itself, and equipping it at some of the West India

Islands for a piratical cruise. The latter division, however,

which was the stronger, and included Dirk Peters among its

partisans, were bent upon pursuing the course originally laid out

for the brig into the South Pacific; there either to take whale,

or act otherwise, as circumstances should suggest. The

representations of Peters, who had frequently visited these

regions, had great weight, apparently, with the mutineers,

wavering, as they were, between half-engendered notions of profit

and pleasure. He dwelt on the world of novelty and amusement to

be found among the innumerable islands of the Pacific, on the

perfect security and freedom from all restraint to be enjoyed,

but, more particularly, on the deliciousness of the climate, on

the abundant means of good living, and on the voluptuous beauty

of the women. As yet, nothing had been absolutely determined

upon; but the pictures of the hybrid line-manager were taking

strong hold upon the ardent imaginations of the seamen, and there

was every possibility that his intentions would be finally

carried into effect.

The three men went away in about an hour, and no one else entered

the forecastle all day. Augustus lay quiet until nearly night. He

then freed himself from the rope and irons, and prepared for his

attempt. A bottle was found in one of the berths, and this he

filled with water from the pitcher left by Peters, storing his

pockets at the same time with cold potatoes. To his great joy he

also came across a lantern, with a small piece of tallow candle

in it. This he could light at any moment, as he had in his

possession a box of phosphorus matches. When it was quite dark,

he got through the hole in the bulkhead, having taken the

precaution to arrange the bedclothes in the berth so as to convey

the idea of a person covered up. When through, he hung up the

pea-jacket on his knife, as before, to conceal the aperture—this

manoeuvre being easily effected, as he did not readjust the piece

of plank taken out until afterward. He was now on the main orlop

deck, and proceeded to make his way, as before, between the upper

deck and the oil-casks to the main hatchway. Having reached this,

he lit the piece of candle, and descended, groping with extreme

difficulty among the compact stowage of the hold. In a few

moments he became alarmed at the insufferable stench and the

closeness of the atmosphere. He could not think it possible that

I had survived my confinement for so long a period breathing so

oppressive an air. He called my name repeatedly, but I made him

no reply, and his apprehensions seemed thus to be confirmed. The

brig was rolling violently, and there was so much noise in

consequence, that it was useless to listen for any weak sound,

such as those of my breathing or snoring. He threw open the

lantern, and held it as high as possible, whenever an opportunity

occurred, in order that, by observing the light, I might, if

alive, be aware that succor was approaching. Still nothing was

heard from me, and the supposition of my death began to assume

the character of certainty. He determined, nevertheless, to force

a passage, if possible, to the box, and at least ascertain beyond

a doubt the truth of his surmises. He pushed on for some time in

a most pitiable state of anxiety, until, at length, he found the

pathway utterly blocked up, and that there was no possibility of

making any farther way by the course in which he had set out.

Overcome now by his feelings, he threw himself among the lumber

in despair, and wept like a child. It was at this period that he

heard the crash occasioned by the bottle which I had thrown down.

Fortunate, indeed, was it that the incident occurred—for, upon

this incident, trivial as it appears, the thread of my destiny

depended. Many years elapsed, however, before I was aware of this

fact. A natural shame and regret for his weakness and indecision

prevented Augustus from confiding to me at once what a more

intimate and unreserved communion afterward induced him to

reveal. Upon finding his further progress in the hold impeded by

obstacles which he could not overcome, he had resolved to abandon

his attempt at reaching me, and return at once to the forecastle.

Before condemning him entirely on this head, the harassing

circumstances which embarrassed him should be taken into

consideration. The night was fast wearing away, and his absence

from the forecastle might be discovered; and indeed would

necessarily be so, if he should fail to get back to the berth by

daybreak. His candle was expiring in the socket, and there would

be the greatest difficulty in retracing his way to the hatchway

in the dark. It must be allowed, too, that he had every good

reason to believe me dead; in which event no benefit could result

to me from his reaching the box, and a world of danger would be

encountered to no purpose by himself. He had repeatedly called,

and I had made him no answer. I had been now eleven days and

nights with no more water than that contained in the jug which he

had left with me—a supply which it was not at all probable I had

hoarded in the beginning of my confinement, as I had every cause

to expect a speedy release. The atmosphere of the hold, too, must

have appeared to him, coming from the comparatively open air of

the steerage, of a nature absolutely poisonous, and by far more

intolerable than it had seemed to me upon my first taking up my

quarters in the box—the hatchways at that time having been

constantly open for many months previous. Add to these

considerations that of the scene of bloodshed and terror so

lately witnessed by my friend; his confinement, privations, and

narrow escapes from death, together with the frail and equivocal

tenure by which he still existed—circumstances all so well

calculated to prostrate every energy of mind—and the reader will

be easily brought, as I have been, to regard his apparent falling

off in friendship and in faith with sentiments rather of sorrow

than of anger.

The crash of the bottle was distinctly heard, yet Augustus was

not sure that it proceeded from the hold. The doubt, however, was

sufficient inducement to persevere. He clambered up nearly to the

orlop deck by means of the stowage, and then, watching for a lull

in the pitchings of the vessel, he called out to me in as loud a

tone as he could command, regardless, for the moment, of being

overheard by the crew. It will be remembered that on this

occasion the voice reached me, but I was so entirely overcome by

violent agitation as to be incapable of reply. Confident, now,

that his worst apprehensions were well founded, he descended,

with a view of getting back to the forecastle without loss of

time. In his haste some small boxes were thrown down, the noise

occasioned by which I heard, as will be recollected. He had made

considerable progress on his return when the fall of the knife

again caused him to hesitate. He retraced his steps immediately,

and, clambering up the stowage a second time, called out my name,

loudly as before, having watched for a lull. This time I found

voice to answer. Overjoyed at discovering me to be still alive,

he now resolved to brave every difficulty and danger in reaching

me. Having extricated himself as quickly as possible from the

labyrinth of lumber by which he was hemmed in, he at length

struck into an opening which promised better, and finally, after

a series of struggles, arrived at the box in a state of utter

exhaustion.

CHAPTER 6

The leading particulars of this narration were all that Augustus

communicated to me while we remained near the box. It was not

until afterward that he entered fully into all the details. He

was apprehensive of being missed, and I was wild with impatience

to leave my detested place of confinement. We resolved to make

our way at once to the hole in the bulkhead, near which I was to

remain for the present, while he went through to reconnoiter. To

leave Tiger in the box was what neither of us could endure to

think of, yet, how to act otherwise was the question. He now

seemed to be perfectly quiet, and we could not even distinguish

the sound of his breathing upon applying our ears closely to the

box. I was convinced that he was dead, and determined to open the

door. We found him lying at full length, apparently in a deep

stupor, yet still alive. No time was to be lost, yet I could not

bring myself to abandon an animal who had now been twice

instrumental in saving my life, without some attempt at

preserving him. We therefore dragged him along with us as well as

we could, although with the greatest difficulty and fatigue;

Augustus, during part of the time, being forced to clamber over

the impediments in our way with the huge dog in his arms—a feat

to which the feebleness of my frame rendered me totally

inadequate. At length we succeeded in reaching the hole, when

Augustus got through, and Tiger was pushed in afterward. All was

found to be safe, and we did not fail to return sincere thanks to

God for our deliverance from the imminent danger we had escaped.

For the present, it was agreed that I should remain near the

opening, through which my companion could readily supply me with

a part of his daily provision, and where I could have the

advantages of breathing an atmosphere comparatively pure.

In explanation of some portions of this narrative, wherein I have

spoken of the stowage of the brig, and which may appear ambiguous

to some of my readers who may have seen a proper or regular

stowage, I must here state that the manner in which this most

important duty had been performed on board the Grampus was a most

shameful piece of neglect on the part of Captain Barnard, who was

by no means as careful or as experienced a seaman as the

hazardous nature of the service on which he was employed would

seem necessarily to demand. A proper stowage cannot be

accomplished in a careless manner, and many most disastrous

accidents, even within the limits of my own experience, have

arisen from neglect or ignorance in this particular. Coasting

vessels, in the frequent hurry and bustle attendant upon taking

in or discharging cargo, are the most liable to mishap from the

want of a proper attention to stowage. The great point is to

allow no possibility of the cargo or ballast shifting position

even in the most violent rollings of the vessel. With this end,

great attention must be paid, not only to the bulk taken in, but

to the nature of the bulk, and whether there be a full or only a

partial cargo. In most kinds of freight the stowage is

accomplished by means of a screw. Thus, in a load of tobacco or

flour, the whole is screwed so tightly into the hold of the

vessel that the barrels or hogsheads, upon discharging, are found

to be completely flattened, and take some time to regain their

original shape. This screwing, however, is resorted to

principally with a view of obtaining more room in the hold; for

in a full load of any such commodities as flour or tobacco, there

can be no danger of any shifting whatever, at least none from

which inconvenience can result. There have been instances,

indeed, where this method of screwing has resulted in the most

lamentable consequences, arising from a cause altogether distinct

from the danger attendant upon a shifting of cargo. A load of

cotton, for example, tightly screwed while in certain conditions,

has been known, through the expansion of its bulk, to rend a

vessel asunder at sea. There can be no doubt either that the same

result would ensue in the case of tobacco, while undergoing its

usual course of fermentation, were it not for the interstices

consequent upon the rotundity of the hogsheads.

It is when a partial cargo is received that danger is chiefly to

be apprehended from shifting, and that precautions should be

always taken to guard against such misfortune. Only those who

have encountered a violent gale of wind, or rather who have

experienced the rolling of a vessel in a sudden calm after the

gale, can form an idea of the tremendous force of the plunges,

and of the consequent terrible impetus given to all loose

articles in the vessel. It is then that the necessity of a

cautious stowage, when there is a partial cargo, becomes obvious.

When lying-to (especially with a small head sail), a vessel which

is not properly modelled in the bows is frequently thrown upon

her beam-ends; this occurring even every fifteen or twenty

minutes upon an average, yet without any serious consequences

resulting, provided there be a proper stowage. If this, however,

has not been strictly attended to, in the first of these heavy

lurches the whole of the cargo tumbles over to the side of the

vessel which lies upon the water, and, being thus prevented from

regaining her equilibrium, as she would otherwise necessarily do,

she is certain to fill in a few seconds and go down. It is not

too much to say that at least one-half of the instances in which

vessels have foundered in heavy gales at sea may be attributed to

a shifting of cargo or of ballast.

When a partial cargo of any kind is taken on board, the whole,

after being first stowed as compactly as may be, should be

covered with a layer of stout shifting-boards, extending

completely across the vessel. Upon these boards strong temporary

stanchions should be erected, reaching to the timbers above, and

thus securing every thing in its place. In cargoes consisting of

grain, or any similar matter, additional precautions are

requisite. A hold filled entirely with grain upon leaving port

will be found not more than three fourths full upon reaching its

destination—this, too, although the freight, when measured bushel

by bushel by the consignee, will overrun by a vast deal (on

account of the swelling of the grain) the quantity consigned.

This result is occasioned by settling during the voyage, and is

the more perceptible in proportion to the roughness of the

weather experienced. If grain loosely thrown in a vessel, then,

is ever so well secured by shifting-boards and stanchions, it

will be liable to shift in a long passage so greatly as to bring

about the most distressing calamities. To prevent these, every

method should be employed before leaving port to settle the cargo

as much as possible; and for this there are many contrivances,

among which may be mentioned the driving of wedges into the

grain. Even after all this is done, and unusual pains taken to

secure the shifting-boards, no seaman who knows what he is about

will feel altogether secure in a gale of any violence with a

cargo of grain on board, and, least of all, with a partial cargo.

Yet there are hundreds of our coasting vessels, and, it is

likely, many more from the ports of Europe, which sail daily with

partial cargoes, even of the most dangerous species, and without

any precaution whatever. The wonder is that no more accidents

occur than do actually happen. A lamentable instance of this

heedlessness occurred to my knowledge in the case of Captain Joel

Rice of the schooner Firefly, which sailed from Richmond,

Virginia, to Madeira, with a cargo of corn, in the year 1825. The

captain had gone many voyages without serious accident, although

he was in the habit of paying no attention whatever to his

stowage, more than to secure it in the ordinary manner. He had

never before sailed with a cargo of grain, and on this occasion

had the corn thrown on board loosely, when it did not much more

than half fill the vessel. For the first portion of the voyage he

met with nothing more than light breezes; but when within a day’s

sail of Madeira there came on a strong gale from the N. N. E.

which forced him to lie-to. He brought the schooner to the wind

under a double-reefed foresail alone, when she rode as well as

any vessel could be expected to do, and shipped not a drop of

water. Toward night the gale somewhat abated, and she rolled with

more unsteadiness than before, but still did very well, until a

heavy lurch threw her upon her beam-ends to starboard. The corn

was then heard to shift bodily, the force of the movement

bursting open the main hatchway. The vessel went down like a

shot. This happened within hail of a small sloop from Madeira,

which picked up one of the crew (the only person saved), and

which rode out the gale in perfect security, as indeed a jolly

boat might have done under proper management.

The stowage on board the Grampus was most clumsily done, if

stowage that could be called which was little better than a

promiscuous huddling together of oil-casks {*1} and ship

furniture. I have already spoken of the condition of articles in

the hold. On the orlop deck there was space enough for my body

(as I have stated) between the oil-casks and the upper deck; a

space was left open around the main hatchway; and several other

large spaces were left in the stowage. Near the hole cut through

the bulkhead by Augustus there was room enough for an entire

cask, and in this space I found myself comfortably situated for

the present.

By the time my friend had got safely into the berth, and

readjusted his handcuffs and the rope, it was broad daylight. We

had made a narrow escape indeed; for scarcely had he arranged all

matters, when the mate came below, with Dirk Peters and the cook.

They talked for some time about the vessel from the Cape Verds,

and seemed to be excessively anxious for her appearance. At

length the cook came to the berth in which Augustus was lying,

and seated himself in it near the head. I could see and hear

every thing from my hiding-place, for the piece cut out had not

been put back, and I was in momentary expectation that the negro

would fall against the pea-jacket, which was hung up to conceal

the aperture, in which case all would have been discovered, and

our lives would, no doubt, have been instantly sacrificed. Our

good fortune prevailed, however; and although he frequently

touched it as the vessel rolled, he never pressed against it

sufficiently to bring about a discovery. The bottom of the jacket

had been carefully fastened to the bulkhead, so that the hole

might not be seen by its swinging to one side. All this time

Tiger was lying in the foot of the berth, and appeared to have

recovered in some measure his faculties, for I could see him

occasionally open his eyes and draw a long breath.

After a few minutes the mate and cook went above, leaving Dirk

Peters behind, who, as soon as they were gone, came and sat

himself down in the place just occupied by the mate. He began to

talk very sociably with Augustus, and we could now see that the

greater part of his apparent intoxication, while the two others

were with him, was a feint. He answered all my companion’s

questions with perfect freedom; told him that he had no doubt of

his father’s having been picked up, as there were no less than

five sail in sight just before sundown on the day he was cut

adrift; and used other language of a consolatory nature, which

occasioned me no less surprise than pleasure. Indeed, I began to

entertain hopes, that through the instrumentality of Peters we

might be finally enabled to regain possession of the brig, and

this idea I mentioned to Augustus as soon as I found an

opportunity. He thought the matter possible, but urged the

necessity of the greatest caution in making the attempt, as the

conduct of the hybrid appeared to be instigated by the most

arbitrary caprice alone; and, indeed, it was difficult to say if

he was at any moment of sound mind. Peters went upon deck in

about an hour, and did not return again until noon, when he

brought Augustus a plentiful supply of junk beef and pudding. Of

this, when we were left alone, I partook heartily, without

returning through the hole. No one else came down into the

forecastle during the day, and at night, I got into Augustus’

berth, where I slept soundly and sweetly until nearly daybreak,

when he awakened me upon hearing a stir upon deck, and I regained

my hiding-place as quickly as possible. When the day was fully

broke, we found that Tiger had recovered his strength almost

entirely, and gave no indications of hydrophobia, drinking a

little water that was offered him with great apparent eagerness.

During the day he regained all his former vigour and appetite.

His strange conduct had been brought on, no doubt, by the

deleterious quality of the air of the hold, and had no connexion

with canine madness. I could not sufficiently rejoice that I had

persisted in bringing him with me from the box. This day was the

thirtieth of June, and the thirteenth since the Grampus made sail

from Nantucket.

On the second of July the mate came below drunk as usual, and in

an excessively good-humor. He came to Augustus’s berth, and,

giving him a slap on the back, asked him if he thought he could

behave himself if he let him loose, and whether he would promise

not to be going into the cabin again. To this, of course, my

friend answered in the affirmative, when the ruffian set him at

liberty, after making him drink from a flask of rum which he drew

from his coat-pocket. Both now went on deck, and I did not see

Augustus for about three hours. He then came below with the good

news that he had obtained permission to go about the brig as he

pleased anywhere forward of the mainmast, and that he had been

ordered to sleep, as usual, in the forecastle. He brought me,

too, a good dinner, and a plentiful supply of water. The brig was

still cruising for the vessel from the Cape Verds, and a sail was

now in sight, which was thought to be the one in question. As the

events of the ensuing eight days were of little importance, and

had no direct bearing upon the main incidents of my narrative, I

will here throw them into the form of a journal, as I do not wish

to omit them altogether.

July 3. Augustus furnished me with three blankets, with which I

contrived a comfortable bed in my hiding-place. No one came

below, except my companion, during the day. Tiger took his

station in the berth just by the aperture, and slept heavily, as

if not yet entirely recovered from the effects of his sickness.

Toward night a flaw of wind struck the brig before sail could be

taken in, and very nearly capsized her. The puff died away

immediately, however, and no damage was done beyond the splitting

of the foretopsail. Dirk Peters treated Augustus all this day

with great kindness and entered into a long conversation with him

respecting the Pacific Ocean, and the islands he had visited in

that region. He asked him whether he would not like to go with

the mutineers on a kind of exploring and pleasure voyage in those

quarters, and said that the men were gradually coming over to the

mate’s views. To this Augustus thought it best to reply that he

would be glad to go on such an adventure, since nothing better

could be done, and that any thing was preferable to a piratical

life.

July 4th. The vessel in sight proved to be a small brig from

Liverpool, and was allowed to pass unmolested. Augustus spent

most of his time on deck, with a view of obtaining all the

information in his power respecting the intentions of the

mutineers. They had frequent and violent quarrels among

themselves, in one of which a harpooner, Jim Bonner, was thrown

overboard. The party of the mate was gaining ground. Jim Bonner

belonged to the cook’s gang, of which Peters was a partisan.

July 5th. About daybreak there came on a stiff breeze from the

west, which at noon freshened into a gale, so that the brig could

carry nothing more than her trysail and foresail. In taking in

the foretopsail, Simms, one of the common hands, and belonging

also to the cook’s gang, fell overboard, being very much in

liquor, and was drowned—no attempt being made to save him. The

whole number of persons on board was now thirteen, to wit: Dirk

Peters; Seymour, the black cook; Jones, Greely, Hartman Rogers

and William Allen, all of the cook’s party; the mate, whose name

I never learned; Absalom Hicks, Wilson, John Hunty Richard

Parker, of the mate’s party;—besides Augustus and myself.

July 6th. The gale lasted all this day, blowing in heavy squalls,

accompanied with rain. The brig took in a good deal of water

through her seams, and one of the pumps was kept continually

going, Augustus being forced to take his turn. Just at twilight a

large ship passed close by us, without having been discovered

until within hail. The ship was supposed to be the one for which

the mutineers were on the lookout. The mate hailed her, but the

reply was drowned in the roaring of the gale. At eleven, a sea

was shipped amidships, which tore away a great portion of the

larboard bulwarks, and did some other slight damage. Toward

morning the weather moderated, and at sunrise there was very

little wind.

July 7th. There was a heavy swell running all this day, during

which the brig, being light, rolled excessively, and many

articles broke loose in the hold, as I could hear distinctly from

my hiding-place. I suffered a great deal from sea-sickness.

Peters had a long conversation this day with Augustus, and told

him that two of his gang, Greely and Allen, had gone over to the

mate, and were resolved to turn pirates. He put several questions

to Augustus which he did not then exactly understand. During a

part of this evening the leak gained upon the vessel; and little

could be done to remedy it, as it was occasioned by the brig’s

straining, and taking in the water through her seams. A sail was

thrummed, and got under the bows, which aided us in some measure,

so that we began to gain upon the leak.

July 8th. A light breeze sprang up at sunrise from the eastward,

when the mate headed the brig to the southwest, with the

intention of making some of the West India islands in pursuance

of his piratical designs. No opposition was made by Peters or the

cook—at least none in the hearing of Augustus. All idea of taking

the vessel from the Cape Verds was abandoned. The leak was now

easily kept under by one pump going every three quarters of an

hour. The sail was drawn from beneath the bows. Spoke two small

schooners during the day.

July 9th. Fine weather. All hands employed in repairing bulwarks.

Peters had again a long conversation with Augustus, and spoke

more plainly than he had done heretofore. He said nothing should

induce him to come into the mate’s views, and even hinted his

intention of taking the brig out of his hands. He asked my friend

if he could depend upon his aid in such case, to which Augustus

said, “Yes,” without hesitation. Peters then said he would sound

the others of his party upon the subject, and went away. During

the remainder of the day Augustus had no opportunity of speaking

with him privately.

CHAPTER 7

July 10. Spoke a brig from Rio, bound to Norfolk. Weather hazy,

with a light baffling wind from the eastward. To-day Hartman

Rogers died, having been attacked on the eighth with spasms after

drinking a glass of grog. This man was of the cook’s party, and

one upon whom Peters placed his main reliance. He told Augustus

that he believed the mate had poisoned him, and that he expected,

if he did not be on the look-out, his own turn would come

shortly. There were now only himself, Jones, and the cook

belonging to his own gang—on the other side there were five. He

had spoken to Jones about taking the command from the mate; but

the project having been coolly received, he had been deterred

from pressing the matter any further, or from saying any thing to

the cook. It was well, as it happened, that he was so prudent,

for in the afternoon the cook expressed his determination of

siding with the mate, and went over formally to that party; while

Jones took an opportunity of quarrelling with Peters, and hinted

that he would let the mate know of the plan in agitation. There

was now, evidently, no time to be lost, and Peters expressed his

determination of attempting to take the vessel at all hazards,

provided Augustus would lend him his aid. My friend at once

assured him of his willingness to enter into any plan for that

purpose, and, thinking the opportunity a favourable one, made

known the fact of my being on board. At this the hybrid was not

more astonished than delighted, as he had no reliance whatever

upon Jones, whom he already considered as belonging to the party

of the mate. They went below immediately, when Augustus called to

me by name, and Peters and myself were soon made acquainted. It

was agreed that we should attempt to retake the vessel upon the

first good opportunity, leaving Jones altogether out of our

councils. In the event of success, we were to run the brig into

the first port that offered, and deliver her up. The desertion of

his party had frustrated Peters’ design of going into the

Pacific—an adventure which could not be accomplished without a

crew, and he depended upon either getting acquitted upon trial,

on the score of insanity (which he solemnly avowed had actuated

him in lending his aid to the mutiny), or upon obtaining a

pardon, if found guilty, through the representations of Augustus

and myself. Our deliberations were interrupted for the present by

the cry of, “All hands take in sail,” and Peters and Augustus ran

up on deck.

As usual, the crew were nearly all drunk; and, before sail could

be properly taken in, a violent squall laid the brig on her

beam-ends. By keeping her away, however, she righted, having

shipped a good deal of water. Scarcely was everything secure,

when another squall took the vessel, and immediately afterward

another—no damage being done. There was every appearance of a

gale of wind, which, indeed, shortly came on, with great fury,

from the northward and westward. All was made as snug as

possible, and we laid-to, as usual, under a close-reefed

foresail. As night drew on, the wind increased in violence, with

a remarkably heavy sea. Peters now came into the forecastle with

Augustus, and we resumed our deliberations.

We agreed that no opportunity could be more favourable than the

present for carrying our designs into effect, as an attempt at

such a moment would never be anticipated. As the brig was snugly

laid-to, there would be no necessity of manoeuvring her until

good weather, when, if we succeeded in our attempt, we might

liberate one, or perhaps two of the men, to aid us in taking her

into port. The main difficulty was the great disproportion in our

forces. There were only three of us, and in the cabin there were

nine. All the arms on board, too, were in their possession, with

the exception of a pair of small pistols which Peters had

concealed about his person, and the large seaman’s knife which he

always wore in the waistband of his pantaloons. From certain

indications, too—such, for example, as there being no such thing

as an axe or a handspike lying in their customary places—we began

to fear that the mate had his suspicions, at least in regard to

Peters, and that he would let slip no opportunity of getting rid

of him. It was clear, indeed, that what we should determine to do

could not be done too soon. Still the odds were too much against

us to allow of our proceeding without the greatest caution.

Peters proposed that he should go up on deck, and enter into

conversation with the watch (Allen), when he would be able to

throw him into the sea without trouble, and without making any

disturbance, by seizing a good opportunity, that Augustus and

myself should then come up, and endeavour to provide ourselves

with some kind of weapons from the deck, and that we should then

make a rush together, and secure the companion-way before any

opposition could be offered. I objected to this, because I could

not believe that the mate (who was a cunning fellow in all

matters which did not affect his superstitious prejudices) would

suffer himself to be so easily entrapped. The very fact of there

being a watch on deck at all was sufficient proof that he was

upon the alert,—it not being usual except in vessels where

discipline is most rigidly enforced, to station a watch on deck

when a vessel is lying-to in a gale of wind. As I address myself

principally, if not altogether, to persons who have never been to

sea, it may be as well to state the exact condition of a vessel

under such circumstances. Lying-to, or, in sea-parlance,

“laying-to,” is a measure resorted to for various purposes, and

effected in various manners. In moderate weather it is frequently

done with a view of merely bringing the vessel to a stand-still,

to wait for another vessel or any similar object. If the vessel

which lies-to is under full sail, the manoeuvre is usually

accomplished by throwing round some portion of her sails, so as

to let the wind take them aback, when she becomes stationary. But

we are now speaking of lying-to in a gale of wind. This is done

when the wind is ahead, and too violent to admit of carrying sail

without danger of capsizing; and sometimes even when the wind is

fair, but the sea too heavy for the vessel to be put before it.

If a vessel be suffered to scud before the wind in a very heavy

sea, much damage is usually done her by the shipping of water

over her stern, and sometimes by the violent plunges she makes

forward. This manoeuvre, then, is seldom resorted to in such

case, unless through necessity. When the vessel is in a leaky

condition she is often put before the wind even in the heaviest

seas; for, when lying-to, her seams are sure to be greatly opened

by her violent straining, and it is not so much the case when

scudding. Often, too, it becomes necessary to scud a vessel,

either when the blast is so exceedingly furious as to tear in

pieces the sail which is employed with a view of bringing her

head to the wind, or when, through the false modelling of the

frame or other causes, this main object cannot be effected.

Vessels in a gale of wind are laid-to in different manners,

according to their peculiar construction. Some lie-to best under

a foresail, and this, I believe, is the sail most usually

employed. Large square-rigged vessels have sails for the express

purpose, called storm-staysails. But the jib is occasionally

employed by itself,—sometimes the jib and foresail, or a

double-reefed foresail, and not unfrequently the after-sails, are

made use of. Foretopsails are very often found to answer the

purpose better than any other species of sail. The Grampus was

generally laid-to under a close-reefed foresail.

When a vessel is to be laid-to, her head is brought up to the

wind just so nearly as to fill the sail under which she lies when

hauled flat aft, that is, when brought diagonally across the

vessel. This being done, the bows point within a few degrees of

the direction from which the wind issues, and the windward bow of

course receives the shock of the waves. In this situation a good

vessel will ride out a very heavy gale of wind without shipping a

drop of water, and without any further attention being requisite

on the part of the crew. The helm is usually lashed down, but

this is altogether unnecessary (except on account of the noise it

makes when loose), for the rudder has no effect upon the vessel

when lying-to. Indeed, the helm had far better be left loose than

lashed very fast, for the rudder is apt to be torn off by heavy

seas if there be no room for the helm to play. As long as the

sail holds, a well modelled vessel will maintain her situation,

and ride every sea, as if instinct with life and reason. If the

violence of the wind, however, should tear the sail into pieces

(a feat which it requires a perfect hurricane to accomplish under

ordinary circumstances), there is then imminent danger. The

vessel falls off from the wind, and, coming broadside to the sea,

is completely at its mercy: the only resource in this case is to

put her quietly before the wind, letting her scud until some

other sail can be set. Some vessels will lie-to under no sail

whatever, but such are not to be trusted at sea.

But to return from this digression. It had never been customary

with the mate to have any watch on deck when lying-to in a gale

of wind, and the fact that he had now one, coupled with the

circumstance of the missing axes and handspikes, fully convinced

us that the crew were too well on the watch to be taken by

surprise in the manner Peters had suggested. Something, however,

was to be done, and that with as little delay as practicable, for

there could be no doubt that a suspicion having been once

entertained against Peters, he would be sacrificed upon the

earliest occasion, and one would certainly be either found or

made upon the breaking of the gale.

Augustus now suggested that if Peters could contrive to remove,

under any pretext, the piece of chain-cable which lay over the

trap in the stateroom, we might possibly be able to come upon

them unawares by means of the hold; but a little reflection

convinced us that the vessel rolled and pitched too violently for

any attempt of that nature.

By good fortune I at length hit upon the idea of working upon the

superstitious terrors and guilty conscience of the mate. It will

be remembered that one of the crew, Hartman Rogers, had died

during the morning, having been attacked two days before with

spasms after drinking some spirits and water. Peters had

expressed to us his opinion that this man had been poisoned by

the mate, and for this belief he had reasons, so he said, which

were incontrovertible, but which he could not be prevailed upon

to explain to us—this wayward refusal being only in keeping with

other points of his singular character. But whether or not he had

any better grounds for suspecting the mate than we had ourselves,

we were easily led to fall in with his suspicion, and determined

to act accordingly.

Rogers had died about eleven in the forenoon, in violent

convulsions; and the corpse presented in a few minutes after

death one of the most horrid and loathsome spectacles I ever

remember to have seen. The stomach was swollen immensely, like

that of a man who has been drowned and lain under water for many

weeks. The hands were in the same condition, while the face was

shrunken, shrivelled, and of a chalky whiteness, except where

relieved by two or three glaring red blotches like those

occasioned by the erysipelas: one of these blotches extended

diagonally across the face, completely covering up an eye as if

with a band of red velvet. In this disgusting condition the body

had been brought up from the cabin at noon to be thrown

overboard, when the mate getting a glimpse of it (for he now saw

it for the first time), and being either touched with remorse for

his crime or struck with terror at so horrible a sight, ordered

the men to sew the body up in its hammock, and allow it the usual

rites of sea-burial. Having given these directions, he went

below, as if to avoid any further sight of his victim. While

preparations were making to obey his orders, the gale came on

with great fury, and the design was abandoned for the present.

The corpse, left to itself, was washed into the larboard

scuppers, where it still lay at the time of which I speak,

floundering about with the furious lurches of the brig.

Having arranged our plan, we set about putting it in execution as

speedily as possible. Peters went upon deck, and, as he had

anticipated, was immediately accosted by Allen, who appeared to

be stationed more as a watch upon the forecastle than for any

other purpose. The fate of this villain, however, was speedily

and silently decided; for Peters, approaching him in a careless

manner, as if about to address him, seized him by the throat,

and, before he could utter a single cry, tossed him over the

bulwarks. He then called to us, and we came up. Our first

precaution was to look about for something with which to arm

ourselves, and in doing this we had to proceed with great care,

for it was impossible to stand on deck an instant without holding

fast, and violent seas broke over the vessel at every plunge

forward. It was indispensable, too, that we should be quick in

our operations, for every minute we expected the mate to be up to

set the pumps going, as it was evident the brig must be taking in

water very fast. After searching about for some time, we could

find nothing more fit for our purpose than the two pump-handles,

one of which Augustus took, and I the other. Having secured

these, we stripped off the shirt of the corpse and dropped the

body overboard. Peters and myself then went below, leaving

Augustus to watch upon deck, where he took his station just where

Allen had been placed, and with his back to the cabin

companionway, so that, if any of the mate’s gang should come up,

he might suppose it was the watch.

As soon as I got below I commenced disguising myself so as to

represent the corpse of Rogers. The shirt which we had taken from

the body aided us very much, for it was of singular form and

character, and easily recognizable—a kind of smock, which the

deceased wore over his other clothing. It was a blue stockinett,

with large white stripes running across. Having put this on, I

proceeded to equip myself with a false stomach, in imitation of

the horrible deformity of the swollen corpse. This was soon

effected by means of stuffing with some bedclothes. I then gave

the same appearance to my hands by drawing on a pair of white

woollen mittens, and filling them in with any kind of rags that

offered themselves. Peters then arranged my face, first rubbing

it well over with white chalk, and afterward blotching it with

blood, which he took from a cut in his finger. The streak across

the eye was not forgotten and presented a most shocking

appearance.

CHAPTER 8

As I viewed myself in a fragment of looking-glass which hung up

in the cabin, and by the dim light of a kind of battle-lantern, I

was so impressed with a sense of vague awe at my appearance, and

at the recollection of the terrific reality which I was thus

representing, that I was seized with a violent tremour, and could

scarcely summon resolution to go on with my part. It was

necessary, however, to act with decision, and Peters and myself

went upon deck.

We there found everything safe, and, keeping close to the

bulwarks, the three of us crept to the cabin companion-way. It

was only partially closed, precautions having been taken to

prevent its being suddenly pushed to from without, by means of

placing billets of wood on the upper step so as to interfere with

the shutting. We found no difficulty in getting a full view of

the interior of the cabin through the cracks where the hinges

were placed. It now proved to have been very fortunate for us

that we had not attempted to take them by surprise, for they were

evidently on the alert. Only one was asleep, and he lying just at

the foot of the companion-ladder, with a musket by his side. The

rest were seated on several mattresses, which had been taken from

the berths and thrown on the floor. They were engaged in earnest

conversation; and although they had been carousing, as appeared

from two empty jugs, with some tin tumblers which lay about, they

were not as much intoxicated as usual. All had knives, one or two

of them pistols, and a great many muskets were lying in a berth

close at hand.

We listened to their conversation for some time before we could

make up our minds how to act, having as yet resolved on nothing

determinate, except that we would attempt to paralyze their

exertions, when we should attack them, by means of the apparition

of Rogers. They were discussing their piratical plans, in which

all we could hear distinctly was, that they would unite with the

crew of a schooner Hornet, and, if possible, get the schooner

herself into their possession preparatory to some attempt on a

large scale, the particulars of which could not be made out by

either of us.

One of the men spoke of Peters, when the mate replied to him in a

low voice which could not be distinguished, and afterward added

more loudly, that “he could not understand his being so much

forward with the captain’s brat in the forecastle, and he thought

the sooner both of them were overboard the better.” To this no

answer was made, but we could easily perceive that the hint was

well received by the whole party, and more particularly by Jones.

At this period I was excessively agitated, the more so as I could

see that neither Augustus nor Peters could determine how to act.

I made up my mind, however, to sell my life as dearly as

possible, and not to suffer myself to be overcome by any feelings

of trepidation.

The tremendous noise made by the roaring of the wind in the

rigging, and the washing of the sea over the deck, prevented us

from hearing what was said, except during momentary lulls. In one

of these, we all distinctly heard the mate tell one of the men to

“go forward, have an eye upon them, for he wanted no such secret

doings on board the brig.” It was well for us that the pitching

of the vessel at this moment was so violent as to prevent this

order from being carried into instant execution. The cook got up

from his mattress to go for us, when a tremendous lurch, which I

thought would carry away the masts, threw him headlong against

one of the larboard stateroom doors, bursting it open, and

creating a good deal of other confusion. Luckily, neither of our

party was thrown from his position, and we had time to make a

precipitate retreat to the forecastle, and arrange a hurried plan

of action before the messenger made his appearance, or rather

before he put his head out of the companion-hatch, for he did not

come on deck. From this station he could not notice the absence

of Allen, and he accordingly bawled out, as if to him, repeating

the orders of the mate. Peters cried out, “Ay, ay,” in a

disguised voice, and the cook immediately went below, without

entertaining a suspicion that all was not right.

My two companions now proceeded boldly aft and down into the

cabin, Peters closing the door after him in the same manner he

had found it. The mate received them with feigned cordiality, and

told Augustus that, since he had behaved himself so well of late,

he might take up his quarters in the cabin and be one of them for

the future. He then poured him out a tumbler half full of rum,

and made him drink it. All this I saw and heard, for I followed

my friends to the cabin as soon as the door was shut, and took up

my old point of observation. I had brought with me the two

pump-handles, one of which I secured near the companion-way, to

be ready for use when required.

I now steadied myself as well as possible so as to have a good

view of all that was passing within, and endeavoured to nerve

myself to the task of descending among the mutineers when Peters

should make a signal to me, as agreed upon. Presently he

contrived to turn the conversation upon the bloody deeds of the

mutiny, and by degrees led the men to talk of the thousand

superstitions which are so universally current among seamen. I

could not make out all that was said, but I could plainly see the

effects of the conversation in the countenances of those present.

The mate was evidently much agitated, and presently, when some

one mentioned the terrific appearance of Rogers’ corpse, I

thought he was upon the point of swooning. Peters now asked him

if he did not think it would be better to have the body thrown

overboard at once as it was too horrible a sight to see it

floundering about in the scuppers. At this the villain absolutely

gasped for breath, and turned his head slowly round upon his

companions, as if imploring some one to go up and perform the

task. No one, however, stirred, and it was quite evident that the

whole party were wound up to the highest pitch of nervous

excitement. Peters now made me the signal. I immediately threw

open the door of the companion-way, and, descending, without

uttering a syllable, stood erect in the midst of the party.

The intense effect produced by this sudden apparition is not at

all to be wondered at when the various circumstances are taken

into consideration. Usually, in cases of a similar nature, there

is left in the mind of the spectator some glimmering of doubt as

to the reality of the vision before his eyes; a degree of hope,

however feeble, that he is the victim of chicanery, and that the

apparition is not actually a visitant from the old world of

shadows. It is not too much to say that such remnants of doubt

have been at the bottom of almost every such visitation, and that

the appalling horror which has sometimes been brought about, is

to be attributed, even in the cases most in point, and where most

suffering has been experienced, more to a kind of anticipative

horror, lest the apparition might possibly be real, than to an

unwavering belief in its reality. But, in the present instance,

it will be seen immediately, that in the minds of the mutineers

there was not even the shadow of a basis upon which to rest a

doubt that the apparition of Rogers was indeed a revivification

of his disgusting corpse, or at least its spiritual image. The

isolated situation of the brig, with its entire inaccessibility

on account of the gale, confined the apparently possible means of

deception within such narrow and definite limits, that they must

have thought themselves enabled to survey them all at a glance.

They had now been at sea twenty-four days, without holding more

than a speaking communication with any vessel whatever. The whole

of the crew, too—at least all whom they had the most remote

reason for suspecting to be on board—were assembled in the cabin,

with the exception of Allen, the watch; and his gigantic stature

(he was six feet six inches high) was too familiar in their eyes

to permit the notion that he was the apparition before them to

enter their minds even for an instant. Add to these

considerations the awe-inspiring nature of the tempest, and that

of the conversation brought about by Peters; the deep impression

which the loathsomeness of the actual corpse had made in the

morning upon the imaginations of the men; the excellence of the

imitation in my person, and the uncertain and wavering light in

which they beheld me, as the glare of the cabin lantern, swinging

violently to and fro, fell dubiously and fitfully upon my figure,

and there will be no reason to wonder that the deception had even

more than the entire effect which we had anticipated. The mate

sprang up from the mattress on which he was lying, and, without

uttering a syllable, fell back, stone dead, upon the cabin floor,

and was hurled to the leeward like a log by a heavy roll of the

brig. Of the remaining seven, there were but three who had at

first any degree of presence of mind. The four others sat for

some time rooted apparently to the floor, the most pitiable

objects of horror and utter despair my eyes ever encountered. The

only opposition we experienced at all was from the cook, John

Hunt, and Richard Parker; but they made but a feeble and

irresolute defence. The two former were shot instantly by Peters,

and I felled Parker with a blow on the head from the pump-handle

which I had brought with me. In the meantime, Augustus seized one

of the muskets lying on the floor and shot another mutineer

Wilson through the breast. There were now but three remaining;

but by this time they had become aroused from their lethargy, and

perhaps began to see that a deception had been practised upon

them, for they fought with great resolution and fury, and, but

for the immense muscular strength of Peters, might have

ultimately got the better of us. These three men were—Jones,

Greely, and Absolom Hicks. Jones had thrown Augustus to the

floor, stabbed him in several places along the right arm, and

would no doubt have soon dispatched him (as neither Peters nor

myself could immediately get rid of our own antagonists), had it

not been for the timely aid of a friend, upon whose assistance

we, surely, had never depended. This friend was no other than

Tiger. With a low growl, he bounded into the cabin, at a most

critical moment for Augustus, and throwing himself upon Jones,

pinned him to the floor in an instant. My friend, however, was

now too much injured to render us any aid whatever, and I was so

encumbered with my disguise that I could do but little. The dog

would not leave his hold upon the throat of Jones—Peters,

nevertheless, was far more than a match for the two men who

remained, and would, no doubt, have dispatched them sooner, had

it not been for the narrow space in which he had to act, and the

tremendous lurches of the vessel. Presently he was enabled to get

hold of a heavy stool, several of which lay about the floor. With

this he beat out the brains of Greely as he was in the act of

discharging a musket at me, and immediately afterward a roll of

the brig throwing him in contact with Hicks, he seized him by the

throat, and, by dint of sheer strength, strangled him

instantaneously. Thus, in far less time than I have taken to tell

it, we found ourselves masters of the brig.

The only person of our opponents who was left alive was Richard

Parker. This man, it will be remembered, I had knocked down with

a blow from the pump-handle at the commencement of the attack. He

now lay motionless by the door of the shattered stateroom; but,

upon Peters touching him with his foot, he spoke, and entreated

for mercy. His head was only slightly cut, and otherwise he had

received no injury, having been merely stunned by the blow. He

now got up, and, for the present, we secured his hands behind his

back. The dog was still growling over Jones; but, upon

examination, we found him completely dead, the blood issuing in a

stream from a deep wound in the throat, inflicted, no doubt, by

the sharp teeth of the animal.

It was now about one o’clock in the morning, and the wind was

still blowing tremendously. The brig evidently laboured much more

than usual, and it became absolutely necessary that something

should be done with a view of easing her in some measure. At

almost every roll to leeward she shipped a sea, several of which

came partially down into the cabin during our scuffle, the

hatchway having been left open by myself when I descended. The

entire range of bulwarks to larboard had been swept away, as well

as the caboose, together with the jollyboat from the counter. The

creaking and working of the mainmast, too, gave indication that

it was nearly sprung. To make room for more stowage in the

afterhold, the heel of this mast had been stepped between decks

(a very reprehensible practice, occasionally resorted to by

ignorant ship-builders), so that it was in imminent danger of

working from its step. But, to crown all our difficulties, we

plummed the well, and found no less than seven feet of water.

Leaving the bodies of the crew lying in the cabin, we got to work

immediately at the pumps—Parker, of course, being set at liberty

to assist us in the labour. Augustus’s arm was bound up as well

as we could effect it, and he did what he could, but that was not

much. However, we found that we could just manage to keep the

leak from gaining upon us by having one pump constantly going. As

there were only four of us, this was severe labour; but we

endeavoured to keep up our spirits, and looked anxiously for

daybreak, when we hoped to lighten the brig by cutting away the

mainmast.

In this manner we passed a night of terrible anxiety and fatigue,

and, when the day at length broke, the gale had neither abated in

the least, nor were there any signs of its abating. We now

dragged the bodies on deck and threw them overboard. Our next

care was to get rid of the mainmast. The necessary preparations

having been made, Peters cut away at the mast (having found axes

in the cabin), while the rest of us stood by the stays and

lanyards. As the brig gave a tremendous lee-lurch, the word was

given to cut away the weather-lanyards, which being done, the

whole mass of wood and rigging plunged into the sea, clear of the

brig, and without doing any material injury. We now found that

the vessel did not labour quite as much as before, but our

situation was still exceedingly precarious, and in spite of the

utmost exertions, we could not gain upon the leak without the aid

of both pumps. The little assistance which Augustus could render

us was not really of any importance. To add to our distress, a

heavy sea, striking the brig to the windward, threw her off

several points from the wind, and, before she could regain her

position, another broke completely over her, and hurled her full

upon her beam-ends. The ballast now shifted in a mass to leeward

(the stowage had been knocking about perfectly at random for some

time), and for a few moments we thought nothing could save us

from capsizing. Presently, however, we partially righted; but the

ballast still retaining its place to larboard, we lay so much

along that it was useless to think of working the pumps, which

indeed we could not have done much longer in any case, as our

hands were entirely raw with the excessive labour we had

undergone, and were bleeding in the most horrible manner.

Contrary to Parker’s advice, we now proceeded to cut away the

foremast, and at length accomplished it after much difficulty,

owing to the position in which we lay. In going overboard the

wreck took with it the bowsprit, and left us a complete hulk.

So far we had had reason to rejoice in the escape of our

longboat, which had received no damage from any of the huge seas

which had come on board. But we had not long to congratulate

ourselves; for the foremast having gone, and, of course, the

foresail with it, by which the brig had been steadied, every sea

now made a complete breach over us, and in five minutes our deck

was swept from stem to stern, the longboat and starboard bulwarks

torn off, and even the windlass shattered into fragments. It was,

indeed, hardly possible for us to be in a more pitiable

condition.

At noon there seemed to be some slight appearance of the gale’s

abating, but in this we were sadly disappointed, for it only

lulled for a few minutes to blow with redoubled fury. About four

in the afternoon it was utterly impossible to stand up against

the violence of the blast; and, as the night closed in upon us, I

had not a shadow of hope that the vessel would hold together

until morning.

By midnight we had settled very deep in the water, which was now

up to the orlop deck. The rudder went soon afterward, the sea

which tore it away lifting the after portion of the brig entirely

from the water, against which she thumped in her descent with

such a concussion as would be occasioned by going ashore. We had

all calculated that the rudder would hold its own to the last, as

it was unusually strong, being rigged as I have never seen one

rigged either before or since. Down its main timber there ran a

succession of stout iron hooks, and others in the same manner

down the stern-post. Through these hooks there extended a very

thick wrought-iron rod, the rudder being thus held to the

stern-post and swinging freely on the rod. The tremendous force

of the sea which tore it off may be estimated by the fact, that

the hooks in the stern-post, which ran entirely through it, being

clinched on the inside, were drawn every one of them completely

out of the solid wood.

We had scarcely time to draw breath after the violence of this

shock, when one of the most tremendous waves I had then ever

known broke right on board of us, sweeping the companion-way

clear off, bursting in the hatchways, and filling every inch of

the vessel with water.

