In the days when voyages were more tedious and dangerous than they are
now, when steam was unknown, and the art of navigation little studied,
it was especially important to secure safe resting-places for vessels
bound on distant voyages. Halfway ports where the health of the sailors
might be recruited, where the ship often battered and leaking, might be
repaired, and stored once more with water and fresh vegetables, were
absolutely essential to safe and profitable commerce.
But until about the year 1500 the Venetian traders to India had found no
such harbor of refuge in the South Atlantic. Their ships came and went
nevertheless, and if many were lost, yet the profits of the trade were
such as to repay the merchants for many a bale of rich goods which lay
beneath the waters, and to lead Venice to guard as one of her most
valuable rights the trade with India.
The Portuguese also were merchants and explorers, and had a large and
important navy, and they were not content to leave the Indian traffic
wholly in the hands of the Venetians. Therefore about the year 1501
three vessels were sent out to India by the Portuguese Government. On
their return voyage during May of the following year a sudden and
violent storm overtook them.
They were in the midst of the wide Atlantic, driven backwards and
forwards by the furious wind and waves.
One of the ships was separated from the other two, and was in greater
danger. All hope of guiding her was at an end, and the captain and crew
stood waiting in despair for the death which could not be far distant.
It seems probable from that which afterwards happened, that some at
least among the sailors thought, in their danger, on God, and cried to
Him to save them. And we may well believe this to have been so. There
are but few who when trouble is near forget God. It is in smooth and
fair water, in calm and sunshine, that we are so ready to think that we
can guide and help ourselves. When the clouds gather, and the
storm-winds blow, then we cry unto God in our trouble. And God is so
good that He does not turn away from those who call on Him in their
need, even when in their joy they had turned away from Him.
Help came to these sailors tossed on the wide, wild sea, but it did not
come in the way that they had hoped. At first it seemed only like
greater peril, for through the haze which darkened the sea, the dim
outline of land was seen, standing high, sharp, and dark against the
sky.
What land it could be they did not know. In such rough charts as they
possessed, no rock even was marked, no speck of land for many hundred
miles on either side the place where they were now fighting for their
lives.
The ship was driven nearer and nearer, and, so far as the mariners could
tell, they were being driven to certain destruction, for what ship could
hope to avoid the terrible wall of rocks before them, or live in the
white seething waters which boiled at its foot. A shout, an eager
wondering cry, from one of the sailors, roused his comrades; he was
pointing to a narrow inlet between the rocks, on either side of which
the sand lay smooth and low--if they could only gain that opening there
might yet be hope. But the ship was past all guidance, and the only
chance of life seemed to lie in the boats, which might be directed up
the narrow inlet, so that the men might land in safety on its shores. At
last the anxious, terrified sailors stood safely on the beach, watching
the still raging sea as it washed to their feet plank and mast and
rudder of their now broken ship.
Their first thought was to offer thanks to God who had delivered them,
and then they began to look around at this strange unknown land on which
they had been thrown.
"Let us build ourselves a shelter with the planks of the broken ship,
she will never sail blue water again," said one sailor.
"Nay," replied another, "rather let us build a house for God, let us
leave a church on this island. We need no shelter in the warm May
weather, no rain will fall for months yet, I warrant, and some of those
rare trees yonder will be our fittest roof."
"But of what use can a church be when none dwell here to worship?" asked
a third.
"Doubtless many will come to dwell here when we return home and tell the
story of the new land, and many ships will stay here to rest the sailors
and to gather stores. Were it not well done that they should find
prepared a place which should remind them of their duty to their God,
and of His care of them?"
"And," said the captain, speaking now for the first time, "were it not
well done that we, whom He has so wonderfully preserved, should try even
in this imperfect fashion to show our gratitude? He will accept even
such poor service, therefore, in my judgment, let it be done."
"Let it be done," cried all, and, as if impatient to begin, the sailors
rushed knee-deep into the sea, seizing and drawing high on the beach the
floating spars and planks ready for their new service.
But before such work could be begun it was needful to explore the new
land, to search for any traces of inhabitants, and above all to
discover, if possible, food and water to refresh themselves.
There was one high peak, towering above the many hills which crowned the
island, and towards this a party of sailors made their way, keeping
closely together for fear that the natives of the land might suddenly
attack them from rock or thicket.
