Volume Two–Chapter One
The next morning the pacha observed to Mustapha, “I have been thinking whether, as we have no story, it would not be as well to let the Greek finish the story of yesterday evening.”
“True, O pacha,” replied Mustapha, “better is hard fare than no food—if we cannot indulge in the pillau, we must content ourselves with boiled rice.”
“It is well said, Mustapha, so let him proceed.”
The Greek slave was then ordered in, and re-commenced as follows:—
Freedom was obtained at last; I flew to the sea-coast, chartered a small vessel, and chiding the winds as we scudded along, because they would not blow with a force equal to my impetuous desires, arrived at Cadiz. It was late in the evening when I disembarked and repaired to the convent; so exhausted was I by contending hopes and fears, that it was with difficulty I could support my own weight. I tottered to the wicket, and demanded my Rosina.
“Are you a near relation,” inquired the portress, “that you request the presence of a sister?” Her interrogation decided the point; Rosina had taken the veil, had abjured the world and me for ever. My brain reeled, and I fell senseless on the pavement. Alarmed at the circumstance, the portress ran to the Lady Abbess, informing her that a person had asked for sister Rosina, and, receiving her answer, had fallen senseless at the wicket. Rosina was present at the narration; her heart told her who it was; also told her that I had not been faithless. Joy at my fidelity, and grief at her own precipitancy, which rendered it unavailing, overpowered her, and she was led to her cell in a state as pitiable as mine.
When I recovered my senses, I found myself in bed. I had been there for weeks in a state of mental alienation. With reason and memory, misery returned; but I was no longer in the frenzy of excitement; my mind was as exhausted as my body, and I felt a species of calm despair. Convinced that all was lost, that an insuperable bar was placed between Rosina and me, I reasoned myself into a kind of philosophy; and resolved, as soon as I could recover my strength, to fly from a place which had been the scene of so much anticipated happiness, and of so much real woe.
One desire still remained; it was to see Rosina previous to my departure, that I might explain the cause of my delay. Conviction told me that it was wrong; but the impulse I could not resist: had I not yielded to it, I should have been unfortunate, but not guilty.
I wrote to her upbraiding her for her precipitation, and imploring a final interview. Her answer was affecting—it brought showers of tears from my eyes, and again inflamed my love. The interview was refused, as it could be productive of no benefit, and would only call forth feelings in opposition to her duty; but it was so kindly, so gently negatived, that it was evident her inclination was at variance with her pen; and on my repeating the request, as a proof that her affection had been sincere, she unwillingly acceded.
We met—for our misery—for our guilt, we met.—From that moment, I resolved never to abandon her—religion, virtue, morality, every feeling was borne away by the re-appearance of the object of my adoration; and before the interview was over, I again dared to breathe vows of fidelity to one who had devoted herself to God. “This cannot be, Henrique,” said Rosina; “we must meet no more: reflect, and you will be convinced of its impropriety. No dispensation from the vow will be permitted by my parents—all hopes of union in this world are over—Oh! may we meet in heaven!” and she clasped her hands in anguish as she disappeared.
I returned home, every pulse beating to madness. Again I addressed her, imploring another meeting; but received a firm denial. So far from being baffled at this addition to the obstacles which presented themselves, it but increased my determination to surmount them. To overcome her duty to her parents, to induce her to trample on her vows to God, to defy the torments of the Inquisition, to release her from bolts and bars, to escape from a fortified and crowded city—each and every difficulty but inflamed my ardour—every appeal of conscience but added to my wilful determination.
Although hitherto I had abhorred deceit, my first act was one of duplicity. I wrote to her, stating that I had been permitted an interview with her friends, and had made known to them what had passed; that they had listened to me, and were disposed to yield; and although it was kept a secret from her, in a few months her vows would be dispensed with.
How cruel—how selfish was my conduct! but it answered my intention. Buoyed up with the prospect of future happiness, Rosina no longer struggled against the fatal passion—no longer refused to see me, and listen to my vows of eternal fidelity. Deeper and deeper did she drink of the intoxicating draught, until it had effaced from her mind, as it had already done from mine, every other sensation than that of love. Although I could have kissed the ground which she trod upon, and have suffered the torments of a martyr for her sake, it was with the pleasure of a demon that I witnessed my success, and hailed her falling off from religion and from virtue.