CHAPTER 9

Luckily, just before night, all four of us had lashed ourselves

firmly to the fragments of the windlass, lying in this manner as

flat upon the deck as possible. This precaution alone saved us

from destruction. As it was, we were all more or less stunned by

the immense weight of water which tumbled upon us, and which did

not roll from above us until we were nearly exhausted. As soon as

I could recover breath, I called aloud to my companions. Augustus

alone replied, saying: “It is all over with us, and may God have

mercy upon our souls!” By-and-by both the others were enabled to

speak, when they exhorted us to take courage, as there was still

hope; it being impossible, from the nature of the cargo, that the

brig could go down, and there being every chance that the gale

would blow over by the morning. These words inspired me with new

life; for, strange as it may seem, although it was obvious that a

vessel with a cargo of empty oil-casks would not sink, I had been

hitherto so confused in mind as to have overlooked this

consideration altogether; and the danger which I had for some

time regarded as the most imminent was that of foundering. As

hope revived within me, I made use of every opportunity to

strengthen the lashings which held me to the remains of the

windlass, and in this occupation I soon discovered that my

companions were also busy. The night was as dark as it could

possibly be, and the horrible shrieking din and confusion which

surrounded us it is useless to attempt describing. Our deck lay

level with the sea, or rather we were encircled with a towering

ridge of foam, a portion of which swept over us every instant. It

is not too much to say that our heads were not fairly out of the

water more than one second in three. Although we lay close

together, no one of us could see the other, or, indeed, any

portion of the brig itself, upon which we were so tempestuously

hurled about. At intervals we called one to the other, thus

endeavouring to keep alive hope, and render consolation and

encouragement to such of us as stood most in need of it. The

feeble condition of Augustus made him an object of solicitude

with us all; and as, from the lacerated condition of his right

arm, it must have been impossible for him to secure his lashings

with any degree of firmness, we were in momentary expectation of

finding that he had gone overboard—yet to render him aid was a

thing altogether out of the question. Fortunately, his station

was more secure than that of any of the rest of us; for the upper

part of his body lying just beneath a portion of the shattered

windlass, the seas, as they tumbled in upon him, were greatly

broken in their violence. In any other situation than this (into

which he had been accidentally thrown after having lashed himself

in a very exposed spot) he must inevitably have perished before

morning. Owing to the brig’s lying so much along, we were all

less liable to be washed off than otherwise would have been the

case. The heel, as I have before stated, was to larboard, about

one half of the deck being constantly under water. The seas,

therefore, which struck us to starboard were much broken, by the

vessel’s side, only reaching us in fragments as we lay flat on

our faces; while those which came from larboard being what are

called back-water seas, and obtaining little hold upon us on

account of our posture, had not sufficient force to drag us from

our fastenings.

In this frightful situation we lay until the day broke so as to

show us more fully the horrors which surrounded us. The brig was

a mere log, rolling about at the mercy of every wave; the gale

was upon the increase, if any thing, blowing indeed a complete

hurricane, and there appeared to us no earthly prospect of

deliverance. For several hours we held on in silence, expecting

every moment that our lashings would either give way, that the

remains of the windlass would go by the board, or that some of

the huge seas, which roared in every direction around us and

above us, would drive the hulk so far beneath the water that we

should be drowned before it could regain the surface. By the

mercy of God, however, we were preserved from these imminent

dangers, and about midday were cheered by the light of the

blessed sun. Shortly afterward we could perceive a sensible

diminution in the force of the wind, when, now for the first time

since the latter part of the evening before, Augustus spoke,

asking Peters, who lay closest to him, if he thought there was

any possibility of our being saved. As no reply was at first made

to this question, we all concluded that the hybrid had been

drowned where he lay; but presently, to our great joy, he spoke,

although very feebly, saying that he was in great pain, being so

cut by the tightness of his lashings across the stomach, that he

must either find means of loosening them or perish, as it was

impossible that he could endure his misery much longer. This

occasioned us great distress, as it was altogether useless to

think of aiding him in any manner while the sea continued washing

over us as it did. We exhorted him to bear his sufferings with

fortitude, and promised to seize the first opportunity which

should offer itself to relieve him. He replied that it would soon

be too late; that it would be all over with him before we could

help him; and then, after moaning for some minutes, lay silent,

when we concluded that he had perished.

As the evening drew on, the sea had fallen so much that scarcely

more than one wave broke over the hulk from windward in the

course of five minutes, and the wind had abated a great deal,

although still blowing a severe gale. I had not heard any of my

companions speak for hours, and now called to Augustus. He

replied, although very feebly, so that I could not distinguish

what he said. I then spoke to Peters and to Parker, neither of

whom returned any answer.

Shortly after this period I fell into a state of partial

insensibility, during which the most pleasing images floated in

my imagination; such as green trees, waving meadows of ripe

grain, processions of dancing girls, troops of cavalry, and other

phantasies. I now remember that, in all which passed before my

mind’s eye, motion was a predominant idea. Thus, I never fancied

any stationary object, such as a house, a mountain, or any thing

of that kind; but windmills, ships, large birds, balloons, people

on horseback, carriages driving furiously, and similar moving

objects, presented themselves in endless succession. When I

recovered from this state, the sun was, as near as I could guess,

an hour high. I had the greatest difficulty in bringing to

recollection the various circumstances connected with my

situation, and for some time remained firmly convinced that I was

still in the hold of the brig, near the box, and that the body of

Parker was that of Tiger.

When I at length completely came to my senses, I found that the

wind blew no more than a moderate breeze, and that the sea was

comparatively calm; so much so that it only washed over the brig

amidships. My left arm had broken loose from its lashings, and

was much cut about the elbow; my right was entirely benumbed, and

the hand and wrist swollen prodigiously by the pressure of the

rope, which had worked from the shoulder downward. I was also in

great pain from another rope which went about my waist, and had

been drawn to an insufferable degree of tightness. Looking round

upon my companions, I saw that Peters still lived, although a

thick line was pulled so forcibly around his loins as to give him

the appearance of being cut nearly in two; as I stirred, he made

a feeble motion to me with his hand, pointing to the rope.

Augustus gave no indication of life whatever, and was bent nearly

double across a splinter of the windlass. Parker spoke to me when

he saw me moving, and asked me if I had not sufficient strength

to release him from his situation, saying that if I would summon

up what spirits I could, and contrive to untie him, we might yet

save our lives; but that otherwise we must all perish. I told him

to take courage, and I would endeavor to free him. Feeling in my

pantaloons’ pocket, I got hold of my penknife, and, after several

ineffectual attempts, at length succeeded in opening it. I then,

with my left hand, managed to free my right from its fastenings,

and afterward cut the other ropes which held me. Upon attempting,

however, to move from my position, I found that my legs failed me

altogether, and that I could not get up; neither could I move my

right arm in any direction. Upon mentioning this to Parker, he

advised me to lie quiet for a few minutes, holding on to the

windlass with my left hand, so as to allow time for the blood to

circulate. Doing this, the numbness presently began to die away

so that I could move first one of my legs, and then the other,

and, shortly afterward I regained the partial use of my right

arm. I now crawled with great caution toward Parker, without

getting on my legs, and soon cut loose all the lashings about

him, when, after a short delay, he also recovered the partial use

of his limbs. We now lost no time in getting loose the rope from

Peters. It had cut a deep gash through the waistband of his

woollen pantaloons, and through two shirts, and made its way into

his groin, from which the blood flowed out copiously as we

removed the cordage. No sooner had we removed it, however, than

he spoke, and seemed to experience instant relief—being able to

move with much greater ease than either Parker or myself—this was

no doubt owing to the discharge of blood.

We had little hopes that Augustus would recover, as he evinced no

signs of life; but, upon getting to him, we discovered that he

had merely swooned from the loss of blood, the bandages we had

placed around his wounded arm having been torn off by the water;

none of the ropes which held him to the windlass were drawn

sufficiently tight to occasion his death. Having relieved him

from the fastenings, and got him clear of the broken wood about

the windlass, we secured him in a dry place to windward, with his

head somewhat lower than his body, and all three of us busied

ourselves in chafing his limbs. In about half an hour he came to

himself, although it was not until the next morning that he gave

signs of recognizing any of us, or had sufficient strength to

speak. By the time we had thus got clear of our lashings it was

quite dark, and it began to cloud up, so that we were again in

the greatest agony lest it should come on to blow hard, in which

event nothing could have saved us from perishing, exhausted as we

were. By good fortune it continued very moderate during the

night, the sea subsiding every minute, which gave us great hopes

of ultimate preservation. A gentle breeze still blew from the N.

W., but the weather was not at all cold. Augustus was lashed

carefully to windward in such a manner as to prevent him from

slipping overboard with the rolls of the vessel, as he was still

too weak to hold on at all. For ourselves there was no such

necessity. We sat close together, supporting each other with the

aid of the broken ropes about the windlass, and devising methods

of escape from our frightful situation. We derived much comfort

from taking off our clothes and wringing the water from them.

When we put them on after this, they felt remarkably warm and

pleasant, and served to invigorate us in no little degree. We

helped Augustus off with his, and wrung them for him, when he

experienced the same comfort.

Our chief sufferings were now those of hunger and thirst, and

when we looked forward to the means of relief in this respect,

our hearts sunk within us, and we were induced to regret that we

had escaped the less dreadful perils of the sea. We endeavoured,

however, to console ourselves with the hope of being speedily

picked up by some vessel and encouraged each other to bear with

fortitude the evils that might happen.

The morning of the fourteenth at length dawned, and the weather

still continued clear and pleasant, with a steady but very light

breeze from the N. W. The sea was now quite smooth, and as, from

some cause which we could not determine, the brig did not lie so

much along as she had done before, the deck was comparatively

dry, and we could move about with freedom. We had now been better

than three entire days and nights without either food or drink,

and it became absolutely necessary that we should make an attempt

to get up something from below. As the brig was completely full

of water, we went to this work despondently, and with but little

expectation of being able to obtain anything. We made a kind of

drag by driving some nails which we broke out from the remains of

the companion-hatch into two pieces of wood. Tying these across

each other, and fastening them to the end of a rope, we threw

them into the cabin, and dragged them to and fro, in the faint

hope of being thus able to entangle some article which might be

of use to us for food, or which might at least render us

assistance in getting it. We spent the greater part of the

morning in this labour without effect, fishing up nothing more

than a few bedclothes, which were readily caught by the nails.

Indeed, our contrivance was so very clumsy that any greater

success was hardly to be anticipated.

We now tried the forecastle, but equally in vain, and were upon

the brink of despair, when Peters proposed that we should fasten

a rope to his body, and let him make an attempt to get up

something by diving into the cabin. This proposition we hailed

with all the delight which reviving hope could inspire. He

proceeded immediately to strip off his clothes with the exception

of his pantaloons; and a strong rope was then carefully fastened

around his middle, being brought up over his shoulders in such a

manner that there was no possibility of its slipping. The

undertaking was one of great difficulty and danger; for, as we

could hardly expect to find much, if any, provision in the cabin

itself, it was necessary that the diver, after letting himself

down, should make a turn to the right, and proceed under water a

distance of ten or twelve feet, in a narrow passage, to the

storeroom, and return, without drawing breath.

Everything being ready, Peters now descended in the cabin, going

down the companion-ladder until the water reached his chin. He

then plunged in, head first, turning to the right as he plunged,

and endeavouring to make his way to the storeroom. In this first

attempt, however, he was altogether unsuccessful. In less than

half a minute after his going down we felt the rope jerked

violently (the signal we had agreed upon when he desired to be

drawn up). We accordingly drew him up instantly, but so

incautiously as to bruise him badly against the ladder. He had

brought nothing with him, and had been unable to penetrate more

than a very little way into the passage, owing to the constant

exertions he found it necessary to make in order to keep himself

from floating up against the deck. Upon getting out he was very

much exhausted, and had to rest full fifteen minutes before he

could again venture to descend.

The second attempt met with even worse success; for he remained

so long under water without giving the signal, that, becoming

alarmed for his safety, we drew him out without it, and found

that he was almost at the last gasp, having, as he said,

repeatedly jerked at the rope without our feeling it. This was

probably owing to a portion of it having become entangled in the

balustrade at the foot of the ladder. This balustrade was,

indeed, so much in the way, that we determined to remove it, if

possible, before proceeding with our design. As we had no means

of getting it away except by main force, we all descended into

the water as far as we could on the ladder, and giving a pull

against it with our united strength, succeeded in breaking it

down.

The third attempt was equally unsuccessful with the two first,

and it now became evident that nothing could be done in this

manner without the aid of some weight with which the diver might

steady himself, and keep to the floor of the cabin while making

his search. For a long time we looked about in vain for something

which might answer this purpose; but at length, to our great joy,

we discovered one of the weather-forechains so loose that we had

not the least difficulty in wrenching it off. Having fastened

this securely to one of his ankles, Peters now made his fourth

descent into the cabin, and this time succeeded in making his way

to the door of the steward’s room. To his inexpressible grief,

however, he found it locked, and was obliged to return without

effecting an entrance, as, with the greatest exertion, he could

remain under water not more, at the utmost extent, than a single

minute. Our affairs now looked gloomy indeed, and neither

Augustus nor myself could refrain from bursting into tears, as we

thought of the host of difficulties which encompassed us, and the

slight probability which existed of our finally making an escape.

But this weakness was not of long duration. Throwing ourselves on

our knees to God, we implored His aid in the many dangers which

beset us; and arose with renewed hope and vigor to think what

could yet be done by mortal means toward accomplishing our

deliverance.

CHAPTER 10

Shortly afterward an incident occurred which I am induced to look

upon as more intensely productive of emotion, as far more replete

with the extremes first of delight and then of horror, than even

any of the thousand chances which afterward befell me in nine

long years, crowded with events of the most startling and, in

many cases, of the most unconceived and unconceivable character.

We were lying on the deck near the companion-way, and debating

the possibility of yet making our way into the storeroom, when,

looking toward Augustus, who lay fronting myself, I perceived

that he had become all at once deadly pale, and that his lips

were quivering in the most singular and unaccountable manner.

Greatly alarmed, I spoke to him, but he made me no reply, and I

was beginning to think that he was suddenly taken ill, when I

took notice of his eyes, which were glaring apparently at some

object behind me. I turned my head, and shall never forget the

ecstatic joy which thrilled through every particle of my frame,

when I perceived a large brig bearing down upon us, and not more

than a couple of miles off. I sprung to my feet as if a musket

bullet had suddenly struck me to the heart; and, stretching out

my arms in the direction of the vessel, stood in this manner,

motionless, and unable to articulate a syllable. Peters and

Parker were equally affected, although in different ways. The

former danced about the deck like a madman, uttering the most

extravagant rhodomontades, intermingled with howls and

imprecations, while the latter burst into tears, and continued

for many minutes weeping like a child.

The vessel in sight was a large hermaphrodite brig, of a Dutch

build, and painted black, with a tawdry gilt figure-head. She had

evidently seen a good deal of rough weather, and, we supposed,

had suffered much in the gale which had proved so disastrous to

ourselves; for her foretopmast was gone, and some of her

starboard bulwarks. When we first saw her, she was, as I have

already said, about two miles off and to windward, bearing down

upon us. The breeze was very gentle, and what astonished us

chiefly was, that she had no other sails set than her foremast

and mainsail, with a flying jib—of course she came down but

slowly, and our impatience amounted nearly to phrensy. The

awkward manner in which she steered, too, was remarked by all of

us, even excited as we were. She yawed about so considerably,

that once or twice we thought it impossible she could see us, or

imagined that, having seen us, and discovered no person on board,

she was about to tack and make off in another direction. Upon

each of these occasions we screamed and shouted at the top of our

voices, when the stranger would appear to change for a moment her

intention, and again hold on toward us—this singular conduct

being repeated two or three times, so that at last we could think

of no other manner of accounting for it than by supposing the

helmsman to be in liquor.

No person was seen upon her decks until she arrived within about

a quarter of a mile of us. We then saw three seamen, whom by

their dress we took to be Hollanders. Two of these were lying on

some old sails near the forecastle, and the third, who appeared

to be looking at us with great curiosity, was leaning over the

starboard bow near the bowsprit. This last was a stout and tall

man, with a very dark skin. He seemed by his manner to be

encouraging us to have patience, nodding to us in a cheerful

although rather odd way, and smiling constantly, so as to display

a set of the most brilliantly white teeth. As his vessel drew

nearer, we saw a red flannel cap which he had on fall from his

head into the water; but of this he took little or no notice,

continuing his odd smiles and gesticulations. I relate these

things and circumstances minutely, and I relate them, it must be

understood, precisely as they _appeared_to us.

The brig came on slowly, and now more steadily than before, and—I

cannot speak calmly of this event—our hearts leaped up wildly

within us, and we poured out our whole souls in shouts and

thanksgiving to God for the complete, unexpected, and glorious

deliverance that was so palpably at hand. Of a sudden, and all at

once, there came wafted over the ocean from the strange vessel

(which was now close upon us) a smell, a stench, such as the

whole world has no name for—no conception of—hellish—utterly

suffocating—insufferable, inconceivable. I gasped for breath, and

turning to my companions, perceived that they were paler than

marble. But we had now no time left for question or surmise—the

brig was within fifty feet of us, and it seemed to be her

intention to run under our counter, that we might board her

without putting out a boat. We rushed aft, when, suddenly, a wide

yaw threw her off full five or six points from the course she had

been running, and, as she passed under our stern at the distance

of about twenty feet, we had a full view of her decks. Shall I

ever forget the triple horror of that spectacle? Twenty-five or

thirty human bodies, among whom were several females, lay

scattered about between the counter and the galley in the last

and most loathsome state of putrefaction. We plainly saw that not

a soul lived in that fated vessel! Yet we could not help shouting

to the dead for help! Yes, long and loudly did we beg, in the

agony of the moment, that those silent and disgusting images

would stay for us, would not abandon us to become like them,

would receive us among their goodly company! We were raving with

horror and despair—thoroughly mad through the anguish of our

grievous disappointment.

As our first loud yell of terror broke forth, it was replied to

by something, from near the bowsprit of the stranger, so closely

resembling the scream of a human voice that the nicest ear might

have been startled and deceived. At this instant another sudden

yaw brought the region of the forecastle for a moment into view,

and we beheld at once the origin of the sound. We saw the tall

stout figure still leaning on the bulwark, and still nodding his

head to and fro, but his face was now turned from us so that we

could not behold it. His arms were extended over the rail, and

the palms of his hands fell outward. His knees were lodged upon a

stout rope, tightly stretched, and reaching from the heel of the

bowsprit to a cathead. On his back, from which a portion of the

shirt had been torn, leaving it bare, there sat a huge sea-gull,

busily gorging itself with the horrible flesh, its bill and

talons deep buried, and its white plumage spattered all over with

blood. As the brig moved farther round so as to bring us close in

view, the bird, with much apparent difficulty, drew out its

crimsoned head, and, after eyeing us for a moment as if

stupefied, arose lazily from the body upon which it had been

feasting, and, flying directly above our deck, hovered there a

while with a portion of clotted and liver-like substance in its

beak. The horrid morsel dropped at length with a sullen splash

immediately at the feet of Parker. May God forgive me, but now,

for the first time, there flashed through my mind a thought, a

thought which I will not mention, and I felt myself making a step

toward the ensanguined spot. I looked upward, and the eyes of

Augustus met my own with a degree of intense and eager meaning

which immediately brought me to my senses. I sprang forward

quickly, and, with a deep shudder, threw the frightful thing into

the sea.

The body from which it had been taken, resting as it did upon the

rope, had been easily swayed to and fro by the exertions of the

carnivorous bird, and it was this motion which had at first

impressed us with the belief of its being alive. As the gull

relieved it of its weight, it swung round and fell partially

over, so that the face was fully discovered. Never, surely, was

any object so terribly full of awe! The eyes were gone, and the

whole flesh around the mouth, leaving the teeth utterly naked.

This, then, was the smile which had cheered us on to hope! this

the—but I forbear. The brig, as I have already told, passed under

our stern, and made its way slowly but steadily to leeward. With

her and with her terrible crew went all our gay visions of

deliverance and joy. Deliberately as she went by, we might

possibly have found means of boarding her, had not our sudden

disappointment and the appalling nature of the discovery which

accompanied it laid entirely prostrate every active faculty of

mind and body. We had seen and felt, but we could neither think

nor act, until, alas! too late. How much our intellects had been

weakened by this incident may be estimated by the fact, that when

the vessel had proceeded so far that we could perceive no more

than the half of her hull, the proposition was seriously

entertained of attempting to overtake her by swimming!

I have, since this period, vainly endeavoured to obtain some clew

to the hideous uncertainty which enveloped the fate of the

stranger. Her build and general appearance, as I have before

stated, led us to the belief that she was a Dutch trader, and the

dresses of the crew also sustained this opinion. We might have

easily seen the name upon her stern, and, indeed, taken other

observations, which would have guided us in making out her

character; but the intense excitement of the moment blinded us to

every thing of that nature. From the saffron-like hue of such of

the corpses as were not entirely decayed, we concluded that the

whole of her company had perished by the yellow fever, or some

other virulent disease of the same fearful kind. If such were the

case (and I know not what else to imagine), death, to judge from

the positions of the bodies, must have come upon them in a manner

awfully sudden and overwhelming, in a way totally distinct from

that which generally characterizes even the most deadly

pestilences with which mankind are acquainted. It is possible,

indeed, that poison, accidentally introduced into some of their

sea-stores, may have brought about the disaster, or that the

eating of some unknown venomous species of fish, or other marine

animal, or oceanic bird, might have induced it—but it is utterly

useless to form conjectures where all is involved, and will, no

doubt, remain for ever involved, in the most appalling and

unfathomable mystery.

CHAPTER 11

We spent the remainder of the day in a condition of stupid

lethargy, gazing after the retreating vessel until the darkness,

hiding her from our sight, recalled us in some measure to our

senses. The pangs of hunger and thirst then returned, absorbing

all other cares and considerations. Nothing, however, could be

done until the morning, and, securing ourselves as well as

possible, we endeavoured to snatch a little repose. In this I

succeeded beyond my expectations, sleeping until my companions,

who had not been so fortunate, aroused me at daybreak to renew

our attempts at getting up provisions from the hull.

It was now a dead calm, with the sea as smooth as I have ever

known it,—the weather warm and pleasant. The brig was out of

sight. We commenced our operations by wrenching off, with some

trouble, another of the forechains; and having fastened both to

Peters’ feet, he again made an endeavour to reach the door of the

storeroom, thinking it possible that he might be able to force it

open, provided he could get at it in sufficient time; and this he

hoped to do, as the hulk lay much more steadily than before.

He succeeded very quickly in reaching the door, when, loosening

one of the chains from his ankle, he made every exertion to force

the passage with it, but in vain, the framework of the room being

far stronger than was anticipated. He was quite exhausted with

his long stay under water, and it became absolutely necessary

that some other one of us should take his place. For this service

Parker immediately volunteered; but, after making three

ineffectual efforts, found that he could never even succeed in

getting near the door. The condition of Augustus’s wounded arm

rendered it useless for him to attempt going down, as he would be

unable to force the room open should he reach it, and it

accordingly now devolved upon me to exert myself for our common

deliverance.

Peters had left one of the chains in the passage, and I found,

upon plunging in, that I had not sufficient balance to keep me

firmly down. I determined, therefore, to attempt no more, in my

first effort, than merely to recover the other chain. In groping

along the floor of the passage for this, I felt a hard substance,

which I immediately grasped, not having time to ascertain what it

was, but returning and ascending instantly to the surface. The

prize proved to be a bottle, and our joy may be conceived when I

say that it was found to be full of port wine. Giving thanks to

God for this timely and cheering assistance, we immediately drew

the cork with my penknife, and, each taking a moderate sup, felt

the most indescribable comfort from the warmth, strength, and

spirits with which it inspired us. We then carefully recorked the

bottle, and, by means of a handkerchief, swung it in such a

manner that there was no possibility of its getting broken.

Having rested a while after this fortunate discovery, I again

descended, and now recovered the chain, with which I instantly

came up. I then fastened it on and went down for the third time,

when I became fully satisfied that no exertions whatever, in that

situation, would enable me to force open the door of the

storeroom. I therefore returned in despair.

There seemed now to be no longer any room for hope, and I could

perceive in the countenances of my companions that they had made

up their minds to perish. The wine had evidently produced in them

a species of delirium, which, perhaps, I had been prevented from

feeling by the immersion I had undergone since drinking it. They

talked incoherently, and about matters unconnected with our

condition, Peters repeatedly asking me questions about Nantucket.

Augustus, too, I remember, approached me with a serious air, and

requested me to lend him a pocket-comb, as his hair was full of

fish-scales, and he wished to get them out before going on shore.

Parker appeared somewhat less affected, and urged me to dive at

random into the cabin, and bring up any article which might come

to hand. To this I consented, and, in the first attempt, after

staying under a full minute, brought up a small leather trunk

belonging to Captain Barnard. This was immediately opened in the

faint hope that it might contain something to eat or drink. We

found nothing, however, except a box of razors and two linen

shirts. I now went down again, and returned without any success.

As my head came above water I heard a crash on deck, and, upon

getting up, saw that my companions had ungratefully taken

advantage of my absence to drink the remainder of the wine,

having let the bottle fall in the endeavour to replace it before

I saw them. I remonstrated with them on the heartlessness of

their conduct, when Augustus burst into tears. The other two

endeavoured to laugh the matter off as a joke, but I hope never

again to behold laughter of such a species: the distortion of

countenance was absolutely frightful. Indeed, it was apparent

that the stimulus, in the empty state of their stomachs, had

taken instant and violent effect, and that they were all

exceedingly intoxicated. With great difficulty I prevailed upon

them to lie down, when they fell very soon into a heavy slumber,

accompanied with loud stertorous breathing.

I now found myself, as it were, alone in the brig, and my

reflections, to be sure, were of the most fearful and gloomy

nature. No prospect offered itself to my view but a lingering

death by famine, or, at the best, by being overwhelmed in the

first gale which should spring up, for in our present exhausted

condition we could have no hope of living through another.

The gnawing hunger which I now experienced was nearly

insupportable, and I felt myself capable of going to any lengths

in order to appease it. With my knife I cut off a small portion

of the leather trunk, and endeavoured to eat it, but found it

utterly impossible to swallow a single morsel, although I fancied

that some little alleviation of my suffering was obtained by

chewing small pieces of it and spitting them out. Toward night my

companions awoke, one by one, each in an indescribable state of

weakness and horror, brought on by the wine, whose fumes had now

evaporated. They shook as if with a violent ague, and uttered the

most lamentable cries for water. Their condition affected me in

the most lively degree, at the same time causing me to rejoice in

the fortunate train of circumstances which had prevented me from

indulging in the wine, and consequently from sharing their

melancholy and most distressing sensations. Their conduct,

however, gave me great uneasiness and alarm; for it was evident

that, unless some favourable change took place, they could afford

me no assistance in providing for our common safety. I had not

yet abandoned all idea of being able to get up something from

below; but the attempt could not possibly be resumed until some

one of them was sufficiently master of himself to aid me by

holding the end of the rope while I went down. Parker appeared to

be somewhat more in possession of his senses than the others, and

I endeavoured, by every means in my power, to rouse him. Thinking

that a plunge in the sea-water might have a beneficial effect, I

contrived to fasten the end of a rope around his body, and then,

leading him to the companion-way (he remaining quite passive all

the while), pushed him in, and immediately drew him out. I had

good reason to congratulate myself upon having made this

experiment; for he appeared much revived and invigorated, and,

upon getting out, asked me, in a rational manner, why I had so

served him. Having explained my object, he expressed himself

indebted to me, and said that he felt greatly better from the

immersion, afterward conversing sensibly upon our situation. We

then resolved to treat Augustus and Peters in the same way, which

we immediately did, when they both experienced much benefit from

the shock. This idea of sudden immersion had been suggested to me

by reading in some medical work the good effect of the

shower-bath in a case where the patient was suffering from _mania

a potu_.

Finding that I could now trust my companions to hold the end of

the rope, I again made three or four plunges into the cabin,

although it was now quite dark, and a gentle but long swell from

the northward rendered the hulk somewhat unsteady. In the course

of these attempts I succeeded in bringing up two case-knives, a

three-gallon jug, empty, and a blanket, but nothing which could

serve us for food. I continued my efforts, after getting these

articles, until I was completely exhausted, but brought up

nothing else. During the night Parker and Peters occupied

themselves by turns in the same manner; but nothing coming to

hand, we now gave up this attempt in despair, concluding that we

were exhausting ourselves in vain.

We passed the remainder of this night in a state of the most

intense mental and bodily anguish that can possibly be imagined.

The morning of the sixteenth at length dawned, and we looked

eagerly around the horizon for relief, but to no purpose. The sea

was still smooth, with only a long swell from the northward, as

on yesterday. This was the sixth day since we had tasted either

food or drink, with the exception of the bottle of port wine, and

it was clear that we could hold out but a very little while

longer unless something could be obtained. I never saw before,

nor wish to see again, human beings so utterly emaciated as

Peters and Augustus. Had I met them on shore in their present

condition I should not have had the slightest suspicion that I

had ever beheld them. Their countenances were totally changed in

character, so that I could not bring myself to believe them

really the same individuals with whom I had been in company but a

few days before. Parker, although sadly reduced, and so feeble

that he could not raise his head from his bosom, was not so far

gone as the other two. He suffered with great patience, making no

complaint, and endeavouring to inspire us with hope in every

manner he could devise. For myself, although at the commencement

of the voyage I had been in bad health, and was at all times of a

delicate constitution, I suffered less than any of us, being much

less reduced in frame, and retaining my powers of mind in a

surprising degree, while the rest were completely prostrated in

intellect, and seemed to be brought to a species of second

childhood, generally simpering in their expressions, with idiotic

smiles, and uttering the most absurd platitudes. At intervals,

however, they would appear to revive suddenly, as if inspired all

at once with a consciousness of their condition, when they would

spring upon their feet in a momentary flash of vigour, and speak,

for a short period, of their prospects, in a manner altogether

rational, although full of the most intense despair. It is

possible, however, that my companions may have entertained the

same opinion of their own condition as I did of mine, and that I

may have unwittingly been guilty of the same extravagances and

imbecilities as themselves—this is a matter which cannot be

determined.

About noon Parker declared that he saw land off the larboard

quarter, and it was with the utmost difficulty I could restrain

him from plunging into the sea with the view of swimming toward

it. Peters and Augustus took little notice of what he said, being

apparently wrapped up in moody contemplation. Upon looking in the

direction pointed out, I could not perceive the faintest

appearance of the shore—indeed, I was too well aware that we were

far from any land to indulge in a hope of that nature. It was a

long time, nevertheless, before I could convince Parker of his

mistake. He then burst into a flood of tears, weeping like a

child, with loud cries and sobs, for two or three hours, when

becoming exhausted, he fell asleep.

Peters and Augustus now made several ineffectual efforts to

swallow portions of the leather. I advised them to chew it and

spit it out; but they were too excessively debilitated to be able

to follow my advice. I continued to chew pieces of it at

intervals, and found some relief from so doing; my chief distress

was for water, and I was only prevented from taking a draught

from the sea by remembering the horrible consequences which thus

have resulted to others who were similarly situated with

ourselves.

The day wore on in this manner, when I suddenly discovered a sail

to the eastward, and on our larboard bow. She appeared to be a

large ship, and was coming nearly athwart us, being probably

twelve or fifteen miles distant. None of my companions had as yet

discovered her, and I forbore to tell them of her for the

present, lest we might again be disappointed of relief. At length

upon her getting nearer, I saw distinctly that she was heading

immediately for us, with her light sails filled. I could now

contain myself no longer, and pointed her out to my

fellow-sufferers. They immediately sprang to their feet, again

indulging in the most extravagant demonstrations of joy, weeping,

laughing in an idiotic manner, jumping, stamping upon the deck,

tearing their hair, and praying and cursing by turns. I was so

affected by their conduct, as well as by what I considered a sure

prospect of deliverance, that I could not refrain from joining in

with their madness, and gave way to the impulses of my gratitude

and ecstasy by lying and rolling on the deck, clapping my hands,

shouting, and other similar acts, until I was suddenly called to

my recollection, and once more to the extreme human misery and

despair, by perceiving the ship all at once with her stern fully

presented toward us, and steering in a direction nearly opposite

to that in which I had at first perceived her.

It was some time before I could induce my poor companions to

believe that this sad reverse in our prospects had actually taken

place. They replied to all my assertions with a stare and a

gesture implying that they were not to be deceived by such

misrepresentations. The conduct of Augustus most sensibly

affected me. In spite of all I could say or do to the contrary,

he persisted in saying that the ship was rapidly nearing us, and

in making preparations to go on board of her. Some seaweed

floating by the brig, he maintained that it was the ship’s boat,

and endeavoured to throw himself upon it, howling and shrieking

in the most heartrending manner, when I forcibly restrained him

from thus casting himself into the sea.

Having become in some degree pacified, we continued to watch the

ship until we finally lost sight of her, the weather becoming

hazy, with a light breeze springing up. As soon as she was

entirely gone, Parker turned suddenly toward me with an

expression of countenance which made me shudder. There was about

him an air of self-possession which I had not noticed in him

until now, and before he opened his lips my heart told me what he

would say. He proposed, in a few words, that one of us should die

to preserve the existence of the others.

CHAPTER 12

I had for some time past, dwelt upon the prospect of our being

reduced to this last horrible extremity, and had secretly made up

my mind to suffer death in any shape or under any circumstances

rather than resort to such a course. Nor was this resolution in

any degree weakened by the present intensity of hunger under

which I laboured. The proposition had not been heard by either

Peters or Augustus. I therefore took Parker aside; and mentally

praying to God for power to dissuade him from the horrible

purpose he entertained, I expostulated with him for a long time,

and in the most supplicating manner, begging him in the name of

every thing which he held sacred, and urging him by every species

of argument which the extremity of the case suggested, to abandon

the idea, and not to mention it to either of the other two.

He heard all I said without attempting to controvert any of my

arguments, and I had begun to hope that he would be prevailed

upon to do as I desired. But when I had ceased speaking, he said

that he knew very well all I had said was true, and that to

resort to such a course was the most horrible alternative which

could enter into the mind of man; but that he had now held out as

long as human nature could be sustained; that it was unnecessary

for all to perish, when, by the death of one, it was possible,

and even probable, that the rest might be finally preserved;

adding that I might save myself the trouble of trying to turn him

from his purpose, his mind having been thoroughly made up on the

subject even before the appearance of the ship, and that only her

heaving in sight had prevented him from mentioning his intention

at an earlier period.

I now begged him, if he would not be prevailed upon to abandon

his design, at least to defer it for another day, when some

vessel might come to our relief; again reiterating every argument

I could devise, and which I thought likely to have influence with

one of his rough nature. He said, in reply, that he had not

spoken until the very last possible moment, that he could exist

no longer without sustenance of some kind, and that therefore in

another day his suggestion would be too late, as regarded himself

at least.

Finding that he was not to be moved by anything I could say in a

mild tone, I now assumed a different demeanor, and told him that

he must be aware I had suffered less than any of us from our

calamities; that my health and strength, consequently, were at

that moment far better than his own, or than that either of

Peters or Augustus; in short, that I was in a condition to have

my own way by force if I found it necessary; and that if he

attempted in any manner to acquaint the others with his bloody

and cannibal designs, I would not hesitate to throw him into the

sea. Upon this he immediately seized me by the throat, and

drawing a knife, made several ineffectual efforts to stab me in

the stomach; an atrocity which his excessive debility alone

prevented him from accomplishing. In the meantime, being roused

to a high pitch of anger, I forced him to the vessel’s side, with

the full intention of throwing him overboard. He was saved from

his fate, however, by the interference of Peters, who now

approached and separated us, asking the cause of the disturbance.

This Parker told before I could find means in any manner to

prevent him.

The effect of his words was even more terrible than what I had

anticipated. Both Augustus and Peters, who, it seems, had long

secretly entertained the same fearful idea which Parker had been

merely the first to broach, joined with him in his design and

insisted upon its immediately being carried into effect. I had

calculated that one at least of the two former would be found

still possessed of sufficient strength of mind to side with

myself in resisting any attempt to execute so dreadful a purpose,

and, with the aid of either one of them, I had no fear of being

able to prevent its accomplishment. Being disappointed in this

expectation, it became absolutely necessary that I should attend

to my own safety, as a further resistance on my part might

possibly be considered by men in their frightful condition a

sufficient excuse for refusing me fair play in the tragedy that I

knew would speedily be enacted.

I now told them I was willing to submit to the proposal, merely

requesting a delay of about one hour, in order that the fog which

had gathered around us might have an opportunity of lifting, when

it was possible that the ship we had seen might be again in

sight. After great difficulty I obtained from them a promise to

wait thus long; and, as I had anticipated (a breeze rapidly

coming in), the fog lifted before the hour had expired, when, no

vessel appearing in sight, we prepared to draw lots.

It is with extreme reluctance that I dwell upon the appalling

scene which ensued; a scene which, with its minutest details, no

after events have been able to efface in the slightest degree

from my memory, and whose stern recollection will embitter every

future moment of my existence. Let me run over this portion of my

narrative with as much haste as the nature of the events to be

spoken of will permit. The only method we could devise for the

terrific lottery, in which we were to take each a chance, was

that of drawing straws. Small splinters of wood were made to

answer our purpose, and it was agreed that I should be the

holder. I retired to one end of the hulk, while my poor

companions silently took up their station in the other with their

backs turned toward me. The bitterest anxiety which I endured at

any period of this fearful drama was while I occupied myself in

the arrangement of the lots. There are few conditions into which

man can possibly fall where he will not feel a deep interest in

the preservation of his existence; an interest momentarily

increasing with the frailness of the tenure by which that

existence may be held. But now that the silent, definite, and

stern nature of the business in which I was engaged (so different

from the tumultuous dangers of the storm or the gradually

approaching horrors of famine) allowed me to reflect on the few

chances I had of escaping the most appalling of deaths—a death

for the most appalling of purposes—every particle of that energy

which had so long buoyed me up departed like feathers before the

wind, leaving me a helpless prey to the most abject and pitiable

terror. I could not, at first, even summon up sufficient strength

to tear and fit together the small splinters of wood, my fingers

absolutely refusing their office, and my knees knocking violently

against each other. My mind ran over rapidly a thousand absurd

projects by which to avoid becoming a partner in the awful

speculation. I thought of falling on my knees to my companions,

and entreating them to let me escape this necessity; of suddenly

rushing upon them, and, by putting one of them to death, of

rendering the decision by lot useless—in short, of every thing

but of going through with the matter I had in hand. At last,

after wasting a long time in this imbecile conduct, I was

recalled to my senses by the voice of Parker, who urged me to

relieve them at once from the terrible anxiety they were

enduring. Even then I could not bring myself to arrange the

splinters upon the spot, but thought over every species of

finesse by which I could trick some one of my fellow-sufferers to

draw the short straw, as it had been agreed that whoever drew the

shortest of four splinters from my hand was to die for the

preservation of the rest. Before any one condemn me for this

apparent heartlessness, let him be placed in a situation

precisely similar to my own.

At length delay was no longer possible, and, with a heart almost

bursting from my bosom, I advanced to the region of the

forecastle, where my companions were awaiting me. I held out my

hand with the splinters, and Peters immediately drew. He was

free—his, at least, was not the shortest; and there was now

another chance against my escape. I summoned up all my strength,

and passed the lots to Augustus. He also drew immediately, and he

also was free; and now, whether I should live or die, the chances

were no more than precisely even. At this moment all the

fierceness of the tiger possessed my bosom, and I felt toward my

poor fellow-creature, Parker, the most intense, the most

diabolical hatred. But the feeling did not last; and, at length,

with a convulsive shudder and closed eyes, I held out the two

remaining splinters toward him. It was fully five minutes before

he could summon resolution to draw, during which period of

heartrending suspense I never once opened my eyes. Presently one

of the two lots was quickly drawn from my hand. The decision was

then over, yet I knew not whether it was for me or against me. No

one spoke, and still I dared not satisfy myself by looking at the

splinter I held. Peters at length took me by the hand, and I

forced myself to look up, when I immediately saw by the

countenance of Parker that I was safe, and that he it was who had

been doomed to suffer. Gasping for breath, I fell senseless to

the deck.

I recovered from my swoon in time to behold the consummation of

the tragedy in the death of him who had been chiefly instrumental

in bringing it about. He made no resistance whatever, and was

stabbed in the back by Peters, when he fell instantly dead. I

must not dwell upon the fearful repast which immediately ensued.

Such things may be imagined, but words have no power to impress

the mind with the exquisite horror of their reality. Let it

suffice to say that, having in some measure appeased the raging

thirst which consumed us by the blood of the victim, and having

by common consent taken off the hands, feet, and head, throwing

them together with the entrails, into the sea, we devoured the

rest of the body, piecemeal, during the four ever memorable days

of the seventeenth, eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth of the

month.

On the nineteenth, there coming on a smart shower which lasted

fifteen or twenty minutes, we contrived to catch some water by

means of a sheet which had been fished up from the cabin by our

drag just after the gale. The quantity we took in all did not

amount to more than half a gallon; but even this scanty allowance

supplied us with comparative strength and hope.

On the twenty-first we were again reduced to the last necessity.

The weather still remained warm and pleasant, with occasional

fogs and light breezes, most usually from N. to W.

On the twenty-second, as we were sitting close huddled together,

gloomily revolving over our lamentable condition, there flashed

through my mind all at once an idea which inspired me with a

bright gleam of hope. I remembered that, when the foremast had

been cut away, Peters, being in the windward chains, passed one

of the axes into my hand, requesting me to put it, if possible,

in a place of security, and that a few minutes before the last

heavy sea struck the brig and filled her I had taken this axe

into the forecastle and laid it in one of the larboard berths. I

now thought it possible that, by getting at this axe, we might

cut through the deck over the storeroom, and thus readily supply

ourselves with provisions.

When I communicated this object to my companions, they uttered a

feeble shout of joy, and we all proceeded forthwith to the

forecastle. The difficulty of descending here was greater than

that of going down in the cabin, the opening being much smaller,

for it will be remembered that the whole framework about the

cabin companion-hatch had been carried away, whereas the

forecastle-way, being a simple hatch of only about three feet

square, had remained uninjured. I did not hesitate, however, to

attempt the descent; and a rope being fastened round my body as

before, I plunged boldly in, feet foremost, made my way quickly

to the berth, and at the first attempt brought up the axe. It was

hailed with the most ecstatic joy and triumph, and the ease with

which it had been obtained was regarded as an omen of our

ultimate preservation.

We now commenced cutting at the deck with all the energy of

rekindled hope, Peters and myself taking the axe by turns,

Augustus’s wounded arm not permitting him to aid us in any

degree. As we were still so feeble as to be scarcely able to

stand unsupported, and could consequently work but a minute or

two without resting, it soon became evident that many long hours

would be necessary to accomplish our task—that is, to cut an

opening sufficiently large to admit of a free access to the

storeroom. This consideration, however, did not discourage us;

and, working all night by the light of the moon, we succeeded in

effecting our purpose by daybreak on the morning of the

twenty-third.

Peters now volunteered to go down; and, having made all

arrangements as before, he descended, and soon returned bringing

up with him a small jar, which, to our great joy, proved to be

full of olives. Having shared these among us, and devoured them

with the greatest avidity, we proceeded to let him down again.

This time he succeeded beyond our utmost expectations, returning

instantly with a large ham and a bottle of Madeira wine. Of the

latter we each took a moderate sup, having learned by experience

the pernicious consequences of indulging too freely. The ham,

except about two pounds near the bone, was not in a condition to

be eaten, having been entirely spoiled by the salt water. The

sound part was divided among us. Peters and Augustus, not being

able to restrain their appetite, swallowed theirs upon the

instant; but I was more cautious, and ate but a small portion of

mine, dreading the thirst which I knew would ensue. We now rested

a while from our labors, which had been intolerably severe.

By noon, feeling somewhat strengthened and refreshed, we again

renewed our attempt at getting up provisions, Peters and myself

going down alternately, and always with more or less success,

until sundown. During this interval we had the good fortune to

bring up, altogether, four more small jars of olives, another

ham, a carboy containing nearly three gallons of excellent Cape

Madeira wine, and, what gave us still more delight, a small

tortoise of the Gallipago breed, several of which had been taken

on board by Captain Barnard, as the Grampus was leaving port,

from the schooner Mary Pitts, just returned from a sealing

voyage in the Pacific.

In a subsequent portion of this narrative I shall have frequent

occasion to mention this species of tortoise. It is found

principally, as most of my readers may know, in the group of

islands called the Gallipagos, which, indeed, derive their name

from the animal—the Spanish word Gallipago meaning a fresh-water

terrapin. From the peculiarity of their shape and action they

have been sometimes called the elephant tortoise. They are

frequently found of an enormous size. I have myself seen several

which would weigh from twelve to fifteen hundred pounds, although

I do not remember that any navigator speaks of having seen them

weighing more than eight hundred. Their appearance is singular,

and even disgusting. Their steps are very slow, measured, and

heavy, their bodies being carried about a foot from the ground.

Their neck is long, and exceedingly slender, from eighteen inches

to two feet is a very common length, and I killed one, where the

distance from the shoulder to the extremity of the head was no

less than three feet ten inches. The head has a striking

resemblance to that of a serpent. They can exist without food for

an almost incredible length of time, instances having been known

where they have been thrown into the hold of a vessel and lain

two years without nourishment of any kind—being as fat, and, in

every respect, in as good order at the expiration of the time as

when they were first put in. In one particular these

extraordinary animals bear a resemblance to the dromedary, or

camel of the desert. In a bag at the root of the neck they carry

with them a constant supply of water. In some instances, upon

killing them after a full year’s deprivation of all nourishment,

as much as three gallons of perfectly sweet and fresh water have

been found in their bags. Their food is chiefly wild parsley and

celery, with purslain, sea-kelp, and prickly pears, upon which

latter vegetable they thrive wonderfully, a great quantity of it

being usually found on the hillsides near the shore wherever the

animal itself is discovered. They are excellent and highly

nutritious food, and have, no doubt, been the means of preserving

the lives of thousands of seamen employed in the whale-fishery

and other pursuits in the Pacific.

The one which we had the good fortune to bring up from the

storeroom was not of a large size, weighing probably sixty-five

or seventy pounds. It was a female, and in excellent condition,

being exceedingly fat, and having more than a quart of limpid and

sweet water in its bag. This was indeed a treasure; and, falling

on our knees with one accord, we returned fervent thanks to God

for so seasonable a relief.

We had great difficulty in getting the animal up through the

opening, as its struggles were fierce and its strength

prodigious. It was upon the point of making its escape from

Peter’s grasp, and slipping back into the water, when Augustus,

throwing a rope with a slipknot around its throat, held it up in

this manner until I jumped into the hole by the side of Peters,

and assisted him in lifting it out.

The water we drew carefully from the bag into the jug; which, it

will be remembered, had been brought up before from the cabin.

Having done this, we broke off the neck of a bottle so as to

form, with the cork, a kind of glass, holding not quite half a

gill. We then each drank one of these measures full, and resolved

to limit ourselves to this quantity per day as long as it should

hold out.

