CHAP. V. PERILS OF EMIGRATION.

“Cheer up, my dolphins!” loudly exclaimed Climberkin to the men rescued from drowning, whom he and his shipmates were endeavouring to make as comfortable as possible after their fashion. “Cheer up, and wet your gills with this—precious sight better stuff nor salt water, of which sort o’ liquidation I’ve a notion you were obligated last night to drink more than was agreeable. Give us your fin, my flying fish!” he continued, as in the most cordial manner he shook the hand of a fine looking young man who sat near him. “A fellow don’t deserve to be called a naval if he ar’nt a got no ’miseration for another fellow in misfortune. So here’s to ’ee—and may you never have such tipple above your gills, and all’ays keep the salt water under your foot.”

“None on us ’a heard the ’ticulars o’ this here deplorable ’flagration,” said Hearty, “and if it arn’t too unpleasant to ’municate, I should like to hear the whole circumbendibus.”

“Perhaps none of my comrades, now present, are so well acquainted with the circumstances of that unhappy affair as myself,” remarked the young man just alluded to; “and if you will allow me, I will not only relate to you all concerning it that has come within my observation, but combine the information with a narrative of my own life that possibly may render it more interesting.”

Consent having been readily and unanimously given, the stranger proceeded to fulfil the intention he had communicated.

“I am a native of Malthusia, an extensive province far into the interior of Australia, where my family, for many generations, had owned a small estate; but as the difficulty of living in any state approaching comfort, in a densely populated country, where consumption exceeds supply, and the price of labour is reduced to limits within which life can scarcely be supported, in consequence of the constant pressure of competition, produced by the supply greatly exceeding the demand, became so great, it was considered amongst us whether it would not be the most advantageous thing that could be done under the circumstances, to leave a land where we could not exist with the same respectability in which our fathers had lived, and seek our fortunes in a new country, where the means of subsistence were more easily procured, and the results of labour more profitable to the industrious. The idea was debated long and frequently before it was resolved upon. Children of the soil, whose most pleasurable associations were connected with the land on which we had been born, it could not be expected that we could easily tear asunder the loving ties that connected us to our ancient home. My father was getting into the vale of life, but possessed much of the strength of man in his vigour; and myself and five other brothers were strong and active, ingenious, laborious, and persevering. We were considered the very persons for whom emigration would be most advantageous.

“But, besides the natural disinclination to leave the scene of every pleasure I had known, I had a still stronger repugnance, which I found it impossible to remove. May I claim your indulgence, while I speak of one who made my native earth and sky a paradise of delights. She, of whom I speak, Optima, the fair, the kind, the good, by the sweetness of her disposition and the excellence of her behaviour, created in me that perfect sympathy, which greater personal attractions and a less amount of moral advantages, would have failed to have produced in a nature like mine. From having lived in each other’s society from childhood, and our fortunes and prospects being as nearly as possible alike, we had mutually indulged in the same fond hopes of an undivided existence, and in our quiet walks by the hill side, and by the margin of the soft flowing stream, and in the long delightful rests we took beneath the shadow of the friendly trees, our little ambition was pictured in rosy colours, and the landscape of our future seemed to glow with sunshine, gladness, and beauty. At this time, having suddenly been made an orphan, Optima became dependent upon an old querulous aunt, who having saved a little property in the course of a long life, which she designed for her niece, was desirous that she should marry some one of still more ample means; and opposed our union with all the despotism she could exercise: but we managed to meet as usual, though not quite so frequently. Notwithstanding the efforts made to keep us asunder, and although in consequence of the gratitude she felt towards her relative for the protection she had received, she would not listen to my wishes for an immediate union, for the purpose of joining the intended emigrants, she bade me hope for better times, and assured me, with all the fervour of her guileless spirit, that her affection must endure with her existence.