Six months had passed away, during which, by bribes to the portress, and the yielding of my mistress, I had contrived to obtain admittance by night into the convent garden. One evening I informed her that her parents, menaced by their confessor, had rescinded their promise to me, and had decided upon not obtaining her dispensation. Every thing had been prepared, that she might have no time for reflection: hurried away by her own feelings, my persuasions, and my protestations, she consented to fly with me to my own country. I bore the trembling, fainting girl in my arms—effected my escape from the convent and the city—embarked on board of a vessel which I had ready to weigh at a moment’s warning, and was soon far distant from the port of Cadiz.
It was near midnight when we embarked, and I bore my treasure down into the cabin of the vessel, muffled up in my cloak. Her nun’s dress had not been laid aside; for I had not provided myself with any other change of raiment.
Before morning it blew fresh. Rosina, who, as well as I, had abandoned herself to that powerful love which engrossed us, lay supported in my arms, when the captain of the vessel, coming down to speak to me, perceived that she was arrayed in the religious attire. He started when he viewed it, and hastily quitted the cabin. I had a presentiment that all was not right, and, removing my arms from Rosina, repaired on deck, where I found him in consultation with the crew. The subject in agitation was their immediate return to Cadiz to deliver us to the Inquisition. I resisted the suggestion; claimed the vessel as my own, having chartered her, and threatened immediate death to any one who should attempt to alter her course; but it was in vain. Their horror at the sacrilege, and their fear of being implicated in, and suffering the dreadful penalties attending it, bore down all my arguments; my promises and my threats were alike disregarded.
I was seized, overpowered, and the vessel steered in for land. I raved, stamped, and imprecated in vain: at last I declared that we all should suffer together, as I would denounce them as having been aware of my intentions, and state that it was only in consequence of my having refused to submit to farther extortion, that they had not fulfilled their agreement. This startled them; for they knew that the Inquisition gladly seized upon all pretexts; and that even if not convicted, their imprisonment would be long. Again they consulted; and heaving the vessel to the wind, they hoisted out the long boat. Having thrown into her a scanty supply of provisions and water, with a few necessaries, they brought up the terrified Rosina from the cabin, and, placing her in the boat, released and ordered me to follow. As soon as I was in the boat, they cut the rope by which it was towed, and we were soon left at a distance astern.
Glad to escape from the cruelty of man, I cared little for the danger to which we were subjected from the elements. I consoled my frightened Rosina; I stepped the mast, hoisted the sail, and steered in a southerly direction, with the intention of landing on some part of the African coast. So far from being alarmed at my situation, I felt happy. I was in a frail bark; but I had within it all that I cared for in this world. I sailed I knew not where, but Rosina was in my company; I felt the uncertainty of our fate, but was more than compensated by the certainty of possession. The wind rose, the sea ran high, and curled in threatening foam; we darted with rapidity before it; and steering with one arm, while Rosina was clasped in the other, I delighted in our romantic situation; and, pleased with the excitement which it created, I was blind to the danger which we encountered.
For six days we ran before the wind, when an accumulation of clouds upon the southern horizon indicated that we should have a change. I had no compass in the boat, but had steered by the sun during the day, and by the stars during the night. I now considered myself well to the southward, and determined upon running eastward, that I might gain the African shore; but the gale was too strong to permit me to bring the broadside of my small bark to the wind, and I was compelled to continue my course in a southerly direction.
For the first time, a sensation of alarm came over me: we had but two days’ more sustenance, and Rosina was worn out by constant exposure. I myself felt the necessity of repose: it was with difficulty that I could keep my eyelids raised; every minute Nature demanded her rights, and I nodded at the helm.
