BERMUDA IN THE PEACE.
The Leander was a fifty-gun ship, and well known to the profession,
as having formed one of the line of battle in the action of the Nile,
though not strictly of that class, and for having afterwards maintained
a glorious, though unsuccessful fight with a large French seventy-four,
the Généreux, by which she was taken when on her way to England
with Nelson’s despatches. She was a pretty ship of her class, and
became permanently endeared to the memory of all who sailed on board,
especially to those who first went to sea in her, and there found a
practical illustration of the beautiful thought—that our ‘march is on
the mountain wave, our home is on the deep.’
This character, indeed, gives the navy of England its peculiar
distinction, and mainly contributes to its success. We do truly make
the ship our home; we have no other thoughts of professional duty
or of happiness but what are connected with the vessel in which we
swim; we take a pride in her very looks, as we might in those of a
daughter; and bring up her crew to honourable deeds, as we should wish
to instruct our sons. The rate of sailing of each ship in a fleet,
is a subject of never-ending discussion amongst all classes of the
officers, midshipmen, and crews, every one of whom considers his own
individual honour involved in all that his ship does, or is capable of
doing. This is true, almost universally; but it is most striking, no
doubt, in our first ship, which, like our first love, is supposed to
drink up, from the opening flower of our young feelings, the richest
drops of sentiment, never to be outdone, or even equalled, by future
attachments! I owe, indeed, much good companionship and many sincere
obligations to other vessels; yet I am sure that, if I live to be Lord
High Admiral, the old Leander must still remain nearest and dearest to
my nautical heart. I remember every corner about her—every beam—every
cabin—every gun. I even look back to the strict school on board of
her, with much of that affectionate sort of interest with which I
observe Eton men regard the place of their education. Whenever any
of the old set meet, who were shipmates together at the happy time I
speak of, every other topic is swept from the board, and, for hours
together, the boyish adventures, and even the most ordinary events of
the dear old ship, form, out of all sight, the most delightful subject
of conversation. It signifies nothing, that every one of the party has
gone over the same round of stories and jokes, in the same company,
fifty times; they invariably come back again, recommended by increasing
interest, and by that genuine freshness of spirits, so ‘redolent of joy
and youth, it breathes a second spring.’
Most of the survivors, indeed, have experienced, that the summer
of life which succeeded to this opening season of our professional
existence in the Leander, has been as full of enjoyment as we had hoped
for, and that life has gone on to furnish us only with more extensive
views and higher motives to action. It has also taught us, to discover
that the real and permanent pleasures of life lie close alongside of
its duties, and that as very much of our success certainly depends upon
ourselves, so does very nearly all our happiness likewise.
On the 6th of December, we sailed from Halifax, with a fresh
north-westerly wind, in a bitter cold day, so that the harbour was
covered with a vapour called ‘the barber,’ a sort of low fog, which
clings to the surface of the water, and sweeps along with these biting
winter blasts, in such a manner as to cut one to the very bone. It is
evidently caused by the condensation of the moisture close to the water
in the severe cold. The thermometer, when we sailed, was eleven degrees
below zero; and nothing but the violence of the wind, which broke the
surface into a sheet of foam, prevented our being frozen in, like the
north-western voyagers at Melville Island.
As we shot past one of the lower wharfs of the town of Halifax, just
before coming to the narrow passage between George’s Island and the
main land, on the south side of this magnificent harbour, a boat put
off with a gentleman, who, by some accident, had missed his passage.
They succeeded in getting alongside the ship; but, in seizing hold of
a rope which was thrown to them from the main-chains, the boatmen, in
their hurry, caught a turn with it round the after-thwart, instead
of making it fast somewhere in the bow of the boat. The inevitable
consequence of this proceeding was, to raise the stern of the boat out
of the water, and, of course, to plunge her nose under the surface.
