this awful hour, to recall to his memory the cruelty and injustice of
his conduct to Philip Harley: and when he reflected that, to gratify his
imperious disposition and implacable spirit of revenge, the poor lad had
been dragged from his peaceful home, his honest employment, and his
affectionate parents, to endure a series of hardships and perils, and
that he had finally suffered an untimely death,--this thought gave him
so keen a pang of remorse, that, as if he expected from change of place
to escape from memory, he started from his rocky pillow, and, as the day
was now beginning to dawn, proceeded to the beach, to ascertain whether
any of his friends from the ship had been so fortunate as to gain the
shore; for, he remembered, his uncle had given orders to have the
pinnace and yawl in readiness, in case the ship's situation should
become desperate, that an attempt might be made to preserve the lives of
part of the crew.
For some time, he pursued his melancholy walk, interrupted only by the
dismal sight of pieces of wreck, which the impetuous waves from time to
time dashed at his feet. The sea now running in high tide on the shore,
inspired him with the hope of seeing the pinnace and boats, or rafts
from the wreck; and that some, at least, of the ship's company might be
so fortunate as to reach the island with life. The sun, rising brightly
over the stormy ocean, discovered something struggling with the waves at
no great distance. Lord Robert felt the most agonizing sensations at the
idea that it was out of his power to render any assistance. All he could
do was to wave his handkerchief, from the little rocky promontory on
which he stood, and to shout with all his strength, to encourage him in
his efforts. At that moment, a tremendous wave engulfed the object of
his solicitude,--it sank, and his heart sank with it;--again it rose and
neared the shore;--but its efforts grew fainter and fainter;--and Lord
Robert, fearing that its strength would fail, though so near the shore,
regardless of his own safety, dashed through the breakers to render his
assistance, cheering as he did so. At the sound of his voice, the poor
creature appeared to recover his strength, and, struggling through the
breakers, sprang towards him with a joyful cry.
"Ah, my poor Neptune! Is it you?" exclaimed Lord Robert, with mingled
anguish and pleasure, as he threw his arms round the faithful animal,
and gave vent to his feelings with a burst of tears. "Yes!" said he, as
he threw himself on the beach in bitter sorrow, "the Diomede must indeed
have foundered, or my kind, my benevolent uncle, would never have
committed this old memorial of his lost nephew to the mercy of the
waves, for the sake of lightening the vessel, or saving the morsel of
food he would have consumed." But again remembering the chance that some
of the crew might be saved by the pinnace, and condemning the indulgence
of his grief, he rose, and, dripping as he was, pursued his search,
attended by his faithful Neptune, who bounded round him with joyful
affection. In the course of his walk, he found some limes and cocoa-nuts
scattered on the beach; and, yielding to the painful thirst that
consumed him, he raised one of the limes to his parched lips, when he
recollected that they were some of the fruit young Harley had gathered,
and was carrying to the ship at the time the boat was upset, and the
unfortunate youth had been buried in the waves. This thought recalled
the bitter reflections he had with difficulty succeeded in banishing
from his mind; and when he remembered that, though he had not been the
immediate, he had certainly been the ultimate cause of his death, he
sickened at the thought, and casting the untasted fruit from him, he
said, "No; I cannot eat these!" Proceeding on his walk, he gained the
spot where he had landed with his unfortunate companions the day
before. He sighed deeply as he passed it; and, doubling a projection of
rock, he discovered the pinnace, floating bottom upwards close in shore.
At that sight, the most agonizing in the world to the heart of a sailor,
he turned away, and wept almost to suffocation. For some moments, he
continued to give way to the grief which oppressed him, till roused from
the indulgence of his feelings by a loud and joyful bark from Neptune,
and, uncovering his eyes, he perceived a young sailor, whose face was
turned from him, gazing on the pinnace, apparently in as melancholy a
mood as himself. This doubtless was the only one of her unfortunate crew
who had escaped the violence of the waves; and Lord Robert, losing all
distinction of rank in the fellowship of misfortune, sprang towards him
with open arms, exclaiming, in a voice broken by emotion--"What cheer,
my lad?" At the sound of his voice, the young man turned slowly round,
and discovered a face pale with contending feelings--it was Philip
Harley! For a moment, the two enemies surveyed each other in silence;
each wondering at the other's preservation; each somewhat softened by
the traces of sorrow and suffering in the countenance of the
other,--but, alas! each mutually yielding to the same stubborn and
haughty temper which had so long been the spring of all that was evil in
their separate characters, they surveyed each other with a look of
defiance, and walked gloomily away in opposite directions.