“Preparations were now made for the departure of my family for their destination to a flourishing colony on the European continent, but I finding it impossible to quit the scene that held all that was dear to me, resolved to remain in Australia, supporting myself by the application of an unceasing industry, till in company with my adored Optima, I could join them in their new home. My brothers did not seem to approve of my resolution, and endeavoured to induce me to change it; but my father, who had more knowledge of human nature, understood my motives, and left me to follow my own inclinations. I busied myself in assisting in their arrangements, but I found my feelings far more active than my endeavours. I strived to shut out from my mind all idea of the loneliness in which I must live after the departure of my family, and sought to banish the fear I sometimes experienced, that as then the difficulty of seeing Optima would be increased, some unfortunate accident would render our union impossible. Our interviews now became exceedingly painful, my entreaties grew more urgent, my dread of the consequences of her refusal more intense; but she only answered me with tears; and at last, as the time drew near for quitting Malthusia, our hearts became too full for utterance, and our congratulations at meeting, and sorrows at parting, were alike silent.

“‘Ardent!’ said she to me on one occasion, after we had sat together a long time without daring to speak, ’you must not think me unkind by thus seeming to oppose your happiness. I do a violence to my own feelings, indeed I do, Ardent, whenever I refuse your solicitations.’—Her sobs for some time prevented her proceeding; at last she continued;—‘But I should be selfish, were I to allow myself to do as you would have me, and act with a regardlessness of your interests, for which I should never be able to forgive myself. My aunt, it is evident to all who see her, is rapidly approaching her dissolution. She has been kind to me. I wish not her last moments to be rendered miserable, by what in me would appear to her ingratitude, and I am most anxious for your sake, dear Ardent, that she should not, through any imprudence of mine, annul those intentions in my favour she has so frequently expressed. Her property is but small, but it will enable us to join your family, and with industry and economy may produce for us a greater degree of comfort than without it we can hope to obtain. Wait, Ardent; the time is not propitious now; but if we are not impatient of our happiness, we shall soon be as happy as we can desire.’

“I pressed her more closely to my breast—I blessed her in my heart, but my voice seemed to have lost all power of expressing my emotions; no longer I made use of entreaties. I was grateful, and resigned. The day came on which the emigrants were to leave the seat of all their past enjoyments. My brothers appeared careless of quitting the land of their fathers. They were hard working, hard thinking men, who valued nothing except for its utility, and looked upon the affection with which memory regards the scenes of its pleasures, as romantic nonsense, only fit to delight children. But my father could not so readily get rid of the impressions he had cherished from his infancy; with him the departure from his home seemed a banishment from his happiness. He visited the lands his forefathers had owned, but which had long passed from their descendants. He walked in the fields he had ploughed and drilled and harrowed since he was a boy, and he looked upon the trees he had planted, and the buildings he had raised, as if he was taking a last farewell of a company of ancient friends. As he approached the cemetery in which lay the bones of his ancestors, his manly form seemed to lose half its strength—his ruddy cheek grew pale—his step became feeble, his eye dim, and his heart faint; and as he bared his head that the cool breeze might fan the thin white hairs that played about his forehead, he was obliged to lean against a monument to support his sinking form. Here rested in peace the wife of his bosom and the mother of his children; and he felt as if he was about to desert her remains to be trampled on by strangers. He thought of where his grave would be, and in the agony of his heart lamented that two who had never been divided in life should in death be placed so far apart.

“I witnessed the sale of the land and stock; I assisted in packing up the moveables; I was present when the neighbours came to bid farewell, and to express their honest regrets; and after having beheld my family turn their backs upon the habitation of their race, I hastened to Optima, with the design of enjoying her sweet presence for the last time, until I had parted with my father and my brothers at the nearest sea-port. I came to the house of her relative and found it closed. Having with some difficulty gained admittance, Optima rushed into my arms, and wept upon my breast. It was not till a considerable time had elapsed, that I ascertained what was the cause of her grief. Her aunt had died the night previous.

“After a lapse of a few weeks Optima became mine. On the day of our marriage she placed a packet in my hands, and speaking in a voice broken with emotion, she said:—

“‘I have a favour to ask you, and I know on such a day as this you cannot deny me. Take this, dear Ardent, and make whatever use of it you think proper. Your heart is yearning to join your relatives; be assured that wherever you wish to go I desire to follow. I cannot be happy but where your happiness may be best secured. I am indifferent to country and to kindred,—I can acknowledge no relative but a husband, and can know of no country except that in which I find his home. Whenever your preparations are made, dear Ardent, I am ready.’