Even a landsman will comprehend how this happened, when it is mentioned
that the ship was running past at the rate of ten knots. In the
twinkling of an eye, the whole party, officer, boatmen, and all, were
seen floating about, grasping at the oars or striking out for the
land, distant, fortunately, only a few yards from them; for the water
thereabouts is so deep, that a ship, in sailing out or in, may safely
graze the shore.
As the intensity of the cold was great, we were quite astonished to
see the people swimming away so easily; but we afterwards learned from
one of the party, that, owing to the water being between forty and
fifty degrees warmer than the air, he felt, when plunged into it, as if
he had been soused into a hot bath. The instant, however, he reached
the pier, and was lugged out, like a half-drowned rat, he was literally
enclosed in a firm case of ice from head to foot! This very awkward
coat of mail was not removed without considerable difficulty; nor was
it till he had been laid for some hours in a well-warmed bed, between
two other persons, that he could move at all, and, for several months
afterwards, he was not well enough to leave his room.
For us to stop, at such a time and place, was impossible; so away we
shot like a spear—past Chebucto Head, Cape Sambro, and sundry other
fierce-looking black capes of naked rock, smoothed off, apparently, by
the attrition of some huge deluge, that must, I think, have submerged
all that part of America, as far as I have examined it, between the
shores of Lake Erie on the west, and Boston and New York on the south
and east.
But we had no time, on the day I speak of, for any such speculations.
The breeze rapidly rose to a hard gale, which split our main-topsail
to threads, and sent the fragments thundering to leeward in the storm,
in such grand style, that, to this hour, I can almost fancy I hear the
noise in my ears. I know few things more impressive than the deep-toned
sounds caused by the flapping of a wet sail, in such a fierce squall
as this, when the sheets are carried away, and the unconfined sail is
tugging and tearing to get clear of the yard, which bends and cracks so
fearfully, that even the lower mast sometimes wags about like a reed. I
certainly have heard thunder far louder than the sounds alluded to; but
have seldom known it more effective or startling than those of a sail
going to pieces in such a tempest of wind and rain.
I was standing, where I had no business to be, on the weather side of
the quarter-deck, holding on stoutly by one of the belaying pins, and
wondering where this novel scene was to end, but having an obscure
idea that the ship was going to the bottom. The admiral was looking up
at the splitting sail as composedly as possible, after desiring that
the main-top-men, whose exertions were quite useless, should be called
down, out of the way of the ropes, which were cracking about their
heads. Every now and then I could see the weather-wise glance of the
veteran’s eye directed to windward, in hopes that matters would mend.
But they only became worse; and at last, when the foremast seemed to be
really in danger, for it was bending like a cane, though the foresail
had been reefed, he waited not to run through the usual round of
etiquettes by which an admiral’s commands generally reach the executive
on board ship, but exclaimed, with a voice so loud, that it made me
start over to the lee side of the deck:—
“Man the fore-clue garnets!”
In the next minute the sail rose gradually to the yard, and the
groaning old ship, by this time sorely strained to her innermost
timber, seemed to be at once relieved from the pressure of the canvass
which had borne her headlong, right into the seas, and made her tremble
from stem to stern, almost as if she were going to pieces.
The next thing to be done was to get in the jib-boom, in order to ease
the bowsprit. In effecting this rather troublesome operation, one of
the primest seamen we had fell overboard. He was second captain of the
forecastle, the steadiness of whose admirable skill as a steersman had,
one day, elicited the complimentary remark from the captain, that he
must surely have nailed the compass card to the binnacle. On this, and
other accounts, he was so much esteemed in the ship, that more than
the usual degree of regret was felt for his melancholy fate. I saw the
poor fellow pitch into the water, and watched him as he floated past,
buoyant as a cork, and breasting the waves most gallantly, with an
imploring look towards us, which I shall never forget. In less than a
minute he was out of sight. A boat could hardly have lived in such
weather, and no further attempt was made, or could have been made,
to save him, than to throw over ropes, which all fell short of their
mark. Although we soon lost all traces of him, it is probable he may
have kept sight of us, as we drifted quickly to leeward under our bare
poles, long after we had ceased to distinguish his figure in the yest
of waves.
