Volume One--Chapter Sixteen.The sea-breach’d vessel can no longer bearThe floods that o’er her burst in dread career.The labouring hull already seems half fill’dWith water, through an hundred leaks distill’d:Thus drench’d by every wave, her riven deck,Stript and defenceless, floats a naked wreck.Falconer.Newton remained at Bridgetown, under the roof of Mr Kingston, for more than three weeks, by which time the brig was laden, and waiting for convoy to proceed to England.Mr Berecroft had made every preparation for his voyage, when an unexpected circumstance occurred, which eventually proved the occasion of great hardship and danger to Newton. This was, the master of a large ship, belonging to the same owners, and then lying in Carlisle Bay, to proceed homeward by the same convoy, had so ingratiated himself with a wealthy widow residing upon the island, that rather than he should again trust himself to the fickle element, she had been induced to surrender up to him her plantation, her negroes, and her fair self, all equally bound to honour and obey through their future lives.Mr Berecroft, in consequence of this resignation of his brother captain, was appointed to the command of the larger vessel; and Jackson, the first-mate, ordered to take the command of the Eliza and Jane. This was a sad blow to Newton, and one which he could not avoid, as Mr Berecroft could not take him in his new ship, all the sub ordinate situations being already filled up.At first, he was inclined to quit the brig; but by the advice of Mr Berecroft and Kingston, he was persuaded to go the passage home, as he was now first-mate of the vessel, and would incur forfeiture of all wages if he broke the articles which he had signed at Liverpool. Unpleasant as the prospect was, he was further induced by Berecroft’s assurance, that now Jackson was provided for, he would arrange with the owners that Newton should be appointed the first-mate of his own ship, as soon as they arrived in England.In a few days the men-of-war made their appearance. Newton who had remained on shore until the last moment, shook hands with his friendly patron, and thanking Mr Kingston for his kindness, went on board of the vessel with a sorrowful and foreboding heart.Nor was he at all inclined to cheer up as he stepped on the deck of the brig, and beheld Jackson with a handspike, still brandishing over his head, standing across the body of one of the seamen, whom he had just dashed to the deck with the implement in his hand. At the sight of Newton, the wrath of the new captain appeared to be increased. He eyed him malevolently, and then observed with a sneer, “that’s what all skulkers may expect on board of my vessel.”Newton made no answer, and Jackson went forward, where the remainder of the crew were heaving up the anchor with the windlass. Newton walked up to the seaman, who appeared still insensible, and examined him. The iron plate at the end of the handspike had cut deep into the skull, and there was every appearance of a contusion of the brain.Calling the boy who attended the cabin, Newton, with his assistance, carried the man below and laid him in his berth. He then repaired on deck, and took the helm, the anchor of the brig being a-trip. In a quarter of an hour the sail was on her, and she followed the course steered by the men-of-war, who were about to run through the other islands, and pick up several vessels, who were for their protection.“If you expect an easy berth, as first-mate, you are mistaken, my joker,” said Jackson to Newton, as he steered the vessel; “you’ve skulked long enough, and shall now work double tides, or take the consequence. If you don’t, I’ll be damned!”“I shall do my duty, Mr Jackson,” replied Newton, “and fear no consequences.”“Indeed! you saw how I settled a skulk just now;—beware of his fate!”“I neither anticipate it nor fear it, Mr Jackson. If it comes to hand spikes, two can play at that game. I rather think that before many hours are over you will be sorry for your violence, for I believe that man to be in considerable danger. Even now, I should recommend you to demand surgical assistance from the frigate.”“Demand it, if you dare—I am captain of this ship, sir. The rascal may die and be damned!”To this disgusting speech Newton made no reply. He had made up his mind to put up with every thing short of downright aggression, and for three days more, he obeyed all orders, however arbitrary and however annoying. During this period the man who had been injured became gradually worse; his illness increased rapidly, and on the fifth day he became delirious and in a state of high fever, when Newton again pointed out the propriety of asking surgical aid from one of the men-of-war. This suggestion was answered by Jackson, who was now really alarmed, with a volley of oaths and execrations, ending with a fiat refusal. The crew of the brig murmured, and collected together forward, looking occasionally at the men-of-war as they spoke in whispers to each other; but they were afraid of Jackson’s violence, and none ventured to speak out. Jackson paced the deck in a state of irritation and excitement as he listened to the ravings of his victim, which were loud enough to be heard all over the vessel. As the evening closed, the men, taking the opportunity of Jackson’s going below, went up to Newton, who was walking aft, and stated their determination that the next morning, whether the master consented to it or not, they would hail the frigate, and demand surgical assistance for their shipmate. In the midst of the colloquy Jackson, who hearing the noise overhead of the people coming aft, had a suspicion of the cause, and had been listening at the bottom of the ladder to what was said, came up the hatchway, and accusing Newton of attempting to raise a mutiny, ordered him immediately to his cabin, stating his intention of sending him on board of the frigate the next morning to be placed in confinement.“I shall obey your order,” replied Newton, “as you are in command of this vessel. I only hope that you will adhere to your resolution of communicating with the frigate.” So saying, he descended the companion hatch.But Jackson, who, both from the information of the cabin-boy, and the fact that the incoherent ravings of his victim became hourly more feeble, thought himself in jeopardy, had no such intention. As the night closed in, he remained on deck gradually taking off first one sail and then another, until the brig was left far astern of the rest of the convoy, and the next morning there was no other vessel in sight; then, on pretence of rejoining them, he made all sail, at the same time changing his course, so as to pass between two of the islands. Newton was the only one on board who understood navigation besides Jackson, and therefore the only one who could prove that he was escaping from the convoy. He was in confinement below; and the men, whatever may have been their suspicions, could not prove that they were not steering as they ought.About twelve o’clock on that day the poor sailor breathed his last. Jackson, who was prepared for the event, had already made up his mind how to proceed. The men murmured, and proposed securing Jackson as a prisoner, and offering the command to Newton. They went below and made the proposal to him; but he refused, observing that until it was proved by the laws of the land that Jackson had murdered their shipmate, he was not guilty, and therefore they had no right to dispossess him of his command; and until their evidence could be taken by some of the authorities he must remain; further pointing out to them, that as he could be seized immediately upon his arrival at an English port, or falling in with a man-of-war during their passage, the ends of justice would be equally answered, as if they committed themselves by taking the law into their own hands.The men, although not satisfied, acquiesced, and returned to their duty on deck. Jackson’s conduct towards them was now quite altered; he not only treated them with lenity, but supplied them with extra liquor and other indulgences, which, as captain, he could command. Newton, however, he still detained under an arrest, watching him most carefully each time that he was necessitated to come on deck. The fact was, Jackson, aware that his life would be forfeited to the laws of his country, had resolved to wreck the brig, upon one of the reefs to the northward, then take to his boats, and escape to one of the French islands. At this instigation, the body of the man had been thrown overboard by some of the crew, when they were in a state of half intoxication.Newton, who had been below four days, had retired as usual to his hammock, when a sudden shock, accompanied by the fall of the masts by the board, woke him from a sound sleep to all the horrors of shipwreck. The water pouring rapidly through the sides of the vessel, proved to him that there was no chance of escape except by the boats. The shriek, so awful when raised in the gloom of night by seamen anticipating immediate death, the hurried footsteps above him, the confusion of many voices, with the heavy blows from the waves against the side of the vessel, told him that danger was imminent, even if escape were possible. He drew on his trousers, and rushed to the door of his cabin. Merciful Heaven! what was his surprise, his horror, to find that it was fastened outside. A moment’s thought at the malignity of the wretch (for it was indeed Jackson, who, during the night, had taken such steps for his destruction) was followed by exertions to escape. Placing his shoulders against his sea-chest, and his feet against the door, his body in nearly a horizontal position, he made a violent effort to break open the door. The lock gave way, but the door did not open more than one or two inches, for Jackson to make sure had coiled down against it a hawser which lay a few yards further forward in the steerage, the weight of which the strength of no five men could remove. Maddened with the idea of perishing by such treachery, Newton again exerted his frantic efforts again and again without success. Between each pause, the voices of the seamen asking for the oars and other articles belonging to the long boat, proved to him that every moment of delay was anailin his coffin. Again and again were his efforts repeated with almost superhuman strength; but the door remained fixed as ever. At last, it occurred to him that the hawser, which he had previously ascertained by passing his hand through the small aperture which he had made, might only lay against the lower part of the door, and that the upper part might befree. He applied his strength above, and found the door to yield: by repeated attempts he at last succeeded in kicking the upper panels to pieces, and having forced his body through the aperture, Newton rushed on deck with the little strength he had remaining.The men—the boat—were not there: he hailed, but they heard him not; he strained his eyes—but they had disappeared in the gloom of the night; and Newton, overcome with exhaustion and disappointment, fell down senseless on the deck.
The sea-breach’d vessel can no longer bearThe floods that o’er her burst in dread career.The labouring hull already seems half fill’dWith water, through an hundred leaks distill’d:Thus drench’d by every wave, her riven deck,Stript and defenceless, floats a naked wreck.Falconer.
The sea-breach’d vessel can no longer bearThe floods that o’er her burst in dread career.The labouring hull already seems half fill’dWith water, through an hundred leaks distill’d:Thus drench’d by every wave, her riven deck,Stript and defenceless, floats a naked wreck.Falconer.
Newton remained at Bridgetown, under the roof of Mr Kingston, for more than three weeks, by which time the brig was laden, and waiting for convoy to proceed to England.
Mr Berecroft had made every preparation for his voyage, when an unexpected circumstance occurred, which eventually proved the occasion of great hardship and danger to Newton. This was, the master of a large ship, belonging to the same owners, and then lying in Carlisle Bay, to proceed homeward by the same convoy, had so ingratiated himself with a wealthy widow residing upon the island, that rather than he should again trust himself to the fickle element, she had been induced to surrender up to him her plantation, her negroes, and her fair self, all equally bound to honour and obey through their future lives.
Mr Berecroft, in consequence of this resignation of his brother captain, was appointed to the command of the larger vessel; and Jackson, the first-mate, ordered to take the command of the Eliza and Jane. This was a sad blow to Newton, and one which he could not avoid, as Mr Berecroft could not take him in his new ship, all the sub ordinate situations being already filled up.
At first, he was inclined to quit the brig; but by the advice of Mr Berecroft and Kingston, he was persuaded to go the passage home, as he was now first-mate of the vessel, and would incur forfeiture of all wages if he broke the articles which he had signed at Liverpool. Unpleasant as the prospect was, he was further induced by Berecroft’s assurance, that now Jackson was provided for, he would arrange with the owners that Newton should be appointed the first-mate of his own ship, as soon as they arrived in England.