Lord Robert certainly did feel his heart relieved of half the painful
emotions which had, for the last ten hours, oppressed it almost to
bursting; and as he retraced his steps almost instinctively to his
cheerless chamber in the rock, where he had spent that dreadful night,
he exclaimed, "Thank God, he lives! I am not then his murderer! It is
true, that entire solitude would have been much more agreeable to me,
than the idea of breathing the same air with him, and being constantly
exposed to the chance of meeting him; but that is more than compensated
by the knowledge that he lives, and is, indeed, no worse off than
myself."
Thus did Lord Robert compose his troubled thoughts, and lull to sleep
those better feelings which almost prompted him, at the first sight of
young Harley, to make such advances towards amity, as would have been
pleasing in the sight of God, and even in that of his enemy, whose
heart, naturally kind and good, had been greatly softened by the awful
circumstances under which their last interview had taken place. Besides,
he had been an unseen spectator of Lord Robert's manly but acute sorrow,
when he beheld, in the deplorable situation of the pinnace, a
confirmation of his worst fears respecting the fate of his uncle and
friends. He, too, had been weeping; for he reverenced Sir Henry Stanley,
and loved Lieutenant Cary; and he was disposed to behold even Lord
Robert with complacency, for their sakes; for he knew he was very dear
to them both; and when he saw the agony with which Lord Robert staggered
forward, on reaching the spot which commanded this melancholy sight, and
heard his repeated sobs, he felt his hatred towards him so much
diminished, that he was forced to recollect all the injuries he had
received from this young officer, before he could sufficiently repel the
inclination he felt to speak to him in the voice of kindness and
comfort. Lord Robert had hitherto appeared to him haughty, rude, and
unfeeling; and Philip knew not that this spoiled child of prosperity
possessed at times much sensibility, strong affections, and feelings,
which, had they been properly directed, would have been conducive to the
happiness of all around him; instead of which, his unchecked passions
produced danger and inconvenience to all who, even unintentionally,
irritated them, and misery to their unhappy possessor, far beyond what
he had ever inflicted on others.
But Philip was in many respects too like his adversary in character; and
he never took the trouble of asking his own heart, if he were not
sometimes to blame, as well as his high-born enemy. If Lord Robert was
haughty, Philip was insolent; if one was hasty in giving a provocation,
the other was still more so in retaliating. Had Philip for one moment
remembered that most divine maxim of holy writ, "A soft answer turneth
away wrath," and had he been sufficiently of a Christian disposition to
practise it in _one_ instance only, Lord Robert would have been
appeased; and what mischief might have been spared, what suffering
avoided, on one side! and what painful remorse on the other! When Philip
beheld Lord Robert's tears, his first emotion was surprise; and he said
to himself, "Can he weep? _he_ that is so hard-hearted and proud!" and
then the thought occurred to him, "Perhaps his heart is not so very hard
as I have reason to believe?" Philip was not uncandid; and he remembered
then, that he had often thrown himself in Lord Robert's way, and
committed many outrages, on purpose to provoke him. For the first time
in his life, he put himself in his Lordship's place, and asked his own
heart, whether he were sure, under such circumstances, that he should
have acted better? But Philip was not yet sufficiently acquainted with
the faults of his own character, to see that he had been almost equally
blameable; and though, perhaps, he would not have refused to forgive, he
had no idea that _he too_ required to be forgiven, if not by his erring
fellow-creature, at least by his heavenly Father. Had _this_ occurred to
him, he would not have renewed their suspended enmity, by being the
first to assume a look of defiance, while Lord Robert was undecided what
course to pursue: but the favourable moment was unfortunately lost; for
Lord Robert returned the glance with equal disdain, and they were as
much at variance as before.
