Sitting on my ruddy hearth6 in the twilight7 of New Year’s Eve, I find incidents of travel rise around me from all the latitudes8 and longitudes9 of the globe. They observe no order or sequence, but appear and vanish as they will — ‘come like shadows, so depart.’ Columbus, alone upon the sea with his disaffected10 crew, looks over the waste of waters from his high station on the poop of his ship, and sees the first uncertain glimmer12 of the light, ‘rising and falling with the waves, like a torch in the bark of some fisherman,’ which is the shining star of a new world. Bruce is caged in Abyssinia, surrounded by the gory13 horrors which shall often startle him out of his sleep at home when years have passed away. Franklin, come to the end of his unhappy overland journey — would that it had been his last! — lies perishing of hunger with his brave companions: each emaciated14 figure stretched upon its miserable15 bed without the power to rise: all, dividing the weary days between their prayers, their remembrances of the dear ones at home, and conversation on the pleasures of eating; the last-named topic being ever present to them, likewise, in their dreams. All the African travellers, wayworn, solitary16 and sad, submit themselves again to drunken, murderous, man-selling despots, of the lowest order of humanity; and Mungo Park, fainting under a tree and succoured by a woman, gratefully remembers how his Good Samaritan has always come to him in woman’s shape, the wide world over.
A shadow on the wall in which my mind’s eye can discern some traces of a rocky sea-coast, recalls to me a fearful story of travel derived17 from that unpromising narrator of such stories, a parliamentary blue-book. A convict is its chief figure, and this man escapes with other prisoners from a penal19 settlement. It is an island, and they seize a boat, and get to the main land. Their way is by a rugged20 and precipitous sea-shore, and they have no earthly hope of ultimate escape, for the party of soldiers despatched by an easier course to cut them off, must inevitably21 arrive at their distant bourne long before them, and retake them if by any hazard they survive the horrors of the way. Famine, as they all must have foreseen, besets24 them early in their course. Some of the party die and are eaten; some are murdered by the rest and eaten. This one awful creature eats his fill, and sustains his strength, and lives on to be recaptured and taken back. The unrelateable experiences through which he has passed have been so tremendous, that he is not hanged as he might be, but goes back to his old chained-gang work. A little time, and he tempts25 one other prisoner away, seizes another boat, and flies once more — necessarily in the old hopeless direction, for he can take no other. He is soon cut off, and met by the pursuing party face to face, upon the beach. He is alone. In his former journey he acquired an inappeasable relish26 for his dreadful food. He urged the new man away, expressly to kill him and eat him. In the pockets on one side of his coarse convict-dress, are portions of the man’s body, on which he is regaling; in the pockets on the other side is an untouched store of salted pork (stolen before he left the island) for which he has no appetite. He is taken back, and he is hanged. But I shall never see that sea-beach on the wall or in the fire, without him, solitary monster, eating as he prowls along, while the sea rages and rises at him.
Captain Bligh (a worse man to be entrusted27 with arbitrary power there could scarcely be) is handed over the side of the Bounty28, and turned adrift on the wide ocean in an open boat, by order of Fletcher Christian29, one of his officers, at this very minute. Another flash of my fire, and ‘Thursday October Christian,’ five-and-twenty years of age, son of the dead and gone Fletcher by a savage30 mother, leaps aboard His Majesty’s ship Briton, hove-to off Pitcairn’s Island; says his simple grace before eating, in good English; and knows that a pretty little animal on board is called a dog, because in his childhood he had heard of such strange creatures from his father and the other mutineers, grown grey under the shade of the bread-fruit trees, speaking of their lost country far away.
See the Halsewell, East Indiaman outward bound, driving madly on a January night towards the rocks near Seacombe, on the island of Purbeck! The captain’s two dear daughters are aboard, and five other ladies. The ship has been driving many hours, has seven feet water in her hold, and her mainmast has been cut away. The description of her loss, familiar to me from my early boyhood, seems to be read aloud as she rushes to her destiny.