In a few days the men-of-war made their appearance. Newton who had remained on shore until the last moment, shook hands with his friendly patron, and thanking Mr Kingston for his kindness, went on board of the vessel with a sorrowful and foreboding heart.
Nor was he at all inclined to cheer up as he stepped on the deck of the brig, and beheld Jackson with a handspike, still brandishing over his head, standing across the body of one of the seamen, whom he had just dashed to the deck with the implement in his hand. At the sight of Newton, the wrath of the new captain appeared to be increased. He eyed him malevolently, and then observed with a sneer, “that’s what all skulkers may expect on board of my vessel.”
Newton made no answer, and Jackson went forward, where the remainder of the crew were heaving up the anchor with the windlass. Newton walked up to the seaman, who appeared still insensible, and examined him. The iron plate at the end of the handspike had cut deep into the skull, and there was every appearance of a contusion of the brain.
Calling the boy who attended the cabin, Newton, with his assistance, carried the man below and laid him in his berth. He then repaired on deck, and took the helm, the anchor of the brig being a-trip. In a quarter of an hour the sail was on her, and she followed the course steered by the men-of-war, who were about to run through the other islands, and pick up several vessels, who were for their protection.
“If you expect an easy berth, as first-mate, you are mistaken, my joker,” said Jackson to Newton, as he steered the vessel; “you’ve skulked long enough, and shall now work double tides, or take the consequence. If you don’t, I’ll be damned!”
“I shall do my duty, Mr Jackson,” replied Newton, “and fear no consequences.”
“Indeed! you saw how I settled a skulk just now;—beware of his fate!”
“I neither anticipate it nor fear it, Mr Jackson. If it comes to hand spikes, two can play at that game. I rather think that before many hours are over you will be sorry for your violence, for I believe that man to be in considerable danger. Even now, I should recommend you to demand surgical assistance from the frigate.”
“Demand it, if you dare—I am captain of this ship, sir. The rascal may die and be damned!”
To this disgusting speech Newton made no reply. He had made up his mind to put up with every thing short of downright aggression, and for three days more, he obeyed all orders, however arbitrary and however annoying. During this period the man who had been injured became gradually worse; his illness increased rapidly, and on the fifth day he became delirious and in a state of high fever, when Newton again pointed out the propriety of asking surgical aid from one of the men-of-war. This suggestion was answered by Jackson, who was now really alarmed, with a volley of oaths and execrations, ending with a fiat refusal. The crew of the brig murmured, and collected together forward, looking occasionally at the men-of-war as they spoke in whispers to each other; but they were afraid of Jackson’s violence, and none ventured to speak out. Jackson paced the deck in a state of irritation and excitement as he listened to the ravings of his victim, which were loud enough to be heard all over the vessel. As the evening closed, the men, taking the opportunity of Jackson’s going below, went up to Newton, who was walking aft, and stated their determination that the next morning, whether the master consented to it or not, they would hail the frigate, and demand surgical assistance for their shipmate. In the midst of the colloquy Jackson, who hearing the noise overhead of the people coming aft, had a suspicion of the cause, and had been listening at the bottom of the ladder to what was said, came up the hatchway, and accusing Newton of attempting to raise a mutiny, ordered him immediately to his cabin, stating his intention of sending him on board of the frigate the next morning to be placed in confinement.
“I shall obey your order,” replied Newton, “as you are in command of this vessel. I only hope that you will adhere to your resolution of communicating with the frigate.” So saying, he descended the companion hatch.
But Jackson, who, both from the information of the cabin-boy, and the fact that the incoherent ravings of his victim became hourly more feeble, thought himself in jeopardy, had no such intention. As the night closed in, he remained on deck gradually taking off first one sail and then another, until the brig was left far astern of the rest of the convoy, and the next morning there was no other vessel in sight; then, on pretence of rejoining them, he made all sail, at the same time changing his course, so as to pass between two of the islands. Newton was the only one on board who understood navigation besides Jackson, and therefore the only one who could prove that he was escaping from the convoy. He was in confinement below; and the men, whatever may have been their suspicions, could not prove that they were not steering as they ought.
About twelve o’clock on that day the poor sailor breathed his last. Jackson, who was prepared for the event, had already made up his mind how to proceed. The men murmured, and proposed securing Jackson as a prisoner, and offering the command to Newton. They went below and made the proposal to him; but he refused, observing that until it was proved by the laws of the land that Jackson had murdered their shipmate, he was not guilty, and therefore they had no right to dispossess him of his command; and until their evidence could be taken by some of the authorities he must remain; further pointing out to them, that as he could be seized immediately upon his arrival at an English port, or falling in with a man-of-war during their passage, the ends of justice would be equally answered, as if they committed themselves by taking the law into their own hands.
The men, although not satisfied, acquiesced, and returned to their duty on deck. Jackson’s conduct towards them was now quite altered; he not only treated them with lenity, but supplied them with extra liquor and other indulgences, which, as captain, he could command. Newton, however, he still detained under an arrest, watching him most carefully each time that he was necessitated to come on deck. The fact was, Jackson, aware that his life would be forfeited to the laws of his country, had resolved to wreck the brig, upon one of the reefs to the northward, then take to his boats, and escape to one of the French islands. At this instigation, the body of the man had been thrown overboard by some of the crew, when they were in a state of half intoxication.
Newton, who had been below four days, had retired as usual to his hammock, when a sudden shock, accompanied by the fall of the masts by the board, woke him from a sound sleep to all the horrors of shipwreck. The water pouring rapidly through the sides of the vessel, proved to him that there was no chance of escape except by the boats. The shriek, so awful when raised in the gloom of night by seamen anticipating immediate death, the hurried footsteps above him, the confusion of many voices, with the heavy blows from the waves against the side of the vessel, told him that danger was imminent, even if escape were possible. He drew on his trousers, and rushed to the door of his cabin. Merciful Heaven! what was his surprise, his horror, to find that it was fastened outside. A moment’s thought at the malignity of the wretch (for it was indeed Jackson, who, during the night, had taken such steps for his destruction) was followed by exertions to escape. Placing his shoulders against his sea-chest, and his feet against the door, his body in nearly a horizontal position, he made a violent effort to break open the door. The lock gave way, but the door did not open more than one or two inches, for Jackson to make sure had coiled down against it a hawser which lay a few yards further forward in the steerage, the weight of which the strength of no five men could remove. Maddened with the idea of perishing by such treachery, Newton again exerted his frantic efforts again and again without success. Between each pause, the voices of the seamen asking for the oars and other articles belonging to the long boat, proved to him that every moment of delay was anailin his coffin. Again and again were his efforts repeated with almost superhuman strength; but the door remained fixed as ever. At last, it occurred to him that the hawser, which he had previously ascertained by passing his hand through the small aperture which he had made, might only lay against the lower part of the door, and that the upper part might befree. He applied his strength above, and found the door to yield: by repeated attempts he at last succeeded in kicking the upper panels to pieces, and having forced his body through the aperture, Newton rushed on deck with the little strength he had remaining.
The men—the boat—were not there: he hailed, but they heard him not; he strained his eyes—but they had disappeared in the gloom of the night; and Newton, overcome with exhaustion and disappointment, fell down senseless on the deck.
Volume One--Chapter Seventeen.Paladore.I have heard,Have read bold fables of enormity,Devised to make men wonder, and confirmThe abhorrence of our nature; but this hardnessTranscends all fiction.Law of Lombardy.We must now relate what had occurred on deck during the struggle of Newton to escape from his prison. At one o’clock, Jackson had calculated that in an hour, or less, the brig would strike on the reef. He took the helm from the man who was steering, and told him that he might go below. Previous to this, he had been silently occupied in coiling the hawser before the door of Newton’s cabin, it being his intention to desert the brig, with the seamen, in the long boat, and leave Newton to perish. When the brig dashed upon the reef, which she did with great violence, and the crew hurried upon deck, Jackson, who was calm, immediately proceeded to give the orders which he had already arranged in his mind; and the coolness with which they were given quieted the alarm of the seamen, and allowed them time to recall their scattered senses. This, however, proved unfortunate to Jackson. Had they all hurried in the boat at once, and shoved off; he would in all probability have been permitted to go with them, and Newton in the hurry of their self-preservation, would have been forgotten; but his cool behaviour restored their confidence, and, unhappily for him, gave the seamen time to reflect. Every one was in the boat; for Jackson had quietly prepared and put into her what he considered requisite, when one of the men called out for Newton.“Damn Newton now!—save your own lives, my lads. Quick in the boat, all of you.”“Not without Mr Newton!” cried the men, unanimously. “Jump down, Tom Williams, and see where he is; he must sleep devilish sound.”The sailor sprung down the companion hatch, where he found the hawser coiled against the door, and heard Newton struggling inside. It was enough. He hastened on deck, and told his companions; adding, that “it would take half an hour to get the poor fellow out, and that’s longer than we dare stay, for in ten minutes the brig will be to pieces.”