It was in the autumn of the year 1828, that an elderly and infirm
gentleman was slowly pacing up and down in a large dining-room. He had
apparently finished his dinner, although it was not yet five o'clock,
and the descending sun shone bright and warm through the windows, which
were level with the ground, and from which there was a view of a
spacious park, highly ornamented with old timber. He held a newspaper
in one hand, and had the other behind his back, as if for support, for
he was bent forward, and looked very feeble and emaciated.
After pacing for some time, he sat down in an easy chair and remained in
deep thought, holding the newspaper in both his hands.
This old gentleman's name was Sir Charles Wilmot. He had in early life
gone out to India as a writer, and after remaining there for a few
years, during which he had amassed a handsome fortune, was advised to
leave the country for a time on account of his health. He returned to
England on furlough, and had not been there more than six months when
the death, without issue, of his eldest brother, Sir Henry Wilmot, put
him in possession of the entailed estates and of the baronetcy.
This decided him not to return to India for his wife and three
daughters, whom he had left out there, but to write, desiring them to
return home by the first ship. The reply which he received was most
painful: his wife and two of his daughters had been carried off by the
cholera, which had been very fatal during the previous rainy season.
His remaining daughter was about to sail, in obedience to his wishes, in
the _Grosvenor_ East-Indiaman, under the care of Colonel and Mrs James,
who were near connexions.
This was a heavy blow with which it pleased God to visit him in his
prosperity, and was almost a total wreck of all his hopes and
anticipations. But he was a good man and a religious one, and he bowed
in humility to the dispensation, submitting with resignation to his
loss, and still thankful to Heaven that it had graciously spared one of
the objects of his affections to console him, and to watch his declining
years.
Sir Charles Wilmot took possession of the family mansion and estate in
Berkshire, in which he was still residing at the time that our history
commences. By degrees he became more resigned, and waited with anxiety
for the return of his only daughter, who now seemed more dear to him
than ever. He employed himself in making preparations for her
reception, fitting up her apartments in the Oriental style which she had
been accustomed to, and devising every little improvement and invention
which he thought would give pleasure to a child of ten years old.
But it pleased Heaven that Sir Charles should be more severely
chastised: the _Grosvenor's_ time of arrival had elapsed, and still she
was not reported in the Channel; week after week of anxiety and suspense
passed slowly away, and the East-India ship did not make her appearance.
It was supposed that she had been captured by the enemy, but still no
tidings of her capture were received. At length, however, this state of
anxiety and doubt was put an end to by the dreadful intelligence that
the ship had been wrecked on the east coast of Africa, and that nearly
the whole of the crew and passengers had perished. Two men belonging to
her had been brought home by a Danish East-Indiaman, and shortly after
the first intelligence, these men arrived in London, and gave a more
particular detail of what had occurred.
Sir Charles, in a state of feverish anxiety, as soon as he heard of
their arrival, hastened up to town to question these men; and the result
of his interrogatories fully convinced him that he was now quite
bereaved and childless. This was the last blow and the most severe; it
was long before he could resign himself to the unsearchable
dispensations of Providence; but time and religion had at last overcome
all his repining feelings,--all disposition to question the goodness or
wisdom of his Heavenly Father, and he was enabled to say, with
sincerity, "Not my will, but thine, be done."
But although Sir Charles was thus left childless, as years passed away,
he at last found that he had those near to him for whom he felt an
interest, and one in particular who promised to deserve all his regard.
This was his grand-nephew, Alexander Wilmot, who was the legal heir to
the title and entailed property,--the son of a deceased nephew, who had
fallen during the Peninsular war.
