Part 18

Row, brethren, row, and waft us swift away!”

The monks obeyed. Then, then in Irza’s soul

What various passions raged, and mock’d control!

Now how she mourn’d, now how she wept for joy,

How loathed the sire, and how adored the boy!

The barge is gain’d; they row. When, lo! from high

Her ear again receives that well-known cry,

That sad, strange moan! she starts, and lifts her eye.

There, on a rock which fenced the strand, once more

She saw her demon-husband stand: he bore

Her beauteous babe; and, while he view’d the barge,

Keen anguish seem’d each feature to enlarge,

And shake each giant limb. With piteous air

His arms he spread, his hands he clasp’d in prayer;

Knelt, wept, and while his eye-balls seem’d to burn,

Oft show’d the child, and woo’d her to return.

His suit the monks disdain; the barge recedes;

More humbly now he kneels, more earnest pleads.

But when he found no tears their course delay,

And still the boat pursued its watery way;

Then, ‘gainst his grief and rage no longer proof,

He gnash’d his teeth, he stamp’d his iron hoof,

Whirl’d the boy wildly round and round his head,

Hash’d it against the rocks, and howling fled.

Loud shrieks the mother! changed to stone she stands,

And silent lifts to heav’n her clay-cold hands:

Then, sinking down, stretch’d on the deck she lies,

Hid her pale face, and closed her aching eyes.

But hark! why shout the monks?--C£ Again,” they said,

“Again the demon comes!” with desperate dread

Starts the poor wretch, and lifts her anguish’d head.

Yes! there the infant-murderer stood once more,

But now far different were the looks he wore.

No bending knee, no suppliant glance was seen,

Proud was his port, and stern and fierce his mien.

His blood-stain’d eye-balls glared with vengeful ire;

His spreading nostrils seem’d to snort out fire.

Swiftly from crag to crag he following sprung,

While round his neck his shaggy offspring clung;

And now, like some dark tow’r, erect he stood,

Where the last rock hung frowning o’er the flood:--

“Look! look!” he seem’d to say, with action wild,

“Look, mother, look! this babe is still your child!

With him as me all social bonds you break,

Scorn’d and detested for his father’s sake:

My love, my service only wrought disdain,

And nature fed his heart from yours in vain!

Then go, Ingrate, far o’er the ocean go,

Consign your friend, your child to endless woe!

Renounce us! hate us! pleased, your course pursue,

And break their hearts who lived alone for you!”

His eyes, which flash’d red fire--his arms spread wide,

Her child raised high to heaven--too plain implied,

Such were his thoughts, though nature speech denied.

And now with eager glance the deep he view’d,

And now the barge with savage howl pursued;

Then to his lips his infant wildly press’d,

And fondly, fiercely, clasp’d it to his breast:

Three piteous moans, three hideous yells he gave,

Plunged headlong from the rock, and made the sea his

grave.

Where, screen’d by orange groves and myrtle bowers,

Saint-favour’d Cintra rears her gothic towers;

A nun there dwells, most holy, sad, and fair,

Her only business penance, fasts, and prayer;

Her only joy with flowers the shrines to dress,

Weep with the suff’ring, and relieve distress.

A poor lay-sister she; yet golden rain

Showers from her hand to glad each barren plain:

In other eyes she lights up joy, but ne’er

Those eyes of hers were seen a smile to wear:

From other breasts she plucks the thorn of grief,

But feels, her own admits of no relief.

Where age and sickness count the hours by groans,

Uncalled, she comes to hear and hush their moans.

There, ever humble, watchful, patient, kind,

No nauseous task, no servile care declined,

O’er the sick couch, all day, all night she hangs,

Till health or death relieves the sufferer’s pangs.

No thanks she takes, no praise from man receives,

Her duty done, the rest to God she leaves;

But only when her care redeems a life,

Parting she says--“Pray for a demon’s wife!”

With blessings still, whene’er that nun they view,

The young, the aged her sainted steps pursue,

And cry, with bended knee and suppliant air,

ee Sister of mercy, name us in thy prayer!”

With beads the night, in gracious acts the day,

So wore her youth, so wears her age away.

Now cease, my lay! thy mournful task is o’er;

Irza, farewell! I wake thy lute no more.

“Was such her fate? and did her days thus creep

So sad, so slow, till came the long last sleep?

And did for this her hands with roses twine

The Saviour’s altars and the Virgin’s shrine?

Pure, beauteous, rich, did all these blessings tend,

But from the world in prime of life to send

This gifted maid, in prayer to waste her hours,

And weep a fancied crime in cloister’d bowers?”