“It is you, you murdering rascal, who did it!” cried the man to Jackson. “I tell you what, my lads, if poor Mr Newton is to die, let this scoundrel keep him company.”A general shout proclaimed the acquiescence of the other seamen in this act of retributive justice. Jackson, with a loud oath, attempted to spring into the boat, but was repelled by the seamen; again he made the attempt, with dreadful imprecations. He was on the plane-sheer of the brig, and about to make a spring, when a blow from a handspike (the same handspike with which he had murdered the unfortunate seaman) struck him senseless, and he fell back into the lee-scuppers. The boat then shoved off, and had not gained more than two cables’ lengths from the vessel, when Newton effected his escape and ran on deck, as narrated in our last chapter.The brig had now beat up so high on the reef, that she remained firmly fixed upon it; and the tide having ebbed considerably, she was less exposed to the beating of the waves. The sun was also about to make his appearance, and it was broad daylight when Jackson first came to his recollection. His brain whirled, his ideas were confused, and he had but a faint reminiscence of what had occurred. He felt that the water washed his feet, and with a sort of instinct he rose, and staggered up to windward. In so doing, without perceiving him, he stumbled over the body of Newton, who also was roused up by the shock. A few moments passed before either could regain his scattered senses; and, at the same time, both sitting up on the deck, at about a yard distant, they discovered and recognised each other.Newton was the more collected of the two, for Jackson’s insensibility had been occasioned by bodily—his, by mental concussion. The effect of the blow was still felt by Jackson; and although recovered from the stupor, a dull, heavy sensation affected his eyesight and confused his ideas.The sight of Newton went far to recover Jackson, who started up as if to grapple with the object of his hatred. Newton was on his legs at the same moment, and retreating, seized upon the handspike which lay on the deck, close to where Jackson had been struck down, and placed himself in an attitude of defence. Not a word was exchanged between them. They remained a few minutes in this position, when Jackson, whose brain was affected by the violence of his feelings, dropped down upon the deck in a renewed state of insensibility.Newton had now time to look about him, and the prospect was any thing but cheering. It was almost low water, and in every direction he perceived reefs of coral rock, and large banks of sand, with deep channels between them, through which the tide flowed rapidly. The reef upon which the brig had been grounded was of sharp coral; and, in the deeper parts, the trees could be discerned, extending a submarine forest of boughs; but it was evident that the reef upon which the vessel lay was, as well as most of the others, covered at high water. As a means of escape, a small boat was still hanging over the stern, which Newton was able to manage either with her sails or her oars, as might be required.As there was no time to be lost, and the only chance of escape remained with the boat, Newton commenced his arrangements. The mast and sails were found, and the latter bent;—a keg was filled with water,—a compass taken out of the binnacle,—a few pieces of beef, and some bread collected in a bag, and thrown in. He also procured some bottles of wine and cider from the cabin: these he stowed away carefully in the little locker, which was fitted under the stern-sheets of the boat. In an hour every thing was ready; and throwing into her some pieces of spare rope, and a small grapnel to anchor with, there being still sufficient water alongside to float her, Newton gradually lowered one tackle and then another, until the boat was safe in the water. He then hauled her up alongside, made her fast by the painter, and stepped her mast.All was now ready—but to leave Jackson to be washed away by the returning tide, when the brig would unquestionably go to pieces?—Newton could not do it. True, he had sought his life, and still displayed the most inveterate rancour towards him; and Newton felt convinced that no future opportunity would occur, that his enemy would not profit by, to insure his destruction. Yet to leave him—a murderer!—with all his sins upon his soul, to be launched so unprepared into the presence of an offended Creator!—it was impossible—it was contrary to his nature, and to the religion which he professed. How could he hope for the Divine assistance in his perilous undertaking, when he embarked on it, regardless of the precept to forgive his enemy?Newton ascended to that part of the deck where Jackson laid, and roused him. Jackson awoke, as from a deep sleep, and then stared at Newton, who, as a precaution held the handspike in his hand.“Mr Jackson,” said Newton, “I have roused you to let you know that the boat is now ready, and that I am going to shove off.”Jackson, who recollected the scene of the previous night, and perceived Newton standing over him with the handspike, appeared wholly unnerved. In point of muscular power, Newton was his superior, independent of the weapon in his possession.“Not without me!—not without me!” cried Jackson, raising himself upon his knees. “For mercy’s sake, Mr Newton, do not leave me to this horrid death!”“You would have left me to one even more dreadful,” replied Newton.“I beg your pardon!—Pardon me, Mr Newton, I was drunk at the time—indeed I was. I don’t know what I do when I’m in liquor.—Don’t leave me!—I’ll obey your orders, and do any thing you wish!—I’ll wait upon you as your servant!—I will indeed, Mr Newton!”“I neither ask that you will obey my orders, nor wait upon me,” replied Newton. “All I request is, that you will lay aside your wanton animosity, and exert yourself to save your life. For what you have already attempted against me, may God forgive you, as I do! For what you may hereafter attempt, you will find me prepared. Now follow into the boat.”Without further exchange of words Newton, followed by Jackson, went into the boat, and shoved off. The weather was moderate and the wind light. There were two islets which Newton had marked, which apparently were not covered at high water, one about ten miles distant in the supposed direction of the land, for Newton had shrewdly guessed the locality of the reef; and the other about two miles from the first, further out, with trees growing to the water’s edge. To this latter, Newton proposed pulling, and waiting there until the next morning. When they were both in the boat, Newton finding that the wind was contrary, unshipped the mast, and taking the foremost oar, that Jackson might not sit behind him, desired him to take the other. The tide, which was now flood, and swept out to the southward, obliged them to pull at an angle to reach their intended destination. It was not until sunset that, with great exertion, they fetched the island nearest to the land, not the one that was covered with trees, as they had its tended. As soon as the boat was secured, exhausted with fatigue, they both threw themselves down on the sand, where they remained for some time. Having recovered a little, Newton procured from the boat some of the supplies which they required, and after satisfying their hunger in silence, they both lay down to repose. Newton, who was still afraid of Jackson’s diabolical enmity, which his silence implied to be again at work, closed his eyes, and pretended for some time to be asleep. As soon as it was dark, he rose, and first listening to the breathing of his comrade, who appeared to be in a sound slumber, he walked away from him about one hundred yards, so that it would be difficult to find him; he placed the handspike under his head for a pillow, and worn out with; mental and bodily fatigue, was soon in a state of oblivion.His sleep, although profound for three or four hours was subsequently restless. The mind, when agitated, watches for the body, and wakes it at the time when it should be on the alert. Newton woke up: it was not yet daylight, and all was hushed. He turned round, intending to get up immediately; yet, yielding to the impulse of wearied nature, he again slumbered. Once he thought that he heard a footstep, roused himself, and listened; but all was quiet and still, except the light wave rippling on the sand. Again he was roused by a sort of grating noise; he listened, and all was quiet. A third time he was roused by a sound like the flapping of a sail: he listened—he was sure of it, and he sprung upon his feet. It was dawn of day, and as he turned his eyes towards the beach, he perceived to his horror that the boat was indeed under sail, Jackson, who was in it, then just hauling aft the mainsheet, and steering away from the island. Newton ran to the beach, plunged into the sea, and attempted to regain the boat; but he was soon out of his depth, and the boat running away fast through the water. He shouted to Jackson, as a last attempt. The scoundrel waved his hand in ironical adieu, and continued his course.“Treacherous villain!” mentally exclaimed Newton, as his eyes followed the boat. “Was it for this that I preserved your life in return for your attempts on mine? Here then must I die of starvation!—God’s will be done!” exclaimed he aloud, as he sat down on the beach, and covered his face with his hands.
Paladore.I have heard,Have read bold fables of enormity,Devised to make men wonder, and confirmThe abhorrence of our nature; but this hardnessTranscends all fiction.Law of Lombardy.
Paladore.I have heard,Have read bold fables of enormity,Devised to make men wonder, and confirmThe abhorrence of our nature; but this hardnessTranscends all fiction.Law of Lombardy.
We must now relate what had occurred on deck during the struggle of Newton to escape from his prison. At one o’clock, Jackson had calculated that in an hour, or less, the brig would strike on the reef. He took the helm from the man who was steering, and told him that he might go below. Previous to this, he had been silently occupied in coiling the hawser before the door of Newton’s cabin, it being his intention to desert the brig, with the seamen, in the long boat, and leave Newton to perish. When the brig dashed upon the reef, which she did with great violence, and the crew hurried upon deck, Jackson, who was calm, immediately proceeded to give the orders which he had already arranged in his mind; and the coolness with which they were given quieted the alarm of the seamen, and allowed them time to recall their scattered senses. This, however, proved unfortunate to Jackson. Had they all hurried in the boat at once, and shoved off; he would in all probability have been permitted to go with them, and Newton in the hurry of their self-preservation, would have been forgotten; but his cool behaviour restored their confidence, and, unhappily for him, gave the seamen time to reflect. Every one was in the boat; for Jackson had quietly prepared and put into her what he considered requisite, when one of the men called out for Newton.
“Damn Newton now!—save your own lives, my lads. Quick in the boat, all of you.”
“Not without Mr Newton!” cried the men, unanimously. “Jump down, Tom Williams, and see where he is; he must sleep devilish sound.”
The sailor sprung down the companion hatch, where he found the hawser coiled against the door, and heard Newton struggling inside. It was enough. He hastened on deck, and told his companions; adding, that “it would take half an hour to get the poor fellow out, and that’s longer than we dare stay, for in ten minutes the brig will be to pieces.”
“It is you, you murdering rascal, who did it!” cried the man to Jackson. “I tell you what, my lads, if poor Mr Newton is to die, let this scoundrel keep him company.”
A general shout proclaimed the acquiescence of the other seamen in this act of retributive justice. Jackson, with a loud oath, attempted to spring into the boat, but was repelled by the seamen; again he made the attempt, with dreadful imprecations. He was on the plane-sheer of the brig, and about to make a spring, when a blow from a handspike (the same handspike with which he had murdered the unfortunate seaman) struck him senseless, and he fell back into the lee-scuppers. The boat then shoved off, and had not gained more than two cables’ lengths from the vessel, when Newton effected his escape and ran on deck, as narrated in our last chapter.
The brig had now beat up so high on the reef, that she remained firmly fixed upon it; and the tide having ebbed considerably, she was less exposed to the beating of the waves. The sun was also about to make his appearance, and it was broad daylight when Jackson first came to his recollection. His brain whirled, his ideas were confused, and he had but a faint reminiscence of what had occurred. He felt that the water washed his feet, and with a sort of instinct he rose, and staggered up to windward. In so doing, without perceiving him, he stumbled over the body of Newton, who also was roused up by the shock. A few moments passed before either could regain his scattered senses; and, at the same time, both sitting up on the deck, at about a yard distant, they discovered and recognised each other.
Newton was the more collected of the two, for Jackson’s insensibility had been occasioned by bodily—his, by mental concussion. The effect of the blow was still felt by Jackson; and although recovered from the stupor, a dull, heavy sensation affected his eyesight and confused his ideas.
The sight of Newton went far to recover Jackson, who started up as if to grapple with the object of his hatred. Newton was on his legs at the same moment, and retreating, seized upon the handspike which lay on the deck, close to where Jackson had been struck down, and placed himself in an attitude of defence. Not a word was exchanged between them. They remained a few minutes in this position, when Jackson, whose brain was affected by the violence of his feelings, dropped down upon the deck in a renewed state of insensibility.
Newton had now time to look about him, and the prospect was any thing but cheering. It was almost low water, and in every direction he perceived reefs of coral rock, and large banks of sand, with deep channels between them, through which the tide flowed rapidly. The reef upon which the brig had been grounded was of sharp coral; and, in the deeper parts, the trees could be discerned, extending a submarine forest of boughs; but it was evident that the reef upon which the vessel lay was, as well as most of the others, covered at high water. As a means of escape, a small boat was still hanging over the stern, which Newton was able to manage either with her sails or her oars, as might be required.
