CHAPTER LXI

Conclusion

It is with a thousand different sensations that I write the word conclusion. It recalls to my mind all that has passed. God is good! God is merciful! is the reigning sentiment in my heart: I have so many reasons for heartfelt gratitude to a gracious Providence, that I hope the reader will pardon me for the disorder in which I finish my story.

It was toward the end of the rainy season, the wind had lost its violence, and a patch of blue sky could now and then be seen; our pigeons had quitted the dove-cot, and we ourselves ventured to open the door of the grotto, and taste the fresh air.

Our first care was for our gardens, which had suffered injury; we took account of the damage as well as we were able, and then set out for our more distant possessions. Fritz and Jack proposed to make an excursion to Shark Island, to inspect our fort and colony there. I consented, and they set off in the cajack.

My sons, on their arrival, having examined the interior of the fort, and assured themselves that nothing of importance was damaged, began to look round and see if anything appeared on the horizon, but all was blank. Wishing to see whether the cannons were in good order, they began firing away, as if they had all the powder in the world at their command. But what was their astonishment and emotion when, a moment after, they heard distinctly three reports of a cannon in the distance! They could not be mistaken, for a faint light toward the east preceded each report. After a short consultation as to what should be done, the two brothers resolved to hasten home and recount their adventure to us.

We had heard the reports of the cannons they had fired, and we could not imagine why they were hurrying back so fast. I called out, as loud as I could, “Halloo, there! what is the matter?” On they came, and, jumping on shore, fell into my arms, faintly articulating, “Oh, papa, papa, did you not hear them?”

“Hear what?” said I. “We have heard nothing but the noise your waste of powder made.”

“You have not heard three other reports in the distance?”

“No.”

“Why, we heard them plainly and distinctly.”

“It was the echo,” said Ernest.

This remark nettled Jack a little, and he replied rather sharply—

“No, Mr. Doctor, it wasn’t the echo; I think I have fired cannons enough in my lifetime to know whether that was an echo or not. We distinctly heard three reports of a cannon, and we are certain that some ship is sailing in this part of the world.”

“If there is really a ship on our coasts,” said I, “who knows whether it is manned by Europeans or by Malay pirates—who knows whether we ought to rejoice or be sorry at its presence, and that, instead of preparing for deliverance, we should not make preparations for defence?”

My first resolution was to organize a system of defence, and provide for our safety. We watched alternately under the gallery of the grotto, so that we could be ready in case of surprise; but the night passed quietly away, and in the morning the rain commenced, and continued so violently during two long days that it was impossible for us to go out.

On the third day the sun reappeared. Fritz and Jack, full of impatience, resolved to return to Shark Island, and try a new signal. I consented; but, instead of the cajack, we took the canoe, and I went with them. On arriving at the fort we hoisted our flag, while Jack, ever impatient, loaded a cannon and fired it; but scarcely had the report died away in the distance, when we distinctly heard a louder answering report in the direction of Cape Disappointment.

Jack could not contain himself for joy. “Men, men,” cried he, dancing about us; “men, papa; are you sure of it now?” And his enthusiasm communicating itself to us, we hoisted another and a larger flag on our flag-staff. Six other reports followed the first one we had heard.

Overpowered with emotion, we hastened to our boat, and were soon in the presence of the family. They had not heard the seven reports, but they had seen our two flags flying, and they were eagerly waiting for circumstantial news.

I ordered that everything in the grotto should be put in a place of safety. My three youngest sons, my wife and Emily, set off for Falcon’s Nest with our cattle, and I embarked in the cajack with Fritz, to reconnoitre. It was near midday when we set out; we coasted along without discovering anything, and the illusion of the moment began to dissipate. On more calm reflection, however, the certainty that we had heard the seven reports of the cannon kept up our courage; when suddenly, on doubling a little promontory which had hitherto concealed it from us, we beheld a fine European ship majestically reposing at anchor, with a long-boat at the side, and an English flag floating at the masthead.

