When I was at Nantucket last summer, trying the virtue of sea-bathing
and sea-breezes, for a wearisome chronic disease, I used to resort to
every imaginable form of innocent recreation, as a relief to the pain
and ennui occasioned by my bodily indisposition. One day, as I was
sitting on one of the rocks which project into the sea, observing the
multitude of fishing craft that were plying about the island, my
attention was arrested by the very remarkable appearance of the
commander of a large whale ship. His figure was not strikingly tall or
robust; but there were an energy and determination in his look, that
seemed to turn his every sinew into iron; while, upon a closer
observation, one might read in his upright and noble countenance, a
soul of high moral bearing, and a mind unruffled by the passing
vexations of life. Such a person always awakens interest, however
transiently we may pass him; and although we may not stop, at the
time, to define our sentiments, we are struck with something like
veneration and awe, when we behold in the midst of hardship, toil, and
danger, the tranquillity which marks a mind superior to the accidents
of life. But this was not all. One acquainted with human nature, might
see under this stern exterior, the generous nature, which would scorn
to trample on the weak, or pass by the suffering. I was irresistibly
drawn to make some acquaintance with this mariner, but found some
difficulty in framing any excuse to accost one of appearance and
accent so foreign. Accident soon accomplished the introduction, for
which I had taxed my ingenuity in vain. In attempting to descend from
my eminence, my decrepid limbs refused their office, and I fell
headlong on a shoal of rocks, among which I was scrambling with much
pain, when I felt myself raised gently, but powerfully, by a muscular
arm. I turned in my distress to see by what kind hand I was assisted,
when the eye of the hardy seaman met my inquiring glance. Pity and
benevolence shone on his countenance, and I felt even in that moment
of corporeal suffering, that the kindred tie of man—yes, of
friendship, united us. His first words struck me as being of foreign
accent, but his language was that of sympathy, which is read by all
nations, and now flowed warm from the heart. After placing me
comfortably on the sand, he hastened to his boat lying near, to bring
some restoratives in which sailors have much faith. I was soon
relieved by his attentions, and desiring to make some return for his
kindness, inquired to whom I was indebted for assistance, and in what
manner I could show my gratitude. To this the stranger replied, that
the action itself brought sufficient reward, since he had been able to
relieve a fellow creature. Our acquaintance began from this time, and
I gradually drew from him a history of his past life, which had been
one of trial and adventure. His narrative was given in our own
language, which he spoke very intelligibly, having been long
conversant with our seamen.
“In early life I lost my parents, who resided in one of the trading
ports of Denmark; and with them perished my fair hopes of ease and
affluence. When about nineteen years old, my independent spirit, being
no longer contented to owe a scanty maintenance to my paternal
relatives, I joined a whaling company, that were fitting out for a
voyage in the Northern Ocean. My feelings, when I had resolved to bid
farewell, probably forever, to all the scenes of my childhood, and
break the ties that bound my youthful heart, to home, friends, and
country, and to embark in the adventurous and toilsome life of a
whaler, were melancholy enough and calculated to daunt the heart of
the bravest; but the desire of independence nerved my courage, and I
embarked in a whale ship manned by six men, and accompanied by three
other vessels of larger size. The captain and half the hands had made
the cruise before with great success, but the rest of us were raw
recruits, and suffered much from the hardships of our new mode of
life. We steered directly towards the northwest, intending to put in
at the Shetland Islands, and wait for the breaking up of the ice at
the north pole, when the whales are most abundant, following the
increased flow of the tides. We hoped to encounter many of these
monsters between these islands and Iceland, where the plan was to
refit and spend a part of the summer in preparing our freight to take
home. But how uncertain are human calculations! Our voyage was
prosperous even beyond our hopes, for some time; we passed the stormy
isles of Scotland in safety, and rode the blue billows of the
Atlantic, looking ahead with great anxiety for the objects of our
cruise. A few days only had elapsed, when some of our experienced
harpooners saw tokens of one at a distance, and all hands were set to
make ready. It is impossible to describe the excitement this notice
produced, in minds so weary of the dullness of inaction, as ours were.
