The first half hour that Francisco was on this desolate spot he watched
the receding schooner: his thoughts were unconnected and vague.
Wandering through the various scenes which had passed on the decks of
that vessel, and recalling to his memory the different characters of
those on board of her, much as he had longed to quit her--disgusted as
he had been with those with whom he had been forced to associate--still,
as her sails grew fainter and fainter to his view, as she increased her
distance, he more than once felt that even remaining on board of her
would have been preferable to his present deserted lot. "No, no!"
exclaimed he, after a little further reflection, "I had rather perish
here, than continue to witness the scenes which I have been forced to
behold."
He once more fixed his eyes upon her white sails, and then sat down on
the loose sand, and remained in deep and melancholy reverie until the
scorching heat reminded him of his situation; he afterwards rose and
turned his thoughts upon his present situation, and to what would be the
measures most advisable to take. He hauled his little boat still
farther on the beach, and attached the painter to one of the oars, which
he fixed deep in the sand; he then proceeded to survey the bank, and
found that but a small portion was uncovered at high water; for trifling
as was the rise of the tide, the bank was so low that the water flowed
almost over it. The most elevated part was not more than fifteen feet
above high-water mark, and that was a small knoll of about fifty feet in
circumference.
To this part he resolved to remove his effects: he returned to the boat,
and having lifted out his chest, the water, the provisions, with the
other articles which he had obtained, he dragged them up, one by one,
until they were all collected at the spot he had chosen. He then took
out of the boat the oars and little sail, which, fortunately, had
remained in her. His last object, to haul the little boat up to the
same spot, was one which demanded all his exertion; but, after
considerable fatigue, he contrived, by first lifting round her bow, and
then her stern, to effect his object.
Tired and exhausted, he then repaired to one of the breakers of water
and refreshed himself. The heat, as the day advanced, had become
intolerable; but it stimulated him to fresh exertion. He turned over
the boat, and contrived that the bow and stern should rest upon two
little hillocks, so as to raise it above the level of the sand beneath
it two or three feet; he spread out the sail from the keel above, with
the thole-pins as pegs, so as to keep off the rays of the sun. Dragging
the breakers of water and the provisions underneath the boat, he left
his chest outside; and having thus formed for himself a sort of covering
which would protect him from the heat of the day and the damp of the
night, he crept in, to shelter himself until the evening.
Although Francisco had not been on deck, he knew pretty well whereabouts
he then was. Taking out a chart from his chest, he examined the coast
to ascertain the probable distance which he might be from any prospect
of succour. He calculated that he was on one of a patch of sand-banks
off the coast of Loango, and about seven hundred miles from the Isle of
St. Thomas--the nearest place where he might expect to fall in with a
European face. From the coast he felt certain that he could not be more
than forty or fifty miles at the most; but could he trust himself among
the savage natives who inhabited it? He knew how ill they had been
treated by Europeans; for at that period, it was quite as common for the
slave-trader to land and take away the inhabitants as slaves by force,
as to purchase them in the more northern territories: still, he might be
fortunate enough to fall in with some trader on the coast, as there were
a few who still carried on a barter for gold-dust and ivory.
We do not know--we cannot conceive a situation much more deplorable than
the one we have just described to have been that of Francisco. Alone--
without a chance of assistance--with only a sufficiency of food for a
few days, and cut off from the rest of his fellow-creatures, with only
so much _terra firma_ as would prevent his being swallowed up by the
vast, unfathomable ocean, into which the horizon fell on every side
around him! And his chance of escape how small! Hundreds of miles from
any from whom he might expect assistance, and the only means of reaching
them a small boat--a mere cockleshell, which the first rough gale would
inevitably destroy.
Such, indeed, were the first thoughts of Francisco; but he soon
recovered from his despondency. He was young, courageous, and buoyant
with hope; and there is a feeling of pride--of trust in our own
resources and exertions, which increases and stimulates us in proportion
to our danger and difficulty; it is the daring of the soul, proving its
celestial origin and eternal duration.
So intense was the heat that Francisco almost panted for sufficient air
to support life, as he lay under the shade of the boat during the whole
of that day; not a breath of wind disturbed the glassy wave--all nature
appeared hushed into one horrible calm. It was not until the shades of
night were covering the solitude that Francisco ventured forth from his
retreat; but he found little relief; there was an unnatural closeness in
the air--a suffocation unusual even in those climes. Francisco cast his
eyes up to the vault of heaven, and was astonished to find that there
were no stars visible--a grey mist covered the whole firmament. He
directed his view downwards to the horizon, and that, too, was not to be
defined; there was a dark bank all around it. He walked to the edge of
the sand-bank; there was not even a ripple--the wide ocean appeared to
be in a trance, in a state of lethargy or stupor.
He parted the hair from his feverish brow, and once more surveying the
horrible, lifeless, stagnant waste, his soul sickened, and he cast
himself upon the sand. There he lay for many hours in a state bordering
upon wild despair. At last he recovered himself, and, rising to his
knees, he prayed for strength and submission to the will of Heaven.
