Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren
ground.--_Tempest_.
Let the great gods,
That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulged crimes
Unwhipped of justice! Hide, thou bloody hand;
Thou perjured and thou simular man of virtue,
That art incestuous! Caitiff, to pieces shake,
That under covert and convenient seeming,
Hast practised on man's life!--_Lear_.
At one o'clock at night, in the midst of the Atlantic, a hundred
leagues west of the Azores, the bark Swallow, freighted with salt cod
for the Levant, was scudding furiously, under a close-reefed foresail,
before a fierce gale. On board were her captain, two mates, seven men,
a black steward, a cabin boy, and Mr. John White, a passenger.
The captain and his mates were all on deck. John White, otherwise
Horace Vinal, occupied a kind of store room, opening out of the cabin.
Here a temporary berth had been nailed up for him, while on the
opposite side were stowed a trunk belonging to him, and three barrels
of onions belonging to the vessel's owners, all well lashed in their
places.
The dead lights were in, but the seas, striking like mallets against
the stern, pierced in fine mist through invisible crevices,
bedrizzling every thing with salt dew. The lantern, hanging from the
cabin roof, swung angrily with the reckless plungings of the vessel.
Vinal was a good sailor; that is to say, he was not very liable to
that ocean scourge, seasickness, and the few qualms he had suffered
were by this time effectually frightened out of him. As darkness
closed, he had lain down in his clothes; and flung from side to side
till his bones ached with the incessant rolling of the bark, he
listened sleeplessly to the hideous booming of the storm. Suddenly
there came a roar so appalling, that he leaped out of his berth with
terror. It seemed to him as if a Niagara had broken above the vessel,
and was crushing her down to the nethermost abyss. The rush of waters
died away. Then came the bellow of the speaking trumpet, the trampling
of feet, the shouts of men, the hoarse fluttering of canvas. In a few
moments he felt a change in the vessel's motion. She no longer rocked
with a constant reel from side to side, but seemed flung about at
random, hither and thither, at the mercy of the storm.
She had been, in fact, within a hair's breadth of foundering. A huge
wave, chasing on her wake, swelling huger and huger, towering higher
and higher, had curled, at last, its black crest above her stern, and,
breaking, fallen on her in a deluge. The captain, a Barnstable man of
the go-ahead stamp, was brought at last to furl his foresail and lie
to.
Vinal, restless with his fear, climbed the narrow stairway which led
up to the deck, and pushed open the door at the top; but a blast of
wind and salt spray clapped it in his face, and would have knocked him
to the foot of the steps, if he had not clung to the handrail. He
groped his way as he could back to his berth. Here he lay for a
quarter of an hour, when the captain came down, enveloped in
oilcloths, and dripping like a Newfoundland dog just out of the water.
Vinal emerged from his den, and presenting himself with his haggard
face, and hair bristling in disorder, questioned the bedrenched
commander touching the state of things on deck. But the latter was in
a crusty and savage mood.
"Hey! what is it?"--surveying the apparition by the light of the
swinging lantern,--"well, you _be_ a beauty, I'll be damned if you
ain't."
"I did not ask you how I looked; I asked you about the weather."
"Well, it ain't the sweetest night I ever see; but I guess you won't
drown this time."
"My friend," said Vinal, "learn to mend your way of speaking, and use
a civil tongue."
The captain stared at him, muttered an oath or two, and then turned
away.
Day broke, and Vinal went on deck. It was a wild dawning. The storm
was at its height. One rag of a topsail was set to steady the vessel;
all the rest was bare poles and black dripping cordage, through which
the gale yelled like a forest in a tornado. The sky was dull gray; the
ocean was dull gray. There was no horizon. The vessel struggled among
tossing mountains, while tons of water washed her decks, and the men,
half drowned, clung to the rigging. Vast misshapen ridges of water
bore down from the windward, breaking into foam along their crests,
struck the vessel with a sullen shock, burst over her bulwarks,
deluged her from stem to stern, heaved her aloft as they rolled on,
and then left her to sink again into the deep trough of the sea.
Vinal was in great fear; but nothing in his look betrayed it. He soon
went below to escape the drenching seas; but towards noon, Hansen, the
second mate, a good-natured old sea dog, came down with the welcome
news that the gale had suddenly abated. Vinal went on deck again, and
saw a singular spectacle. The wind had strangely lulled; but the waves
were huge and furious as ever; and the bark rose and pitched, and was
flung to and fro with great violence, but in a silence almost perfect.
Water, in great quantities, still washed the deck, but found ready
escape through a large port in the after part of the vessel, the lid
of which, hanging vertically, had been left unfastened.
The lull was of short space. A hoarse, low sound began to growl in the
distance like muffled thunder. It grew louder,--nearer,--and the gale
was on them again. This time it blew from the north-west, and less
fiercely than before. The venturous captain made sail. The yards were
braced round; and leaning from the wind till her lee gunwale scooped
the water, the vessel plunged on her way like a racehorse. The clouds
were rent; blue sky appeared. Strong winds tore them apart, and the
sun blazed out over the watery convulsion, changing its blackness to a
rich blue, almost as dark, where the whirling streaks of foam seemed
like snow wreaths on the mountains. Jets of foam, too, spouted from
under the vessel's bows, as she dashed them against the opposing seas;
and the prickling spray flew as high as the main top. The ocean was
like a viking in his robust carousals,--terror and mirth, laughter and
fierceness, all in one.