The enormous animal was now manifest, from the whirlpool he had
created around him. Our boats did not venture near until his frolic
was over, and we saw his broad back even with the water. And now the
skilful seamen with unerring aim darted the harpoon, and away launched
and roared the whale, making the ocean heave with his throes; but our
darts were in him, and after he had tried our cable's length several
times, he was exhausted and became an easy conquest. This seemed a
glorious achievement to me. I was so completely enraptured with the
bold and perilous excitement, that I lost all the tender recollections
of home, and desired only to be a renowned whaler. Our successes
continued, and we mastered several whales, before we were warned that
we were coming upon the region of ice. This was indicated by a hoarse
crashing sound and a wide heaving of the sea, as if some body of
tremendous dimensions had been thrown into it. Our commander feared we
had delayed too long, and gave orders to make speedy sail for our
destined port. For some time we made good headway, and all hearts were
cheered, when, on the utmost verge of the horizon, we discerned the
faint outline of land, which we hoped would prove to be the coast of
Iceland, for which we now steered with all our press of sail. But just
at this time, while we were making observation in the direction of our
course, a moving mountain hove in view; at first like a cloud resting
on the water, but soon the wary eye of the fisherman saw it fraught
with danger, and with dread. An iceberg! an iceberg! and the panic ran
through all the ranks, for our course was right in the track of the
{429} horrific apparition. To recede was impossible, as the wind would
be against us; our utmost exertions were strained to clear the passage
in time, for before it heaved a mountain of waters, and behind it
yawned a devouring gulph. The three hours of intense interest and
uncertainty which passed, seemed like one moment drawn out to
eternity. But we did clear its track so as to receive only a slight
shock. As soon as the danger was over a reaction followed, almost too
great for human nature; our nerves from being strained to their utmost
tension, were suddenly relaxed to the weakness of infancy; our first
desires were for stimulants which threw us into wild excitement; and
our ships exhibited one scene of revelry and recklessness. In this
situation we rushed unconsciously on a reef of rocks from which escape
seemed impossible. We were already in pitchy darkness, driving among
the breakers, which we heard with still greater force roaring ahead.
It evidently appeared that we had forsaken our passage, and were on an
unknown coast where shipwreck and death awaited us. This was the
situation of our ship; we could not hear a sound from the other
vessels amidst the roar of waters, but we supposed that they also were
beating on rocks from which it was impossible to move them. Daylight
only was necessary to confirm our despair, and its first rays shone on
a scene of horror too great for utterance. We beheld our ship just in
the jaws of destruction, while the other three had cleared a passage,
and were free of the rocks, but dared not come within the force of the
breakers. In vain we held out the signal of distress; in vain they
lowered their boats and attempted to stem the whirlpool. Instant
destruction would have been their fate. I saw my companions clinging
to the broken masts and spars; but I made no effort: I sunk under the
impending weight of that power whose bounty and mercy I had forgotten
or despised in my days of prosperity, and whose incensed justice and
vengeance I was now to feel.