I was in a melancholy reverie, when I thought that I perceived, as the clouds on the horizon occasionally opened, something that had the appearance of the summit of a precipice. They closed again; I watched them with anxiety until they gradually rolled away, and discovered a lofty island, covered with trees and verdure down to the water’s edge. I shouted with delight, and pointed it out to Rosina, who answered my exultations with a faint smile. My blood curdled at the expression of her countenance: for many hours she had been in deep thought; and I perceived that the smile was forced to please me, the intelligence I had imparted affording her but little pleasure. I ascribed it to weariness and exhaustion; and hoping soon to be able to relieve her, I steered direct for the only part of the shore which promised us a safe descent. In an hour I was close to it: and, anxious to land before dark, I steered the boat, with the sail hoisted, through the surf, which was much heavier than I expected. As soon as her bow struck the beach, the boat was thrown on her broadside, and it required all my exertion to save my beloved, which I did not effect without our being completely washed by the surf, which, in a few minutes, dashed the boat to pieces. I bore her to a cave at a short distance from where we landed; and, wrapping her up in a cloak which I had saved from the boat, took away her nun’s attire, and exposed it to dry in the powerful rays of the sun. I went in search of food, which I soon obtained: banana and cocoa-nuts grew in profusion and in beauty, and fresh water ran down in noisy rills. I bore them to her, and congratulated her that we were now beyond all pursuit, and in a spot which promised to supply us with all that we required. She smiled languidly; her thoughts were elsewhere. Her clothes were dry, and I brought them to her: she shuddered at the sight of them, and seemed to muster up her resolution before she could put them on. Night closed in upon us, and we remained in the cave: our bed was formed of the cloaks and the sail of the boat; and, locked in each other’s arms, separated from all the world, and living but for each other, we fell asleep. The morning broke: not a cloud was to be seen through the blue expanse. We walked out, and dwelt in silent admiration upon the splendour of the scene. The island was clothed in beauty; the sun poured his genial rays upon the wild fertility of nature; the birds were warbling forth their notes of joy; the sea was calm and clear as a mirror, reflecting the steep hills which towered above each other. “Here then, Rosina,” cried I, at last, with rapture, “we have all that we require, blessed in each other’s love.”
Rosina burst into tears: “All—all, Henrique, except an approving conscience, without which I feel that I cannot live. I love you—love you dearly—dote upon you, Henrique: you cannot doubt it after all that has occurred: but now that the delirium of passion has subsided, conscience has been busy—too busy, for it has embittered all; and I feel that happiness is flown for ever. I wedded myself to God; I chose my Saviour as my spouse; I vowed myself to him—was received by him at the altar; and I abandoned this world for that which is to come. What have I done?—I have been unfaithful to him—left him, to indulge a worldly passion, sacrificed eternity for perishable mortality, and there is a solemn voice within that tells me I am an outcast from all heavenly joys. Bear with me, dear Henrique! I mean not to reproach you, but I must condemn myself;—I feel that I shall not long remain here, but be summoned before an offended Lord.
“Merciful Saviour!” cried she, falling on her knees, with imploring eyes to heaven, “punish him not—pardon him his faults; for what are they, compared to mine? he made no vows, he has committed no infidelity, he is not the guilty one. Spare him, O Lord, and justly punish her who has seduced him into crime!”
My heart smote me; I threw myself on the ground, and wept bitterly. I felt that it had been my duplicity which had destroyed her virtuous resolutions; my selfishness which had ruined her peace of mind and had plunged her into guilt. She knelt by me, persuading me to rise, curbing her own feelings as she kissed the tears from my cheeks, promising never to wound my peace again. But it was gone—gone for ever; my crime burst on me in all its magnitude; I felt that I had been guilty of a grievous and unpardonable sin, and had ruined the one I loved as well as myself. She was still on her knees; kneeling by her side, I prayed to offended Heaven for mercy and forgiveness. She joined me in my fervent aspirations; and, with the tears of repentance flowing down our cheeks, we remained some time in the attitude of supplication. At last we rose. “Do you not feel happier, Rosina?” inquired I; Rosina smiled mournfully in reply, and we returned to the cave.