‘About two in the morning of Friday the sixth of January, the ship still driving, and approaching very fast to the shore, Mr. Henry Meriton, the second mate, went again into the cuddy, where the captain then was. Another conversation taking place, Captain Pierce expressed extreme anxiety for the preservation31 of his beloved daughters, and earnestly asked the officer if he could devise any method of saving them. On his answering with great concern, that he feared it would be impossible, but that their only chance would be to wait for morning, the captain lifted up his hands in silent and distressful32 ejaculation.
‘At this dreadful moment, the ship struck, with such violence as to dash the heads of those standing34 in the cuddy against the deck above them, and the shock was accompanied by a shriek35 of horror that burst at one instant from every quarter of the ship.
‘Many of the seamen36, who had been remarkably37 inattentive and remiss38 in their duty during great part of the storm, now poured upon deck, where no exertions39 of the officers could keep them, while their assistance might have been useful. They had actually skulked40 in their hammocks, leaving the working of the pumps and other necessary labours to the officers of the ship, and the soldiers, who had made uncommon41 exertions. Roused by a sense of their danger, the same seamen, at this moment, in frantic42 exclamations43, demanded of heaven and their fellow-sufferers that succour which their own efforts, timely made, might possibly have procured44.
‘The ship continued to beat on the rocks; and soon bilging, fell with her broadside towards the shore. When she struck, a number of the men climbed up the ensign-staff, under an apprehension45 of her immediately going to pieces.
‘Mr. Meriton, at this crisis, offered to these unhappy beings the best advice which could be given; he recommended that all should come to the side of the ship lying lowest on the rocks, and singly to take the opportunities which might then offer, of escaping to the shore.
‘Having thus provided, to the utmost of his power, for the safety of the desponding crew, he returned to the round-house, where, by this time, all the passengers and most of the officers had assembled. The latter were employed in offering consolation46 to the unfortunate ladies; and, with unparalleled magnanimity, suffering their compassion47 for the fair and amiable48 companions of their misfortunes to prevail over the sense of their own danger.
‘In this charitable work of comfort, Mr. Meriton now joined, by assurances of his opinion, that, the ship would hold together till the morning, when all would be safe. Captain Pierce, observing one of the young gentlemen loud in his exclamations of terror, and frequently cry that the ship was parting, cheerfully bid him be quiet, remarking that though the ship should go to pieces, he would not, but would be safe enough.
‘It is difficult to convey a correct idea of the scene of this deplorable catastrophe49, without describing the place where it happened. The Haleswell struck on the rocks at a part of the shore where the cliff is of vast height, and rises almost perpendicular50 from its base. But at this particular spot, the foot of the cliff is excavated51 into a cavern52 of ten or twelve yards in depth, and of breadth equal to the length of a large ship. The sides of the cavern are so nearly upright, as to be of extremely difficult access; and the bottom is strewed53 with sharp and uneven54 rocks, which seem, by some convulsion of the earth, to have been detached from its roof.
‘The ship lay with her broadside opposite to the mouth of this cavern, with her whole length stretched almost from side to side of it. But when she struck, it was too dark for the unfortunate persons on board to discover the real magnitude of the danger, and the extreme horror of such a situation.
‘In addition to the company already in the round-house, they had admitted three black women and two soldiers’ wives; who, with the husband of one of them, had been allowed to come in, though the seamen, who had tumultuously demanded entrance to get the lights, had been opposed and kept out by Mr. Rogers and Mr. Brimer, the third and fifth mates. The numbers there were, therefore, now increased to near fifty. Captain Pierce sat on a chair, a cot, or some other moveable, with a daughter on each side, whom he alternately pressed to his affectionate breast. The rest of the melancholy55 assembly were seated on the deck, which was strewed with musical instruments, and the wreck5 of furniture and other articles.