“In this state of mind, I rose up and looked calmly upon the raging
deep, feeling that the ‘sweat of its great agony’ was tranquillity to
the vortex that awaited me. One after another of the men were carried
off, as the ship split to pieces, but I remained, with two others, on
a part of the bows, which seemed rivetted to the rock. I thought a few
hours at most must terminate our existence, as the waves were gaining
upon our remaining planks. My fellow sufferers clung to life with the
tenacity of drowning men; they ascended our quivering mast, to see if
any human habitations were discernible on this unknown coast, but
nothing was visible but a girdle of steep rocks. While they were
straining their vision, and in the wildness of desperation piercing
the loud clamor of the waters with their shrieks, three little specks
appeared in the direction of the shore; they gradually came nearer,
until we perceived they were fishing-boats, each guided by two men. My
companions besought me to unite with them in making every possible
signal of distress. Our signals were understood, and we soon saw that
their object was to rescue us, for they held out a token of
recognition, and rowed fast until they came within the whirl of the
tides, which obliged them to fall back and try another channel. We
could distinctly see that they were baffled in every attempt and
almost ready to abandon us; when one of their number, with skill
nearly superhuman, darted his boat between two pointed rocks, in so
narrow a passage that we expected to see it dashed to pieces every
moment. But his fearless courage bore him through—the next instant he
sprung on our shattered planks, drew a few hurried breaths, and then
informed us, in the dialect of our own land, that they had seen our
signals while out fishing, and had come to our relief; but at the same
time told us of the danger we must run of being dashed to pieces, in
attempting to steer through the breakers. ‘But,’ said he, ‘we will
trust in God and do our best; keep up a good heart, I will lash you
firmly to the boat, and if you will put your hope in the Almighty
Deliverer in time of peril, I will try to save you.’ He then looked
fixedly in our faces to see whether we agreed to the conditions; my
companions without hesitation answered, that they would venture; death
was inevitable if they remained. But I, though fearing death most of
all, could not resolve to feign, what I did not feel, _trust and hope
in God_; on the contrary, I felt that his every attribute was justly
arrayed against me. In anguish, I exclaimed, ‘leave me to perish, God
is my enemy—I shall sink from this gulph into a lower.’ ‘Sinful dying
man,’ he said, ‘would you set bounds to the mercy of the Lord? Cry,
rather, Lord, save me or I perish, for now is the accepted time, this
is the day of salvation.’ I caught the inspiration that glowed on his
tongue—I seized his hand, saying, ‘I am ready.’ In a few moments his
little boat was amidst the boiling surge, sometimes lost in the
tumultuous waves, but the mariner grasped the helm with a firm hand,
and shot through the jagged rocks with the rapidity of lightning. Our
deliverance was hailed by the other boats with a shout of joy, which
was returned by us with all our remaining strength. Our kind
deliverers perceiving our bodies and spirits exhausted by the combined
suffering of fear, cold, and hunger, cheered us with the warmest
expressions of sympathy, and the hope of speedily enjoying all the
comforts of their hospitable homes. They steered their boats into a
little sheltered bay surrounded by overhanging hills. As we approached
the shore, they informed us that it was the coast of their own dear
Iceland, whose snow-capt mountains and green valleys, they would not
exchange for any other spot in creation.
“As I breathed its pure atmosphere, and pressed the young verdure
which was just appearing from beneath the mantle of snow, which had
shrouded it for many long months, I felt as if I were treading the
unsullied shores of a better world. Our good fisherman conducted our
failing footsteps over the wild and slippery rocks into a beautiful
valley. The frosts which had locked up nature during the long winter,
had yielded to the influence of the returning sun, which sent the
rejoicing current through the veins of every living thing. The stunted
trees put on their garniture of green in token of joy, the lichens and
mosses brightened in the genial ray, and all blended in a smile of
love and gratitude. We reached the cottage of the fisherman, sheltered
by overhanging rocks on one side, from the icy winds; and were
welcomed by its inmates with the looks and offices of kindness. They
consisted of a mother and three children. The countenance of the
former, notwithstanding the national peculiarity of features, was
pleasing, expressing both intelligence and benevolence. {430} The
oldest of her offspring was a girl of extremely prepossessing
appearance. You would not, perhaps, in your country, call her
beautiful, for she had not the slender figure and the delicate
features which you associate with the idea of female loveliness; but
the laughing blue eye lighted up with its beam, a face which seemed
the mirror of her heart; her cheek was now mantled with rosy smiles,
now moistened with the tear of sympathy or affection. Her hair was
light, scarcely tinged with the sunny glow, but it was in unison with
her fair complexion, and curled slightly around a neck of transparent
whiteness. Her age might be fourteen, but there was so much childish
gaiety in her manner, that you would have supposed her much younger.