During the last two or three days, the weather having been dry

and pleasant, the bedding we had obtained from the cabin, as well

as our clothing, had become thoroughly dry, so that we passed

this night (that of the twenty-third) in comparative comfort,

enjoying a tranquil repose, after having supped plentifully on

olives and ham, with a small allowance of the wine. Being afraid

of losing some of our stores overboard during the night, in the

event of a breeze springing up, we secured them as well as

possible with cordage to the fragments of the windlass. Our

tortoise, which we were anxious to preserve alive as long as we

could, we threw on its back, and otherwise carefully fastened.

CHAPTER 13

July 24. This morning saw us wonderfully recruited in spirits and

strength. Notwithstanding the perilous situation in which we were

still placed, ignorant of our position, although certainly at a

great distance from land, without more food than would last us

for a fortnight even with great care, almost entirely without

water, and floating about at the mercy of every wind and wave on

the merest wreck in the world, still the infinitely more terrible

distresses and dangers from which we had so lately and so

providentially been delivered caused us to regard what we now

endured as but little more than an ordinary evil—so strictly

comparative is either good or ill.

At sunrise we were preparing to renew our attempts at getting up

something from the storeroom, when, a smart shower coming on,

with some lightning, we turn our attention to the catching of

water by means of the sheet we had used before for this purpose.

We had no other means of collecting the rain than by holding the

sheet spread out with one of the forechain-plates in the middle

of it. The water, thus conducted to the centre, was drained

through into our jug. We had nearly filled it in this manner,

when, a heavy squall coming on from the northward, obliged us to

desist, as the hulk began once more to roll so violently that we

could no longer keep our feet. We now went forward, and, lashing

ourselves securely to the remnant of the windlass as before,

awaited the event with far more calmness than could have been

anticipated or would have been imagined possible under the

circumstances. At noon the wind had freshened into a two-reef

breeze, and by night into a stiff gale, accompanied with a

tremendously heavy swell. Experience having taught us, however,

the best method of arranging our lashings, we weathered this

dreary night in tolerable security, although thoroughly drenched

at almost every instant by the sea, and in momentary dread of

being washed off. Fortunately, the weather was so warm as to

render the water rather grateful than otherwise.

July 25. This morning the gale had diminished to a mere ten-knot

breeze, and the sea had gone down with it so considerably that we

were able to keep ourselves dry upon the deck. To our great

grief, however, we found that two jars of our olives, as well as

the whole of our ham, had been washed overboard, in spite of the

careful manner in which they had been fastened. We determined not

to kill the tortoise as yet, and contented ourselves for the

present with a breakfast on a few of the olives, and a measure of

water each, which latter we mixed half and half, with wine,

finding great relief and strength from the mixture, without the

distressing intoxication which had ensued upon drinking the port.

The sea was still far too rough for the renewal of our efforts at

getting up provision from the storeroom. Several articles, of no

importance to us in our present situation, floated up through the

opening during the day, and were immediately washed overboard. We

also now observed that the hulk lay more along than ever, so that

we could not stand an instant without lashing ourselves. On this

account we passed a gloomy and uncomfortable day. At noon the sun

appeared to be nearly vertical, and we had no doubt that we had

been driven down by the long succession of northward and

northwesterly winds into the near vicinity of the equator. Toward

evening we saw several sharks, and were somewhat alarmed by the

audacious manner in which an enormously large one approached us.

At one time, a lurch throwing the deck very far beneath the

water, the monster actually swam in upon us, floundering for some

moments just over the companion-hatch, and striking Peters

violently with his tail. A heavy sea at length hurled him

overboard, much to our relief. In moderate weather we might have

easily captured him.

July 26. This morning, the wind having greatly abated, and the

sea not being very rough, we determined to renew our exertions in

the storeroom. After a great deal of hard labor during the whole

day, we found that nothing further was to be expected from this

quarter, the partitions of the room having been stove during the

night, and its contents swept into the hold. This discovery, as

may be supposed, filled us with despair.

July 27. The sea nearly smooth, with a light wind, and still from

the northward and westward. The sun coming out hotly in the

afternoon, we occupied ourselves in drying our clothes. Found

great relief from thirst, and much comfort otherwise, by bathing

in the sea; in this, however, we were forced to use great

caution, being afraid of sharks, several of which were seen

swimming around the brig during the day.

July 28. Good weather still. The brig now began to lie along so

alarmingly that we feared she would eventually roll bottom up.

Prepared ourselves as well as we could for this emergency,

lashing our tortoise, waterjug, and two remaining jars of olives

as far as possible over to the windward, placing them outside the

hull below the main-chains. The sea very smooth all day, with

little or no wind.

July 29. A continuance of the same weather. Augustus’s wounded

arm began to evince symptoms of mortification. He complained of

drowsiness and excessive thirst, but no acute pain. Nothing could

be done for his relief beyond rubbing his wounds with a little of

the vinegar from the olives, and from this no benefit seemed to

be experienced. We did every thing in our power for his comfort,

and trebled his allowance of water.

July 30. An excessively hot day, with no wind. An enormous shark

kept close by the hulk during the whole of the forenoon. We made

several unsuccessful attempts to capture him by means of a noose.

Augustus much worse, and evidently sinking as much from want of

proper nourishment as from the effect of his wounds. He

constantly prayed to be relieved from his sufferings, wishing for

nothing but death. This evening we ate the last of our olives,

and found the water in our jug so putrid that we could not

swallow it at all without the addition of wine. Determined to

kill our tortoise in the morning.

July 31. After a night of excessive anxiety and fatigue, owing to

the position of the hulk, we set about killing and cutting up our

tortoise. He proved to be much smaller than we had supposed,

although in good condition,—the whole meat about him not

amounting to more than ten pounds. With a view of preserving a

portion of this as long as possible, we cut it into fine pieces,

and filled with them our three remaining olive jars and the

wine-bottle (all of which had been kept), pouring in afterward

the vinegar from the olives. In this manner we put away about

three pounds of the tortoise, intending not to touch it until we

had consumed the rest. We concluded to restrict ourselves to

about four ounces of the meat per day; the whole would thus last

us thirteen days. A brisk shower, with severe thunder and

lightning, came on about dusk, but lasted so short a time that we

only succeeded in catching about half a pint of water. The whole

of this, by common consent, was given to Augustus, who now

appeared to be in the last extremity. He drank the water from the

sheet as we caught it (we holding it above him as he lay so as to

let it run into his mouth), for we had now nothing left capable

of holding water, unless we had chosen to empty out our wine from

the carboy, or the stale water from the jug. Either of these

expedients would have been resorted to had the shower lasted.

The sufferer seemed to derive but little benefit from the

draught. His arm was completely black from the wrist to the

shoulder, and his feet were like ice. We expected every moment to

see him breathe his last. He was frightfully emaciated; so much

so that, although he weighed a hundred and twenty-seven pounds

upon his leaving Nantucket, he now did not weigh more than forty

or fifty at the farthest. His eyes were sunk far in his head,

being scarcely perceptible, and the skin of his cheeks hung so

loosely as to prevent his masticating any food, or even

swallowing any liquid, without great difficulty.

August 1. A continuance of the same calm weather, with an

oppressively hot sun. Suffered exceedingly from thirst, the water

in the jug being absolutely putrid and swarming with vermin. We

contrived, nevertheless, to swallow a portion of it by mixing it

with wine; our thirst, however, was but little abated. We found

more relief by bathing in the sea, but could not avail ourselves

of this expedient except at long intervals, on account of the

continual presence of sharks. We now saw clearly that Augustus

could not be saved; that he was evidently dying. We could do

nothing to relieve his sufferings, which appeared to be great.

About twelve o’clock he expired in strong convulsions, and

without having spoken for several hours. His death filled us with

the most gloomy forebodings, and had so great an effect upon our

spirits that we sat motionless by the corpse during the whole

day, and never addressed each other except in a whisper. It was

not until some time after dark that we took courage to get up and

throw the body overboard. It was then loathsome beyond

expression, and so far decayed that, as Peters attempted to lift

it, an entire leg came off in his grasp. As the mass of

putrefaction slipped over the vessel’s side into the water, the

glare of phosphoric light with which it was surrounded plainly

discovered to us seven or eight large sharks, the clashing of

whose horrible teeth, as their prey was torn to pieces among

them, might have been heard at the distance of a mile. We shrunk

within ourselves in the extremity of horror at the sound.

August 2. The same fearfully calm and hot weather. The dawn found

us in a state of pitiable dejection as well as bodily exhaustion.

The water in the jug was now absolutely useless, being a thick

gelatinous mass; nothing but frightful-looking worms mingled with

slime. We threw it out, and washed the jug well in the sea,

afterward pouring a little vinegar in it from our bottles of

pickled tortoise. Our thirst could now scarcely be endured, and

we tried in vain to relieve it by wine, which seemed only to add

fuel to the flame, and excited us to a high degree of

intoxication. We afterward endeavoured to relieve our sufferings

by mixing the wine with seawater; but this instantly brought

about the most violent retchings, so that we never again

attempted it. During the whole day we anxiously sought an

opportunity of bathing, but to no purpose; for the hulk was now

entirely besieged on all sides with sharks—no doubt the identical

monsters who had devoured our poor companion on the evening

before, and who were in momentary expectation of another similar

feast. This circumstance occasioned us the most bitter regret and

filled us with the most depressing and melancholy forebodings. We

had experienced indescribable relief in bathing, and to have this

resource cut off in so frightful a manner was more than we could

bear. Nor, indeed, were we altogether free from the apprehension

of immediate danger, for the least slip or false movement would

have thrown us at once within reach of those voracious fish, who

frequently thrust themselves directly upon us, swimming up to

leeward. No shouts or exertions on our part seemed to alarm them.

Even when one of the largest was struck with an axe by Peters and

much wounded, he persisted in his attempts to push in where we

were. A cloud came up at dusk, but, to our extreme anguish,

passed over without discharging itself. It is quite impossible to

conceive our sufferings from thirst at this period. We passed a

sleepless night, both on this account and through dread of the

sharks.

August 3. No prospect of relief, and the brig lying still more

and more along, so that now we could not maintain a footing upon

deck at all. Busied ourselves in securing our wine and

tortoise-meat, so that we might not lose them in the event of our

rolling over. Got out two stout spikes from the forechains, and,

by means of the axe, drove them into the hull to windward within

a couple of feet of the water, this not being very far from the

keel, as we were nearly upon our beam-ends. To these spikes we

now lashed our provisions, as being more secure than their former

position beneath the chains. Suffered great agony from thirst

during the whole day—no chance of bathing on account of the

sharks, which never left us for a moment. Found it impossible to

sleep.

August 4. A little before daybreak we perceived that the hulk was

heeling over, and aroused ourselves to prevent being thrown off

by the movement. At first the roll was slow and gradual, and we

contrived to clamber over to windward very well, having taken the

precaution to leave ropes hanging from the spikes we had driven

in for the provision. But we had not calculated sufficiently upon

the acceleration of the impetus; for, presently the heel became

too violent to allow of our keeping pace with it; and, before

either of us knew what was to happen, we found ourselves hurled

furiously into the sea, and struggling several fathoms beneath

the surface, with the huge hull immediately above us.

In going under the water I had been obliged to let go my hold

upon the rope; and finding that I was completely beneath the

vessel, and my strength nearly exhausted, I scarcely made a

struggle for life, and resigned myself, in a few seconds, to die.

But here again I was deceived, not having taken into

consideration the natural rebound of the hull to windward. The

whirl of the water upward, which the vessel occasioned in rolling

partially back, brought me to the surface still more violently

than I had been plunged beneath. Upon coming up I found myself

about twenty yards from the hulk, as near as I could judge. She

was lying keel up, rocking furiously from side to side, and the

sea in all directions around was much agitated, and full of

strong whirlpools. I could see nothing of Peters. An oil-cask was

floating within a few feet of me, and various other articles from

the brig were scattered about.

My principal terror was now on account of the sharks, which I

knew to be in my vicinity. In order to deter these, if possible,

from approaching me, I splashed the water vigorously with both

hands and feet as I swam towards the hulk, creating a body of

foam. I have no doubt that to this expedient, simple as it was, I

was indebted for my preservation; for the sea all round the brig,

just before her rolling over, was so crowded with these monsters,

that I must have been, and really was, in actual contact with

some of them during my progress. By great good fortune, however,

I reached the side of the vessel in safety, although so utterly

weakened by the violent exertion I had used that I should never

have been able to get upon it but for the timely assistance of

Peters, who, now, to my great joy, made his appearance (having

scrambled up to the keel from the opposite side of the hull), and

threw me the end of a rope—one of those which had been attached

to the spikes.

Having barely escaped this danger, our attention was now directed

to the dreadful imminency of another—that of absolute starvation.

Our whole stock of provision had been swept overboard in spite of

all our care in securing it; and seeing no longer the remotest

possibility of obtaining more, we gave way both of us to despair,

weeping aloud like children, and neither of us attempting to

offer consolation to the other. Such weakness can scarcely be

conceived, and to those who have never been similarly situated

will, no doubt, appear unnatural; but it must be remembered that

our intellects were so entirely disordered by the long course of

privation and terror to which we had been subjected, that we

could not justly be considered, at that period, in the light of

rational beings. In subsequent perils, nearly as great, if not

greater, I bore up with fortitude against all the evils of my

situation, and Peters, it will be seen, evinced a stoical

philosophy nearly as incredible as his present childlike

supineness and imbecility—the mental condition made the

difference.

The overturning of the brig, even with the consequent loss of the

wine and turtle, would not, in fact, have rendered our situation

more deplorable than before, except for the disappearance of the

bedclothes by which we had been hitherto enabled to catch

rainwater, and of the jug in which we had kept it when caught;

for we found the whole bottom, from within two or three feet of

the bends as far as the keel, together with the keel itself,

thickly covered with large barnacles, which proved to be

excellent and highly nutritious food. Thus, in two important

respects, the accident we had so greatly dreaded proved to be a

benefit rather than an injury; it had opened to us a supply of

provisions which we could not have exhausted, using it

moderately, in a month; and it had greatly contributed to our

comfort as regards position, we being much more at ease, and in

infinitely less danger, than before.

The difficulty, however, of now obtaining water blinded us to all

the benefits of the change in our condition. That we might be

ready to avail ourselves, as far as possible, of any shower which

might fall we took off our shirts, to make use of them as we had

of the sheets—not hoping, of course, to get more in this way,

even under the most favorable circumstances, than half a gill at

a time. No signs of a cloud appeared during the day, and the

agonies of our thirst were nearly intolerable. At night, Peters

obtained about an hour’s disturbed sleep, but my intense

sufferings would not permit me to close my eyes for a single

moment.

August 5. To-day, a gentle breeze springing up carried us through

a vast quantity of seaweed, among which we were so fortunate as

to find eleven small crabs, which afforded us several delicious

meals. Their shells being quite soft, we ate them entire, and

found that they irritated our thirst far less than the barnacles.

Seeing no trace of sharks among the seaweed, we also ventured to

bathe, and remained in the water for four or five hours, during

which we experienced a very sensible diminution of our thirst.

Were greatly refreshed, and spent the night somewhat more

comfortably than before, both of us snatching a little sleep.

August 6. This day we were blessed by a brisk and continual rain,

lasting from about noon until after dark. Bitterly did we now

regret the loss of our jug and carboy; for, in spite of the

little means we had of catching the water, we might have filled

one, if not both of them. As it was, we contrived to satisfy the

cravings of thirst by suffering the shirts to become saturated,

and then wringing them so as to let the grateful fluid trickle

into our mouths. In this occupation we passed the entire day.

August 7. Just at daybreak we both at the same instant descried a

sail to the eastward, and evidently coming towards us! We

hailed the glorious sight with a long, although feeble shout of

rapture; and began instantly to make every signal in our power,

by flaring the shirts in the air, leaping as high as our weak

condition would permit, and even by hallooing with all the

strength of our lungs, although the vessel could not have been

less than fifteen miles distant. However, she still continued to

near our hulk, and we felt that, if she but held her present

course, she must eventually come so close as to perceive us. In

about an hour after we first discovered her, we could clearly see

the people on her decks. She was a long, low, and rakish-looking

topsail schooner, with a black ball in her foretopsail, and had,

apparently, a full crew. We now became alarmed, for we could

hardly imagine it possible that she did not observe us, and were

apprehensive that she meant to leave us to perish as we were—an

act of fiendish barbarity, which, however incredible it may

appear, has been repeatedly perpetuated at sea, under

circumstances very nearly similar, and by beings who were

regarded as belonging to the human species. {*2} In this

instance, however, by the mercy of God, we were destined to be

most happily deceived; for, presently we were aware of a sudden

commotion on the deck of the stranger, who immediately afterward

ran up a British flag, and, hauling her wind, bore up directly

upon us. In half an hour more we found ourselves in her cabin.

She proved to be the Jane Guy, of Liverpool, Captain Guy, bound

on a sealing and trading voyage to the South Seas and Pacific.

CHAPTER 14

The Jane Guy was a fine-looking topsail schooner of a hundred

and eighty tons burden. She was unusually sharp in the bows, and

on a wind, in moderate weather, the fastest sailer I have ever

seen. Her qualities, however, as a rough sea-boat, were not so

good, and her draught of water was by far too great for the trade

to which she was destined. For this peculiar service, a larger

vessel, and one of a light proportionate draught, is

desirable—say a vessel of from three hundred to three hundred and

fifty tons. She should be bark-rigged, and in other respects of a

different construction from the usual South Sea ships. It is

absolutely necessary that she should be well armed. She should

have, say ten or twelve twelve-pound carronades, and two or three

long twelves, with brass blunderbusses, and water-tight

arm-chests for each top. Her anchors and cables should be of far

greater strength than is required for any other species of trade,

and, above all, her crew should be numerous and efficient—not

less, for such a vessel as I have described, than fifty or sixty

able-bodied men. The Jane Guy had a crew of thirty-five, all able

seamen, besides the captain and mate, but she was not altogether

as well armed or otherwise equipped, as a navigator acquainted

with the difficulties and dangers of the trade could have

desired.

Captain Guy was a gentleman of great urbanity of manner, and of

considerable experience in the southern traffic, to which he had

devoted a great portion of his life. He was deficient, however,

in energy, and, consequently, in that spirit of enterprise which

is here so absolutely requisite. He was part owner of the vessel

in which he sailed, and was invested with discretionary powers to

cruise in the South Seas for any cargo which might come most

readily to hand. He had on board, as usual in such voyages,

beads, looking-glasses, tinder-works, axes, hatchets, saws,

adzes, planes, chisels, gouges, gimlets, files, spokeshaves,

rasps, hammers, nails, knives, scissors, razors, needles, thread,

crockery-ware, calico, trinkets, and other similar articles.

The schooner sailed from Liverpool on the tenth of July, crossed

the Tropic of Cancer on the twenty-fifth, in longitude twenty

degrees west, and reached Sal, one of the Cape Verd islands, on

the twenty-ninth, where she took in salt and other necessaries

for the voyage. On the third of August, she left the Cape Verds

and steered southwest, stretching over toward the coast of

Brazil, so as to cross the equator between the meridians of

twenty-eight and thirty degrees west longitude. This is the

course usually taken by vessels bound from Europe to the Cape of

Good Hope, or by that route to the East Indies. By proceeding

thus they avoid the calms and strong contrary currents which

continually prevail on the coast of Guinea, while, in the end, it

is found to be the shortest track, as westerly winds are never

wanting afterward by which to reach the Cape. It was Captain

Guy’s intention to make his first stoppage at Kerguelen’s Land—I

hardly know for what reason. On the day we were picked up the

schooner was off Cape St. Roque, in longitude thirty-one degrees

west; so that, when found, we had drifted probably, from north to

south, not less than five-and-twenty degrees!

On board the Jane Guy we were treated with all the kindness our

distressed situation demanded. In about a fortnight, during which

time we continued steering to the southeast, with gentle breezes

and fine weather, both Peters and myself recovered entirely from

the effects of our late privation and dreadful sufferings, and we

began to remember what had passed rather as a frightful dream

from which we had been happily awakened, than as events which had

taken place in sober and naked reality. I have since found that

this species of partial oblivion is usually brought about by

sudden transition, whether from joy to sorrow or from sorrow to

joy—the degree of forgetfulness being proportioned to the degree

of difference in the exchange. Thus, in my own case, I now feel

it impossible to realize the full extent of the misery which I

endured during the days spent upon the hulk. The incidents are

remembered, but not the feelings which the incidents elicited at

the time of their occurrence. I only know, that when they did

occur, I then thought human nature could sustain nothing more of

agony.

We continued our voyage for some weeks without any incidents of

greater moment than the occasional meeting with whaling-ships,

and more frequently with the black or right whale, so called in

contradistinction to the spermaceti. These, however, were chiefly

found south of the twenty-fifth parallel. On the sixteenth of

September, being in the vicinity of the Cape of Good Hope, the

schooner encountered her first gale of any violence since leaving

Liverpool. In this neighborhood, but more frequently to the south

and east of the promontory (we were to the westward), navigators

have often to contend with storms from the northward, which rage

with great fury. They always bring with them a heavy sea, and one

of their most dangerous features is the instantaneous chopping

round of the wind, an occurrence almost certain to take place

during the greatest force of the gale. A perfect hurricane will

be blowing at one moment from the northward or northeast, and in

the next not a breath of wind will be felt in that direction,

while from the southwest it will come out all at once with a

violence almost inconceivable. A bright spot to the southward is

the sure forerunner of the change, and vessels are thus enabled

to take the proper precautions.

It was about six in the morning when the blow came on with a

white squall, and, as usual, from the northward. By eight it had

increased very much, and brought down upon us one of the most

tremendous seas I had then ever beheld. Every thing had been made

as snug as possible, but the schooner laboured excessively, and

gave evidence of her bad qualities as a seaboat, pitching her

forecastle under at every plunge and with the greatest difficulty

struggling up from one wave before she was buried in another.

Just before sunset the bright spot for which we had been on the

look-out made its appearance in the southwest, and in an hour

afterward we perceived the little headsail we carried flapping

listlessly against the mast. In two minutes more, in spite of

every preparation, we were hurled on our beam-ends, as if by

magic, and a perfect wilderness of foam made a clear breach over

us as we lay. The blow from the southwest, however, luckily

proved to be nothing more than a squall, and we had the good

fortune to right the vessel without the loss of a spar. A heavy

cross sea gave us great trouble for a few hours after this, but

toward morning we found ourselves in nearly as good condition as

before the gale. Captain Guy considered that he had made an

escape little less than miraculous.

On the thirteenth of October we came in sight of Prince Edward’s

Island, in latitude 46 degrees 53’ S., longitude 37 degrees 46’

E. Two days afterward we found ourselves near Possession Island,

and presently passed the islands of Crozet, in latitude 42

degrees 59’ S., longitude 48 degrees E. On the eighteenth we made

Kerguelen’s or Desolation Island, in the Southern Indian Ocean,

and came to anchor in Christmas Harbour, having four fathoms of

water.

This island, or rather group of islands, bears southeast from the

Cape of Good Hope, and is distant therefrom nearly eight hundred

leagues. It was first discovered in 1772, by the Baron de

Kergulen, or Kerguelen, a Frenchman, who, thinking the land to

form a portion of an extensive southern continent carried home

information to that effect, which produced much excitement at the

time. The government, taking the matter up, sent the baron back

in the following year for the purpose of giving his new discovery

a critical examination, when the mistake was discovered. In 1777,

Captain Cook fell in with the same group, and gave to the

principal one the name of Desolation Island, a title which it

certainly well deserves. Upon approaching the land, however, the

navigator might be induced to suppose otherwise, as the sides of

most of the hills, from September to March, are clothed with very

brilliant verdure. This deceitful appearance is caused by a small

plant resembling saxifrage, which is abundant, growing in large

patches on a species of crumbling moss. Besides this plant there

is scarcely a sign of vegetation on the island, if we except some

coarse rank grass near the harbor, some lichen, and a shrub which

bears resemblance to a cabbage shooting into seed, and which has

a bitter and acrid taste.

The face of the country is hilly, although none of the hills can

be called lofty. Their tops are perpetually covered with snow.

There are several harbors, of which Christmas Harbour is the most

convenient. It is the first to be met with on the northeast side

of the island after passing Cape Francois, which forms the

northern shore, and, by its peculiar shape, serves to distinguish

the harbour. Its projecting point terminates in a high rock,

through which is a large hole, forming a natural arch. The

entrance is in latitude 48 degrees 40’ S., longitude 69 degrees

6’ E. Passing in here, good anchorage may be found under the

shelter of several small islands, which form a sufficient

protection from all easterly winds. Proceeding on eastwardly from

this anchorage you come to Wasp Bay, at the head of the harbour.

This is a small basin, completely landlocked, into which you can

go with four fathoms, and find anchorage in from ten to three,

hard clay bottom. A ship might lie here with her best bower ahead

all the year round without risk. To the westward, at the head of

Wasp Bay, is a small stream of excellent water, easily procured.

Some seal of the fur and hair species are still to be found on

Kerguelen’s Island, and sea elephants abound. The feathered

tribes are discovered in great numbers. Penguins are very plenty,

and of these there are four different kinds. The royal penguin,

so called from its size and beautiful plumage, is the largest.

The upper part of the body is usually gray, sometimes of a lilac

tint; the under portion of the purest white imaginable. The head

is of a glossy and most brilliant black, the feet also. The chief

beauty of plumage, however, consists in two broad stripes of a

gold color, which pass along from the head to the breast. The

bill is long, and either pink or bright scarlet. These birds walk

erect; with a stately carriage. They carry their heads high with

their wings drooping like two arms, and, as their tails project

from their body in a line with the legs, the resemblance to a

human figure is very striking, and would be apt to deceive the

spectator at a casual glance or in the gloom of the evening. The

royal penguins which we met with on Kerguelen’s Land were rather

larger than a goose. The other kinds are the macaroni, the

jackass, and the rookery penguin. These are much smaller, less

beautiful in plumage, and different in other respects.

Besides the penguin many other birds are here to be found, among

which may be mentioned sea-hens, blue peterels, teal, ducks, Port

Egmont hens, shags, Cape pigeons, the nelly, sea swallows, terns,

sea gulls, Mother Carey’s chickens, Mother Carey’s geese, or the

great peterel, and, lastly, the albatross.

The great peterel is as large as the common albatross, and is

carnivorous. It is frequently called the break-bones, or osprey

peterel. They are not at all shy, and, when properly cooked, are

palatable food. In flying they sometimes sail very close to the

surface of the water, with the wings expanded, without appearing

to move them in the least degree, or make any exertion with them

whatever.

The albatross is one of the largest and fiercest of the South Sea

birds. It is of the gull species, and takes its prey on the wing,

never coming on land except for the purpose of breeding. Between

this bird and the penguin the most singular friendship exists.

Their nests are constructed with great uniformity upon a plan

concerted between the two species—that of the albatross being

placed in the centre of a little square formed by the nests of

four penguins. Navigators have agreed in calling an assemblage of

such encampments a rookery. These rookeries have been often

described, but as my readers may not all have seen these

descriptions, and as I shall have occasion hereafter to speak of

the penguin and albatross, it will not be amiss to say something

here of their mode of building and living.

When the season for incubation arrives, the birds assemble in

vast numbers, and for some days appear to be deliberating upon

the proper course to be pursued. At length they proceed to

action. A level piece of ground is selected, of suitable extent,

usually comprising three or four acres, and situated as near the

sea as possible, being still beyond its reach. The spot is chosen

with reference to its evenness of surface, and that is preferred

which is the least encumbered with stones. This matter being

arranged, the birds proceed, with one accord, and actuated

apparently by one mind, to trace out, with mathematical accuracy,

either a square or other parallelogram, as may best suit the

nature of the ground, and of just sufficient size to accommodate

easily all the birds assembled, and no more—in this particular

seeming determined upon preventing the access of future

stragglers who have not participated in the labor of the

encampment. One side of the place thus marked out runs parallel

with the water’s edge, and is left open for ingress or egress.

Having defined the limits of the rookery, the colony now begin to

clear it of every species of rubbish, picking up stone by stone,

and carrying them outside of the lines, and close by them, so as

to form a wall on the three inland sides. Just within this wall a

perfectly level and smooth walk is formed, from six to eight feet

wide, and extending around the encampment—thus serving the

purpose of a general promenade.

The next process is to partition out the whole area into small

squares exactly equal in size. This is done by forming narrow

paths, very smooth, and crossing each other at right angles

throughout the entire extent of the rookery. At each intersection

of these paths the nest of an albatross is constructed, and a

penguin’s nest in the centre of each square—thus every penguin is

surrounded by four albatrosses, and each albatross by a like

number of penguins. The penguin’s nest consists of a hole in the

earth, very shallow, being only just of sufficient depth to keep

her single egg from rolling. The albatross is somewhat less

simple in her arrangements, erecting a hillock about a foot high

and two in diameter. This is made of earth, seaweed, and shells.

On its summit she builds her nest.

The birds take especial care never to leave their nests

unoccupied for an instant during the period of incubation, or,

indeed, until the young progeny are sufficiently strong to take

care of themselves. While the male is absent at sea in search of

food, the female remains on duty, and it is only upon the return

of her partner that she ventures abroad. The eggs are never left

uncovered at all—while one bird leaves the nest the other

nestling in by its side. This precaution is rendered necessary by

the thieving propensities prevalent in the rookery, the

inhabitants making no scruple to purloin each other’s eggs at

every good opportunity.

Although there are some rookeries in which the penguin and

albatross are the sole population, yet in most of them a variety

of oceanic birds are to be met with, enjoying all the privileges

of citizenship, and scattering their nests here and there,

wherever they can find room, never interfering, however, with the

stations of the larger species. The appearance of such

encampments, when seen from a distance, is exceedingly singular.

The whole atmosphere just above the settlement is darkened with

the immense number of the albatross (mingled with the smaller

tribes) which are continually hovering over it, either going to

the ocean or returning home. At the same time a crowd of penguins

are to be observed, some passing to and fro in the narrow alleys,

and some marching with the military strut so peculiar to them,

around the general promenade ground which encircles the rookery.

In short, survey it as we will, nothing can be more astonishing

than the spirit of reflection evinced by these feathered beings,

and nothing surely can be better calculated to elicit reflection

in every well-regulated human intellect.

On the morning after our arrival in Christmas Harbour the chief

mate, Mr. Patterson, took the boats, and (although it was

somewhat early in the season) went in search of seal, leaving the

captain and a young relation of his on a point of barren land to

the westward, they having some business, whose nature I could not

ascertain, to transact in the interior of the island. Captain Guy

took with him a bottle, in which was a sealed letter, and made

his way from the point on which he was set on shore toward one of

the highest peaks in the place. It is probable that his design

was to leave the letter on that height for some vessel which he

expected to come after him. As soon as we lost sight of him we

proceeded (Peters and myself being in the mate’s boat) on our

cruise around the coast, looking for seal. In this business we

were occupied about three weeks, examining with great care every

nook and corner, not only of Kerguelen’s Land, but of the several

small islands in the vicinity. Our labours, however, were not

crowned with any important success. We saw a great many fur seal,

but they were exceedingly shy, and with the greatest exertions,

we could only procure three hundred and fifty skins in all. Sea

elephants were abundant, especially on the western coast of the

mainland, but of these we killed only twenty, and this with great

difficulty. On the smaller islands we discovered a good many of

the hair seal, but did not molest them. We returned to the

schooner on the eleventh, where we found Captain Guy and his

nephew, who gave a very bad account of the interior, representing

it as one of the most dreary and utterly barren countries in the

world. They had remained two nights on the island, owing to some

misunderstanding, on the part of the second mate, in regard to

the sending a jollyboat from the schooner to take them off.

CHAPTER 15

On the twelfth we made sail from Christmas Harbour retracing our

way to the westward, and leaving Marion’s Island, one of Crozet’s

group, on the larboard. We afterward passed Prince Edward’s

Island, leaving it also on our left, then, steering more to the

northward, made, in fifteen days, the islands of Tristan

d’Acunha, in latitude 37 degrees 8’ S, longitude 12 degrees 8’ W.

This group, now so well known, and which consists of three

circular islands, was first discovered by the Portuguese, and was

visited afterward by the Dutch in 1643, and by the French in

1767. The three islands together form a triangle, and are distant

from each other about ten miles, there being fine open passages

between. The land in all of them is very high, especially in

Tristan d’Acunha, properly so called. This is the largest of the

group, being fifteen miles in circumference, and so elevated that

it can be seen in clear weather at the distance of eighty or

ninety miles. A part of the land toward the north rises more than

a thousand feet perpendicularly from the sea. A tableland at this

height extends back nearly to the centre of the island, and from

this tableland arises a lofty cone like that of Teneriffe. The

lower half of this cone is clothed with trees of good size, but

the upper region is barren rock, usually hidden among the clouds,

and covered with snow during the greater part of the year. There

are no shoals or other dangers about the island, the shores being

remarkably bold and the water deep. On the northwestern coast is

a bay, with a beach of black sand where a landing with boats can

be easily effected, provided there be a southerly wind. Plenty of

excellent water may here be readily procured; also cod and other

fish may be taken with hook and line.

The next island in point of size, and the most westwardly of the

group, is that called the Inaccessible. Its precise situation is

37 degrees 17’ S. latitude, longitude 12 degrees 24’ W. It is

seven or eight miles in circumference, and on all sides presents

a forbidding and precipitous aspect. Its top is perfectly flat,

and the whole region is sterile, nothing growing upon it except a

few stunted shrubs.

Nightingale Island, the smallest and most southerly, is in

latitude 37 degrees 26’ S., longitude 12 degrees 12’ W. Off its

southern extremity is a high ledge of rocky islets; a few also of

a similar appearance are seen to the northeast. The ground is

irregular and sterile, and a deep valley partially separates it.

The shores of these islands abound, in the proper season, with

sea lions, sea elephants, the hair and fur seal, together with a

great variety of oceanic birds. Whales are also plenty in their

vicinity. Owing to the ease with which these various animals were

here formerly taken, the group has been much visited since its

discovery. The Dutch and French frequented it at a very early

period. In 1790, Captain Patten, of the ship Industry, of

Philadelphia, made Tristan d’Acunha, where he remained seven

months (from August, 1790, to April, 1791) for the purpose of

collecting sealskins. In this time he gathered no less than five

thousand six hundred, and says that he would have had no

difficulty in loading a large ship with oil in three weeks. Upon

his arrival he found no quadrupeds, with the exception of a few

wild goats; the island now abounds with all our most valuable

domestic animals, which have been introduced by subsequent

navigators.

I believe it was not long after Captain Patten’s visit that

Captain Colquhoun, of the American brig Betsey, touched at the

largest of the islands for the purpose of refreshment. He planted

onions, potatoes, cabbages, and a great many other vegetables, an

abundance of all which is now to be met with.

In 1811, a Captain Haywood, in the Nereus, visited Tristan. He

found there three Americans, who were residing upon the island to

prepare sealskins and oil. One of these men was named Jonathan

Lambert, and he called himself the sovereign of the country. He

had cleared and cultivated about sixty acres of land, and turned

his attention to raising the coffee-plant and sugar-cane, with

which he had been furnished by the American Minister at Rio

Janeiro. This settlement, however, was finally abandoned, and in

1817 the islands were taken possession of by the British

Government, who sent a detachment for that purpose from the Cape

of Good Hope. They did not, however, retain them long; but, upon

the evacuation of the country as a British possession, two or

three English families took up their residence there

independently of the Government. On the twenty-fifth of March,

1824, the Berwick, Captain Jeffrey, from London to Van Diemen’s

Land, arrived at the place, where they found an Englishman of the

name of Glass, formerly a corporal in the British artillery. He

claimed to be supreme governor of the islands, and had under his

control twenty-one men and three women. He gave a very favourable

account of the salubrity of the climate and of the productiveness

of the soil. The population occupied themselves chiefly in

collecting sealskins and sea elephant oil, with which they traded

to the Cape of Good Hope, Glass owning a small schooner. At the

period of our arrival the governor was still a resident, but his

little community had multiplied, there being fifty-six persons

upon Tristan, besides a smaller settlement of seven on

Nightingale Island. We had no difficulty in procuring almost

every kind of refreshment which we required—sheep, hogs,

bullocks, rabbits, poultry, goats, fish in great variety, and

vegetables were abundant. Having come to anchor close in with the

large island, in eighteen fathoms, we took all we wanted on board

very conveniently. Captain Guy also purchased of Glass five

hundred sealskins and some ivory. We remained here a week, during

which the prevailing winds were from the northward and westward,

and the weather somewhat hazy. On the fifth of November we made

sail to the southward and westward, with the intention of having

a thorough search for a group of islands called the Auroras,

respecting whose existence a great diversity of opinion has

existed.

These islands are said to have been discovered as early as 1762,

by the commander of the ship Aurora. In 1790, Captain Manuel de

Oyarvido, in the ship Princess, belonging to the Royal Philippine

Company, sailed, as he asserts, directly among them. In 1794, the

Spanish corvette Atrevida went with the determination of

ascertaining their precise situation, and, in a paper published

by the Royal Hydrographical Society of Madrid in the year 1809,

the following language is used respecting this expedition: “The

corvette Atrevida practised, in their immediate vicinity, from

the twenty-first to the twenty-seventh of January, all the

necessary observations, and measured by chronometers the

difference of longitude between these islands and the port of

Soledad in the Manillas. The islands are three, they are very

nearly in the same meridian; the centre one is rather low, and

the other two may be seen at nine leagues’ distance.” The

observations made on board the Atrevida give the following

results as the precise situation of each island. The most

northern is in latitude 52 degrees 37’ 24” S., longitude 47

degrees, 43’ 15” W.; the middle one in latitude 53 degrees 2’ 40”

S., longitude 47 degrees 55’ 15” W.; and the most southern in

latitude 53 degrees 15’ 22” S., longitude 47 degrees 57’ 15” W.

On the twenty-seventh of January, 1820, Captain James Weddel, of

the British navy, sailed from Staten Land also in search of the

Auroras. He reports that, having made the most diligent search

and passed not only immediately over the spots indicated by the

commander of the Atrevida, but in every direction throughout the

vicinity of these spots, he could discover no indication of land.

These conflicting statements have induced other navigators to

look out for the islands; and, strange to say, while some have

sailed through every inch of sea where they are supposed to lie

without finding them, there have been not a few who declare

positively that they have seen them; and even been close in with

their shores. It was Captain Guy’s intention to make every

exertion within his power to settle the question so oddly in

dispute. {*3}

We kept on our course, between the south and west, with variable

weather, until the twentieth of the month, when we found

ourselves on the debated ground, being in latitude 53 degrees 15’

S., longitude 47 degrees 58’ W.—that is to say, very nearly upon

the spot indicated as the situation of the most southern of the

group. Not perceiving any sign of land, we continued to the

westward of the parallel of fifty-three degrees south, as far as

the meridian of fifty degrees west. We then stood to the north as

far as the parallel of fifty-two degrees south, when we turned to

the eastward, and kept our parallel by double altitudes, morning

and evening, and meridian altitudes of the planets and moon.

Having thus gone eastwardly to the meridian of the western coast

of Georgia, we kept that meridian until we were in the latitude

from which we set out. We then took diagonal courses throughout

the entire extent of sea circumscribed, keeping a lookout

constantly at the masthead, and repeating our examination with

the greatest care for a period of three weeks, during which the

weather was remarkably pleasant and fair, with no haze

whatsoever. Of course we were thoroughly satisfied that, whatever

islands might have existed in this vicinity at any former period,

no vestige of them remained at the present day. Since my return

home I find that the same ground was traced over, with equal

care, in 1822, by Captain Johnson, of the American schooner

Henry, and by Captain Morrell in the American schooner Wasp—in

both cases with the same result as in our own.

CHAPTER 16

It had been Captain Guy’s original intention, after satisfying

himself about the Auroras, to proceed through the Strait of

Magellan, and up along the western coast of Patagonia; but

information received at Tristan d’Acunha induced him to steer to

the southward, in the hope of falling in with some small islands

said to lie about the parallel of 60 degrees S., longitude 41

degrees 20’ W. In the event of his not discovering these lands,

he designed, should the season prove favourable, to push on

toward the pole. Accordingly, on the twelfth of December, we made

sail in that direction. On the eighteenth we found ourselves

about the station indicated by Glass, and cruised for three days

in that neighborhood without finding any traces of the islands he

had mentioned. On the twenty-first, the weather being unusually

pleasant, we again made sail to the southward, with the

resolution of penetrating in that course as far as possible.

Before entering upon this portion of my narrative, it may be as

well, for the information of those readers who have paid little

attention to the progress of discovery in these regions, to give

some brief account of the very few attempts at reaching the

southern pole which have hitherto been made.

That of Captain Cook was the first of which we have any distinct

account. In 1772 he sailed to the south in the Resolution,

accompanied by Lieutenant Furneaux in the Adventure. In December

he found himself as far as the fifty-eighth parallel of south

latitude, and in longitude 26 degrees 57’ E. Here he met with

narrow fields of ice, about eight or ten inches thick, and

running northwest and southeast. This ice was in large cakes, and

usually it was packed so closely that the vessel had great

difficulty in forcing a passage. At this period Captain Cook

supposed, from the vast number of birds to be seen, and from

other indications, that he was in the near vicinity of land. He

kept on to the southward, the weather being exceedingly cold,

until he reached the sixty-fourth parallel, in longitude 38

degrees 14’ E. Here he had mild weather, with gentle breezes, for

five days, the thermometer being at thirty-six. In January, 1773,

the vessels crossed the Antarctic circle, but did not succeed in

penetrating much farther; for upon reaching latitude 67 degrees

15’ they found all farther progress impeded by an immense body of

ice, extending all along the southern horizon as far as the eye

could reach. This ice was of every variety—and some large floes

of it, miles in extent, formed a compact mass, rising eighteen or

twenty feet above the water. It being late in the season, and no

hope entertained of rounding these obstructions, Captain Cook now

reluctantly turned to the northward.

In the November following he renewed his search in the Antarctic.

In latitude 59 degrees 40’ he met with a strong current setting

to the southward. In December, when the vessels were in latitude

67 degrees 31’, longitude 142 degrees 54’ W., the cold was

excessive, with heavy gales and fog. Here also birds were

abundant; the albatross, the penguin, and the peterel especially.

In latitude 70 degrees 23’ some large islands of ice were

encountered, and shortly afterward the clouds to the southward

were observed to be of a snowy whiteness, indicating the vicinity

of field ice. In latitude 71 degrees 10’, longitude 106 degrees

54’ W., the navigators were stopped, as before, by an immense

frozen expanse, which filled the whole area of the southern

horizon. The northern edge of this expanse was ragged and broken,

so firmly wedged together as to be utterly impassible, and

extending about a mile to the southward. Behind it the frozen

surface was comparatively smooth for some distance, until

terminated in the extreme background by gigantic ranges of ice

mountains, the one towering above the other. Captain Cook

concluded that this vast field reached the southern pole or was

joined to a continent. Mr. J. N. Reynolds, whose great exertions

and perseverance have at length succeeded in getting set on foot

a national expedition, partly for the purpose of exploring these

regions, thus speaks of the attempt of the Resolution. “We are

not surprised that Captain Cook was unable to go beyond 71

degrees 10’, but we are astonished that he did attain that point

on the meridian of 106 degrees 54’ west longitude. Palmer’s Land

lies south of the Shetland, latitude sixty-four degrees, and

tends to the southward and westward farther than any navigator

has yet penetrated. Cook was standing for this land when his

progress was arrested by the ice; which, we apprehend, must

always be the case in that point, and so early in the season as

the sixth of January—and we should not be surprised if a portion

of the icy mountains described was attached to the main body of

Palmer’s Land, or to some other portions of land lying farther to

the southward and westward.”

In 1803, Captains Kreutzenstern and Lisiausky were dispatched by

Alexander of Russia for the purpose of circumnavigating the

globe. In endeavouring to get south, they made no farther than 59

degrees 58’, in longitude 70 degrees 15’ W. They here met with

strong currents setting eastwardly. Whales were abundant, but

they saw no ice. In regard to this voyage, Mr. Reynolds observes

that, if Kreutzenstern had arrived where he did earlier in the

season, he must have encountered ice—it was March when he reached

the latitude specified. The winds, prevailing, as they do, from

the southward and westward, had carried the floes, aided by

currents, into that icy region bounded on the north by Georgia,

east by Sandwich Land and the South Orkneys, and west by the

South Shetland islands.

In 1822, Captain James Weddell, of the British navy, with two

very small vessels, penetrated farther to the south than any

previous navigator, and this, too, without encountering

extraordinary difficulties. He states that although he was

frequently hemmed in by ice before reaching the seventy-second

parallel, yet, upon attaining it, not a particle was to be

discovered, and that, upon arriving at the latitude of 74 degrees

15’, no fields, and only three islands of ice were visible. It is

somewhat remarkable that, although vast flocks of birds were

seen, and other usual indications of land, and although, south of

the Shetlands, unknown coasts were observed from the masthead

tending southwardly, Weddell discourages the idea of land

existing in the polar regions of the south.

On the 11th of January, 1823, Captain Benjamin Morrell, of the

American schooner Wasp, sailed from Kerguelen’s Land with a view

of penetrating as far south as possible. On the first of February

he found himself in latitude 64 degrees 52’ S., longitude 118

degrees 27’ E. The following passage is extracted from his

journal of that date. “The wind soon freshened to an eleven-knot

breeze, and we embraced this opportunity of making to the west;

being however convinced that the farther we went south beyond

latitude sixty-four degrees, the less ice was to be apprehended,

we steered a little to the southward, until we crossed the

Antarctic circle, and were in latitude 69 degrees 15’ E. In this

latitude there was no field ice, and very few ice islands in

sight.”

Under the date of March fourteenth I find also this entry. “The

sea was now entirely free of field ice, and there were not more

than a dozen ice islands in sight. At the same time the

temperature of the air and water was at least thirteen degrees

higher (more mild) than we had ever found it between the

parallels of sixty and sixty-two south. We were now in latitude

70 degrees 14’ S., and the temperature of the air was

forty-seven, and that of the water forty-four. In this situation

I found the variation to be 14 degrees 27’ easterly, per

azimuth… I have several times passed within the Antarctic

circle, on different meridians, and have uniformly found the

temperature, both of the air and the water, to become more and

more mild the farther I advanced beyond the sixty-fifth degree of

south latitude, and that the variation decreases in the same

proportion. While north of this latitude, say between sixty and

sixty-five south, we frequently had great difficulty in finding a

passage for the vessel between the immense and almost innumerable

ice islands, some of which were from one to two miles in

circumference, and more than five hundred feet above the surface

of the water.”

Being nearly destitute of fuel and water, and without proper

instruments, it being also late in the season, Captain Morrell

was now obliged to put back, without attempting any further

progress to the westward, although an entirely open, sea lay

before him. He expresses the opinion that, had not these

overruling considerations obliged him to retreat, he could have

penetrated, if not to the pole itself, at least to the

eighty-fifth parallel. I have given his ideas respecting these

matters somewhat at length, that the reader may have an

opportunity of seeing how far they were borne out by my own

subsequent experience.

