MARGARET TURNS HER FACE HOMEWARD.--LAST LETTER TO HER MOTHER.--THE
BARQUE "ELIZABETH."--PRESAGES AND OMENS.--DEATH OF THE
CAPTAIN.--ANGELO'S ILLNESS.--THE WRECK.--- THE LONG STRUGGLE.--THE
END.--FINAL ESTIMATE OF MARGARET'S CHARACTER.
Return to her own country now lay immediately before Margaret. In the
land of her adoption the struggle for freedom had failed, and no human
foresight could have predicted the period of its renewal. Europe had
cried out, like the sluggard on his bed: "You have waked me too soon; I
must slumber again."
Margaret's delight in the new beauties and resources unfolded to her in
various European countries, and especially in Italy, had made the
thought of this return unwelcome to her. But now that free thought had
become contraband in the beautiful land, where should she carry her
high-hearted hopes, if not westward, with the tide of the true empire
that shall grow out of man's conquest of his own brute passions?
This holy westward way, found of Columbus, broadened and brightened by
the Pilgrims, and become an ocean highway for the nations of the earth,
lay open to her. From its farther end came to her the loving voices of
kindred, and friends of youth. There she, a mother, could "show her
babe, and make her boast," to a mother of her own. There brothers,
trained to noble manhood through her care and labor, could rise up to
requite something of what they owed her. There she could tell the story
of her Italy, with the chance of a good hearing. There, where she had
sown most precious seed in the field of the younger generations, she
would find some sheaves to bind for her own heart-harvest.
And so the last days in Florence came. The vessel was chosen, and the
day of sailing fixed upon. Margaret's last letter, addressed to her
mother, is dated on the 14th of May.
We read it now with a weight of sorrow which was hidden from her. In the
light of what afterwards took place, it has the sweet solemnity of a
greeting sent from the borders of another world.
"FLORENCE, May 14, 1850.
"I will believe I shall be welcome with my treasures,--my husband
and child. For me, I long so much to see you! Should anything
hinder our meeting upon earth, think of your daughter as one who
always wished, at least, to do her duty, and who always cherished
you, according as her mind opened to discover excellence.
"Give dear love, too, to my brothers; and first, to my eldest,
faithful friend, Eugene; a sister's love to Ellen; love to my kind
and good aunts, and to my dear cousin E----. God bless them!
"I hope we shall be able to pass some time together yet, in this
world. But, if God decrees otherwise, here and hereafter, my
dearest mother,
"Your loving child,
"MARGARET."
Who is there that reads twice a sorrowful story without entertaining an
unreasonable hope that its ending may change in the reperusal? So does
one return to the fate of "Paul and Virginia," so to that of the "Bride
of Lammermoor." So, even in the wild tragedy of "Othello," seen for the
hundredth time, one still sees a way of escape for the victim; still, in
imagination, implores her to follow it. And when repeated representation
has made assurance doubly sure, we yield to the mandate which none can
resist, once issued, and say, "It was to be."
This unreasonable struggle renews itself within us as we follow the
narrative of Margaret's departure for her native land. Why did she
choose a merchant vessel from Leghorn? why one which was destined to
carry in its hold the heavy marble of Powers's Greek Slave? She was
warned against this, was uncertain in her own mind, and disturbed by
presages of ill. But economy was very necessary to her at the moment.
The vessel chosen, the barque "Elizabeth," was new, strong, and ably
commanded. Margaret had seen and made friends with the captain, Hasty by
name, and his wife. Horace Sumner was to be their fellow-passenger, and
a young Italian girl, Celeste Paolini, engaged to help in the care of
the little boy. These considerations carried the day.
Just before leaving Florence, Margaret received letters the tenor of
which would have enabled her to remain longer in Italy. Ossoli
remembered the warning of a fortune-teller, who in his childhood had
told him to beware of the sea. Margaret wrote of omens which gave her "a
dark feeling." She had "a vague expectation of some crisis," she knows
not what; and this year, 1850, had long appeared to her a period of
pause in the ascent of life, a point at which she should stand, as "on a
plateau, and take more clear and commanding views than ever before." She
prays fervently that she may not lose her boy at sea, "either by
unsolaced illness, or amid the howling waves; or if so, that Ossoli,
Angelo, and I may go together, and that the anguish may be brief."
These presentiments, strangely prophetic, returned upon Margaret with so
much force that on the very day appointed for sailing, the 17th of May,
she stood at bay before them for an hour, unable to decide whether she
should go or stay. But she had appointed a general meeting with her
family in July, and had positively engaged her passage in the barque.
Fidelity to these engagements prevailed with her. She may have felt,
too, the danger of being governed by vague forebodings which, shunning
death in one form, often invite it in another. And so, in spite of fears
and omens, too well justified in the sequel, she went on board, and the
voyage began in smooth tranquillity.