This gale, the first I ever saw, was also, I can recollect, one of
the fiercest. It lasted for three days, totally dispersed our little
squadron, well nigh foundered one of them, the Cambrian, and sent
her hobbling into Bermuda some days after us, with the loss of her
main-mast and all three top-masts.
Bermuda seemed to us mids a very barren place, as it produced few
articles of any great utility—at least such as we required. There were
then so few bullocks or sheep reared on the island, that I remember it
was rather a wonder to see fresh meat on any table; and amongst the
lower classes such a luxury was never known in those days. What may be
the case now, I know not. The ships did get fresh meat now and then,
but only very seldom; whereas in all other places, we were supplied
regularly with fresh grub, as we called it, every day.
The Bermudas consist of upwards of a hundred little islands, clustered
round two or three large ones. The seat of government is in St.
George’s Island, which is about four or five miles long, by two
broad, and very low. The town is built on the south-east side, on a
gentle and very pretty declivity which fronts the harbour. None of
the houses have more than two stories, and they are all built of the
soft freestone, of which all these islands are composed. Most of these
dwellings have but one chimney. In walking through the streets in hot
days, such is the extreme whiteness of the walls, that the glare is
most painful to the eyes. But as many of the buildings are surrounded
by bananas, calabashes, orange trees, and by various members of the
palm tribe, the disagreeable effect of the light is not felt, except
in the open streets. This pretty town is about half a mile each way,
and is mostly inhabited by blacks; but a great many of these possess
houses, and have gained their freedom by some means or other. What is
curious enough, all these manumitted negroes hold slaves as black as
themselves; of course the whites own them in still greater numbers. The
slaves are never allowed to have firearms in their hands, for fear of
revolt; indeed it is said they are considerably more numerous than the
freemen in the island; and no slave is allowed to go about the streets
after nine o’clock at night.
We found the black people, generally speaking, gentle, docile, and
kind. If we entered any of their houses, though they had but little to
offer us, that little was always given with much simple hospitality.
To say the truth, we saw much less reserve amongst the blacks than
amongst those of our own colour. It is true, the means of entertaining
strangers are but scanty; for the inhabitants, even of the better
class, we were told, live mostly upon salt meat, brought from America
in vessels which pass, like market boats, backwards and forwards during
all the year.
We had read somewhere in fanciful tales, of countries in which the
forests were of cedar; but, until we visited Bermuda, we hardly
believed in such stories. At that fairy island, however, this tree
constitutes the chief wood; so that every ship and boat built there is
made of cedar: the beams also, and the furniture of the houses, are
likewise constructed out of this fragrant timber. It is not the cedar
of Lebanon, but resembles in appearance the yew of England, though it
seldom grows to the same height. It has an agreeable smell, and bears
a little blue berry, about the size of a pea, which, though sweet to
the taste, is very dry. The wood, after it is cut up and planed, looks
well for a little while, but it soon turns pale and chalky; nor is
it capable of receiving a good polish. For ship-building, it is much
esteemed on account of its durability. We saw orange and lemon-trees
growing, also, in such abundance, that at first we were enchanted to
see the fruit thickly clustered upon all the branches. But when we
climbed up and picked them off, in hopes of a grand feast, we found
them all of that bitter kind which, though very excellent for making
marmalade, are good for nothing else.
Except a few wild pigeons, hardly any birds are to be seen, the most
common being of blue and red colours, about the size of a fieldfare.
The blue kind is pretty enough, but they do not sing any more than the
red birds; so that, in the midshipman’s birth, we had no scruple of
conscience about baking many a score of them in our pies.