In 1831, Captain Briscoe, in the employ of the Messieurs Enderby,

whale-ship owners of London, sailed in the brig Lively for the

South Seas, accompanied by the cutter Tula. On the twenty-eighth

of February, being in latitude 66 degrees 30’ S., longitude 47

degrees 31’ E., he descried land, and “clearly discovered through

the snow the black peaks of a range of mountains running E. S.

E.” He remained in this neighbourhood during the whole of the

following month, but was unable to approach the coast nearer than

within ten leagues, owing to the boisterous state of the weather.

Finding it impossible to make further discovery during this

season, he returned northward to winter in Van Diemen’s Land.

In the beginning of 1832 he again proceeded southwardly, and on

the fourth of February land was seen to the southeast in latitude

67 degrees 15’ longitude 69 degrees 29’ W. This was soon found to

be an island near the headland of the country he had first

discovered. On the twenty-first of the month he succeeded in

landing on the latter, and took possession of it in the name of

William IV, calling it Adelaide’s Island, in honour of the

English queen. These particulars being made known to the Royal

Geographical Society of London, the conclusion was drawn by that

body “that there is a continuous tract of land extending from 47

degrees 30’ E. to 69 degrees 29’ W. longitude, running the

parallel of from sixty-six to sixty-seven degrees south

latitude.” In respect to this conclusion Mr. Reynolds observes:

“In the correctness of it we by no means concur; nor do the

discoveries of Briscoe warrant any such indifference. It was

within these limits that Weddel proceeded south on a meridian to

the east of Georgia, Sandwich Land, and the South Orkney and

Shetland islands.” My own experience will be found to testify

most directly to the falsity of the conclusion arrived at by the

society.

These are the principal attempts which have been made at

penetrating to a high southern latitude, and it will now be seen

that there remained, previous to the voyage of the Jane, nearly

three hundred degrees of longitude in which the Antarctic circle

had not been crossed at all. Of course a wide field lay before us

for discovery, and it was with feelings of most intense interest

that I heard Captain Guy express his resolution of pushing boldly

to the southward.

CHAPTER 17

We kept our course southwardly for four days after giving up the

search for Glass’s islands, without meeting with any ice at all.

On the twenty-sixth, at noon, we were in latitude 63 degrees 23’

S., longitude 41 degrees 25’ W. We now saw several large ice

islands, and a floe of field ice, not, however, of any great

extent. The winds generally blew from the southeast, or the

northeast, but were very light. Whenever we had a westerly wind,

which was seldom, it was invariably attended with a rain squall.

Every day we had more or less snow. The thermometer, on the

twenty-seventh stood at thirty-five.

January 1, 1828.—This day we found ourselves completely hemmed in

by the ice, and our prospects looked cheerless indeed. A strong

gale blew, during the whole forenoon, from the northeast, and

drove large cakes of the drift against the rudder and counter

with such violence that we all trembled for the consequences.

Toward evening, the gale still blowing with fury, a large field

in front separated, and we were enabled, by carrying a press of

sail to force a passage through the smaller flakes into some open

water beyond. As we approached this space we took in sail by

degrees, and having at length got clear, lay-to under a single

reefed foresail.

January 2.—We had now tolerably pleasant weather. At noon we

found ourselves in latitude 69 degrees 10’ S, longitude 42

degrees 20’ W, having crossed the Antarctic circle. Very little

ice was to be seen to the southward, although large fields of it

lay behind us. This day we rigged some sounding gear, using a

large iron pot capable of holding twenty gallons, and a line of

two hundred fathoms. We found the current setting to the north,

about a quarter of a mile per hour. The temperature of the air

was now about thirty-three. Here we found the variation to be 14

degrees 28’ easterly, per azimuth.

January 5.—We had still held on to the southward without any very

great impediments. On this morning, however, being in latitude 73

degrees 15’ E., longitude 42 degrees 10’ W, we were again brought

to a stand by an immense expanse of firm ice. We saw,

nevertheless, much open water to the southward, and felt no doubt

of being able to reach it eventually. Standing to the eastward

along the edge of the floe, we at length came to a passage of

about a mile in width, through which we warped our way by

sundown. The sea in which we now were was thickly covered with

ice islands, but had no field ice, and we pushed on boldly as

before. The cold did not seem to increase, although we had snow

very frequently, and now and then hail squalls of great violence.

Immense flocks of the albatross flew over the schooner this day,

going from southeast to northwest.

January 7.—The sea still remained pretty well open, so that we

had no difficulty in holding on our course. To the westward we

saw some icebergs of incredible size, and in the afternoon passed

very near one whose summit could not have been less than four

hundred fathoms from the surface of the ocean. Its girth was

probably, at the base, three-quarters of a league, and several

streams of water were running from crevices in its sides. We

remained in sight of this island two days, and then only lost it

in a fog.

January 10.—Early this morning we had the misfortune to lose a

man overboard. He was an American named Peter Vredenburgh, a

native of New York, and was one of the most valuable hands on

board the schooner. In going over the bows his foot slipped, and

he fell between two cakes of ice, never rising again. At noon of

this day we were in latitude 78 degrees 30’, longitude 40 degrees

15’ W. The cold was now excessive, and we had hail squalls

continually from the northward and eastward. In this direction

also we saw several more immense icebergs, and the whole horizon

to the eastward appeared to be blocked up with field ice, rising

in tiers, one mass above the other. Some driftwood floated by

during the evening, and a great quantity of birds flew over,

among which were nellies, peterels, albatrosses, and a large bird

of a brilliant blue plumage. The variation here, per azimuth, was

less than it had been previously to our passing the Antarctic

circle.

January 12.—Our passage to the south again looked doubtful, as

nothing was to be seen in the direction of the pole but one

apparently limitless floe, backed by absolute mountains of ragged

ice, one precipice of which arose frowningly above the other. We

stood to the westward until the fourteenth, in the hope of

finding an entrance.

January 14.—This morning we reached the western extremity of the

field which had impeded us, and, weathering it, came to an open

sea, without a particle of ice. Upon sounding with two hundred

fathoms, we here found a current setting southwardly at the rate

of half a mile per hour. The temperature of the air was

forty-seven, that of the water thirty-four. We now sailed to the

southward without meeting any interruption of moment until the

sixteenth, when, at noon, we were in latitude 81 degrees 21’,

longitude 42 degrees W. We here again sounded, and found a

current setting still southwardly, and at the rate of three

quarters of a mile per hour. The variation per azimuth had

diminished, and the temperature of the air was mild and pleasant,

the thermometer being as high as fifty-one. At this period not a

particle of ice was to be discovered. All hands on board now felt

certain of attaining the pole.

January 17.—This day was full of incident. Innumerable flights of

birds flew over us from the southward, and several were shot from

the deck, one of them, a species of pelican, proved to be

excellent eating. About midday a small floe of ice was seen from

the masthead off the larboard bow, and upon it there appeared to

be some large animal. As the weather was good and nearly calm,

Captain Guy ordered out two of the boats to see what it was. Dirk

Peters and myself accompanied the mate in the larger boat. Upon

coming up with the floe, we perceived that it was in the

possession of a gigantic creature of the race of the Arctic bear,

but far exceeding in size the largest of these animals. Being

well armed, we made no scruple of attacking it at once. Several

shots were fired in quick succession, the most of which took

effect, apparently, in the head and body. Nothing discouraged,

however, the monster threw himself from the ice, and swam with

open jaws, to the boat in which were Peters and myself. Owing to

the confusion which ensued among us at this unexpected turn of

the adventure, no person was ready immediately with a second

shot, and the bear had actually succeeded in getting half his

vast bulk across our gunwale, and seizing one of the men by the

small of his back, before any efficient means were taken to repel

him. In this extremity nothing but the promptness and agility of

Peters saved us from destruction. Leaping upon the back of the

huge beast, he plunged the blade of a knife behind the neck,

reaching the spinal marrow at a blow. The brute tumbled into the

sea lifeless, and without a struggle, rolling over Peters as he

fell. The latter soon recovered himself, and a rope being thrown

him, he secured the carcass before entering the boat. We then

returned in triumph to the schooner, towing our trophy behind us.

This bear, upon admeasurement, proved to be full fifteen feet in

his greatest length. His wool was perfectly white, and very

coarse, curling tightly. The eyes were of a blood red, and larger

than those of the Arctic bear, the snout also more rounded,

rather resembling the snout of the bulldog. The meat was tender,

but excessively rank and fishy, although the men devoured it with

avidity, and declared it excellent eating.

Scarcely had we got our prize alongside, when the man at the

masthead gave the joyful shout of “land on the starboard bow!”

All hands were now upon the alert, and, a breeze springing up

very opportunely from the northward and eastward, we were soon

close in with the coast. It proved to be a low rocky islet, of

about a league in circumference, and altogether destitute of

vegetation, if we except a species of prickly pear. In

approaching it from the northward, a singular ledge of rock is

seen projecting into the sea, and bearing a strong resemblance to

corded bales of cotton. Around this ledge to the westward is a

small bay, at the bottom of which our boats effected a convenient

landing.

It did not take us long to explore every portion of the island,

but, with one exception, we found nothing worthy of our

observation. In the southern extremity, we picked up near the

shore, half buried in a pile of loose stones, a piece of wood,

which seemed to have formed the prow of a canoe. There had been

evidently some attempt at carving upon it, and Captain Guy

fancied that he made out the figure of a tortoise, but the

resemblance did not strike me very forcibly. Besides this prow,

if such it were, we found no other token that any living creature

had ever been here before. Around the coast we discovered

occasional small floes of ice—but these were very few. The exact

situation of the islet (to which Captain Guy gave the name of

Bennet’s Islet, in honour of his partner in the ownership of the

schooner) is 82 degrees 50’ S. latitude, 42 degrees 20’ W.

longitude.

We had now advanced to the southward more than eight degrees

farther than any previous navigators, and the sea still lay

perfectly open before us. We found, too, that the variation

uniformly decreased as we proceeded, and, what was still more

surprising, that the temperature of the air, and latterly of the

water, became milder. The weather might even be called pleasant,

and we had a steady but very gentle breeze always from some

northern point of the compass. The sky was usually clear, with

now and then a slight appearance of thin vapour in the southern

horizon—this, however, was invariably of brief duration. Two

difficulties alone presented themselves to our view; we were

getting short of fuel, and symptoms of scurvy had occurred among

several of the crew. These considerations began to impress upon

Captain Guy the necessity of returning, and he spoke of it

frequently. For my own part, confident as I was of soon arriving

at land of some description upon the course we were pursuing, and

having every reason to believe, from present appearances, that we

should not find it the sterile soil met with in the higher Arctic

latitudes, I warmly pressed upon him the expediency of

persevering, at least for a few days longer, in the direction we

were now holding. So tempting an opportunity of solving the great

problem in regard to an Antarctic continent had never yet been

afforded to man, and I confess that I felt myself bursting with

indignation at the timid and ill-timed suggestions of our

commander. I believe, indeed, that what I could not refrain from

saying to him on this head had the effect of inducing him to push

on. While, therefore, I cannot but lament the most unfortunate

and bloody events which immediately arose from my advice, I must

still be allowed to feel some degree of gratification at having

been instrumental, however remotely, in opening to the eye of

science one of the most intensely exciting secrets which has ever

engrossed its attention.

CHAPTER 18

January 18.—This morning {*4} we continued to the southward, with

the same pleasant weather as before. The sea was entirely smooth,

the air tolerably warm and from the northeast, the temperature of

the water fifty-three. We now again got our sounding-gear in

order, and, with a hundred and fifty fathoms of line, found the

current setting toward the pole at the rate of a mile an hour.

This constant tendency to the southward, both in the wind and

current, caused some degree of speculation, and even of alarm, in

different quarters of the schooner, and I saw distinctly that no

little impression had been made upon the mind of Captain Guy. He

was exceedingly sensitive to ridicule, however, and I finally

succeeded in laughing him out of his apprehensions. The variation

was now very trivial. In the course of the day we saw several

large whales of the right species, and innumerable flights of the

albatross passed over the vessel. We also picked up a bush, full

of red berries, like those of the hawthorn, and the carcass of a

singular-looking land-animal. It was three feet in length, and

but six inches in height, with four very short legs, the feet

armed with long claws of a brilliant scarlet, and resembling

coral in substance. The body was covered with a straight silky

hair, perfectly white. The tail was peaked like that of a rat,

and about a foot and a half long. The head resembled a cat’s,

with the exception of the ears—these were flopped like the ears

of a dog. The teeth were of the same brilliant scarlet as the

claws.

January 19.—To-day, being in latitude 83 degrees 20’, longitude

43 degrees 5’ W. (the sea being of an extraordinarily dark

colour), we again saw land from the masthead, and, upon a closer

scrutiny, found it to be one of a group of very large islands.

The shore was precipitous, and the interior seemed to be well

wooded, a circumstance which occasioned us great joy. In about

four hours from our first discovering the land we came to anchor

in ten fathoms, sandy bottom, a league from the coast, as a high

surf, with strong ripples here and there, rendered a nearer

approach of doubtful expediency. The two largest boats were now

ordered out, and a party, well armed (among whom were Peters and

myself), proceeded to look for an opening in the reef which

appeared to encircle the island. After searching about for some

time, we discovered an inlet, which we were entering, when we saw

four large canoes put off from the shore, filled with men who

seemed to be well armed. We waited for them to come up, and, as

they moved with great rapidity, they were soon within hail.

Captain Guy now held up a white handkerchief on the blade of an

oar, when the strangers made a full stop, and commenced a loud

jabbering all at once, intermingled with occasional shouts, in

which we could distinguish the words Anamoo-moo! and Lama-Lama!

They continued this for at least half an hour, during which we

had a good opportunity of observing their appearance.

In the four canoes, which might have been fifty feet long and

five broad, there were a hundred and ten savages in all. They

were about the ordinary stature of Europeans, but of a more

muscular and brawny frame. Their complexion a jet black, with

thick and long woolly hair. They were clothed in skins of an

unknown black animal, shaggy and silky, and made to fit the body

with some degree of skill, the hair being inside, except where

turned out about the neck, wrists, and ankles. Their arms

consisted principally of clubs, of a dark, and apparently very

heavy wood. Some spears, however, were observed among them,

headed with flint, and a few slings. The bottoms of the canoes

were full of black stones about the size of a large egg.

When they had concluded their harangue (for it was clear they

intended their jabbering for such), one of them who seemed to be

the chief stood up in the prow of his canoe, and made signs for

us to bring our boats alongside of him. This hint we pretended

not to understand, thinking it the wiser plan to maintain, if

possible, the interval between us, as their number more than

quadrupled our own. Finding this to be the case, the chief

ordered the three other canoes to hold back, while he advanced

toward us with his own. As soon as he came up with us he leaped

on board the largest of our boats, and seated himself by the side

of Captain Guy, pointing at the same time to the schooner, and

repeating the word Anamoo-moo! and Lama-Lama! We now put back to

the vessel, the four canoes following at a little distance.

Upon getting alongside, the chief evinced symptoms of extreme

surprise and delight, clapping his hands, slapping his thighs and

breast, and laughing obstreperously. His followers behind joined

in his merriment, and for some minutes the din was so excessive

as to be absolutely deafening. Quiet being at length restored,

Captain Guy ordered the boats to be hoisted up, as a necessary

precaution, and gave the chief (whose name we soon found to be

Too-wit) to understand that we could admit no more than twenty of

his men on deck at one time. With this arrangement he appeared

perfectly satisfied, and gave some directions to the canoes, when

one of them approached, the rest remaining about fifty yards off.

Twenty of the savages now got on board, and proceeded to ramble

over every part of the deck, and scramble about among the

rigging, making themselves much at home, and examining every

article with great inquisitiveness.

It was quite evident that they had never before seen any of the

white race—from whose complexion, indeed, they appeared to

recoil. They believed the Jane to be a living creature, and

seemed to be afraid of hurting it with the points of their

spears, carefully turning them up. Our crew were much amused with

the conduct of Too-wit in one instance. The cook was splitting

some wood near the galley, and, by accident, struck his axe into

the deck, making a gash of considerable depth. The chief

immediately ran up, and pushing the cook on one side rather

roughly, commenced a half whine, half howl, strongly indicative

of sympathy in what he considered the sufferings of the schooner,

patting and smoothing the gash with his hand, and washing it from

a bucket of seawater which stood by. This was a degree of

ignorance for which we were not prepared, and for my part I could

not help thinking some of it affected.

When the visitors had satisfied, as well as they could, their

curiosity in regard to our upper works, they were admitted below,

when their amazement exceeded all bounds. Their astonishment now

appeared to be far too deep for words, for they roamed about in

silence, broken only by low ejaculations. The arms afforded them

much food for speculation, and they were suffered to handle and

examine them at leisure. I do not believe that they had the least

suspicion of their actual use, but rather took them for idols,

seeing the care we had of them, and the attention with which we

watched their movements while handling them. At the great guns

their wonder was redoubled. They approached them with every mark

of the profoundest reverence and awe, but forbore to examine them

minutely. There were two large mirrors in the cabin, and here was

the acme of their amazement. Too-wit was the first to approach

them, and he had got in the middle of the cabin, with his face to

one and his back to the other, before he fairly perceived them.

Upon raising his eyes and seeing his reflected self in the glass,

I thought the savage would go mad; but, upon turning short round

to make a retreat, and beholding himself a second time in the

opposite direction, I was afraid he would expire upon the spot.

No persuasion could prevail upon him to take another look;

throwing himself upon the floor, with his face buried in his

hands, he remained thus until we were obliged to drag him upon

deck.

The whole of the savages were admitted on board in this manner,

twenty at a time, Too-wit being suffered to remain during the

entire period. We saw no disposition to thievery among them, nor

did we miss a single article after their departure. Throughout

the whole of their visit they evinced the most friendly manner.

There were, however, some points in their demeanour which we

found it impossible to understand; for example, we could not get

them to approach several very harmless objects—such as the

schooner’s sails, an egg, an open book, or a pan of flour. We

endeavoured to ascertain if they had among them any articles

which might be turned to account in the way of traffic, but found

great difficulty in being comprehended. We made out,

nevertheless, what greatly astonished us, that the islands

abounded in the large tortoise of the Gallipagos, one of which we

saw in the canoe of Too-wit. We saw also some biche de mer in the

hands of one of the savages, who was greedily devouring it in its

natural state. These anomalies—for they were such when considered

in regard to the latitude—induced Captain Guy to wish for a

thorough investigation of the country, in the hope of making a

profitable speculation in his discovery. For my own part, anxious

as I was to know something more of these islands, I was still

more earnestly bent on prosecuting the voyage to the southward

without delay. We had now fine weather, but there was no telling

how long it would last; and being already in the eighty-fourth

parallel, with an open sea before us, a current setting strongly

to the southward, and the wind fair, I could not listen with any

patience to a proposition of stopping longer than was absolutely

necessary for the health of the crew and the taking on board a

proper supply of fuel and fresh provisions. I represented to the

captain that we might easily make this group on our return, and

winter here in the event of being blocked up by the ice. He at

length came into my views (for in some way, hardly known to

myself, I had acquired much influence over him), and it was

finally resolved that, even in the event of our finding biche de

mer, we should only stay here a week to recruit, and then push on

to the southward while we might. Accordingly we made every

necessary preparation, and, under the guidance of Too-wit, got

the Jane through the reef in safety, coming to anchor about a

mile from the shore, in an excellent bay, completely landlocked,

on the southeastern coast of the main island, and in ten fathoms

of water, black sandy bottom. At the head of this bay there were

three fine springs (we were told) of good water, and we saw

abundance of wood in the vicinity. The four canoes followed us

in, keeping, however, at a respectful distance. Too-wit himself

remained on board, and, upon our dropping anchor, invited us to

accompany him on shore, and visit his village in the interior. To

this Captain Guy consented; and ten savages being left on board

as hostages, a party of us, twelve in all, got in readiness to

attend the chief. We took care to be well armed, yet without

evincing any distrust. The schooner had her guns run out, her

boarding-nettings up, and every other proper precaution was taken

to guard against surprise. Directions were left with the chief

mate to admit no person on board during our absence, and, in the

event of our not appearing in twelve hours, to send the cutter,

with a swivel, around the island in search of us.

At every step we took inland the conviction forced itself upon us

that we were in a country differing essentially from any hitherto

visited by civilized men. We saw nothing with which we had been

formerly conversant. The trees resembled no growth of either the

torrid, the temperate, or the northern frigid zones, and were

altogether unlike those of the lower southern latitudes we had

already traversed. The very rocks were novel in their mass, their

color, and their stratification; and the streams themselves,

utterly incredible as it may appear, had so little in common with

those of other climates, that we were scrupulous of tasting them,

and, indeed, had difficulty in bringing ourselves to believe that

their qualities were purely those of nature. At a small brook

which crossed our path (the first we had reached) Too-wit and his

attendants halted to drink. On account of the singular character

of the water, we refused to taste it, supposing it to be

polluted; and it was not until some time afterward we came to

understand that such was the appearance of the streams throughout

the whole group. I am at a loss to give a distinct idea of the

nature of this liquid, and cannot do so without many words.

Although it flowed with rapidity in all declivities where common

water would do so, yet never, except when falling in a cascade,

had it the customary appearance of limpidity. It was,

nevertheless, in point of fact, as perfectly limpid as any

limestone water in existence, the difference being only in

appearance. At first sight, and especially in cases where little

declivity was found, it bore resemblance, as regards consistency,

to a thick infusion of gum arabic in common water. But this was

only the least remarkable of its extraordinary qualities. It was

not colourless, nor was it of any one uniform colour—presenting

to the eye, as it flowed, every possible shade of purple; like

the hues of a changeable silk. This variation in shade was

produced in a manner which excited as profound astonishment in

the minds of our party as the mirror had done in the case of

Too-wit. Upon collecting a basinful, and allowing it to settle

thoroughly, we perceived that the whole mass of liquid was made

up of a number of distinct veins, each of a distinct hue; that

these veins did not commingle; and that their cohesion was

perfect in regard to their own particles among themselves, and

imperfect in regard to neighbouring veins. Upon passing the blade

of a knife athwart the veins, the water closed over it

immediately, as with us, and also, in withdrawing it, all traces

of the passage of the knife were instantly obliterated. If,

however, the blade was passed down accurately between the two

veins, a perfect separation was effected, which the power of

cohesion did not immediately rectify. The phenomena of this water

formed the first definite link in that vast chain of apparent

miracles with which I was destined to be at length encircled.

CHAPTER 19

We were nearly three hours in reaching the village, it being more

than nine miles in the interior, and the path lying through a

rugged country. As we passed along, the party of Too-wit (the

whole hundred and ten savages of the canoes) was momentarily

strengthened by smaller detachments, of from two to six or seven,

which joined us, as if by accident, at different turns of the

road. There appeared so much of system in this that I could not

help feeling distrust, and I spoke to Captain Guy of my

apprehensions. It was now too late, however, to recede, and we

concluded that our best security lay in evincing a perfect

confidence in the good faith of Too-wit. We accordingly went on,

keeping a wary eye upon the manoeuvres of the savages, and not

permitting them to divide our numbers by pushing in between. In

this way, passing through a precipitous ravine, we at length

reached what we were told was the only collection of habitations

upon the island. As we came in sight of them, the chief set up a

shout, and frequently repeated the word Klock-klock, which we

supposed to be the name of the village, or perhaps the generic

name for villages.

The dwellings were of the most miserable description imaginable,

and, unlike those of even the lowest of the savage races with

which mankind are acquainted, were of no uniform plan. Some of

them (and these we found belonged to the Wampoos or Yampoos, the

great men of the land) consisted of a tree cut down at about four

feet from the root, with a large black skin thrown over it, and

hanging in loose folds upon the ground. Under this the savage

nestled. Others were formed by means of rough limbs of trees,

with the withered foliage upon them, made to recline, at an angle

of forty-five degrees, against a bank of clay, heaped up, without

regular form, to the height of five or six feet. Others, again,

were mere holes dug in the earth perpendicularly, and covered

over with similar branches, these being removed when the tenant

was about to enter, and pulled on again when he had entered. A

few were built among the forked limbs of trees as they stood, the

upper limbs being partially cut through, so as to bend over upon

the lower, thus forming thicker shelter from the weather. The

greater number, however, consisted of small shallow caverns,

apparently scratched in the face of a precipitous ledge of dark

stone, resembling fuller’s earth, with which three sides of the

village were bounded. At the door of each of these primitive

caverns was a small rock, which the tenant carefully placed

before the entrance upon leaving his residence, for what purpose

I could not ascertain, as the stone itself was never of

sufficient size to close up more than a third of the opening.

This village, if it were worthy of the name, lay in a valley of

some depth, and could only be approached from the southward, the

precipitous ledge of which I have already spoken cutting off all

access in other directions. Through the middle of the valley ran

a brawling stream of the same magical-looking water which has

been described. We saw several strange animals about the

dwellings, all appearing to be thoroughly domesticated. The

largest of these creatures resembled our common hog in the

structure of the body and snout; the tail, however, was bushy,

and the legs slender as those of the antelope. Its motion was

exceedingly awkward and indecisive, and we never saw it attempt

to run. We noticed also several animals very similar in

appearance, but of a greater length of body, and covered with a

black wool. There were a great variety of tame fowls running

about, and these seemed to constitute the chief food of the

natives. To our astonishment we saw black albatross among these

birds in a state of entire domestication, going to sea

periodically for food, but always returning to the village as a

home, and using the southern shore in the vicinity as a place of

incubation. There they were joined by their friends the pelicans

as usual, but these latter never followed them to the dwellings

of the savages. Among the other kinds of tame fowls were ducks,

differing very little from the canvass-back of our own country,

black gannets, and a large bird not unlike the buzzard in

appearance, but not carnivorous. Of fish there seemed to be a

great abundance. We saw, during our visit, a quantity of dried

salmon, rock cod, blue dolphins, mackerel, blackfish, skate,

conger eels, elephantfish, mullets, soles, parrotfish,

leather-jackets, gurnards, hake, flounders, paracutas, and

innumerable other varieties. We noticed, too, that most of them

were similar to the fish about the group of Lord Auckland

Islands, in a latitude as low as fifty-one degrees south. The

Gallipago tortoise was also very plentiful. We saw but few wild

animals, and none of a large size, or of a species with which we

were familiar. One or two serpents of a formidable aspect crossed

our path, but the natives paid them little attention, and we

concluded that they were not venomous.

As we approached the village with Too-wit and his party, a vast

crowd of the people rushed out to meet us, with loud shouts,

among which we could only distinguish the everlasting Anamoo-moo!

and Lama-Lama! We were much surprised at perceiving that, with

one or two exceptions, these new comers were entirely naked, and

skins being used only by the men of the canoes. All the weapons

of the country seemed also to be in the possession of the latter,

for there was no appearance of any among the villagers. There

were a great many women and children, the former not altogether

wanting in what might be termed personal beauty. They were

straight, tall, and well formed, with a grace and freedom of

carriage not to be found in civilized society. Their lips,

however, like those of the men, were thick and clumsy, so that,

even when laughing, the teeth were never disclosed. Their hair

was of a finer texture than that of the males. Among these naked

villagers there might have been ten or twelve who were clothed,

like the party of Too-wit, in dresses of black skin, and armed

with lances and heavy clubs. These appeared to have great

influence among the rest, and were always addressed by the title

Wampoo. These, too, were the tenants of the black skin palaces.

That of Too-wit was situated in the centre of the village, and

was much larger and somewhat better constructed than others of

its kind. The tree which formed its support was cut off at a

distance of twelve feet or thereabouts from the root, and there

were several branches left just below the cut, these serving to

extend the covering, and in this way prevent its flapping about

the trunk. The covering, too, which consisted of four very large

skins fastened together with wooden skewers, was secured at the

bottom with pegs driven through it and into the ground. The floor

was strewed with a quantity of dry leaves by way of carpet.

To this hut we were conducted with great solemnity, and as many

of the natives crowded in after us as possible. Too-wit seated

himself on the leaves, and made signs that we should follow his

example. This we did, and presently found ourselves in a

situation peculiarly uncomfortable, if not indeed critical. We

were on the ground, twelve in number, with the savages, as many

as forty, sitting on their hams so closely around us that, if any

disturbance had arisen, we should have found it impossible to

make use of our arms, or indeed to have risen to our feet. The

pressure was not only inside the tent, but outside, where

probably was every individual on the whole island, the crowd

being prevented from trampling us to death only by the incessant

exertions and vociferations of Too-wit. Our chief security lay,

however, in the presence of Too-wit himself among us, and we

resolved to stick by him closely, as the best chance of

extricating ourselves from the dilemma, sacrificing him

immediately upon the first appearance of hostile design.

After some trouble a certain degree of quiet was restored, when

the chief addressed us in a speech of great length, and very

nearly resembling the one delivered in the canoes, with the

exception that the Anamoo-moos! were now somewhat more

strenuously insisted upon than the Lama-Lamas! We listened in

profound silence until the conclusion of this harangue, when

Captain Guy replied by assuring the chief of his eternal

friendship and goodwill, concluding what he had to say by a

present of several strings of blue beads and a knife. At the

former the monarch, much to our surprise, turned up his nose with

some expression of contempt, but the knife gave him the most

unlimited satisfaction, and he immediately ordered dinner. This

was handed into the tent over the heads of the attendants, and

consisted of the palpitating entrails of a specialis of unknown

animal, probably one of the slim-legged hogs which we had

observed in our approach to the village. Seeing us at a loss how

to proceed, he began, by way of setting us an example, to devour

yard after yard of the enticing food, until we could positively

stand it no longer, and evinced such manifest symptoms of

rebellion of stomach as inspired his majesty with a degree of

astonishment only inferior to that brought about by the

looking-glasses. We declined, however, partaking of the

delicacies before us, and endeavoured to make him understand that

we had no appetite whatever, having just finished a hearty

dejeuner.

When the monarch had made an end of his meal, we commenced a

series of cross-questioning in every ingenious manner we could

devise, with a view of discovering what were the chief

productions of the country, and whether any of them might be

turned to profit. At length he seemed to have some idea of our

meaning, and offered to accompany us to a part of coast where he

assured us the biche de mer (pointing to a specimen of that

animal) was to be found in great abundance. We were glad of this

early opportunity of escaping from the oppression of the crowd,

and signified our eagerness to proceed. We now left the tent,

and, accompanied by the whole population of the village, followed

the chief to the southeastern extremity of the island, nor far

from the bay where our vessel lay at anchor. We waited here for

about an hour, until the four canoes were brought around by some

of the savages to our station. The whole of our party then

getting into one of them, we were paddled along the edge of the

reef before mentioned, and of another still farther out, where we

saw a far greater quantity of biche de mer than the oldest seamen

among us had ever seen in those groups of the lower latitudes

most celebrated for this article of commerce. We stayed near

these reefs only long enough to satisfy ourselves that we could

easily load a dozen vessels with the animal if necessary, when we

were taken alongside the schooner, and parted with Too-wit, after

obtaining from him a promise that he would bring us, in the

course of twenty-four hours, as many of the canvass-back ducks

and Gallipago tortoises as his canoes would hold. In the whole of

this adventure we saw nothing in the demeanour of the natives

calculated to create suspicion, with the single exception of the

systematic manner in which their party was strengthened during

our route from the schooner to the village.

CHAPTER 20

The chief was as good as his word, and we were soon plentifully

supplied with fresh provisions. We found the tortoises as fine as

we had ever seen, and the ducks surpassed our best species of

wild fowl, being exceedingly tender, juicy, and well-flavoured.

Besides these, the savages brought us, upon our making them

comprehend our wishes, a vast quantity of brown celery and scurvy

grass, with a canoe-load of fresh fish and some dried. The celery

was a treat indeed, and the scurvy grass proved of incalculable

benefit in restoring those of our men who had shown symptoms of

disease. In a very short time we had not a single person on the

sick-list. We had also plenty of other kinds of fresh provisions,

among which may be mentioned a species of shellfish resembling

the mussel in shape, but with the taste of an oyster. Shrimps,

too, and prawns were abundant, and albatross and other birds’

eggs with dark shells. We took in, too, a plentiful stock of the

flesh of the hog which I have mentioned before. Most of the men

found it a palatable food, but I thought it fishy and otherwise

disagreeable. In return for these good things we presented the

natives with blue beads, brass trinkets, nails, knives, and

pieces of red cloth, they being fully delighted in the exchange.

We established a regular market on shore, just under the guns of

the schooner, where our barterings were carried on with every

appearance of good faith, and a degree of order which their

conduct at the village of Klock-klock had not led us to expect

from the savages.

Matters went on thus very amicably for several days, during which

parties of the natives were frequently on board the schooner, and

parties of our men frequently on shore, making long excursions

into the interior, and receiving no molestation whatever. Finding

the ease with which the vessel might be loaded with _biche de

mer_, owing to the friendly disposition of the islanders, and the

readiness with which they would render us assistance in

collecting it, Captain Guy resolved to enter into negotiations

with Too-wit for the erection of suitable houses in which to cure

the article, and for the services of himself and tribe in

gathering as much as possible, while he himself took advantage of

the fine weather to prosecute his voyage to the southward. Upon

mentioning this project to the chief he seemed very willing to

enter into an agreement. A bargain was accordingly struck,

perfectly satisfactory to both parties, by which it was arranged

that, after making the necessary preparations, such as laying off

the proper grounds, erecting a portion of the buildings, and

doing some other work in which the whole of our crew would be

required, the schooner should proceed on her route, leaving three

of her men on the island to superintend the fulfilment of the

project, and instruct the natives in drying the biche de mer.

In regard to terms, these were made to depend upon the exertions

of the savages in our absence. They were to receive a stipulated

quantity of blue beads, knives, red cloth, and so forth, for

every certain number of piculs of the biche de mer which should

be ready on our return.

A description of the nature of this important article of

commerce, and the method of preparing it, may prove of some

interest to my readers, and I can find no more suitable place

than this for introducing an account of it. The following

comprehensive notice of the substance is taken from a modern

history of a voyage to the South Seas.

“It is that mollusca from the Indian Seas which is known to

commerce by the French name bouche de mer (a nice morsel from

the sea). If I am not much mistaken, the celebrated Cuvier calls

it gasteropeda pulmonifera. It is abundantly gathered in the

coasts of the Pacific islands, and gathered especially for the

Chinese market, where it commands a great price, perhaps as much

as their much-talked-of edible birds’ nests, which are properly

made up of the gelatinous matter picked up by a species of

swallow from the body of these molluscae. They have no shell, no

legs, nor any prominent part, except an absorbing and an

excretory, opposite organs; but, by their elastic wings, like

caterpillars or worms, they creep in shallow waters, in which,

when low, they can be seen by a kind of swallow, the sharp bill

of which, inserted in the soft animal, draws a gummy and

filamentous substance, which, by drying, can be wrought into the

solid walls of their nest. Hence the name of _gasteropeda

pulmonifera_.

“This mollusca is oblong, and of different sizes, from three to

eighteen inches in length; and I have seen a few that were not

less than two feet long. They were nearly round, a little

flattish on one side, which lies next to the bottom of the sea;

and they are from one to eight inches thick. They crawl up into

shallow water at particular seasons of the year, probably for the

purpose of gendering, as we often find them in pairs. It is when

the sun has the most power on the water, rendering it tepid, that

they approach the shore; and they often go up into places so

shallow that, on the tide’s receding, they are left dry, exposed

to the beat of the sun. But they do not bring forth their young

in shallow water, as we never see any of their progeny, and

full-grown ones are always observed coming in from deep water.

They feed principally on that class of zoophytes which produce

the coral.

“The biche de mer is generally taken in three or four feet of

water; after which they are brought on shore, and split at one

end with a knife, the incision being one inch or more, according

to the size of the mollusca. Through this opening the entrails

are forced out by pressure, and they are much like those of any

other small tenant of the deep. The article is then washed, and

afterward boiled to a certain degree, which must not be too much

or too little. They are then buried in the ground for four hours,

then boiled again for a short time, after which they are dried,

either by the fire or the sun. Those cured by the sun are worth

the most; but where one picul (133 1/3 lbs.) can be cured that

way, I can cure thirty piculs by the fire. When once properly

cured, they can be kept in a dry place for two or three years

without any risk; but they should be examined once in every few

months, say four times a year, to see if any dampness is likely

to affect them.

“The Chinese, as before stated, consider biche de mer a very

great luxury, believing that it wonderfully strengthens and

nourishes the system, and renews the exhausted system of the

immoderate voluptuary. The first quality commands a high price in

Canton, being worth ninety dollars a picul; the second quality,

seventy-five dollars; the third, fifty dollars; the fourth,

thirty dollars; the fifth, twenty dollars; the sixth, twelve

dollars; the seventh, eight dollars; and the eighth, four

dollars; small cargoes, however, will often bring more in

Manilla, Singapore, and Batavia.”

An agreement having been thus entered into, we proceeded

immediately to land everything necessary for preparing the

buildings and clearing the ground. A large flat space near the

eastern shore of the bay was selected, where there was plenty of

both wood and water, and within a convenient distance of the

principal reefs on which the biche de mer was to be procured.

We now all set to work in good earnest, and soon, to the great

astonishment of the savages, had felled a sufficient number of

trees for our purpose, getting them quickly in order for the

framework of the houses, which in two or three days were so far

under way that we could safely trust the rest of the work to the

three men whom we intended to leave behind. These were John

Carson, Alfred Harris, and ___ Peterson (all natives of London, I

believe), who volunteered their services in this respect.

By the last of the month we had everything in readiness for

departure. We had agreed, however, to pay a formal visit of

leave-taking to the village, and Too-wit insisted so

pertinaciously upon our keeping the promise that we did not think

it advisable to run the risk of offending him by a final refusal.

I believe that not one of us had at this time the slightest

suspicion of the good faith of the savages. They had uniformly

behaved with the greatest decorum, aiding us with alacrity in our

work, offering us their commodities, frequently without price,

and never, in any instance, pilfering a single article, although

the high value they set upon the goods we had with us was evident

by the extravagant demonstrations of joy always manifested upon

our making them a present. The women especially were most

obliging in every respect, and, upon the whole, we should have

been the most suspicious of human beings had we entertained a

single thought of perfidy on the part of a people who treated us

so well. A very short while sufficed to prove that this apparent

kindness of disposition was only the result of a deeply laid plan

for our destruction, and that the islanders for whom we

entertained such inordinate feelings of esteem, were among the

most barbarous, subtle, and bloodthirsty wretches that ever

contaminated the face of the globe.

It was on the first of February that we went on shore for the

purpose of visiting the village. Although, as said before, we

entertained not the slightest suspicion, still no proper

precaution was neglected. Six men were left in the schooner, with

instructions to permit none of the savages to approach the vessel

during our absence, under any pretence whatever, and to remain

constantly on deck. The boarding-nettings were up, the guns

double-shotted with grape and canister, and the swivels loaded

with canisters of musket-balls. She lay, with her anchor apeak,

about a mile from the shore, and no canoe could approach her in

any direction without being distinctly seen and exposed to the

full fire of our swivels immediately.

The six men being left on board, our shore-party consisted of

thirty-two persons in all. We were armed to the teeth, having

with us muskets, pistols, and cutlasses; besides, each had a long

kind of seaman’s knife, somewhat resembling the bowie knife now

so much used throughout our western and southern country. A

hundred of the black skin warriors met us at the landing for the

purpose of accompanying us on our way. We noticed, however, with

some surprise, that they were now entirely without arms; and,

upon questioning Too-wit in relation to this circumstance, he

merely answered that Mattee non we pa pa si—meaning that there

was no need of arms where all were brothers. We took this in good

part, and proceeded.

We had passed the spring and rivulet of which I before spoke, and

were now entering upon a narrow gorge leading through the chain

of soapstone hills among which the village was situated. This

gorge was very rocky and uneven, so much so that it was with no

little difficulty we scrambled through it on our first visit to

Klock-klock. The whole length of the ravine might have been a

mile and a half, or probably two miles. It wound in every

possible direction through the hills (having apparently formed,

at some remote period, the bed of a torrent), in no instance

proceeding more than twenty yards without an abrupt turn. The

sides of this dell would have averaged, I am sure, seventy or

eighty feet in perpendicular altitude throughout the whole of

their extent, and in some portions they arose to an astonishing

height, overshadowing the pass so completely that but little of

the light of day could penetrate. The general width was about

forty feet, and occasionally it diminished so as not to allow the

passage of more than five or six persons abreast. In short, there

could be no place in the world better adapted for the

consummation of an ambuscade, and it was no more than natural

that we should look carefully to our arms as we entered upon it.

When I now think of our egregious folly, the chief subject of

astonishment seems to be, that we should have ever ventured,

under any circumstances, so completely into the power of unknown

savages as to permit them to march both before and behind us in

our progress through this ravine. Yet such was the order we

blindly took up, trusting foolishly to the force of our party,

the unarmed condition of Too-wit and his men, the certain

efficacy of our firearms (whose effect was yet a secret to the

natives), and, more than all, to the long-sustained pretension of

friendship kept up by these infamous wretches. Five or six of

them went on before, as if to lead the way, ostentatiously

busying themselves in removing the larger stones and rubbish from

the path. Next came our own party. We walked closely together,

taking care only to prevent separation. Behind followed the main

body of the savages, observing unusual order and decorum.

Dirk Peters, a man named Wilson Allen, and myself were on the

right of our companions, examining, as we went along, the

singular stratification of the precipice which overhung us. A

fissure in the soft rock attracted our attention. It was about

wide enough for one person to enter without squeezing, and

extended back into the hill some eighteen or twenty feet in a

straight course, sloping afterward to the left. The height of the

opening, is far as we could see into it from the main gorge, was

perhaps sixty or seventy feet. There were one or two stunted

shrubs growing from the crevices, bearing a species of filbert

which I felt some curiosity to examine, and pushed in briskly for

that purpose, gathering five or six of the nuts at a grasp, and

then hastily retreating. As I turned, I found that Peters and

Allen had followed me. I desired them to go back, as there was

not room for two persons to pass, saying they should have some of

my nuts. They accordingly turned, and were scrambling back, Allen

being close to the mouth of the fissure, when I was suddenly

aware of a concussion resembling nothing I had ever before

experienced, and which impressed me with a vague conception, if

indeed I then thought of anything, that the whole foundations of

the solid globe were suddenly rent asunder, and that the day of

universal dissolution was at hand.

CHAPTER 21

As soon as I could collect my scattered senses, I found myself

nearly suffocated, and grovelling in utter darkness among a

quantity of loose earth, which was also falling upon me heavily

in every direction, threatening to bury me entirely. Horribly

alarmed at this idea, I struggled to gain my feet, and at last

succeeded. I then remained motionless for some moments,

endeavouring to conceive what had happened to me, and where I

was. Presently I heard a deep groan just at my ear, and afterward

the smothered voice of Peters calling to me for aid in the name

of God. I scrambled one or two paces forward, when I fell

directly over the head and shoulders of my companion, who, I soon

discovered, was buried in a loose mass of earth as far as his

middle, and struggling desperately to free himself from the

pressure. I tore the dirt from around him with all the energy I

could command, and at length succeeded in getting him out.

As soon as we sufficiently recovered from our fright and surprise

to be capable of conversing rationally, we both came to the

conclusion that the walls of the fissure in which we had ventured

had, by some convulsion of nature, or probably from their own

weight, caved in overhead, and that we were consequently lost for

ever, being thus entombed alive. For a long time we gave up

supinely to the most intense agony and despair, such as cannot be

adequately imagined by those who have never been in a similar

position. I firmly believed that no incident ever occurring in

the course of human events is more adapted to inspire the

supremeness of mental and bodily distress than a case like our

own, of living inhumation. The blackness of darkness which

envelops the victim, the terrific oppression of lungs, the

stifling fumes from the damp earth, unite with the ghastly

considerations that we are beyond the remotest confines of hope,

and that such is the allotted portion of the dead, to carry into

the human heart a degree of appalling awe and horror not to be

tolerated—never to be conceived.

At length Peters proposed that we should endeavour to ascertain

precisely the extent of our calamity, and grope about our prison;

it being barely possible, he observed, that some opening might

yet be left us for escape. I caught eagerly at this hope, and,

arousing myself to exertion, attempted to force my way through

the loose earth. Hardly had I advanced a single step before a

glimmer of light became perceptible, enough to convince me that,

at all events, we should not immediately perish for want of air.

We now took some degree of heart, and encouraged each other to

hope for the best. Having scrambled over a bank of rubbish which

impeded our farther progress in the direction of the light, we

found less difficulty in advancing and also experienced some

relief from the excessive oppression of lungs which had tormented

us. Presently we were enabled to obtain a glimpse of the objects

around, and discovered that we were near the extremity of the

straight portion of the fissure, where it made a turn to the

left. A few struggles more, and we reached the bend, when to our

inexpressible joy, there appeared a long seam or crack extending

upward a vast distance, generally at an angle of about forty-five

degrees, although sometimes much more precipitous. We could not

see through the whole extent of this opening; but, as a good deal

of light came down it, we had little doubt of finding at the top

of it (if we could by any means reach the top) a clear passage

into the open air.

I now called to mind that three of us had entered the fissure

from the main gorge, and that our companion, Allen, was still

missing; we determined at once to retrace our steps and look for

him. After a long search, and much danger from the farther caving

in of the earth above us, Peters at length cried out to me that

he had hold of our companion’s foot, and that his whole body was

deeply buried beneath the rubbish beyond the possibility of

extricating him. I soon found that what he said was too true, and

that, of course, life had been long extinct. With sorrowful

hearts, therefore, we left the corpse to its fate, and again made

our way to the bend.

The breadth of the seam was barely sufficient to admit us, and,

after one or two ineffectual efforts at getting up, we began once

more to despair. I have before said that the chain of hills

through which ran the main gorge was composed of a species of

soft rock resembling soapstone. The sides of the cleft we were

now attempting to ascend were of the same material, and so

excessively slippery, being wet, that we could get but little

foothold upon them even in their least precipitous parts; in some

places, where the ascent was nearly perpendicular, the difficulty

was, of course, much aggravated; and, indeed, for some time we

thought insurmountable. We took courage, however, from despair,

and what, by dint of cutting steps in the soft stone with our

bowie knives, and swinging at the risk of our lives, to small

projecting points of a harder species of slaty rock which now and

then protruded from the general mass, we at length reached a

natural platform, from which was perceptible a patch of blue sky,

at the extremity of a thickly-wooded ravine. Looking back now,

with somewhat more leisure, at the passage through which we had

thus far proceeded, we clearly saw from the appearance of its

sides, that it was of late formation, and we concluded that the

concussion, whatever it was, which had so unexpectedly

overwhelmed us, had also, at the same moment, laid open this path

for escape. Being quite exhausted with exertion, and indeed, so

weak that we were scarcely able to stand or articulate, Peters

now proposed that we should endeavour to bring our companions to

the rescue by firing the pistols which still remained in our

girdles—the muskets as well as cutlasses had been lost among the

loose earth at the bottom of the chasm. Subsequent events proved

that, had we fired, we should have sorely repented it, but

luckily a half suspicion of foul play had by this time arisen in

my mind, and we forbore to let the savages know of our

whereabouts.

