the ear from being deafened by the noise of its waters, and sufficiently
near for the enjoyment of their view, their coolness, and their murmurs.
Thither, amidst the heats of summer, Madame de la Tour, Margaret, Virginia,
Paul, and myself sometimes repaired, and dined beneath the shadow of the
rock. Virginia, who always directed her most ordinary actions to the good
of others, never ate of any fruit without planting the seed or kernel in
the ground. 'From this,' said she, 'trees will come, which will give their
fruit to some traveller, or at least to some bird.' One day having eaten of
the papaw fruit, at the foot of that rock she planted the seeds. Soon after
several papaws sprung up, amongst which was one that yielded fruit. This
tree had risen but a little from the ground at the time of Virginia's
departure; but its growth being rapid, in the space of two years it had
gained twenty feet of height, and the upper part of its stem was encircled
with several layers of ripe fruit. Paul having wandered to that spot, was
delighted to see that this lofty tree had arisen from the small seed
planted by his beloved friend; but that emotion instantly gave place to a
deep melancholy, at this evidence of her long absence. The objects which we
see habitually do not remind us of the rapidity of life; they decline
insensibly with ourselves; but those which we behold again, after having
for some years lost sight of them, impress us powerfully with the idea of
that swiftness with which the tide of our days flows on. Paul was no less
overwhelmed and affected at the sight of this great papaw tree, loaded with
fruit, than is the traveller, when, after a long absence from his own
country, he finds not his contemporaries, but their children, whom he left
at the breast, and whom he sees are become fathers of families. Paul
sometimes thought of hewing down the tree, which recalled too sensibly the
distracted image of that length of time which had clasped since the
departure of Virginia. Sometimes, contemplating it as a monument of her
benevolence, he kissed its trunk, and apostrophised it in terms of the most
passionate regret; and, indeed I have myself gazed upon it with more
emotion and more veneration than upon the triumphal arches of Rome.
"At the foot of this papaw I was always sure to meet with Paul when he came
into our neighbourhood. One day, when I found him absorbed in melancholy,
we had a conversation, which I will relate to you, if I do not weary you by
my long digressions; perhaps pardonable to my age and my last friendships.
"Paul said to me, 'I am very unhappy. Mademoiselle de la Tour has now been
gone two years and two months; and we have heard no tidings of her for
eight months and two weeks. She is rich, and I am poor. She has forgotten
me. I have a great mind to follow her. I will go to France; I will serve
the king; make a fortune; and then Mademoiselle de la Tour's aunt will
bestow her niece upon me when I shall have become a great lord.
"'But, my dear friend,' I answered, 'have you not told me that you are not
of noble birth?'
"'My mother has told me so,' said Paul. 'As for myself I know not what
noble birth means.'
"'Obscure birth,' I replied, 'in France shuts out all access to great
employments; nor can you even be received among any distinguished body of
men.'
"'How unfortunate I am!' resumed Paul; 'every thing repulses me. I am
condemned to waste my wretched life in labour, far from Virginia.' And he
heaved a deep sigh.
"'Since her relation,' he added, 'will only give her in marriage to some
one with a great name, by the aid of study we become wise and celebrated. I
will fly then to study; I will acquire sciences; I will serve my country
usefully by my attainments; I shall be independent; I shall become
renowned; and my glory will belong only to myself.'
"'My son! talents are still more rare than birth or riches, and are
undoubtedly an inestimable good, of which nothing can deprive us, and which
every where conciliate public esteem. But they cost dear: they are
generally allied to exquisite sensibility, which renders their possessor
miserable. But you tell me that you would serve mankind. He who, from the
soil which he cultivates, draws forth one additional sheaf of corn, serves
mankind more than he who presents them with a book.'
"'Oh! she then,' exclaimed Paul, 'who planted this papaw tree, made a
present to the inhabitants of the forest more dear and more useful than if
she had given them a library.' And seizing the tree in his arms, he kissed
it with transport.
"'Ah! I desire glory only,' he resumed, 'to confer it upon Virginia, and
render her dear to the whole universe. But you, who know so much, tell me
if we shall ever be married. I wish I was at least learned enough to look
into futurity. Virginia must come back. What need has she of a rich
relation? she was so happy in those huts, so beautiful, and so well
dressed, with a red handkerchief or flowers round her head! Return,
Virginia! Leave your palaces, your splendour! Return to these rocks, to the
shade of our woods and our cocoa trees! Alas! you are, perhaps, unhappy!'