Lord Robert had returned to the cleft in the rock, and thrown himself at
full length, lost in unpleasant and bitter reflections for some hours,
before the cravings of hunger reminded him that it was necessary to make
some exertion for the preservation of that life which Heaven had spared;
but perhaps he would, in his gloomy frame of mind, have disregarded his
own wants, and remained obstinate in his self-neglect, had not the mute
appeals of his faithful Neptune roused him from inertion. Neptune was a
fine water-dog, a present from his elder brother at parting; and Lord
Robert, who had long desired to possess this animal, treated him with
the most unbounded affection; and always suffered him to share every
meal with him, and even divided with him his share of food and water
during their late dreadful privations; and Neptune, who had not tasted
food for many hours, continued to put his paws on his master's knees,
and to survey him with a wishful look, till Lord Robert rose, and left
the cave in search of something to satisfy his cravings. Amongst his
other troubles, he had little fear of perishing by famine; for he knew,
by the latitude he was in, that he should most likely find turtle, or
turtles' eggs, on the beach. In fact, while he was listlessly pacing the
shore, thinking of anything rather than the object of his search,
Neptune, who was not quite so uninterested, pounced on something in a
hole in the sand, which proved to be a fine turtle. His master soon
killed it, and satisfied the hunger of his humble friend with part of
the flesh; and then, in a more leisurely manner, set about collecting
pieces of wreck to make a fire; but, alas! he was wholly unpractised in
the sleight of striking a few sparks to kindle a flame. It is true, he
knew how they were to be procured, and soon found a flint proper for the
purpose: but in striking it with the back of his knife, he only rubbed
the skin off his hands, and bruised his knuckles, without producing the
desired effect; or, if he did elicit a few sparks, they died away for
want of proper kindling. This put him in a passion, and he redoubled his
violence till he broke the flint into a thousand pieces; and sat down in
a very ill humour, looking at his pile of wood and his raw turtle with
much discontent. At last he recollected, that if he could not cook his
turtle, he could quench his thirst at the clear spring they had
discovered on their first landing: this he soon found, and was much
refreshed by a draught from it. At a small distance, within view of the
spring, he saw the little grove of limes and cocoas in the valley; there
he beheld, with some little envy, a bright blazing fire, near which
Philip was employed cooking his supper. He hastily avoided the spot, and
returned to the beach, where he found in the sand some turtles' eggs,
which he could eat raw, and with them satisfied the calls of hunger. He
then lay down on his flinty couch, with Neptune for a pillow; and, being
completely exhausted by fatigue, notwithstanding his distress and
discontent, sank into a profound sleep.
The next morning saw him still perplexed with those minor difficulties.
For though he could bear, with heroic self-denial, the hardships
incidental to his profession, and had not taken a morsel more food, or a
drop more water, in their late distress on board ship, than any other of
the suffering crew, and had even shared his scanty morsel with his
famishing dog, this he _could_ do, for he felt there was something noble
and refined in such conduct; but he felt sadly irritated at being thrown
on his own resources in the little common everyday necessaries of life.
From his infancy, he had been surrounded by servants, who were
accustomed to perform for him the most minute services, so that at
seventeen his Lordship (though a valiant officer, and perfect in his
professional duties,) was ignorant of many things very necessary for
every one to know; and if he was acquainted with the methods resorted to
in many situations, he was at least very awkward in his attempts of
putting them into practice. However, on this occasion, making use of his
own good sense, after a little calm reflection, he collected from the
sides of the rock some dry grey moss, and, drawing some rays from the
sun in the focus of a little perspective glass he had in his pocket, he
soon set his pile of wood in a blaze, and cooked sufficient turtle to
feed him for a day or two.
