CHAP. VI. APPEARANCE OF THE AFRICAN COAST.

Zabra had by this time become more familiar to the people of the Albatross, with some of whom his kindness and generosity made him an especial favourite. They had ceased to see any thing supernatural in his large lustrous eyes,—and had forgot that there was any thing mysterious in the dark colour of his complexion. His solitary wanderings about the ship created neither fear nor surprise, and the rich harmonies of his music were listened to with much more admiration than dread. Loop, a boy belonging to the vessel, who was a sister’s son of Hearty, had been attacked with fever, and the attentions of Zabra, during his illness, won not only the heart of the old man, but that of every one on board. He procured for him every kind of nourishing food and refreshing beverage, that the Doctor would allow; took care that he should possess every comfort that the vessel contained; sung to him, played to him, and stayed beside his hammock for hours and hours, seeking to while away the tedious moments of indisposition. Oriel Porphyry having desired that he should be treated by every one as if he was his brother, instead of his attendant, Zabra found his slightest request always promptly attended to; and, though his manner was somewhat proud, as he seemed to possess abundant funds for every purpose, and gave liberally whenever he thought it was requisite, scarcely any one in the ship ever hesitated in joining in his praise.

The boy Loop got well, and he was not ungrateful. As for old Hearty, nothing could exceed his devotion to his nephew’s benefactor. To every listener he could lay hold of, he narrated at length all that he knew of the youth’s history, since he came on board: the people, rescued from the fire-ship, were in due time made familiar with every anecdote concerning him with which the old man was acquainted; and to no one were his details of more interest than to the young Australian, Ardent, who sometimes appeared to forget his own sorrows while attentive to the unpolished eloquence of the honest sailor. From this time Zabra became an object of general interest. Even Captain Compass seemed to look upon him with something like respect; Scrumpydike had ceased to entertain against him any hostile intentions; and Log, the captain’s clerk, was heard to acquiesce in the opinion of his shipmates, with an affirmative repeated with the usual supply of adjectives.

But to Oriel Porphyry the admirable qualities of his page became every day more and more apparent. In the frequent conversations that took place between them, he could not but observe the developement of a mind of the highest order. It was not a mind impregnated with the heavy spirit of bookish learning, but an intelligence of a lighter, a more graceful, and a more original nature, replete with a sweet sympathy, and a lofty enthusiasm for all that was noble, good and beautiful; and throwing over the youthful figure and handsome countenance of its possessor, a poetical and romantic character, that was both a wonder and a charm to his companion. Zabra spoke of Eureka as if he had become acquainted with her most hidden thoughts, and had been constituted their interpreter; but of himself he never spoke. When Oriel seemed desirous of learning something of his history, he appeared uneasy, and immediately attempted to turn the conversation into another channel. This was noticed; but the unwillingness of the young Creole to speak of himself, Oriel attributed to the disinclination usually shown by natural children to allude to their own illegitimacy, knowing the unreasonable and cruel prejudices of society: therefore he ceased to desire from him any information on the subject. Still, his youth,—the singular beauty of his countenance, and the strange interest it often expressed, made him imagine that there was some mystery connected with him.

As he treated Zabra with the utmost confidence, and appreciated the intelligence he evinced, Oriel Porphyry communicated to him the contents of his father’s letter.

“Your father is a noble character,” he exclaimed with fervour; “and the proudest title of which you ought to boast, is that of being his son. I never could have supposed that it was possible for such nobility to reside in a spirit devoted to the mere money-getting purposes of traffic, but I have been educated in an aristocratic school, and with its lofty principles I have imbibed some of its illiberal prejudices. I would my father had been such a one—I should not have been the fugitive I am.”

“Express no regrets, Zabra. Let it be my pleasing task to see that your fortunes are worthy of your merits;” said Oriel Porphyry, affectionately taking in his the hand of his youthful companion. “And although I have not much reason to think well of the proud Philadelphia, for his conduct has not been such as would be likely to inspire me either with affection or respect; when I think of his relationship to her whose genuine worth it is impossible not to appreciate, I cannot regard the unfavourableness of his disposition.”