The steep, rugged, broken hill was scaled at last, and from its summit
the adventurers looked down on their place of refuge. They were on an
island, which seemed to be some miles in length; it was thickly covered
with trees, and in one part a broad, open plain, fresh and fertile,
stretched before them. There were many streams, dancing merrily down the
broken cliffs, or shaded by tall tree-ferns and waving grasses. But
nowhere was there any sign of human habitation; no palm-roofed huts, no
canoes, no figures crossing the open spaces between the trees. And not
only man, but even animals seemed wanting here.
The place was a complete solitude; the sea-birds had not strayed farther
than the cliffs where their nests were made, and save one little brown
bird, not unlike a sparrow, which chirped among the boughs, the sailors
neither heard nor saw any signs of life.
Fruit there was in abundance on the trees, and with this spoil they
hastened back to their comrades, who had meanwhile been exploring the
sides of the inlet.
A shout from the party of these explorers told the descending sailors
that some discovery had been made, and as they came nearer they saw that
a fire had been kindled on the beach, though with what object it was
hard to guess.
They were not long left in doubt, for shouts of "Turtle, turtle! come
and see the turtle we have cooked for dinner!" caused them to hasten to
the fire, on which was now seething an immense turtle, great numbers of
which were to be seen crawling along the beach.
The fruit was a welcome addition to the feast, and the sailors were soon
forgetting peril and disaster over a hearty and refreshing repast.
Then the whole party stretched themselves at ease under the trees; they
recounted to each other their adventures and discoveries. It was clear
that they were on an island, and that this island was far distant from
any known land. There appeared no doubt that it was uninhabited and
unknown, and great was the satisfaction of the captain in the thought of
carrying home to Portugal the tidings of a discovery so important. For
all saw what great service would be done to Portuguese commerce by the
establishment of a half-way station on their return from India, and the
feeling of regret for their lost ship was swallowed up and forgotten in
delight at the honor which they should receive at having first planted
the flag of Portugal on the Island of St. Helena, for thus did the
captain name the newly-found island.
The sailors made no doubt that now the violence of the storm was over,
that they would soon be rescued from their imprisonment by the other
ships, and meanwhile they set heartily to work to build their church.
The ship's carpenter undertook the principal directions, while the
captain determined on the best site for the new building, and marked its
outline on the turf.
Willing hands made the work light, and ere many days had passed the
church began to rise, plank by plank, amid the palm-trees and leafy
shade around.
The two remaining ships soon arrived, and their crews stayed long enough
to complete the church, and to lay in a store of fruit, turtles, and
fresh water, and then all set sail for Portugal, and St. Helena for long
years was henceforth reckoned among the possessions of that crown.
But though highly prized as a resting-place for ships, it did not at
first become a colony. Two small dwellings were built on either side the
church, but none inhabited them for about twelve years, when a
Portuguese nobleman, named Lopez, came to live there in banishment, with
no companions but three or four negro slaves, who under his direction,
cultivated the soil, planted and reared many new kinds of trees and
fruits, and tended the fowls and animals which were abundantly supplied
for his needs.
He did not, however, continue many years in St. Helena, and long the
island remained without inhabitants.
Sometimes a passing ship would leave one or more of her crew, who were
ill, that they might be restored by the vegetables and fruits, the pure
air and clear water of the island.
It happened once, nearly ninety years after the first discovery, that an
English crew landed for refreshment, and wandering about the island
approached the little church. They believed themselves the only human
beings on the island, and were therefore greatly surprised to hear a
voice singing within the church.
"It is a Portuguese," they said one to another, "let us enter and make
him prisoner."
Without another word the doors were thrown open, and there kneeling
alone in the church, they discovered a strange figure, wild and
terrified, dressed in a rough suit of goat-skin.
"Who are you?" cried the foremost of the sailors, forgetting that the
supposed Portuguese was not likely to answer an English question; but
the man started to his feet at the words, gazed round him, looking one
by one into the eager and wondering faces before him, and then, as if he
could no longer contain his joy, he rushed towards them, and threw
himself into the arms of the foremost.
He, in his turn, had feared that the new-comers were Portuguese, and the
poor English sailor, for such he was, had endured an agony of terror
till the sound of English speech assured him that he was among friends
and fellow-countrymen.