“I kissed off the tears that were trembling on her eyelids, and in brief but eloquent language expressed the love with which my heart was overflowing. The packet contained a sum of money amply sufficient for our purposes. Having by letter previously apprised my family of these circumstances, they delayed their departure; and after providing every thing that was necessary for the wants of agricultural emigrants, we all set sail from the populous seaport Kangarootown, in a magnificent ship fitted up in the most splendid manner, and carrying more than three hundred passengers.”

“‘No!’ exclaimed half a dozen anxious listeners, starting up with horror and surprise.

“’Tis true!” replied the young man, in a voice scarcely audible.

“The Lord ha’ mercy on their miserable souls!” said Hearty.

“We had not been many days out at sea,” continued the narrator, “and were busily and cheerfully employed in forming plans for the future, when one evening, as soon as we had all retired to our berths, the gas with which the interior of the ship was lighted, through some carelessness had been suffered to escape, and it having caught fire, the first alarm the passengers received was from finding themselves surrounded by flames. There were but two or three boats belonging to the vessel, to which there was immediately a general rush. Without waiting to secure any of my property, I instantly hurried on deck with Optima, and was so fortunate as to secure her and myself a place in the largest boat. I shouted to my father and my brothers to join us, but as soon as we were full the rope was cut, and we pulled from the burning ship with all the strength of desperate men. As the flames rose up into the rigging we could see hundreds running backwards and forwards, bewildered and stupified by fear. One after another jumped into the remaining boats, into which they crowded so rapidly that their own weight at once sunk them to the bottom. Others in their frenzy leapt into the sea—the rest retreated from the flames as they advanced, shrieking their own knell, till the fire beginning to scorch their flesh they fell over into the waves, or letting go their grasp of the ropes up which they had climbed, sunk yelling with agony into the midst of the raging fire. I saw nothing of my brothers. I imagine they perished in the smaller boats. But while observing the destruction of the ship, I beheld, high up the tallest mast, the figure of an old man—his white hair scorched upon his brows—his blood-shot eyes bursting from their sockets—his trembling limbs clinging to the rigging, screaming for mercy and for help. I knew the form—the voice pierced my brain. I would have leapt into the sea with the wild but fruitless hope of hastening to his rescue, but I was forcibly held to my seat; and Optima, who had not changed her position since I placed her in the boat, with her face upon my breast and her arms round my neck, clung to me trembling with terror. In a moment afterwards the flaming vessel disappeared.

“We could scarcely congratulate ourselves upon our safety, for although we had escaped being burnt to death, there seemed but little hope of our being saved from drowning, or from starvation. There were thirty of us closely packed together, not one of whom knew exactly how far we were from land; few were clothed, and none had either provisions or water. My feelings were of the most agonising description. I had seen my family perish before my eyes without having the ability to render them the slightest assistance—all their property and mine—all that the loving kindness of Optima had enabled me to procure for our future wants, were swallowed up in the devouring fire, and now I was left with her upon the boundless ocean enjoying no other hope than that we should perish together. Bitter as my reflections were, they grew almost insupportable when I considered with what a dreadful fate the devotion of her I loved would be rewarded. But she whose goodness had been thus cruelly turned to evil seemed to think of nothing, and care for nothing, but for him to whom she clung. At this instant when we were giving ourselves up to despair, a light blazing from your ship proclaimed to us the joyful intelligence that assistance was at hand. Then what a change came upon us. The murmurs of complaint were turned to the loud shouts of gladness; and so completely did we enter into the spirit of the moment, that none noticed the rapid approach of the ship coming to our relief, till she was just upon us.

“We are saved, dearest!” I whispered.