“Eureka is not unmindful of your kind feelings towards her;” observed the other in a more tremulous voice than he had hitherto used. “It is her desire to deserve your affections, that has supported her under many trials. Her father is proud, but not so proud as Eureka. Yet there is an impassable gulf between the pride of the two. He would sacrifice every one around him for the immediate gratification of his own self-love: she would sacrifice all selfish considerations that interfered with the happiness of one she loved.”

“And think you I cannot honour such goodness in the manner it deserves?” asked the merchant’s son. “Let him be what he will—let his pride be as mean, and his ambition as selfish as it may, for the sake of Eureka I will endeavour to forget his unworthiness. All I hope is, that he will not attempt to force her inclinations to an alliance more pleasing to him.”

“He cannot force her inclinations—that he knows;” remarked Zabra. “He has made the attempt for the first and last time; and Eureka is now beyond his reach.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Oriel with astonishment.

“Ay!” he replied. “He thought the more completely to secure your separation from her, to hurry her into a marriage with the wealthy and powerful head of the princely house of Vermont; but the character of such a man, had no other obstacle existed, would have been sufficient to have produced in her feelings a repugnance which nothing could overpower. As it was, she indignantly refused to become a sacrifice to her father’s ambition. Her sentiments, however, on the subject, were so little regarded by him, that he made preparations to compel her to the union.”

“Ha!” exclaimed master Porphyry, “I could not have imagined such despotism in a parent.”

“Closely as she was watched,” he continued, “Eureka managed to escape from her confinement; and when she sent me to be the companion of your fortunes, she had secured for herself the asylum she required.”

“But where is she? Let me hasten to afford her the protection of which she must be so much in want!” exclaimed the impetuous Oriel; then reproachfully added, “Why, why did you not tell me this before?”

“I have obeyed my instructions;” replied the youth calmly. “It is sufficient for you to know that now she is safe, and that she is in the enjoyment of as much happiness as it is possible for her to obtain under the circumstances. Her retreat can only be made known to you when all the purposes of the present voyage are completed, and you return to Columbus.”

“But can I not communicate with her? will she not write to me?” eagerly inquired the other.

“Be satisfied that it is impossible she should forget you, and endeavour to prove to her without the aids of continual correspondence, that in your affection the same durability exists.”

“I will! I will!” cried Oriel; “I will do all she would have me. I will follow the plan my father has laid out, even to the minutest details; will try to find patience for its endurance by thinking of the blissful result with which it will be crowned. We are now approaching the southern coast of Africa,” he continued after a pause of some duration, which neither had attempted to interrupt; “and my immediate destination Caffreton, the great mart of traffic in this part of the world is the first point of my commercial voyage. My father has written me very full instructions which I have carefully studied, and you will shortly see, Zabra, how well I shall be able to play the merchant.”

They had been standing together on the deck gazing upon the world of waters before them during the preceding dialogue, and were now silently observing the progress of some distant vessels, when they were joined by the learned Professor Fortyfolios. Addressing Oriel, he said—