After having reposed for about an hour, we pushed on slowly up

the ravine, and had gone no great way before we heard a

succession of tremendous yells. At length we reached what might

be called the surface of the ground; for our path hitherto, since

leaving the platform, had lain beneath an archway of high rock

and foliage, at a vast distance overhead. With great caution we

stole to a narrow opening, through which we had a clear sight of

the surrounding country, when the whole dreadful secret of the

concussion broke upon us in one moment and at one view.

The spot from which we looked was not far from the summit of the

highest peak in the range of the soapstone hills. The gorge in

which our party of thirty-two had entered ran within fifty feet

to the left of us. But, for at least one hundred yards, the

channel or bed of this gorge was entirely filled up with the

chaotic ruins of more than a million tons of earth and stone that

had been artificially tumbled within it. The means by which the

vast mass had been precipitated were not more simple than

evident, for sure traces of the murderous work were yet

remaining. In several spots along the top of the eastern side of

the gorge (we were now on the western) might be seen stakes of

wood driven into the earth. In these spots the earth had not

given way, but throughout the whole extent of the face of the

precipice from which the mass had fallen, it was clear, from

marks left in the soil resembling those made by the drill of the

rock blaster, that stakes similar to those we saw standing had

been inserted, at not more than a yard apart, for the length of

perhaps three hundred feet, and ranging at about ten feet back

from the edge of the gulf. Strong cords of grape vine were

attached to the stakes still remaining on the hill, and it was

evident that such cords had also been attached to each of the

other stakes. I have already spoken of the singular

stratification of these soapstone hills; and the description just

given of the narrow and deep fissure through which we effected

our escape from inhumation will afford a further conception of

its nature. This was such that almost every natural convulsion

would be sure to split the soil into perpendicular layers or

ridges running parallel with one another, and a very moderate

exertion of art would be sufficient for effecting the same

purpose. Of this stratification the savages had availed

themselves to accomplish their treacherous ends. There can be no

doubt that, by the continuous line of stakes, a partial rupture

of the soil had been brought about probably to the depth of one

or two feet, when by means of a savage pulling at the end of each

of the cords (these cords being attached to the tops of the

stakes, and extending back from the edge of the cliff), a vast

leverage power was obtained, capable of hurling the whole face of

the hill, upon a given signal, into the bosom of the abyss below.

The fate of our poor companions was no longer a matter of

uncertainty. We alone had escaped from the tempest of that

overwhelming destruction. We were the only living white men upon

the island.

CHAPTER 22

Our situation, as it now appeared, was scarcely less dreadful

than when we had conceived ourselves entombed forever. We saw

before us no prospect but that of being put to death by the

savages, or of dragging out a miserable existence in captivity

among them. We might, to be sure, conceal ourselves for a time

from their observation among the fastnesses of the hills, and, as

a final resort, in the chasm from which we had just issued; but

we must either perish in the long polar winter through cold and

famine, or be ultimately discovered in our efforts to obtain

relief.

The whole country around us seemed to be swarming with savages,

crowds of whom, we now perceived, had come over from the islands

to the southward on flat rafts, doubtless with a view of lending

their aid in the capture and plunder of the Jane. The vessel

still lay calmly at anchor in the bay, those on board being

apparently quite unconscious of any danger awaiting them. How we

longed at that moment to be with them! either to aid in effecting

their escape, or to perish with them in attempting a defence. We

saw no chance even of warning them of their danger without

bringing immediate destruction upon our own heads, with but a

remote hope of benefit to them. A pistol fired might suffice to

apprise them that something wrong had occurred; but the report

could not possibly inform them that their only prospect of safety

lay in getting out of the harbour forthwith—it could not tell

them that no principles of honour now bound them to remain, that

their companions were no longer among the living. Upon hearing

the discharge they could not be more thoroughly prepared to meet

the foe, who were now getting ready to attack, than they already

were, and always had been. No good, therefore, and infinite harm,

would result from our firing, and after mature deliberation, we

forbore.

Our next thought was to attempt to rush toward the vessel, to

seize one of the four canoes which lay at the head of the bay,

and endeavour to force a passage on board. But the utter

impossibility of succeeding in this desperate task soon became

evident. The country, as I said before, was literally swarming

with the natives, skulking among the bushes and recesses of the

hills, so as not to be observed from the schooner. In our

immediate vicinity especially, and blockading the sole path by

which we could hope to attain the shore at the proper point were

stationed the whole party of the black skin warriors, with

Too-wit at their head, and apparently only waiting for some

re-enforcement to commence his onset upon the Jane. The canoes,

too, which lay at the head of the bay, were manned with savages,

unarmed, it is true, but who undoubtedly had arms within reach.

We were forced, therefore, however unwillingly, to remain in our

place of concealment, mere spectators of the conflict which

presently ensued.

In about half an hour we saw some sixty or seventy rafts, or

flatboats, without riggers, filled with savages, and coming round

the southern bight of the harbor. They appeared to have no arms

except short clubs, and stones which lay in the bottom of the

rafts. Immediately afterward another detachment, still larger,

appeared in an opposite direction, and with similar weapons. The

four canoes, too, were now quickly filled with natives, starting

up from the bushes at the head of the bay, and put off swiftly to

join the other parties. Thus, in less time than I have taken to

tell it, and as if by magic, the Jane saw herself surrounded by

an immense multitude of desperadoes evidently bent upon capturing

her at all hazards.

That they would succeed in so doing could not be doubted for an

instant. The six men left in the vessel, however resolutely they

might engage in her defence, were altogether unequal to the

proper management of the guns, or in any manner to sustain a

contest at such odds. I could hardly imagine that they would make

resistance at all, but in this was deceived; for presently I saw

them get springs upon the cable, and bring the vessel’s starboard

broadside to bear upon the canoes, which by this time were within

pistol range, the rafts being nearly a quarter of a mile to

windward. Owing to some cause unknown, but most probably to the

agitation of our poor friends at seeing themselves in so hopeless

a situation, the discharge was an entire failure. Not a canoe was

hit or a single savage injured, the shots striking short and

ricocheting over their heads. The only effect produced upon them

was astonishment at the unexpected report and smoke, which was so

excessive that for some moments I almost thought they would

abandon their design entirely, and return to the shore. And this

they would most likely have done had our men followed up their

broadside by a discharge of small arms, in which, as the canoes

were now so near at hand, they could not have failed in doing

some execution, sufficient, at least, to deter this party from a

farther advance, until they could have given the rafts also a

broadside. But, in place of this, they left the canoe party to

recover from their panic, and, by looking about them, to see that

no injury had been sustained, while they flew to the larboard to

get ready for the rafts.

The discharge to larboard produced the most terrible effect. The

star and double-headed shot of the large guns cut seven or eight

of the rafts completely asunder, and killed, perhaps, thirty or

forty of the savages outright, while a hundred of them, at least,

were thrown into the water, the most of them dreadfully wounded.

The remainder, frightened out of their senses, commenced at once

a precipitate retreat, not even waiting to pick up their maimed

companions, who were swimming about in every direction, screaming

and yelling for aid. This great success, however, came too late

for the salvation of our devoted people. The canoe party were

already on board the schooner to the number of more than a

hundred and fifty, the most of them having succeeded in

scrambling up the chains and over the boarding-netting even

before the matches had been applied to the larboard guns. Nothing

now could withstand their brute rage. Our men were borne down at

once, overwhelmed, trodden under foot, and absolutely torn to

pieces in an instant.

Seeing this, the savages on the rafts got the better of their

fears, and came up in shoals to the plunder. In five minutes the

Jane was a pitiable scene indeed of havoc and tumultuous outrage.

The decks were split open and ripped up; the cordage, sails, and

everything movable on deck demolished as if by magic, while, by

dint of pushing at the stern, towing with the canoes, and hauling

at the sides, as they swam in thousands around the vessel, the

wretches finally forced her on shore (the cable having been

slipped), and delivered her over to the good offices of Too-wit,

who, during the whole of the engagement, had maintained, like a

skilful general, his post of security and reconnaissance among

the hills, but, now that the victory was completed to his

satisfaction, condescended to scamper down with his warriors of

the black skin, and become a partaker in the spoils.

Too-wit’s descent left us at liberty to quit our hiding place and

reconnoitre the hill in the vicinity of the chasm. At about fifty

yards from the mouth of it we saw a small spring of water, at

which we slaked the burning thirst that now consumed us. Not far

from the spring we discovered several of the filbert-bushes which

I mentioned before. Upon tasting the nuts we found them

palatable, and very nearly resembling in flavour the common

English filbert. We collected our hats full immediately,

deposited them within the ravine, and returned for more. While we

were busily employed in gathering these, a rustling in the bushes

alarmed us, and we were upon the point of stealing back to our

covert, when a large black bird of the bittern species

strugglingly and slowly arose above the shrubs. I was so much

startled that I could do nothing, but Peters had sufficient

presence of mind to run up to it before it could make its escape,

and seize it by the neck. Its struggles and screams were

tremendous, and we had thoughts of letting it go, lest the noise

should alarm some of the savages who might be still lurking in

the neighbourhood. A stab with a bowie knife, however, at length

brought it to the ground, and we dragged it into the ravine,

congratulating ourselves that, at all events, we had thus

obtained a supply of food enough to last us for a week.

We now went out again to look about us, and ventured a

considerable distance down the southern declivity of the hill,

but met with nothing else which could serve us for food. We

therefore collected a quantity of dry wood and returned, seeing

one or two large parties of the natives on their way to the

village, laden with the plunder of the vessel, and who, we were

apprehensive, might discover us in passing beneath the hill.

Our next care was to render our place of concealment as secure as

possible, and with this object, we arranged some brushwood over

the aperture which I have before spoken of as the one through

which we saw the patch of blue sky, on reaching the platform from

the interior of the chasm. We left only a very small opening just

wide enough to admit of our seeing the bay, without the risk of

being discovered from below. Having done this, we congratulated

ourselves upon the security of the position; for we were now

completely excluded from observation, as long as we chose to

remain within the ravine itself, and not venture out upon the

hill, We could perceive no traces of the savages having ever been

within this hollow; but, indeed, when we came to reflect upon the

probability that the fissure through which we attained it had

been only just now created by the fall of the cliff opposite, and

that no other way of attaining it could be perceived, we were not

so much rejoiced at the thought of being secure from molestation

as fearful lest there should be absolutely no means left us for

descent. We resolved to explore the summit of the hill

thoroughly, when a good opportunity should offer. In the meantime

we watched the motions of the savages through our loophole.

They had already made a complete wreck of the vessel, and were

now preparing to set her on fire. In a little while we saw the

smoke ascending in huge volumes from her main hatchway, and,

shortly afterward, a dense mass of flame burst up from the

forecastle. The rigging, masts and what remained of the sails

caught immediately, and the fire spread rapidly along the decks.

Still a great many of the savages retained their stations about

her, hammering with large stones, axes, and cannon balls at the

bolts and other iron and copper work. On the beach, and in canoes

and rafts, there were not less, altogether, in the immediate

vicinity of the schooner, than ten thousand natives, besides the

shoals of them who, laden with booty, were making their way

inland and over to the neighbouring islands. We now anticipated a

catastrophe, and were not disappointed. First of all there came a

smart shock (which we felt as distinctly where we were as if we

had been slightly galvanized), but unattended with any visible

signs of an explosion. The savages were evidently startled, and

paused for an instant from their labours and yellings. They were

upon the point of recommencing, when suddenly a mass of smoke

puffed up from the decks, resembling a black and heavy

thundercloud—then, as if from its bowels, arose a tall stream of

vivid fire to the height, apparently, of a quarter of a mile—then

there came a sudden circular expansion of the flame—then the

whole atmosphere was magically crowded, in a single instant, with

a wild chaos of wood, and metal, and human limbs—and, lastly,

came the concussion in its fullest fury, which hurled us

impetuously from our feet, while the hills echoed and re-echoed

the tumult, and a dense shower of the minutest fragments of the

ruins tumbled headlong in every direction around us.

The havoc among the savages far exceeded our utmost expectation,

and they had now, indeed, reaped the full and perfect fruits of

their treachery. Perhaps a thousand perished by the explosion,

while at least an equal number were desperately mangled. The

whole surface of the bay was literally strewn with the struggling

and drowning wretches, and on shore matters were even worse. They

seemed utterly appalled by the suddenness and completeness of

their discomfiture, and made no efforts at assisting one another.

At length we observed a total change in their demeanour. From

absolute stupor, they appeared to be, all at once, aroused to the

highest pitch of excitement, and rushed wildly about, going to

and from a certain point on the beach, with the strangest

expressions of mingled horror, rage, and intense curiosity

depicted on their countenances, and shouting, at the top of their

voices, “Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!”

Presently we saw a large body go off into the hills, whence they

returned in a short time, carrying stakes of wood. These they

brought to the station where the crowd was the thickest, which

now separated so as to afford us a view of the object of all this

excitement. We perceived something white lying upon the ground,

but could not immediately make out what it was. At length we saw

that it was the carcass of the strange animal with the scarlet

teeth and claws which the schooner had picked up at sea on the

eighteenth of January. Captain Guy had had the body preserved for

the purpose of stuffing the skin and taking it to England. I

remember he had given some directions about it just before our

making the island, and it had been brought into the cabin and

stowed away in one of the lockers. It had now been thrown on

shore by the explosion; but why it had occasioned so much concern

among the savages was more than we could comprehend. Although

they crowded around the carcass at a little distance, none of

them seemed willing to approach it closely. By-and-by the men

with the stakes drove them in a circle around it, and no sooner

was this arrangement completed, than the whole of the vast

assemblage rushed into the interior of the island, with loud

screams of “Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!”

CHAPTER 23

During the six or seven days immediately following we remained in

our hiding-place upon the hill, going out only occasionally, and

then with the greatest precaution, for water and filberts. We had

made a kind of penthouse on the platform, furnishing it with a

bed of dry leaves, and placing in it three large flat stones,

which served us for both fireplace and table. We kindled a fire

without difficulty by rubbing two pieces of dry wood together,

the one soft, the other hard. The bird we had taken in such good

season proved excellent eating, although somewhat tough. It was

not an oceanic fowl, but a species of bittern, with jet black and

grizzly plumage, and diminutive wings in proportion to its bulk.

We afterward saw three of the same kind in the vicinity of the

ravine, apparently seeking for the one we had captured; but, as

they never alighted, we had no opportunity of catching them.

As long as this fowl lasted we suffered nothing from our

situation, but it was now entirely consumed, and it became

absolutely necessary that we should look out for provision. The

filberts would not satisfy the cravings of hunger, afflicting us,

too, with severe gripings of the bowels, and, if freely indulged

in, with violent headache. We had seen several large tortoises

near the seashore to the eastward of the hill, and perceived they

might be easily taken, if we could get at them without the

observation of the natives. It was resolved, therefore, to make

an attempt at descending.

We commenced by going down the southern declivity, which seemed

to offer the fewest difficulties, but had not proceeded a hundred

yards before (as we had anticipated from appearances on the

hilltop) our progress was entirely arrested by a branch of the

gorge in which our companions had perished. We now passed along

the edge of this for about a quarter of a mile, when we were

again stopped by a precipice of immense depth, and, not being

able to make our way along the brink of it, we were forced to

retrace our steps by the main ravine.

We now pushed over to the eastward, but with precisely similar

fortune. After an hour’s scramble, at the risk of breaking our

necks, we discovered that we had merely descended into a vast pit

of black granite, with fine dust at the bottom, and whence the

only egress was by the rugged path in which we had come down.

Toiling again up this path, we now tried the northern edge of the

hill. Here we were obliged to use the greatest possible caution

in our maneuvers, as the least indiscretion would expose us to

the full view of the savages in the village. We crawled along,

therefore, on our hands and knees, and, occasionally, were even

forced to throw ourselves at full length, dragging our bodies

along by means of the shrubbery. In this careful manner we had

proceeded but a little way, when we arrived at a chasm far deeper

than any we had yet seen, and leading directly into the main

gorge. Thus our fears were fully confirmed, and we found

ourselves cut off entirely from access to the world below.

Thoroughly exhausted by our exertions, we made the best of our

way back to the platform, and throwing ourselves upon the bed of

leaves, slept sweetly and soundly for some hours.

For several days after this fruitless search we were occupied in

exploring every part of the summit of the hill, in order to

inform ourselves of its actual resources. We found that it would

afford us no food, with the exception of the unwholesome

filberts, and a rank species of scurvy grass, which grew in a

little patch of not more than four rods square, and would be soon

exhausted. On the fifteenth of February, as near as I can

remember, there was not a blade of this left, and the nuts were

growing scarce; our situation, therefore, could hardly be more

lamentable. {*5} On the sixteenth we again went round the walls

of our prison, in hope of finding some avenue of escape; but to

no purpose. We also descended the chasm in which we had been

overwhelmed, with the faint expectation of discovering, through

this channel, some opening to the main ravine. Here, too, we were

disappointed, although we found and brought up with us a musket.

On the seventeenth we set out with the determination of examining

more thoroughly the chasm of black granite into which we had made

our way in the first search. We remembered that one of the

fissures in the sides of this pit had been but partially looked

into, and we were anxious to explore it, although with no

expectation of discovering here any opening.

We found no great difficulty in reaching the bottom of the hollow

as before, and were now sufficiently calm to survey it with some

attention. It was, indeed, one of the most singular-looking

places imaginable, and we could scarcely bring ourselves to

believe it altogether the work of nature. The pit, from its

eastern to its western extremity, was about five hundred yards in

length, when all its windings were threaded; the distance from

east to west in a straight line not being more (I should suppose,

having no means of accurate examination) than forty or fifty

yards. Upon first descending into the chasm, that is to say, for

a hundred feet downward from the summit of the hill, the sides of

the abyss bore little resemblance to each other, and, apparently,

had at no time been connected, the one surface being of the

soapstone, and the other of marl, granulated with some metallic

matter. The average breadth or interval between the two cliffs

was probably here sixty feet, but there seemed to be no

regularity of formation. Passing down, however, beyond the limit

spoken of, the interval rapidly contracted, and the sides began

to run parallel, although, for some distance farther, they were

still dissimilar in their material and form of surface. Upon

arriving within fifty feet of the bottom, a perfect regularity

commenced. The sides were now entirely uniform in substance, in

colour, and in lateral direction, the material being a very black

and shining granite, and the distance between the two sides, at

all points facing each other, exactly twenty yards. The precise

formation of the chasm will be best understood by means of a

delineation taken upon the spot; for I had luckily with me a

pocketbook and pencil, which I preserved with great care through

a long series of subsequent adventure, and to which I am indebted

for memoranda of many subjects which would otherwise have been

crowded from my remembrance.

This figure [No figures in text] gives the general outlines of

the chasm, without the minor cavities in the sides, of which

there were several, each cavity having a corresponding

protuberance opposite. The bottom of the gulf was covered to the

depth of three or four inches with a powder almost impalpable,

beneath which we found a continuation of the black granite. To

the right, at the lower extremity, will be noticed the appearance

of a small opening; this is the fissure alluded to above, and to

examine which more minutely than before was the object of our

second visit. We now pushed into it with vigor, cutting away a

quantity of brambles which impeded us, and removing a vast heap

of sharp flints somewhat resembling arrowheads in shape. We were

encouraged to persevere, however, by perceiving some little light

proceeding from the farther end. We at length squeezed our way

for about thirty feet, and found that the aperture was a low and

regularly formed arch, having a bottom of the same impalpable

powder as that in the main chasm. A strong light now broke upon

us, and, turning a short bend, we found ourselves in another

lofty chamber, similar to the one we had left in every respect

but longitudinal form. Its general figure is here given.

The total length of this chasm, commencing at the opening a and

proceeding round the curve b to the extremity d, is five

hundred and fifty yards. At c we discovered a small aperture

similar to the one through which we had issued from the other

chasm, and this was choked up in the same manner with brambles

and a quantity of the white arrowhead flints. We forced our way

through it, finding it about forty feet long, and emerged into a

third chasm. This, too, was precisely like the first, except in

its longitudinal shape, which was thus.

We found the entire length of the third chasm three hundred and

twenty yards. At the point a was an opening about six feet

wide, and extending fifteen feet into the rock, where it

terminated in a bed of marl, there being no other chasm beyond,

as we had expected. We were about leaving this fissure, into

which very little light was admitted, when Peters called my

attention to a range of singular-looking indentures in the

surface of the marl forming the termination of the cul-de-sac.

With a very slight exertion of the imagination, the left, or most

northern of these indentures might have been taken for the

intentional, although rude, representation of a human figure

standing erect, with outstretched arm. The rest of them bore also

some little resemblance to alphabetical characters, and Peters

was willing, at all events, to adopt the idle opinion that they

were really such. I convinced him of his error, finally, by

directing his attention to the floor of the fissure, where, among

the powder, we picked up, piece by piece, several large flakes of

the marl, which had evidently been broken off by some convulsion

from the surface where the indentures were found, and which had

projecting points exactly fitting the indentures; thus proving

them to have been the work of nature.

After satisfying ourselves that these singular caverns afforded

us no means of escape from our prison, we made our way back,

dejected and dispirited, to the summit of the hill. Nothing worth

mentioning occurred during the next twenty-four hours, except

that, in examining the ground to the eastward of the third chasm,

we found two triangular holes of great depth, and also with black

granite sides. Into these holes we did not think it worth while

to attempt descending, as they had the appearance of mere natural

wells, without outlet. They were each about twenty yards in

circumference, and their shape, as well as relative position in

regard to the third chasm, is shown in figure 5. {image}

CHAPTER 24

On the twentieth of the month, finding it altogether impossible

to subsist any longer upon the filberts, the use of which

occasioned us the most excruciating torment, we resolved to make

a desperate attempt at descending the southern declivity of the

hill. The face of the precipice was here of the softest species

of soapstone, although nearly perpendicular throughout its whole

extent (a depth of a hundred and fifty feet at the least), and in

many places even overarching. After a long search we discovered a

narrow ledge about twenty feet below the brink of the gulf; upon

this Peters contrived to leap, with what assistance I could

render him by means of our pocket-handkerchiefs tied together.

With somewhat more difficulty I also got down; and we then saw

the possibility of descending the whole way by the process in

which we had clambered up from the chasm when we had been buried

by the fall of the hill—that is, by cutting steps in the face of

the soapstone with our knives. The extreme hazard of the attempt

can scarcely be conceived; but, as there was no other resource,

we determined to undertake it.

Upon the ledge where we stood there grew some filbert-bushes; and

to one of these we made fast an end of our rope of handkerchiefs.

The other end being tied round Peters’ waist, I lowered him down

over the edge of the precipice until the handkerchiefs were

stretched tight. He now proceeded to dig a deep hole in the

soapstone (as far in as eight or ten inches), sloping away the

rock above to the height of a foot, or thereabout, so as to allow

of his driving, with the butt of a pistol, a tolerably strong peg

into the levelled surface. I then drew him up for about four

feet, when he made a hole similar to the one below, driving in a

peg as before, and having thus a resting-place for both feet and

hands. I now unfastened the handkerchiefs from the bush, throwing

him the end, which he tied to the peg in the uppermost hole,

letting himself down gently to a station about three feet lower

than he had yet been that is, to the full extent of the

handkerchiefs. Here he dug another hole, and drove another peg.

He then drew himself up, so as to rest his feet in the hole just

cut, taking hold with his hands upon the peg in the one above. It

was now necessary to untie the handkerchiefs from the topmost

peg, with the view of fastening them to the second; and here he

found that an error had been committed in cutting the holes at so

great a distance apart. However, after one or two unsuccessful

and dangerous attempts at reaching the knot (having to hold on

with his left hand while he labored to undo the fastening with

his right), he at length cut the string, leaving six inches of it

affixed to the peg. Tying the handkerchiefs now to the second

peg, he descended to a station below the third, taking care not

to go too far down. By these means (means which I should never

have conceived of myself, and for which we were indebted

altogether to Peters’ ingenuity and resolution) my companion

finally succeeded, with the occasional aid of projections in the

cliff, in reaching the bottom without accident.

It was some time before I could summon sufficient resolution to

follow him; but I did at length attempt it. Peters had taken off

his shirt before descending, and this, with my own, formed the

rope necessary for the adventure. After throwing down the musket

found in the chasm, I fastened this rope to the bushes, and let

myself down rapidly, striving, by the vigor of my movements, to

banish the trepidation which I could overcome in no other manner.

This answered sufficiently well for the first four or five steps;

but presently I found my imagination growing terribly excited by

thoughts of the vast depths yet to be descended, and the

precarious nature of the pegs and soapstone holes which were my

only support. It was in vain I endeavored to banish these

reflections, and to keep my eyes steadily bent upon the flat

surface of the cliff before me. The more earnestly I struggled

_not to think,_the more intensely vivid became my conceptions,

and the more horribly distinct. At length arrived that crisis of

fancy, so fearful in all similar cases, the crisis in which we

began to anticipate the feelings with which we _shall_fall—to

picture to ourselves the sickness, and dizziness, and the last

struggle, and the half swoon, and the final bitterness of the

rushing and headlong descent. And now I found these fancies

creating their own realities, and all imagined horrors crowding

upon me in fact. I felt my knees strike violently together, while

my fingers were gradually but certainly relaxing their grasp.

There was a ringing in my ears, and I said, “This is my knell of

death!” And now I was consumed with the irrepressible desire of

looking below. I could not, I would not, confine my glances to

the cliff; and, with a wild, indefinable emotion, half of horror,

half of a relieved oppression, I threw my vision far down into

the abyss. For one moment my fingers clutched convulsively upon

their hold, while, with the movement, the faintest possible idea

of ultimate escape wandered, like a shadow, through my mind—in

the next my whole soul was pervaded with a longing to fall; a

desire, a yearning, a passion utterly uncontrollable. I let go at

once my grasp upon the peg, and, turning half round from the

precipice, remained tottering for an instant against its naked

face. But now there came a spinning of the brain; a

shrill-sounding and phantom voice screamed within my ears; a

dusky, fiendish, and filmy figure stood immediately beneath me;

and, sighing, I sunk down with a bursting heart, and plunged

within its arms.

I had swooned, and Peters had caught me as I fell. He had

observed my proceedings from his station at the bottom of the

cliff; and perceiving my imminent danger, had endeavored to

inspire me with courage by every suggestion he could devise;

although my confusion of mind had been so great as to prevent my

hearing what he said, or being conscious that he had even spoken

to me at all. At length, seeing me totter, he hastened to ascend

to my rescue, and arrived just in time for my preservation. Had I

fallen with my full weight, the rope of linen would inevitably

have snapped, and I should have been precipitated into the abyss;

as it was, he contrived to let me down gently, so as to remain

suspended without danger until animation returned. This was in

about fifteen minutes. On recovery, my trepidation had entirely

vanished; I felt a new being, and, with some little further aid

from my companion, reached the bottom also in safety.

We now found ourselves not far from the ravine which had proved

the tomb of our friends, and to the southward of the spot where

the hill had fallen. The place was one of singular wildness, and

its aspect brought to my mind the descriptions given by

travellers of those dreary regions marking the site of degraded

Babylon. Not to speak of the ruins of the disrupted cliff, which

formed a chaotic barrier in the vista to the northward, the

surface of the ground in every other direction was strewn with

huge tumuli, apparently the wreck of some gigantic structures of

art; although, in detail, no semblance of art could be detected.

Scoria were abundant, and large shapeless blocks of the black

granite, intermingled with others of marl, {*6} and both

granulated with metal. Of vegetation there were no traces

whatsoever throughout the whole of the desolate area within

sight. Several immense scorpions were seen, and various reptiles

not elsewhere to be found in the high latitudes. As food was our

most immediate object, we resolved to make our way to the

seacoast, distant not more than half a mile, with a view of

catching turtle, several of which we had observed from our place

of concealment on the hill. We had proceeded some hundred yards,

threading our route cautiously between the huge rocks and tumuli,

when, upon turning a corner, five savages sprung upon us from a

small cavern, felling Peters to the ground with a blow from a

club. As he fell the whole party rushed upon him to secure their

victim, leaving me time to recover from my astonishment. I still

had the musket, but the barrel had received so much injury in

being thrown from the precipice that I cast it aside as useless,

preferring to trust my pistols, which had been carefully

preserved in order. With these I advanced upon the assailants,

firing one after the other in quick succession. Two savages fell,

and one, who was in the act of thrusting a spear into Peters,

sprung to his feet without accomplishing his purpose. My

companion being thus released, we had no further difficulty. He

had his pistols also, but prudently declined using them,

confiding in his great personal strength, which far exceeded that

of any person I have ever known. Seizing a club from one of the

savages who had fallen, he dashed out the brains of the three who

remained, killing each instantaneously with a single blow of the

weapon, and leaving us completely masters of the field.

So rapidly had these events passed, that we could scarcely

believe in their reality, and were standing over the bodies of

the dead in a species of stupid contemplation, when we were

brought to recollection by the sound of shouts in the distance.

It was clear that the savages had been alarmed by the firing, and

that we had little chance of avoiding discovery. To regain the

cliff, it would be necessary to proceed in the direction of the

shouts, and even should we succeed in arriving at its base, we

should never be able to ascend it without being seen. Our

situation was one of the greatest peril, and we were hesitating

in which path to commence a flight, when one of the savages

_whom_I had shot, and supposed dead, sprang briskly to his feet,

and attempted to make his escape. We overtook _him,_however,

before he had advanced many paces, and were about to put him to

death, when Peters suggested that we might derive some benefit

from forcing him to accompany us in our attempt to escape. We

therefore dragged him with us, making him understand that we

would shoot him if he offered resistance. In a few minutes he was

perfectly submissive, and ran by our sides as we pushed in among

the rocks, making for the seashore.

So far, the irregularities of the ground we had been traversing

hid the sea, except at intervals, from our sight, and, when we

first had it fairly in view, it was perhaps two hundred yards

distant. As we emerged into the open beach we saw, to our great

dismay, an immense crowd of the natives pouring from the village,

and from all visible quarters of the island, making toward us

with gesticulations of extreme fury, and howling like wild

beasts. We were upon the point of turning upon our steps, and

trying to secure a retreat among the fastnesses of the rougher

ground, when I discovered the bows of two canoes projecting from

behind a large rock which ran out into the water. Toward these we

now ran with all speed, and, reaching them, found them unguarded,

and without any other freight than three of the large Gallipago

turtles and the usual supply of paddles for sixty rowers. We

instantly took possession of one of them, and, forcing our

captive on board, pushed out to sea with all the strength we

could command.

We had not made, however, more than fifty yards from the shore

before we became sufficiently calm to perceive the great

oversight of which we had been guilty in leaving the other canoe

in the power of the savages, who, by this time, were not more

than twice as far from the beach as ourselves, and were rapidly

advancing to the pursuit. No time was now to be lost. Our hope

was, at best, a forlorn one, but we had none other. It was very

doubtful whether, with the utmost exertion, we could get back in

time to anticipate them in taking possession of the canoe; but

yet there was a chance that we could. We might save ourselves if

we succeeded, while not to make the attempt was to resign

ourselves to inevitable butchery.

The canoe was modelled with the bow and stern alike, and, in

place of turning it around, we merely changed our position in

paddling. As soon as the savages perceived this they redoubled

their yells, as well as their speed, and approached with

inconceivable rapidity. We pulled, however, with all the energy

of desperation, and arrived at the contested point before more

than one of the natives had attained it. This man paid dearly for

his superior agility, Peters shooting him through the head with a

pistol as he approached the shore. The foremost among the rest of

his party were probably some twenty or thirty paces distant as we

seized upon the canoe. We at first endeavored to pull her into

the deep water, beyond the reach of the savages, but, finding her

too firmly aground, and there being no time to spare, Peters,

with one or two heavy strokes from the butt of the musket,

succeeded in dashing out a large portion of the bow and of one

side. We then pushed off. Two of the natives by this time had got

hold of our boat, obstinately refusing to let go, until we were

forced to despatch them with our knives. We were now clear off,

and making great way out to sea. The main body of the savages,

upon reaching the broken canoe, set up the most tremendous yell

of rage and disappointment conceivable. In truth, from everything

I could see of these wretches, they appeared to be the most

wicked, hypocritical, vindictive, bloodthirsty, and altogether

fiendish race of men upon the face of the globe. It is clear we

should have had no mercy had we fallen into their hands. They

made a mad attempt at following us in the fractured canoe, but,

finding it useless, again vented their rage in a series of

hideous vociferations, and rushed up into the hills.

We were thus relieved from immediate danger, but our situation

was still sufficiently gloomy. We knew that four canoes of the

kind we had were at one time in the possession of the savages,

and were not aware of the fact (afterward ascertained from our

captive) that two of these had been blown to pieces in the

explosion of the _Jane Guy._We calculated, therefore, upon being

yet pursued, as soon as our enemies could get round to the bay

(distant about three miles) where the boats were usually laid up.

Fearing this, we made every exertion to leave the island behind

us, and went rapidly through the water, forcing the prisoner to

take a paddle. In about half an hour, when we had gained probably

five or six miles to the southward, a large fleet of the

flat-bottomed canoes or rafts were seen to emerge from the bay

evidently with the design of pursuit. Presently they put back,

despairing to overtake us.

CHAPTER 25

We now found ourselves in the wide and desolate Antarctic Ocean,

in a latitude exceeding eighty-four degrees, in a frail canoe,

and with no provision but the three turtles. The long polar

winter, too, could not be considered as far distant, and it

became necessary that we should deliberate well upon the course

to be pursued. There were six or seven islands in sight belonging

to the same group, and distant from each other about five or six

leagues; but upon neither of these had we any intention to

venture. In coming from the northward in the Jane Guy we had

been gradually leaving behind us the severest regions of

ice—this, however little it maybe in accordance with the

generally received notions respecting the Antarctic, was a

fact—experience would not permit us to deny. To attempt,

therefore, getting back would be folly—especially at so late a

period of the season. Only one course seemed to be left open for

hope. We resolved to steer boldly to the southward, where there

was at least a probability of discovering other lands, and more

than a probability of finding a still milder climate.

So far we had found the Antarctic, like the Arctic Ocean,

peculiarly free from violent storms or immoderately rough water;

but our canoe was, at best, of frail structure, although large,

and we set busily to work with a view of rendering her as safe as

the limited means in our possession would admit. The body of the

boat was of no better material than bark—the bark of a tree

unknown. The ribs were of a tough osier, well adapted to the

purpose for which it was used. We had fifty feet room from stem

to stern, from four to six in breadth, and in depth throughout

four feet and a half-the boats thus differing vastly in shape

from those of any other inhabitants of the Southern Ocean with

whom civilized nations are acquainted. We never did believe them

the workmanship of the ignorant islanders who owned them; and

some days after this period discovered, by questioning our

captive, that they were in fact made by the natives of a group to

the southwest of the country where we found them, having fallen

accidentally into the hands of our barbarians. What we could do

for the security of our boat was very little indeed. Several wide

rents were discovered near both ends, and these we contrived to

patch up with pieces of woollen jacket. With the help of the

superfluous paddles, of which there were a great many, we erected

a kind of framework about the bow, so as to break the force of

any seas which might threaten to fill us in that quarter. We also

set up two paddle-blades for masts, placing them opposite each

other, one by each gunwale, thus saving the necessity of a yard.

To these masts we attached a sail made of our shirts-doing this

with some difficulty, as here we could get no assistance from our

prisoner whatever, although he had been willing enough to labor

in all the other operations. The sight of the linen seemed to

affect him in a very singular manner. He could not be prevailed

upon to touch it or go near it, shuddering when we attempted to

force him, and shrieking out, “Tekeli-li!”

Having completed our arrangements in regard to the security of

the canoe, we now set sail to the south-southeast for the

present, with the view of weathering the most southerly of the

group in sight. This being done, we turned the bow full to the

southward. The weather could by no means be considered

disagreeable. We had a prevailing and very gentle wind from the

northward, a smooth sea, and continual daylight. No ice whatever

was to be seen; _nor did I ever see one particle of this after

leaving the parallel of Bennet’s Islet._Indeed, the temperature

of the water was here far too warm for its existence in any

quantity. Having killed the largest of our tortoises, and

obtained from him not only food but a copious supply of water, we

continued on our course, without any incident of moment, for

perhaps seven or eight days, during which period we must have

proceeded a vast distance to the southward, as the wind blew

constantly with us, and a very strong current set continually in

the direction we were pursuing.

March 1st. {*7}-Many unusual phenomena now—indicated that we

were entering upon a region of novelty and wonder. A high range

of light gray vapor appeared constantly in the southern horizon,

flaring up occasionally in lofty streaks, now darting from east

to west, now from west to east, and again presenting a level and

uniform summit—in short, having all the wild variations of the

Aurora Borealis. The average height of this vapor, as apparent

from our station, was about twenty-five degrees. The temperature

of the sea seemed to be increasing momentarily, and there was a

very perceptible alteration in its color.

March 2d.-To-day by repeated questioning of our captive, we

came to the knowledge of many particulars in regard to the island

of the massacre, its inhabitants, and customs—but with these how

can I now detain the reader? I may say, however, that we learned

there were eight islands in the group—that they were governed by

a common king, named _Tsalemon_or _Psalemoun,_who resided in one

of the smallest of the islands; that the black skins forming the

dress of the warriors came from an animal of huge size to be

found only in a valley near the court of the king—that the

inhabitants of the group fabricated no other boats than the

flat-bottomed rafts; the four canoes being all of the kind in

their possession, and, these having been obtained, by mere

accident, from some large island in the southwest—that his own

name was Nu-Nu—that he had no knowledge of Bennet’s Islet—and

that the appellation of the island he had left was Tsalal. The

commencement of the words _Tsalemon_and Tsalal was given with a

prolonged hissing sound, which we found it impossible to imitate,

even after repeated endeavors, and which was precisely the same

with the note of the black bittern we had eaten up on the summit

of the hill.

March 3d.-The heat of the water was now truly remarkable, and

in color was undergoing a rapid change, being no longer

transparent, but of a milky consistency and hue. In our immediate

vicinity it was usually smooth, never so rough as to endanger the

canoe—but we were frequently surprised at perceiving, to our

right and left, at different distances, sudden and extensive

agitations of the surface; these, we at length noticed, were

always preceded by wild flickerings in the region of vapor to the

southward.

March 4th.-To-day, with the view of widening our sail, the

breeze from the northward dying away perceptibly, I took from my

coat-pocket a white handkerchief. Nu-Nu was seated at my elbow,

and the linen accidentally flaring in his face, he became

violently affected with convulsions. These were succeeded by

drowsiness and stupor, and low murmurings of _“‘Tekeli-li!

Tekeli-li!”_

_March_5th.-The wind had entirely ceased, but it was evident that

we were still hurrying on to the southward, under the influence

of a powerful current. And now,—indeed, it would seem reasonable

that we should experience some alarm at the turn events were

taking—but we felt none. The countenance of Peters indicated

nothing of this nature, although it wore at times an expression I

could not fathom. The polar winter appeared to be coming on—but

coming without its terrors. I felt a numbness of body and mind—a

dreaminess of sensation but this was all.

March 6th.-The gray vapor had now arisen many more degrees

above the horizon, and was gradually losing its grayness of tint.

The heat of the water was extreme, even unpleasant to the touch,

and its milky hue was more evident than ever. Today a violent

agitation of the water occurred very close to the canoe. It was

attended, as usual, with a wild flaring up of the vapor at its

summit, and a momentary division at its base. A fine white

powder, resembling ashes—but certainly not such—fell over the

canoe and over a large surface of the water, as the flickering

died away among the vapor and the commotion subsided in the sea.

Nu-Nu now threw himself on his face in the bottom of the boat,

and no persuasions could induce him to arise.

March 7th.-This day we questioned Nu-Nu concerning the motives

of his countrymen in destroying our companions; but he appeared

to be too utterly overcome by terror to afford us any rational

reply. He still obstinately lay in the bottom of the boat; and,

upon reiterating the questions as to the motive, made use only of

idiotic gesticulations, such as raising with his forefinger the

upper lip, and displaying the teeth which lay beneath it. These

were black. We had never before seen the teeth of an inhabitant

of Tsalal.

March 8th.-To-day there floated by us one of the white animals

whose appearance upon the beach at Tsalal had occasioned so wild

a commotion among the savages. I would have picked it up, but

there came over me a sudden listlessness, and I forbore. The heat

of the water still increased, and the hand could no longer be

endured within it. Peters spoke little, and I knew not what to

think of his apathy. Nu-Nu breathed, and no more.

March 9th.-The whole ashy material fell now continually around

us, and in vast quantities. The range of vapor to the southward

had arisen prodigiously in the horizon, and began to assume more

distinctness of form. I can liken it to nothing but a limitless

cataract, rolling silently into the sea from some immense and

far-distant rampart in the heaven. The gigantic curtain ranged

along the whole extent of the southern horizon. It emitted no

sound.

March 21st.-A sullen darkness now hovered above us—but from out

the milky depths of the ocean a luminous glare arose, and stole

up along the bulwarks of the boat. We were nearly overwhelmed by

the white ashy shower which settled upon us and upon the canoe,

but melted into the water as it fell. The summit of the cataract

was utterly lost in the dimness and the distance. Yet we were

evidently approaching it with a hideous velocity. At intervals

there were visible in it wide, yawning, but momentary rents, and

from out these rents, within which was a chaos of flitting and

indistinct images, there came rushing and mighty, but soundless

winds, tearing up the enkindled ocean in their course.

March 22d.-The darkness had materially increased, relieved only

by the glare of the water thrown back from the white curtain

before us. Many gigantic and pallidly white birds flew

continuously now from beyond the veil, and their scream was the

eternal _Tekeli-li!_as they retreated from our vision. Hereupon

Nu-Nu stirred in the bottom of the boat; but upon touching him we

found his spirit departed. And now we rushed into the embraces of

the cataract, where a chasm threw itself open to receive us. But

there arose in our pathway a shrouded human figure, very far

larger in its proportions than any dweller among men. And the hue

of the skin of the figure was of the perfect whiteness of the

snow.

NOTE

THE circumstances connected with the late sudden and distressing

death of Mr. Pym are already well known to the public through the

medium of the daily press. It is feared that the few remaining

chapters which were to have completed his narrative, and which

were retained by him, while the above were in type, for the

purpose of revision, have been irrecoverably lost through the

accident by which he perished himself. This, however, may prove

not to be the case, and the papers, if ultimately found, will be

given to the public.

No means have been left untried to remedy the deficiency. The

gentleman whose name is mentioned in the preface, and who, from

the statement there made, might be supposed able to fill the

vacuum, has declined the task—this, for satisfactory reasons

connected with the general inaccuracy of the details afforded

him, and his disbelief in the entire truth of the latter portions

of the narration. Peters, from whom some information might be

expected, is still alive, and a resident of Illinois, but cannot

be met with at present. He may hereafter be found, and will, no

doubt, afford material for a conclusion of Mr. Pym’s account.

The loss of two or three final chapters (for there were but two

or three) is the more deeply to be regretted, as it can not be

doubted they contained matter relative to the Pole itself, or at

least to regions in its very near proximity; and as, too, the

statements of the author in relation to these regions may shortly

be verified or contradicted by means of the governmental

expedition now preparing for the Southern Ocean.

On one point in the narrative some remarks may well be offered;

and it would afford the writer of this appendix much pleasure if

what he may here observe should have a tendency to throw credit,

in any degree, upon the very singular pages now published. We

allude to the chasms found in the island of Tsalal, and to the

whole of the figures upon pages 245-47 {of the printed

edition—ed.}.

(Note: No figures were included with this text)

Mr. Pym has given the figures of the chasms without comment, and

speaks decidedly of the _indentures_found at the extremity of the

most easterly of these chasms as having but a fanciful

resemblance to alphabetical characters, and, in short, as being

positively _not such. _This assertion is made in a manner so

simple, and sustained by a species of demonstration so conclusive

(viz., the fitting of the projections of the fragments found

among the dust into the indentures upon the wall), that we are

forced to believe the writer in earnest; and no reasonable reader

should suppose otherwise. But as the facts in relation to all the

figures are most singular (especially when taken in connection

with statements made in the body of the narrative), it may be as

well to say a word or two concerning them all—this, too, the more

especially as the facts in question have, beyond doubt, escaped

the attention of Mr. Poe.

Figure 1, then, figure 2, figure 3, and figure 5, when conjoined

with one another in the precise order which the chasms themselves

presented, and when deprived of the small lateral branches or

arches (which, it will be remembered, served only as a means of

communication between the main chambers, and were of totally

distinct character), constitute an Ethiopian verbal root—the root

“To be shady,’—whence all the inflections of shadow or darkness.

In regard to the “left or most northwardly” of the indentures in

figure 4, it is more than probable that the opinion of Peters was

correct, and that the hieroglyphical appearance was really the

work of art, and intended as the representation of a human form.

The delineation is before the reader, and he may, or may not,

perceive the resemblance suggested; but the rest of the

indentures afford strong confirmation of Peters’ idea. The upper

range is evidently the Arabic verbal root “To be white,” whence

all the inflections of brilliancy and whiteness. The lower range

is not so immediately perspicuous. The characters are somewhat

broken and disjointed; nevertheless, it can not be doubted that,

in their perfect state, they formed the full Egyptian word, “The

region of the south.” It should be observed that these

interpretations confirm the opinion of Peters in regard to the

“most northwardly” of the figures. The arm is outstretched toward

the south.

Conclusions such as these open a wide field for speculation and

exciting conjecture. They should be regarded, perhaps, in

connection with some of the most faintly detailed incidents of

the narrative; although in no visible manner is this chain of

connection complete. Tekeli-li! was the cry of the affrighted

natives of Tsalal upon discovering the carcase of the

_white_animal picked up at sea. This also was the shuddering

exclamatives of Tsalal upon discovering the carcass of the

_white_materials in possession of Mr. Pym. This also was the

shriek of the swift-flying, _white, _and gigantic birds which

issued from the vapory _white_curtain of the South. Nothing

_white_was to be found at Tsalal, and nothing otherwise in the

subsequent voyage to the region beyond. It is not impossible that

“Tsalal,” the appellation of the island of the chasms, may be

found, upon minute philological scrutiny, to betray either some

alliance with the chasms themselves, or some reference to the

Ethiopian characters so mysteriously written in their windings.

_“I have graven it within the hills, and my vengeance upon the

dust within the rock.”_

NOTES TO THE THIRD VOLUME

{*1} Whaling vessels are usually fitted with iron oil-tanks—why

the Grampus was not I have never been able to ascertain.