Her brothers were manly, noble looking boys, several years younger
than herself. Never shall I forget the compassionate look with which
the matron placed a seat near the warm fire, while with gentle voice
she chid the curiosity of her little group, saying, ‘the stranger is
cold and tired, and we must do all we can to make him comfortable.’
They instantly retreated—but the two oldest hung over her shoulder,
earnestly whispering in her ear. I guessed that I was the subject of
their discourse, by hearing the mother reply in a low voice—‘Yes
Ulea, you may run and milk Minny, and Korner, get the potatoes ready,
and the fish too. By the time you return, he will be dry and warm, I
hope.’ With delighted countenances, they shot out of the cottage, and
the good woman busied herself in mending up the fire, and spreading a
couch of soft skins, on which she invited me to rest my weary limbs. I
attempted to speak my gratitude to heaven, and to her, but the words
were stifled by the strength of my feelings, which gushed out in
tears. She seemed to understand the nature of my emotions. Her tone
was soothing and encouraging. ‘God is good,’ she said, ‘and not only
saves us in perils, but provides a table in the desert. He puts it in
the hearts of strangers to show kindness, and makes us feel that we
are all brethren, the children of his care and bounty.’ ‘How,’ said I;
‘in this remote spot of creation, have you learned these heavenly
precepts?’ ‘Our lives,’ she answered, ‘are crowned with blessings, and
the greatest of all is, that of our dear missionary, who guides our
erring footsteps in the way of duty, as he points our hopes to a
brighter world.’ While she was speaking, Ulea returned, exclaiming,
‘Ah! mother, Minny seemed to know how much haste I was in, for she
stood right still; and here is Korner too, with the fish and
potatoes—let us set the dinner for the poor stranger.’ In a few
moments the repast was on the table, and I had scarcely taken the seat
provided, before my young hosts pressed me to eat of one and another
dish, telling me that ‘this was the richest milk because Minny gave
it, and these fish were taken by Korner's green rocks.’ I had scarcely
finished a hearty meal, when Holstein (for that was the name of the
good fisherman) came in, attended by our other deliverers and my two
comrades, who having received their hospitality, came with them to
consult whether any attempt could be made to save what remained on the
wreck. Holstein thought it probable no vestige of the wreck itself was
left. But the other fishermen said it might have drifted over the
rocks, and still contain something valuable. Under this possibility we
followed our conductors to the scene of destruction; but we found it
as Holstein had predicted; only a scattered plank here and there
marked the place of ruin. Emotions of awe and gratitude filled my
soul, when I beheld the vortex from which heaven had rescued us; but
my fellow sufferers evinced mortification and disappointment, when
their last hope was extinguished, and they saw themselves thrown on
the charity of strangers, even for a change of raiment. This was
particularly observable in the manner of Osman, a young adventurer,
who had joined our expedition from a romantic turn for novelty and
excitement. He was a singular compound of opposite qualities;
sometimes exhibiting the hardihood and bold daring of his father, who
was a Dane, then all the impassioned sentiment joined with the
frivolity of an Italian, which he was on his mother's side. Since
there remained nothing more to feed this adventurous excitement, his
mind seemed to dwell on the loss he had sustained, particularly that
of his wardrobe and musical instruments. Notwithstanding the occasion,
which was fit to call forth only feelings of a solemn nature, I could
not help being interested for him, when I heard him bewailing the loss
of these resources of dress and music.
“His person was very striking, calculated to engage the attention of a
stranger. A tall and graceful figure was united to a face of perfect
symmetry, over which the light of full dark hazel eyes shone in
alternate fire and softness. Until this time I had only observed him
under passions of another kind, and was astonished at the pathetic
strains in which he mourned over the extinction of his prospects. The
fishermen endeavored in their sincere but homely language to comfort
him, proffering the only help in their power—a share in their fishing
spoils and a passage to Denmark, when another whaling expedition
should visit the island. His youth and apparent sensibility interested
us all in his favor, and induced us to do all in our power to promote
his happiness.