The first days at sea passed quietly enough. The boy played on the deck,
or was carried about by the captain. Margaret and her husband suffered
little inconvenience from seasickness, and were soon walking together in
the limited space of their floating home. But presently the good captain
fell ill with small-pox of a malignant type. On June 3d the barque
anchored off Gibraltar, the commander breathed his last, and was
accorded a seaman's burial, in the sea. Here the ship suffered a
detention of some days from unfavorable winds, but on the 9th was able
to proceed on her way; and two days later Angelo showed symptoms of the
dreadful disease, which visited him severely. His eyes were closed, his
head swollen, his body disfigured by the accompanying eruption. Margaret
and Ossoli, strangers to the disease, hung over their darling, and
nursed him so tenderly that he was in due time restored, not only to
health, but also to his baby beauty, so much prized by his mother.
Margaret wrote from Gibraltar, describing the captain's illness and
death, and giving a graphic picture of his ocean funeral. She did not at
the time foresee Angelo's illness, but knew that he might easily have
taken the infection. Relieved from this painful anxiety, the routine of
the voyage re-established itself. Ossoli and Sumner continued to
instruct each other in their respective languages. The baby became the
pet and delight of the sailors. Margaret was busy with her book on
Italy, but found time to soothe and comfort the disconsolate widow of
the captain after her own availing fashion. Thus passed the summer days
at sea. On Thursday, July 18th, the "Elizabeth" was off the Jersey
coast, in thick weather, the wind blowing east of south. The former mate
was now the captain. Wishing to avoid the coast, he sailed
east-north-east, thinking presently to take a pilot, and pass Sandy Hook
by favor of the wind.
At night he promised his passengers an early arrival in New York. They
retired to rest in good spirits, having previously made all the usual
preparations for going on shore.
By nine o'clock that evening the breeze had become a gale, by midnight a
dangerous storm. The commander, casting the lead from time to time, was
without apprehension, having, it is supposed, mistaken his locality, and
miscalculated the speed of the vessel, which, under close-reefed sails,
was nearing the sand-bars of Long Island. Here, on Fire Island beach,
she struck, at four o'clock on the morning of July 19th. The main and
mizzen masts were promptly cut away, but the heavy marble had broken
through the hold, and the waters rushed in. The bow of the vessel stuck
fast in the sand, her stern swung around, and she lay with her broadside
exposed to the breakers, which swept over her with each returning
rise,--a wreck to be saved by no human power.
The passengers sprang from their berths, aroused by the dreadful shock,
and guessing but too well its import. Then came the crash of the falling
masts, the roar of the waves, as they shattered the cabin skylight and
poured down into the cabin, extinguishing the lights. These features of
the moment are related as recalled by Mrs. Hasty, sole survivor of the
passengers. One scream only was heard from Margaret's stateroom. Mrs.
Hasty and Horace Sumner met in the cabin and clasped hands. "We must
die!" was his exclamation. "Let us die calmly," said the resolute woman.
"I hope so," answered he. The leeward side of the cabin was already
under water, but its windward side still gave shelter, and here, for
three hours, the passengers took refuge, their feet braced against the
long table. The baby shrieked, as well he might, with the sudden fright,
the noise and chill of the water. But his mother wrapped him as warmly
as she could, and in her agony cradled him on her bosom and sang him to
sleep. The girl Celeste was beside herself with terror; and here we find
recorded a touching trait of Ossoli, who soothed her with encouraging
words, and touched all hearts with his fervent prayer. In the calm of
resignation they now sat conversing with each other, devising last
messages to friends, to be given by any one of them who might survive
the wreck.
The crew had retired to the top-gallant forecastle, and the passengers,
hearing nothing of them, supposed them to have left the ship. By seven
o'clock it became evident that the cabin could not hold together much
longer, and Mrs. Hasty, looking from the door for some way of escape,
saw a figure standing by the foremast, the space between being
constantly swept by the waves. She tried in vain to make herself heard;
but the mate, Davis, coming to the door of the forecastle, saw her, and
immediately ordered the men to go to her assistance. So great was the
danger of doing this, that only two of the crew were willing to
accompany him. The only refuge for the passengers was now in the
forecastle, which, from its position and strength of construction, would
be likely to resist longest the violence of the waves. By great effort
and coolness the mate and his two companions reached the cabin, and
rescued all in it from the destruction so nearly impending. Mrs. Hasty
was the first to make the perilous attempt. She was washed into the
hatchway, and besought the brave Davis to leave her to her fate; but he,
otherwise minded, caught her long hair between his teeth, and, with true
seaman's craft, saved her and himself. Angelo was carried across in a
canvas bag hung to the neck of a sailor. Reaching the forecastle, they
found a dry and sheltered spot, and wrapped themselves in the sailors'
loose jackets, for a little warmth and comfort. The mate three times
revisited the cabin, to bring thence various valuables for Mrs. Hasty
and Margaret; and, last of all, a bottle of wine and some figs, that
these weary ones might break their fast. Margaret now spoke to Mrs.