‘Here also Mr. Meriton, after having cut several wax-candles in pieces, and stuck them up in various parts of the round-house, and lighted up all the glass lanthorns he could find, took his seat, intending to wait the approach of dawn; and then assist the partners of his dangers to escape. But, observing that the poor ladies appeared parched56 and exhausted57, he brought a basket of oranges and prevailed on some of them to refresh themselves by sucking a little of the juice. At this time they were all tolerably composed, except Miss Mansel, who was in hysteric fits on the floor of the deck of the round-house.
‘But on Mr. Meriton’s return to the company, he perceived a considerable alteration58 in the appearance of the ship; the sides were visibly giving way; the deck seemed to be lifting, and he discovered other strong indications that she could not hold much longer together. On this account, he attempted to go forward to look out, but immediately saw that the ship had separated in the middle, and that the forepart having changed its position, lay rather further out towards the sea. In such an emergency, when the next moment might plunge59 him into eternity60, he determined61 to seize the present opportunity, and follow the example of the crew and the soldiers, who were now quitting the ship in numbers, and making their way to the shore, though quite ignorant of its nature and description.
‘Among other expedients62, the ensign-staff had been unshipped, and attempted to be laid between the ship’s side and some of the rocks, but without success, for it snapped asunder63 before it reached them. However, by the light of a lanthorn, which a seaman64 handed through the skylight of the round-house to the deck, Mr. Meriton discovered a spar which appeared to be laid from the ship’s side to the rocks, and on this spar he resolved to attempt his escape.
‘Accordingly, lying down upon it, he thrust himself forward; however, he soon found that it had no communication with the rock; he reached the end of it, and then slipped off, receiving a very violent bruise65 in his fall, and before he could recover his legs, he was washed off by the surge. He now supported himself by swimming, until a returning wave dashed him against the back part of the cavern. Here he laid hold of a small projection66 in the rock, but was so much benumbed that he was on the point of quitting it, when a seaman, who had already gained a footing, extended his hand, and assisted him until he could secure himself a little on the rock; from which he clambered on a shelf still higher, and out of the reach of the surf.
‘Mr. Rogers, the third mate, remained with the captain and the unfortunate ladies and their companions nearly twenty minutes after Mr. Meriton had quitted the ship. Soon after the latter left the round-house, the captain asked what was become of him, to which Mr. Rogers replied, that he was gone on deck to see what could be done. After this, a heavy sea breaking over the ship, the ladies exclaimed, “Oh, poor Meriton! he is drowned; had he stayed with us he would have been safe!” and they all, particularly Miss Mary Pierce, expressed great concern at the apprehension of his loss.
‘The sea was now breaking in at the fore22 part of the ship, and reached as far as the mainmast. Captain Pierce gave Mr. Rogers a nod, and they took a lamp and went together into the stern-gallery, where, after viewing the rocks for some time, Captain Pierce asked Mr. Rogers if he thought there was any possibility of saving the girls; to which he replied, he feared there was none; for they could only discover the black face of the perpendicular rock, and not the cavern which afforded shelter to those who escaped. They then returned to the round-house, where Mr. Rogers hung up the lamp, and Captain Pierce sat down between his two daughters.
‘The sea continuing to break in very fast, Mr. Macmanus, a midshipman, and Mr. Schutz, a passenger, asked Mr. Rogers what they could do to escape. “Follow me,” he replied, and they all went into the stern-gallery, and from thence to the upper-quarter-gallery on the poop. While there, a very heavy sea fell on board, and the round-house gave way; Mr. Rogers heard the ladies shriek at intervals67, as if the water reached them; the noise of the sea at other times drowning their voices.
‘Mr. Brimer had followed him to the poop, where they remained together about five minutes, when on the breaking of this heavy sea, they jointly68 seized a hen-coop. The same wave which proved fatal to some of those below, carried him and his companion to the rock, on which they were violently dashed and miserably69 bruised70.