For many hours we spoke not, but remained in sad communion with our own thoughts. The night again closed in, and we lay down to repose; and, as I clasped her in my arms, I felt that she shuddered, and withdrew. I released her, and retired to the other side of the cave, for I knew her feelings and respected them. From that hour she was no more to me than a dear and injured sister; and, although her frame hourly wasted away, her spirits seemed gradually to revive. At the expiration of a fortnight, she was too much reduced to rise from her bed, and I passed day and night sitting by her side in repentance and in tears, for I knew that she was dying. A few hours before she breathed her last she appeared to recover a little, and thus addressed me:—
“Henrique, within this hour a balm has been poured into my breast, for a voice tells me we are both forgiven. Great is our crime; but our repentance has been sincere, and I feel assured that we shall meet in heaven. For your kindness—for your unceasing love, you have my thanks, and an attachment which Heaven does not forbid—for now it is pure. We have sinned, and we have pleaded, and obtained our pardon together: together shall we be, hereafter. Bless you, Henrique! pray for my soul, still clinging to its earthly love, but pardoned by him who knows our imperfection. Pure Mother of God, plead for me! Holy Saviour, who despised not the tears and contrition of the Magdalen, receive an unfaithful, but repentant spouse unto your bosom; for when I made my vow, thou knowest that my heart—”
With what agony of grief did I hang over the body! with what bitter tears did I wash the clay-cold face, so beautiful, so angelic in its repose! In the morning, I dug her grave; and cleansing my hands, which were bleeding, from the task, returned to the corpse, and bore it, in its nun’s attire, to the receptacle which I had prepared. I laid it in; and, collecting the flowrets which blossomed round, strewed them over, and watched till sunset: when I covered her up, laying the earth, in small handfuls, as lightly on her dear remains, as the mother would the coverlid upon her sleeping babe. Long it was before I could prevail on myself to soil that heavenly face, or hide it from my aching eyes. When I had, I felt that Rosina was indeed no more, and that I was indeed alone.
For two years I remained in solitude. I erected a rude chapel over her grave, and there passed my days in penance and contrition. Vessels belonging to other nations visited the island, and returning home with the intelligence, it was taken possession of and colonised. To their astonishment, they found me; and, when I narrated my story and my wishes, allowed me a passage to their country. Once more I embarked on the trackless wave, no longer my delight; and as the shore receded, I watched the humble edifice which I had raised over the remains of my Rosina: it appeared to me as if a star had settled over the spot, and I hailed it as an harbinger of grace. When I landed, I repaired to the convent to which I now belong; and, taking the vows of abstinence and mortification, have passed the remainder of my days in masses for the soul of my Rosina, and prayers for my own redemption.
Such is the history of Henrique; and may it be a warning to those who allow their reason to be seduced by passion, and check not the first impulse towards wrong, when conscience dictates that they are straying from the paths of virtue!
“Holy Allah!” exclaimed the pacha, yawning; “is this the bulbul singing to the rose?—What is it all about, Mustapha? or what is it written for, but to send one asleep? Murakhas, you are dismissed,” continued the pacha to the Greek slave, who retired.
Mustapha, who perceived that the pacha was disappointed in the entertainment of the evening, immediately addressed him:– “The soul of your sublime highness is sad, and the mind is wearied.—What says the sage? and are not his words of more value than large pearls? ‘When thou art sick, and thy mind is heavy, send for wine. Drink, and thank Allah that he has given relief.’”
“Wallah thaib!—it is well said,” replied the pacha: “Is not the ‘fire-water’ of the Franks to be obtained?”
“Is not the earth, and what the earth contains, made for your sublime highness?” replied Mustapha, drawing from his vest a bottle of spirits.
“God is great!” said the pacha, taking the bottle from his mouth, after a long draught, and handing it to his vizier.
“God is most merciful!” replied Mustapha, recovering his breath, and wiping down his beard with the sleeve of his kalaât, as he respectfully passed the bottle over to his superior.
Volume Two–Chapter Two
“Hham d’illah! Praise be to God!” exclaimed the pacha, as the divan closed. “This is dry work, hearing petitions for three hours, and not a sequin to my treasury. Mustapha, has the renegade come back?”
“The kafir waits to kiss the dust of your sublime feet,” replied the vizier.
“Let him approach, then, Mustapha,” said the pacha joyfully; and the renegade immediately made his appearance.
“Kosh amedeid! you are welcome, Huckaback. We have had our ears poisoned since you quitted us. I forget where it was that you left off.”