“It was concluded that we should each remain with our hosts, and
assist in such labor as we were able to do, in making preparations for
a fishing cruise. I became more and more attached to the dear members
of Holstein's family. Their daily avocations were simple and homely,
but their minds were pure and elevated, deriving their highest
enjoyments from the contemplation of a better world.
“Ulea engaged much of my interest. She was at that most pleasing of
all ages, when we see the simplicity of childhood blended with the
thoughts and reflections of a riper age; when the heedless word is
followed by the conscious blush, and we love while we rebuke the
tongue that speaks all the heart feels.
“Time glided pleasantly away, even in Iceland. We spent the evenings
and inclement days in cheerful recreation, or in reading; which is a
great, and almost universal resource among these Icelanders: it is
thus they pass their long wintry nights—one ‘making vocal the poetic,
or historic page.’
“Osman became our constant and welcome visitor. He constructed an
instrument, on which he made very sweet music; and frequently sung the
sentimental airs of his country. This, joined to his talent for wild
and impassioned recitation, charmed the listening ear of all, but it
vibrated to the heart of Ulea. Her delight did not show itself like
her brother's in noisy ecstacy, but {431} her eyes filled with tears,
and her heart throbbed with silent emotion. ‘Mother,’ she would say,
‘Osman's singing reminds me of what I have heard about the harps of
the angels.’ ‘It is pretty, my child, but I had rather hear the
fisherman's welcome home.’ ‘That, mother, is because our father sings
it. But when Osman sings I think of a happier world than this.’ ‘You
are mistaken, my dear, if you think Osman's songs have any thing good
in them. I have listened to them, and I think they are only calculated
to make people discontented with what God has allotted them, and to
fill the mind with foolish fancies.’ ‘Ah! mother, how can you wonder
that his songs are melancholy, when he is far away from all that he
loves, and that he has nothing to console him for the beautiful world
he has left! You know he loves to climb our steep rocks, to see the
sun go down behind Hecla. I did not know how grand our volcano could
look, until he pointed to it, as the sun's last beams rested on its
snowy scalp. Then he told me of Italy his country, where the mountains
are crowned with snow, while flowers blow in the valleys—birds sing in
the branches of trees, which bear golden fruit—the air is filled with
the fragrance that breathes from the vineyards, and the bowers that
never wither. Then there are temples in every grove, and the ruins of
ancient cities, which people come to visit from every country. Do you
wonder that he was happy in that lovely land?’ ‘No doubt, the
inhabitants have much to be thankful for; but not more than we have.
Would you, Ulea, be willing to exchange our own loved island for
Italy, with all its charms?’ ‘No, dear mother, but I only wish Iceland
was like it.’ ‘This is a vain, and I fear a sinful thought, and I
shall tell Osman, when you walk with him again, to talk of something
more profitable.’
“The fishermen were generally occupied in building or refitting boats
for the approaching expedition, in which they were assisted by our
hardy comrade, while Osman and myself were left to occupy or amuse
ourselves as we chose. I remarked the gradual influence he was gaining
over the unconscious heart of the young Ulea. I mourned over it, for I
feared that he was incapable of a deep and lasting attachment. I saw
that her family were blinded by their artless confidence, to the
insidious poison that threatened to destroy their happiness. I could
not bear to be the first to interrupt their peace. What should I do? I
revolved in my mind the whole affair, and at last resolved that I
would watch the conduct of Osman narrowly, and without being
suspected, penetrate the secret of his soul. With this design I
mingled more frequently in his pleasures, joined the little circle
when he descanted on the scenes of his early life—beautiful Italy!
