No Prospect of reaching East Cape.--Painful Conviction.--
The Province of Christian Faith.--The Wreck visited.--The
Natives.--Hope unexpectedly revived.--Ship in Sight.--Comes
near.--Signals from the Land.--No Assistance offered.--
Sails down the Coast.--Indescribable State of our Minds.--
Card in The Polynesian.
The prospect of reaching East Cape for the present was at length
abandoned. A conclusion was arrived at, from the necessity of our
condition, which was full of disappointed hope, and which required
an unusual degree of patient courage to sustain our minds under the
painful conviction that we must, after all, spend the next three
quarters of a year, if we should live, in the northern regions. How the
mind of man becomes shaped and adjusted to meet certain conditions of
his being! If viewed in the light of unavoidable necessity, we see the
force and independence of mind grappling with adverse circumstances,
thus proving its original superiority over all outward disadvantages.
It is, however, the province of _Christian_ faith in the providences
of an all-wise God, which secures to the mind true reconciliation,
imparts hope in adversity, and awakens unearthly joy in seasons of
sorrow and disappointment.
The next day after our arrival at our new habitations, the whole
company rested, and got somewhat recruited as to our bodies, and, not
the least in our circumstances of anticipated captivity for months, our
minds became partially settled that we must make the best of a common
disaster and a common destiny.
The day following, preparations were made by ourselves, in connection
with the natives and their dog teams, to visit the wreck. One of the
first questions asked, and the principal one in which the natives were
more interested than in any other, was, whether there was any rum at
the wreck. A keg of spirits had been washed ashore, as before stated,
and a part of it had been used, and the remainder was in the keg in the
tent, stowed away with other articles from the wreck.
A difficulty was now apprehended. If the natives should find the keg
of rum, and become intoxicated, as they probably would, serious and
perhaps fatal consequences might take place. To avoid any fears of this
sort, and remove all grounds of contention, the captain sent two of his
men ahead, with orders to knock in the head of the rum keg. It was
done as commanded; no further difficulty, therefore, could arise from
this source.
Self-preservation prompted to this; but in a multitude of instances no
less striking, where property, reputation, and even life itself are
concerned, a like decision, to knock in the head of the rum keg, or
break jugs and bottles, and pour the source of evil upon the ground,
would be highly commendable, and fraught with the most happy results.
In due time we reached the wreck, and, as was expected, the natives
began to search for spirits; but for their advantage, as well as ours,
they found none. They sought every where for it, ransacked every nook
and corner, hauled over wreck stuff, looked into barrels, knocked to
pieces oil casks, &c., to find it, but all in vain.
It appeared, furthermore, as if the natives supposed they had a _right_
to whatever they could lay their hands upon, and what they found among
the wreck, or on shore, was a lawful prize. Several pieces of white and
blue cotton cloth had washed ashore since the wreck was last visited;
these the natives appropriated to their own use. A slate was found, and
upon it we wrote the name of the ship, her captain, and where the crew
could be found, and placed it in a prominent position near the wreck,
hoping that it might possibly meet the eye of some deliverer, though an
event so much desired could now hardly be expected.
The company remained in the vicinity of the wreck until towards night,
and then each man took with him a bag of bread, and, with the natives
and their dog teams, we left for the settlement, which was about
fifteen miles distant.
It was exceedingly hard to visit the scene of our recent disaster, and
behold the desolation and end of the noble ship that had withstood so
many storms and weathered so many gales, but now a promiscuous mass
of broken timbers, planks, and spars; besides, her cargo thrown upon
the beach. If possible, it was even harder to leave what remained of
her behind, and to carry away a small quantity of provisions to eke
out an existence which, under the most favorable circumstances, among
the natives, must be most trying and painful. And then, again, all the
provisions we expected to obtain from the wreck could last us but a few
months, at the longest. If our lives, therefore, should be prolonged,
we saw before us the only alternative of living as the natives did,
being constant spectators of their extreme filthiness in person
and habits, and sharing with them in the peculiarly offensive and
disgusting character and preparation of their food.