On this boy Sir Charles had lavished those affections which it pleased
Heaven that he should not bestow upon his own issue, and Alexander
Wilmot had gradually become as dear to him as if he had been his own
child. Still the loss of his wife and children was ever in his memory,
and as time passed on, painful feelings of hope and doubt were
occasionally raised in Sir Charles's mind, from the occasional
assertions of travellers, that all those did not perish who were
supposed so to do when the _Grosvenor_ was wrecked, and that, from the
reports of the natives, some of them and of their descendants were still
alive. It was a paragraph in the newspaper, containing a renewal of
these assertions, which had attracted the attention of Sir Charles, and
which had put him in the state of agitation and uneasiness in which we
have described him at the opening of this chapter.
We left him in deep and painful thought, with the newspaper in his
hands. His reveries were interrupted by the entrance of Alexander
Wilmot, who resided with him, being now twenty-two years of age, and
having just finished his college education. Alexander Wilmot was a
tall, handsome young man, very powerful in frame, and very partial to
all athletic exercises; he was the best rower and the best cricketer at
Oxford, very fond of horses and hunting, and an excellent shot; in
character and disposition he was generous and amiable, frank in his
manner, and obliging to his inferiors. Every one liked Alexander
Wilmot, and he certainly deserved to be liked, for he never injured or
spoke ill of anybody. Perhaps his most prominent fault was obstinacy;
but this was more shown in an obstinate courage and perseverance to
conquer what appeared almost impossible, and at the greatest risk to
himself; he was of that disposition that he would hardly get out of the
way of a mad bull if it crossed his path, but risk his life probably,
and to no purpose; but there is no perfection in this world, and it was
still less to be expected in a young man of only twenty-two years of
age.
"Well, uncle, I've conquered him," said Alexander, as he came into the
room, very much heated with exercise.
"Conquered whom, my boy?" replied Sir Charles.
"The colt; I've backed him, and he is now as gentle as a lamb; but he
fought hard for two hours at least."
"Why should you run such risk, Alexander, when the horsebreaker would
have broke him just as well?"
"But not so soon, uncle."
"I did not know that you were in such want of a horse as to require such
hurry; I thought you had plenty in the stable."
"So I have, uncle, thanks to you, more than I can use; but I like the
pleasure--the excitement."
"There you state the truth, my dear Alexander; when you have lived as
long as I have, you will find more pleasure in quiet and repose,"
replied Sir Charles, with a heavy sigh.
"Something has disturbed you, my dear uncle," said Alexander, going up
to Sir Charles and taking his hand; "what is it, sir?"
"You are right, Alexander; something has unsettled me, has called up
painful feelings and reminiscences; it is that paragraph in the
newspaper."
Alexander was now as subdued almost as his uncle; he took a chair and
quietly read the paragraph.
"Do you think that there is any foundation for this, my dear sir?" said
he, after he had read it.
"It is impossible to say, my dear boy; it may be so, it has often been
asserted before. The French traveller Le Vaillant states that he
received the same information, but was prevented from ascertaining the
truth; other travellers have subsequently given similar accounts. You
may easily credit the painful anxiety which is raised in my mind when I
read such a statement as this. I think I see my poor Elizabeth, the
wife or slave to some wild savage; her children, merciful Heaven! my
grandchildren, growing up as the brutes of the field, in ignorance and
idolatry. It is torture, my dear Alexander--absolute torture, and
requires long prayer and meditation to restore my mind to its usual
tone, and to enable me to bow to the dispensations of the Divine will."
"Although I have long been acquainted with the general statement, my
dear uncle, respecting the loss of the ship, I have never yet heard any
such details as would warrant this apprehension of yours. It is
generally supposed that all perished, perished indeed most miserably,
except the few men who made their way to the Cape, and returned to
England."
"Such was the supposition, my dear boy, but subsequent reports have to a
certain degree contradicted it, and there is reason to believe that all
did not perish who were accounted as dead. If you have nothing
particularly to engage you at this moment, I will enter into a detail of
what did occur, and of the proofs that the fate of a large portion,
among which that of your aunt Elizabeth, was never ascertained."
"If it will not be too painful to you, my dear uncle, I will most gladly
hear it."