As there was no time to be lost, and the only chance of escape remained with the boat, Newton commenced his arrangements. The mast and sails were found, and the latter bent;—a keg was filled with water,—a compass taken out of the binnacle,—a few pieces of beef, and some bread collected in a bag, and thrown in. He also procured some bottles of wine and cider from the cabin: these he stowed away carefully in the little locker, which was fitted under the stern-sheets of the boat. In an hour every thing was ready; and throwing into her some pieces of spare rope, and a small grapnel to anchor with, there being still sufficient water alongside to float her, Newton gradually lowered one tackle and then another, until the boat was safe in the water. He then hauled her up alongside, made her fast by the painter, and stepped her mast.
All was now ready—but to leave Jackson to be washed away by the returning tide, when the brig would unquestionably go to pieces?—Newton could not do it. True, he had sought his life, and still displayed the most inveterate rancour towards him; and Newton felt convinced that no future opportunity would occur, that his enemy would not profit by, to insure his destruction. Yet to leave him—a murderer!—with all his sins upon his soul, to be launched so unprepared into the presence of an offended Creator!—it was impossible—it was contrary to his nature, and to the religion which he professed. How could he hope for the Divine assistance in his perilous undertaking, when he embarked on it, regardless of the precept to forgive his enemy?
Newton ascended to that part of the deck where Jackson laid, and roused him. Jackson awoke, as from a deep sleep, and then stared at Newton, who, as a precaution held the handspike in his hand.
“Mr Jackson,” said Newton, “I have roused you to let you know that the boat is now ready, and that I am going to shove off.”
Jackson, who recollected the scene of the previous night, and perceived Newton standing over him with the handspike, appeared wholly unnerved. In point of muscular power, Newton was his superior, independent of the weapon in his possession.
“Not without me!—not without me!” cried Jackson, raising himself upon his knees. “For mercy’s sake, Mr Newton, do not leave me to this horrid death!”
“You would have left me to one even more dreadful,” replied Newton.
“I beg your pardon!—Pardon me, Mr Newton, I was drunk at the time—indeed I was. I don’t know what I do when I’m in liquor.—Don’t leave me!—I’ll obey your orders, and do any thing you wish!—I’ll wait upon you as your servant!—I will indeed, Mr Newton!”
“I neither ask that you will obey my orders, nor wait upon me,” replied Newton. “All I request is, that you will lay aside your wanton animosity, and exert yourself to save your life. For what you have already attempted against me, may God forgive you, as I do! For what you may hereafter attempt, you will find me prepared. Now follow into the boat.”
Without further exchange of words Newton, followed by Jackson, went into the boat, and shoved off. The weather was moderate and the wind light. There were two islets which Newton had marked, which apparently were not covered at high water, one about ten miles distant in the supposed direction of the land, for Newton had shrewdly guessed the locality of the reef; and the other about two miles from the first, further out, with trees growing to the water’s edge. To this latter, Newton proposed pulling, and waiting there until the next morning. When they were both in the boat, Newton finding that the wind was contrary, unshipped the mast, and taking the foremost oar, that Jackson might not sit behind him, desired him to take the other. The tide, which was now flood, and swept out to the southward, obliged them to pull at an angle to reach their intended destination. It was not until sunset that, with great exertion, they fetched the island nearest to the land, not the one that was covered with trees, as they had its tended. As soon as the boat was secured, exhausted with fatigue, they both threw themselves down on the sand, where they remained for some time. Having recovered a little, Newton procured from the boat some of the supplies which they required, and after satisfying their hunger in silence, they both lay down to repose. Newton, who was still afraid of Jackson’s diabolical enmity, which his silence implied to be again at work, closed his eyes, and pretended for some time to be asleep. As soon as it was dark, he rose, and first listening to the breathing of his comrade, who appeared to be in a sound slumber, he walked away from him about one hundred yards, so that it would be difficult to find him; he placed the handspike under his head for a pillow, and worn out with; mental and bodily fatigue, was soon in a state of oblivion.
His sleep, although profound for three or four hours was subsequently restless. The mind, when agitated, watches for the body, and wakes it at the time when it should be on the alert. Newton woke up: it was not yet daylight, and all was hushed. He turned round, intending to get up immediately; yet, yielding to the impulse of wearied nature, he again slumbered. Once he thought that he heard a footstep, roused himself, and listened; but all was quiet and still, except the light wave rippling on the sand. Again he was roused by a sort of grating noise; he listened, and all was quiet. A third time he was roused by a sound like the flapping of a sail: he listened—he was sure of it, and he sprung upon his feet. It was dawn of day, and as he turned his eyes towards the beach, he perceived to his horror that the boat was indeed under sail, Jackson, who was in it, then just hauling aft the mainsheet, and steering away from the island. Newton ran to the beach, plunged into the sea, and attempted to regain the boat; but he was soon out of his depth, and the boat running away fast through the water. He shouted to Jackson, as a last attempt. The scoundrel waved his hand in ironical adieu, and continued his course.
“Treacherous villain!” mentally exclaimed Newton, as his eyes followed the boat. “Was it for this that I preserved your life in return for your attempts on mine? Here then must I die of starvation!—God’s will be done!” exclaimed he aloud, as he sat down on the beach, and covered his face with his hands.
Volume One--Chapter Eighteen.For now I stand as one upon a rock,Environed with a wilderness of sea,Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave,Expecting ever when some envious surgeWill in his brinish bowels swallow him.Shakespeare.The tide was on the ebb when Newton was left in this desolate situation. After some minutes passed in bitterness of spirit, his natural courage returned; and although the chance of preservation was next to hopeless, Newton rose up, resolved that he would use his best efforts, and trust to Providence for their success. His first idea was to examine the beach, and see if Jackson had left him any portion of the provisions which he had put into the boat; but there was nothing. He then walked along the beach, following the receding tide, with the hope of collecting any shell-fish which might be left upon the sands; but here again he was disappointed. It was evident, therefore, that to stay on this islet was to starve; his only chance appeared to remain in his capability of reaching the islet next to it, which, as we have before mentioned, was covered with trees. There, at least, he might find some means of sustenance, and be able with the wood to make a raft, if nothing better should turn up in his favour.The tide swept down towards the islet, but it ran so strong that there was no chance of his being carried past it; he therefore determined to wait for an hour or two, until the strength of the current was diminished, and then make the attempt. This interval was passed in strengthening his mind against the horror of the almost positive death which stared him in the face.It was about an hour before low water that Newton walked into the sea, and commending himself to Providence, struck out for the islet, keeping his course well to windward, to allow for the tide sweeping him down. To use a nautical phrase, he “held his own” extremely well, until he reached the centre of the channel, where the water ran with great velocity, and bore him down rapidly with the stream. Newton struggled hard; for he was aware that the strength of the current once passed, his labour would be comparatively easy; and so it proved: as he neared the shore of the islet, he made good way; but he had been carried down so far when in the centre of the stream, that it became a nice point, even to the calculation of hope, whether he would fetch the extreme point of the islet. Newton redoubled his exertions, when, within thirty yards of the shore an eddy assisted him, and he made sure of success; but when within ten yards, a counter current again caught him, and swept him down. He was now abreast of the very extreme point of the islet; a bush that hung over the water was his only hope; with three or four desperate strokes he exhausted his remaining strength, at the same time that he seized hold of a small bough, It was decayed—snapped asunder, and Newton was whirled away by the current into the broad ocean.How constantly do we find people running into real danger to avoid imaginary evil! A mother will not permit her child to go to sea, lest it should be drowned, and a few days afterwards it is kicked to death by a horse. Had the child been permitted to go afloat, he might have lived and run through the usual term of existence. Wherever we are, or wherever we may go, there is death awaiting us in some shape or another, sooner or later; and there is as much danger in walking through the streets of London as in ploughing the foaming ocean. Every tile over our heads contains a death within it, as certain if it were to fall upon us, as that occasioned by the angry surge, which swallows us up in its wrath. I believe, after all, that as many sailors in proportion, run out their allotted span as the rest of the world that are engaged in other apparently less dangerous professions; although it must be acknowledged that occasionally we do become food for fishes. “There is a tide in the affairs of men,” says Shakespeare; but certainly, of all the tides that ever interfered in a man’s prospects, that which swept away Newton Forster appeared to be the least likely to “lead to fortune.” Such however was the case. Had Newton gained the islet which he coveted, he would have perished miserably; whereas it will soon appear, that although his sufferings are not yet ended, his being carried away was the most fortunate circumstance which could have occurred, and proved the means of his ultimate preservation.Newton had resigned himself to his fate. He ceased from further exertion, except such as was necessary to keep him above water a little longer. Throwing himself on his back, he appealed to Heaven for pardon, as he floated away with the stream. That Newton had as few errors and follies to answer for as most people, is most certain; yet even the most perfect soon run up a long account. During our lives our sins are forgotten, as is the time at which they were committed; but when death is certain, or appears to be so, it is then that the memory becomes most horribly perfect, and each item of our monstrous bill requires but a few seconds to be read, and to be acknowledged as too correct. This is the horror of death; this it is which makes the body struggle to retain the soul, already pluming herself and rustling her wings, impatient for her flight. This it is which constitutes the pang of separation, as the enfeebled body gradually relaxes its hold, and—all is over, at least on this side of the grave.Newton’s strength was exhausted; his eyes were fixed on the clear blue sky, as if to bid it farewell; and, resigned to his fate, he was about to give over the last few painful efforts, which he was aware could only prolong, not save his life, when he received a blow on his shoulder under the water. Imagining that it proceeded from the tail of a shark, or of some other of the ravenous monsters of the deep, which abound among these islands, and that the next moment his body would be severed in half, he uttered a faint cry at the accumulated horror of his death; but the next moment his legs were swung round by the current, and he perceived, to his astonishment, that he was aground upon one of the sand-banks which abounded on the reef, and over which the tide was running with the velocity of a sluice. He floundered, then rose, and found himself in about one foot of water. The ebb-tide was nearly finished, and this was one of the banks which never showed itself above water, except during the full and change of the moon. It was now about nine o’clock in the morning, and the sun shone with great power. Newton, faint from want of sustenance, hardly knew whether to consider this temporary respite as an advantage. He knew that the tide would soon flow again, and felt that his strength was too much spent to enable him to swim back to the islet which he had missed when he had attempted to reach it, and which was more than two miles from the bank upon which he then stood. What chance had he then but to be swept away by the return of the tide? He almost regretted that it had not been a shark instead of the sand-bank which had struck him; he would then have been spared a few hours of protracted misery.As Newton had foreseen, the ebb-tide was soon over; a short pause of “slack water” ensued, and there was an evident and rapid increase of the water around him; the wind too freshened, and the surface of the ocean was in strong ripples. As the water deepened, so did the waves increase in size: every moment added to his despair. He had now remained about four hours on the bank! the water had risen to underneath his arms, the waves nearly lifted him off his feet, and it was with difficulty that he could retain his position. Hope deserted him, and his senses became confused. He thought that he saw green fields, and cities, and inhabitants. His reason was departing: he saw his father coming down to him with the tide, and called to him for help, when the actual sight of something recalled him from his temporary aberration. There was a dark object upon the water, evidently approaching. His respiration was almost suspended as he watched its coming. At last he distinguished that it must either be a whale asleep, or a boat bottom up. Fortunately for Newton, it proved to be the latter. At last it was brought down by the tide to within a few yards of him, and appeared to be checked. Newton dashed out towards the boat, and in a minute was safely astride upon it. As soon as he had recovered a little from his agitation, he perceived that it was the very boat belonging to the brig, in which Jackson had so treacherously deserted and left him on the island!At three o’clock it was high water, and at five the water had again retreated, so that Newton could quit his station on the bottom of the boat, and walk round her. He then righted, and discovered that the mast had been carried away close to the step, but, with the sail, still remained fast to the boat by the main sheet, which had jammed on the belaying pin, so that it still was serviceable. Every thing else had been lost out of the boat, except the grapnel, which had been bent, and which hanging down in the water, from the boat being capsized, had brought it up when it was floated on the sand-bank. Newton, who had neither eaten nor drank since the night before, was again in despair, tormented as he was by insufferable thirst, when he observed that the locker under the stern-sheets was closed. He hastened to pull it open, and found that the bottles of wine and cider, which he had deposited there, were remaining. A bottle of the latter was soon poured down his throat, and Newton felt as if restored to his former vigour.At seven o’clock in the evening the boat was nearly high and dry. Newton baled her out, and fixing the grapnel firmly in the sand, lay down to sleep in the stern-sheets, covered over with the sail. His sleep was so sound, that he did not wake until six o’clock the next morning, when the boat was again aground. He refreshed himself with some wine, and meditated upon his prospect. Thanking Heaven for a renewed chance of escape, and lamenting over the fate of the unprepared Jackson, who had evidently been upset, from the main-sheet having been jammed, Newton resolved to make for one of the English isles, which he knew to be about two hundred miles distant.The oars had been lost, but the rudder of the boat was fortunately made fast by a pennant. In the afternoon he drew up his grapnel, and made sail in the direction, as well as he could judge from the position of the sun, to the English isles. As the night closed in, he watched the stars, and steered his course by them.The next day came, and, although the boat sailed well, and went fast before a free wind, no land was in sight. Newton had again recourse to the cider and the wine.The second night he could hardly keep his eyes open; yet, wearied as he was, he still continued his course, and never quitted his helm. The day again dawned, and Newton’s strength was gone, from constant watching; still he bore up against it, until the sun had set.No land was yet to be seen, and sleep overpowered him. He took a hitch of the main-sheet round his finger, that, should the breeze freshen he might be roused, in case he should go to sleep; and having taken this precaution, in a few minutes the boatwas steering herself!End of the First Volume.