And he began to weep. 'My father! conceal nothing from me. If you cannot
tell me whether I shall marry Virginia or no, tell me, at least, if she
still loves me amidst those great lords who speak to the king, and go to
see her.'
"'Oh! my dear friend,' I answered, 'I am sure that she loves you, for
several reasons; but, above all, because she is virtuous.' At those words
he threw himself upon my neck in a transport of joy.
"'But what,' said he, 'do you understand by virtue?'
"'My son! to you, who support your family by your labour, it need not be
defined. Virtue is an effort which we make for the good of others, and with
the intention of pleasing God.'
"'Oh! how virtuous then,' cried he, 'is Virginia! Virtue made her seek for
riches, that she might practise benevolence. Virtue led her to forsake this
island, and virtue will bring her back.' The idea of her near return fired
his imagination, and his inquietudes suddenly vanished. Virginia, he was
persuaded, had not written, because she would soon arrive. It took so
little time to come from Europe with a fair wind! Then he enumerated the
vessels which had made a passage of four thousand five hundred leagues in
less than three months; and perhaps the vessel in which Virginia had
embarked might not be longer than two. Ship builders were now so ingenious,
and sailors so expert! He then told me of the arrangements he would make
for her reception, of the new habitation he would build for her, of the
pleasures and surprises which each day should bring along with it when she
was his wife? His wife! That hope was ecstasy. 'At least, my dear father,'
said he, 'you shall then do nothing more than you please. Virginia being
rich, we shall have a number of negroes, who will labour for you. You shall
always live with us, and have no other care than to amuse and rejoice
yourself:' and, his heart throbbing with delight, he flew to communicate
those exquisite sensations to his family.
"In a short time, however, the most cruel apprehensions succeeded those
enchanting hopes. Violent passions ever throw the soul into opposite
extremes. Paul returned to my dwelling absorbed in melancholy, and said to
me, 'I hear nothing from Virginia. Had she left Europe she would have
informed me of her departure. Ah! the reports which I have heard concerning
her are but too well founded. Her aunt has married her to some great lord.
She, like others, has been undone by the love of riches. In those books
which paint women so well, virtue is but a subject of romance. Had Virginia
been virtuous, she would not have forsaken her mother and me, and, while I
pass life in thinking of her, forgotten me. While I am wretched, she is
happy. Ah! that thought distracts me: labour becomes painful, and society
irksome. Would to heaven that war were declared in India! I would go there
and die.'
"'My son,' I answered, 'that courage which, prompts us to court death is
but the courage of a moment, and is often excited by the vain hopes of
posthumous fame. There is a species of courage more necessary, and more
rare, which makes us support, without witness, and without applause, the
various vexations of life; and that is, patience. Leaning not upon the
opinions of others, but upon the will of God, patience is the courage of
virtue.'
"'Ah!' cried he,' I am then without virtue! Every thing overwhelms and
distracts me.'
"'Equal, constant, and invariable virtue,' I replied, 'belongs not to man.'
In the midst of so many passions, by which we are agitated, our reason is
disordered and obscured: but there is an ever-burning lamp, at which we can
rekindle its flame; and that is, literature.
"'Literature, my dear son, is the gift of Heaven; a ray of that wisdom
which governs the universe; and which man, inspired by celestial
intelligence, has drawn down to earth. Like the sun, it enlightens, it
rejoices, it warms with a divine flame, and seems, in some sort, like the
element of fire, to bend all nature to our use. By the aid of literature,
we bring around us all things, all places, men, and times. By its aid we
calm the passions, suppress vice, and excite virtue. Literature is the
daughter of heaven, who has descended upon earth to soften and to charm all
human evils.
"'Have recourse to your books, then, my son. The sages who have written
before our days, are travellers who have preceded us in the paths of
misfortune; who stretch out a friendly hand towards us, and invite us to
join their society, when every thing else abandons us. A good book is a
good friend.'
"'Ah!' cried Paul, 'I stood in no need of books when Virginia was here, and
she had studied as little as me: but when she looked at me, and called me
her friend, it was impossible for me to be unhappy.'