“That portion of land you observe yonder, rising out of the sea, is an important Cape, well known in the annals of navigation, and was called by the ancients the Cape of Good Hope. It used to be celebrated for producing an inferior wine, called Cape Wine, which being cheap, as it was worthless, was brought in considerable quantities for the purpose either of adulterating wines of a higher value, or was palmed upon the ignorant as the produce of a different vintage. The English, a people with whose history you are doubtless familiar, though not wine growers, were the greatest wine consumers of that period, and it was the immense demand for this necessary of life among that people, which the wines of Spain, Portugal, Sicily, Italy, France, Germany, and other countries, could not sufficiently supply, that brought this Cape into notice. The African wines are now remarkable for their admirable qualities. That it was the search after new liquors that sent the English into this part of the world chroniclers are not agreed, and that there were other wines produced in the same locality much superior in flavour, I think is more than probable, because I have found in the course of my reading, eloquent commendation of an African wine, called Constantia, and I have good reason for imagining that the deserts which the first voyagers of that nation met with on some portions of the coast, when they ascertained that a superior liquor was here procurable, originated the English proverb ‘Good wine needs no bush.’ However, there can be no doubt that the English planted a colony at this very Cape; gradually drove the natives from their land as they increased in power and numbers, till the whole continent from the Cape of Good Hope to Alexandria, and from Abyssinia to Senegambia, acknowledged their sway, and, in a great measure, spoke their language.”

“Truly, those English were a great people!” remarked Oriel.

“They were so,” said the Professor; “when we consider what they did, and the means they had to do it, we must acknowledge that they deserve the epithet, ‘great.’ At an early period of the world’s history, England was utterly unknown. In the times of Assyrian greatness, in the eras of Babylon, of Jerusalem, and of Troy—and in the more brilliant ages of the Greeks, the Romans, and the Carthaginians, such an island had never been heard of—scarcely two thousand years had elapsed before this speck upon the waters became the most powerful kingdom upon the earth. She had possessions in every quarter of the globe; her conquering armies had penetrated into the remotest regions, and her gallant navies had triumphed in every sea. She had given a new people and a new language to the vast continent of America; she had founded a new division of the world in Australia; she had been acknowledged the mistress of the mighty Indies; she had forced a path through deserts of perpetual ice, and found a home in the scorching heat of the torrid zone. And by this time what had become of the nations of a more remote antiquity? Of some, the localities were not to be traced; others remained a heap of stones. The Carthaginians were extinct—the free and noble Greeks had become slaves or pirates—and the daring Romans, who boasted having conquered the world, were an ignoble emasculated race, confined to a single city and its suburbs, and governed by a despotic old woman in the shape of a priest.”

“The form of government under which the people of this continent exists, is republican, I believe;” observed Master Porphyry.

“The whole is divided into a multitude of republics, some of which are always at war with one another,” replied his tutor; “and they show their idea of liberty, of which they make the most preposterous boast, by keeping up a system of slavery the most tyrannical and revolting that can be imagined.”

“Ay, ay,” exclaimed Captain Compass, coming up and joining in the conversation; “it’s the way of the world. Hear your most famous spouter about the blessings of freedom and all that sort of thing, and ten to one if you don’t find him ready to domineer over every body beneath him. When I hear a fellow mighty fine in his notions of universal liberty, I always feel pretty certain that he only wants the power to trample on the independence of all who might stand in the way of his particular enjoyments. But this is all natural enough; the feeble are monstrously indignant at the exercise of power in the hands of their rulers; but when by any accident they become powerful, they all at once see the advantages of keeping down those who are down, and in a very short time become just as despotic as those of whom they complained.”

“What vessels are these, Captain?” inquired Oriel, pointing to several ships, appearing at different distances in the open sea before them.

“Yonder vessel, whose tall masts are bending before the brisk breeze that fills her sails, is an Algerine merchantman, and has most probably a cargo of dancing masters, cooks, figurantes, and opera singers, which are as much now the chief produce of the people to whom she belongs, as they were a thousand years ago the principal exports of their progenitors. That sombre thing, with the long funnel in the centre of her deck, is very similar to the steamers of which the ancients were so proud, before an improved propelling power was discovered. She belongs to the Abyssinians—a people remarkably slow in adopting the inventions of their more civilised neighbours; she trades from the sea of Babel Mandeb to the Gulph of Guinea, sometimes touching at Madagascar, and the neighbouring islands, and carries passengers, pigs, crockery, and snuff. This rakish looking craft, flying afore the wind like a petrel in a storm, is a free trader with a rich cargo of smuggled merchandise from the continent to the Mauritius; and the big ship yonder, bearing down upon us as if she’d sink every thing that stood in her way, is a man of war belonging to the Liberians—a powerful nation of blacks. All these small fry that are starting up from every point, are merely coasting vessels—government packets,—fishing smacks—pilot boats,—pleasure yachts, and other floaters of a similar nature.”