For now I stand as one upon a rock,Environed with a wilderness of sea,Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave,Expecting ever when some envious surgeWill in his brinish bowels swallow him.Shakespeare.
For now I stand as one upon a rock,Environed with a wilderness of sea,Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave,Expecting ever when some envious surgeWill in his brinish bowels swallow him.Shakespeare.
The tide was on the ebb when Newton was left in this desolate situation. After some minutes passed in bitterness of spirit, his natural courage returned; and although the chance of preservation was next to hopeless, Newton rose up, resolved that he would use his best efforts, and trust to Providence for their success. His first idea was to examine the beach, and see if Jackson had left him any portion of the provisions which he had put into the boat; but there was nothing. He then walked along the beach, following the receding tide, with the hope of collecting any shell-fish which might be left upon the sands; but here again he was disappointed. It was evident, therefore, that to stay on this islet was to starve; his only chance appeared to remain in his capability of reaching the islet next to it, which, as we have before mentioned, was covered with trees. There, at least, he might find some means of sustenance, and be able with the wood to make a raft, if nothing better should turn up in his favour.
The tide swept down towards the islet, but it ran so strong that there was no chance of his being carried past it; he therefore determined to wait for an hour or two, until the strength of the current was diminished, and then make the attempt. This interval was passed in strengthening his mind against the horror of the almost positive death which stared him in the face.
It was about an hour before low water that Newton walked into the sea, and commending himself to Providence, struck out for the islet, keeping his course well to windward, to allow for the tide sweeping him down. To use a nautical phrase, he “held his own” extremely well, until he reached the centre of the channel, where the water ran with great velocity, and bore him down rapidly with the stream. Newton struggled hard; for he was aware that the strength of the current once passed, his labour would be comparatively easy; and so it proved: as he neared the shore of the islet, he made good way; but he had been carried down so far when in the centre of the stream, that it became a nice point, even to the calculation of hope, whether he would fetch the extreme point of the islet. Newton redoubled his exertions, when, within thirty yards of the shore an eddy assisted him, and he made sure of success; but when within ten yards, a counter current again caught him, and swept him down. He was now abreast of the very extreme point of the islet; a bush that hung over the water was his only hope; with three or four desperate strokes he exhausted his remaining strength, at the same time that he seized hold of a small bough, It was decayed—snapped asunder, and Newton was whirled away by the current into the broad ocean.
How constantly do we find people running into real danger to avoid imaginary evil! A mother will not permit her child to go to sea, lest it should be drowned, and a few days afterwards it is kicked to death by a horse. Had the child been permitted to go afloat, he might have lived and run through the usual term of existence. Wherever we are, or wherever we may go, there is death awaiting us in some shape or another, sooner or later; and there is as much danger in walking through the streets of London as in ploughing the foaming ocean. Every tile over our heads contains a death within it, as certain if it were to fall upon us, as that occasioned by the angry surge, which swallows us up in its wrath. I believe, after all, that as many sailors in proportion, run out their allotted span as the rest of the world that are engaged in other apparently less dangerous professions; although it must be acknowledged that occasionally we do become food for fishes. “There is a tide in the affairs of men,” says Shakespeare; but certainly, of all the tides that ever interfered in a man’s prospects, that which swept away Newton Forster appeared to be the least likely to “lead to fortune.” Such however was the case. Had Newton gained the islet which he coveted, he would have perished miserably; whereas it will soon appear, that although his sufferings are not yet ended, his being carried away was the most fortunate circumstance which could have occurred, and proved the means of his ultimate preservation.
Newton had resigned himself to his fate. He ceased from further exertion, except such as was necessary to keep him above water a little longer. Throwing himself on his back, he appealed to Heaven for pardon, as he floated away with the stream. That Newton had as few errors and follies to answer for as most people, is most certain; yet even the most perfect soon run up a long account. During our lives our sins are forgotten, as is the time at which they were committed; but when death is certain, or appears to be so, it is then that the memory becomes most horribly perfect, and each item of our monstrous bill requires but a few seconds to be read, and to be acknowledged as too correct. This is the horror of death; this it is which makes the body struggle to retain the soul, already pluming herself and rustling her wings, impatient for her flight. This it is which constitutes the pang of separation, as the enfeebled body gradually relaxes its hold, and—all is over, at least on this side of the grave.
Newton’s strength was exhausted; his eyes were fixed on the clear blue sky, as if to bid it farewell; and, resigned to his fate, he was about to give over the last few painful efforts, which he was aware could only prolong, not save his life, when he received a blow on his shoulder under the water. Imagining that it proceeded from the tail of a shark, or of some other of the ravenous monsters of the deep, which abound among these islands, and that the next moment his body would be severed in half, he uttered a faint cry at the accumulated horror of his death; but the next moment his legs were swung round by the current, and he perceived, to his astonishment, that he was aground upon one of the sand-banks which abounded on the reef, and over which the tide was running with the velocity of a sluice. He floundered, then rose, and found himself in about one foot of water. The ebb-tide was nearly finished, and this was one of the banks which never showed itself above water, except during the full and change of the moon. It was now about nine o’clock in the morning, and the sun shone with great power. Newton, faint from want of sustenance, hardly knew whether to consider this temporary respite as an advantage. He knew that the tide would soon flow again, and felt that his strength was too much spent to enable him to swim back to the islet which he had missed when he had attempted to reach it, and which was more than two miles from the bank upon which he then stood. What chance had he then but to be swept away by the return of the tide? He almost regretted that it had not been a shark instead of the sand-bank which had struck him; he would then have been spared a few hours of protracted misery.
As Newton had foreseen, the ebb-tide was soon over; a short pause of “slack water” ensued, and there was an evident and rapid increase of the water around him; the wind too freshened, and the surface of the ocean was in strong ripples. As the water deepened, so did the waves increase in size: every moment added to his despair. He had now remained about four hours on the bank! the water had risen to underneath his arms, the waves nearly lifted him off his feet, and it was with difficulty that he could retain his position. Hope deserted him, and his senses became confused. He thought that he saw green fields, and cities, and inhabitants. His reason was departing: he saw his father coming down to him with the tide, and called to him for help, when the actual sight of something recalled him from his temporary aberration. There was a dark object upon the water, evidently approaching. His respiration was almost suspended as he watched its coming. At last he distinguished that it must either be a whale asleep, or a boat bottom up. Fortunately for Newton, it proved to be the latter. At last it was brought down by the tide to within a few yards of him, and appeared to be checked. Newton dashed out towards the boat, and in a minute was safely astride upon it. As soon as he had recovered a little from his agitation, he perceived that it was the very boat belonging to the brig, in which Jackson had so treacherously deserted and left him on the island!
At three o’clock it was high water, and at five the water had again retreated, so that Newton could quit his station on the bottom of the boat, and walk round her. He then righted, and discovered that the mast had been carried away close to the step, but, with the sail, still remained fast to the boat by the main sheet, which had jammed on the belaying pin, so that it still was serviceable. Every thing else had been lost out of the boat, except the grapnel, which had been bent, and which hanging down in the water, from the boat being capsized, had brought it up when it was floated on the sand-bank. Newton, who had neither eaten nor drank since the night before, was again in despair, tormented as he was by insufferable thirst, when he observed that the locker under the stern-sheets was closed. He hastened to pull it open, and found that the bottles of wine and cider, which he had deposited there, were remaining. A bottle of the latter was soon poured down his throat, and Newton felt as if restored to his former vigour.
At seven o’clock in the evening the boat was nearly high and dry. Newton baled her out, and fixing the grapnel firmly in the sand, lay down to sleep in the stern-sheets, covered over with the sail. His sleep was so sound, that he did not wake until six o’clock the next morning, when the boat was again aground. He refreshed himself with some wine, and meditated upon his prospect. Thanking Heaven for a renewed chance of escape, and lamenting over the fate of the unprepared Jackson, who had evidently been upset, from the main-sheet having been jammed, Newton resolved to make for one of the English isles, which he knew to be about two hundred miles distant.