"'Undoubtedly,' said I, 'there is no friend so agreeable as a mistress by
whom we are beloved. There is in the gay graces of a woman a charm that
dispels the dark phantoms of reflection. Upon her face sits soft attraction
and tender confidence. What joy is not heightened in which she shares? What
brow is not unbent by her smiles? What anger can resist her tears? Virginia
will return with more philosophy than you, and will be surprised not to
find the garden finished: she who thought of its establishments amidst the
persecutions of her aunt, and far from her mother and from you.'
"The idea of Virginia's speedy return reanimated her lover's courage, and
he resumed his pastoral occupations; happy amidst his toils, in the
reflection that they would find a termination so dear to the wishes of his
heart.
"The 24th of December, 1774, at break of day, Paul, when he arose,
perceived a white flag hoisted upon the Mountain of Discovery, which was
the signal of a vessel descried at sea. He flew to the town, in order to
learn if this vessel brought any tidings of Virginia, and waited till the
return of the pilot, who had gone as usual to visit the ship. The pilot
brought the governor information that the vessel was the Saint Geran, of
seven hundred tons, commanded by a captain of the name of Aubin; that the
ship was now four leagues out at sea, and would anchor at Port Louis the
following afternoon, if the wind was favourable: at present there was a
calm. The pilot then remitted to the governor a number of letters from
France, amongst which was one addressed to Madame de la Tour in the
hand-writing of Virginia. Paul seized upon the letter, kissed it with
transport, placed it in his bosom, and flew to the plantation. No sooner
did he perceive from a distance the family, who were waiting his return
upon the Farewell Rock, than he waved the letter in the air, without having
the power to speak; and instantly the whole family crowded round Madame de
la Tour to hear it read. Virginia informed her mother that she had suffered
much ill treatment from her aunt, who, after having in vain urged her to
marry against her inclination, had disinherited her; and at length sent her
back at such a season of the year, that she must probably reach the
Mauritius at the very period of the hurricanes. In vain, she added, she had
endeavoured to soften her aunt, by representing what she owed to her
mother, and to the habits of her early years: she had been treated as a
romantic girl, whose head was turned by novels. At present she said she
could think of nothing but the transport of again seeing and embracing her
beloved family, and that she would have satisfied this dearest wish of her
heart that very day, if the captain would have permitted her to embark in
the pilot's boat; but that he had opposed her going, on account of the
distance from the shore, and of a swell in the ocean, notwithstanding it
was a calm.
"Scarcely was the letter finished, when the whole family, transported with
joy repeated, 'Virginia is arrived!' and mistresses and servants embraced
each other. Madame de la Tour said to Paul, 'My son, go and inform our
neighbour of Virginia's arrival.' Domingo immediately lighted a torch, and
he and Paul bent their way towards my plantation.
"It was about ten at night, and I was going to extinguish my lamp, when I
perceived through the palisades of my hut a light in the woods. I arose,
and had just dressed myself when Paul, half wild, and panting for breath,
sprung on my neck, crying, 'Come along, come along. Virginia is arrived!
Let us go to the Port: the vessel will anchor at break of day.'
"We instantly set off. As we were traversing the woods of the Sloping
Mountain, and were already on the road which leads from the Shaddock Grove
to the Port, I heard some one walking behind us. When the person, who was a
negro, and who advanced with hasty steps, had reached us, I inquired from
whence he came, and whither he was going with such expedition. He answered,
'I come from that part of the island called Golden Dust, and am sent to the
Port, to inform the governor, that a ship from France has anchored upon the
island of Amber, and fires guns of distress, for the sea is very stormy.'
Having said this, the man left us, and pursued his journey.
"'Let us go,' said I to Paul, 'towards that part of the island, and meet
Virginia. It is only three leagues from hence.' Accordingly we bent our
course thither. The heat was suffocating. The moon had risen, and it was
encompassed by three large black circles. A dismal darkness shrouded the
sky; but the frequent flakes of lightning discovered long chains of thick
clouds, gloomy, low hung, and heaped together over the middle of the
island, after having rolled with great rapidity from the ocean, although we
felt not a breath of wind upon the land. As we walked along we thought we
heard peals of thunder; but, after listening more attentively, we found
they were the sound of distant cannon repeated by the echoes. Those sounds,
joined to the tempestuous aspect of the heavens, made me shudder. I had
little doubt that they were signals of distress from a ship in danger. In
half an hour the firing ceased, and I felt the silence more appalling than
the dismal sounds which had preceded.