Oh, blind to fate! perhaps that fancied crime

Which bade her quit the world in youthful prime,

Snatch’d her from paths, where beauty, wealth, and fame

Had proved but snares to load her soul with shame,

And spared her pangs from wilful guilt which flow,

The only serious ills that man can know!

Ah! what avails it, since they ne’er can last,

If gay or sad our span of days be past?

Pray, mortals, pray, in sickness or in pain,

Not long nor blest to live, but pure from stain.

A life of pleasure, and a life of woe,

When both are past, the difference who can show?

But all can tell, how wide apart in price

A life of virtue, and a life of vice.

Then still, sad Irza, tread your thorny way,

Since life must end, and merits ne’er decay.

Wounded past hope, still prize the pleasure pure,

To heal those hearts which yet can hope a cure;

Nor doubt, the soul which joys in noble deeds

Shall reap a rich reward when most it needs.

When comes that day to conscious guilt so dread,

Angels unseen shall bathe your burning head:

The prayers of orphans fan with balmy breath,

And widow’s blessings drown the threats of death;

Each sigh your pity hush’d shall swelling rise

In loud hosannas when you mount the skies;

And every tear on earth to sorrow given,

Be precious pearls to wreathe your brows in heaven!

APRIL 17.

Piansi i riposi di quest’ umil vita,

E sospirai la mia perduta pace!”

I regret the loss of our dead calm and our crawling pace of a knot and a half an hour; for during the last four days we have had nothing but gales and squalls, mountainous waves, the vessel rolling and pitching incessantly, and the sea perpetually pouring in at the windows and down through the hatchway. Into the bargain, we are now sufficiently towards the north to find the weather perishingly cold, and we have neither wood nor coals enough on board to allow a fire for the cabin.

But, among all our inconveniences, that which is the most intolerable undoubtedly arises from the sick apothecary. It seems that his complaint is the consequence of dram-drinking, which has affected his liver. Since his coming on board, he has continued to indulge his taste; and growing worse (as might be expected), he has now thought proper to put himself in a state of salivation: the consequence is, that what with the mercury and what with the man, aided by the concomitant effluvia of our cargo of sugar, rum, and coffee, for a combination of villanous smells, Falstaff’s buck-basket was nothing to the cabin of the Sir Godfrey Webster. I could almost fancy myself Slawken-bergius’s Don Diego just returned from the Promontory of Noses, and that I had exchanged my snub for a proboscis; so much do all my other senses appear to be absorbed in that of smelling, and so completely do I seem to myself to be nose all over. As to the poor apothecary, his mercury annoys us without any signs as yet of its benefiting himself. He grows worse daily, and I greatly doubt his ever reaching England.

APRIL 19. (Sunday.)

I have not been able to ascertain exactly the negro notions concerning the _Duppy_; indeed, I believe that his character and qualities vary in different parts of the country. At first, I thought that the term Duppy meant neither more nor less than a ghost; but sometimes he is spoken of as “the Duppy,” as if there were but one, and then he seems to answer to the devil. Sometimes he is a kind of malicious spirit, who haunts burying-grounds (like the Arabian gouls), and delights in playing tricks to those who may pass that way. On other occasions, he seems to be a supernatural attendant on the practitioners of Obeah, in the shape of some animal, as familiar imps are supposed to belong to our English witches; and this latter is the part assigned to him in the following “Nancy-story:”--

“Sarah Winyan was scarcely ten years old, when her mother died, and bequeathed to her considerable property. Her father was already dead; and the guardianship of the child devolved upon his sister, who had always resided in the same house, and who was her only surviving relation. Her mother, indeed, had left two sons by a former husband, but they lived at some distance in the wood, and seldom came to see their mother; chiefly from a rooted aversion to this aunt; who, although from interested motives she stooped to flatter her sister-in-law, was haughty, ill-natured, and even suspected of Obeahism, from the occasional visits of an enormous black dog, whom she called Tiger, and whom she never failed to feed and caress with marked distinction. In case of Sarah’s death, the aunt, in right of her brother, was the heiress of his property. She was determined to remove this obstacle to her wishes; and after treating her for some time with harshness and even cruelty, she one night took occasion to quarrel with her for some trifling fault, and fairly turned her out of doors. The poor girl seated herself on a stone near the house, and endeavoured to beguile the time by singing--

‘Ho-day, poor me, O!

Poor me, Sarah Winyan, O!

They call me neger, neger!

They call me Sarah Winyan, O!’