I seek in vain to find words that will express the sentiments which filled our souls. We elevated our hands and eyes toward heaven, and thus returned our thanks to God for His great beneficence. If I had permitted it, Fritz would have thrown himself into the sea and swum off to the ship; but I was afraid that, notwithstanding the English flag, the vessel before us might be a Malay corsair, which had assumed false colours in order to deceive other vessels. We remained at a distance, not liking to venture nearer without being more certain what it was. We could see all that was passing on board the vessel. Two tents had been raised on the shore, tables were laid for dinner, quarters of meat were roasting before blazing fires, men were running to and fro, and the whole scene had the appearance of an organized encampment. Two sentinels were on the deck of the vessel, and when they perceived us they spoke to the officer on duty who stood near, and who turned his telescope toward us.

“They are Europeans,” cried Fritz; “you can easily judge from the face of the officer. Malays certainly would be more dusky than that.”

Fritz’s remark was true; but yet I did not like to go too near. We remained in the bay, manœuvring our canoe with all the dexterity of which we were capable. We sang a Swiss mountain song, and when we had finished I cried out through my speaking-trumpet these three words, Englishmen, good men! But no answer was returned: our song, our cajack, and more than all our costume, I expect, marked us for savages, from the officer making signs to us to approach, and holding up knives, scissors, and glass beads, for which the savages of the New World are generally so desirous. This mistake made us laugh; but we did not approach, as we wished to present ourselves before them in better trim. We contented ourselves with exclaiming once more, Englishmen, and then darted off as fast as our boat could carry us.

We passed a whole day in preparing the pinnace, and loading it with presents for the captain, as we wished him to see that those whom he had taken for savages were beings far advanced in the arts of civilization. We set off at sunrise; the weather was magnificent, and we sailed gallantly along, Fritz preceding us as pilot.

When we could clearly distinguish the ship, a sensation of vivid joy was experienced by us all: my sons were dumb with pleasure and eagerness.

“Hoist the English flag,” cried I in the voice of a Stentor; and a second after, a flag similar to the one on the ship fluttered from our masthead.

If we were filled with extraordinary emotions on seeing a European ship, the English were not less astonished to see a little boat with flowing sails coming toward them. Guns were now fired from the ship and answered from our pinnace, and joining Fritz in his cajack, we approached the English ship to welcome the captain to our shores.

The captain received us with that frankness and cordiality that always distinguish sailors; and conducted us to the cabin, where a flask of Cape wine cemented the alliance between us.

I recounted to the captain, as briefly as possible, the history of our shipwreck, and our sojourn of ten years on this coast. I spoke to him of Emily, and asked him if he had ever heard of her father, Sir Edward Montrose. The captain not only knew him, but it was a part of his instructions to explore these latitudes, where, three years before, the ship Dorcas, which had on board the daughter of Commander Montrose, was supposed to have been wrecked, and to try to discover whether any tidings of the vessel or crew could be ascertained. In consequence, he manifested the greatest desire to see her, and assure her that her father was alive. He informed us that a tempest of four days’ duration had thrown him off the course which he followed for Sydney and New Holland; and thus he had been driven on this coast, where he had renewed his wood and water. “It was then,” added he, “that we heard the reports of cannon, which we answered; on the third day new discharges convinced us that we were not alone on the coast, and we resolved to wait until, by some means or other, we discovered who were our companions in misfortune. But we find an organized colony, and a maritime power, whose alliance I solicit in the name of the sovereign of Great Britain.”

This last sally made us laugh, and we cordially pressed the hand which Captain Littleton extended to us.

The rest of the family were waiting some distance off in the pinnace. We took leave of the captain, who, ordering his gig to be manned, arrived on board our vessel almost as soon as we did. We received him with every demonstration of joy and friendship, and Emily was half wild with happiness at the sight of a fellow-countryman, and one who brought intelligence of her father.

The captain brought with him an English family, whom the fatigues of the passage had rendered ill, consisting of Mr. Wolston, a distinguished machinist, his wife, and two daughters. My wife offered Mrs. Wolston her assistance, and promised her that her family should find every comfort and convenience at Felsenheim if they would return with us. They gladly consented, and we set out with them, taking leave of the captain, who did not like to pass the night away from his ship.

My readers can form an idea of the astonishment which was evinced by the Wolston family on seeing all our establishments. We ostentatiously pointed out to them Felsenheim with its rocky vault, the giant-tree of Falcon’s Nest, Prospect Hill, and all the marvels which were comprised in our domains. A frugal repast in the evening united both families under the gallery of the grotto, and my wife prepared, in the interior, apartments and beds to receive the new-comers.

