CHAPTER XXX.
“I ’gin to be aweary of the sun,And wish the estate o’ the world were now undone.”Macbeth.
“I ’gin to be aweary of the sun,And wish the estate o’ the world were now undone.”Macbeth.
“I ’gin to be aweary of the sun,And wish the estate o’ the world were now undone.”Macbeth.
“I ’gin to be aweary of the sun,
And wish the estate o’ the world were now undone.”
Macbeth.
“Lorenzo,” said Appadocca to his officer who had returned to the wreck, “that was a good and faithful vessel.”
“Ay, your excellency,” replied Lorenzo, sorrowfully, “she was.”
“All things must end, Lorenzo,” continued Appadocca.
“True, your excellency,” answered Lorenzo.
“If so, Lorenzo, the honours and greatness of men are scarcely to be longed after. The pursuits that engross us during an entire lifetime, and lead us too frequently, to sacrifice health, happiness, and sometimeseven drag us into crime, must all—all end in this—in nothing.”
“True, your excellency,” answered Lorenzo.
“You know not, Lorenzo, how different the world appears to me now, from what it did when I was a happy student of eighteen. It was then tinged with golden hues, and shone in whatever light I viewed it. Greatness: oh, greatness, seemed so captivating to me! My nights were devoted to its attainment, my days the same. Now, the world is charmless, scarcely tolerable, and my beautiful dreams have all passed away like the crystal dew before the sucking sun.”
“There is still hope, your excellency,” remarked Lorenzo.
“What among all things seems the most deserving of preservation, Lorenzo,” continued Appadocca, “is our honour, our consciousness of acting right. How many a mind that is curbed down by misfortune and sorrow, finds its own little relief in the simple idea, that it has acted up to the dictates of its honor.”
Lorenzo made no reply, he saw that his chief was deeply affected.
“Lorenzo,” resumed Appadocca, after a pause, “there is destiny—there is destiny—there is a synchronism of events and a simultaneousness of the actings of nature’sgeneral laws that constitute destiny; against which no men from the absence of any power to read the future can provide. Thus, in the whirlwind, that raises in mid-air the light feather, there is to be seen the hand of destiny, for there is the synchronism of the feather’s being separated from the bird with the acting of the law of nature that produces the wind. It would have been as impossible to the bird, granting that its reasoning powers were less limited, to have provided against the falling of its feather and the eventual taking of it up by storm, as it was impossible to foresee the whirlwind that overcame the schooner which was made to pass through every danger.”
“Too true, your excellency,” answered Lorenzo.
“So that it follows,” continued Appadocca, “that since men are subject to the former of this destiny, their most strenuous efforts must always prove impotent in restraining its action, and that they are liable every moment, whether they are good, or whether they are bad, to be subjected to misfortune and calamity. And this corroborates what I have already said, that the only thing which we are bound to consider in life, is our honor, which alone is, or ought to be, the source of satisfaction or misery to us.”
Lorenzo assented to the philosophy of Appadocca.
“If ever I should be suddenly overtaken by the hand of this destiny recollect, beneath the solitary fig-tree that grows on the Island of Sombrero, you will find a treasure. Devote half to the erection of a college for abandoned children, and with the rest provide for my men who have served me truly. Do not forget that peculiar old servant,” he said in a low tone, and pointed to Jack Jimmy.
“Your excellency is growing melancholy,” observed Lorenzo, with some anxiety.
“No, no,” replied Appadocca. “Still, who knows how soon destiny may end his days.”
“For you, Lorenzo, you have acted towards me in a manner that I have duly appreciated,” continued Appadocca, while he grasped his officer’s hand, “here is my sword, wear it, and may the time soon arrive when you may use it in the cause to which you are pledged, farewell!”
With a spring Appadocca jumped from the rock and threw himself headlong into the thundering waves below.
His movement was so sudden that Lorenzo, and Jack Jimmy, who sprang to their feet at once, were too late to hold him back and save him.
The little negro silently returned to the spot where hehad sat since he had come on shore, and hid his face in his hands. Not a word—not a sob escaped him. His grief was too deep and strong for tears.
Morning dawned on the devastated scene of the late hurricane.
Like a strong man who is recovering from illness, nature presented a smiling, though languid look. The billows still ran high, but unlashed now by the wind, they rolled heavily against the rocks.
High and dry lay the bodies of the dead, their pallid faces still locked in the grim passions which had attended the departure of life.
The dawn had scarcely come, when Jack Jimmy might have been seen moving totteringly along the ruffled beach, with a dead body on his shoulders. Away into a solitary recess of the picturesque little bay, he bore his burden. He lay it down, and then slowly began to scoop a hole.
Solemnly he worked—his arms rose and fell like his heart—heavily.
But who comes to interrupt the sacred work! Lorenzo! It was Lorenzo. He had followed Jack Jimmy to the spot. The officer began to dig, too.
“Tap, massa—tap,” said Jack Jimmy, solemnly grasping his arm—“let me one do it.”
The hole was dug:—Jack Jimmy adjusted the uniform and hair of the corpse, composed its features, and laid it carefully in it.
His arms again rose and fell as heavily as before:—the grave was closed, and made even with the ground. Jack Jimmy knelt at its foot, raised his eyes to heaven—his lips rapidly moved, and a heavy tear fell on the simple grave of the pirate captain.
It was about this time that a littlefalluchacame labouring over the still perturbed waves under four powerful sweeps. At its stern sat the captain and a lady.
Attracted by the signs of the shipwrecked pirates, she drew towards the shore.
The tale of the wreck was soon told. The lady raised her hands and held her forehead as if it were about to split asunder. She landed, and walked along the strand and studied each dead man’s face that she passed by. She arrived at the spot where Jack Jimmy was completing the grave, and was adjusting each tiny pebble in its proper place.
Her heart sank within her. Quickly she approached the one who was toiling in so sad a mood.
“Whose grave is this?” the lady quickly asked.
“My young massa’s,” Jack Jimmy slowly answered, without raising his eye from his work.
“What was his name?” again asked the lady.
“Emmanuel Appadocca,” again answered Jack Jimmy, as slowly as before.
“Emmanuel Appadocca!”
The lady raised her hands to her burning brows, and pressed her eyes. She remained for a few moments in this position. Then her arms fell languidly by her sides, an expression of vagueness spread itself over her face, she looked absently around, a ringing laugh broke forth from her lips, her jaws then hung mopingly. Feliciana fell mad over Appadocca’s grave.