Besides St. George’s, there are numerous lesser islands, and a large
district, called the Continent, from its being by far the most
extensive in the cluster, no less, I believe, than twelve or fifteen
miles from end to end! At the north-western end of the group lies
Ireland Island, on which an extensive naval establishment has of late
years been erected; close to that spot is now the anchorage for ships
of war. The population of those islands was calculated, at the time
I speak of, at near twenty thousand, the greater part of whom were
blacks, and principally slaves.
The rock of the islands of Bermuda is of a very soft coarse freestone,
full of pores; so soft, indeed, that if it be required to make an
additional window in a house, there is nothing to be done, we were
told, but to hire a black fellow, who, with a saw, could speedily cut
an opening in any part of the wall.
How far this sketch of Bermuda, taken from old scanty notes and faint
recollections, may now be true, I cannot say. The cedar-trees and
oranges, the blue birds, the rocks, the negroes, and the islands, I
dare say, all remain just as before; but I think I have heard that the
seat of government has been changed to the western end of the island;
and now the men-of-war, instead of lying in Murray’s anchorage, on the
north side of St. George’s, find, as I have said before, a far more
secure roadstead.
There is nothing more remarkable in this singular cluster of islands
than the extensive coral reefs which fend off the sea on the northern
side, and stretch out in a semicircular belt, at the distance of two
or three leagues from the land. If I recollect rightly, only one of
these ledges, called the North Rock, shews its head above water. All
the others lie out of sight below the surface, and consequently form
one of the most dangerous traps that nature has ever set in the path of
mariners. On these treacherous reefs we saw many a poor vessel bilged,
at moments when, from seeing the land at such a distance, they fancied
themselves in perfect security.
Dangerous though they be, however, there are few things more beautiful
to look at than these corallines when viewed through two or three
fathoms of clear and still water. It is hardly an exaggeration to
assert, that the colours of the rainbow are put to shame on a bright
sunny day, by what meets the view on looking into the sea in those
fairy regions. On the other hand, there are not many things, in the
anxious range of navigation, more truly terrific, or, in fact, more
dangerous, than these same beautiful submarine flower beds, raising
their treacherous heads, like the fascinating sirens of old, or the
fair and false mermaids of a later epoch. If, by sad fortune, the
sailor once gets entangled amongst them, it is too well known that his
chance of escape is but small.
They tell a story at Bermuda—‘the still vexed Bermoothes,’—of a boatman
who, it was said, lived by these disasters, once going off to an
unlucky vessel, fairly caught amongst the coral reefs, like a fly in
a cobweb, not far from the North Rock. The wrecker, as he was called,
having boarded the bewildered ship, said to the master,
“What will you give me, now, to get you out of this place?”
“Oh, any thing you like—name your sum.”
“Five hundred dollars?”
“Agreed! agreed!” cried the other. Upon which this treacherous pilot
‘kept his promise truly to the ear, but broke it to the hope,’ by
taking the vessel out of an abominably bad place, only to fix her in
one a great deal more intricate and perilous.
“Now,” said the wrecker to the perplexed and doubly-cheated stranger,
“there never was a vessel in this scrape, that was known to get out
again; and, indeed, there is but one man alive who knows the passages,
or could, by any possibility, extricate you—and that’s me!”
“I suppose,” drily remarked the captain, “that ‘for a consideration’
you would be the man to do me that good service. What say you to
another five hundred dollars to put me into clear water, beyond your
infernal reefs?”
This hard bargain was soon made; and a winding passage, unseen before,
being found, just wide enough, and barely deep enough, for the vessel
to pass through, with only six inches to spare under her keel, in half
an hour she was once more in blue water, out of soundings, and out of
danger.
“Now, master rascallion of a wrecker,” cried the disentangled mariner,
“tit for tat is fair play all the world over; and, unless you hand
me back again my thousand dollars, I’ll cut the tow rope of your
thievish-looking boat, and then, instead of returning evil for evil,
as I ought by rights to do, I’ll be more of a Christian, and do you a
very great service, by carrying you away from one of the most infamous
places in the world, to the finest country imaginable—I mean America.