{*2} The case of the brig Polly, of Boston, is one so much in

point, and her fate, in many respects, so remarkably similar to

our own, that I cannot forbear alluding to it here. This vessel,

of one hundred and thirty tons burden, sailed from Boston, with a

cargo of lumber and provisions, for Santa Croix, on the twelfth

of December, 1811, under the command of Captain Casneau. There

were eight souls on board besides the captain—the mate, four

seamen, and the cook, together with a Mr. Hunt, and a negro girl

belonging to him. On the fifteenth, having cleared the shoal of

Georges, she sprung a leak in a gale of wind from the southeast,

and was finally capsized; but, the masts going by the board, she

afterward righted. They remained in this situation, without fire,

and with very little provision, for the period of one hundred and

ninety-one days (from December the fifteenth to June the

twentieth), when Captain Casneau and Samuel Badger, the only

survivors, were taken off the wreck by the Fame, of Hull, Captain

Featherstone, bound home from Rio Janeiro. When picked up, they

were in latitude 28 degrees N., longitude 13 degrees W., having

drifted above two thousand miles! On the ninth of July the Fame

fell in with the brig Dromero, Captain Perkins, who landed the

two sufferers in Kennebeck. The narrative from which we gather

these details ends in the following words:

“It is natural to inquire how they could float such a vast

distance, upon the most frequented part of the Atlantic, and not

be discovered all this time. They were passed by more than a

dozen sail, one of which came so nigh them that they could

distinctly see the people on deck and on the rigging looking at

them; but, to the inexpressible disappointment of the starving

and freezing men, they stifled the dictates of compassion,

hoisted sail, and cruelly abandoned them to their fate.”

{*3} Among the vessels which at various times have professed to

meet with the Auroras may be mentioned the ship San Miguel, in

1769; the ship Aurora, in 1774; the brig Pearl, in 1779; and the

ship Dolores, in 1790. They all agree in giving the mean latitude

fifty-three degrees south.

{*4} The terms morning and evening, which I have made use of to

avoid confusion in my narrative, as far as possible, must not, of

course, be taken in their ordinary sense. For a long time past we

had had no night at all, the daylight being continual. The dates

throughout are according to nautical time, and the bearing must

be understood as per compass. I would also remark, in this place,

that I cannot, in the first portion of what is here written,

pretend to strict accuracy in respect to dates, or latitudes and

longitudes, having kept no regular journal until after the period

of which this first portion treats. In many instances I have

relied altogether upon memory.

{*5} This day was rendered remarkable by our observing in the

south several huge wreaths of the grayish vapour I have spoken

of.

{*6} The marl was also black; indeed, we noticed no light colored

substances of any kind upon the island.

{*7}For obvious reasons I cannot pretend to strict accuracy in

these dates. They are given principally with a view to perspicity

of narrative, and as set down in my pencil memorandum.

LIGEIA

And the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth the

mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For God is but a great

will pervading all things by nature of its intentness. Man doth

not yield himself to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save

only through the weakness of his feeble will.—Joseph Glanvill.

I cannot, for my soul, remember how, when, or even precisely

where, I first became acquainted with the lady Ligeia. Long years

have since elapsed, and my memory is feeble through much

suffering. Or, perhaps, I cannot now bring these points to mind,

because, in truth, the character of my beloved, her rare

learning, her singular yet placid cast of beauty, and the

thrilling and enthralling eloquence of her low musical language,

made their way into my heart by paces so steadily and stealthily

progressive that they have been unnoticed and unknown. Yet I

believe that I met her first and most frequently in some large,

old, decaying city near the Rhine. Of her family—I have surely

heard her speak. That it is of a remotely ancient date cannot be

doubted. Ligeia! Ligeia! Buried in studies of a nature more than

all else adapted to deaden impressions of the outward world, it

is by that sweet word alone—by Ligeia—that I bring before mine

eyes in fancy the image of her who is no more. And now, while I

write, a recollection flashes upon me that I have never known the

paternal name of her who was my friend and my betrothed, and who

became the partner of my studies, and finally the wife of my

bosom. Was it a playful charge on the part of my Ligeia? or was

it a test of my strength of affection, that I should institute no

inquiries upon this point? or was it rather a caprice of my own—a

wildly romantic offering on the shrine of the most passionate

devotion? I but indistinctly recall the fact itself—what wonder

that I have utterly forgotten the circumstances which originated

or attended it? And, indeed, if ever that spirit which is

entitled Romance—if ever she, the wan and the misty-winged

Ashtophet of idolatrous Egypt, presided, as they tell, over

marriages ill-omened, then most surely she presided over mine.

There is one dear topic, however, on which my memory fails me

not. It is the person of Ligeia. In stature she was tall,

somewhat slender, and, in her latter days, even emaciated. I

would in vain attempt to portray the majesty, the quiet ease, of

her demeanor, or the incomprehensible lightness and elasticity of

her footfall. She came and departed as a shadow. I was never made

aware of her entrance into my closed study save by the dear music

of her low sweet voice, as she placed her marble hand upon my

shoulder. In beauty of face no maiden ever equalled her. It was

the radiance of an opium-dream—an airy and spirit-lifting vision

more wildly divine than the phantasies which hovered about the

slumbering souls of the daughters of Delos. Yet her features were

not of that regular mould which we have been falsely taught to

worship in the classical labors of the heathen. “There is no

exquisite beauty,” says Bacon, Lord Verulam, speaking truly of

all the forms and genera of beauty, “without some strangeness in

the proportion.” Yet, although I saw that the features of Ligeia

were not of a classic regularity—although I perceived that her

loveliness was indeed “exquisite,” and felt that there was much

of “strangeness” pervading it, yet I have tried in vain to detect

the irregularity and to trace home my own perception of “the

strange.” I examined the contour of the lofty and pale

forehead—it was faultless—how cold indeed that word when applied

to a majesty so divine!—the skin rivalling the purest ivory, the

commanding extent and repose, the gentle prominence of the

regions above the temples; and then the raven-black, the glossy,

the luxuriant and naturally-curling tresses, setting forth the

full force of the Homeric epithet, “hyacinthine!” I looked at the

delicate outlines of the nose—and nowhere but in the graceful

medallions of the Hebrews had I beheld a similar perfection.

There were the same luxurious smoothness of surface, the same

scarcely perceptible tendency to the aquiline, the same

harmoniously curved nostrils speaking the free spirit. I regarded

the sweet mouth. Here was indeed the triumph of all things

heavenly—the magnificent turn of the short upper lip—the soft,

voluptuous slumber of the under—the dimples which sported, and

the color which spoke—the teeth glancing back, with a brilliancy

almost startling, every ray of the holy light which fell upon

them in her serene and placid, yet most exultingly radiant of all

smiles. I scrutinized the formation of the chin—and here, too, I

found the gentleness of breadth, the softness and the majesty,

the fullness and the spirituality, of the Greek—the contour which

the god Apollo revealed but in a dream, to Cleomenes, the son of

the Athenian. And then I peered into the large eyes of Ligeia.

For eyes we have no models in the remotely antique. It might have

been, too, that in these eyes of my beloved lay the secret to

which Lord Verulam alludes. They were, I must believe, far larger

than the ordinary eyes of our own race. They were even fuller

than the fullest of the gazelle eyes of the tribe of the valley

of Nourjahad. Yet it was only at intervals—in moments of intense

excitement—that this peculiarity became more than slightly

noticeable in Ligeia. And at such moments was her beauty—in my

heated fancy thus it appeared perhaps—the beauty of beings either

above or apart from the earth—the beauty of the fabulous Houri of

the Turk. The hue of the orbs was the most brilliant of black,

and, far over them, hung jetty lashes of great length. The brows,

slightly irregular in outline, had the same tint. The

“strangeness,” however, which I found in the eyes, was of a

nature distinct from the formation, or the color, or the

brilliancy of the features, and must, after all, be referred to

the expression. Ah, word of no meaning! behind whose vast

latitude of mere sound we intrench our ignorance of so much of

the spiritual. The expression of the eyes of Ligeia! How for long

hours have I pondered upon it! How have I, through the whole of a

midsummer night, struggled to fathom it! What was it—that

something more profound than the well of Democritus—which lay far

within the pupils of my beloved? What was it? I was possessed

with a passion to discover. Those eyes! those large, those

shining, those divine orbs! they became to me twin stars of Leda,

and I to them devoutest of astrologers.

There is no point, among the many incomprehensible anomalies of

the science of mind, more thrillingly exciting than the

fact—never, I believe, noticed in the schools—that, in our

endeavors to recall to memory something long forgotten, we often

find ourselves upon the very verge of remembrance, without being

able, in the end, to remember. And thus how frequently, in my

intense scrutiny of Ligeia’s eyes, have I felt approaching the

full knowledge of their expression—felt it approaching—yet not

quite be mine—and so at length entirely depart! And (strange, oh

strangest mystery of all!) I found, in the commonest objects of

the universe, a circle of analogies to that expression. I mean to

say that, subsequently to the period when Ligeia’s beauty passed

into my spirit, there dwelling as in a shrine, I derived, from

many existences in the material world, a sentiment such as I felt

always aroused within me by her large and luminous orbs. Yet not

the more could I define that sentiment, or analyze, or even

steadily view it. I recognized it, let me repeat, sometimes in

the survey of a rapidly-growing vine—in the contemplation of a

moth, a butterfly, a chrysalis, a stream of running water. I have

felt it in the ocean—in the falling of a meteor. I have felt it

in the glances of unusually aged people. And there are one or two

stars in heaven—(one especially, a star of the sixth magnitude,

double and changeable, to be found near the large star in Lyra)

in a telescopic scrutiny of which I have been made aware of the

feeling. I have been filled with it by certain sounds from

stringed instruments, and not unfrequently by passages from

books. Among innumerable other instances, I well remember

something in a volume of Joseph Glanvill, which (perhaps merely

from its quaintness—who shall say?) never failed to inspire me

with the sentiment: “And the will therein lieth, which dieth not.

Who knoweth the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For God is

but a great will pervading all things by nature of its

intentness. Man doth not yield him to the angels, nor unto death

utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will.”

Length of years, and subsequent reflection, have enabled me to

trace, indeed, some remote connection between this passage in the

English moralist and a portion of the character of Ligeia. An

intensity in thought, action, or speech, was possibly, in her, a

result, or at least an index, of that gigantic volition which,

during our long intercourse, failed to give other and more

immediate evidence of its existence. Of all the women whom I have

ever known, she, the outwardly calm, the ever-placid Ligeia, was

the most violently a prey to the tumultuous vultures of stern

passion. And of such passion I could form no estimate, save by

the miraculous expansion of those eyes which at once so delighted

and appalled me—by the almost magical melody, modulation,

distinctness and placidity of her very low voice—and by the

fierce energy (rendered doubly effective by contrast with her

manner of utterance) of the wild words which she habitually

uttered.

I have spoken of the learning of Ligeia: it was immense—such as I

have never known in woman. In the classical tongues was she

deeply proficient, and as far as my own acquaintance extended in

regard to the modern dialects of Europe, I have never known her

at fault. Indeed upon any theme of the most admired, because

simply the most abstruse of the boasted erudition of the academy,

have I ever found Ligeia at fault? How singularly—how

thrillingly, this one point in the nature of my wife has forced

itself, at this late period only, upon my attention! I said her

knowledge was such as I have never known in woman—but where

breathes the man who has traversed, and successfully, all the

wide areas of moral, physical, and mathematical science? I saw

not then what I now clearly perceive, that the acquisitions of

Ligeia were gigantic, were astounding; yet I was sufficiently

aware of her infinite supremacy to resign myself, with a

child-like confidence, to her guidance through the chaotic world

of metaphysical investigation at which I was most busily occupied

during the earlier years of our marriage. With how vast a

triumph—with how vivid a delight—with how much of all that is

ethereal in hope did I feel, as she bent over me in studies but

little sought—but less known—that delicious vista by slow degrees

expanding before me, down whose long, gorgeous, and all untrodden

path, I might at length pass onward to the goal of a wisdom too

divinely precious not to be forbidden!

How poignant, then, must have been the grief with which, after

some years, I beheld my well-grounded expectations take wings to

themselves and fly away! Without Ligeia I was but as a child

groping benighted. Her presence, her readings alone, rendered

vividly luminous the many mysteries of the transcendentalism in

which we were immersed. Wanting the radiant lustre of her eyes,

letters, lambent and golden, grew duller than Saturnian lead. And

now those eyes shone less and less frequently upon the pages over

which I pored. Ligeia grew ill. The wild eyes blazed with a

too—too glorious effulgence; the pale fingers became of the

transparent waxen hue of the grave; and the blue veins upon the

lofty forehead swelled and sank impetuously with the tides of the

gentle emotion. I saw that she must die—and I struggled

desperately in spirit with the grim Azrael. And the struggles of

the passionate wife were, to my astonishment, even more energetic

than my own. There had been much in her stern nature to impress

me with the belief that, to her, death would have come without

its terrors; but not so. Words are impotent to convey any just

idea of the fierceness of resistance with which she wrestled with

the Shadow. I groaned in anguish at the pitiable spectacle. I

would have soothed—I would have reasoned; but, in the intensity

of her wild desire for life,—for life—but for life—solace and

reason were the uttermost folly. Yet not until the last instance,

amid the most convulsive writhings of her fierce spirit, was

shaken the external placidity of her demeanor. Her voice grew

more gentle—grew more low—yet I would not wish to dwell upon the

wild meaning of the quietly uttered words. My brain reeled as I

hearkened, entranced, to a melody more than mortal—to assumptions

and aspirations which mortality had never before known.

That she loved me I should not have doubted; and I might have

been easily aware that, in a bosom such as hers, love would have

reigned no ordinary passion. But in death only, was I fully

impressed with the strength of her affection. For long hours,

detaining my hand, would she pour out before me the overflowing

of a heart whose more than passionate devotion amounted to

idolatry. How had I deserved to be so blessed by such

confessions?—how had I deserved to be so cursed with the removal

of my beloved in the hour of her making them? But upon this

subject I cannot bear to dilate. Let me say only, that in

Ligeia’s more than womanly abandonment to a love, alas! all

unmerited, all unworthily bestowed, I at length recognized the

principle of her longing with so wildly earnest a desire for the

life which was now fleeing so rapidly away. It is this wild

longing—it is this eager vehemence of desire for life—but for

life—that I have no power to portray—no utterance capable of

expressing.

At high noon of the night in which she departed, beckoning me,

peremptorily, to her side, she bade me repeat certain verses

composed by herself not many days before. I obeyed her. They were

these:

Lo! ’tis a gala night

Within the lonesome latter years!

An angel throng, bewinged, bedight

In veils, and drowned in tears,

Sit in a theatre, to see

A play of hopes and fears,

While the orchestra breathes fitfully

The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,

Mutter and mumble low,

And hither and thither fly;

Mere puppets they, who come and go

At bidding of vast formless things

That shift the scenery to and fro,

Flapping from out their Condor wings

Invisible Wo!

That motley drama!—oh, be sure

It shall not be forgot!

With its Phantom chased forever more,

By a crowd that seize it not,

Through a circle that ever returneth in

To the self-same spot,

And much of Madness and more of Sin

And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout,

A crawling shape intrude!

A blood-red thing that writhes from out

The scenic solitude!

It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs

The mimes become its food,

And the seraphs sob at vermin fangs

In human gore imbued.

Out—out are the lights—out all!

And over each quivering form,

The curtain, a funeral pall,

Comes down with the rush of a storm,

And the angels, all pallid and wan,

Uprising, unveiling, affirm

That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”

And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

“O God!” half shrieked Ligeia, leaping to her feet and extending

her arms aloft with a spasmodic movement, as I made an end of

these lines—“O God! O Divine Father!—shall these things be

undeviatingly so?—shall this Conqueror be not once conquered? Are

we not part and parcel in Thee? Who—who knoweth the mysteries of

the will with its vigor? Man doth not yield him to the angels,

nor unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his

feeble will.”

And now, as if exhausted with emotion, she suffered her white

arms to fall, and returned solemnly to her bed of death. And as

she breathed her last sighs, there came mingled with them a low

murmur from her lips. I bent to them my ear and distinguished,

again, the concluding words of the passage in Glanvill—“Man doth

not yield him to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only

through the weakness of his feeble will.”

She died: and I, crushed into the very dust with sorrow, could no

longer endure the lonely desolation of my dwelling in the dim and

decaying city by the Rhine. I had no lack of what the world calls

wealth. Ligeia had brought me far more, very far more than

ordinarily falls to the lot of mortals. After a few months,

therefore, of weary and aimless wandering, I purchased, and put

in some repair, an abbey, which I shall not name, in one of the

wildest and least frequented portions of fair England. The gloomy

and dreary grandeur of the building, the almost savage aspect of

the domain, the many melancholy and time-honored memories

connected with both, had much in unison with the feelings of

utter abandonment which had driven me into that remote and

unsocial region of the country. Yet although the external abbey,

with its verdant decay hanging about it, suffered but little

alteration, I gave way, with a child-like perversity, and

perchance with a faint hope of alleviating my sorrows, to a

display of more than regal magnificence within. For such follies,

even in childhood, I had imbibed a taste and now they came back

to me as if in the dotage of grief. Alas, I feel how much even of

incipient madness might have been discovered in the gorgeous and

fantastic draperies, in the solemn carvings of Egypt, in the wild

cornices and furniture, in the Bedlam patterns of the carpets of

tufted gold! I had become a bounden slave in the trammels of

opium, and my labors and my orders had taken a coloring from my

dreams. But these absurdities I must not pause to detail. Let me

speak only of that one chamber, ever accursed, whither in a

moment of mental alienation, I led from the altar as my bride—as

the successor of the unforgotten Ligeia—the fair-haired and

blue-eyed Lady Rowena Trevanion, of Tremaine.

There is no individual portion of the architecture and decoration

of that bridal chamber which is not now visibly before me. Where

were the souls of the haughty family of the bride, when, through

thirst of gold, they permitted to pass the threshold of an

apartment so bedecked, a maiden and a daughter so beloved? I have

said that I minutely remember the details of the chamber—yet I am

sadly forgetful on topics of deep moment—and here there was no

system, no keeping, in the fantastic display, to take hold upon

the memory. The room lay in a high turret of the castellated

abbey, was pentagonal in shape, and of capacious size. Occupying

the whole southern face of the pentagon was the sole window—an

immense sheet of unbroken glass from Venice—a single pane, and

tinted of a leaden hue, so that the rays of either the sun or

moon, passing through it, fell with a ghastly lustre on the

objects within. Over the upper portion of this huge window,

extended the trellice-work of an aged vine, which clambered up

the massy walls of the turret. The ceiling, of gloomy-looking

oak, was excessively lofty, vaulted, and elaborately fretted with

the wildest and most grotesque specimens of a semi-Gothic,

semi-Druidical device. From out the most central recess of this

melancholy vaulting, depended, by a single chain of gold with

long links, a huge censer of the same metal, Saracenic in

pattern, and with many perforations so contrived that there

writhed in and out of them, as if endued with a serpent vitality,

a continual succession of parti-colored fires.

Some few ottomans and golden candelabra, of Eastern figure, were

in various stations about—and there was the couch, too—bridal

couch—of an Indian model, and low, and sculptured of solid ebony,

with a pall-like canopy above. In each of the angles of the

chamber stood on end a gigantic sarcophagus of black granite,

from the tombs of the kings over against Luxor, with their aged

lids full of immemorial sculpture. But in the draping of the

apartment lay, alas! the chief phantasy of all. The lofty walls,

gigantic in height—even unproportionably so—were hung from summit

to foot, in vast folds, with a heavy and massive-looking

tapestry—tapestry of a material which was found alike as a carpet

on the floor, as a covering for the ottomans and the ebony bed,

as a canopy for the bed, and as the gorgeous volutes of the

curtains which partially shaded the window. The material was the

richest cloth of gold. It was spotted all over, at irregular

intervals, with arabesque figures, about a foot in diameter, and

wrought upon the cloth in patterns of the most jetty black. But

these figures partook of the true character of the arabesque only

when regarded from a single point of view. By a contrivance now

common, and indeed traceable to a very remote period of

antiquity, they were made changeable in aspect. To one entering

the room, they bore the appearance of simple monstrosities; but

upon a farther advance, this appearance gradually departed; and

step by step, as the visitor moved his station in the chamber, he

saw himself surrounded by an endless succession of the ghastly

forms which belong to the superstition of the Norman, or arise in

the guilty slumbers of the monk. The phantasmagoric effect was

vastly heightened by the artificial introduction of a strong

continual current of wind behind the draperies—giving a hideous

and uneasy animation to the whole.

In halls such as these—in a bridal chamber such as this—I passed,

with the Lady of Tremaine, the unhallowed hours of the first

month of our marriage—passed them with but little disquietude.

That my wife dreaded the fierce moodiness of my temper—that she

shunned me and loved me but little—I could not help perceiving;

but it gave me rather pleasure than otherwise. I loathed her with

a hatred belonging more to demon than to man. My memory flew

back, (oh, with what intensity of regret!) to Ligeia, the

beloved, the august, the beautiful, the entombed. I revelled in

recollections of her purity, of her wisdom, of her lofty, her

ethereal nature, of her passionate, her idolatrous love. Now,

then, did my spirit fully and freely burn with more than all the

fires of her own. In the excitement of my opium dreams (for I was

habitually fettered in the shackles of the drug) I would call

aloud upon her name, during the silence of the night, or among

the sheltered recesses of the glens by day, as if, through the

wild eagerness, the solemn passion, the consuming ardor of my

longing for the departed, I could restore her to the pathway she

had abandoned—ah, could it be forever?—upon the earth.

About the commencement of the second month of the marriage, the

Lady Rowena was attacked with sudden illness, from which her

recovery was slow. The fever which consumed her rendered her

nights uneasy; and in her perturbed state of half-slumber, she

spoke of sounds, and of motions, in and about the chamber of the

turret, which I concluded had no origin save in the distemper of

her fancy, or perhaps in the phantasmagoric influences of the

chamber itself. She became at length convalescent—finally well.

Yet but a brief period elapsed, ere a second more violent

disorder again threw her upon a bed of suffering; and from this

attack her frame, at all times feeble, never altogether

recovered. Her illnesses were, after this epoch, of alarming

character, and of more alarming recurrence, defying alike the

knowledge and the great exertions of her physicians. With the

increase of the chronic disease which had thus, apparently, taken

too sure hold upon her constitution to be eradicated by human

means, I could not fail to observe a similar increase in the

nervous irritation of her temperament, and in her excitability by

trivial causes of fear. She spoke again, and now more frequently

and pertinaciously, of the sounds—of the slight sounds—and of the

unusual motions among the tapestries, to which she had formerly

alluded.

One night, near the closing in of September, she pressed this

distressing subject with more than usual emphasis upon my

attention. She had just awakened from an unquiet slumber, and I

had been watching, with feelings half of anxiety, half of vague

terror, the workings of her emaciated countenance. I sat by the

side of her ebony bed, upon one of the ottomans of India. She

partly arose, and spoke, in an earnest low whisper, of sounds

which she then heard, but which I could not hear—of motions which

she then saw, but which I could not perceive. The wind was

rushing hurriedly behind the tapestries, and I wished to show her

(what, let me confess it, I could not all believe) that those

almost inarticulate breathings, and those very gentle variations

of the figures upon the wall, were but the natural effects of

that customary rushing of the wind. But a deadly pallor,

overspreading her face, had proved to me that my exertions to

reassure her would be fruitless. She appeared to be fainting, and

no attendants were within call. I remembered where was deposited

a decanter of light wine which had been ordered by her

physicians, and hastened across the chamber to procure it. But,

as I stepped beneath the light of the censer, two circumstances

of a startling nature attracted my attention. I had felt that

some palpable although invisible object had passed lightly by my

person; and I saw that there lay upon the golden carpet, in the

very middle of the rich lustre thrown from the censer, a shadow—a

faint, indefinite shadow of angelic aspect—such as might be

fancied for the shadow of a shade. But I was wild with the

excitement of an immoderate dose of opium, and heeded these

things but little, nor spoke of them to Rowena. Having found the

wine, I recrossed the chamber, and poured out a gobletful, which

I held to the lips of the fainting lady. She had now partially

recovered, however, and took the vessel herself, while I sank

upon an ottoman near me, with my eyes fastened upon her person.

It was then that I became distinctly aware of a gentle footfall

upon the carpet, and near the couch; and in a second thereafter,

as Rowena was in the act of raising the wine to her lips, I saw,

or may have dreamed that I saw, fall within the goblet, as if

from some invisible spring in the atmosphere of the room, three

or four large drops of a brilliant and ruby colored fluid. If

this I saw—not so Rowena. She swallowed the wine unhesitatingly,

and I forbore to speak to her of a circumstance which must, after

all, I considered, have been but the suggestion of a vivid

imagination, rendered morbidly active by the terror of the lady,

by the opium, and by the hour.

Yet I cannot conceal it from my own perception that, immediately

subsequent to the fall of the ruby-drops, a rapid change for the

worse took place in the disorder of my wife; so that, on the

third subsequent night, the hands of her menials prepared her for

the tomb, and on the fourth, I sat alone, with her shrouded body,

in that fantastic chamber which had received her as my bride.

Wild visions, opium-engendered, flitted, shadow-like, before me.

I gazed with unquiet eye upon the sarcophagi in the angles of the

room, upon the varying figures of the drapery, and upon the

writhing of the parti-colored fires in the censer overhead. My

eyes then fell, as I called to mind the circumstances of a former

night, to the spot beneath the glare of the censer where I had

seen the faint traces of the shadow. It was there, however, no

longer; and breathing with greater freedom, I turned my glances

to the pallid and rigid figure upon the bed. Then rushed upon me

a thousand memories of Ligeia—and then came back upon my heart,

with the turbulent violence of a flood, the whole of that

unutterable woe with which I had regarded her thus enshrouded.

The night waned; and still, with a bosom full of bitter thoughts

of the one only and supremely beloved, I remained gazing upon the

body of Rowena.

It might have been midnight, or perhaps earlier, or later, for I

had taken no note of time, when a sob, low, gentle, but very

distinct, startled me from my revery. I felt that it came from

the bed of ebony—the bed of death. I listened in an agony of

superstitious terror—but there was no repetition of the sound. I

strained my vision to detect any motion in the corpse—but there

was not the slightest perceptible. Yet I could not have been

deceived. I had heard the noise, however faint, and my soul was

awakened within me. I resolutely and perseveringly kept my

attention riveted upon the body. Many minutes elapsed before any

circumstance occurred tending to throw light upon the mystery. At

length it became evident that a slight, a very feeble, and barely

noticeable tinge of color had flushed up within the cheeks, and

along the sunken small veins of the eyelids. Through a species of

unutterable horror and awe, for which the language of mortality

has no sufficiently energetic expression, I felt my heart cease

to beat, my limbs grow rigid where I sat. Yet a sense of duty

finally operated to restore my self-possession. I could no longer

doubt that we had been precipitate in our preparations—that

Rowena still lived. It was necessary that some immediate exertion

be made; yet the turret was altogether apart from the portion of

the abbey tenanted by the servants—there were none within call—I

had no means of summoning them to my aid without leaving the room

for many minutes—and this I could not venture to do. I therefore

struggled alone in my endeavors to call back the spirit ill

hovering. In a short period it was certain, however, that a

relapse had taken place; the color disappeared from both eyelid

and cheek, leaving a wanness even more than that of marble; the

lips became doubly shrivelled and pinched up in the ghastly

expression of death; a repulsive clamminess and coldness

overspread rapidly the surface of the body; and all the usual

rigorous illness immediately supervened. I fell back with a

shudder upon the couch from which I had been so startlingly

aroused, and again gave myself up to passionate waking visions of

Ligeia.

An hour thus elapsed when (could it be possible?) I was a second

time aware of some vague sound issuing from the region of the

bed. I listened—in extremity of horror. The sound came again—it

was a sigh. Rushing to the corpse, I saw—distinctly saw—a tremor

upon the lips. In a minute afterward they relaxed, disclosing a

bright line of the pearly teeth. Amazement now struggled in my

bosom with the profound awe which had hitherto reigned there

alone. I felt that my vision grew dim, that my reason wandered;

and it was only by a violent effort that I at length succeeded in

nerving myself to the task which duty thus once more had pointed

out. There was now a partial glow upon the forehead and upon the

cheek and throat; a perceptible warmth pervaded the whole frame;

there was even a slight pulsation at the heart. The lady lived;

and with redoubled ardor I betook myself to the task of

restoration. I chafed and bathed the temples and the hands, and

used every exertion which experience, and no little medical

reading, could suggest. But in vain. Suddenly, the color fled,

the pulsation ceased, the lips resumed the expression of the

dead, and, in an instant afterward, the whole body took upon

itself the icy chilliness, the livid hue, the intense rigidity,

the sunken outline, and all the loathsome peculiarities of that

which has been, for many days, a tenant of the tomb.

And again I sunk into visions of Ligeia—and again, (what marvel

that I shudder while I write?), again there reached my ears a low

sob from the region of the ebony bed. But why shall I minutely

detail the unspeakable horrors of that night? Why shall I pause

to relate how, time after time, until near the period of the gray

dawn, this hideous drama of revivification was repeated; how each

terrific relapse was only into a sterner and apparently more

irredeemable death; how each agony wore the aspect of a struggle

with some invisible foe; and how each struggle was succeeded by I

know not what of wild change in the personal appearance of the

corpse? Let me hurry to a conclusion.

The greater part of the fearful night had worn away, and she who

had been dead, once again stirred—and now more vigorously than

hitherto, although arousing from a dissolution more appalling in

its utter hopelessness than any. I had long ceased to struggle or

to move, and remained sitting rigidly upon the ottoman, a

helpless prey to a whirl of violent emotions, of which extreme

awe was perhaps the least terrible, the least consuming. The

corpse, I repeat, stirred, and now more vigorously than before.

The hues of life flushed up with unwonted energy into the

countenance—the limbs relaxed—and, save that the eyelids were yet

pressed heavily together, and that the bandages and draperies of

the grave still imparted their charnel character to the figure, I

might have dreamed that Rowena had indeed shaken off, utterly,

the fetters of Death. But if this idea was not, even then,

altogether adopted, I could at least doubt no longer, when,

arising from the bed, tottering, with feeble steps, with closed

eyes, and with the manner of one bewildered in a dream, the thing

that was enshrouded advanced boldly and palpably into the middle

of the apartment.

I trembled not—I stirred not—for a crowd of unutterable fancies

connected with the air, the stature, the demeanor of the figure,

rushing hurriedly through my brain, had paralyzed—had chilled me

into stone. I stirred not—but gazed upon the apparition. There

was a mad disorder in my thoughts—a tumult unappeasable. Could

it, indeed, be the living Rowena who confronted me? Could it

indeed be Rowena at all—the fair-haired, the blue-eyed Lady

Rowena Trevanion of Tremaine? Why, why should I doubt it? The

bandage lay heavily about the mouth—but then might it not be the

mouth of the breathing Lady of Tremaine? And the cheeks—there

were the roses as in her noon of life—yes, these might indeed be

the fair cheeks of the living Lady of Tremaine. And the chin,

with its dimples, as in health, might it not be hers?—but had she

then grown taller since her malady? What inexpressible madness

seized me with that thought? One bound, and I had reached her

feet! Shrinking from my touch, she let fall from her head,

unloosened, the ghastly cerements which had confined it, and

there streamed forth, into the rushing atmosphere of the chamber,

huge masses of long and dishevelled hair; _it was blacker than

the raven wings of the midnight!_ And now slowly opened the eyes

of the figure which stood before me. “Here then, at least,” I

shrieked aloud, “can I never—can I never be mistaken—these are

the full, and the black, and the wild eyes—of my lost love—of the

Lady—of the LADY LIGEIA.”

MORELLA

Itself, by itself, solely, one everlasting, and single.

—PLATO—Sympos.

With a feeling of deep yet most singular affection I regarded my

friend Morella. Thrown by accident into her society many years

ago, my soul from our first meeting, burned with fires it had

never before known; but the fires were not of Eros, and bitter

and tormenting to my spirit was the gradual conviction that I

could in no manner define their unusual meaning or regulate their

vague intensity. Yet we met; and fate bound us together at the

altar; and I never spoke of passion nor thought of love. She,

however, shunned society, and, attaching herself to me alone

rendered me happy. It is a happiness to wonder; it is a happiness

to dream.

Morella’s erudition was profound. As I hope to live, her talents

were of no common order—her powers of mind were gigantic. I felt

this, and, in many matters, became her pupil. I soon, however,

found that, perhaps on account of her Presburg education, she

placed before me a number of those mystical writings which are

usually considered the mere dross of the early German literature.

These, for what reason I could not imagine, were her favourite

and constant study—and that in process of time they became my

own, should be attributed to the simple but effectual influence

of habit and example.

In all this, if I err not, my reason had little to do. My

convictions, or I forget myself, were in no manner acted upon by

the ideal, nor was any tincture of the mysticism which I read to

be discovered, unless I am greatly mistaken, either in my deeds

or in my thoughts. Persuaded of this, I abandoned myself

implicitly to the guidance of my wife, and entered with an

unflinching heart into the intricacies of her studies. And

then—then, when, poring over forbidden pages, I felt a forbidden

spirit enkindling within me—would Morella place her cold hand

upon my own, and rake up from the ashes of a dead philosophy some

low, singular words, whose strange meaning burned themselves in

upon my memory. And then, hour after hour, would I linger by her

side, and dwell upon the music of her voice, until at length its

melody was tainted with terror, and there fell a shadow upon my

soul, and I grew pale, and shuddered inwardly at those too

unearthly tones. And thus, joy suddenly faded into horror, and

the most beautiful became the most hideous, as Hinnon became

Ge-Henna.

It is unnecessary to state the exact character of those

disquisitions which, growing out of the volumes I have mentioned,

formed, for so long a time, almost the sole conversation of

Morella and myself. By the learned in what might be termed

theological morality they will be readily conceived, and by the

unlearned they would, at all events, be little understood. The

wild Pantheism of Fichte; the modified Paliggenedia of the

Pythagoreans; and, above all, the doctrines of Identity as urged

by Schelling, were generally the points of discussion presenting

the most of beauty to the imaginative Morella. That identity

which is termed personal, Mr. Locke, I think, truly defines to

consist in the saneness of rational being. And since by person we

understand an intelligent essence having reason, and since there

is a consciousness which always accompanies thinking, it is this

which makes us all to be that which we call ourselves—thereby

distinguishing us from other beings that think, and giving us our

personal identity. But the principium indivduationis, the

notion of that identity _which at death is or is not lost

forever_—was to me, at all times, a consideration of intense

interest; not more from the perplexing and exciting nature of its

consequences, than from the marked and agitated manner in which

Morella mentioned them.

But, indeed, the time had now arrived when the mystery of my

wife’s manner oppressed me as a spell. I could no longer bear the

touch of her wan fingers, nor the low tone of her musical

language, nor the lustre of her melancholy eyes. And she knew all

this, but did not upbraid; she seemed conscious of my weakness or

my folly, and, smiling, called it Fate. She seemed, also,

conscious of a cause, to me unknown, for the gradual alienation

of my regard; but she gave me no hint or token of its nature. Yet

was she woman, and pined away daily. In time the crimson spot

settled steadily upon the cheek, and the blue veins upon the pale

forehead became prominent; and one instant my nature melted into

pity, but in, next I met the glance of her meaning eyes, and then

my soul sickened and became giddy with the giddiness of one who

gazes downward into some dreary and unfathomable abyss.

Shall I then say that I longed with an earnest and consuming

desire for the moment of Morella’s decease? I did; but the

fragile spirit clung to its tenement of clay for many days—for

many weeks and irksome months, until my tortured nerves obtained

the mastery over my mind, and I grew furious through delay, and,

with the heart of a fiend, cursed the days and the hours and the

bitter moments, which seemed to lengthen and lengthen as her

gentle life declined—like shadows in the dying of the day.

But one autumnal evening, when the winds lay still in heaven,

Morella called me to her bedside. There was a dim mist over all

the earth, and a warm glow upon the waters, and amid the rich

October leaves of the forest, a rainbow from the firmament had

surely fallen.

“It is a day of days,” she said, as I approached; “a day of all

days either to live or die. It is a fair day for the sons of

earth and life—ah, more fair for the daughters of heaven and

death!”

I kissed her forehead, and she continued:

“I am dying, yet shall I live.”

“Morella!”

“The days have never been when thou couldst love me—but her whom

in life thou didst abhor, in death thou shalt adore.”

“Morella!”

“I repeat that I am dying. But within me is a pledge of that

affection—ah, how little!—which thou didst feel for me, Morella.

And when my spirit departs shall the child live—thy child and

mine, Morella’s. But thy days shall be days of sorrow—that sorrow

which is the most lasting of impressions, as the cypress is the

most enduring of trees. For the hours of thy happiness are over

and joy is not gathered twice in a life, as the roses of Paestum

twice in a year. Thou shalt no longer, then, play the Teian with

time, but, being ignorant of the myrtle and the vine, thou shalt

bear about with thee thy shroud on the earth, as do the Moslemin

at Mecca.”

“Morella!” I cried, “Morella! how knowest thou this?” but she

turned away her face upon the pillow and a slight tremor coming

over her limbs, she thus died, and I heard her voice no more.

Yet, as she had foretold, her child, to which in dying she had

given birth, which breathed not until the mother breathed no

more, her child, a daughter, lived. And she grew strangely in

stature and intellect, and was the perfect resemblance of her who

had departed, and I loved her with a love more fervent than I had

believed it possible to feel for any denizen of earth.

But, ere long the heaven of this pure affection became darkened,

and gloom, and horror, and grief swept over it in clouds. I said

the child grew strangely in stature and intelligence. Strange,

indeed, was her rapid increase in bodily size—but terrible, oh!

terrible were the tumultuous thoughts which crowded upon me while

watching the development of her mental being. Could it be

otherwise, when I daily discovered in the conceptions of the

child the adult powers and faculties of the woman?—when the

lessons of experience fell from the lips of infancy? and when the

wisdom or the passions of maturity I found hourly gleaming from

its full and speculative eye? When, I say, all this became

evident to my appalled senses—when I could no longer hide it from

my soul, nor throw it off from those perceptions which trembled

to receive it—is it to be wondered at that suspicions, of a

nature fearful and exciting, crept in upon my spirit, or that my

thoughts fell back aghast upon the wild tales and thrilling

theories of the entombed Morella? I snatched from the scrutiny of

the world a being whom destiny compelled me to adore, and in the

rigorous seclusion of my home, watched with an agonizing anxiety

over all which concerned the beloved.

And as years rolled away, and I gazed day after day upon her

holy, and mild, and eloquent face, and poured over her maturing

form, day after day did I discover new points of resemblance in

the child to her mother, the melancholy and the dead. And hourly

grew darker these shadows of similitude, and more full, and more

definite, and more perplexing, and more hideously terrible in

their aspect. For that her smile was like her mother’s I could

bear; but then I shuddered at its too perfect identity—that her

eyes were like Morella’s I could endure; but then they, too,

often looked down into the depths of my soul with Morella’s own

intense and bewildering meaning. And in the contour of the high

forehead, and in the ringlets of the silken hair, and in the wan

fingers which buried themselves therein, and in the sad musical

tones of her speech, and above all—oh! above all—in the phrases

and expressions of the dead on the lips of the loved and the

living, I found food for consuming thought and horror—for a worm

that would not die.

Thus passed away two lustra of her life, and as yet my daughter

remained nameless upon the earth. “My child,” and “my love,” were

the designations usually prompted by a father’s affection, and

the rigid seclusion of her days precluded all other intercourse.

Morella’s name died with her at her death. Of the mother I had

never spoken to the daughter;—it was impossible to speak. Indeed,

during the brief period of her existence, the latter had received

no impressions from the outward world, save such as might have

been afforded by the narrow limits of her privacy. But at length

the ceremony of baptism presented to my mind, in its unnerved and

agitated condition, a present deliverance from the terrors of my

destiny. And at the baptismal font I hesitated for a name. And

many titles of the wise and beautiful, of old and modern times,

of my own and foreign lands, came thronging to my lips, with

many, many fair titles of the gentle, and the happy, and the

good. What prompted me then to disturb the memory of the buried

dead? What demon urged me to breathe that sound, which in its

very recollection was wont to make ebb the purple blood in

torrents from the temples to the heart? What fiend spoke from the

recesses of my soul, when amid those dim aisles, and in the

silence of the night, I whispered within the ears of the holy man

the syllables—Morella? What more than fiend convulsed the

features of my child, and overspread them with hues of death, as

starting at that scarcely audible sound, she turned her glassy

eyes from the earth to heaven, and falling prostrate on the black

slabs of our ancestral vault, responded—“I am here!”

Distinct, coldly, calmly distinct, fell those few simple sounds

within my ear, and thence like molten lead rolled hissingly into

my brain. Years—years may pass away, but the memory of that

epoch—never! Nor was I indeed ignorant of the flowers and the

vine—but the hemlock and the cypress overshadowed me night and

day. And I kept no reckoning of time or place, and the stars of

my fate faded from heaven, and therefore the earth grew dark, and

its figures passed by me like flitting shadows, and among them

all I beheld only—Morella. The winds of the firmament breathed

but one sound within my ears, and the ripples upon the sea

murmured evermore—Morella. But she died; and with my own hands I

bore her to the tomb; and I laughed with a long and bitter laugh

as I found no traces of the first in the charnel where I laid the

second, Morella.

A TALE OF THE RAGGED MOUNTAINS

During the fall of the year 1827, while residing near

Charlottesville, Virginia, I casually made the acquaintance of

Mr. Augustus Bedloe. This young gentleman was remarkable in every

respect, and excited in me a profound interest and curiosity. I

found it impossible to comprehend him either in his moral or his

physical relations. Of his family I could obtain no satisfactory

account. Whence he came, I never ascertained. Even about his

age—although I call him a young gentleman—there was something

which perplexed me in no little degree. He certainly seemed

young—and he made a point of speaking about his youth—yet there

were moments when I should have had little trouble in imagining

him a hundred years of age. But in no regard was he more peculiar

than in his personal appearance. He was singularly tall and thin.

He stooped much. His limbs were exceedingly long and emaciated.

His forehead was broad and low. His complexion was absolutely

bloodless. His mouth was large and flexible, and his teeth were

more wildly uneven, although sound, than I had ever before seen

teeth in a human head. The expression of his smile, however, was

by no means unpleasing, as might be supposed; but it had no

variation whatever. It was one of profound melancholy—of a

phaseless and unceasing gloom. His eyes were abnormally large,

and round like those of a cat. The pupils, too, upon any

accession or diminution of light, underwent contraction or

dilation, just such as is observed in the feline tribe. In

moments of excitement the orbs grew bright to a degree almost

inconceivable; seeming to emit luminous rays, not of a reflected

but of an intrinsic lustre, as does a candle or the sun; yet

their ordinary condition was so totally vapid, filmy, and dull as

to convey the idea of the eyes of a long-interred corpse.

These peculiarities of person appeared to cause him much

annoyance, and he was continually alluding to them in a sort of

half explanatory, half apologetic strain, which, when I first

heard it, impressed me very painfully. I soon, however, grew

accustomed to it, and my uneasiness wore off. It seemed to be his

design rather to insinuate than directly to assert that,

physically, he had not always been what he was—that a long series

of neuralgic attacks had reduced him from a condition of more

than usual personal beauty, to that which I saw. For many years

past he had been attended by a physician, named Templeton—an old

gentleman, perhaps seventy years of age—whom he had first

encountered at Saratoga, and from whose attention, while there,

he either received, or fancied that he received, great benefit.

The result was that Bedloe, who was wealthy, had made an

arrangement with Dr. Templeton, by which the latter, in

consideration of a liberal annual allowance, had consented to

devote his time and medical experience exclusively to the care of

the invalid.

Doctor Templeton had been a traveller in his younger days, and at

Paris had become a convert, in great measure, to the doctrines of

Mesmer. It was altogether by means of magnetic remedies that he

had succeeded in alleviating the acute pains of his patient; and

this success had very naturally inspired the latter with a

certain degree of confidence in the opinions from which the

remedies had been educed. The Doctor, however, like all

enthusiasts, had struggled hard to make a thorough convert of his

pupil, and finally so far gained his point as to induce the

sufferer to submit to numerous experiments. By a frequent

repetition of these, a result had arisen, which of late days has

become so common as to attract little or no attention, but which,

at the period of which I write, had very rarely been known in

America. I mean to say, that between Doctor Templeton and Bedloe

there had grown up, little by little, a very distinct and

strongly marked rapport, or magnetic relation. I am not prepared

to assert, however, that this rapport extended beyond the limits

of the simple sleep-producing power, but this power itself had

attained great intensity. At the first attempt to induce the

magnetic somnolency, the mesmerist entirely failed. In the fifth

or sixth he succeeded very partially, and after long continued

effort. Only at the twelfth was the triumph complete. After this

the will of the patient succumbed rapidly to that of the

physician, so that, when I first became acquainted with the two,

sleep was brought about almost instantaneously by the mere

volition of the operator, even when the invalid was unaware of

his presence. It is only now, in the year 1845, when similar

miracles are witnessed daily by thousands, that I dare venture to

record this apparent impossibility as a matter of serious fact.

The temperature of Bedloe was, in the highest degree sensitive,

excitable, enthusiastic. His imagination was singularly vigorous

and creative; and no doubt it derived additional force from the

habitual use of morphine, which he swallowed in great quantity,

and without which he would have found it impossible to exist. It

was his practice to take a very large dose of it immediately

after breakfast each morning—or, rather, immediately after a cup

of strong coffee, for he ate nothing in the forenoon—and then set

forth alone, or attended only by a dog, upon a long ramble among

the chain of wild and dreary hills that lie westward and

southward of Charlottesville, and are there dignified by the

title of the Ragged Mountains.

Upon a dim, warm, misty day, toward the close of November, and

during the strange interregnum of the seasons which in America is

termed the Indian Summer, Mr. Bedloe departed as usual for the

hills. The day passed, and still he did not return.

About eight o’clock at night, having become seriously alarmed at

his protracted absence, we were about setting out in search of

him, when he unexpectedly made his appearance, in health no worse

than usual, and in rather more than ordinary spirits. The account

which he gave of his expedition, and of the events which had

detained him, was a singular one indeed.

“You will remember,” said he, “that it was about nine in the

morning when I left Charlottesville. I bent my steps immediately

to the mountains, and, about ten, entered a gorge which was

entirely new to me. I followed the windings of this pass with

much interest. The scenery which presented itself on all sides,

although scarcely entitled to be called grand, had about it an

indescribable and to me a delicious aspect of dreary desolation.

The solitude seemed absolutely virgin. I could not help believing

that the green sods and the gray rocks upon which I trod had been

trodden never before by the foot of a human being. So entirely

secluded, and in fact inaccessible, except through a series of

accidents, is the entrance of the ravine, that it is by no means

impossible that I was indeed the first adventurer—the very first

and sole adventurer who had ever penetrated its recesses.

“The thick and peculiar mist, or smoke, which distinguishes the

Indian Summer, and which now hung heavily over all objects,

served, no doubt, to deepen the vague impressions which these

objects created. So dense was this pleasant fog that I could at

no time see more than a dozen yards of the path before me. This

path was excessively sinuous, and as the sun could not be seen, I

soon lost all idea of the direction in which I journeyed. In the

meantime the morphine had its customary effect—that of enduing

all the external world with an intensity of interest. In the

quivering of a leaf—in the hue of a blade of grass—in the shape

of a trefoil—in the humming of a bee—in the gleaming of a

dew-drop—in the breathing of the wind—in the faint odors that

came from the forest—there came a whole universe of suggestion—a

gay and motley train of rhapsodical and immethodical thought.