“But what is this?” inquired Oriel, pointing to something of a very strange appearance that was seen at the distance of about three quarters of a mile, making way at a rapid rate towards the shore. They all gazed in that direction, and a most extraordinary spectacle they beheld. At first it seemed like a ball—but as it approached the ship it enlarged, and every one who saw it knew it to be a balloon. How it came there, floating on the waves by itself, many conjectured; but their surprise at its appearance was wonderfully increased, when they observed a man, with his body immersed in the waves, clinging to it, or more probably attached to its fastenings. His peril he endeavoured to make known by screams of the most piercing description; but it was not till the miserable wretch was being rapidly borne past their vessel that the people of the Albatross discovered the full extent of his danger. For at least half a mile behind him the sea was a mass of white smoking foam, which was created by nearly a hundred immense sharks following him with eager speed, lashing the waves with their tails, leaping over each other, plunging, snorting, and displaying the most ravenous desire to catch him in their enormous jaws. Sometimes the balloon ascended a little distance above the sea and then would rapidly descend, plunging the unhappy aeronaut over his head in the salt water; but while the sharks were all striving against each other to make a mouthful of his limbs, it would again ascend, floating swiftly over the surface, bearing its screaming appendant about a foot above his unrelenting pursuers, who continued to follow him struggling furiously with each other, and eagerly snapping at his limbs whenever they approached the surface of the water. It was impossible to render him any assistance, although he passed within a few yards of the ship, he was carried so swiftly along; and on he went, shrieking with agony, now high above the waves—then dashed in beneath them—then flying over the surface, with the horrid expectation of being immediately devoured by the hungry pack by whom he was pursued.

“Scrunch me, if that isn’t the most cruel chase I ever saw,” exclaimed the captain.

“These sort of accidents are not at all extraordinary,” observed Fortyfolios, “and with such things must frequently occur. Balloons are an old invention, and one the least useful for philosophical purposes of any we have received from the ancients. Attempts have been made, attended with success, to get one or several individuals borne by them from an island to an adjoining continent, and from one part of a continent to a part far remote; but as they have found it impossible to control the current of wind met with in certain elevations, and as they can seldom rely upon a current in any one direction lasting for any length of time, they have been able to rise as high as they please, but can never previously fix exactly upon the place of their descent; and it has in many instances occurred, as in the one we have just now observed, that after the aeronaut has made his ascent, a sudden wind takes him in a direction contrary to what he designed, or various currents rising unexpectedly at nearly the same time, he is shifted about to every point of the compass; and when he is obliged to descend, he finds himself floating over some unknown sea, or some wild uncultivated land, hundreds of miles from human assistance, where he is left to endure the conviction that he must either be drowned or starved. A balloon is, in fact, a toy, with which one fool amuses many.”

Nothing more was said on the subject, although the dangerous situation of the poor fellow who had attached himself to the balloon was anxiously watched as long as he remained in sight, and the imminent peril in which he was seen: his heart-rending cries, and desperate struggles, long left their unpleasant impression on the memory of all who beheld him.

The bold outline of the coast they were approaching every hour became more apparent: its singular mountain and other landmarks were seen, pointed out, and commented on. Birds flew into the rigging—weeds accumulated before the ship—and stray logs of timber, broken barrels, and pieces of wreck, were continually floating past. The character of the scenery now began to be clearly defined—the lowlands spreading out far and wide into the interior, intersected by numerous railroads, and the mountains holding up their proud heads covered with vegetation nearly to their summits. The more the country became visible, the greater was the evidence it exhibited of a high degree of cultivation, a fruitful soil, and a numerous and industrious population; and as buildings began to be made out, it was observable from their form, numbers, and disposition, that manufactures was a primary object in the estimation of the inhabitants.