And as you seem to have a certain touch of black blood in your veins, I
may chance to get good interest for my loan of these thousand dollars,
by selling you as a slave in Charleston negro market! What say you, my
gay Mudian?”
We lay, moored in Murray’s anchorage at Bermuda, for the greater part
of the winters both of 1802 and of 1803. The war had not yet broken
out, and, in the absence of active service, we were fain to catch hold
of any thing to amuse and occupy ourselves. The master, and a gang of
youngsters who were fond of navigation, set about surveying the coral
reefs already mentioned. This party of philosophers, as they were
of course dubbed, landed on St. David’s Head, and other conspicuous
points of land, to ascertain the longitude with more care; to observe
the latitude and the variation of the compass; or to measure the
perpendicular rise and fall of the tides; or, lastly, and much the most
frequently, to have a good hour’s swim in the deliciously-warm sea.
It will be easily understood, that all and each of these inquiries
furnished to those persons, whose duty and pleasure it was to attend to
them, an inexhaustible field of occupation, and of interest likewise.
At first sight, many of these pursuits may appear trivial; but it
ought to be recollected, that, although it be easy enough to make
the observations enumerated, and many others of the same nature, in
a rough sort of way, there is hardly any one of them which, if it
be required to be done in the best possible style, does not demand
much attention and labour. For example, it seems a very simple affair
to draw a base or straight line on the ground; but if this line is
required to be, very exactly, of a particular length, so as to be
neither more nor less, the problem is one of the utmost difficulty,
which has fully exercised, and still employs, the talents of some
of the ablest engineers of the day. In fact, these refinements in
surveying and in observing, are pretty much like the pound of flesh
question in the Merchant of Venice; with one comfortable difference,
that the philosopher’s neck is not in such danger, even if, in a base
of half-a-dozen miles, he should happen to err in the estimation
of half-a-dozen hairs-breadths! It is well for young officers to
recollect, however, that there is still a tolerably formidable
professional tribunal, before which a man who undertakes such tasks is
apt to be arraigned, and, if found wanting, pretty severely dealt with.
Sailors, like the element upon which they are tossed about, are
scarcely ever at rest, and are seldom satisfied with what has been
done before them. Consequently, the moment a ship arrives at a port,
the navigators straightway erect their observatory, fix up their
instruments, set their clocks a-going, and commence an attack, like
the giants of old, upon the very heavens themselves,—and all for what?
They say to themselves, that this is done for the benefit of science,
for the advancement of geographical or astronomical knowledge—and so
it is. But, along with these pure and lofty motives, there may enter
some others, not quite so sublime, but perhaps equally operative in
producing diligence. We have a lurking kind of malicious expectation of
discovering that our predecessors have not made out their latitudes,
or longitudes, or whatever the observations be, with the precision we
ourselves hope to attain. It does not much matter whether the superior
accuracy we expect to reach arises from our having better instruments
in our hands, or from having more leisure, or better opportunities at
command. So long as we contrive to do the required job better than it
has been done before, so long do we count upon getting the credit due
to superiority. These honours, it is true, are worn only till somebody
coming later shall jostle us out of our seats, by substituting still
better work. The desire to avoid being thrust on one side in this
way, and forgotten, is a strong motive to vigorous application on the
occasions alluded to, and helps essentially to quicken that delightful
interest which almost always attends an investigation of the properties
of natural objects.
It is probably requisite to this enjoyment, that the pursuit followed
should have some specific purpose in view;—if professional, so much
the better. If a man, quite uninstructed, shall start up and say, in
the abstract, “I mean to study botany—or astronomy”—or whatever else
his fancy may select, he will, in all probability, find the pursuit as
great a bore to himself as it will inevitably prove to those friends
whom he endeavours to persuade that it is the most delightful thing
in the world to be a savant. Still, young folks, in any situation,
and most of all in the navy, need not be afraid; for they can hardly
ever be cast into situations where, if their minds have been properly
trained, first at school, and then on board ship, they may not hit upon
ample materials to keep their heads and hands in motion, and at the
same time to advance their professional objects.