"We hastened on without uttering a word, or daring to communicate our
apprehensions. At midnight we arrived on the sea shore at that part of the
island. The billows broke against the beach with a horrible noise, covering
the rocks and the strand with their foam of a dazzling whiteness, and
blended with sparks of fire. By their phosphoric gleams we distinguished,
notwithstanding the darkness, the canoes of the fishermen, which they had
drawn far upon the sand.
"Near the shore, at the entrance of a wood, we saw a fire, round which
several of the inhabitants were assembled. Thither we repaired, in order to
repose ourselves till morning. One of the circle related, that in the
afternoon he had seen a vessel driven towards the island by the currents;
that the night had hid it from his view; and that two hours after sun-set
he had heard the firing of guns in distress; but that the sea was so
tempestuous, no boat could venture out; that a short time after, he thought
he perceived the glimmering of the watch-lights on board the vessel, which
he feared, by its having approached so near the coast, had steered between
the main land and the little island of Amber, mistaking it for the point of
Endeavour, near which the vessels pass in order to gain Port Louis. If this
was the case, which, however, he could not affirm, the ship he apprehended
was in great danger. Another islander then informed us, that he had
frequently crossed the channel which separates the isle of Amber from the
coast, and which he had sounded; that the anchorage was good, and that the
ship would there be in as great security as if it were in harbour. A third
islander declared it was impossible for the ship to enter that channel,
which was scarcely navigable for a boat. He asserted that he had seen the
vessel at anchor beyond the isle of Amber; so that if the wind arose in the
morning, it could either put to sea or gain the harbour. Different opinions
were stated upon this subject, which, while those indolent Creoles calmly
discussed, Paul and I observed a profound silence. We remained on this spot
till break of day, when the weather was too hazy to admit of our
distinguishing any object at sea, which was covered with fog. All we could
descry was a dark cloud, which they told us was the isle of Amber, at the
distance of a quarter of a league from the coast. We could only discern on
this gloomy day the point of the beach where we stood, and the peaks of
some mountains in the interior part of the island, rising occasionally from
amidst the clouds which hung around them.
"At seven in the morning we heard the beat of drums in the woods; and soon
after the governor, Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, arrived on horseback,
followed by a detachment of soldiers armed with muskets, and a great number
of islanders and blacks. He ranged his soldiers upon the beach, and ordered
them to make a general discharge, which was no sooner done, than we
perceived a glimmering light upon the water, which was instantly succeeded
by the sound of a gun. We judged that the ship was at no great distance,
and ran towards that part where we had seen the light. We now discerned
through the fog the hull and tackling of a large vessel; and
notwithstanding the noise of the waves, we were near enough to hear the
whistle of the boatswain at the helm, and the shouts of the mariners. As
soon as the Saint Geran perceived that we were enough to give her succour,
she continued to fire guns regularly at the interval of three minutes.
Monsieur de la Bourdonnais caused great fires to be lighted at certain
distances upon the strand, and sent to all the inhabitants of that
neighbourhood, in search of provisions, planks, cables, and empty barrels.
A crowd of people soon arrived, accompanied by their negroes, loaded with
provisions and rigging. One of the most aged of the planters approaching
the governor, said to him, 'We have heard all night hoarse noises in the
mountain, and in the forests: the leaves of the trees are shaken, although
there is no wind: the sea birds seek refuge upon the land: it is certain
that all those signs announce a hurricane.' 'Well, my friends,' answered
the governor, 'we are prepared for it: and no doubt the vessel is also.'
"Every thing, indeed, presaged the near approach of the hurricane. The
centre of the clouds in the zenith was of a dismal black, while their
skirts were fringed with a copper hue. The air resounded with the cries of
the frigate bird, the cur water, and a multitude of other sea birds, who,
notwithstanding the obscurity of the atmosphere, hastened from all points
of the horizon to seek for shelter in the island.