The next morning Mr. Wolston came up to me, and tenderly stretching out his hand, spoke as follows—

“Sir,” said he, “I cannot express all the admiration that I feel on regarding the wonders with which you are surrounded. The hand of God has been with you, and here you live happily, far away from the strife of the world, among the works of creation, alone with your family. I came from England to seek repose: where can I find it better than here? and I shall esteem myself the happiest of men if you will allow me to establish myself in a corner of your domains.”

This proposition of Mr. Wolston filled me with joy, and I immediately assured him that I would willingly share with him the half of my patriarchal empire.

Mr. Wolston hastened to communicate to his wife the success of his application, and the morning was devoted to the joy and pleasure that this news caused. But considerations of a painful nature occupied my mind: the ship which now presented itself was the second only we had seen in ten years, and probably as long a period might elapse before another appeared, should we let Captain Littleton and his ship leave us without any addition to his crew. These questions affected the dearest interests of our family. My wife did not wish to return to Europe; I was myself too much attached to my new life to leave it, and we were both at an age when hazards and dangers have no attraction, and ambition has resolved itself into a desire for repose. But our children were young, their life was but just commencing, and I did not think it right to deprive them of the advantages which civilization and a contact with the world presented; and then again, Emily, since she had heard that her father was in England, did not conceal her desire to return; and although we regretted losing this amiable girl, yet it was impossible to detain her. So at last I decided to call my children together, and ascertain their sentiments. I spoke to them of civilized Europe, of the resources of every kind which society offered to its members, and I asked them if they would depart with Captain Littleton, or be content to pass the remainder of their lives upon this coast.

Jack and Ernest declared that they would rather remain. Ernest, the philosopher, had no need of the world to interrupt his studies; and Jack, the hunter, found the domain of Falcon’s Nest large enough for his excursions. Fritz was silent, but I saw by his countenance that he had decided to go. I encouraged him to speak; he confessed that he had a great desire to return to Europe, and his younger brother, Francis, declared that he would willingly accompany him.

Mr. Wolston also dismembered his family: he kept but one of his daughters; the other went on to New Holland. These family arrangements were very painful, and when they were finished I hastened to inform the captain of the Unicorn. He readily consented to take our three passengers.

“I resign three persons,” said he, “Mr. and Mrs. Wolston and one of their daughters; I take three more, and my complement will not be affected.”

The Unicorn remained eight days at anchor, and we employed them in preparing the cargo which was to be the fortune of our voyagers on arriving in Europe. All the riches that we had amassed—pearls, ivory, spices, furs, and all our rare productions, were carefully packed and put on board the ship, which we also furnished with meat and fruits.

On the eve of their departure, after having exhausted myself in a last conversation, in which I advised my sons always to carry out the principles in which they had been instructed, and so to live in this world that we might, through the merits of our Saviour, be united in the next, I gave Fritz this narration of our shipwreck and establishment on the desert coast, enjoining him expressly to have it published as soon after his arrival as he possibly could; and this desire on my part, exempt from all vanity of authorship, had for its only object and hope that it might be useful to others as a lesson of morality, patience, courage, perseverance, and of Christian submission to the will of God. Perhaps some day a father may take courage from the manner in which we supported our tribulations; perhaps some young person will see, in the course of this narrative, the value of a varied education and the importance of becoming acquainted with first principles.

I have not written this as a learned man would have done, and all my results may not have been arrived at according to the correct theory; but we were in an extraordinary position, and were obliged to depend on our own resources. We placed our entire trust in the mercy of God; and He ever watched over and protected us.

We none of us slept much during the last night. At the dawn of day the cannon of the ship announced the order to go on board. We conducted our children to the shore; there they received our last embraces and benedictions.

The anchor has been weighed, the sails unfurled, the flag run up to the mast-head, and a rapid wind promises speedily to separate us from our children.

I will not attempt to paint the grief of my dear Elizabeth—it is the grief of a mother, silent and profound. Jack and Ernest are weeping bitterly, and my own grief and heartfelt sorrow is, I must confess, but badly concealed.

I finish these few lines whilst the ship’s boat is waiting. My sons will thus receive my last blessing. May God ever be with you. Adieu, Europe! adieu, dear Switzerland! Never shall I see you again! May your inhabitants be always happy, pious, and free!

THE END

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