“Optima unclasped her arms, and took one of my hands in hers. Then came the overwhelming crush of the great ship—a shout—a scream—and her keel passed over us. The shock came so unexpected that none had time to think of the danger, and we were gasping and struggling in the water before we were aware of the accident. I made a snatch at what I thought was the sinking form of Optima, but soon I found out the dreadful mistake. It was a strong man, who being no swimmer caught hold of my limbs with a desperate grasp that nothing but death could relax. In vain I strove to shake him off—I struggled—I fought—I kicked in vain. He held me as a serpent holds its prey. The thought of my beloved sinking into the bowels of the great deep, deserted by him whose happiness she had ever striven to secure, nerved my arms with a giant’s strength, and catching the drowning wretch by the throat, I squeezed the breath out of his miserable body, hurled him from me as if he had been a loathsome reptile, and then struck out into the sea, swimming in various directions, shouting her name in every tone of agony—plunging, diving, and beating the waters with the fierce energy of a madman. My heart sunk within me—my strength was exhausted. I felt the terrible conviction, that for me there was no hope—and resigned myself to the cold embraces of the relentless wave. Of what afterwards occurred I know not, till I found myself on board the Albatross, recovered from the jaws of death by the kind and unceasing attention of her friendly crew. But do not think me ungrateful, when, reflecting upon the dreadful loss I have endured, and the wretched fate to which I have been left, I express a regret that my life has been spared.”

“Scrunch me, if I ar’nt springing a leak as no pump can stop!” exclaimed Climberkin, as soon as the stranger had concluded his narrative, as he wiped with his knuckles the big tears out of the corners of his eyes;—an example which was followed by many of his shipmates.

“May I go to sea in a cockle shell, if ever I heard o’ any thin’ so cruel molloncholy,” said Boggle; “my eyes are like sieves catching a thunder shower. But a fellow who can listen to such a tarnation heart-twister as this here without runnin’ out like a water spout, must have the soul o’ a nigger.”

“Soul ob a nigger!” exclaimed the fat cook, furiously, while the drops that ran down his black cheeks evinced his sympathy for the sufferings he had heard.

“Soul ob a nigger!—What da debble you mean, you fellar! Tink a nigger no heart—tink him hab no sensebillity, you fellar?” Then turning to the stranger, he said, as well as his sobs would allow, “Roly Poly berry much feel for you Sar, oo, oo!—Hard ting to lose him missee, Sar, oo, oo!—Roly Poly in lub himself once, Sar.—Lubly cretur too, oo, oo!—She had de dropsy, Sar.—Doctor nebber make her no better, so she turn her nose against de wall and die like a lamb, oo, oo, oo!” And away the poor fellow went, sobbing as if his heart would break.

“Well, whip me into eel skins, if I sees the fun o’ givin’ a fellow the miserables!” exclaimed Scrumpydike, gulping down a deep draught of the liquor before him; “I seed many a sight worser nor what you’ve been telling on us, mister,—and ar’nt a thought it worth while to say nothin’ to nobody about it. There ar’nt no sort o’ life as produces so many wonderfuls as that o’ a free mariner. Once upon a time I was taken prisoner with some other chaps, and kept aboard one o’ them darin’ crafts what goes bang at any thin’ as comes in their track—and I seed sich jollifications—sich junkettings—sich cargoes o’ grog—and sich chests o’ money, as I never had afore a wink o’ a notion on. There they were, dancin’ and singin’, and rollin’ in riches—caring for nobody—doing whatever they had a mind—every one o’ the crew a cap’ain, and the cap’ain a prince; and whenever they had a brush, which was as often as they fell in with anythin’ worth havin’, at it they went, harem scarem—carryin’ every thin’ afore ’em—cuttin’ down and blowin’ up, and sinkin’ or seizin’ the richest ships as sailed in them seas. Scrunch me, if they did’nt seem as happy as periwinkles on a rock.”

“No doubt,” observed Boggle; “and I ar’nt afeard to say, as many a honest naval would become a free mariner, if he had’nt the gumption to reccomember he was consiserable sure o’ a sartainty o’ being hanged.”