‘Here on the rock were twenty-seven men; but it now being low water, and as they were convinced that on the flowing of the tide all must be washed off, many attempted to get to the back or the sides of the cavern, beyond the reach of the returning sea. Scarcely more than six, besides Mr. Rogers and Mr. Brimer, succeeded.
‘Mr. Rogers, on gaining this station, was so nearly exhausted, that had his exertions been protracted71 only a few minutes longer, he must have sunk under them. He was now prevented from joining Mr. Meriton, by at least twenty men between them, none of whom could move, without the imminent72 peril73 of his life.
‘They found that a very considerable number of the crew, seamen and soldiers, and some petty officers, were in the same situation as themselves, though many who had reached the rocks below, perished in attempting to ascend74. They could yet discern some part of the ship, and in their dreary75 station solaced76 themselves with the hopes of its remaining entire until day-break; for, in the midst of their own distress33, the sufferings of the females on board affected11 them with the most poignant77 anguish78; and every sea that broke inspired them with terror for their safety.
‘But, alas79, their apprehensions80 were too soon realised! Within a very few minutes of the time that Mr. Rogers gained the rock, an universal shriek, which long vibrated in their ears, in which the voice of female distress was lamentably81 distinguished82, announced the dreadful catastrophe. In a few moments all was hushed, except the roaring of the winds and the dashing of the waves; the wreck was buried in the deep, and not an atom of it was ever afterwards seen.’
The most beautiful and affecting incident I know, associated with a shipwreck3, succeeds this dismal83 story for a winter night. The Grosvenor, East Indiaman, homeward bound, goes ashore84 on the coast of Caffraria. It is resolved that the officers, passengers, and crew, in number one hundred and thirty-five souls, shall endeavour to penetrate85 on foot, across trackless deserts, infested86 by wild beasts and cruel savages87, to the Dutch settlements at the Cape18 of Good Hope. With this forlorn object before them, they finally separate into two parties — never more to meet on earth.
There is a solitary child among the passengers — a little boy of seven years old who has no relation there; and when the first party is moving away he cries after some member of it who has been kind to him. The crying of a child might be supposed to be a little thing to men in such great extremity88; but it touches them, and he is immediately taken into that detachment.
From which time forth89, this child is sublimely90 made a sacred charge. He is pushed, on a little raft, across broad rivers by the swimming sailors; they carry him by turns through the deep sand and long grass (he patiently walking at all other times); they share with him such putrid91 fish as they find to eat; they lie down and wait for him when the rough carpenter, who becomes his especial friend, lags behind. Beset23 by lions and tigers, by savages, by thirst, by hunger, by death in a crowd of ghastly shapes, they never — O Father of all mankind, thy name be blessed for it! — forget this child. The captain stops exhausted, and his faithful coxswain goes back and is seen to sit down by his side, and neither of the two shall be any more beheld92 until the great last day; but, as the rest go on for their lives, they take the child with them. The carpenter dies of poisonous berries eaten in starvation; and the steward93, succeeding to the command of the party, succeeds to the sacred guardianship94 of the child.
God knows all he does for the poor baby; how he cheerfully carries him in his arms when he himself is weak and ill; how he feeds him when he himself is griped with want; how he folds his ragged95 jacket round him, lays his little worn face with a woman’s tenderness upon his sunburnt breast, soothes96 him in his sufferings, sings to him as he limps along, unmindful of his own parched and bleeding feet. Divided for a few days from the rest, they dig a grave in the sand and bury their good friend the cooper — these two companions alone in the wilderness97 — and then the time comes when they both are ill, and beg their wretched partners in despair, reduced and few in number now, to wait by them one day. They wait by them one day, they wait by them two days. On the morning of the third, they move very softly about, in making their preparations for the resumption of their journey; for, the child is sleeping by the fire, and it is agreed with one consent that he shall not be disturbed until the last moment. The moment comes, the fire is dying — and the child is dead.