The oars had been lost, but the rudder of the boat was fortunately made fast by a pennant. In the afternoon he drew up his grapnel, and made sail in the direction, as well as he could judge from the position of the sun, to the English isles. As the night closed in, he watched the stars, and steered his course by them.
The next day came, and, although the boat sailed well, and went fast before a free wind, no land was in sight. Newton had again recourse to the cider and the wine.
The second night he could hardly keep his eyes open; yet, wearied as he was, he still continued his course, and never quitted his helm. The day again dawned, and Newton’s strength was gone, from constant watching; still he bore up against it, until the sun had set.
No land was yet to be seen, and sleep overpowered him. He took a hitch of the main-sheet round his finger, that, should the breeze freshen he might be roused, in case he should go to sleep; and having taken this precaution, in a few minutes the boatwas steering herself!
Volume Two--Chapter One.But man, proud man,Dress’d in a little brief authority,Most ignorant of what he’s most assured,His glassy essence, like an angry ape,Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven.Shakespeare.The reef upon which the brig had been wrecked was one of those extending along the southward of the Virgin Isles. Newton had intended to steer well to the eastward, with the view of reaching one of the northernmost English colonies; but not having a compass, he naturally was not very equal in his course. The fact was, that he steered well to the southward of it, and after he fell asleep, the boat ran away still farther off her course, for she was on the larboard tack, and having no weight in her except Newton, who was aft in the stern-sheets, she did not feel inclined to keep her wind. Newton’s sleep was so profound, that neither the pulling of the main-sheet, which he held with a round turn round his hand, nor the dancing of the boat, which during the night had run fast before an increasing breeze, roused him from his lethargy. On sailed the boat, left to the steerage of Providence; on slept Newton, as if putting firm reliance on the same. It was not until the break of day that his repose was very abruptly broken by a shock, which threw him from the stern-sheets of the boat, right over the aftermost thwart. Newton recovered his legs and his senses, and found himself alongside of a vessel. He had run stem on to a small schooner, which was lying at anchor. As the boat was drifting fast by, Newton made a spring, and gained the deck of the vessel.“Ah! mon Dieu!—les Anglois—les Anglois nous sommes prisonniers!” cried out the only man on deck, jumping on his feet, and making a precipitate dive below.The vessel, of which Newton had thus taken possession, was one employed in carrying the sugars from the plantations round to Basseterre, the port of Guadaloupe, there to be shipped for Europe (Newton’s boat having run away so far to the southward, as to make this island.) She was lying at anchor off the mouth of a small river, waiting for a cargo.It happened that the crew of the schooner, who were all slaves, were exactly in the same situation as Newton, when their vessels came in contact; viz, fast asleep. The shock had wakened them; but they were all below, except the one who had kept such a remarkably good watch.Exhausted as Newton was, he could not but smile at his uninterrupted possession of the vessel’s decks. Anxious to have communication with the people on board, he sat down, awaiting their coming up from below. In a minute or two, a black head was seen to rise slowly and fearfully out of the fore-scuttle, then it disappeared. Another rose up, and went down again as before; and thus it went on until Newton reckoned ten different faces. Having individually ascertained that there was but one man, and that one not provided with any weapons, the negroes assumed a degree of courage. The first head that had made its appearance, the woolly hair of which was of a grizzly grey from age, was again popped up the fore-scuttle, with an interrogatory to Newton in French, who he was, and what he wanted? Newton, who did not understand a word of the language, shook his head, and opening his hands and extending his arms, to show that he had no means of defence, he beckoned to them to come up. The man’s head had again disappeared, and, after a little demur, nine or ten negroes crawled up out of the fore-scuttle, one after another, each with some weapon or another by way of security. They remained on the forecastle of the vessel until the last was up, and then at a nod given by their grizzle-headed leader, they advanced aft, in a body, towards Newton. Newton rose and pointed to the boat, which had now drifted about a quarter of a mile astern. He then made signs, to give them to understand that he had been wrecked.“Apparemment c’est un pauvre misérable, qui a fait naufrage,” observed the old negro, who appeared to have the charge of the vessel; “Gustave Adolphe, tu parles bien l’Anglois; demandez-lui les nouvelles,” continued the old man, folding his arms across, and looking verybigindeed, as he reclined against the mainmast of the vessel.Gustave Adolphe stood forward from the rest of the negroes. He was a short, fat, shiny-faced fellow, with his hair platted into about fifty little tails. He first bowed to his old commander, then placing his arms akimbo, walked up to Newton, and looking him full in the face, commenced his duty of interpreter; as follows:—“I say—God dam—”Newton smiled.“Oui, monsieur, c’est un Anglois.”“Continuez, Gustave Adolphe,” replied the old negro, with a majestic air.Gustave Adolphe, with another bow, resumed:“I say—where com?”“Barbadoes,” replied Newton.“Monsieur, il vient de Barbadoes.”“Continuez, Gustave Adolphe,” replied his superior, with a wave of his hand.“I say—where go?”“Where go?” replied Newton, “go to the bottom.”“Monsieur—il alloit au port de Bo—tom.”“Bo—tom,” repeated the old negro. “Où diable est ça?”Here a general consultation was held, by which it appeared that such a port had never been heard of in the West Indies.“Gustave Adolphe, demandez-lui si c’est un port Anglois.”“I say—Bo—tom—English port?”“No,” replied Newton, amused with the mistake; “I should rather call itneutral.”“C’est un port neutral, monsieur.”“Gustave Adolphe, demandez-lui de quelle île.”“I say, what isle—Bo—tom?”Newton, who was faint with hunger and thirst, was not inclined at the moment to continue the conversation, which otherwise would have been a source of amusement. He replied by making signs that he wished to eat and drink.“Monsieur,” said Gustave Adolphe to the old negro, “le prisonnier refuse de faire réponse, et demande à manger et à boire.”“Va l’en chercher, Gustave Adolphe,” replied the old man. “Allons, messieurs,” continued he, addressing the other negroes. “Il faut lever l’ancre de suite, et amener notre prisonnier aux autorités; Charles Philippe, va chercher mon porte-voix.”The negro captain walked up and down the deck of the schooner, a vessel about thirty feet long, until Charles Philippe made his appearance with the speaking-trumpet. He then proceeded to get the vessel under weigh, with more noise and fuss than is to be heard when the proudest three-decker in the English navy expands her lofty canvass to the gale.Gustave Adolphe, in obedience to the commands he had received, brought up to Newton a bunch of bananas, a large piece of salt fish, and a calabash of water. The latter was immediately applied to his lips, and never removed while a drop remained, much to the astonishment of the negro, who again sported his English.“I say—very good—ab more?”“If you please,” replied Newton.“Monsieur,” said Gustave Adolphe to his commander, “le prisonnier a soif, et demande encore de l’eau.”“Va l’en chercher donc,” replied the old negro, with a wave of his speaking-trumpet. “Charles Philippe, attention à la barre, (Mind your weather-helm) sans venir au vent, s’il vous plait. Matelots du gaillard d’avant,” (Forecastle-men, haul aft the jib-sheet) continued he, roaring through his speaking-trumpet; “bordez le grand foc.”In the space of two hours, the schooner was brought to an anchor, with as much noise and importance as she had been got under weigh. A boat, capable of holding three people, one rower and two sitters, was shoved off the vessel’s deck, and the negro captain, having first descended to his cabin for a few minutes, returned on deck dressed in the extremity oftheirfashion, and ordered the boat to be manned.Gustave Adolphe accordingly manned the boat with his own person, and the negro captain politely waved his hand for Newton to enter, and then, following himself, Gustave Adolphe rowed to a landing-place, about twenty yards from the schooner.“Gustave Adolphe, suivez en arrière, et gardez bien que le prisonnier n’échappe pas;” so saying, monsieur le capitaine led the way to a large white house and buildings, about two hundred yards from the river’s banks. On their arrival, Newton was surrounded by twenty or thirty slaves of both sexes, who chattered and jabbered a thousand questions concerning him to the negro captain and Gustave Adolphe, neither of whom condescended to reply.“Monsieur de Fontanges—où est-il?” inquired the old negro.“Monsieur dort,” replied a little female voice.The captain was taken aback at this unfortunate circumstance; for no one dared to wake their master.“Et madame?” inquired he.“Madame est dans sa chambre.”There again he was floored—he could not venture there; so he conducted Newton, who was not very sorry to escape from the burning rays of the sun, to his own habitation, where an old negress, his wife, soon obtained from the negro that information relative to the capture of Newton, which the bevy of slaves in the yard had attempted in vain: but wives have winning ways with them!
But man, proud man,Dress’d in a little brief authority,Most ignorant of what he’s most assured,His glassy essence, like an angry ape,Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven.Shakespeare.
But man, proud man,Dress’d in a little brief authority,Most ignorant of what he’s most assured,His glassy essence, like an angry ape,Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven.Shakespeare.
The reef upon which the brig had been wrecked was one of those extending along the southward of the Virgin Isles. Newton had intended to steer well to the eastward, with the view of reaching one of the northernmost English colonies; but not having a compass, he naturally was not very equal in his course. The fact was, that he steered well to the southward of it, and after he fell asleep, the boat ran away still farther off her course, for she was on the larboard tack, and having no weight in her except Newton, who was aft in the stern-sheets, she did not feel inclined to keep her wind. Newton’s sleep was so profound, that neither the pulling of the main-sheet, which he held with a round turn round his hand, nor the dancing of the boat, which during the night had run fast before an increasing breeze, roused him from his lethargy. On sailed the boat, left to the steerage of Providence; on slept Newton, as if putting firm reliance on the same. It was not until the break of day that his repose was very abruptly broken by a shock, which threw him from the stern-sheets of the boat, right over the aftermost thwart. Newton recovered his legs and his senses, and found himself alongside of a vessel. He had run stem on to a small schooner, which was lying at anchor. As the boat was drifting fast by, Newton made a spring, and gained the deck of the vessel.
“Ah! mon Dieu!—les Anglois—les Anglois nous sommes prisonniers!” cried out the only man on deck, jumping on his feet, and making a precipitate dive below.
The vessel, of which Newton had thus taken possession, was one employed in carrying the sugars from the plantations round to Basseterre, the port of Guadaloupe, there to be shipped for Europe (Newton’s boat having run away so far to the southward, as to make this island.) She was lying at anchor off the mouth of a small river, waiting for a cargo.