“Busied in this, I walked on for several hours, during which the

mist deepened around me to so great an extent that at length I

was reduced to an absolute groping of the way. And now an

indescribable uneasiness possessed me—a species of nervous

hesitation and tremor. I feared to tread, lest I should be

precipitated into some abyss. I remembered, too, strange stories

told about these Ragged Hills, and of the uncouth and fierce

races of men who tenanted their groves and caverns. A thousand

vague fancies oppressed and disconcerted me—fancies the more

distressing because vague. Very suddenly my attention was

arrested by the loud beating of a drum.

“My amazement was, of course, extreme. A drum in these hills was

a thing unknown. I could not have been more surprised at the

sound of the trump of the Archangel. But a new and still more

astounding source of interest and perplexity arose. There came a

wild rattling or jingling sound, as if of a bunch of large keys,

and upon the instant a dusky-visaged and half-naked man rushed

past me with a shriek. He came so close to my person that I felt

his hot breath upon my face. He bore in one hand an instrument

composed of an assemblage of steel rings, and shook them

vigorously as he ran. Scarcely had he disappeared in the mist

before, panting after him, with open mouth and glaring eyes,

there darted a huge beast. I could not be mistaken in its

character. It was a hyena.

“The sight of this monster rather relieved than heightened my

terrors—for I now made sure that I dreamed, and endeavored to

arouse myself to waking consciousness. I stepped boldly and

briskly forward. I rubbed my eyes. I called aloud. I pinched my

limbs. A small spring of water presented itself to my view, and

here, stooping, I bathed my hands and my head and neck. This

seemed to dissipate the equivocal sensations which had hitherto

annoyed me. I arose, as I thought, a new man, and proceeded

steadily and complacently on my unknown way.

“At length, quite overcome by exertion, and by a certain

oppressive closeness of the atmosphere, I seated myself beneath a

tree. Presently there came a feeble gleam of sunshine, and the

shadow of the leaves of the tree fell faintly but definitely upon

the grass. At this shadow I gazed wonderingly for many minutes.

Its character stupefied me with astonishment. I looked upward.

The tree was a palm.

“I now arose hurriedly, and in a state of fearful agitation—for

the fancy that I dreamed would serve me no longer. I saw—I felt

that I had perfect command of my senses—and these senses now

brought to my soul a world of novel and singular sensation. The

heat became all at once intolerable. A strange odor loaded the

breeze. A low, continuous murmur, like that arising from a full,

but gently flowing river, came to my ears, intermingled with the

peculiar hum of multitudinous human voices.

“While I listened in an extremity of astonishment which I need

not attempt to describe, a strong and brief gust of wind bore off

the incumbent fog as if by the wand of an enchanter.

“I found myself at the foot of a high mountain, and looking down

into a vast plain, through which wound a majestic river. On the

margin of this river stood an Eastern-looking city, such as we

read of in the Arabian Tales, but of a character even more

singular than any there described. From my position, which was

far above the level of the town, I could perceive its every nook

and corner, as if delineated on a map. The streets seemed

innumerable, and crossed each other irregularly in all

directions, but were rather long winding alleys than streets, and

absolutely swarmed with inhabitants. The houses were wildly

picturesque. On every hand was a wilderness of balconies, of

verandas, of minarets, of shrines, and fantastically carved

oriels. Bazaars abounded; and in these were displayed rich wares

in infinite variety and profusion—silks, muslins, the most

dazzling cutlery, the most magnificent jewels and gems. Besides

these things, were seen, on all sides, banners and palanquins,

litters with stately dames close-veiled, elephants gorgeously

caparisoned, idols grotesquely hewn, drums, banners, and gongs,

spears, silver and gilded maces. And amid the crowd, and the

clamor, and the general intricacy and confusion—amid the million

of black and yellow men, turbaned and robed, and of flowing

beard, there roamed a countless multitude of holy filleted bulls,

while vast legions of the filthy but sacred ape clambered,

chattering and shrieking, about the cornices of the mosques, or

clung to the minarets and oriels. From the swarming streets to

the banks of the river, there descended innumerable flights of

steps leading to bathing places, while the river itself seemed to

force a passage with difficulty through the vast fleets of

deeply-burthened ships that far and wide encountered its surface.

Beyond the limits of the city arose, in frequent majestic groups,

the palm and the cocoa, with other gigantic and weird trees of

vast age; and here and there might be seen a field of rice, the

thatched hut of a peasant, a tank, a stray temple, a gypsy camp,

or a solitary graceful maiden taking her way, with a pitcher upon

her head, to the banks of the magnificent river.

“You will say now, of course, that I dreamed; but not so. What I

saw—what I heard—what I felt—what I thought—had about it nothing

of the unmistakable idiosyncrasy of the dream. All was rigorously

self-consistent. At first, doubting that I was really awake, I

entered into a series of tests, which soon convinced me that I

really was. Now, when one dreams, and, in the dream, suspects

that he dreams, the suspicion never fails to confirm itself, and

the sleeper is almost immediately aroused. Thus Novalis errs not

in saying that ‘we are near waking when we dream that we dream.’

Had the vision occurred to me as I describe it, without my

suspecting it as a dream, then a dream it might absolutely have

been, but, occurring as it did, and suspected and tested as it

was, I am forced to class it among other phenomena.”

“In this I am not sure that you are wrong,” observed Dr.

Templeton, “but proceed. You arose and descended into the city.”

“I arose,” continued Bedloe, regarding the Doctor with an air of

profound astonishment “I arose, as you say, and descended into

the city. On my way I fell in with an immense populace, crowding

through every avenue, all in the same direction, and exhibiting

in every action the wildest excitement. Very suddenly, and by

some inconceivable impulse, I became intensely imbued with

personal interest in what was going on. I seemed to feel that I

had an important part to play, without exactly understanding what

it was. Against the crowd which environed me, however, I

experienced a deep sentiment of animosity. I shrank from amid

them, and, swiftly, by a circuitous path, reached and entered the

city. Here all was the wildest tumult and contention. A small

party of men, clad in garments half Indian, half European, and

officered by gentlemen in a uniform partly British, were engaged,

at great odds, with the swarming rabble of the alleys. I joined

the weaker party, arming myself with the weapons of a fallen

officer, and fighting I knew not whom with the nervous ferocity

of despair. We were soon overpowered by numbers, and driven to

seek refuge in a species of kiosk. Here we barricaded ourselves,

and, for the present were secure. From a loop-hole near the

summit of the kiosk, I perceived a vast crowd, in furious

agitation, surrounding and assaulting a gay palace that overhung

the river. Presently, from an upper window of this place, there

descended an effeminate-looking person, by means of a string made

of the turbans of his attendants. A boat was at hand, in which he

escaped to the opposite bank of the river.

“And now a new object took possession of my soul. I spoke a few

hurried but energetic words to my companions, and, having

succeeded in gaining over a few of them to my purpose made a

frantic sally from the kiosk. We rushed amid the crowd that

surrounded it. They retreated, at first, before us. They rallied,

fought madly, and retreated again. In the mean time we were borne

far from the kiosk, and became bewildered and entangled among the

narrow streets of tall, overhanging houses, into the recesses of

which the sun had never been able to shine. The rabble pressed

impetuously upon us, harrassing us with their spears, and

overwhelming us with flights of arrows. These latter were very

remarkable, and resembled in some respects the writhing creese of

the Malay. They were made to imitate the body of a creeping

serpent, and were long and black, with a poisoned barb. One of

them struck me upon the right temple. I reeled and fell. An

instantaneous and dreadful sickness seized me. I struggled—I

gasped—I died.”

“You will hardly persist now,” said I smiling, “that the whole

of your adventure was not a dream. You are not prepared to

maintain that you are dead?”

When I said these words, I of course expected some lively sally

from Bedloe in reply, but, to my astonishment, he hesitated,

trembled, became fearfully pallid, and remained silent. I looked

toward Templeton. He sat erect and rigid in his chair—his teeth

chattered, and his eyes were starting from their sockets.

“Proceed!” he at length said hoarsely to Bedloe.

“For many minutes,” continued the latter, “my sole sentiment—my

sole feeling—was that of darkness and nonentity, with the

consciousness of death. At length there seemed to pass a violent

and sudden shock through my soul, as if of electricity. With it

came the sense of elasticity and of light. This latter I felt—not

saw. In an instant I seemed to rise from the ground. But I had no

bodily, no visible, audible, or palpable presence. The crowd had

departed. The tumult had ceased. The city was in comparative

repose. Beneath me lay my corpse, with the arrow in my temple,

the whole head greatly swollen and disfigured. But all these

things I felt—not saw. I took interest in nothing. Even the

corpse seemed a matter in which I had no concern. Volition I had

none, but appeared to be impelled into motion, and flitted

buoyantly out of the city, retracing the circuitous path by which

I had entered it. When I had attained that point of the ravine in

the mountains at which I had encountered the hyena, I again

experienced a shock as of a galvanic battery; the sense of

weight, of volition, of substance, returned. I became my original

self, and bent my steps eagerly homeward—but the past had not

lost the vividness of the real—and not now, even for an instant,

can I compel my understanding to regard it as a dream.”

“Nor was it,” said Templeton, with an air of deep solemnity, “yet

it would be difficult to say how otherwise it should be termed.

Let us suppose only, that the soul of the man of to-day is upon

the verge of some stupendous psychal discoveries. Let us content

ourselves with this supposition. For the rest I have some

explanation to make. Here is a watercolor drawing, which I should

have shown you before, but which an unaccountable sentiment of

horror has hitherto prevented me from showing.”

We looked at the picture which he presented. I saw nothing in it

of an extraordinary character, but its effect upon Bedloe was

prodigious. He nearly fainted as he gazed. And yet it was but a

miniature portrait—a miraculously accurate one, to be sure—of his

own very remarkable features. At least this was my thought as I

regarded it.

“You will perceive,” said Templeton, “the date of this picture—it

is here, scarcely visible, in this corner—1780. In this year was

the portrait taken. It is the likeness of a dead friend—a Mr.

Oldeb—to whom I became much attached at Calcutta, during the

administration of Warren Hastings. I was then only twenty years

old. When I first saw you, Mr. Bedloe, at Saratoga, it was the

miraculous similarity which existed between yourself and the

painting which induced me to accost you, to seek your friendship,

and to bring about those arrangements which resulted in my

becoming your constant companion. In accomplishing this point, I

was urged partly, and perhaps principally, by a regretful memory

of the deceased, but also, in part, by an uneasy, and not

altogether horrorless curiosity respecting yourself.

“In your detail of the vision which presented itself to you amid

the hills, you have described, with the minutest accuracy, the

Indian city of Benares, upon the Holy River. The riots, the

combat, the massacre, were the actual events of the insurrection

of Cheyte Sing, which took place in 1780, when Hastings was put

in imminent peril of his life. The man escaping by the string of

turbans was Cheyte Sing himself. The party in the kiosk were

sepoys and British officers, headed by Hastings. Of this party I

was one, and did all I could to prevent the rash and fatal sally

of the officer who fell, in the crowded alleys, by the poisoned

arrow of a Bengalee. That officer was my dearest friend. It was

Oldeb. You will perceive by these manuscripts,” (here the speaker

produced a note-book in which several pages appeared to have been

freshly written,) “that at the very period in which you fancied

these things amid the hills, I was engaged in detailing them upon

paper here at home.”

In about a week after this conversation, the following paragraphs

appeared in a Charlottesville paper:

“We have the painful duty of announcing the death of Mr. Augustus

Bedlo, a gentleman whose amiable manners and many virtues have

long endeared him to the citizens of Charlottesville.

“Mr. B., for some years past, has been subject to neuralgia,

which has often threatened to terminate fatally; but this can be

regarded only as the mediate cause of his decease. The proximate

cause was one of especial singularity. In an excursion to the

Ragged Mountains, a few days since, a slight cold and fever were

contracted, attended with great determination of blood to the

head. To relieve this, Dr. Templeton resorted to topical

bleeding. Leeches were applied to the temples. In a fearfully

brief period the patient died, when it appeared that in the jar

containing the leeches, had been introduced, by accident, one of

the venomous vermicular sangsues which are now and then found in

the neighboring ponds. This creature fastened itself upon a small

artery in the right temple. Its close resemblance to the

medicinal leech caused the mistake to be overlooked until too

late.

“N. B.—The poisonous sangsue of Charlottesville may always be

distinguished from the medicinal leech by its blackness, and

especially by its writhing or vermicular motions, which very

nearly resemble those of a snake.”

I was speaking with the editor of the paper in question, upon the

topic of this remarkable accident, when it occurred to me to ask

how it happened that the name of the deceased had been given as

Bedlo.

“I presume,” I said, “you have authority for this spelling, but I

have always supposed the name to be written with an e at the

end.”

“Authority?—no,” he replied. “It is a mere typographical error.

The name is Bedlo with an e, all the world over, and I never knew

it to be spelt otherwise in my life.”

“Then,” said I mutteringly, as I turned upon my heel, “then

indeed has it come to pass that one truth is stranger than any

fiction—for Bedloe, without the e, what is it but Oldeb

conversed! And this man tells me that it is a typographical

error.”

THE SPECTACLES

Many years ago, it was the fashion to ridicule the idea of “love

at first sight;” but those who think, not less than those who

feel deeply, have always advocated its existence. Modern

discoveries, indeed, in what may be termed ethical magnetism or

magnetoesthetics, render it probable that the most natural, and,

consequently, the truest and most intense of the human affections

are those which arise in the heart as if by electric sympathy—in

a word, that the brightest and most enduring of the psychal

fetters are those which are riveted by a glance. The confession I

am about to make will add another to the already almost

innumerable instances of the truth of the position.

My story requires that I should be somewhat minute. I am still a

very young man—not yet twenty-two years of age. My name, at

present, is a very usual and rather plebeian one—Simpson. I say

“at present;” for it is only lately that I have been so

called—having legislatively adopted this surname within the last

year in order to receive a large inheritance left me by a distant

male relative, Adolphus Simpson, Esq. The bequest was conditioned

upon my taking the name of the testator,—the family, not the

Christian name; my Christian name is Napoleon Bonaparte—or, more

properly, these are my first and middle appellations.

I assumed the name, Simpson, with some reluctance, as in my true

patronym, Froissart, I felt a very pardonable pride—believing

that I could trace a descent from the immortal author of the

“Chronicles.” While on the subject of names, by the bye, I may

mention a singular coincidence of sound attending the names of

some of my immediate predecessors. My father was a Monsieur

Froissart, of Paris. His wife—my mother, whom he married at

fifteen—was a Mademoiselle Croissart, eldest daughter of

Croissart the banker, whose wife, again, being only sixteen when

married, was the eldest daughter of one Victor Voissart. Monsieur

Voissart, very singularly, had married a lady of similar name—a

Mademoiselle Moissart. She, too, was quite a child when married;

and her mother, also, Madame Moissart, was only fourteen when led

to the altar. These early marriages are usual in France. Here,

however, are Moissart, Voissart, Croissart, and Froissart, all in

the direct line of descent. My own name, though, as I say, became

Simpson, by act of Legislature, and with so much repugnance on my

part, that, at one period, I actually hesitated about accepting

the legacy with the useless and annoying proviso attached.

As to personal endowments, I am by no means deficient. On the

contrary, I believe that I am well made, and possess what nine

tenths of the world would call a handsome face. In height I am

five feet eleven. My hair is black and curling. My nose is

sufficiently good. My eyes are large and gray; and although, in

fact they are weak to a very inconvenient degree, still no defect

in this regard would be suspected from their appearance. The

weakness itself, however, has always much annoyed me, and I have

resorted to every remedy—short of wearing glasses. Being youthful

and good-looking, I naturally dislike these, and have resolutely

refused to employ them. I know nothing, indeed, which so

disfigures the countenance of a young person, or so impresses

every feature with an air of demureness, if not altogether of

sanctimoniousness and of age. An eyeglass, on the other hand, has

a savor of downright foppery and affectation. I have hitherto

managed as well as I could without either. But something too much

of these merely personal details, which, after all, are of little

importance. I will content myself with saying, in addition, that

my temperament is sanguine, rash, ardent, enthusiastic—and that

all my life I have been a devoted admirer of the women.

One night last winter I entered a box at the P—— Theatre, in

company with a friend, Mr. Talbot. It was an opera night, and the

bills presented a very rare attraction, so that the house was

excessively crowded. We were in time, however, to obtain the

front seats which had been reserved for us, and into which, with

some little difficulty, we elbowed our way.

For two hours my companion, who was a musical fanatico, gave his

undivided attention to the stage; and, in the meantime, I amused

myself by observing the audience, which consisted, in chief part,

of the very elite of the city. Having satisfied myself upon this

point, I was about turning my eyes to the prima donna, when they

were arrested and riveted by a figure in one of the private boxes

which had escaped my observation.

If I live a thousand years, I can never forget the intense

emotion with which I regarded this figure. It was that of a

female, the most exquisite I had ever beheld. The face was so far

turned toward the stage that, for some minutes, I could not

obtain a view of it—but the form was divine; no other word can

sufficiently express its magnificent proportion—and even the term

“divine” seems ridiculously feeble as I write it.

The magic of a lovely form in woman—the necromancy of female

gracefulness—was always a power which I had found it impossible

to resist, but here was grace personified, incarnate, the beau

ideal of my wildest and most enthusiastic visions. The figure,

almost all of which the construction of the box permitted to be

seen, was somewhat above the medium height, and nearly

approached, without positively reaching, the majestic. Its

perfect fullness and tournure were delicious. The head, of which

only the back was visible, rivalled in outline that of the Greek

Psyche, and was rather displayed than concealed by an elegant cap

of gaze äérienne, which put me in mind of the ventum textilem

of Apuleius. The right arm hung over the balustrade of the box,

and thrilled every nerve of my frame with its exquisite symmetry.

Its upper portion was draperied by one of the loose open sleeves

now in fashion. This extended but little below the elbow. Beneath

it was worn an under one of some frail material, close-fitting,

and terminated by a cuff of rich lace, which fell gracefully over

the top of the hand, revealing only the delicate fingers, upon

one of which sparkled a diamond ring, which I at once saw was of

extraordinary value. The admirable roundness of the wrist was

well set off by a bracelet which encircled it, and which also was

ornamented and clasped by a magnificent aigrette of

jewels—telling, in words that could not be mistaken, at once of

the wealth and fastidious taste of the wearer.

I gazed at this queenly apparition for at least half an hour, as

if I had been suddenly converted to stone; and, during this

period, I felt the full force and truth of all that has been said

or sung concerning “love at first sight.” My feelings were

totally different from any which I had hitherto experienced, in

the presence of even the most celebrated specimens of female

loveliness. An unaccountable, and what I am compelled to consider

a magnetic, sympathy of soul for soul, seemed to rivet, not only

my vision, but my whole powers of thought and feeling, upon the

admirable object before me. I saw—I felt—I knew that I was

deeply, madly, irrevocably in love—and this even before seeing

the face of the person beloved. So intense, indeed, was the

passion that consumed me, that I really believe it would have

received little if any abatement had the features, yet unseen,

proved of merely ordinary character; so anomalous is the nature

of the only true love—of the love at first sight—and so little

really dependent is it upon the external conditions which only

seem to create and control it.

While I was thus wrapped in admiration of this lovely vision, a

sudden disturbance among the audience caused her to turn her head

partially toward me, so that I beheld the entire profile of the

face. Its beauty even exceeded my anticipations—and yet there was

something about it which disappointed me without my being able to

tell exactly what it was. I said “disappointed,” but this is not

altogether the word. My sentiments were at once quieted and

exalted. They partook less of transport and more of calm

enthusiasm—of enthusiastic repose. This state of feeling arose,

perhaps, from the Madonna-like and matronly air of the face; and

yet I at once understood that it could not have arisen entirely

from this. There was something else—some mystery which I could

not develope—some expression about the countenance which slightly

disturbed me while it greatly heightened my interest. In fact, I

was just in that condition of mind which prepares a young and

susceptible man for any act of extravagance. Had the lady been

alone, I should undoubtedly have entered her box and accosted her

at all hazards; but, fortunately, she was attended by two

companions—a gentleman, and a strikingly beautiful woman, to all

appearance a few years younger than herself.

I revolved in my mind a thousand schemes by which I might obtain,

hereafter, an introduction to the elder lady, or, for the

present, at all events, a more distinct view of her beauty. I

would have removed my position to one nearer her own, but the

crowded state of the theatre rendered this impossible; and the

stern decrees of Fashion had, of late, imperatively prohibited

the use of the opera-glass in a case such as this, even had I

been so fortunate as to have one with me—but I had not—and was

thus in despair.

At length I bethought me of applying to my companion.

“Talbot,” I said, “you have an opera-glass. Let me have it.”

“An opera-glass!—no!—what do you suppose I would be doing with an

opera-glass?” Here he turned impatiently toward the stage.

“But, Talbot,” I continued, pulling him by the shoulder, “listen

to me will you? Do you see the stage-box?—there!—no, the next.—

Did you ever behold as lovely a woman?”

“She is very beautiful, no doubt,” he said.

“I wonder who she can be?”

“Why, in the name of all that is angelic, don’t you know who she

is? ‘Not to know her argues yourself unknown.’ She is the

celebrated Madame Lalande—the beauty of the day par excellence,

and the talk of the whole town. Immensely wealthy too—a widow,

and a great match—has just arrived from Paris.”

“Do you know her?”

“Yes; I have the honor.”

“Will you introduce me?”

“Assuredly, with the greatest pleasure; when shall it be?”

“To-morrow, at one, I will call upon you at B—’s.”

“Very good; and now do hold your tongue, if you can.”

In this latter respect I was forced to take Talbot’s advice; for

he remained obstinately deaf to every further question or

suggestion, and occupied himself exclusively for the rest of the

evening with what was transacting upon the stage.

In the meantime I kept my eyes riveted on Madame Lalande, and at

length had the good fortune to obtain a full front view of her

face. It was exquisitely lovely—this, of course, my heart had

told me before, even had not Talbot fully satisfied me upon the

point—but still the unintelligible something disturbed me. I

finally concluded that my senses were impressed by a certain air

of gravity, sadness, or, still more properly, of weariness, which

took something from the youth and freshness of the countenance,

only to endow it with a seraphic tenderness and majesty, and

thus, of course, to my enthusiastic and romantic temperment, with

an interest tenfold.

While I thus feasted my eyes, I perceived, at last, to my great

trepidation, by an almost imperceptible start on the part of the

lady, that she had become suddenly aware of the intensity of my

gaze. Still, I was absolutely fascinated, and could not withdraw

it, even for an instant. She turned aside her face, and again I

saw only the chiselled contour of the back portion of the head.

After some minutes, as if urged by curiosity to see if I was

still looking, she gradually brought her face again around and

again encountered my burning gaze. Her large dark eyes fell

instantly, and a deep blush mantled her cheek. But what was my

astonishment at perceiving that she not only did not a second

time avert her head, but that she actually took from her girdle a

double eyeglass—elevated it—adjusted it—and then regarded me

through it, intently and deliberately, for the space of several

minutes.

Had a thunderbolt fallen at my feet I could not have been more

thoroughly astounded—astounded only—not offended or disgusted in

the slightest degree; although an action so bold in any other

woman would have been likely to offend or disgust. But the whole

thing was done with so much quietude—so much nonchalance—so much

repose—with so evident an air of the highest breeding, in

short—that nothing of mere effrontery was perceptible, and my

sole sentiments were those of admiration and surprise.

I observed that, upon her first elevation of the glass, she had

seemed satisfied with a momentary inspection of my person, and

was withdrawing the instrument, when, as if struck by a second

thought, she resumed it, and so continued to regard me with fixed

attention for the space of several minutes—for five minutes, at

the very least, I am sure.

This action, so remarkable in an American theatre, attracted very

general observation, and gave rise to an indefinite movement, or

buzz, among the audience, which for a moment filled me with

confusion, but produced no visible effect upon the countenance of

Madame Lalande.

Having satisfied her curiosity—if such it was—she dropped the

glass, and quietly gave her attention again to the stage; her

profile now being turned toward myself, as before. I continued to

watch her unremittingly, although I was fully conscious of my

rudeness in so doing. Presently I saw the head slowly and

slightly change its position; and soon I became convinced that

the lady, while pretending to look at the stage was, in fact,

attentively regarding myself. It is needless to say what effect

this conduct, on the part of so fascinating a woman, had upon my

excitable mind.

Having thus scrutinized me for perhaps a quarter of an hour, the

fair object of my passion addressed the gentleman who attended

her, and while she spoke, I saw distinctly, by the glances of

both, that the conversation had reference to myself.

Upon its conclusion, Madame Lalande again turned toward the

stage, and, for a few minutes, seemed absorbed in the

performance. At the expiration of this period, however, I was

thrown into an extremity of agitation by seeing her unfold, for

the second time, the eye-glass which hung at her side, fully

confront me as before, and, disregarding the renewed buzz of the

audience, survey me, from head to foot, with the same miraculous

composure which had previously so delighted and confounded my

soul.

This extraordinary behavior, by throwing me into a perfect fever

of excitement—into an absolute delirium of love—served rather to

embolden than to disconcert me. In the mad intensity of my

devotion, I forgot everything but the presence and the majestic

loveliness of the vision which confronted my gaze. Watching my

opportunity, when I thought the audience were fully engaged with

the opera, I at length caught the eyes of Madame Lalande, and,

upon the instant, made a slight but unmistakable bow.

She blushed very deeply—then averted her eyes—then slowly and

cautiously looked around, apparently to see if my rash action had

been noticed—then leaned over toward the gentleman who sat by her

side.

I now felt a burning sense of the impropriety I had committed,

and expected nothing less than instant exposure; while a vision

of pistols upon the morrow floated rapidly and uncomfortably

through my brain. I was greatly and immediately relieved,

however, when I saw the lady merely hand the gentleman a

play-bill, without speaking; but the reader may form some feeble

conception of my astonishment—of my profound amazement—my

delirious bewilderment of heart and soul—when, instantly

afterward, having again glanced furtively around, she allowed her

bright eyes to set fully and steadily upon my own, and then, with

a faint smile, disclosing a bright line of her pearly teeth, made

two distinct, pointed, and unequivocal affirmative inclinations

of the head.

It is useless, of course, to dwell upon my joy—upon my

transport—upon my illimitable ecstasy of heart. If ever man was

mad with excess of happiness, it was myself at that moment. I

loved. This was my first love—so I felt it to be. It was love

supreme—indescribable. It was “love at first sight;” and at first

sight, too, it had been appreciated and returned.

Yes, returned. How and why should I doubt it for an instant. What

other construction could I possibly put upon such conduct, on the

part of a lady so beautiful—so wealthy—evidently so

accomplished—of so high breeding—of so lofty a position in

society—in every regard so entirely respectable as I felt assured

was Madame Lalande? Yes, she loved me—she returned the enthusiasm

of my love, with an enthusiasm as blind—as uncompromising—as

uncalculating—as abandoned—and as utterly unbounded as my own!

These delicious fancies and reflections, however, were now

interrupted by the falling of the drop-curtain. The audience

arose; and the usual tumult immediately supervened. Quitting

Talbot abruptly, I made every effort to force my way into closer

proximity with Madame Lalande. Having failed in this, on account

of the crowd, I at length gave up the chase, and bent my steps

homeward; consoling myself for my disappointment in not having

been able to touch even the hem of her robe, by the reflection

that I should be introduced by Talbot, in due form, upon the

morrow.

This morrow at last came, that is to say, a day finally dawned

upon a long and weary night of impatience; and then the hours

until “one” were snail-paced, dreary, and innumerable. But even

Stamboul, it is said, shall have an end, and there came an end to

this long delay. The clock struck. As the last echo ceased, I

stepped into B——’s and inquired for Talbot.

“Out,” said the footman—Talbot’s own.

“Out!” I replied, staggering back half a dozen paces—“let me tell

you, my fine fellow, that this thing is thoroughly impossible and

impracticable; Mr. Talbot is not out. What do you mean?”

“Nothing, sir; only Mr. Talbot is not in, that’s all. He rode

over to S——, immediately after breakfast, and left word that he

would not be in town again for a week.”

I stood petrified with horror and rage. I endeavored to reply,

but my tongue refused its office. At length I turned on my heel,

livid with wrath, and inwardly consigning the whole tribe of the

Talbots to the innermost regions of Erebus. It was evident that

my considerate friend, il fanatico, had quite forgotten his

appointment with myself—had forgotten it as soon as it was made.

At no time was he a very scrupulous man of his word. There was no

help for it; so smothering my vexation as well as I could, I

strolled moodily up the street, propounding futile inquiries

about Madame Lalande to every male acquaintance I met. By report

she was known, I found, to all—to many by sight—but she had been

in town only a few weeks, and there were very few, therefore, who

claimed her personal acquaintance. These few, being still

comparatively strangers, could not, or would not, take the

liberty of introducing me through the formality of a morning

call. While I stood thus in despair, conversing with a trio of

friends upon the all-absorbing subject of my heart, it so

happened that the subject itself passed by.

“As I live, there she is!” cried one.

“Surprisingly beautiful!” exclaimed a second.

“An angel upon earth!” ejaculated a third.

I looked; and in an open carriage which approached us, passing

slowly down the street, sat the enchanting vision of the opera,

accompanied by the younger lady who had occupied a portion of her

box.

“Her companion also wears remarkably well,” said the one of my

trio who had spoken first.

“Astonishingly,” said the second; “still quite a brilliant air,

but art will do wonders. Upon my word, she looks better than she

did at Paris five years ago. A beautiful woman still;—don’t you

think so, Froissart?—Simpson, I mean.”

“Still!” said I, “and why shouldn’t she be? But compared with

her friend she is as a rush-light to the evening star—a glow-worm

to Antares.”

“Ha! ha! ha!—why, Simpson, you have an astonishing tact at making

discoveries—original ones, I mean.” And here we separated, while

one of the trio began humming a gay vaudeville, of which I

caught only the lines—

Ninon, Ninon, Ninon à bas—

A bas Ninon De L’Enclos!

During this little scene, however, one thing had served greatly

to console me, although it fed the passion by which I was

consumed. As the carriage of Madame Lalande rolled by our group,

I had observed that she recognized me; and more than this, she

had blessed me, by the most seraphic of all imaginable smiles,

with no equivocal mark of the recognition.

As for an introduction, I was obliged to abandon all hope of it

until such time as Talbot should think proper to return from the

country. In the meantime I perseveringly frequented every

reputable place of public amusement; and, at length, at the

theatre, where I first saw her, I had the supreme bliss of

meeting her, and of exchanging glances with her once again. This

did not occur, however, until the lapse of a fortnight. Every

day, in the interim, I had inquired for Talbot at his hotel, and

every day had been thrown into a spasm of wrath by the

everlasting “Not come home yet” of his footman.

Upon the evening in question, therefore, I was in a condition

little short of madness. Madame Lalande, I had been told, was a

Parisian—had lately arrived from Paris—might she not suddenly

return?—return before Talbot came back—and might she not be thus

lost to me forever? The thought was too terrible to bear. Since

my future happiness was at issue, I resolved to act with a manly

decision. In a word, upon the breaking up of the play, I traced

the lady to her residence, noted the address, and the next

morning sent her a full and elaborate letter, in which I poured

out my whole heart.

I spoke boldly, freely—in a word, I spoke with passion. I

concealed nothing—nothing even of my weakness. I alluded to the

romantic circumstances of our first meeting—even to the glances

which had passed between us. I went so far as to say that I felt

assured of her love; while I offered this assurance, and my own

intensity of devotion, as two excuses for my otherwise

unpardonable conduct. As a third, I spoke of my fear that she

might quit the city before I could have the opportunity of a

formal introduction. I concluded the most wildly enthusiastic

epistle ever penned, with a frank declaration of my worldly

circumstances—of my affluence—and with an offer of my heart and

of my hand.

In an agony of expectation I awaited the reply. After what seemed

the lapse of a century it came.

Yes, actually came. Romantic as all this may appear, I really

received a letter from Madame Lalande—the beautiful, the wealthy,

the idolized Madame Lalande. Her eyes—her magnificent eyes, had

not belied her noble heart. Like a true Frenchwoman as she was

she had obeyed the frank dictates of her reason—the generous

impulses of her nature—despising the conventional pruderies of

the world. She had not scorned my proposals. She had not

sheltered herself in silence. She had not returned my letter

unopened. She had even sent me, in reply, one penned by her own

exquisite fingers. It ran thus:

“Monsieur Simpson vill pardonne me for not compose de butefulle

tong of his contrée so vell as might. It is only de late dat I am

arrive, and not yet ave do opportunité for to—l’étudier.

“Vid dis apologie for the manière, I vill now say dat,

hélas!—Monsieur Simpson ave guess but de too true. Need I say de

more? Hélas! am I not ready speak de too moshe?

“EUGENIE LALAND.”

This noble-spirited note I kissed a million times, and committed,

no doubt, on its account, a thousand other extravagances that

have now escaped my memory. Still Talbot would not return.

Alas! could he have formed even the vaguest idea of the suffering

his absence had occasioned his friend, would not his sympathizing

nature have flown immediately to my relief? Still, however, he

came not. I wrote. He replied. He was detained by urgent

business—but would shortly return. He begged me not to be

impatient—to moderate my transports—to read soothing books—to

drink nothing stronger than Hock—and to bring the consolations of

philosophy to my aid. The fool! if he could not come himself,

why, in the name of every thing rational, could he not have

enclosed me a letter of presentation? I wrote him again,

entreating him to forward one forthwith. My letter was returned

by that footman, with the following endorsement in pencil. The

scoundrel had joined his master in the country:

“Left S—— yesterday, for parts unknown—did not say where—or when

be back—so thought best to return letter, knowing your

handwriting, and as how you is always, more or less, in a hurry.

“Yours sincerely,

“STUBBS.”

After this, it is needless to say, that I devoted to the infernal

deities both master and valet:—but there was little use in anger,

and no consolation at all in complaint.

But I had yet a resource left, in my constitutional audacity.

Hitherto it had served me well, and I now resolved to make it

avail me to the end. Besides, after the correspondence which had

passed between us, what act of mere informality could I commit,

within bounds, that ought to be regarded as indecorous by Madame

Lalande? Since the affair of the letter, I had been in the habit

of watching her house, and thus discovered that, about twilight,

it was her custom to promenade, attended only by a negro in

livery, in a public square overlooked by her windows. Here, amid

the luxuriant and shadowing groves, in the gray gloom of a sweet

midsummer evening, I observed my opportunity and accosted her.

The better to deceive the servant in attendance, I did this with

the assured air of an old and familiar acquaintance. With a

presence of mind truly Parisian, she took the cue at once, and,

to greet me, held out the most bewitchingly little of hands. The

valet at once fell into the rear, and now, with hearts full to

overflowing, we discoursed long and unreservedly of our love.

As Madame Lalande spoke English even less fluently than she wrote

it, our conversation was necessarily in French. In this sweet

tongue, so adapted to passion, I gave loose to the impetuous

enthusiasm of my nature, and, with all the eloquence I could

command, besought her to consent to an immediate marriage.

At this impatience she smiled. She urged the old story of

decorum—that bug-bear which deters so many from bliss until the

opportunity for bliss has forever gone by. I had most imprudently

made it known among my friends, she observed, that I desired her

acquaintance—thus that I did not possess it—thus, again, there

was no possibility of concealing the date of our first knowledge

of each other. And then she adverted, with a blush, to the

extreme recency of this date. To wed immediately would be

improper—would be indecorous—would be outre. All this she said

with a charming air of naivete which enraptured while it grieved

and convinced me. She went even so far as to accuse me,

laughingly, of rashness—of imprudence. She bade me remember that

I really even knew not who she was—what were her prospects, her

connections, her standing in society. She begged me, but with a

sigh, to reconsider my proposal, and termed my love an

infatuation—a will o’ the wisp—a fancy or fantasy of the moment—a

baseless and unstable creation rather of the imagination than of

the heart. These things she uttered as the shadows of the sweet

twilight gathered darkly and more darkly around us—and then, with

a gentle pressure of her fairy-like hand, overthrew, in a single

sweet instant, all the argumentative fabric she had reared.

I replied as best I could—as only a true lover can. I spoke at

length, and perseveringly of my devotion, of my passion—of her

exceeding beauty, and of my own enthusiastic admiration. In

conclusion, I dwelt, with a convincing energy, upon the perils

that encompass the course of love—that course of true love that

never did run smooth—and thus deduced the manifest danger of

rendering that course unnecessarily long.

This latter argument seemed finally to soften the rigor of her

determination. She relented; but there was yet an obstacle, she

said, which she felt assured I had not properly considered. This

was a delicate point—for a woman to urge, especially so; in

mentioning it, she saw that she must make a sacrifice of her

feelings; still, for me, every sacrifice should be made. She

alluded to the topic of age. Was I aware—was I fully aware of the

discrepancy between us? That the age of the husband, should

surpass by a few years—even by fifteen or twenty—the age of the

wife, was regarded by the world as admissible, and, indeed, as

even proper; but she had always entertained the belief that the

years of the wife should never exceed in number those of the

husband. A discrepancy of this unnatural kind gave rise, too

frequently, alas! to a life of unhappiness. Now she was aware

that my own age did not exceed two and twenty; and I, on the

contrary, perhaps, was not aware that the years of my Eugénie

extended very considerably beyond that sum.

About all this there was a nobility of soul—a dignity of

candor—which delighted—which enchanted me—which eternally riveted

my chains. I could scarcely restrain the excessive transport

which possessed me.

“My sweetest Eugénie,” I cried, “what is all this about which you

are discoursing? Your years surpass in some measure my own. But

what then? The customs of the world are so many conventional

follies. To those who love as ourselves, in what respect differs

a year from an hour? I am twenty-two, you say; granted: indeed,

you may as well call me, at once, twenty-three. Now you yourself,

my dearest Eugénie, can have numbered no more than—can have

numbered no more than—no more than—than—than—than—”

Here I paused for an instant, in the expectation that Madame

Lalande would interrupt me by supplying her true age. But a

Frenchwoman is seldom direct, and has always, by way of answer to

an embarrassing query, some little practical reply of her own. In

the present instance, Eugénie, who for a few moments past had

seemed to be searching for something in her bosom, at length let

fall upon the grass a miniature, which I immediately picked up

and presented to her.

“Keep it!” she said, with one of her most ravishing smiles. “Keep

it for my sake—for the sake of her whom it too flatteringly

represents. Besides, upon the back of the trinket you may

discover, perhaps, the very information you seem to desire. It is

now, to be sure, growing rather dark—but you can examine it at

your leisure in the morning. In the meantime, you shall be my

escort home to-night. My friends are about holding a little

musical levée. I can promise you, too, some good singing. We

French are not nearly so punctilious as you Americans, and I

shall have no difficulty in smuggling you in, in the character of

an old acquaintance.”

With this, she took my arm, and I attended her home. The mansion

was quite a fine one, and, I believe, furnished in good taste. Of

this latter point, however, I am scarcely qualified to judge; for

it was just dark as we arrived; and in American mansions of the

better sort lights seldom, during the heat of summer, make their

appearance at this, the most pleasant period of the day. In about

an hour after my arrival, to be sure, a single shaded solar lamp

was lit in the principal drawing-room; and this apartment, I

could thus see, was arranged with unusual good taste and even

splendor; but two other rooms of the suite, and in which the

company chiefly assembled, remained, during the whole evening, in

a very agreeable shadow. This is a well-conceived custom, giving

the party at least a choice of light or shade, and one which our

friends over the water could not do better than immediately

adopt.

The evening thus spent was unquestionably the most delicious of

my life. Madame Lalande had not overrated the musical abilities

of her friends; and the singing I here heard I had never heard

excelled in any private circle out of Vienna. The instrumental

performers were many and of superior talents. The vocalists were

chiefly ladies, and no individual sang less than well. At length,

upon a peremptory call for “Madame Lalande,” she arose at once,

without affectation or demur, from the chaise longue upon which

she had sat by my side, and, accompanied by one or two gentlemen

and her female friend of the opera, repaired to the piano in the

main drawing-room. I would have escorted her myself, but felt

that, under the circumstances of my introduction to the house, I

had better remain unobserved where I was. I was thus deprived of

the pleasure of seeing, although not of hearing, her sing.

The impression she produced upon the company seemed

electrical—but the effect upon myself was something even more. I

know not how adequately to describe it. It arose in part, no

doubt, from the sentiment of love with which I was imbued; but

chiefly from my conviction of the extreme sensibility of the

singer. It is beyond the reach of art to endow either air or

recitative with more impassioned expression than was hers. Her

utterance of the romance in Otello—the tone with which she gave

the words “Sul mio sasso,” in the Capuletti—is ringing in my

memory yet. Her lower tones were absolutely miraculous. Her voice

embraced three complete octaves, extending from the contralto D

to the D upper soprano, and, though sufficiently powerful to have

filled the San Carlos, executed, with the minutest precision,

every difficulty of vocal composition—ascending and descending

scales, cadences, or fiorituri. In the final of the Somnambula,

she brought about a most remarkable effect at the words:

Ah! non guinge uman pensiero

Al contento ond ’io son piena.

Here, in imitation of Malibran, she modified the original phrase

of Bellini, so as to let her voice descend to the tenor G, when,

by a rapid transition, she struck the G above the treble stave,

springing over an interval of two octaves.

Upon rising from the piano after these miracles of vocal

execution, she resumed her seat by my side; when I expressed to

her, in terms of the deepest enthusiasm, my delight at her

performance. Of my surprise I said nothing, and yet was I most

unfeignedly surprised; for a certain feebleness, or rather a

certain tremulous indecision of voice in ordinary conversation,

had prepared me to anticipate that, in singing, she would not

acquit herself with any remarkable ability.

Our conversation was now long, earnest, uninterrupted, and

totally unreserved. She made me relate many of the earlier

passages of my life, and listened with breathless attention to

every word of the narrative. I concealed nothing—felt that I had

a right to conceal nothing—from her confiding affection.

Encouraged by her candor upon the delicate point of her age, I

entered, with perfect frankness, not only into a detail of my

many minor vices, but made full confession of those moral and

even of those physical infirmities, the disclosure of which, in

demanding so much higher a degree of courage, is so much surer an

evidence of love. I touched upon my college indiscretions—upon my

extravagances—upon my carousals—upon my debts—upon my

flirtations. I even went so far as to speak of a slightly hectic

cough with which, at one time, I had been troubled—of a chronic

rheumatism—of a twinge of hereditary gout—and, in conclusion, of

the disagreeable and inconvenient, but hitherto carefully

concealed, weakness of my eyes.

“Upon this latter point,” said Madame Lalande, laughingly, “you

have been surely injudicious in coming to confession; for,

without the confession, I take it for granted that no one would

have accused you of the crime. By the by,” she continued, “have

you any recollection—” and here I fancied that a blush, even

through the gloom of the apartment, became distinctly visible

upon her cheek—“have you any recollection, mon cher ami, of

this little ocular assistant, which now depends from my neck?”

As she spoke she twirled in her fingers the identical double

eye-glass which had so overwhelmed me with confusion at the

opera.

“Full well—alas! do I remember it,” I exclaimed, pressing

passionately the delicate hand which offered the glasses for my

inspection. They formed a complex and magnificent toy, richly

chased and filigreed, and gleaming with jewels, which, even in

the deficient light, I could not help perceiving were of high

value.

“Eh bien! mon ami,” she resumed with a certain empressment of

manner that rather surprised me—“Eh bien! mon ami, you have

earnestly besought of me a favor which you have been pleased to

denominate priceless. You have demanded of me my hand upon the

morrow. Should I yield to your entreaties—and, I may add, to the

pleadings of my own bosom—would I not be entitled to demand of

you a very—a very little boon in return?”

“Name it!” I exclaimed with an energy that had nearly drawn upon

us the observation of the company, and restrained by their

presence alone from throwing myself impetuously at her feet.

“Name it, my beloved, my Eugénie, my own!—name it!—but, alas! it

is already yielded ere named.”

“You shall conquer, then, mon ami,” said she, “for the sake of

the Eugénie whom you love, this little weakness which you have at

last confessed—this weakness more moral than physical—and which,

let me assure you, is so unbecoming the nobility of your real

nature—so inconsistent with the candor of your usual

character—and which, if permitted further control, will assuredly

involve you, sooner or later, in some very disagreeable scrape.

You shall conquer, for my sake, this affectation which leads you,

as you yourself acknowledge, to the tacit or implied denial of

your infirmity of vision. For, this infirmity you virtually deny,

in refusing to employ the customary means for its relief. You

will understand me to say, then, that I wish you to wear

spectacles;—ah, hush!—you have already consented to wear them,

for my sake. You shall accept the little toy which I now hold in

my hand, and which, though admirable as an aid to vision, is

really of no very immense value as a gem. You perceive that, by a

trifling modification thus—or thus—it can be adapted to the eyes

in the form of spectacles, or worn in the waistcoat pocket as an

eye-glass. It is in the former mode, however, and habitually,

that you have already consented to wear it for my sake.”

This request—must I confess it?—confused me in no little degree.

But the condition with which it was coupled rendered hesitation,

of course, a matter altogether out of the question.

“It is done!” I cried, with all the enthusiasm that I could

muster at the moment. “It is done—it is most cheerfully agreed. I

sacrifice every feeling for your sake. To-night I wear this dear

eye-glass, as an eye-glass, and upon my heart; but with the

earliest dawn of that morning which gives me the pleasure of

calling you wife, I will place it upon my—upon my nose,—and there

wear it ever afterward, in the less romantic, and less

fashionable, but certainly in the more serviceable, form which

you desire.”

Our conversation now turned upon the details of our arrangements

for the morrow. Talbot, I learned from my betrothed, had just

arrived in town. I was to see him at once, and procure a

carriage. The soirée would scarcely break up before two; and by

this hour the vehicle was to be at the door; when, in the

confusion occasioned by the departure of the company, Madame L.

could easily enter it unobserved. We were then to call at the

house of a clergyman who would be in waiting; there be married,

drop Talbot, and proceed on a short tour to the East; leaving the

fashionable world at home to make whatever comments upon the

matter it thought best.

Having planned all this, I immediately took leave, and went in

search of Talbot, but, on the way, I could not refrain from

stepping into a hotel, for the purpose of inspecting the

miniature; and this I did by the powerful aid of the glasses. The

countenance was a surpassingly beautiful one! Those large

luminous eyes!—that proud Grecian nose!—those dark luxuriant

curls!—“Ah!” said I, exultingly to myself, “this is indeed the

speaking image of my beloved!” I turned the reverse, and

discovered the words—“Eugénie Lalande—aged twenty-seven years and

seven months.”

I found Talbot at home, and proceeded at once to acquaint him

with my good fortune. He professed excessive astonishment, of

course, but congratulated me most cordially, and proffered every

assistance in his power. In a word, we carried out our

arrangement to the letter, and, at two in the morning, just ten

minutes after the ceremony, I found myself in a close carriage

with Madame Lalande—with Mrs. Simpson, I should say—and driving

at a great rate out of town, in a direction northeast by north,

half-north.

It had been determined for us by Talbot, that, as we were to be

up all night, we should make our first stop at C——, a village

about twenty miles from the city, and there get an early

breakfast and some repose, before proceeding upon our route. At

four precisely, therefore, the carriage drew up at the door of

the principal inn. I handed my adored wife out, and ordered

breakfast forthwith. In the meantime we were shown into a small

parlor, and sat down.