“May it please your highness, at the ending of my second voyage, in which—”
“I remember—when the Frankish woman god, stopped the leak. You may proceed.”
The renegade bowed; and commenced his third voyage, as follows—“I believe that I stated to your highness, at the end of my second voyage, I determined to go to Toulon, and make some inquiry after my dear Cerise.”
“I recollect you did,” interrupted the pacha, “but I tell you again, as I told you before, that I want to know nothing about her. Have the goodness to skip all that part, or it will be five sequins out of your girdle.”
“Your highness shall be obeyed,” replied the renegade; who, after musing a short time, continued:—
Third Voyage of Huckaback
I was so affected at the intelligence of Cerise having destroyed herself, that I found it impossible to remain on shore. Having met with the captain of a whaler, who expatiated on the fortune which might be realised by embarking in the speculation, I purchased a large ship, and fitted it out for a voyage to Baffin’s Bay. This consumed all the money I had left, but as I expected to return with ten times the sum, I made no scruple of parting with it.
My crew consisted of about thirty men, all strong fellows: ten of them Englishmen, and the remainder from my own country. We stood to the northward, until we reached the ice, which floated high as mountains, and steering in between it, we at last came to a fine open water, where a large quantity of whales were blowing in every direction. Our boats were soon hoisted out, and we were extremely fortunate, having twenty-three fish on board, and boiled down before the season was over.
I now considered my fortune made; and the ship being full up to the beams, we made all sail to return home. But a heavy gale came on from the southward, which drove all the ice together, and our ship with it, and we were in great danger of being squeezed to atoms. Fortunately, we made fast in a bight, on the lee side of a great iceberg, which preserved us, and we anxiously awaited for the termination of the gale, to enable us to proceed. But when the gale subsided, a hard frost came on, and we were completely frozen up, where we lay—the ice formed round to the depth of several feet, and lifted the ship, laden as she was, out of the water.
The English, who were experienced fishermen, told us, that we had no chance of being released until next spring. I ascended to the mast-head, and perceived that for miles, as far as the eye could scan the horizon, there was nothing but one continued succession of icebergs and floes inseparably united. Despairing, therefore, of any release, until the cold weather should break up, I made all arrangements for remaining during the winter. Our provisions were very short, and we were obliged to make use of the whale oil, but it soon produced such dysenteries, that it was no longer resorted to.
After two months, the cold became intense, and our fuel ran short. At the end of three months the crew complained of scurvy, and could not move about the decks. At the end of the fourth month, they had all died except the chief harpooner, a fat porpoise of an Englishman, and myself.
The bodies remained on the deck, for the cold was so intense that they would not have been tainted for centuries; and, as at the end of five months, the provisions were all expended, we were again obliged to resort to the whale oil.
The whale oil produced a return of our complaints, and having no other resource, we were forced by imperious hunger to make our repasts from one of the bodies of our dead shipmates. They were so hard, that it was with difficulty that we could separate a portion with an axe, and the flesh broke off in fragments, as if we had been splitting a piece of granite; but it thawed before the fire, which we had contrived to keep alight, by supplying it from the bulwarks of the quarter-deck, which we cut away as we required them. The old harpooner and I lived together on the best terms for a month, during which we seldom quitted the cabin of the vessel, having now drawn down the third dead body, which we cut up as we required it with less difficulty than before, from the change in the weather.