“You will find these people a money-getting generation,” said the professor to his pupil: “their sole object appears to be to accumulate, and their only idea of the respectability of a person is derived from the proportion of substance he is worth. They never ask, is a man an excellent husband, an exemplary father, or an admirable citizen?—is he distinguished by the attention with which he fulfils his moral duties, or celebrated by the right application of extraordinary talents? they merely inquire how much money he has in his pockets. In fact, when they speak at all of ‘a good man,’ they allude to some individual imagined to be possessed of a certain amount of available property: money with them is every thing. Respectability means money—reputation or credit means money, and cleverness means money. Money, therefore, is the universal virtue: they who have the most are honoured the most, and they who have it not at all are considered by those who have it, although in ever so small a proportion, as being separated from their fellow-creatures by an impassable chasm, where all that is infamous is thought to dwell.”

“And yet they are considered to be a very religious people,” remarked Oriel.

“None are more regular in going to church, none are greater respecters of the ceremonies of worship, but of religion they are ignorant,” replied Fortyfolios. “Nothing can be more certain than that it is impossible that a pure morality or a sincere devotion can exist, when the heart is filled with one engrossing desire—the accumulation of capital—the very principle of which is selfishness—a feeling incompatible with the social charities of true religion.”

“But when did you ever find that any thing like true religion generally existed?” inquired the captain, in a tone approaching sarcasm. “Since the memory of man the faith of the majority has been unvaryingly orthodox, and sticks, like a lobster to its shell, to the old proverb, ‘Every one for himself, and the devil take the hindmost,’—and more absurd conduct doesn’t exist than some people exhibit, who, after having made money a standard of excellence, condemn to infamy not only those who are not possessed of it, but they who gain it by means not in exact accordance with their notions of the way it should be obtained. Scrunch me, if it don’t make one ready to heave one’s ballast overboard, when I see the homage paid to a mean-spirited scoundrel, who by chicanery, hypocrisy, avarice, and a horde of other contemptible vices, robs his fellows of a pretty handsome share of plunder; and hear the execrations heaped upon the bolder and better villain, who lays society under contributions in a more open, manly, and daring manner. They pretend to notions of honesty, too, that’s the joke. Why a fish would laugh at a thing so ridiculous. The government in their necessity take from the people, and those who can’t afford to pay they send to prison—an individual in his necessity takes from another, and the very government who set the example of appropriation punish the appropriator as an offender. Then governments plunder each other, or rather the people of each other; but when any of the people attempt to rob their governments, they judge, hang, draw and quarter the poor wretches without the slightest mercy. Honesty, forsooth! If the whole world were asked what the meaning of the word was, every man would give a different definition, and not only would each contradict the other, but every one would contradict himself. Honesty appears to be of all shapes and all sizes: it will suit all complexions—it will flavour every dish. Honesty is every thing, and yet it is nothing. It is neither fish, flesh, nor fowl—will neither sink nor swim—and is not to be touched, seen, or tasted. Honesty is every where—the greatest rogue is honest to his chosen associates—and yet it is no where, for the desire of appropriation is universal. It is a sort of ghost that only exists in the minds of the superstitious—a mirror that shows any reflection thrown upon it—a sky that all over the world can take every variety of colour. Some call it truth, and lay claim to its possession, although their lives are a continual deceit; some call it justice, and fancy themselves exceedingly just, although they would consign to eternal perdition all not exactly of their way of thinking; and some call it conscientiousness, and are satisfied with their own dealings, when, at the same time, their first thought is for their own personal gratification. But we are entering the bay, and these fellows require looking after.” So saying, he suddenly left the group, and began shouting to the crew some orders about the ship.