“Either hanged or drowned, or spiflicated in some other unnat’ral manner,” added Hearty; “and not without desarvin’ on ’t. None o’ sich scum ever died in a honest fashion. Now in the course o’ my sperience, I knowed a smartish lot consarnin’ the notorious sea-sharks, Cap’ain Death and his Lef’tenant Rifle, and——”

“Did you know ’em?” inquired Scrumpydike, eagerly, fixing a searching look upon the old man.

“No, I did’nt exactly know ’em, but I knowed a good deal on ’em; and if ever I comes upon their tack, with a few other honest chaps as knows how to give and take, if I don’t leave my mark on some o’ their figure-heads, I ha’ lost all notion o’ hand-writing;” said Hearty.

“Well, you may chance to come alongside on ’em afore you’re aware, and then you’d best look out for squalls, old boy;” observed the other.

“I ar’nt afeard o’ that. But as I was a sayin’, these here varmint were ’sociated wi’ a gang o’ similar bloody-minded villains, and in a well armed craft which they’d got hold on, by no partic’lar honesty I’ll be bound, they went a robbin’ and plund’rin, and burnin’ and massacr’in’, every ship as they came anigh, till at last flesh and blood couldn’t stand any sich howdacity—so two or three smartish vessels, full o’ chaps o’ the right sort, steered into their haunts, and there they kept cruising about in hopes o’ coming to close quarters. But somehow or other they hadn’t no sich luck. At last, when they began to calc’late as Cap’ain Death had given them the slip, one o’ the ships diskivered a strange sail—and she was narrowly watched, hoping she might prove to contain the ’dentical set o’ murd’rin’ vagabonds they was arter. Suspicions becoming pretty strong, signals were made to her consorts to take a long sweep, so as to circumvent the villains so reg’larly as they couldn’t escape no how. But that ’ere Cap’ain Death was no goslin’. He seed the canouvres they was a going about, hung out ev’ry bit o’ canvass he could carry, and cut his precious stick like winkin! Howsomdever, he war’nt awake to the movement till they came rollin’ up to him in a manner quite lovely to look on; and then they showed that they was as good hands at followin’ as he was at runnin’ away. The chase was carried on for a matter o’ six hours, in sich a style as made him look behind oftener than he looked afore; and for all he went on this tack, and on t’other tack, and tried all sorts o’ games to get out o’ the way, they came so near as to be able to give him a pretty considerable taste o’ their quality. Well, as night began to set in, there came on one o’ the most thund’rin’ storms as ever was—the wind blowed away as if it would shiver its own bellows into saw-dust, and the sea came up mountains high, in a manner it was more grand than pleasant to look on. The vessels in chase, finding themselves close upon an ugly sort of a coast, were obligated to keep out at sea as much as possible; but they endeavoured to keep such a look out as would prevent the villains from making themselves scarce afore morning. Well, when the mornin’ broke all as clear as if there’d never been no rumpus—our ship—for, mind ye, I volunteered a purpose to have a rap at some on ’em—our ship and her consorts, who’d rode out the gale with nothin’ but the loss o’ a few spars, approached the shore for the purpose o’ making secure o’ Cap’ain Death, but the very first thing they clapped their blessed eyes on, was the ship they’d been in chase lyin’ a perfect wreck among the breakers, making it a right down positive stark staring fact that every mother’s son o’ the gallows birds that belonged to her were feeding the crabs and lobsters, and sich like.”

“Then they were all drowned!” said Climberkin.

“Nothin’s been heard o’ any on ’em from that day to this;” replied Hearty.

“But war’nt there a sort o’ song which ’twas said the crew of the ship used to sing?” enquired Climberkin.

“To be sure there was,” cried Scrumpydike, who had for some time looked more gloomy than usual; “I’ve heard it many’s a time; and if you’ve a mind to listen, though I ar’nt no great shakes o’ a singing bird, I’ll give you the only original version as used to be sung by the free mariners.”

“I don’t want to hear none o’ such villainous ditties!” exclaimed Hearty, as he left the circle.

“Who axed you, old Snapdragon?” responded the other, and presently with more animation than music, sung the following words:—