by Poe · Cluster: Night Journey Vision · Katabasis Descent · Quest Hero
Abstract
A first-person sea-voyage adventure novel of stowaway, mutiny, shipwreck, starvation, cannibalism and a southward quest ending in an apocalyptic Antarctic vision of a white shrouded figure and a silent cataract.
Capitoli / Chapters
Connections
Topoi: Quest, Night Journey Vision, Katabasis Descent Archetypes: Outsider, Quest Hero Motifs: Sea, Storm, Journey, White and Red, Light and Dark, Death Themes & Concepts: Terror and Horror, Sublime, Uncanny, Survival, Deception Forms & Genres: Novel, Narrative Poem Settings: Sea (2), Ship
Testo integrale / Full text
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.”
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, Volume 3, by Edgar Allan Poe