The ice continued breaking up, and all day and night we were startled at the loud crashing which took place, as the icebergs separated from each other. But my disgust at feeding upon human flesh produced a sort of insanity. I had always been partial to good eating, and was by no means an indifferent cook; and I determined to try whether something more palatable could not be provided for our meals; the idea haunted me day and night, and at last I imagined myself a French restaurateur; I tied a cloth before me as an apron, put on a cotton nightcap instead of my fur cap, and was about to make a trial of my skill, when I discovered that I had no lard, no fat of any kind except train oil, which I rejected as not being suitable to the “cuisine Française.” My messmates who lay dead, were examined one by one, but they had fallen away so much previous to their decease, that not a symptom of fat was to be perceived. Without fat I could do nothing; and as I thought of it in despair, my eye was caught by the rotundity of paunch which still appertained to the English harpooner, the only living being besides myself out of so many. “I must have fat,” cried I, fiercely, as I surveyed his unwieldy carcase. He started when he observed the rolling of my eyes; and perceiving that I was advancing towards him, sharpening my knife, he did not think it prudent to trust himself longer in my company. Snatching up two or three blankets, he ran on deck, and contrived to ascend to the main-top before I could follow him. There he held me at bay, and I continued watching him from below with my large carving knife in my hand, which I occasionally whetted. He remained aloft all night, and so did I on deck, to get possession of him when he should descend. I was so eager in my frenzy to obtain him, that I felt neither cold nor hunger; the weather during the day was now warm enough to be pleasant, but the nights were piercing. My fat shipmate remained in the top for three days and nights, during which period I never removed from my post. At the close of the third day he looked over the top brim, and implored my mercy. When he showed himself I hardly knew him, so much had he wasted away, and it then struck me, that if he remained aloft much longer he would have no more fat than the others, and would not serve my purpose. I therefore pledged him my honour, that I would not attempt his life for ten days; and as he was perishing with the cold, he agreed to the armistice, and once more descended to the deck. But I was saved the crime of murder, for he was so ravenous when he came down, that he ate nearly the whole of a man’s leg, and died from repletion during the night. I cannot express to your highness the satisfaction that I felt at finding that the carcase of the harpooner was in my possession. I surveyed my treasure over and over again with delight. I could now cook my French dishes. He was soon dissected, and all his unctuous parts carefully melted down, and I found that I had a stock which would last me as long as the bodies which I had remaining to exercise my skill upon. The first day I succeeded admirably—I cooked my dishes; and when they were ready I took off my night-cap and apron, passed my fingers through my hair, and fancied myself a garçon at a restaurateurs. I laid the cloth, put the dishes on the table, and when it was complete, went on deck and then returned as the bon vivant who had ordered the dinner.
Never was any meal so delicious to my insane fancy. I devoured every thing which I cooked, and drank water for champagne. I meditated upon what I should have for dinner on the ensuing day, and then retired to my bed. In the meantime the ice had separated, and the ship was again afloat; but I cared not: all my ideas were concentrated in the pleasures of the table—and the next morning I went on deck to obtain a piece of meat, when I was astonished at a terrific growl. I turned my head and perceived an enormous white bear, who was making sad depredations in my larder, having nearly finished the whole body of one of my dead shipmates. He was as large as an ox, so large that when he made a rush at me, and I slipped down the ladder, he could not follow me. I again looked up, and perceived that he had finished his meal. After walking round the decks two or three times, smelling at every thing, he plunged overboard and disappeared.
Glad to be rid of so unpleasant a visitor, I came up, and cutting off the meat I required, again exerted my cookery, was again satisfied, and went to sleep. I never felt so happy as I then did in my insane condition. All I thought of, all I wished, I could command—my happiness was concentrated in eating my fellow-creatures, cooked in a proper manner, instead of the usual method of bolting them down to satisfy the cravings of imperious hunger. I woke the next morning as usual, and when I crawled on deck, was again saluted with the angry growl of the bear, who was busy making a repast upon another body—when he had finished he plunged into the sea as before.
I now thought it high time to put an end to these depredations on my larder, which in a few days would have left me destitute. My invention was called into action, and I hit upon a plan, which I thought would succeed. I dragged all the bodies to the after part of the quarterdeck, and blocked it up before the cabin-hatch with swabs and small sails, so as to form a sort of dam about eight inches high. I then went below and brought up forty or fifty buckets of train oil, which I poured upon the deck abaft, so that it was covered with oil to the height of several inches. On the ensuing morning the bear came as I expected, and commenced his repast: I had stationed myself aloft, in the mizen-top, with several buckets of oil, which I poured upon him. His fur was otherwise well saturated with what he had collected when he lay down on the deck to devour one of the bodies more at his ease. When I had poured all my buckets of oil over him but one, I threw the empty buckets down upon him. This enraged him, and he mounted the rigging to be revenged. I waited until he had arrived at the futtock shrouds, when I poured my last bucket upon him, which quite blinded him, and then gained the deck by sliding down the back stays on the opposite side.