He had scarcely completed this employment, when the sun, which had for
days been shaded by tempestuous clouds, broke forth with its usual
splendour; and there was promise of a continuance of that sultry weather
so seldom interrupted in these latitudes. Lord Robert, when he felt the
sun beat on his uncovered temples, fled for shelter to his cave, which
he found nearly of the same temperature as an oven half heated. Panting
for breath, he remembered the grove, of which Philip had taken
possession, and bent his steps towards it; but he found that this spot
of verdure did not consist of more than a rood of land; and he did not
choose to be so near young Harley as the farthest extremity of its
shelter. So he remained on the burning beach, or under the shade of some
arid rock, during the day, determining to make a tour of the island in
the cool of the evening, and hoping to fix his residence in some shady
vale similar to Philip's territories. But how can his disappointment be
expressed, when, after a most fatiguing walk, all the good he gained was
a knowledge of the extent of his prison? He had in vain searched for a
grove; barren rocks and burning sands alone met his sight: at last, he
climbed a conical hill, which towered above the other rocks, and which,
from his geological knowledge, he was certain contained the exhausted
crater of a volcano. Here he had a view of every nook of the island,
which was of the extent of about five miles, and presented a prospect of
one pile of horrid rocks heaped on another, without one spot of
fertility, except Philip's little cluster of trees, whose bright verdure
formed a refreshing contrast to the burning rocks, which seemed yet to
glow with the intense heat that had been poured on them through the
day. As he fixed his eyes wistfully on this favoured spot, and saw the
smoke of Philip's evening fire curling above the trees, he exclaimed,
"Yes; I must, though most reluctantly, share this only habitable place
with him; for such a day as the last I cannot endure again. Doubtless,
this grove was planted by some benevolent navigator (such as I have
often read of) on the soil formed by the accidental residence of
sea-birds; and the grass and trees[4] have gradually spread over a small
extent of land. Surely, as it was meant for universal benefit, I have a
right to a share of it." So saying, he descended the hill, and after a
toilsome walk arrived at the grove after nightfall, where he enjoyed the
luxury of stretching his aching limbs on the soft grass, under the
fragrant shade of a lime-tree, and slept soundly till after sunrise. He
awoke in the morning with the cheerful sound of a human voice singing,
and on opening his eyes, saw Philip Harley, a few paces from him, busy
at work. He was astonished to see the progress his enemy had made in
forming himself a habitation; for he had got very forward in the
frame-work of a neat hut, and was now boarding it in with planks, which
he had collected on the beach, singing as he knocked in every nail. This
hut was situated among the thickest cluster of trees, directly under a
fine young vine, the only one in the island; and as Philip roofed his
hut, he carefully trained the rich branches all over the dwelling,
taking care not to injure the purpling fruit, which was nearly ripe;
thus giving his hut, as soon as it was finished, the charming appearance
of a bower.
[Footnote 4: The progress of vegetation is very curious in those
islands, which are supposed by geologists to be thrown up from the
bottom of the sea by volcanoes, or formed by the unceasing labours of
the coral animalculi. These generally present at first a rocky surface,
barren and arid. By degrees, a little soil is deposited by sea-fowl and
birds of passage; on this at first grow the seeds of some of those
minute plants, which are literally carried on the wings of the wind from
countries that appear too far distant for any such conveyance. These
plants flourish, fade, and are renewed by the seasons, until from their
decayed parts is formed that fine vegetable mould which overspreads the
more fertile surface of the earth. When this process is begun, if the
land receives from the hand of some benevolent discoverer a few seeds of
trees or plants to which the climate is congenial, the work of
fertilization is rapidly accelerated; grass grows luxuriantly under the
shade of the trees: verdure increases, and creeps farther and farther,
till from one little spot, an oasis in the midst of a desert, the whole
island becomes fruitful.]