It happened that the crew of the schooner, who were all slaves, were exactly in the same situation as Newton, when their vessels came in contact; viz, fast asleep. The shock had wakened them; but they were all below, except the one who had kept such a remarkably good watch.
Exhausted as Newton was, he could not but smile at his uninterrupted possession of the vessel’s decks. Anxious to have communication with the people on board, he sat down, awaiting their coming up from below. In a minute or two, a black head was seen to rise slowly and fearfully out of the fore-scuttle, then it disappeared. Another rose up, and went down again as before; and thus it went on until Newton reckoned ten different faces. Having individually ascertained that there was but one man, and that one not provided with any weapons, the negroes assumed a degree of courage. The first head that had made its appearance, the woolly hair of which was of a grizzly grey from age, was again popped up the fore-scuttle, with an interrogatory to Newton in French, who he was, and what he wanted? Newton, who did not understand a word of the language, shook his head, and opening his hands and extending his arms, to show that he had no means of defence, he beckoned to them to come up. The man’s head had again disappeared, and, after a little demur, nine or ten negroes crawled up out of the fore-scuttle, one after another, each with some weapon or another by way of security. They remained on the forecastle of the vessel until the last was up, and then at a nod given by their grizzle-headed leader, they advanced aft, in a body, towards Newton. Newton rose and pointed to the boat, which had now drifted about a quarter of a mile astern. He then made signs, to give them to understand that he had been wrecked.
“Apparemment c’est un pauvre misérable, qui a fait naufrage,” observed the old negro, who appeared to have the charge of the vessel; “Gustave Adolphe, tu parles bien l’Anglois; demandez-lui les nouvelles,” continued the old man, folding his arms across, and looking verybigindeed, as he reclined against the mainmast of the vessel.
Gustave Adolphe stood forward from the rest of the negroes. He was a short, fat, shiny-faced fellow, with his hair platted into about fifty little tails. He first bowed to his old commander, then placing his arms akimbo, walked up to Newton, and looking him full in the face, commenced his duty of interpreter; as follows:—
“I say—God dam—”
Newton smiled.
“Oui, monsieur, c’est un Anglois.”
“Continuez, Gustave Adolphe,” replied the old negro, with a majestic air.
Gustave Adolphe, with another bow, resumed:
“I say—where com?”
“Barbadoes,” replied Newton.
“Monsieur, il vient de Barbadoes.”
“Continuez, Gustave Adolphe,” replied his superior, with a wave of his hand.
“I say—where go?”
“Where go?” replied Newton, “go to the bottom.”
“Monsieur—il alloit au port de Bo—tom.”
“Bo—tom,” repeated the old negro. “Où diable est ça?”
Here a general consultation was held, by which it appeared that such a port had never been heard of in the West Indies.
“Gustave Adolphe, demandez-lui si c’est un port Anglois.”
“I say—Bo—tom—English port?”
“No,” replied Newton, amused with the mistake; “I should rather call itneutral.”
“C’est un port neutral, monsieur.”
“Gustave Adolphe, demandez-lui de quelle île.”
“I say, what isle—Bo—tom?”
Newton, who was faint with hunger and thirst, was not inclined at the moment to continue the conversation, which otherwise would have been a source of amusement. He replied by making signs that he wished to eat and drink.
“Monsieur,” said Gustave Adolphe to the old negro, “le prisonnier refuse de faire réponse, et demande à manger et à boire.”
“Va l’en chercher, Gustave Adolphe,” replied the old man. “Allons, messieurs,” continued he, addressing the other negroes. “Il faut lever l’ancre de suite, et amener notre prisonnier aux autorités; Charles Philippe, va chercher mon porte-voix.”
The negro captain walked up and down the deck of the schooner, a vessel about thirty feet long, until Charles Philippe made his appearance with the speaking-trumpet. He then proceeded to get the vessel under weigh, with more noise and fuss than is to be heard when the proudest three-decker in the English navy expands her lofty canvass to the gale.
Gustave Adolphe, in obedience to the commands he had received, brought up to Newton a bunch of bananas, a large piece of salt fish, and a calabash of water. The latter was immediately applied to his lips, and never removed while a drop remained, much to the astonishment of the negro, who again sported his English.
“I say—very good—ab more?”
“If you please,” replied Newton.
“Monsieur,” said Gustave Adolphe to his commander, “le prisonnier a soif, et demande encore de l’eau.”
“Va l’en chercher donc,” replied the old negro, with a wave of his speaking-trumpet. “Charles Philippe, attention à la barre, (Mind your weather-helm) sans venir au vent, s’il vous plait. Matelots du gaillard d’avant,” (Forecastle-men, haul aft the jib-sheet) continued he, roaring through his speaking-trumpet; “bordez le grand foc.”
In the space of two hours, the schooner was brought to an anchor, with as much noise and importance as she had been got under weigh. A boat, capable of holding three people, one rower and two sitters, was shoved off the vessel’s deck, and the negro captain, having first descended to his cabin for a few minutes, returned on deck dressed in the extremity oftheirfashion, and ordered the boat to be manned.
Gustave Adolphe accordingly manned the boat with his own person, and the negro captain politely waved his hand for Newton to enter, and then, following himself, Gustave Adolphe rowed to a landing-place, about twenty yards from the schooner.
“Gustave Adolphe, suivez en arrière, et gardez bien que le prisonnier n’échappe pas;” so saying, monsieur le capitaine led the way to a large white house and buildings, about two hundred yards from the river’s banks. On their arrival, Newton was surrounded by twenty or thirty slaves of both sexes, who chattered and jabbered a thousand questions concerning him to the negro captain and Gustave Adolphe, neither of whom condescended to reply.
“Monsieur de Fontanges—où est-il?” inquired the old negro.
“Monsieur dort,” replied a little female voice.
The captain was taken aback at this unfortunate circumstance; for no one dared to wake their master.
“Et madame?” inquired he.
“Madame est dans sa chambre.”
There again he was floored—he could not venture there; so he conducted Newton, who was not very sorry to escape from the burning rays of the sun, to his own habitation, where an old negress, his wife, soon obtained from the negro that information relative to the capture of Newton, which the bevy of slaves in the yard had attempted in vain: but wives have winning ways with them!
Volume Two--Chapter Two.What elegance and grandeur wide expand,The pride of Turkey and of Persia land!Soft quilts on quilts, on carpets carpets spread,And couches stretch’d around in seemly band,And endless pillows rise to prop the head....Here languid Beauty kept her pale-faced court.Thomson.The female slaves, who could not obtain the history of Newton, immediately repaired to the chamber of their mistress, knowing that if they could succeed in raising her curiosity, they would at the same time gratify their own. Madame de Fontanges was, as they asserted, in her chamber, or, what may now be more correctly styled, her boudoir. It was a room about fourteen feet square, the sides of which were covered with a beautiful paper, representing portions of the history of Paul and Virginia; the floor was covered with fine matting, with here and there a small Persian carpet above it. Small marble tables were decorated with a variety of ornaments and French perfumes, or vases filled with the splendid flowers of a tropical clime. There was a large window at each end of the room, cut down to the ground, in the French fashion, and outside of both was a little balcony, the trellice-work covered with passion-flower and clematis. The doors and other compartments of the room were not papered, but had French mirrors let into the panelling. On a low ottoman, of elegant workmanship, covered with a damask French silk, reposed Madame de Fontanges, attended by three or four young female slaves, of different complexions, but none of pure African blood. Others were seated upon the different Persian carpets about the room, in listless idleness or strewing the petals of the orange-flower, to perfume the apartment with its odour. The only negro was a little boy, about six years of age, dressed in a fantastic costume, who sat in a corner, apparently in a very sulky humour.Madame de Fontanges was a creole, that is, born in the West Indies, of French parents. She had been sent home to France for her education, and had returned at the age of fourteen to Guadaloupe, where she soon after married Monsieur de Fontanges, an officer of rank, and brother to the governor of the island. Her form was diminutive, but most perfect; her hand and arm models for the statuary; while her feet were so small as almost to excite risibility when you observed them. Her features were regular, and when raised from their usual listlessness, full of expression. Large hazel eyes, beautifully pencilled eyebrows, with long fringed eyelashes, dark and luxuriant hair, Grecian nose, small mouth, with thin coral lips, were set off by a complexion which even the climate could not destroy, although it softened it into extreme delicacy.Such was the person of Madame de Fontanges, now about eighteen years old, and one of the most beautiful specimens of the French creoles which could be imagined. Her perfect little figure needed no support; she was simply attired in a muslinrobe de chambre, as she reposed upon the ottoman, waiting with all the impatience of her caste, for the setting in of the sea-breeze, which would give some relief from the oppressive heat of the climate.“Eventez! Nina, éventez!” cried she to one of her attendants, who was standing at the head of the sofa, with a large feather fan.“Oui, madame,” replied the girl, stirring up the dormant atmosphere.“Eventez! Caroline, éventez mes mains, vite.”“Oui, madame,” replied the second, working away with another fan.“Eventez! éventez mes pieds, Mimi.”“Oui, madame,” replied the third, fanning in the direction pointed out.“Louise,” said Madame de Fontanges, languidly, after a short pause, “apporte-moi de l’eau sucrée.”“Oui, madame,” replied another, rising, in obedience to the order.“Non, non! Je n’en veux pas—mais j’ai soif horrible. Manchette, va chercher de l’eau cerise.”“Oui, madame,” replied Manchette, rising from her seat. But she had not quitted the room before Madame de Fontanges had changed her mind.“Attendez, Manchette. Ce n’est pas çà. Je voudrois de limonade. Charlotte, va l’en chercher.”“Oui, madame,” said Charlotte, leaving the room to execute the order.“Ah! mon Dieu! qu’il fait une chaleur épouvantable.”“Mimi, que tu es paresseuse? Eventez! vite, vite.”“Où est Monsieur?”“Monsieur dort.”“Ah! qu’il est heureux. Et Cupidon—où est-il?”“Il est ici au coin, madame. Il boude.”“Qu’est-ce qu’il a fait donc?”“Ah, madame! Il a volé le dindon rôti, et l’a tout mangé.”“Ah, le petit polisson! Venez ici, Cupidon.”Cupidon, the little negro-boy, we have before mentioned, as sitting in the corner of the room, walked up with a very deliberate pace to the side of the ottoman, his two thick lips sticking out about six inches in advance of the remainder of his person.“Cupidon,” said the lady, turning a little on one side to speak to him, “tu as mangé le dindon entier. Tu as mal fait, mon ami. Tu seras malade. Comprends-tu, Cupidon, c’est une sottise que tu as fait?”Cupidon made no reply; his head was hung down a little lower, and his lips extended a little farther out.“Sache que tu es un petit voleur!” continued his mistress.Cupidon did not condescend to answer.“Allez, monsieur; ne m’approchez pas.”Cupidon turned short round without reply, and walked back to his corner with the same deliberate pace as before, when he came out of it.Charlotte now returned with the lemonade for which she had been despatched, and informed her mistress as she presented it, that Nicholas, who had charge of the schooner, had returned with an European prisoner; but that neither he nor Gustave would give her any further information, although she had requested it in the name of her mistress. This was quite an event, and gave a fillip to the inertness of Madame de Fontanges, whose curiosity was excited.“A-t’-il bonne mine, Charlotte?”“Oui, madame, c’est un bel homme.”“Et où est-il?”“Avec Nicholas.”“Et Monsieur?”“Monsieur dort.”“Il faut l’éveiller. Faites bien mes compliments au Monsieur de Fontanges, et dites-lui que je me trouve fort malade, et que je voudrois lui parler. Entends-tu, Céleste; je parle à toi.”“Oui, madame,” replied the girl, throwing some orange flowers off her lap, and rising to deliver her message.Monsieur de Fontanges, who, like most of the Europeans, slept through the hottest portion of the day, rose in compliance with his wife’s message, and made his appearance in the boudoir, dressed in a white cotton jacket and trousers. A few polite inquiries after the health of Madame de Fontanges, which, as he had conjectured from similar previous occurrences, was not worse than usual, were followed by his receiving from her the information of Newton’s arrival, coupled with an observation, that it would amuse her if the prisoner were interrogated in her presence.Newton was summoned to the boudoir, where Monsieur de Fontanges, who spoke very good English, received from him the history of his disasters, and translated them into French, to gratify the curiosity of his wife.“C’est un beau garçon,” observed Monsieur de Fontanges. “Mais quoi faire? Il est prisonnier. Il faut l’envoyer à mon frère, le gouverneur.”“Il est joli garçon,” replied Madame de Fontanges. “Donnez-lui des habits, Fontanges; et ne l’envoyez pas encore.”“Et pourquoi, mon amie?”“Je voudrois lui apprendre le Français.”“Cela ne se peut pas, ma chère; il est prisonnier.”“Cela se peut, Monsieur de Fontanges,” replied the lady.“Je n’ose pas,” continued the husband.“Moi j’ose,” replied the lady, decidedly.“Je ne voudrois pas,” said the gentleman.“Moi, je veux,” interrupted the lady.“Mais il faut être raisonnable, madame.”“Il faut m’obéir, monsieur.”“Mais—”“Pschut!” replied the lady, “c’est une affaire décidée. Monsieur le gouverneur ne parle pas l’Anglois. C’estabsolument nécessaireque le jeune homme apprenne notre langue; et c’est mon plaisir de l’enseigner. Au revoir, Monsieur de Fontanges. Charlotte, va chercher des habits.”