whose charms were always associated with female loveliness, whose
atmosphere breathed of love. This was the theme of his glowing
narration, and his dark eye seemed to catch inspiration from the
kindling blush of Ulea. After he had sung one or two of the most
melting Italian airs, I was roused from my ruminating fit by Ulea's
remarking—‘Steinkoff has grown very silent of late. Osman's songs, I
believe, make him sad.’ ‘Quite otherwise,’ I replied, ‘and if he will
listen, I will sing a song of the olden time myself.’ They exclaimed
in one voice, ‘he will, he shall!’ ‘No need for compulsion,’ he said,
‘I will hear it with pleasure.’ Without prelude I began—
Soon as the wintry blasts were o'er,
The maiden roamed the vale,
To hear the cheerful robin pour
His sweet notes on the gale.
Then he, the faithless-hearted knight,
Told of his own lov'd bowers,
Where birds sing in the chequered light
To the bright opening flowers.
And when the light of parting day
Gleamed on the distant hill,
She climbed the steep and rocky way,
Or lingered by the rill.
Then he, the faithless-hearted knight,
Sung of that region bland,
Where sunset paints with golden light,
The skies, the sea, the land.
When down the long, long night let fall
Her curtains o'er the earth,
And nature lay in silence, all
Beneath the pall of death.
Then he, the faithless-hearted knight,
Spoke of his country fair—
How the moon walks heaven in silv'ry light,
And the breath of flowers, is the air.
And he whispered the tale of love in her ear,
And the maiden, believing his truth,
Left the home of her childhood, but sorrow and care
Fled with her, and faded her youth.
I kept my eye on Osman: I wished to read his conscience. As the strain
proceeded, his glance met mine; he saw my suspicions. Conscious that
they were well founded, his countenance fell—he bit his lip in anger,
and revenge fired his blood. Far differently was the innocent heart of
Ulea wrought on. ‘I could weep,’ she said ‘for the poor maiden. Who
would have thought the fair spoken knight would be false? But I hope
it is only a tale of the olden time, fair and false as the lover of
whom it sings.’ ‘It may be so,’ I said; ‘but let it serve as a warning
to young maidens, how they listen to tales of love.’ Osman left the
cottage while I was speaking. I saw the dark cloud lower on his brow,
and I resolved to bring him to an acknowledgment of his passion, while
he was under the influence of resentment—an unguarded hour with us
all. I found him walking hurriedly, and muttering the words, ‘Villain,
he shall pay dearly for this insult.’ I accosted him in a calm voice.
I told him that my design was not to irritate or insult him, but to
warn him in time of the danger of a passion which was growing upon
himself daily, while he could not be insensible to the influence he
was gaining over the affections of an unsuspecting girl. ‘And how does
it concern you, cold hearted wretch,’ he exclaimed, ‘that I have
excited the sympathy, the love of the only amiable being on this
desolate island? Know, that love scorns the interference of such
meddlers. It is enough that we can trust each other, and woe be to him
who gives his counsel unadvisedly.’ With these last words he raised
his arm in menace. ‘Osman,’ I replied, ‘you know I am superior to your
threats. Unless you openly declare your love to the parents of Ulea, I
shall consider myself bound to guard her from your arts.’ ‘Beware,’ he
exclaimed, ‘how you injure me with her, or this dagger drinks your
blood.’ Saying this, he strode away, and I returned with a heavy heart
to the cottage. Not that I was personally afraid of Osman; I never
feared the arm of man: but I had a {432} trying office to perform—to
destroy the confidence of an amiable family, to show them that they
had cherished in their bosoms a serpent, instead of a friend. It was
evident that Osman wished to conceal his passion even from her who was
the object of it. I determined before another interview, to endeavor
to awaken her to the impropriety and danger of giving any
encouragement to his attentions. The following day he did not come as
usual. ‘How long the day seems,’ said Korner, ‘when Osman does not
come. Ulea thinks so too, for she has not spoken a word to-day.’ ‘I
have been thinking,’ replied Ulea, ‘that he looked last night as if
something disturbed him. Did you observe him, Steinkoff? I hope
nothing has happened.’ I said in a low tone, ‘Nothing, I believe.