Overcome by the heat of the climate, Lord Robert lay for a day or two
wholly inactive, stretched beneath his lime-tree, amusing himself with
playing with Neptune, or when he thought he was unperceived, watching
the progress of his enemy's work, but not condescending to address one
word to him; who, on his part, preserved the same sullen silence. Lord
Robert could not help wondering how Harley came by the saw and hatchet
which he handled with so much adroitness; but he would not condescend to
ask him. The fact was, that when Philip and the sailors were called away
from gathering the cocoas, Philip, in his hurry had left the saw and
hatchet at the foot of the tree; and there he found them when he
regained the land. Possessed of these treasures, he made himself a
hammer of a hollow stone; and, drawing nails out of the wreck, he set to
work, and soon completed his hut. But when he proceeded to make a stool
and table, Lord Robert was moved to some exertion; for he thought, that
if he could make himself something of the kind to place under his
lime-tree, he should not regret the hut his adversary seemed so proud
of; and he was determined to try to construct some such articles of
comfort and convenience. He accordingly went to the beach, and soon
collected timber, from which he selected pieces with which he meant to
try to form a table and three-legged stool. He would willingly have
worked on the beach, out of the impertinent ken of his enemy: but the
intolerable heat soon drove him back to the delicious shade of the
grove, where a perpetual breeze seemed to play amongst the leaves; and
thither he reluctantly proceeded, carrying the wood, and followed by
Neptune. Sorry I am to record, that when Philip saw his haughty enemy
appear thus laden, he paused in his work with a malicious curiosity to
see how Lord Robert would acquit himself in his new employment. The
first thing he did was to tear a bough or two off a tree, meaning to cut
three truncheons to form the legs of his stool. It was lignum vitae wood,
extremely hard; and Lord Robert eyed Philip's saw, which just then would
have been of great service to him, but he disdained to ask the loan of
it. So he seated himself on the turf, and began to cut the legs with his
pocket-knife (his only tool) with great difficulty; then he chose from
the fragments of wreck a small piece of square wood, and marked with
his pencil the holes he designed to make; he then walked, in a very
stately manner, to Philip's fire, and taking from thence three hot
coals, he laid them on his pencilled marks, and kept renewing them till
the wood was nearly burnt through; then he scraped through the burnt
wood, till he had got three holes; into these he knocked his truncheons
with a great stone, and placed his stool on the ground to admire his own
ingenuity; but he had knocked one leg more and another less, so that
their lengths were unequal, and down the stool fell. Philip, who had
seen this defect all the time, was highly diverted at his
disappointment, when the stool fell, particularly when he saw how it
irritated Lord Robert's impatient temper. At last, overcoming his
inclination to laugh, he said: "You must shorten the middle leg of your
stool, or it will never stand;" at the same time pushing his rule and
saw towards his Lordship, who rejected them with great disdain,
saying--"Do you think that I can condescend to learn the low mechanic
art of a _carpenter_?" And he laid a most contemptuous stress on the
word _carpenter_.
Philip coloured with indignation, as he replied, "Perhaps your
_Lordship_ will in a little time see which is of most service in this
place, _your_ title, or _my_ useful knowledge."
Lord Robert haughtily flung back the rule and saw, and began to shorten
the leg with his knife. This was a work of time and difficulty: the wood
was hard, and the knife unfit for the purpose, and, worse than all, Lord
Robert was very awkward in his mechanical attempts; but he was unusually
so in this, for he was in a pet, and he saw that Philip watched him and
enjoyed his unskilful manoeuvres. This had the effect of enraging and
confusing him; and, in his anger, the knife slipped and cut his knuckles
across. He glanced at Philip, and saw him smile. This greatly provoked
him, and he darted towards his enemy a furious look; but Philip
continued to survey his operations with a calm but sarcastic regard. The
next thing Lord Robert did was to set his knife so fast in the wood that
he could not move it. Philip smiled again; and Lord Robert, out of all
patience, used so violent an effort to get it free, that the blade
snapped in the middle, and, starting up in a passion, he dashed the
stool violently against the ground. Philip laughed aloud.
"Insolent plebeian!" exclaimed Lord Robert; "do you presume to insult
me?"
"Lord Robert Summers," replied Philip, "I would advise you to remember,
that you are neither in your father's park, nor on the deck of the
Diomede, where your imperious temper might be feared and indulged: but
here we are equals; and any outrage, either of words or actions, shall
meet with instant chastisement. I would therefore advise your Lordship
to be more guarded in your language, for it may be followed by
consequences which you may not approve!"
"Villain!" retorted Lord Robert, "do you forget that I am your
commanding officer?"
"No!" returned Philip, becoming greatly agitated as certain
recollections crossed his mind; "no:--you have put it out of my power
ever to forget that you were once enabled to gratify your ungenerous
malice to the utmost stretch of your power. Basely and cruelly did you
trample on me, when you knew that to resist the authority you abused was
impossible. I _was_ your victim, but am so no longer! And," continued
he, advancing very close to Lord Robert, "beware how you provoke me to
take such signal vengeance for all the injuries you have inflicted on
me, as shall teach your proud heart to rue the hour that ever you made
Philip Harley the companion of your voyage!"