“Captain Compass has singular notions,” remarked the professor: “I should not feel particularly comfortable if I thought he entertained the opinions he expresses. There would be an end to all sense of moral obligations if such ideas became general.”

“Oh there is no harm in him,” replied Oriel. “He is too frank, too careless, too bold to have any evil intention. It has often appeared to me, though, that the principle we call honesty does not exist either in ourselves or in society to the extent we imagine; and believing such a state of things an evil, I have often wished, but never been able, to find a way in which it could be remedied.”

“It is an evil, undoubtedly,” here observed Doctor Tourniquet, who had for some time been an attentive but silent listener—“and there is but one way in which it can be completely removed.”

“And how is that way to be found?” inquired Oriel Porphyry.

“The cause of this want of a definite unvarying character in our notion of honesty,” said the Doctor, “may be traced to the present and past construction of society, where each individual has a separate interest, exists in a state of competition with the others, and must always be endeavouring to shape his own notions of right to his own exclusive advantage: were property a fund in common from which each might be allowed to take what he pleased—there being no individual interests, the world would be one family, and there could be no dishonesty in openly appropriating that to which he had an acknowledged right, don’t you see.”

“Preposterous!” exclaimed Fortyfolios.

“An impossible state of things, I should think,” added his pupil.

“Nothing more reasonable, and nothing more easy,” replied the Doctor. “Let every one in a community labour equally according to his physical or mental powers—every kind of labour being productive will produce every thing in abundance—this abundance having been produced must supply every want—every want being gratified at the suggestion of the inclination, there remains nothing to desire—and as all have an equal right to appropriate as much as they require for the gratification of their inclinations, by having equally, according to their abilities, assisted in producing the abundance they enjoy, no desire in which they might think fit to indulge could ever take the appearance of an act of dishonesty, don’t you see.”

“Ridiculous!” exclaimed the professor.

“But how in the present state of society can you get such notions adopted?” inquired Oriel.

“Either by educating children from the earliest age into the application of these social principles, or by constituting communities apart from the general mass, who will exist within themselves by the same manner of life, till, as the advantages of such a state of society become universally evident, it is adopted by the whole population,” said the Doctor.

“The thing has been tried times out of number,” remarked Fortyfolios, contemptuously, “and has always lingered a short time and then died, with very little regret on the part of those for whose superior happiness it was created. It is based upon an idea of equality, which idea has no personal existence in nature. No matter how carefully the young mind is schooled, there will always be some superiority somewhere. In muscular energy, in mental power, in ingenuity, in quickness of comprehension, and in the skilful adaptation of means to an end—even in the natural desires and susceptibilities—even in acquired habits of industry, and self-denial, in all societies, some will be found greater than others, and these will endeavour to rise above the equality by which they are surrounded; perhaps they will succeed, and then the homogeneousness of the community is soon destroyed; perhaps they will fail, and then their more exalted natures must be crushed down to the Procrustean bed of their associates. Equality can only be a state of general mediocrity. Could we imagine such a social organisation, what would become of the worship of superior greatness that leads men to become great? With what feelings would exist, could they exist under such circumstances, those commanding intellects whose supremacy should be acknowledged by all who love knowledge, and virtue, and humanity, at finding themselves classed with the mere breaker of the clod, a creature without an idea, whose only quality, that of strength and fitness for a certain labour, he shares with brutes and with machines; who eats and drinks, and sleeps and dies, and then makes room for another of the same class? Must they also become hewers of wood and drawers of water for the benefit of their fellows? With as much probability of a beneficial result might an attempt be made to force the ploughman, the shepherd, the mechanic, and the domestic servant, to become a sculptor, a philologist, a musician, and a philosopher.”

What Doctor Tourniquet might have replied, it is impossible now to relate, as the Albatross at that moment was boarded by the port-officers who came to examine the state of health of the ship and the cargo with which she was laden; and as she was expected shortly to drop her anchor among the shipping with which she was now surrounded, those who designed to land proceeded to make the necessary preparations.