"Towards nine in the morning we heard on the side of the ocean the most
terrific noise, as if torrents of water, mingled with thunder, were rolling
down the steeps of the mountains. A general cry was heard of, 'There is the
hurricane!' and in one moment a frightful whirlwind scattered the fog which
had covered the Isle of Amber and its channel. The Saint Geran then
presented itself to our view, her gallery crowded with people, her yards
and main topmast laid upon the deck, her flag shivered, with four cables at
her head, and one by which she was held at the stern. She had anchored
between the Isle of Amber and the main land, within that chain of breakers
which encircles the island, and which bar she had passed over, in a place
where no vessel had ever gone before. She presented her head to the waves
which rolled from the open sea; and as each billow rushed into the straits,
the ship heaved, so that her keel was in air; and at the same moment her
stern, plunging into the water, disappeared altogether, as if it were
swallowed up by the surges. In this position, driven by the winds and waves
towards the shore, it was equally impossible for her to return by the
passage through which she had made her way; or, by cutting her cables, to
throw herself upon the beach, from which she was separated by sand banks,
mingled with breakers. Every billow which broke upon the coast advanced
roaring to the bottom of the bay, and threw planks to the distance of fifty
feet upon the land; then rushing back, laid bare its sandy bed, from which
it rolled immense stones, with a hoarse dismal noise. The sea, swelled by
the violence of the wind, rose higher every moment; and the channel between
this island the Isle of Amber was but one vast sheet of white foam, with
yawning pits of black deep billows. The foam boiling in the gulf was more
than six feet high: and the winds which swept its surface, bore it over the
steep coast more than half a league upon the land. Those innumerable white
flakes, driven horizontally as far as the foot of the mountain, appeared
like snow issuing from the ocean, which was now confounded with the sky.
Thick clouds, of a horrible form, swept along the zenith with the swiftness
of birds, while others appeared motionless as rocks. No spot of azure could
be discerned in the firmament; only a pale yellow gleam displayed the
objects of earth sea, and skies.
"From the violent efforts of the ship, what we dreaded happened. The cables
at the head of the vessel were torn away; it was then held by one anchor
only, and was instantly dashed upon the rocks, at the distance of half a
cable's length from the shore. A general cry of horror issued from the
spectators. Paul rushed towards the sea, when, seizing him by the arm, I
exclaimed, 'Would you perish?'--'Let me go to save her,' cried he, 'or
die!' Seeing that despair deprived him of reason, Domingo and I, in order
to preserve him, fastened a long cord round his waist, and seized hold of
each end. Paul then precipitated himself towards the ship, now swimming,
and now walking upon the breakers. Sometimes he had the hope of reaching
the vessel, which the sea, in its irregular movements, had left almost dry,
so that you could have made its circuit on foot; but suddenly the waves
advancing with new fury, shrouded it beneath mountains of water, which then
lifted it upright upon its keel. The billows at the same moment threw the
unfortunate Paul far upon the beach, his legs bathed in blood, his bosom
wounded, and himself half dead. The moment he had recovered his senses, he
arose, and returned with new ardour towards the vessel, the planks of which
now yawned asunder from the violent strokes of the billows. The crew, then
despairing of their safety, threw themselves in crowds into the sea, upon
yards, planks, hencoops, tables, and barrels. At this moment we beheld an
object fitted to excite eternal sympathy; a young lady in the gallery of
the stern of the Saint Geran, stretching out her arms towards him who made
so many efforts to join her. It was Virginia. She had discovered her lover
by his intrepidity. The sight of this amiable young woman, exposed to such
horrible danger, filled us with unutterable despair. As for Virginia, with
a firm and dignified mien, she waved her hand, as if bidding us an eternal
farewell. All the sailors had flung themselves into the sea, except one,
who still remained upon the deck, and who was naked, and strong as
Hercules. This man approached Virginia with respect, and, kneeling at her
feet attempted to force her to throw off her clothes; but she repulsed him
with modesty, and turned away her head. Then was heard redoubled cries from
the spectators, 'Save her! Save her! Do not leave her!' But at that moment
a mountain billow, of enormous magnitude, ingulfed itself between the Isle
of Amber and the coast, and menaced the shattered vessel, towards which it
rolled bellowing, with its black sides and foaming head. At this terrible
sight the sailor flung himself into the sea; and Virginia seeing death
inevitable, placed one hand upon her clothes, the other on her heart, and
lifting up her lovely eyes, seemed an angel prepared to take her flight to
heaven.
"Oh, day of horror! Alas! every thing was swallowed up by the relentless
billows. The surge threw some of the spectators far upon the beach, whom an
impulse of humanity prompted to advance towards Virginia, and also the
sailor who had endeavoured to save her life. This man, who had escaped from
almost certain death, kneeling on the sand, exclaimed, 'Oh, my God! thou
hast saved my life, but I would have given it willingly for that poor young
woman!'