"I will not dwell longer upon it than is necessary, Alexander; believe
me the subject is too distressing, but I wish you to know it also, and
then to give me your opinion. You are of course aware that it was on
the coast of Caffraria, to the southward of Port Natal, that the
_Grosvenor_ was wrecked. She soon divided and went to pieces, but by a
sudden--I know not that I can say a _fortunate_--change of wind, yet
such was the will of Heaven,--the whole of the crew and passengers (with
the exception of sixteen who had previously attempted to gain the shore
by a hawser, and one man who was left on board in a state of
intoxication) were all safely landed, even to the little children who
were coming home in the vessel; among whom was my poor Elizabeth."
Alexander made no observation when Sir Charles paused for a while: the
latter then continued:--
"By the time that they had all gained the shore, the day was far spent;
the natives, who were of the Caffre race, and who had been busy in
obtaining all the iron that they could from the mainmast, which had
drifted on shore, left the beach at dark. The wretched sufferers
lighted fires, and having collected some casks of beef and flour, and
some live stock, they remained on the rocks daring that night. The next
morning the captain proposed that they should make their way to Cape
Town, the Dutch settlement, to which they all unanimously consented;
certainly a most wild proposition, and showing very little judgment."
"Could they have done otherwise, my dear uncle?"
"Most certainly; they knew that they were in a country of lawless
savages, who had already come down and taken by force everything that
they could lay their hands upon. The captain calculated that they would
reach Cape Town in sixteen or seventeen days. How far his calculation
was correct, is proved by the fact that those who did reach it at last
were one hundred and seventeen days on their journey. But even
admitting that the distance could have been performed in the time stated
by the captain, the very idea of attempting to force their way through a
country inhabited by savage people, with such a number of helpless women
and children, and without any arms for their defence, was indeed an act
of folly and madness, as it eventually proved."
"What then should have been their plan?"
"Observe, Alexander, the ship was wrecked not a cable's length from the
shore, firmly fixed upon a reef of rocks upon which she had been thrown;
the water was smooth, and there was no difficulty in their
communication. The savages, content with plundering whatever was washed
on shore, had to the time of their quitting the rocks left them
uninjured. They might have gone on board again, have procured arms to
defend themselves and the means of fortifying their position against any
attempt of the savages, who had no other weapons but assaguays or
spears, and then might have obtained the provisions and other articles
necessary for their support. Armed as they might have been, and
numerous as they were, for there were one hundred and fifty souls on
board at the time of the wreck, they might have protected themselves
until they had built boats or small vessels out of the timber of the
wreck; for all their carpenters and blacksmiths were safely landed on
shore with them. By taking this course they might have coasted along
shore, and have arrived without difficulty at the Cape."
"Most certainly, sir, it would have been the most judicious plan."
"The captain must have been very deficient in judgment to have acted as
he did. He had everything to his hand--the means--the men to build the
boats--provisions, arms, sails, and cordage, and yet he threw all these
chances away, and attempted to do what was impossible."
"He was not one of those who were saved, I believe, sir?"
"No, he is one of those who have not been heard of;--but to proceed:--
The first day of their march from the site of the wreck ought to have
been a warning to them to turn back. The savages robbed them of
everything and threw stones at them. A Dutchman of the name of Trout,
who had fled to the Caffre country for some murder he had committed in
the colony, fell in with them and told them the attempt was
impracticable, from the number of savage nations, the width of the
rivers, the desert countries without water, and the number of wild
beasts which they would encounter; but still they were not persuaded,
and went on to their destruction. They were not five miles from the
wreck at that time, and might have returned to it before night."
"May it not fairly be supposed that after such a dreadful shipwreck
anything was considered preferable by the major portion of them,
especially the passengers, to re-embarking?"
"It may be so; but still it was a feeling that was to be surmounted, and
would have been, had they been counselled by a judicious leader; for he
might fairly have pointed out to them,--without re-embarkation, how are
you to arrive in England?"
"Very true, uncle. Pray continue."