His faithful friend, the steward, lingers but a little while behind him. His grief is great, he staggers on for a few days, lies down in the desert, and dies. But he shall be re-united in his immortal98 spirit — who can doubt it! — with the child, when he and the poor carpenter shall be raised up with the words, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these, ye have done it unto Me.’
As I recall the dispersal and disappearance99 of nearly all the participators in this once famous shipwreck (a mere100 handful being recovered at last), and the legends that were long afterwards revived from time to time among the English officers at the Cape, of a white woman with an infant, said to have been seen weeping outside a savage hut far in the interior, who was whisperingly associated with the remembrance of the missing ladies saved from the wrecked4 vessel101, and who was often sought but never found, thoughts of another kind of travel came into my mind.
Thoughts of a voyager unexpectedly summoned from home, who travelled a vast distance, and could never return. Thoughts of this unhappy wayfarer102 in the depths of his sorrow, in the bitterness of his anguish, in the helplessness of his self-reproach, in the desperation of his desire to set right what he had left wrong, and do what he had left undone103.
For, there were many, many things he had neglected. Little matters while he was at home and surrounded by them, but things of mighty104 moment when he was at an immeasurable distance. There were many many blessings105 that he had inadequately106 felt, there were many trivial injuries that he had not forgiven, there was love that he had but poorly returned, there was friendship that he had too lightly prized: there were a million kind words that he might have spoken, a million kind looks that he might have given, uncountable slight easy deeds in which he might have been most truly great and good. O for a day (he would exclaim), for but one day to make amends107! But the sun never shone upon that happy day, and out of his remote captivity108 he never came.
Why does this traveller’s fate obscure, on New Year’s Eve, the other histories of travellers with which my mind was filled but now, and cast a solemn shadow over me! Must I one day make his journey? Even so. Who shall say, that I may not then be tortured by such late regrets: that I may not then look from my exile on my empty place and undone work? I stand upon a sea-shore, where the waves are years. They break and fall, and I may little heed109 them; but, with every wave the sea is rising, and I know that it will float me on this traveller’s voyage at last.
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1
sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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shipwreck
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| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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latitudes
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| 纬度 | |
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longitudes
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| 经度 | |
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disaffected
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| adj.（政治上）不满的，叛离的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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gory
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| adj.流血的；残酷的 | |
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emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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penal
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| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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besets
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| v.困扰( beset的第三人称单数 )；不断围攻；镶；嵌 | |
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tempts
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| v.引诱或怂恿（某人）干不正当的事( tempt的第三人称单数 )；使想要 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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distressful
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| adj.苦难重重的，不幸的，使苦恼的 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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standing
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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remiss
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| adj.不小心的，马虎 | |
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exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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skulked
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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excavated
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| v.挖掘( excavate的过去式和过去分词 )；开凿；挖出；发掘 | |
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cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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strewed
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| v.撒在…上( strew的过去式和过去分词 )；散落于；点缀；撒满 | |
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uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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expedients
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| n.应急有效的，权宜之计的( expedient的名词复数 ) | |
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asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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projection
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| n.发射，计划，突出部分 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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jointly
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| ad.联合地，共同地 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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solaced
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| v.安慰，慰藉( solace的过去分词 ) | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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lamentably
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| adv.哀伤地，拙劣地 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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infested
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| adj.为患的，大批滋生的（常与with搭配）v.害虫、野兽大批出没于( infest的过去式和过去分词 )；遍布于 | |
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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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sublimely
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| 高尚地，卓越地 | |
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putrid
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| adj.腐臭的；有毒的；已腐烂的；卑劣的 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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guardianship
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| n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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soothes
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| v.安慰( soothe的第三人称单数 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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wayfarer
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| n.旅人 | |
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undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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inadequately
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| ad.不够地；不够好地 | |
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amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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108
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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