The next day, the company remained in the settlement, wearied with
the labor of the preceding day, and, the greatest calamity of all,
oppressed in our minds, as we contemplated the future; and as we began
to realize more and more what would probably be our destination for
many long months to come.
"Hope deferred maketh the heart sick;" but hope revived--when
well nigh abandoned and ready to expire, like the last flickerings
of the lamp--hope revived imparts new life, and sends a thrill
of joy through languishing minds. Thus the weak become strong, and
the disheartened are animated and encouraged to put forth more
earnest efforts. Hope revived under the circumstances in which these
shipwrecked mariners were placed was like the introduction of light,
comfort, and home into their wintry habitations. What intelligence more
to be desired and sincerely asked for than the announcement of a sail
in sight?
Think of them, as brooding over their anticipated doom; settling it,
or having settled it in their minds, that their abode was doubtless
fixed for the present; thoughts of home now and then rushing into
their minds with overwhelming force, or, it may be, with the only
exception of their sleeping moments, never out of their minds; indeed,
their very dreams shaded, colored, and made treacherously illusive with
joyous meetings of companions, parents, relatives, and friends! Think
of them at such a time as this, when the hope of deliverance had taken
its lowest dip, like the wintry sun of the Arctic passing below the
horizon, its light and comfort quite departing; so hope in the minds
of this company of wrecked mariners had fallen beyond any reasonable
expectation of deliverance.
Severe and terrific storms of wind, rain, hail, and snow had swept over
the northern ocean, and ere this it was supposed that every ship had
sought a more southern and genial clime.
What, then, was our unexpected and glad surprise, on the following day,
when, amid the tumult and confusion, as well as the excitement of the
natives, both in and around the huts, it was announced that a _sail_
was in sight!
With all possible speed we hastened to a high cliff bordering the sea
shore, and there we saw, indeed, what our eyes delighted to behold,
and our bosoms swelled with grateful emotions to contemplate--a ship
under sail, some ten or twelve miles distant, and standing in directly
for the shore. As we looked, never before with more exhilarated spirits
and reviving hope, on, on the vessel came, approaching nearer and
nearer, until her davits were plainly seen, and men walking to and fro
on deck. The ship now was not more than two miles distant. She came to,
main yard hauled back, and lay in that position a quarter of an hour or
more.
With these indications, all doubt had nearly or quite left our minds
that the intentions of those on board were to take us off. Still, no
boat was lowered, nor was there any answering signal. This surely was
mysterious, and betokened fear. And yet could it be that within so
short a distance no deliverance would be extended? It was contrary
to reason to believe so; the thought must not be cherished a single
moment. We should soon tread a friendly deck, and share again a
sailor's home on the deep. Thus whispered hope, suddenly revived in all
our hearts.
But in order to make the case doubly sure, and remove all suspicion in
the minds of those on board that those on shore were not all natives,
two colors, one white and the other blue, were raised upon poles to
the height of full thirty feet. It was plainly seen by those on board,
as subsequent testimony from the officers abundantly proved. Besides,
these were signals of civilization, of common brotherhood, of pressing
emergency, and strongly excited hope. But, alas! they met with no
response from that vessel's deck.
Lest there should be a lurking distrust in the minds of the captain
and officers of the ship that these signals were a mere trickery or
device of the natives to get on board of the ship, or for the ship to
send a boat ashore, the company on shore separated themselves from the
natives, so that with the aid of a glass, or even with the naked eye,
a distinction in manner, movement, and dress could be easily seen by
those on shipboard. This expedient also failed.
As another resort to attract attention, a fire was kindled; and yet
the rising and curling smoke met with no cordial response, no friendly
salutation; no boat came to our rescue. Shortly after, the ship filled
away, passed down the coast, and was seen no more.