But the mind of Vinal was blackness and unmixed gall. His game was
played and lost. The worst that he feared had befallen him. Suspense
was over, and he was freed from the incubus that had ridden him so
long. A something like relief mixed itself with his bitter and
vindictive musings. He had not fled empty handed. He and Morton's
friend Sharpe had been joint trustees of a large estate, a part of
which, in a form that made it readily available, happened to be in
Vinal's hands at the time of his crisis. Dread of his quick-sighted
and vigilant colleague had hitherto prevented him from applying it to
his own uses. But this fear had now lost its force. He took it with
him on his flight, and converted it into money in New York, where he
had embarked.
At night the descent of Hansen to supper was a welcome diversion to
his lonely thoughts. The old sailor seated himself at the table:--
"I've lost all my appetite, and got a horse's. Here, steward, you
nigger, where be yer? Fetch along that beefsteak. What do you call
this here? Well, never mind what you call it, here goes into it, any
how."
A silent and destructive onslaught upon the dish before him followed.
Then, laying down his knife and fork for a moment,--
"I've knowed the time when I could have ate up the doctor
there,"--pointing to the steward,--"bones and all, and couldn't get a
mouthful, no way you could fix it." Then, resuming his labors, "Tell
you what, squire, this here agrees with me. Come out of that berth
now, and sit down here alongside o' me. Just walk into that beefsteak,
like I do. That 'ere beats physicking all holler."
Thus discoursing, partly to himself and partly to Vinal, and, by
turns, berating the grinning steward in a jocular strain, Mr. Hansen
continued his repast. When, at last, he left the cabin, Vinal found
the solitude too dreary for endurance; and, to break its monotony, he
also went on deck.
The vessel still scoured wildly along; and as she plunged through the
angry seas, so the moon was sailing among stormy clouds, now eclipsed
and lost, now shining brightly out, silvering the seething foam, and
casting the shadows of spars and rigging on the glistening deck. Vinal
bent over the bulwark and looked down on the bubbles, as they fled
past, flashing in the moon.
His thoughts flew backward with them, and dwelt on the hated home from
which he was escaping.
"What an outcry! what gapes of wonder, and eyes turned up to heaven!
Gulled, befooled, hoodwinked! and now, at last, you have found it out,
and make earth and heaven ring with your virtuous spite. I knew you
all, and played you as I would play the pieces on a chess board. The
game was a good one in the main, but with some blunders, and for those
I pay the price. If I had had that villain's brute strength, and the
brute nerve that goes with it, there would have been a different story
to tell. Before this, I would have found a way to grind him to the
earth, and set my foot on his neck. They think him virtuous. He thinks
himself so. The shallow-witted idiots! Their eyes can only see
skin-deep. They love to be cheated. They swallow fallacies as a child
swallows sweetmeats. The tinsel dazzles them, and they take it for
gold. Virtue! a delusion of self-interest--self-interest, the spring,
lever, and fulcrum of the world. It is for my interest, for every
body's interest, that his neighbors should be honest, candid, open,
forgiving, charitable, continent, sober, and what not. Therefore, by
the general consent of mankind,--the inevitable instinct of
self-interest,--such qualities are exalted into sanctity; christened
with the name of virtues; draped in white, and crowned with halos;
rewarded with praises here and paradise hereafter. Drape the skeleton
as you will, the bare skeleton is still there. Paint as thick as you
will, the bare skull grins under it,--to all who have the eyes to see,
and the hardihood to use them. How many among mankind have courage to
face the naked truth? Not one in a thousand. Cannot the fools draw
reason out of the analogy of things? Can they not see that, as their
bodies will be melted and merged into the bodily substance of the
world, so their minds will be merged in the great universal mind,--the
_animus mundi_,--out of which they sprang, like bubbles on the water,
and into which they will sink again, like bubbles when they burst?
Immortality! They may please themselves with the name; but of what
worth is an immortality where individuality is lost, and each
conscious atom drowned in the vast immensity? What a howling and
screeching the wind makes in the rigging! If I were given to
superstition, I could fancy that a legion from the nether world were
bestriding the ropes, yelping in grand jubilation at the sight of----"
Here his thoughts were abruptly cut short. A combing wave struck the
vessel. She lurched with violence, and a shower of foam flew over her
side. Vinal lost his balance. His feet slipped from under him. He
fell, and slid quickly across the wet and tossing deck. Instinctively
he braced his feet to stop himself against the bulwark on the lee
side. But at the point where they touched it was the large port before
mentioned. Though closed to all appearance, the bolt was still
unfastened. It flew open at his touch. Vinal clutched to save himself.
His fingers slipped on the wet timbers, and with a cry of horror, he
was shot into the bubbling surges. There was a blinding in his eyes, a
ringing in his ears; then, for an instant, he saw the light, and the
black hulk of the vessel fled past like a shadow. Then a wave swept
over him: all was darkness and convulsion, and a maddened sense of
being flung high aloft, as the wave rolled him towards its crest like
a drift sea weed. Here again light broke upon him; and flying above
the merciless chaos, he saw something like the white wing of a huge
bird. It was the reefed main-topsail of the receding vessel. He
shrieked wildly. A torrent of brine dashed back the cry, and foaming
over his head, plunged him down into darkness again. Again he rose,
gasping and half senseless; and again the ravenous breakers beat him
down. A moment of struggle and of agony; then a long nightmare of
dreamy horror, while, slowly settling downward, he sank below the
turmoil of the storm; slowly and more slowly still, till the denser
water sustained his weight. Then with limbs outstretched, he hovered
in mid ocean, lonely, void, and vast, like a hawk poised in mid-air,
while his felon spirit, bubbling to the surface, winged its dreary
flight through the whistling storm.