One of our party of mids, who has since turned out a valuable and
enterprising officer, took it in his head to make a trip in one of the
whale-boats of the Bermuda fishery. Having ascertained the time of
starting, he obtained leave to go on shore, and completely succeeded
in his object by being present at the capture of a whale. The monster,
however, led them a considerable dance off to sea, and it was long
after the time appointed for his return, when the youth made his
appearance, delightfully perfumed with blubber, and with a glorious
tale to tell of his day’s adventures.
This was voted by acclamation to be ‘something like an expedition;’
and the youngster, of course, gained great credit for his spirit. I
was one of another party who, I suppose, being a little jealous of
our companion’s laurels, took the earliest opportunity of trying to
signalise ourselves in a similar way. A monstrous whale was seen one
morning playing about the Leander, in Murray’s anchorage, and, of
course, far within the belt of reefs already described as fringing the
roadstead on its eastern and northern sides. How this great fellow
had got into such a scrape, we could not conjecture. Possibly, in
placing himself alongside of the rugged coral ledges, to scrub off
the incrustations of shell-fish which torment these monsters of the
deep, he had gradually advanced too far;—or, more probably, he may
have set out in pursuit of some small fry, and, before he was aware of
it, have threaded his way amongst this labyrinth of rocks, till escape
was impossible. At all events, he now found himself in comparatively
deep water, from eight to ten fathoms, without any visible means of
retreat from his coral trap. All hands crowded into the rigging to see
the whale floundering about; till at length some one proposed—rashly
enough, certainly,—to pay him a visit in one of the ship’s boats,
with no better implements, offensive or defensive, than the ordinary
boat-hooks. These are light poles, with a spike, not unlike a
shepherd’s crook, at the end of them, and not bad things for fishing
up a turtle when caught napping, but slender reeds, in all conscience,
against a fish forty or fifty feet long!
Away we went, however, in our wild-goose, whale chase, without any
precise idea as to what we were to do if we should come up with the
game. When we got near the great leviathan, his aspect became more and
more formidable; and it was necessary to think of some regular plan
of attack, if any were to be made. As to defence, it may easily be
imagined that was out of the question; for one whisk of his tail would
have sent the cutter and her crew, boat-hooks and all, spinning over
the fore and yard arm of the flag-ship. All eyes were now upon us, and,
after a pause, it was agreed unanimously, that we should run right on
board of him, and take our chance. So we rowed forward; but the whale,
whose back was then shewing just above the water, like a ship keel
upwards, perhaps not approving of our looks, or possibly not seeing us,
slipped down, clean out of sight, leaving only a monstrous whirlpool of
oily-looking water, in the vortex of which we continued whirling round
for some time, like great ninnies as we were, and gaping about us. At
this time, we were not above half a ship’s length from the Leander;
so that our disappointment caused considerable amusement on board,
and the people came laughing down from the rigging, where they had
been perched, to see the grand fight between the whale and the young
gentlemen!
As we were lying on our oars, and somewhat puzzled what to do next,
we beheld one of the most extraordinary sights in the world;—at least
I do not remember to have seen many things which have surprised me so
much, or made a deeper impression on my memory. Our friend the whale,
probably finding the water disagreeably shallow—for, as I have said, it
was not above fifty or sixty feet deep—or perhaps provoked at not being
able to disentangle himself from the sharp coral reefs, or for some
other reason of pleasure or of pain,—suddenly made a spring out of the
water.