Hasty of something still left behind, more valuable than money. She
would not, however, ask the mate to expose his life again. It is
supposed that her words had reference to the manuscript of her work on
Italy. From their new position, through the spray and rain they could
see the shore, some hundreds of yards off. Men were seen on the beach,
but there was nothing to indicate that an attempt would be made to save
them. At nine o'clock it was thought that some one of the crew might
possibly reach the shore by swimming, and, once there, make some effort
to send them aid. Two of the sailors succeeded in doing this. Horace
Sumner sprang after them, but sank, unable to struggle with the waves. A
last device was that of a plank, with handles of rope attached, upon
which the passengers in turn might seat themselves, while a sailor,
swimming behind, should guide their course. Mrs. Hasty, young and
resolute, led the way in this experiment, the stout mate helping her,
and landing her out of the very jaws of death.
And here we fall back into that bootless wishing of which we spoke a
little while ago. Oh that Margaret had been willing that the same means
should be employed to bring her and hers to land! Again and again, to
the very last moment, she was urged to try this way of escape,
uncertain, but the only one. It was all in vain. Margaret would not be
separated from her dear ones. Doubtless she continued for a time to hope
that some assistance would reach them from the shore. The life-boat was
even brought to the beach; but no one was willing to man her, and the
delusive hope aroused by her appearance was soon extinguished.
The day wore on; the tide turned. The wreck would not outlast its
return. The commanding officer made one last appeal to Margaret before
leaving his post. To stay, he told her, was certain and speedy death, as
the ship must soon break up. He promised to take her child with him, and
to give Celeste, Ossoli, and herself each the aid of an able seaman.
Margaret still refused to be parted from child or husband. The crew were
then told to "save themselves," and all but four jumped overboard. The
commander and several of the seamen reached the shore in safety, though
not without wounds and bruises.
By three o'clock in the afternoon the breaking-up was well in progress.
Cabin and stern disappeared beneath the waves, and the forecastle filled
with water. The little group now took refuge on the deck, and stood
about the foremast. Three able-bodied seamen remained with them, and one
old sailor, homeward bound for good and all. The deck now parted from
the hull, and rose and fell with the sweep of the waves. The final
crash must come in a few minutes. The steward now took Angelo in his
arms, promising to save him or die. At this very moment the foremast
fell, and with it disappeared the deck and those who stood on it. The
steward and the child were washed ashore soon after, dead, though not
yet cold. The two Italians, Celeste and Ossoli, held for a moment by the
rigging, but were swept off by the next wave. Margaret, last seen at the
foot of the mast, in her white nightdress, with her long hair hanging
about her shoulders, is thought to have sunk at once. Two others, cook
and carpenter, were able to save themselves by swimming, and might,
alas! have saved her, had she been minded to make the attempt.
What strain of the heroic in her mind overcame the natural instinct to
do and dare all upon the chance of saving her own life, and those so
dear to her, we shall never know. No doubt the separation involved in
any such attempt appeared to her an abandonment of her husband and
child. Resting in this idea, she could more easily nerve herself to
perish with them than to part from them. She and the babe were feeble
creatures to be thrown upon the mercy of the waves, even with the
promised aid. Her husband, young and strong, was faithful unto death,
and would not leave her. Both of them, with fervent belief, regarded
death as the entrance to another life, and surely, upon its very
threshold, sought to do their best. So we must end our questioning and
mourning concerning them with a silent acquiescence in what was to be.
* * * * *
A friend of Margaret, who visited the scene on the day after the
catastrophe, was persuaded that seven resolute men could have saved
every soul on board the vessel. Through the absence of proper system and
discipline, the life-boat, though applied for early on the morning of
the wreck, did not arrive until one o'clock in the afternoon, when the
sea had become so swollen by the storm that it was impossible to launch
it. One hopes, but scarcely believes, that this state of things has been
amended before this time.
The bodies of Margaret and her husband were never found. That of Angelo
was buried at Fire Island, with much mourning on the part of the
surviving sailors, whose pet and playmate he had been. It was afterwards
removed to the cemetery at Mt. Auburn, where, beneath a marble monument
which commemorates the life and death of his parents, and his own, he
alone lies buried, the only one of Margaret's treasures that ever
reached the country of her birth.
Death gives an unexpected completeness to the view of individual
character. The secret of a noble life is only fully unfolded when its
outward envelope has met the fate of all things perishable. And so the
mournful tragedy just recounted set its seal upon a career whose
endeavor and achievement the world is bound to hold dear. When all that
could be known of Margaret was known, it became evident that there was
nothing of her which was not heroic in intention; nothing which, truly
interpreted, could turn attention from a brilliant exterior to meaner
traits allowed and concealed. That she had faults we need not deny; nor
that, like other human beings, she needs must have said and done at
times what she might afterwards have wished to have better said, better
done. But as an example of one who, gifted with great powers, aspired
only to their noblest use; who, able to rule, sought rather to counsel
and to help,--she deserves a place in the highest niche of her country's
affection. As a woman who believed in women, her word is still an
evangel of hope and inspiration to her sex. Her heart belonged to all of
God's creatures, and most to what is noblest in them. Gray-headed men of
to-day, the happy companions of her youth, grow young again while they
speak of her. One of these,[J] who is also one of her earlier
biographers, still recalls her as the greatest soul he ever knew. Such
a word, spoken with the weight of ripe wisdom and long experience, may
fitly indicate to posterity the honor and reverence which belong to the
memory of MARGARET FULLER.