His story was soon told. He had been left at St. Helena by a passing
ship, because he was so reduced by the voyage that the captain feared
that he could never reach his home. Here he had lived for fourteen long
months, and had never during that time heard a human voice, or seen the
face of a friend. He had lived chiefly on the flesh of goats, which had
now multiplied on the island, and had in his wild, free life quite
recovered his health. But the joy of meeting with friends after so long
a solitude was too great; he was quite unable to sleep, and only lived
till the ship in which he had taken passage reached the West Indies.
St. Helena passed at length into the hands of the English, was colonized
and brought into cultivation, and it was here that Napoleon ended the
career which had laid waste and despoiled Europe. Here in this little
island was bounded his wide ambition; the sea set limits to his steps on
every side and stretched its strong impassible barrier all around him.
Here, though not alone, he endured a solitude which was doubtless
heavier to bear and more hopeless than that felt by any of the wanderers
who in early days were left upon that shore. For there is no solitude
like that of a heart which dwells alone, whose memories of the past can
bring no gladness, and whose future lies cheerless and blank before it.
He spent his time chiefly in reading, riding on horseback, and digging
in his garden. He was fond of amusing himself with children, and would
join in all their little sports. He employed himself, also, in writing
the memoirs of his own campaigns. "Let us live on the past," he said.
But ah! what satisfaction could a view of his past life have afforded
him? Those who have lived only for this world must never expect anything
but self-reproach in reviewing the opportunities of usefulness which
they have lost, and the precious talents they have misemployed. What a
favorable opportunity, however, was afforded to Napoleon in his solitude
at St. Helena, of examining his past life. Happy would it have been for
him if he had diligently used the time thus given him in mourning for
his sins, and humbling himself for the misapplication of the vast
talents entrusted to his charge.
[Illustration: Napoleon at St. Helena. (Page 83.)]
That he sometimes thought of the subject of religion, indeed, is
evident, if we believe a conversation which Count Monthoton, one of his
attendants, has recorded. "Alexander, Caesar, Charlemagne, and myself,"
Napoleon is represented to have said, "founded empires upon force! Jesus
Christ alone founded His empire upon love; and at this hour millions of
men would die for Him. I die before my time, and my body will be given
back to the earth to become food for worms. Such is the fate which so
soon awaits him who has been called the Great Napoleon! what a
difference between my deep misery and the eternal kingdom of Christ,
which is proclaimed, loved, and adored, and which is extending over the
whole earth. Call you this dying? Is it not living rather? The death of
Christ is the death of a God!" Napoleon became every day more and more
unhappy. He used to feed some fish in a pond, but they sickened and
died. "Everything that I love," said he, "leaves me: everything that
belongs to me is stricken!"
At last the event came which released him from all his earthly sorrows.
A painful disease, called cancer in the stomach, attacked him; and,
after considerable suffering, he expired on the 5th of May, 1821. The
night of his dissolution was a terrible one; a fearful storm was raging
all around. Napoleon had, for some hours, been insensible; towards six
o'clock in the evening, however, he pronounced the words, "Head of the
Army," as if his thoughts were running on the field of battle, and
immediately afterwards his immortal spirit quitted the tabernacle of
clay in which it dwelt. Such was Napoleon's death-bed. Alas! we look in
vain upon it for that language of triumph which has so often broken from
the lips of the followers of Jesus, when passing through the dark
"valley of the shadow of death." With Napoleon's dying moments, contrast
those of an eminent saint of God, Dr. Payson. "I seem to swim in a flood
of glory," said he to some young persons, "which God pours down upon me.
And I know--I know that my happiness is but begun--I cannot doubt that
it will last for ever. My young friends, were I master of the whole
world, what could it do for me like this! Nothing, nothing. Now all this
happiness I trace back to the religion which I have preached, and to the
time when that great change took place in my heart, which, I have often
told you, is necessary to salvation;--and I now tell you again, that
without this change you cannot, no, you cannot see the kingdom of God!"
Napoleon was buried at Longwood, in the Island of St. Helena, under a
large willow tree; but in 1840 his remains, with the consent of the
British Government, were removed to Paris, and buried with grand honors
in that city.