“But her song was soon interrupted by a loud rushing among the bushes; and the growling which accompanied it announced the approach of the dreaded Tiger. She endeavoured to secure herself against his attacks by climbing a tree: but it seems that Tiger had not been suspected of Obeahism without reason; for he immediately growled out an assurance to the girl, that come down she must and should! Her aunt, he said, had made her over to him by contract, and had turned her out of doors that night for the express purpose of giving him an opportunity of carrying her away. If she would descend from the tree, and follow him willingly to his own den to wait upon him, he engaged to do her no harm; but if she refused to do this, he threatened to gnaw down the tree without loss of time, and tear her into a thousand pieces. His long sharp teeth, which he gnashed occasionally during the above speech, appeared perfectly adequate to the execution of his menaces, and Sarah judged it most prudent to obey his commands. But as she followed Tiger into the wood, she took care to resume her song of

‘Ho-day, poor me, O!’

in hopes that some one passing near them might hear her name, and come to her rescue. Tiger, however, was aware of this, and positively forbad her singing. However, she contrived every now and then to loiter behind; and when she thought him out of hearing, her

‘Ho-day! poor me, O!’

began again; although she was compelled to sing in so low a voice, through fear of her four-footed master, that she had but faint hopes of its reaching any ear but her own. Such was, indeed, the event, and Tiger conveyed her to his den without molestation. In the meanwhile, her two half-brothers had heard of their mother’s death, and soon arrived at the house to enquire what was become of Sarah. The aunt received them with every appearance of welcome; told them that grief for the loss of her only surviving parent had already carried her niece to the grave, which she showed them in her garden; and acted her part so well, that the youths departed perfectly satisfied of the decease of their sister. But while passing through the wood on their return, they heard some one singing, but in so low a tone that it was impossible to distinguish the words. As this part of the wood was the most unfrequented, they were surprised to find any one concealed there. Curiosity induced them to draw nearer, and they soon could make out the

‘Ho-day! poor me, O!

Poor me, Sarah Winyan, O!’

“There needed no more to induce them to hasten onwards; and upon advancing deeper into the thicket, they found themselves at the mouth of a large cavern in a rock. A fire was burning within it; and by its light they perceived their sister seated on a heap of stones, and weeping, while she chanted her melancholy ditty in a low voice, and supported on her lap the head of the formidable Tiger. This was a precaution which he always took when inclined to sleep, lest she should escape; and she had taken advantage of his slumbers to resume her song in as low a tone as her fears of waking him would allow. She saw her brothers at the mouth of the cave: the youngest fortunately had a gun with him, and he made signs that Sarah should disengage herself from Tiger if possible. It was long before she could summon up courage enough to make the attempt; but at length, with fear and trembling, and moving with the utmost caution, she managed to slip a log of wood between her knees and the frightful head, and at length drew herself away without waking him. She then crept softly out of the cavern, while the youngest brother crept as softly into it: the monster’s head still reposed upon the block of wood; in a moment it was blown into a thousand pieces; and the brothers, afterwards cutting the body into four parts, laid one in each quarter of the wood.”

From that time only were dogs brought into subjection to men; and the inhabitants of Jamaica would never have been able to subdue those ferocious animals, if Tiger had not been killed and quartered by Sarah Winyan’s brothers. As to the aunt, she received the punishment which she merited, but I cannot remember what it was exactly. Probably, the brothers killed and quartered _her_ as well as her four-footed ally; or, perhaps, she was turned into a wild beast, and supplied the vacancy left by Tiger, as was the case with the celebrated Zingha, queen of Angola; who, although she embraced Christianity on her death-bed, and died according to the most orthodox forms of the Romish religion, still had conducted herself in such a manner while alive, that shortly after her decease, the kingdom being ravaged by a hyena, her subjects could not be persuaded but that the soul of this most Christian queen had transmigrated into the body of the hyena. Yet this was surely doing the hyena great injustice; for she, at least, had never been in the habit of composing ointments by pounding little children in a mortar with her own hands; an amusement which Zingha had introduced at the court of Angola. It took surprisingly; shortly, no woman thought her toilette completed, unless she had used some of this ointment. Pounding children became all the rage; and ladies who aspired to be the leaders of fashion, pounded their own.

APRIL 20.

EPIGRAM.--(From the French.)

“Whose can that little monster be?

Its parents really claim one’s pity!”

“Madam, that child belongs to me.”--

“Well, I protest, she’s vastly pretty!”

APRIL 21.

The weather gets no better, the apothecary gets no worse, and both are as foul and as disagreeable as they can well be. As to the man, it is wonderful that he is still alive, for he has swallowed nothing for the last three weeks except drams and laudanum. He drinks, and he stinks, and he does nothing else earthly or celestial. The quantity of spirits which he pours down his throat incessantly should, of itself, be sufficient to finish him; but he seems to have accustomed himself to drams, as Mithridates used himself to poisons, till his stomach is completely proof against them; or like the Scythian princess, who was fed upon ratsbane pap from her infancy, for the express purpose of one day or other poisoning Alexander in her embraces; and who arrived at such perfection, that although the venom did no harm to her own constitution, she killed a condemned criminal with a single kiss. The consequence was, that hemp fell fifty per cent, and Jack Ketch’s nose was put out of joint completely; for the devil a culprit of any pretensions to taste could be found in all Scythia, who could be prevailed upon to be executed except by her royal highness’s own lips. I am afraid this story is not strictly historical, and that we should look for it in vain in Quintus Curtius.