We felt, what no language can adequately express, that this was an
instance of cold, deliberate, and even infamous neglect. Could it be
they were ignorant of the ordinary laws of humanity, and wilfully
misconstrued the most obvious signs of needy and suffering seamen?
Instances have, indeed, occurred, in which vessels at sea have
been known to pass near shipwrecked mariners, and yet they were not
discovered. They were upon a low raft, perhaps, or had no means of
raising a signal, and were therefore passed. The imploring cries and
stretched-out hands of the sufferers were alike unheeded; not from any
intentional neglect, by any means, but simply because they were not
seen from the vessel's deck.
It is sad to contemplate an oversight even like this, in which the
hopes and lives of a number of unfortunate seamen were suspended upon
the bare possibility of being recognized by the passing ship.
How many, many have doubtless perished in mid ocean, whose eyes beheld
again and again the approaching and departing sail, whose hearts
alternately rose in hope and sunk in despondency, and yet at last died
without the precious boon of deliverance!
Other instances have, however, occurred, of a far different character.
Suffering, exhausted, and dying mariners, either upon wrecks or rafts,
have been left uncared for and abandoned by the passing ship.
If the records of the past did not furnish conclusive evidence of
the truth of the foregoing statement, it would seem that the bare
announcement of the fact would be sufficient not only to appall the
hardest heart, and cover with deep and lasting shame the perpetrators
of such a deed, but to place it in the frightful category of those
events absolutely beyond both human experience and credulity.
Revelation informs us that "the sea shall give up its dead;" so will
there be a resurrection both of the good and bad in human conduct. A
virtuous and benevolent act performed upon the ocean will never be
concealed. The winds, as they sweep over its surface, will declare
it. And so, on the other hand, an act of inhumanity, capriciousness,
cruelty, or turning a deaf ear to the expostulations and entreaties of
the dependent and suffering, will never slumber. The mighty waves, as
they traverse the great deep, will speak in thunder tones that the deed
lives.
The hopes of _thirty-three_ persons in the cold and dreary region of
the north, in the province of perpetual ice and snow, were suddenly
and unexpectedly revived by the near approach of a ship within trumpet
hail; signals of wrecked mariners on shore, the ship remaining
more than fifteen minutes with her yards back, and those on board
beholding the demonstrations of intense anxiety of those on shore that
deliverance might be sent to them, and yet not one motion made for
our rescue! The ship is soon on her way, and out of sight. If hope was
ever suddenly and unexpectedly revived, it was then; if hope was ever
suddenly cast down to its lowest depths, it was then.
Nor could our eyes hardly believe what we were beholding. Was it
all illusion, dream, or magic? No; it was a reality. We had been
tantalized. The cup of the greatest earthly blessing had been held to
our lips, and yet we were not allowed to drink of it, but it was dashed
to the earth in our very presence. The departure of that ship was the
departure of mercies to us, to procure which we would have been willing
to make the greatest earthly sacrifice.
What a day of joy and sorrow was that to us! How many hitherto downcast
countenances were lighted up! What words of good cheer passed from one
to another! How many hearts bounded with thankfulness and gratitude at
the thought of so speedy a deliverance!
Our families and friends at home were thus far ignorant of the
distressing scenes through which we had passed, and also of our present
condition; but ere long, as we believed, on our arrival at the islands,
we should communicate to them the wreck of our ship, the loss of the
voyage, and the fortunate rescue of so many of our number from a watery
grave.
We felt that we had much for which to be thankful to God, and that
soon we should be able to send to anxious ones at home the happy
intelligence that we were among the saved.
Such is hope when strongly excited. It ennobles and invigorates the
human soul; it adorns the horizon with the gorgeous drapery of morning
clouds; it paints the evening with the glories of departing day; it
forgets the past; it is the elixir of life itself; without it man lives
only in the present, and anticipates no future good.