What elegance and grandeur wide expand,The pride of Turkey and of Persia land!Soft quilts on quilts, on carpets carpets spread,And couches stretch’d around in seemly band,And endless pillows rise to prop the head....Here languid Beauty kept her pale-faced court.Thomson.
What elegance and grandeur wide expand,The pride of Turkey and of Persia land!Soft quilts on quilts, on carpets carpets spread,And couches stretch’d around in seemly band,And endless pillows rise to prop the head....Here languid Beauty kept her pale-faced court.Thomson.
The female slaves, who could not obtain the history of Newton, immediately repaired to the chamber of their mistress, knowing that if they could succeed in raising her curiosity, they would at the same time gratify their own. Madame de Fontanges was, as they asserted, in her chamber, or, what may now be more correctly styled, her boudoir. It was a room about fourteen feet square, the sides of which were covered with a beautiful paper, representing portions of the history of Paul and Virginia; the floor was covered with fine matting, with here and there a small Persian carpet above it. Small marble tables were decorated with a variety of ornaments and French perfumes, or vases filled with the splendid flowers of a tropical clime. There was a large window at each end of the room, cut down to the ground, in the French fashion, and outside of both was a little balcony, the trellice-work covered with passion-flower and clematis. The doors and other compartments of the room were not papered, but had French mirrors let into the panelling. On a low ottoman, of elegant workmanship, covered with a damask French silk, reposed Madame de Fontanges, attended by three or four young female slaves, of different complexions, but none of pure African blood. Others were seated upon the different Persian carpets about the room, in listless idleness or strewing the petals of the orange-flower, to perfume the apartment with its odour. The only negro was a little boy, about six years of age, dressed in a fantastic costume, who sat in a corner, apparently in a very sulky humour.
Madame de Fontanges was a creole, that is, born in the West Indies, of French parents. She had been sent home to France for her education, and had returned at the age of fourteen to Guadaloupe, where she soon after married Monsieur de Fontanges, an officer of rank, and brother to the governor of the island. Her form was diminutive, but most perfect; her hand and arm models for the statuary; while her feet were so small as almost to excite risibility when you observed them. Her features were regular, and when raised from their usual listlessness, full of expression. Large hazel eyes, beautifully pencilled eyebrows, with long fringed eyelashes, dark and luxuriant hair, Grecian nose, small mouth, with thin coral lips, were set off by a complexion which even the climate could not destroy, although it softened it into extreme delicacy.
Such was the person of Madame de Fontanges, now about eighteen years old, and one of the most beautiful specimens of the French creoles which could be imagined. Her perfect little figure needed no support; she was simply attired in a muslinrobe de chambre, as she reposed upon the ottoman, waiting with all the impatience of her caste, for the setting in of the sea-breeze, which would give some relief from the oppressive heat of the climate.
“Eventez! Nina, éventez!” cried she to one of her attendants, who was standing at the head of the sofa, with a large feather fan.
“Oui, madame,” replied the girl, stirring up the dormant atmosphere.
“Eventez! Caroline, éventez mes mains, vite.”
“Oui, madame,” replied the second, working away with another fan.
“Eventez! éventez mes pieds, Mimi.”
“Oui, madame,” replied the third, fanning in the direction pointed out.
“Louise,” said Madame de Fontanges, languidly, after a short pause, “apporte-moi de l’eau sucrée.”
“Oui, madame,” replied another, rising, in obedience to the order.
“Non, non! Je n’en veux pas—mais j’ai soif horrible. Manchette, va chercher de l’eau cerise.”
“Oui, madame,” replied Manchette, rising from her seat. But she had not quitted the room before Madame de Fontanges had changed her mind.
“Attendez, Manchette. Ce n’est pas çà. Je voudrois de limonade. Charlotte, va l’en chercher.”
“Oui, madame,” said Charlotte, leaving the room to execute the order.
“Ah! mon Dieu! qu’il fait une chaleur épouvantable.”
“Mimi, que tu es paresseuse? Eventez! vite, vite.”
“Où est Monsieur?”
“Monsieur dort.”
“Ah! qu’il est heureux. Et Cupidon—où est-il?”
“Il est ici au coin, madame. Il boude.”
“Qu’est-ce qu’il a fait donc?”
“Ah, madame! Il a volé le dindon rôti, et l’a tout mangé.”
“Ah, le petit polisson! Venez ici, Cupidon.”
Cupidon, the little negro-boy, we have before mentioned, as sitting in the corner of the room, walked up with a very deliberate pace to the side of the ottoman, his two thick lips sticking out about six inches in advance of the remainder of his person.
“Cupidon,” said the lady, turning a little on one side to speak to him, “tu as mangé le dindon entier. Tu as mal fait, mon ami. Tu seras malade. Comprends-tu, Cupidon, c’est une sottise que tu as fait?”
Cupidon made no reply; his head was hung down a little lower, and his lips extended a little farther out.
“Sache que tu es un petit voleur!” continued his mistress.
Cupidon did not condescend to answer.
“Allez, monsieur; ne m’approchez pas.”
Cupidon turned short round without reply, and walked back to his corner with the same deliberate pace as before, when he came out of it.
Charlotte now returned with the lemonade for which she had been despatched, and informed her mistress as she presented it, that Nicholas, who had charge of the schooner, had returned with an European prisoner; but that neither he nor Gustave would give her any further information, although she had requested it in the name of her mistress. This was quite an event, and gave a fillip to the inertness of Madame de Fontanges, whose curiosity was excited.
“A-t’-il bonne mine, Charlotte?”
“Oui, madame, c’est un bel homme.”
“Et où est-il?”
“Avec Nicholas.”
“Et Monsieur?”
“Monsieur dort.”
“Il faut l’éveiller. Faites bien mes compliments au Monsieur de Fontanges, et dites-lui que je me trouve fort malade, et que je voudrois lui parler. Entends-tu, Céleste; je parle à toi.”
“Oui, madame,” replied the girl, throwing some orange flowers off her lap, and rising to deliver her message.
Monsieur de Fontanges, who, like most of the Europeans, slept through the hottest portion of the day, rose in compliance with his wife’s message, and made his appearance in the boudoir, dressed in a white cotton jacket and trousers. A few polite inquiries after the health of Madame de Fontanges, which, as he had conjectured from similar previous occurrences, was not worse than usual, were followed by his receiving from her the information of Newton’s arrival, coupled with an observation, that it would amuse her if the prisoner were interrogated in her presence.
Newton was summoned to the boudoir, where Monsieur de Fontanges, who spoke very good English, received from him the history of his disasters, and translated them into French, to gratify the curiosity of his wife.
“C’est un beau garçon,” observed Monsieur de Fontanges. “Mais quoi faire? Il est prisonnier. Il faut l’envoyer à mon frère, le gouverneur.”
“Il est joli garçon,” replied Madame de Fontanges. “Donnez-lui des habits, Fontanges; et ne l’envoyez pas encore.”
“Et pourquoi, mon amie?”
“Je voudrois lui apprendre le Français.”
“Cela ne se peut pas, ma chère; il est prisonnier.”
“Cela se peut, Monsieur de Fontanges,” replied the lady.
“Je n’ose pas,” continued the husband.
“Moi j’ose,” replied the lady, decidedly.
“Je ne voudrois pas,” said the gentleman.
“Moi, je veux,” interrupted the lady.
“Mais il faut être raisonnable, madame.”
“Il faut m’obéir, monsieur.”
“Mais—”
“Pschut!” replied the lady, “c’est une affaire décidée. Monsieur le gouverneur ne parle pas l’Anglois. C’estabsolument nécessaireque le jeune homme apprenne notre langue; et c’est mon plaisir de l’enseigner. Au revoir, Monsieur de Fontanges. Charlotte, va chercher des habits.”