It was now nearly if not altogether daylight; and, as I gazed,

enraptured, at the angel by my side, the singular idea came, all

at once, into my head, that this was really the very first moment

since my acquaintance with the celebrated loveliness of Madame

Lalande, that I had enjoyed a near inspection of that loveliness

by daylight at all.

“And now, mon ami,” said she, taking my hand, and so

interrupting this train of reflection, “and now, mon cher ami,

since we are indissolubly one—since I have yielded to your

passionate entreaties, and performed my portion of our

agreement—I presume you have not forgotten that you also have a

little favor to bestow—a little promise which it is your

intention to keep. Ah! let me see! Let me remember! Yes; full

easily do I call to mind the precise words of the dear promise

you made to Eugénie last night. Listen! You spoke thus: ‘It is

done!—it is most cheerfully agreed! I sacrifice every feeling for

your sake. To-night I wear this dear eye-glass as an eye-glass,

and upon my heart; but with the earliest dawn of that morning

which gives me the privilege of calling you wife, I will place it

upon my—upon my nose,—and there wear it ever afterward, in the

less romantic, and less fashionable, but certainly in the more

serviceable, form which you desire.’ These were the exact words,

my beloved husband, were they not?”

“They were,” I said; “you have an excellent memory; and

assuredly, my beautiful Eugénie, there is no disposition on my

part to evade the performance of the trivial promise they imply.

See! Behold! they are becoming—rather—are they not?” And here,

having arranged the glasses in the ordinary form of spectacles, I

applied them gingerly in their proper position; while Madame

Simpson, adjusting her cap, and folding her arms, sat bolt

upright in her chair, in a somewhat stiff and prim, and indeed,

in a somewhat undignified position.

“Goodness gracious me!” I exclaimed, almost at the very instant

that the rim of the spectacles had settled upon my nose—“My!

goodness gracious me!—why, what can be the matter with these

glasses?” and taking them quickly off, I wiped them carefully

with a silk handkerchief, and adjusted them again.

But if, in the first instance, there had occurred something which

occasioned me surprise, in the second, this surprise became

elevated into astonishment; and this astonishment was

profound—was extreme—indeed I may say it was horrific. What, in

the name of everything hideous, did this mean? Could I believe my

eyes?—could I?—that was the question. Was that—was that—was that

rouge? And were those—and were those—were those wrinkles, upon

the visage of Eugénie Lalande? And oh! Jupiter, and every one of

the gods and goddesses, little and big!—what—what—what—what had

become of her teeth? I dashed the spectacles violently to the

ground, and, leaping to my feet, stood erect in the middle of the

floor, confronting Mrs. Simpson, with my arms set a-kimbo, and

grinning and foaming, but, at the same time, utterly speechless

with terror and with rage.

Now I have already said that Madame Eugénie Lalande—that is to

say, Simpson—spoke the English language but very little better

than she wrote it, and for this reason she very properly never

attempted to speak it upon ordinary occasions. But rage will

carry a lady to any extreme; and in the present care it carried

Mrs. Simpson to the very extraordinary extreme of attempting to

hold a conversation in a tongue that she did not altogether

understand.

“Vell, Monsieur,” said she, after surveying me, in great apparent

astonishment, for some moments—“Vell, Monsieur?—and vat den?—vat

de matter now? Is it de dance of de Saint itusse dat you ave? If

not like me, vat for vy buy de pig in the poke?”

“You wretch!” said I, catching my breath—“you—you—you villainous

old hag!”

“Ag?—ole?—me not so ver ole, after all! Me not one single day

more dan de eighty-doo.”

“Eighty-two!” I ejaculated, staggering to the wall—“eighty-two

hundred thousand baboons! The miniature said twenty-seven years

and seven months!”

“To be sure!—dat is so!—ver true! but den de portraite has been

take for dese fifty-five year. Ven I go marry my segonde usbande,

Monsieur Lalande, at dat time I had de portraite take for my

daughter by my first usbande, Monsieur Moissart!”

“Moissart!” said I.

“Yes, Moissart,” said she, mimicking my pronunciation, which, to

speak the truth, was none of the best,—“and vat den? Vat you know

about de Moissart?”

“Nothing, you old fright!—I know nothing about him at all; only I

had an ancestor of that name, once upon a time.”

“Dat name! and vat you ave for say to dat name? ’Tis ver goot

name; and so is Voissart—dat is ver goot name too. My daughter,

Mademoiselle Moissart, she marry von Monsieur Voissart,—and de

name is bot ver respectable name.”

“Moissart?” I exclaimed, “and Voissart! Why, what is it you

mean?”

“Vat I mean?—I mean Moissart and Voissart; and for de matter of

dat, I mean Croissart and Froissart, too, if I only tink proper

to mean it. My daughter’s daughter, Mademoiselle Voissart, she

marry von Monsieur Croissart, and den again, my daughter’s grande

daughter, Mademoiselle Croissart, she marry von Monsieur

Froissart; and I suppose you say dat dat is not von ver

respectaable name.”

“Froissart!” said I, beginning to faint, “why, surely you don’t

say Moissart, and Voissart, and Croissart, and Froissart?”

“Yes,” she replied, leaning fully back in her chair, and

stretching out her lower limbs at great length; “yes, Moissart,

and Voissart, and Croissart, and Froissart. But Monsieur

Froissart, he vas von ver big vat you call fool—he vas von ver

great big donce like yourself—for he lef la belle France for

come to dis stupide Amérique—and ven he get here he went and ave

von ver stupid, von ver, ver stupide sonn, so I hear, dough I

not yet av ad de plaisir to meet vid him—neither me nor my

companion, de Madame Stéphanie Lalande. He is name de Napoleon

Bonaparte Froissart, and I suppose you say dat dat, too, is not

von ver respectable name.”

Either the length or the nature of this speech, had the effect of

working up Mrs. Simpson into a very extraordinary passion indeed;

and as she made an end of it, with great labor, she jumped up

from her chair like somebody bewitched, dropping upon the floor

an entire universe of bustle as she jumped. Once upon her feet,

she gnashed her gums, brandished her arms, rolled up her sleeves,

shook her fist in my face, and concluded the performance by

tearing the cap from her head, and with it an immense wig of the

most valuable and beautiful black hair, the whole of which she

dashed upon the ground with a yell, and there trammpled and

danced a fandango upon it, in an absolute ecstasy and agony of

rage.

Meantime I sank aghast into the chair which she had vacated.

“Moissart and Voissart!” I repeated, thoughtfully, as she cut one

of her pigeon-wings, and “Croissart and Froissart!” as she

completed another—“Moissart and Voissart and Croissart and

Napoleon Bonaparte Froissart!—why, you ineffable old serpent,

that’s me—that’s me—d’ye hear? that’s me”—here I screamed at the

top of my voice—“that’s me-e-e! I am Napoleon Bonaparte

Froissart! and if I havn’t married my great, great, grandmother,

I wish I may be everlastingly confounded!”

Madame Eugénie Lalande, quasi Simpson—formerly Moissart—was, in

sober fact, my great, great, grandmother. In her youth she had

been beautiful, and even at eighty-two, retained the majestic

height, the sculptural contour of head, the fine eyes and the

Grecian nose of her girlhood. By the aid of these, of

pearl-powder, of rouge, of false hair, false teeth, and false

tournure, as well as of the most skilful modistes of Paris, she

contrived to hold a respectable footing among the beauties _en

peu passées_ of the French metropolis. In this respect, indeed,

she might have been regarded as little less than the equal of the

celebrated Ninon De L’Enclos.

She was immensely wealthy, and being left, for the second time, a

widow without children, she bethought herself of my existence in

America, and for the purpose of making me her heir, paid a visit

to the United States, in company with a distant and exceedingly

lovely relative of her second husband’s—a Madame Stéphanie

Lalande.

At the opera, my great, great, grandmother’s attention was

arrested by my notice; and, upon surveying me through her

eye-glass, she was struck with a certain family resemblance to

herself. Thus interested, and knowing that the heir she sought

was actually in the city, she made inquiries of her party

respecting me. The gentleman who attended her knew my person, and

told her who I was. The information thus obtained induced her to

renew her scrutiny; and this scrutiny it was which so emboldened

me that I behaved in the absurd manner already detailed. She

returned my bow, however, under the impression that, by some odd

accident, I had discovered her identity. When, deceived by my

weakness of vision, and the arts of the toilet, in respect to the

age and charms of the strange lady, I demanded so

enthusiastically of Talbot who she was, he concluded that I meant

the younger beauty, as a matter of course, and so informed me,

with perfect truth, that she was “the celebrated widow, Madame

Lalande.”

In the street, next morning, my great, great, grandmother

encountered Talbot, an old Parisian acquaintance; and the

conversation, very naturally turned upon myself. My deficiencies

of vision were then explained; for these were notorious, although

I was entirely ignorant of their notoriety, and my good old

relative discovered, much to her chagrin, that she had been

deceived in supposing me aware of her identity, and that I had

been merely making a fool of myself in making open love, in a

theatre, to an old woman unknown. By way of punishing me for this

imprudence, she concocted with Talbot a plot. He purposely kept

out of my way to avoid giving me the introduction. My street

inquiries about “the lovely widow, Madame Lalande,” were supposed

to refer to the younger lady, of course, and thus the

conversation with the three gentlemen whom I encountered shortly

after leaving Talbot’s hotel will be easily explained, as also

their allusion to Ninon De L’Enclos. I had no opportunity of

seeing Madame Lalande closely during daylight; and, at her

musical soirée, my silly weakness in refusing the aid of

glasses effectually prevented me from making a discovery of her

age. When “Madame Lalande” was called upon to sing, the younger

lady was intended; and it was she who arose to obey the call; my

great, great, grandmother, to further the deception, arising at

the same moment and accompanying her to the piano in the main

drawing-room. Had I decided upon escorting her thither, it had

been her design to suggest the propriety of my remaining where I

was; but my own prudential views rendered this unnecessary. The

songs which I so much admired, and which so confirmed my

impression of the youth of my mistress, were executed by Madame

Stéphanie Lalande. The eyeglass was presented by way of adding a

reproof to the hoax—a sting to the epigram of the deception. Its

presentation afforded an opportunity for the lecture upon

affectation with which I was so especially edified. It is almost

superfluous to add that the glasses of the instrument, as worn by

the old lady, had been exchanged by her for a pair better adapted

to my years. They suited me, in fact, to a T.

The clergyman, who merely pretended to tie the fatal knot, was a

boon companion of Talbot’s, and no priest. He was an excellent

“whip,” however; and having doffed his cassock to put on a

great-coat, he drove the hack which conveyed the “happy couple”

out of town. Talbot took a seat at his side. The two scoundrels

were thus “in at the death,” and through a half-open window of

the back parlor of the inn, amused themselves in grinning at the

dénouement of the drama. I believe I shall be forced to call

them both out.

Nevertheless, I am not the husband of my great, great,

grandmother; and this is a reflection which affords me infinite

relief;—but I am the husband of Madame Lalande—of Madame

Stéphanie Lalande—with whom my good old relative, besides making

me her sole heir when she dies—if she ever does—has been at the

trouble of concocting me a match. In conclusion: I am done

forever with billets doux, and am never to be met without

SPECTACLES.

KING PEST

A Tale Containing an Allegory.

The gods do bear and will allow in kings

The things which they abhor in rascal routes.

—Buckhurst’s Tragedy of Ferrex and Porrex.

About twelve o’clock, one night in the month of October, and

during the chivalrous reign of the third Edward, two seamen

belonging to the crew of the >Free and Easy, a trading schooner

plying between Sluys and the Thames, and then at anchor in that

river, were much astonished to find themselves seated in the

tap-room of an ale-house in the parish of St. Andrews,

London—which ale-house bore for sign the portraiture of a “Jolly

Tar.”

The room, although ill-contrived, smoke-blackened, low-pitched,

and in every other respect agreeing with the general character of

such places at the period—was, nevertheless, in the opinion of

the grotesque groups scattered here and there within it,

sufficiently well adapted to its purpose.

Of these groups our two seamen formed, I think, the most

interesting, if not the most conspicuous.

The one who appeared to be the elder, and whom his companion

addressed by the characteristic appellation of “Legs,” was at the

same time much the taller of the two. He might have measured six

feet and a half, and an habitual stoop in the shoulders seemed to

have been the necessary consequence of an altitude so enormous.

Superfluities in height were, however, more than accounted for by

deficiencies in other respects. He was exceedingly thin; and

might, as his associates asserted, have answered, when drunk, for

a pennant at the mast-head, or, when sober, have served for a

jib-boom. But these jests, and others of a similar nature, had

evidently produced, at no time, any effect upon the cachinnatory

muscles of the tar. With high cheek-bones, a large hawk-nose,

retreating chin, fallen under-jaw, and huge protruding white

eyes, the expression of his countenance, although tinged with a

species of dogged indifference to matters and things in general,

was not the less utterly solemn and serious beyond all attempts

at imitation or description.

The younger seaman was, in all outward appearance, the converse

of his companion. His stature could not have exceeded four feet.

A pair of stumpy bow-legs supported his squat, unwieldy figure,

while his unusually short and thick arms, with no ordinary fists

at their extremities, swung off dangling from his sides like the

fins of a sea-turtle. Small eyes, of no particular color,

twinkled far back in his head. His nose remained buried in the

mass of flesh which enveloped his round, full, and purple face;

and his thick upper-lip rested upon the still thicker one beneath

with an air of complacent self-satisfaction, much heightened by

the owner’s habit of licking them at intervals. He evidently

regarded his tall shipmate with a feeling half-wondrous,

half-quizzical; and stared up occasionally in his face as the red

setting sun stares up at the crags of Ben Nevis.

Various and eventful, however, had been the peregrinations of the

worthy couple in and about the different tap-houses of the

neighbourhood during the earlier hours of the night. Funds even

the most ample, are not always everlasting: and it was with empty

pockets our friends had ventured upon the present hostelrie.

At the precise period, then, when this history properly

commences, Legs, and his fellow Hugh Tarpaulin, sat, each with

both elbows resting upon the large oaken table in the middle of

the floor, and with a hand upon either cheek. They were eyeing,

from behind a huge flagon of unpaid-for “humming-stuff,” the

portentous words, “No Chalk,” which to their indignation and

astonishment were scored over the doorway by means of that very

mineral whose presence they purported to deny. Not that the gift

of decyphering written characters—a gift among the commonalty of

that day considered little less cabalistical than the art of

inditing—could, in strict justice, have been laid to the charge

of either disciple of the sea; but there was, to say the truth, a

certain twist in the formation of the letters—an indescribable

lee-lurch about the whole—which foreboded, in the opinion of both

seamen, a long run of dirty weather; and determined them at once,

in the allegorical words of Legs himself, to “pump ship, clew up

all sail, and scud before the wind.”

Having accordingly disposed of what remained of the ale, and

looped up the points of their short doublets, they finally made a

bolt for the street. Although Tarpaulin rolled twice into the

fire-place, mistaking it for the door, yet their escape was at

length happily effected—and half after twelve o’clock found our

heroes ripe for mischief, and running for life down a dark alley

in the direction of St. Andrew’s Stair, hotly pursued by the

landlady of the “Jolly Tar.”

At the epoch of this eventful tale, and periodically, for many

years before and after, all England, but more especially the

metropolis, resounded with the fearful cry of “Plague!” The city

was in a great measure depopulated—and in those horrible regions,

in the vicinity of the Thames, where amid the dark, narrow, and

filthy lanes and alleys, the Demon of Disease was supposed to

have had his nativity, Awe, Terror, and Superstition were alone

to be found stalking abroad.

By authority of the king such districts were placed under ban,

and all persons forbidden, under pain of death, to intrude upon

their dismal solitude. Yet neither the mandate of the monarch,

nor the huge barriers erected at the entrances of the streets,

nor the prospect of that loathsome death which, with almost

absolute certainty, overwhelmed the wretch whom no peril could

deter from the adventure, prevented the unfurnished and

untenanted dwellings from being stripped, by the hand of nightly

rapine, of every article, such as iron, brass, or lead-work,

which could in any manner be turned to a profitable account.

Above all, it was usually found, upon the annual winter opening

of the barriers, that locks, bolts, and secret cellars, had

proved but slender protection to those rich stores of wines and

liquors which, in consideration of the risk and trouble of

removal, many of the numerous dealers having shops in the

neighbourhood had consented to trust, during the period of exile,

to so insufficient a security.

But there were very few of the terror-stricken people who

attributed these doings to the agency of human hands.

Pest-spirits, plague-goblins, and fever-demons, were the popular

imps of mischief; and tales so blood-chilling were hourly told,

that the whole mass of forbidden buildings was, at length,

enveloped in terror as in a shroud, and the plunderer himself was

often scared away by the horrors his own depreciations had

created; leaving the entire vast circuit of prohibited district

to gloom, silence, pestilence, and death.

It was by one of the terrific barriers already mentioned, and

which indicated the region beyond to be under the Pest-ban, that,

in scrambling down an alley, Legs and the worthy Hugh Tarpaulin

found their progress suddenly impeded. To return was out of the

question, and no time was to be lost, as their pursuers were

close upon their heels. With thorough-bred seamen to clamber up

the roughly fashioned plank-work was a trifle; and, maddened with

the twofold excitement of exercise and liquor, they leaped

unhesitatingly down within the enclosure, and holding on their

drunken course with shouts and yellings, were soon bewildered in

its noisome and intricate recesses.

Had they not, indeed, been intoxicated beyond moral sense, their

reeling footsteps must have been palsied by the horrors of their

situation. The air was cold and misty. The paving-stones,

loosened from their beds, lay in wild disorder amid the tall,

rank grass, which sprang up around the feet and ankles. Fallen

houses choked up the streets. The most fetid and poisonous smells

everywhere prevailed;—and by the aid of that ghastly light which,

even at midnight, never fails to emanate from a vapory and

pestilential atmosphere, might be discerned lying in the by-paths

and alleys, or rotting in the windowless habitations, the carcass

of many a nocturnal plunderer arrested by the hand of the plague

in the very perpetration of his robbery.

But it lay not in the power of images, or sensations, or

impediments such as these, to stay the course of men who,

naturally brave, and at that time especially, brimful of courage

and of “humming-stuff,” would have reeled, as straight as their

condition might have permitted, undauntedly into the very jaws of

Death. Onward—still onward stalked the grim Legs, making the

desolate solemnity echo and re-echo with yells like the terrific

war-whoop of the Indian; and onward, still onward rolled the

dumpy Tarpaulin, hanging on to the doublet of his more active

companion, and far surpassing the latter’s most strenuous

exertions in the way of vocal music, by bull-roarings in basso,

from the profundity of his stentorian lungs.

They had now evidently reached the strong hold of the pestilence.

Their way at every step or plunge grew more noisome and more

horrible—the paths more narrow and more intricate. Huge stones

and beams falling momently from the decaying roofs above them,

gave evidence, by their sullen and heavy descent, of the vast

height of the surrounding houses; and while actual exertion

became necessary to force a passage through frequent heaps of

rubbish, it was by no means seldom that the hand fell upon a

skeleton or rested upon a more fleshly corpse.

Suddenly, as the seamen stumbled against the entrance of a tall

and ghastly-looking building, a yell more than usually shrill

from the throat of the excited Legs, was replied to from within,

in a rapid succession of wild, laughter-like, and fiendish

shrieks. Nothing daunted at sounds which, of such a nature, at

such a time, and in such a place, might have curdled the very

blood in hearts less irrevocably on fire, the drunken couple

rushed headlong against the door, burst it open, and staggered

into the midst of things with a volley of curses.

The room within which they found themselves proved to be the shop

of an undertaker; but an open trap-door, in a corner of the floor

near the entrance, looked down upon a long range of wine-cellars,

whose depths the occasional sound of bursting bottles proclaimed

to be well stored with their appropriate contents. In the middle

of the room stood a table—in the centre of which again arose a

huge tub of what appeared to be punch. Bottles of various wines

and cordials, together with jugs, pitchers, and flagons of every

shape and quality, were scattered profusely upon the board.

Around it, upon coffin-tressels, was seated a company of six.

This company I will endeavor to delineate one by one.

Fronting the entrance, and elevated a little above his

companions, sat a personage who appeared to be the president of

the table. His stature was gaunt and tall, and Legs was

confounded to behold in him a figure more emaciated than himself.

His face was as yellow as saffron—but no feature excepting one

alone, was sufficiently marked to merit a particular description.

This one consisted in a forehead so unusually and hideously

lofty, as to have the appearance of a bonnet or crown of flesh

superadded upon the natural head. His mouth was puckered and

dimpled into an expression of ghastly affability, and his eyes,

as indeed the eyes of all at table, were glazed over with the

fumes of intoxication. This gentleman was clothed from head to

foot in a richly-embroidered black silk-velvet pall, wrapped

negligently around his form after the fashion of a Spanish cloak.

His head was stuck full of sable hearse-plumes, which he nodded

to and fro with a jaunty and knowing air; and, in his right hand,

he held a huge human thigh-bone, with which he appeared to have

been just knocking down some member of the company for a song.

Opposite him, and with her back to the door, was a lady of no

whit the less extraordinary character. Although quite as tall as

the person just described, she had no right to complain of his

unnatural emaciation. She was evidently in the last stage of a

dropsy; and her figure resembled nearly that of the huge puncheon

of October beer which stood, with the head driven in, close by

her side, in a corner of the chamber. Her face was exceedingly

round, red, and full; and the same peculiarity, or rather want of

peculiarity, attached itself to her countenance, which I before

mentioned in the case of the president—that is to say, only one

feature of her face was sufficiently distinguished to need a

separate characterization: indeed the acute Tarpaulin immediately

observed that the same remark might have applied to each

individual person of the party; every one of whom seemed to

possess a monopoly of some particular portion of physiognomy.

With the lady in question this portion proved to be the mouth.

Commencing at the right ear, it swept with a terrific chasm to

the left—the short pendants which she wore in either auricle

continually bobbing into the aperture. She made, however, every

exertion to keep her mouth closed and look dignified, in a dress

consisting of a newly starched and ironed shroud coming up close

under her chin, with a crimpled ruffle of cambric muslin.

At her right hand sat a diminutive young lady whom she appeared

to patronise. This delicate little creature, in the trembling of

her wasted fingers, in the livid hue of her lips, and in the

slight hectic spot which tinged her otherwise leaden complexion,

gave evident indications of a galloping consumption. An air of

extreme haut ton, however, pervaded her whole appearance; she

wore in a graceful and dégagé manner, a large and beautiful

winding-sheet of the finest India lawn; her hair hung in ringlets

over her neck; a soft smile played about her mouth; but her nose,

extremely long, thin, sinuous, flexible and pimpled, hung down

far below her under lip, and in spite of the delicate manner in

which she now and then moved it to one side or the other with her

tongue, gave to her countenance a somewhat equivocal expression.

Over against her, and upon the left of the dropsical lady, was

seated a little puffy, wheezing, and gouty old man, whose cheeks

reposed upon the shoulders of their owner, like two huge bladders

of Oporto wine. With his arms folded, and with one bandaged leg

deposited upon the table, he seemed to think himself entitled to

some consideration. He evidently prided himself much upon every

inch of his personal appearance, but took more especial delight

in calling attention to his gaudy-colored surtout. This, to say

the truth, must have cost him no little money, and was made to

fit him exceedingly well—being fashioned from one of the

curiously embroidered silken covers appertaining to those

glorious escutcheons which, in England and elsewhere, are

customarily hung up, in some conspicuous place, upon the

dwellings of departed aristocracy.

Next to him, and at the right hand of the president, was a

gentleman in long white hose and cotton drawers. His frame shook,

in a ridiculous manner, with a fit of what Tarpaulin called “the

horrors.” His jaws, which had been newly shaved, were tightly

tied up by a bandage of muslin; and his arms being fastened in a

similar way at the wrists, prevented him from helping himself too

freely to the liquors upon the table; a precaution rendered

necessary, in the opinion of Legs, by the peculiarly sottish and

wine-bibbing cast of his visage. A pair of prodigious ears,

nevertheless, which it was no doubt found impossible to confine,

towered away into the atmosphere of the apartment, and were

occasionally pricked up in a spasm, at the sound of the drawing

of a cork.

Fronting him, sixthly and lastly, was situated a singularly

stiff-looking personage, who, being afflicted with paralysis,

must, to speak seriously, have felt very ill at ease in his

unaccommodating habiliments. He was habited, somewhat uniquely,

in a new and handsome mahogany coffin. Its top or head-piece

pressed upon the skull of the wearer, and extended over it in the

fashion of a hood, giving to the entire face an air of

indescribable interest. Arm-holes had been cut in the sides, for

the sake not more of elegance than of convenience; but the dress,

nevertheless, prevented its proprietor from sitting as erect as

his associates; and as he lay reclining against his tressel, at

an angle of forty-five degrees, a pair of huge goggle eyes rolled

up their awful whites towards the ceiling in absolute amazement

at their own enormity.

Before each of the party lay a portion of a skull, which was used

as a drinking cup. Overhead was suspended a human skeleton, by

means of a rope tied round one of the legs and fastened to a ring

in the ceiling. The other limb, confined by no such fetter, stuck

off from the body at right angles, causing the whole loose and

rattling frame to dangle and twirl about at the caprice of every

occasional puff of wind which found its way into the apartment.

In the cranium of this hideous thing lay quantity of ignited

charcoal, which threw a fitful but vivid light over the entire

scene; while coffins, and other wares appertaining to the shop of

an undertaker, were piled high up around the room, and against

the windows, preventing any ray from escaping into the street.

At sight of this extraordinary assembly, and of their still more

extraordinary paraphernalia, our two seamen did not conduct

themselves with that degree of decorum which might have been

expected. Legs, leaning against the wall near which he happened

to be standing, dropped his lower jaw still lower than usual, and

spread open his eyes to their fullest extent: while Hugh

Tarpaulin, stooping down so as to bring his nose upon a level

with the table, and spreading out a palm upon either knee, burst

into a long, loud, and obstreperous roar of very ill-timed and

immoderate laughter.

Without, however, taking offence at behaviour so excessively

rude, the tall president smiled very graciously upon the

intruders—nodded to them in a dignified manner with his head of

sable plumes—and, arising, took each by an arm, and led him to a

seat which some others of the company had placed in the meantime

for his accommodation. Legs to all this offered not the slightest

resistance, but sat down as he was directed; while the gallant

Hugh, removing his coffin tressel from its station near the head

of the table, to the vicinity of the little consumptive lady in

the winding sheet, plumped down by her side in high glee, and

pouring out a skull of red wine, quaffed it to their better

acquaintance. But at this presumption the stiff gentleman in the

coffin seemed exceedingly nettled; and serious consequences might

have ensued, had not the president, rapping upon the table with

his truncheon, diverted the attention of all present to the

following speech:

“It becomes our duty upon the present happy occasion—”

“Avast there!” interrupted Legs, looking very serious, “avast

there a bit, I say, and tell us who the devil ye all are, and

what business ye have here, rigged off like the foul fiends, and

swilling the snug blue ruin stowed away for the winter by my

honest shipmate, Will Wimble, the undertaker!”

At this unpardonable piece of ill-breeding, all the original

company half started to their feet, and uttered the same rapid

succession of wild fiendish shrieks which had before caught the

attention of the seamen. The president, however, was the first to

recover his composure, and at length, turning to Legs with great

dignity, recommenced:

“Most willingly will we gratify any reasonable curiosity on the

part of guests so illustrious, unbidden though they be. Know then

that in these dominions I am monarch, and here rule with

undivided empire under the title of ‘King Pest the First.’

“This apartment, which you no doubt profanely suppose to be the

shop of Will Wimble the undertaker—a man whom we know not, and

whose plebeian appellation has never before this night thwarted

our royal ears—this apartment, I say, is the Dais-Chamber of our

Palace, devoted to the councils of our kingdom, and to other

sacred and lofty purposes.

“The noble lady who sits opposite is Queen Pest, our Serene

Consort. The other exalted personages whom you behold are all of

our family, and wear the insignia of the blood royal under the

respective titles of ‘His Grace the Arch Duke Pest-Iferous’—‘His

Grace the Duke Pest-Ilential’—‘His Grace the Duke Tem-Pest’—and

‘Her Serene Highness the Arch Duchess Ana-Pest.’

“As regards,” continued he, “your demand of the business upon

which we sit here in council, we might be pardoned for replying

that it concerns, and concerns alone, our own private and regal

interest, and is in no manner important to any other than

ourself. But in consideration of those rights to which as guests

and strangers you may feel yourselves entitled, we will

furthermore explain that we are here this night, prepared by deep

research and accurate investigation, to examine, analyze, and

thoroughly determine the indefinable spirit—the incomprehensible

qualities and nature—of those inestimable treasures of the

palate, the wines, ales, and liqueurs of this goodly metropolis:

by so doing to advance not more our own designs than the true

welfare of that unearthly sovereign whose reign is over us all,

whose dominions are unlimited, and whose name is ‘Death’.”

“Whose name is Davy Jones!” ejaculated Tarpaulin, helping the

lady by his side to a skull of liqueur, and pouring out a second

for himself.

“Profane varlet!” said the president, now turning his attention

to the worthy Hugh, “profane and execrable wretch!—we have said,

that in consideration of those rights which, even in thy filthy

person, we feel no inclination to violate, we have condescended

to make reply to thy rude and unseasonable inquiries. We

nevertheless, for your unhallowed intrusion upon our councils,

believe it our duty to mulct thee and thy companion in each a

gallon of Black Strap—having imbibed which to the prosperity of

our kingdom—at a single draught—and upon your bended knees—ye

shall be forthwith free either to proceed upon your way, or

remain and be admitted to the privileges of our table, according

to your respective and individual pleasures.”

“It would be a matter of utter impossibility,” replied Legs, whom

the assumptions and dignity of King Pest the First had evidently

inspired some feelings of respect, and who arose and steadied

himself by the table as he spoke—“it would, please your majesty,

be a matter of utter impossibility to stow away in my hold even

one-fourth part of the same liquor which your majesty has just

mentioned. To say nothing of the stuffs placed on board in the

forenoon by way of ballast, and not to mention the various ales

and liqueurs shipped this evening at different sea-ports, I have,

at present, a full cargo of ‘humming-stuff’ taken in and duly

paid for at the sign of the ‘Jolly Tar.’ You will, therefore,

please your majesty, be so good as to take the will for the

deed—for by no manner of means either can I or will I swallow

another drop—least of all a drop of that villainous bilge-water

that answers to the name of ‘Black Strap.’”

“Belay that!” interrupted Tarpaulin, astonished not more at the

length of his companion’s speech than at the nature of his

refusal—“Belay that you lubber!—and I say, Legs, none of your

palaver! My hull is still light, although I confess you

yourself seem to be a little top-heavy; and as for the matter of

your share of the cargo, why rather than raise a squall I would

find stowage-room for it myself, but—”

“This proceeding,” interposed the president, “is by no means in

accordance with the terms of the mulct or sentence, which is in

its nature Median, and not to be altered or recalled. The

conditions we have imposed must be fulfilled to the letter, and

that without a moment’s hesitation—in failure of which fulfilment

we decree that you do here be tied neck and heels together, and

duly drowned as rebels in yon hogshead of October beer!”

“A sentence!—a sentence!—a righteous and just sentence!—a

glorious decree!—a most worthy and upright, and holy

condemnation!” shouted the Pest family altogether. The king

elevated his forehead into innumerable wrinkles; the gouty little

old man puffed like a pair of bellows; the lady of the winding

sheet waved her nose to and fro; the gentleman in the cotton

drawers pricked up his ears; she of the shroud gasped like a

dying fish; and he of the coffin looked stiff and rolled up his

eyes.

“Ugh! ugh! ugh!” chuckled Tarpaulin without heeding the general

excitation, “ugh! ugh! ugh!—ugh! ugh! ugh!—ugh! ugh! ugh!—I was

saying,” said he, “I was saying when Mr. King Pest poked in his

marlin-spike, that as for the matter of two or three gallons more

or less of Black Strap, it was a trifle to a tight sea-boat like

myself not overstowed—but when it comes to drinking the health of

the Devil (whom God assoilzie) and going down upon my marrow

bones to his ill-favored majesty there, whom I know, as well as I

know myself to be a sinner, to be nobody in the whole world, but

Tim Hurlygurly the stage-player!—why! it’s quite another guess

sort of a thing, and utterly and altogether past my

comprehension.”

He was not allowed to finish this speech in tranquillity. At the

name Tim Hurlygurly the whole assembly leaped from their name

seats.

“Treason!” shouted his Majesty King Pest the First.

“Treason!” said the little man with the gout.

“Treason!” screamed the Arch Duchess Ana-Pest.

“Treason!” muttered the gentleman with his jaws tied up.

“Treason!” growled he of the coffin.

“Treason! treason!” shrieked her majesty of the mouth; and,

seizing by the hinder part of his breeches the unfortunate

Tarpaulin, who had just commenced pouring out for himself a skull

of liqueur, she lifted him high into the air, and let him fall

without ceremony into the huge open puncheon of his beloved ale.

Bobbing up and down, for a few seconds, like an apple in a bowl

of toddy, he, at length, finally disappeared amid the whirlpool

of foam which, in the already effervescent liquor, his struggles

easily succeeded in creating.

Not tamely, however, did the tall seaman behold the discomfiture

of his companion. Jostling King Pest through the open trap, the

valiant Legs slammed the door down upon him with an oath, and

strode towards the centre of the room. Here tearing down the

skeleton which swung over the table, he laid it about him with so

much energy and good will, that, as the last glimpses of light

died away within the apartment, he succeeded in knocking out the

brains of the little gentleman with the gout. Rushing then with

all his force against the fatal hogshead full of October ale and

Hugh Tarpaulin, he rolled it over and over in an instant. Out

burst a deluge of liquor so fierce—so impetuous—so

overwhelming—that the room was flooded from wall to wall—the

loaded table was overturned—the tressels were thrown upon their

backs—the tub of punch into the fire-place—and the ladies into

hysterics. Piles of death-furniture floundered about. Jugs,

pitchers, and carboys mingled promiscuously in the mêlée, and

wicker flagons encountered desperately with bottles of junk. The

man with the horrors was drowned upon the spot—the little stiff

gentleman floated off in his coffin—and the victorious Legs,

seizing by the waist the fat lady in the shroud, rushed out with

her into the street, and made a bee-line for the Free and Easy,

followed under easy sail by the redoubtable Hugh Tarpaulin, who,

having sneezed three or four times, panted and puffed after him

with the Arch Duchess Ana-Pest.

THREE SUNDAYS IN A WEEK

“You hard-headed, dunder-headed, obstinate, rusty, crusty, musty,

fusty, old savage!” said I, in fancy, one afternoon, to my grand

uncle Rumgudgeon—shaking my fist at him in imagination.

Only in imagination. The fact is, some trivial discrepancy did

exist, just then, between what I said and what I had not the

courage to say—between what I did and what I had half a mind to

do.

The old porpoise, as I opened the drawing-room door, was sitting

with his feet upon the mantel-piece, and a bumper of port in his

paw, making strenuous efforts to accomplish the ditty.

Remplis ton verre vide!

Vide ton verre plein!

“My dear uncle,” said I, closing the door gently, and

approaching him with the blandest of smiles, “you are always so

very kind and considerate, and have evinced your benevolence in

so many—so very many ways—that—that I feel I have only to suggest

this little point to you once more to make sure of your full

acquiescence.”

“Hem!” said he, “good boy! go on!”

“I am sure, my dearest uncle (you confounded old rascal!), that

you have no design really, seriously, to oppose my union with

Kate. This is merely a joke of yours, I know—ha! ha! ha!—how very

pleasant you are at times.”

“Ha! ha! ha!” said he, “curse you! yes!”

“To be sure—of course! I knew you were jesting. Now, uncle, all

that Kate and myself wish at present, is that you would oblige us

with your advice as—as regards the time—you know, uncle—in short,

when will it be most convenient for yourself, that the wedding

shall—shall—come off, you know?”

“Come off, you scoundrel!—what do you mean by that?—Better wait

till it goes on.”

“Ha! ha! ha!—he! he! he!—hi! hi! hi!—ho! ho! ho!—hu! hu! hu!—oh,

that’s good!—oh, that’s capital—such a wit! But all we want

just now, you know, uncle, is that you would indicate the time

precisely.”

“Ah!—precisely?”

“Yes, uncle—that is, if it would be quite agreeable to yourself.”

“Wouldn’t it answer, Bobby, if I were to leave it at random—some

time within a year or so, for example?—must I say precisely?”

“If you please, uncle—precisely.”

“Well, then, Bobby, my boy—you’re a fine fellow, aren’t

you?—since you will have the exact time I’ll—why I’ll oblige

you for once.”

“Dear uncle!”

“Hush, sir!” (drowning my voice)—“I’ll oblige you for once. You

shall have my consent—and the plum, we mus’n’t forget the

plum—let me see! when shall it be? To-day’s Sunday—isn’t it?

Well, then, you shall be married precisely—precisely, now

mind!—when three Sundays come together in a week! Do you hear

me, sir! What are you gaping at? I say, you shall have Kate and

her plum when three Sundays come together in a week—but not

till then—you young scapegrace—not till then, if I die for

it. You know me—I’m a man of my word—now be off!” Here he

swallowed his bumper of port, while I rushed from the room in

despair.

A very “fine old English gentleman,” was my grand-uncle

Rumgudgeon, but unlike him of the song, he had his weak points.

He was a little, pursy, pompous, passionate semicircular

somebody, with a red nose, a thick skull, a long purse, and a

strong sense of his own consequence. With the best heart in the

world, he contrived, through a predominant whim of contradiction,

to earn for himself, among those who only knew him superficially,

the character of a curmudgeon. Like many excellent people, he

seemed possessed with a spirit of tantalization, which might

easily, at a casual glance, have been mistaken for malevolence.

To every request, a positive “No!” was his immediate answer; but

in the end—in the long, long end—there were exceedingly few

requests which he refused. Against all attacks upon his purse he

made the most sturdy defence; but the amount extorted from him,

at last, was generally in direct ratio with the length of the

siege and the stubbornness of the resistance. In charity no one

gave more liberally or with a worse grace.

For the fine arts, and especially for the belles-lettres, he

entertained a profound contempt. With this he had been inspired

by Casimir Perier, whose pert little query “A quoi un poete est

il bon?” he was in the habit of quoting, with a very droll

pronunciation, as the ne plus ultra of logical wit. Thus my own

inkling for the Muses had excited his entire displeasure. He

assured me one day, when I asked him for a new copy of Horace,

that the translation of “Poeta nascitur non fit” was “a nasty

poet for nothing fit”—a remark which I took in high dudgeon. His

repugnance to “the humanities” had, also, much increased of late,

by an accidental bias in favor of what he supposed to be natural

science. Somebody had accosted him in the street, mistaking him

for no less a personage than Doctor Dubble L. Dee, the lecturer

upon quack physics. This set him off at a tangent; and just at

the epoch of this story—for story it is getting to be after

all—my grand-uncle Rumgudgeon was accessible and pacific only

upon points which happened to chime in with the caprioles of the

hobby he was riding. For the rest, he laughed with his arms and

legs, and his politics were stubborn and easily understood. He

thought, with Horsley, that “the people have nothing to do with

the laws but to obey them.”

I had lived with the old gentleman all my life. My parents, in

dying, had bequeathed me to him as a rich legacy. I believe the

old villain loved me as his own child—nearly if not quite as well

as he loved Kate—but it was a dog’s existence that he led me,

after all. From my first year until my fifth, he obliged me with

very regular floggings. From five to fifteen, he threatened me,

hourly, with the House of Correction. From fifteen to twenty, not

a day passed in which he did not promise to cut me off with a

shilling. I was a sad dog, it is true—but then it was a part of

my nature—a point of my faith. In Kate, however, I had a firm

friend, and I knew it. She was a good girl, and told me very

sweetly that I might have her (plum and all) whenever I could

badger my grand-uncle Rumgudgeon, into the necessary consent.

Poor girl!—she was barely fifteen, and without this consent, her

little amount in the funds was not come-at-able until five

immeasurable summers had “dragged their slow length along.” What,

then, to do? At fifteen, or even at twenty-one (for I had now

passed my fifth olympiad) five years in prospect are very much

the same as five hundred. In vain we besieged the old gentleman

with importunities. Here was a piece de resistance (as Messieurs

Ude and Careme would say) which suited his perverse fancy to a T.

It would have stiffed the indignation of Job himself, to see how

much like an old mouser he behaved to us two poor wretched little

mice. In his heart he wished for nothing more ardently than our

union. He had made up his mind to this all along. In fact, he

would have given ten thousand pounds from his own pocket (Kate’s

plum was her own) if he could have invented any thing like an

excuse for complying with our very natural wishes. But then we

had been so imprudent as to broach the subject ourselves. Not to

oppose it under such circumstances, I sincerely believe, was not

in his power.

I have said already that he had his weak points; but in speaking

of these, I must not be understood as referring to his obstinacy:

which was one of his strong points—“assurement ce n’ etait pas sa

foible.” When I mention his weakness I have allusion to a bizarre

old-womanish superstition which beset him. He was great in

dreams, portents, et id genus omne of rigmarole. He was

excessively punctilious, too, upon small points of honor, and,

after his own fashion, was a man of his word, beyond doubt. This

was, in fact, one of his hobbies. The spirit of his vows he made

no scruple of setting at naught, but the letter was a bond

inviolable. Now it was this latter peculiarity in his

disposition, of which Kate’s ingenuity enabled us one fine day,

not long after our interview in the dining-room, to take a very

unexpected advantage, and, having thus, in the fashion of all

modern bards and orators, exhausted in prolegomena, all the time

at my command, and nearly all the room at my disposal, I will sum

up in a few words what constitutes the whole pith of the story.

It happened then—so the Fates ordered it—that among the naval

acquaintances of my betrothed, were two gentlemen who had just

set foot upon the shores of England, after a year’s absence,

each, in foreign travel. In company with these gentlemen, my

cousin and I, preconcertedly paid uncle Rumgudgeon a visit on the

afternoon of Sunday, October the tenth,—just three weeks after

the memorable decision which had so cruelly defeated our hopes.

For about half an hour the conversation ran upon ordinary topics,

but at last, we contrived, quite naturally, to give it the

following turn:

CAPT. PRATT. “Well I have been absent just one year.—Just one

year to-day, as I live—let me see! yes!—this is October the

tenth. You remember, Mr. Rumgudgeon, I called, this day year to

bid you good-bye. And by the way, it does seem something like a

coincidence, does it not—that our friend, Captain Smitherton,

here, has been absent exactly a year also—a year to-day!”

SMITHERTON. “Yes! just one year to a fraction. You will remember,

Mr. Rumgudgeon, that I called with Capt. Pratol on this very day,

last year, to pay my parting respects.”

UNCLE. “Yes, yes, yes—I remember it very well—very queer indeed!

Both of you gone just one year. A very strange coincidence,

indeed! Just what Doctor Dubble L. Dee would denominate an

extraordinary concurrence of events. Doctor Dub—”

KATE. (Interrupting.) “To be sure, papa, it is something strange;

but then Captain Pratt and Captain Smitherton didn’t go

altogether the same route, and that makes a difference, you

know.”

UNCLE. “I don’t know any such thing, you huzzy! How should I? I

think it only makes the matter more remarkable, Doctor Dubble L.

Dee—”

KATE. “Why, papa, Captain Pratt went round Cape Horn, and Captain

Smitherton doubled the Cape of Good Hope.”

UNCLE. “Precisely!—the one went east and the other went west, you

jade, and they both have gone quite round the world. By the by,

Doctor Dubble L. Dee—”

MYSELF. (Hurriedly.) “Captain Pratt, you must come and spend the

evening with us to-morrow—you and Smitherton—you can tell us all

about your voyage, and we’ll have a game of whist and—”

PRATT. “Wist, my dear fellow—you forget. To-morrow will be

Sunday. Some other evening—”

KATE. “Oh, no, fie!—Robert’s not quite so bad as that. To-day’s

Sunday.”

PRATT. “I beg both your pardons—but I can’t be so much mistaken.

I know to-morrow’s Sunday, because-”

SMITHERTON. (Much surprised.) “What are you all thinking about?

Wasn’t yesterday, Sunday, I should like to know?”

ALL. “Yesterday indeed! you are out!”

UNCLE. “To-day’s Sunday, I say—don’t I know?”

PRATT. “Oh no!—to-morrow’s Sunday.”

SMITHERTON. “You are all mad—every one of you. I am as positive

that yesterday was Sunday as I am that I sit upon this chair.”

KATE. (Jumping up eagerly.) “I see it—I see it all. Papa, this is

a judgment upon you, about—about you know what. Let me alone, and

I’ll explain it all in a minute. It’s a very simple thing,

indeed. Captain Smitherton says that yesterday was Sunday: so it

was; he is right. Cousin Bobby, and uncle and I say that to-day

is Sunday: so it is; we are right. Captain Pratt maintains that

to-morrow will be Sunday: so it will; he is right, too. The fact

is, we are all right, and thus three Sundays have come together

in a week.”

SMITHERTON. (After a pause.) “By the by, Pratt, Kate has us

completely. What fools we two are! Mr. Rumgudgeon, the matter

stands thus: the earth, you know, is twenty-four thousand miles

in circumference. Now this globe of the earth turns upon its own

axis—revolves—spins round—these twenty-four thousand miles of

extent, going from west to east, in precisely twenty-four hours.

Do you understand, Mr. Rumgudgeon?—”

UNCLE. “To be sure—to be sure—Doctor Dub—”

SMITHERTON. (Drowning his voice.) “Well, sir; that is at the rate

of one thousand miles per hour. Now, suppose that I sail from

this position a thousand miles east. Of course I anticipate the

rising of the sun here at London by just one hour. I see the sun

rise one hour before you do. Proceeding, in the same direction,

yet another thousand miles, I anticipate the rising by two

hours—another thousand, and I anticipate it by three hours, and

so on, until I go entirely round the globe, and back to this

spot, when, having gone twenty-four thousand miles east, I

anticipate the rising of the London sun by no less than

twenty-four hours; that is to say, I am a day in advance of your

time. Understand, eh?”

UNCLE. “But Double L. Dee—”

SMITHERTON. (Speaking very loud.) “Captain Pratt, on the

contrary, when he had sailed a thousand miles west of this

position, was an hour, and when he had sailed twenty-four

thousand miles west, was twenty-four hours, or one day, behind

the time at London. Thus, with me, yesterday was Sunday—thus,

with you, to-day is Sunday—and thus, with Pratt, to-morrow will

be Sunday. And what is more, Mr. Rumgudgeon, it is positively

clear that we are all right; for there can be no philosophical

reason assigned why the idea of one of us should have preference

over that of the other.”

UNCLE. “My eyes!—well, Kate—well, Bobby!—this is a judgment upon

me, as you say. But I am a man of my word—mark that! you shall

have her, boy, (plum and all), when you please. Done up, by Jove!

Three Sundays all in a row! I’ll go, and take Dubble L. Dee’s

opinion upon that.”