When he was once more upon his feet, and had again scanned the ocean, he
perceived that there was a change rapidly approaching. The dark bank on
the horizon had now risen higher up; the opaqueness was everywhere more
dense; and low murmurs were heard, as if there was wind stirring aloft,
although the sea was still glassy as a lake. Signs of some movement
about to take place were evident, and the solitary youth watched and
watched. And now the sounds increased, and here and there a wild thread
of air--whence coming, who could tell? and as rapidly disappearing--
would ruffle, for a second, a portion of the stagnant sea. Then came
whizzing sounds and moans, and then the rumbling noise of distant
thunder--loud and louder yet--still louder--a broad black line is seen
sweeping along the expanse of water--fearful in its rapidity it comes!--
and the hurricane burst, at once and with all its force, and all its
terrific sounds, upon the isolated Francisco.
The first blast was so powerful and so unexpected that it threw him
down, and prudence dictated to him to remain in that position, for the
loose sand was swept off and whirled in such force as to blind and
prevent his seeing a foot from him; he would have crawled to the boat
for security, but he knew not in which direction to proceed. But this
did not last; for now the water was borne up upon the strong wings of
the hurricane, and the sand was rendered firm by its saturation with the
element.
Francisco felt that he was drenched, and he raised his head. All he
could discover was, that the firmament was mantled with darkness,
horrible from its intensity, and that the sea was in one extended foam--
boiling everywhere, and white as milk--but still smooth, as if the power
of the wind had compelled it to be so; but the water had encroached, and
one half the sand-bank was covered with it, while over the other the
foam whirled, each portion chasing the other with wild rapidity.
And now the windows of heaven were opened, and the rain, mingled with
the spray caught up by the hurricane, was dashed and hurled upon the
forlorn youth, who still lay where he had been first thrown down. But
of a sudden, a wash of water told him that he could remain there no
longer: the sea was rising--rising fast; and before he could gain a few
paces on his hands and knees, another wave, as if it chased him in its
wrath, repeated the warning of his extreme danger, and he was obliged to
rise on his feet and hasten to the high part of the sand-bank, where he
had drawn up his boat and his provisions.
Blinded as he was by the rain and spray, he could distinguish nothing.
Of a sudden, he fell violently; he had stumbled over one of the breakers
of water, and his head struck against a sea-chest. Where, then, was the
boat? It was gone!--it must have been swept away by the fury of the
wind. Alas, then, all chance was over! and, if not washed away by the
angry waters, he had but to prolong his existence but a few days, and
then to die. The effect of the blow he had received on his forehead,
with the shock of mind occasioned by the disappearance of the boat,
overpowered him, and he remained for some time in a state of
insensibility.
When Francisco recovered, the scene was again changed: the wide expanse
was now in a state of wild and fearful commotion, and the water roared
as loud as did the hurricane. The whole sand-bank, with the exception
of that part on which he stood, was now covered with tumultuous foam,
and his place of refuge was occasionally invaded, when some vast mass,
o'erlording the other waves, expended all its fury, even to his feet.
Francisco prepared to die!
But gradually the darkness of the heavens disappeared, and there was no
longer a bank upon the horizon, and Francisco hoped--alas! hoped what?--
that he might be saved from the present impending death to be reserved
for one still more horrible; to be saved from the fury of the waves,
which would swallow him up, and in a few seconds remove him from all
pain and suffering, to perish for want of sustenance under a burning
sun; to be withered--to be parched to death--calling in his agony for
water; and as Francisco thought of this he covered his face with his
hands, and prayed, "Oh, God, thy will be done! but in thy mercy, raise,
still higher raise the waters!"
But the waters did not rise higher. The howling of the wind gradually
decreased, and the foaming seas had obeyed the Divine injunction--they
had gone so far, but no farther! And the day dawned, and the sky
cleared: and the first red tints, announcing the return of light and
heat, had appeared on the broken horizon, when the eyes of the
despairing youth were directed to a black mass on the tumultuous waters.
It was a vessel, with but one mast standing, rolling heavily, and
running before the gale right on for the sand-bank where he stood; her
hull, one moment borne aloft and the next disappearing from his view in
the hollow of the agitated waters. "She will be dashed to pieces!"
thought Francisco; "she will be lost!--they cannot see the bank!" And
he would have made a signal to her, if he had been able, to warn her of
her danger, forgetting at the time his own desolate situation.
As Francisco watched, the sun rose, bright and joyous over this scene of
anxiety and pain. On came the vessel, flying before the gale, while the
seas chased her as if they would fain overwhelm her. It was fearful to
see her scud--agonising to know that she was rushing to destruction.
At last he could distinguish those on board. He waved his hand, but
they perceived him not; he shouted, but his voice was borne away by the
gale. On came the vessel, as if doomed. She was within two cables'
length of the bank when those on board perceived their danger. It was
too late!--they had rounded her to--another, and another wave hurled her
towards the sand. She struck!--her only remaining mast fell over the
side, and the roaring waves hastened to complete their work of
destruction and of death!