But that was a day of sorrow too! It seemed as if we should sink into
the very earth, and that we were unable to stand, with such a load
and pressure upon our spirits. We were crushed both in body and mind.
Contending emotions of indignation, abandoned hope, unmitigated grief,
and poignant sorrow, swayed and strongly agitated every bosom. The
whole company wept like children.
It may be asked, "Why did not the officers and crew avail themselves of
the canoes of the natives, and go off to the ship?" It is true there
were several canoes near the shore, but the natives were unwilling
they should be touched; from what cause we could not understand. Our
acquaintance with them, and theirs with us, had thus far been very
slight; and it may be they had serious suspicions in their minds that
we designed some evil towards them. They were doubtless governed by
some notions, in refusing us the aid of their canoes, in keeping with
their half-civilized or barbarous natures.
The captain and others offered to hire the canoes, at the same time
presenting to them some little articles they had with them, as a pocket
or jack knife, but all to no purpose. They resisted every proposition.
The officers and some of the crew were so anxious to get to the ship
that they proposed twice to the captain to take forcible possession
of the canoes, and follow the ship; and they would have done it, and
risked all the consequences, had the captain approved of it. He,
however, opposed this plan, on the ground that though a few might
succeed in reaching the ship, yet those who were left behind, being
entirely unarmed, would probably be instantly killed, and, therefore,
it was bad policy to expose the lives of a majority of the company
for the safety of only a few. Or, it may be, in their first efforts
to seize the canoes, and before they could even get them into the
water, the natives would fall upon us, and massacre the whole company
on the spot. And still farther, we were wholly in their power, both
for the present and for months to come, and without their kindness
and good will we had no sort of chance for life; therefore the least
misunderstanding or violent collision between the parties might lay
the foundation for causes which would result, if not now, yet in
some future time, in the destruction of the whole company. These
considerations, suggested by the captain, dissuaded his men from
attempting a forcible seizure of the canoes of the natives; and,
therefore, for the good of the whole, that means whereby a few possibly
might have reached the ship, was given up.
We leave this painful reminiscence of the past by copying from _The
Polynesian_, published at Honolulu, November 19, 1853, the following
CARD.
"The undersigned, late master of the whale ship Citizen, of New
Bedford, feels it a duty he owes alike to the living and the dead to
make known the following circumstances.
"On the 25th of September, 1852, in the Arctic Ocean, in lat. 68 deg. 10'
N., the ship Citizen was wrecked, and five men were lost; himself
and the balance of the crew reached the shore, without any thing but
the clothes they stood in. It was very cold, and they kept alive by
burning casks of oil that had floated ashore from the wreck; that they
lived near the wreck until October 3, when the whale ship Citizen, of
Nantucket, Captain Bailey, hove in sight; they immediately hoisted a
flag upon a pole thirty feet high, and made every signal they could
of distress; that the ship at first stood in as though she saw them,
then hauled up and shivered in the wind, and afterwards filled away and
left them. She was so close at one time that those on shore could see
her davits. The feelings with which they saw the vessel leave them are
indescribable, as no hope was left them but to endure the rigors of a
winter's residence in that cold, bleak, and desolate region, if they
should escape the tomahawk of the savage. That their signals were seen
by Captain Bailey there can be no doubt, as Captain B. reported seeing
his signals last fall. The mate of Captain Bailey's vessel reported to
Captain B. that he could see sailors on shore, and requested a boat to
go to their relief, which Captain B. refused.
"Through the inhumanity of Captain Bailey, we were compelled to remain
_nine months_ in that barren region, destitute of clothing and food,
other than the natives could supply us from their scanty stores of
blubber and furs. During this time, two of the crew perished from cold,
and left their bones to bleach among the snows of the north, as a
monument of 'man's inhumanity to man.'
"The natives were humane, kind, and hospitable to us, though wretchedly
poor.
THOMAS H. NORTON."
[Illustration: HUNTING THE POLAR BEAR.]