"From the accounts given by the seamen who returned, before they had
travelled a week they were attacked by a large party of natives, to
whose blows and ill-treatment as they passed along they had hitherto
submitted; but as in this instance the natives appeared determined to
massacre them, they resisted as well as they could, and, being nearly
one hundred men in force, succeeded in driving them off, not without
receiving many severe wounds. After a few days' more travelling, their
provisions were all expended, and the seamen began to murmur, and
resolve to take care of themselves, and not to be encumbered with women
and children. The consequence was, that forty-three of the number
separated from the rest, leaving the captain and all the male and female
passengers and children (my dear Elizabeth among them), to get on as
they could."
"How cruel!"
"Yes! but self-preservation is the first law of nature, and I fear it is
in vain to expect that persons not under the influence of religious
principles will risk their lives, or submit to much self-denial, for the
sake of alleviating the miseries of others. The reason given for this
separation was, that it was impossible to procure food for so large a
number, and that they would be more likely to obtain sustenance when
divided. The party who thus proceeded in advance encountered the most
terrible difficulties; they coasted along the sea-shore because they had
no other food than the shell-fish found on the rocks; they had
continually to cross rivers from a mile to two miles wide; they were
kept from their slumber by the wild beasts which prowled around them,
and at length they endured so much from want of water, that their
sufferings were extreme. They again subdivided and separated, wandering
they hardly knew where, exposed to a burning sun, without clothing and
without food. One by one they sat down and were left behind to die, or
to be devoured by the wild beasts before they were dead. At last they
were reduced to such extremity, that they proposed to cast lots for one
to be killed to support the others; they turned back on their route,
that they might find the dead bodies of their companions for food.
Finally, out of the whole crew, three or four, purblind and staggering
from exhaustion, craving for death, arrived at the borders of the
colony, where they were kindly received and gradually recovered."
"You now speak of the first party who separated from the captain and the
passengers, do you not, uncle?"
"Yes."
"And what became of the captain's party?"
"No tidings were heard of them; their fate was unknown; it was long
supposed that they had all perished; for if the sufferings of the
seamen, inured to toil and danger, had been so great, what chance was
there for helpless women and children? But after some years, there was
a report that they had been saved, and were living with the savages. Le
Vaillant first mentioned it, and then it died away and was not credited;
but since that, the reports of various travellers appear to give
confirmation to what Le Vaillant asserted. The paragraph you have now
read in the newspaper has again renewed the assertion, and the parties
from whom it proceeds are by all accounts worthy of credence. You may
imagine, my dear boy, what a pang it gives me when I read these
reports,--when I reflect that my poor girl, who was with that party, may
at this moment be alive, may have returned to a state of barbarism,--the
seeds of faith long dead in her bosom,--now changed to a wild untutored
savage, knowing no God."
"But, my dear uncle, allowing that my aunt is alive, she was not so
young at the time of the wreck as to forget entirely what she had been
taught."
"That is possible; but then her condition must be still more painful, or
rather I should say must have been, for probably she is dead long before
this, or if not dead, she must be a woman advanced in life; indeed, as
you may observe in the account given by the traveller in the paragraph
you have read, it speaks only of the _descendants_ of those who were
lost in the _Grosvenor_. The idea of my grandchildren having returned
to a state of barbarism is painful enough; I wish it were possible that
I could discover the truth, for it is the uncertainty which so much
distresses me. I have but a few years to live, Alexander; I am a very
old man, as you know, and may be summoned to-morrow or to-night, for we
know not what a day may bring forth. If I were only certain that my
child had died, miserable as her death must have been, it would be
happiness, to the idea that she was one of those whose descendants they
speak of. If you knew how for the last thirty years this has preyed
upon my mind, you would comprehend my anxiety on this account; but God's
will be done. Do not let me detain you longer, Alexander; I should
prefer being alone."
Alexander, at this intimation, took the proffered hand of his
grand-uncle in a reverential and feeling manner, and, without saying any
more, quitted the room.