Suppose we walk: perhaps we may meet him.’ She sprang forward,
animated with the hope; and we followed the winding path by which he
generally came. I proposed that we should see which of us could first
attain the top of a picturesque eminence which hung over our path, and
from which there was a fine view of the neighboring cottages. She
readily consented to make the trial, and arriving at the goal first,
exultingly chid my loitering steps. She little knew that my real
motive was to obtain a private interview with her. I began by saying,
‘Osman's gait is fleeter than mine, Ulea.’ ‘O yes,’ she said, ‘I shall
never forget the charming evening we came here together;’ and a bright
smile irradiated her features. ‘His society is fascinating, but it may
be dangerous to you. Already he has given you a distaste to the
pleasures of your childhood, and he has presented in their place the
attractions of an ideal world. Beware how you lend your pure and
unsuspecting ear to the seductive charms of his conversation. He has
confessed to me that he loves you; that you are the only being in this
island that has power to interest him.’ ‘Oh! Steinkoff, ought you not
rather to pity than to blame him? He has told me, that were it not for
me, he would end his miserable existence—that every one else looks
coldly on him. How can I think unkindly of him? He would protect me
against all harm. When I told him of my cousin Ormond, who would not
go into the far Greenland seas, until my father promised him that his
little pet Ulea, should be his when he returned, he only said, May
that day be distant, for then you will not care for Osman. And he
asked me if I should be quite happy when I should be Ormond's wife.’
‘And what was your answer?’ I asked anxiously. ‘I did not answer at
all; because I have not seen him for a long time, and he seems like a
stranger to me—I wish not to think of it now.’ I could no longer
repress my indignation. ‘My dear girl,’ I said, ‘trust Osman no
further, he will destroy your peace, your innocence. I know him well;
for present gratification he would not scruple to involve your whole
family in wretchedness. I say this, because I will not see impending
ruin coming on the child of my benefactor, if I can avert it.’ I saw
Ulea start, while surprise and terror were painted on her countenance.
I turned to ascertain the cause, and beheld Osman within a few steps
of me. ‘Wretch,’ he cried, ‘have you dared to betray me? Revenge has
nerved my arm, and my sword shall drink your blood, even were the form
I love best between us.’ At that instant he rushed upon me; but fury
blinded his sight, and his weapon missed its aim. This redoubled his
wrath; he prepared for another thrust, and my superior muscular
strength could not have saved me from the mortal stroke, had not Ulea
in a phrenzy of despair, thrown herself between us, and received in
her side the stab that was intended for me. Time can never efface the
horror of that moment, when I saw her fall under the murderous stroke,
and the red current pouring from her side. ‘Monster!’ I exclaimed,
‘you have verified your threat. Would to God, this were my heart's
blood instead of hers!’
“I raised the lifeless girl—I pressed her to my bosom. In the agony of
my soul I entreated her to speak—to say that she forgave me. But all
was silent, save the ebbing pulsations of her heart. Osman had fled
the moment he saw what he had done. How should I obtain assistance, or
even get a little water to revive her, if life was not extinct?
Necessity is fruitful of invention—I lifted the pale form, and
hastened to a near rivulet—I bathed her temples—I staunched the blood
with the cooling current, and bound the wound with my handkerchief. I
heard a faint sigh—I thought it was her last. Imagine my joy, when she
opened her eyes, awaking as from a long sleep. I whispered, ‘Speak
not, it will exhaust you; I will carry you home—you will soon be
better.’ She cast her eyes towards heaven, to signify that her home
would soon be there. I was advancing with a quick step, when I heard
the voices of the children in search of us. They stopt their merry
gambols, and stood in amazement. I broke the silence by telling them
that Ulea was very ill, that they must run home and tell their mother
not to be alarmed, but endeavor as soon as possible to prepare a
cordial and a bed, for I should reach the cottage in a few minutes. I
hoped this would be some preparation for what was to follow. The
mother met me at the door, with a look of anguish and of doubt. I
motioned to her to be silent, while we administered some of the
restorative: we then laid Ulea on the bed. I watched by her a few
moments, and seeing she had fallen into a gentle sleep, I took the
hand of the agonized mother, whose suppressed sobs shook her whole
frame. I supported her to a retired spot, where the burst of her grief
might be unheard by the languid sufferer.