So complete was this enormous leap, that for an instant we saw him
fairly up in the air, in a horizontal position, at a distance from the
water not much short, I should think, of half his own breadth! His
back, therefore, must have been at least twenty feet, in perpendicular
height, over our heads! While in his progress upwards, there was in
his spring some touch of the vivacity with which a trout or a salmon
shoots out of the water; but he fell back again on the sea, like a huge
log thrown on its broadside; and with such a thundering crash, as made
all hands stare in astonishment, and the ‘boldest held his breath for a
time.’ Total demolition, indeed, must have been the inevitable fate of
our party, had the whale taken his leap one minute sooner, for he would
then have fallen plump on the boat! The waves caused by the explosion
spread over half the anchorage; nor, if the Leander herself had blown
up, could the effects have extended much further. As we rolled about in
the cutter from side to side, we had time to balance the expediency of
further proceedings, against the tolerable chance of being smashed to
atoms under the whale’s belly at his next leap.
All idea of capturing him was now, of course, given up; if, indeed,
any such frantic notion could ever seriously have entered our heads.
But our curiosity was vehemently roused to witness such another feat;
and, after lying on our oars for some time, we once more detected the
whale’s back at a little distance from us.
“Let us poke him up again!” cried one of the party.
“Agreed! agreed!” roared out the others; and away we dashed, in hopes
of producing a repetition of this singular exploit. The whale, however,
did not choose to exhibit any more, though we were often near him.
At last he fairly bolted, and took the direction of the North Rock,
hoping, perhaps, to make his escape by the narrow passage known only to
the most experienced pilots of those intricate regions.
It was not until after we had entirely lost sight of the chase, and
when we had rowed so far, that we could just see the top of St.
George’s Island astern of us, that we had leisure to remark the change
of weather, which had taken place during this absurd pursuit. The sky
had become overcast, and the wind risen to such a smart breeze from
the south-west, that, when we again put the boat’s head towards the
island, it was quite as much as we could do to make any headway at all,
and sometimes we hardly held our own. Had the wind increased only a
little more, we must inevitably have been blown to sea—and even as it
was, it cost us many hours of severe tugging at the oars to regain the
anchorage, just before night-fall, completely worn out.
I have not related this story of the whale’s leap without considerable
hesitation, the source of which distrust will be found, better than I
can express it for myself, in the following anecdote, related to me by
Sir Walter Scott; which I recommend to the attention of travellers who
have any thoughts of communicating to the public, what they have seen
in distant lands.
It appears that Mungo Park, the first, and still, perhaps, the most
interesting of African travellers, was in the habit of relating, in a
quiet way, to his most confidential friends, sundry curious and highly
amusing incidents, that had occurred to him during his celebrated
journey in search of the Niger. Of these anecdotes, however, no
mention is to be found in his printed statements—while many others are
inserted, not nearly so interesting as these rejected stories.
“How is this?” asked his friends. “Why did not you put these things
also into your book?”
“Oh,” replied Park, “the case is simply this:—I was sent to Africa
for certain public purposes, and expressly required to investigate
particular points. Now, it seemed to me of consequence not only that
these inquiries should be carefully made, but that a credible, as well
as a faithful account, should be rendered to the world.”
“Very true,” resumed his friends; “but as there is nothing which you
have now told us, in addition to what you have printed, which is not
strictly true, while it is certainly very entertaining, why should you
wantonly deprive your book of so much that would recommend it still
more to general favour?”
“There is nothing wanton in the matter,” answered the traveller;
“indeed, it is precisely because I believed it would have had no such
good effect as you suppose, that I have kept out the matter alluded
to. It might, indeed, have gained for the work a little more temporary
popularity; but that was not what I desired. At all events, I had, as
I conceived, a still higher duty to perform. Being sent to execute
a given service, I performed my task to the best of my ability. But
on returning, I felt I had another obligation to attend to, not less
binding, which was, to give such an account as, over and above being
strictly true, should carry with it such evidence of its own good
faith, as should insure every part of my story being credited. These
anecdotes, however, which I only venture to tell you because you have
known me all my life, I have shrunk from repeating to the world, whose
knowledge of my character is drawn from this book alone. In short, I
did not feel that I was at liberty to shake my own credit, or even
to risk its being shaken, by relating anecdotes so much out of the
ordinary line of events as some of these stories are. As a servant of
the public in the great field of discovery, I considered my character
for veracity as part of their property, which was not to be trifled
with, merely for the sake of making idle people laugh or stare a little
more. And I feared, that even one doubtful point in such a work, no
matter how small, or how true, might have weakened the authority of the
whole, and this I did not choose to hazard.”