APRIL 23.

A gale of wind began to show itself on Monday night; it has continued to blow ever since with increasing violence, and is now become very serious. The captain says that he never experienced weather so severe at this season: this is only my usual luck. Certainly nothing can be more disagreeable than a ship on these occasions. The sea breaks over the vessel every minute, and it is really something awful to see the waves raised into the air by the force of the gale, hovering for a while over the ship, and then coming down upon us swop, to inundate every thing below deck as well as upon it. The wind is piercingly cold; the floors and walls are perpetually streaming. But a fire is quite out of the question; and, indeed, at one time to-day, our eating appeared to be out of the question too; for at four o’clock the cook sent us word, that the sea put the kitchen-fire out as fast as he could light it; that he was almost frozen, having been for the last eight hours up to his waist in water; and that we must make up our minds to get no dinner to-day. However, the steward coaxed him, and encouraged him, and poured spirits down his throat, and at last a dinner of some kind was put upon the table; but it had not been there ten minutes, before a tremendous sea poured itself down the companion stairs and through the hatchway, set every thing on the table afloat, deluged the cabin, ducked most of the company, and drove us all into the other room. I was lucky enough to escape with only a sprinkling; but Mrs. Walker was soaked through from head to foot. We can only cross the cabin by creeping along by the sides as if we were so many cats. Walking the deck, even for the sailors, is absolutely out of the question; and the little cabin-boy has so fairly given up the attempt, that he goes crawling about upon all fours. Even our Spanish mastiff, Flora, finds it impossible to keep her four legs upon deck. Every five minutes up they all go, away rolls the dog over and over; and when she gets up again, shakes her ears, and howls in a tone of the most piteous astonishment.

APRIL 24.

Though the gale was itself sufficiently serious, its effects at first were ludicrous enough; but yesterday it produced a consequence truly shocking and alarming. Edward Sadler, the second mate, was at breakfast in the steerage: the boatswain had been cutting some beef with a large case-knife, which he had afterwards put down upon the chest on which they were sitting: a sudden heel of the ship threw them all to the other side of the cabin: the knife fell with its haft against the ladder; and poor Edward falling against it, at least three inches of the blade were forced into his right side. The wound was dressed without the loss of a moment; but, from its depth, the jaggedness of the weapon with which it was made, and from a pain which immediately afterwards seized the poor fellow in his chest, the apothecary thinks that his recovery is very improbable: he says that the liver is certainly perforated, and so probably are the lungs. If the latter have escaped, it must have been only by the breadth of a hair. Every one in the ship is distressed beyond measure at this accident, for the young man is a universal favourite. He is but just one and twenty, good-looking, with manners much superior to his station; and so unusually steady, as well as active, that if Providence grants him life, he cannot fail to raise himself in his profession.

APRIL 25.

Edward complains no longer of the pain in his chest; he sleeps well, eats enough, has no fever, and every symptom is so favourable, that Dr. Ashman encourages us to hope that he has received no material injury. Our ship-carpenter has always appeared to be the sulkiest and surliest of sea-bears: yet, on the day of Edward’s accident, he passed every minute that he could command by the side of his sofa, kneeling, and praying, and watching him as if he had been his son; and every now and then wiping away his “own tears” with the dirtiest of all possible pocket-handkerchiefs. So that what Goldsmith said of Dr. Johnson may be applied to this old man: “He has nothing of a bear but his skin.” After tearing every sail in the ship into shivers, and being as disagreeable as ever it could be, the gale has at length abated. Yesterday it was a storm, and we were going to Ireland, Lisbon, Brest--in short, every where except to England; to-day, it is a dead calm, and we are going nowhere at all.

APRIL 26. (Sunday.)

The gale has returned with increased violence, and we are once more at our old trade of dead lights; however, for this time, the wind, at least, is in our favour.

APRIL 28.

The wounded mate is so much recovered as to come upon deck for a few hours to-day, and may now be considered as completely out of danger; although Dr. Ashman is positive (from his difficulty of breathing at first, and the subsequent pain in his chest) that his lungs must actually have been wounded, however slightly. We are now nearly abreast of Scilly; we fell in with several Scilly boats to-day, from whom we obtained a very acceptable supply of fish, vegetables, and newspapers.

APRIL 29.