“I paused to gather firmness for the disclosure; I lifted up my heart
to heaven for assistance. She seized my hand convulsively—‘Tell me
all—but my heart anticipates it before you speak. Oh Steinkoff! it is
the hand of man, yes, of a trusted villain, that has dealt the blow.
My soul has labored under a mysterious weight this day—unseen but
impending evil hung over me. Oh my God! prepare me to drink the bitter
cup, and to trust in thee though thou slay me.’
“I related all—my suspicions of Osman—my conversation with him, the
threat he had given, and then all the incidents of the sad
catastrophe. ‘Oh my child!’ exclaimed the transported parent, ‘art
thou then guiltless? has he not laid mine honor in the dust? If not, I
can bear all.’ I concluded by encouraging her to hope the wound was
not mortal, and that speedy medical aid might relieve it.
“Korner was immediately despatched for his father, and the nearest
physician. We then returned to Ulea, whom we found still sleeping, but
uneasily. Her mother kissed her forehead; she waked smiling, and said,
‘Oh, mother! are you here? I thought I was passing through a dark
valley to the bright world you have so {433} often described to us.
And I was not at all afraid, for a light guided me safely through. Do
you know what it was? _I_ do—it was whispered to my heart—it was the
Saviour's presence! Mother, you must not weep; I rejoice, because I
feel that it will be so. O! yes, I shall soon join the song of the
angels—much sweeter than that I used to dream of. Mother, my heart is
sinful—I loved to hear of the beauty and love of this world; but that
is all passed away now. I hope God will forgive him who wished to lead
me astray—and you, Steinkoff, my guardian angel on earth, with what
joy shall I welcome you there.’ She saw my emotion—it excited her own:
the effect I dreaded followed—the blood gushed out from her side, and
she swooned away.
“Her father arrived, attended by the doctor; the last with heartfelt
sorrow assured us, that all attempts to revive her were useless—that
the slumber of death was even now on the gentle girl. The father, in
his desolation of soul, sought the throne of mercy, and we united in
committing the spirit of the beloved one to the Shepherd of Israel,
and prayed that ‘his rod and staff might comfort and support her.’ Her
freed spirit winged its flight, just as the sun's last rays gleamed on
her pillow, which all with uplifted hearts blessed as the omen of that
spirit's future happiness.
“We sorrowed, but not as those without hope. What saith the scripture?
‘The hope of the righteous is as an anchor of the soul, sure and
steadfast.’
“I assisted in depositing the beautiful clay in the earth, and planted
over it the evergreen fir. It was a dear spot to me, and as long as I
remained on the island I resorted to it, to commune with the image of
her who was once the animating spirit of all that surrounded me.
“Soon after her death, an opportunity offered for my return to
Denmark. I embraced it, promising, if circumstances should ever induce
me to visit Iceland, that I would seek the hospitable mansion of
Holstein. I never saw Osman again, but I was told by the owner of a
boat on the coast, that he had been seen on the night of the fatal
encounter, to leap into a fishing craft lying on the beach, and
disappear.
“Thus I have given you some particulars connected with my past life. I
have rushed into busy scenes—I have tried to forget my own sorrows in
relieving the distresses of others—but in vain; the image of that
bleeding form haunts me. I long for the hour when the kind hand of
death shall blot the recollection forever from my memory.”