After Park’s death, and when a biographical sketch of this most amiable
and persevering of travellers was in the course of preparation, one
of this circle of friends, whose memory for such things was known to
be very retentive, was applied to for these suppressed anecdotes, the
existence of which had, somehow or other, leaked out. After a moment’s
reflection, he said—
“No!—I won’t tell you one word of them. If my friend Park, in his
soberest and most reflecting moments, considered it proper to keep
these things out of his book, and only betrayed them even to his
intimates, over a glass of toddy, I don’t see that we should be acting
a generous part by his memory to publish them after he is gone, however
true we are convinced they must be.”
After preparing the above adventure of the whale’s leap for the press,
I felt, on Park’s principle, a certain hesitation as to trusting it
before the public; but in order to fortify myself by an authority of
the highest rank in whaling matters, I sat down and wrote the following
letter to my friend Captain Scoresby:—
“More than twenty-eight years ago, I saw a whale leap right out of
the sea, in Murray’s anchorage at Bermuda. The depth of water, if I
recollect right, was about ten fathoms, and he had, somehow or other,
got inside the barrier of coral reefs which gird these islands on the
north. When the whale was at his greatest elevation, his back may
have been twenty or thirty feet above the surface of the water, and
at that moment he was in a horizontal position. His length could not
have been less, I should imagine, than fifty or sixty feet. As I never
saw such a thing before or since, I am a little afraid of relating
it, and have no mind to risk my credit by telling a story too big to
be swallowed by the average run of gullets, however true in point of
fact. You will oblige me, therefore, very much, by telling me whether,
in the course of your extensive experience, you have seen one or more
such incidents. If not, I fear my story of the whale’s jump at Bermuda
must be kept out of a little work I am now preparing for the use of
young folks. But if I have your authority to back me, the anecdote
shall stand, and so take its chance for being valuable in the way of
information.”
To this I received the following reply from Captain Scoresby, who, as
all the world will admit, is the highest authority on such questions:—
“_Liverpool, 25th August, 1830._
* * * * *
“And now having come to the subject, which, I allow, is one of
magnitude, I have much pleasure in being able to speak to the
point, in attestation of the not infrequency of the exhibition of
the huge leaps which you witnessed, however ignorance might charge
it as ‘very like a whale.’ Whilst engaged in the northern whale
fishery, I witnessed many similar exploits of the whales in their
frisks. Generally, they were of a middle size; but I think I have
seen instances of full-grown fish, of forty or fifty feet in length,
forgetting their usual gravity, and making out these odd exhibitions
of their whole form from head to tail. Certainly, I have several times
seen whales leap so high out of the water as to be completely in air,
which, reckoning from the surface of the back (the real extent of the
leap), could scarcely be less than twenty feet, and possibly might be
more. I have, at different times, gone in pursuit of these frolicsome
fish; but in all cases they avoided either catastrophe—the leaping
upon the boat, or allowing the boat to pull upon them.
“By the way, whilst the breathing of the whale has been magnified into
a resemblance of water-works, to the abuse of the credulous, the
frolic feats of the leaping whales have been neglected as a source
of interest. In referring to my account of the arctic regions, I
perceive the fact is named, but with little commentary for general
amusement.”[1]
FOOTNOTES:
[1] See Capt. Scoresby’s exceedingly curious and valuable Account of
the Whale Fishery in the Arctic Regions, vol. i. p. 467.