Duty and Inclination/Chapter 36
CHAPTER XV.
"What lofty thoughts these elements above,
What tow'ring hopes, what sallies from the sun!
What grand surveys of destiny divine,
And pompous presage of unfathom'd fate
Should roll in bosoms, where a spirit burns,
Bound for eternity!"
Young.
Still traversing the seas, had it been possible for Douglas to have set himself free from the control of winds and waves, and once again to have found himself surrounded by the fascinations of pleasure, pomp, and luxury, he no longer possessed the ability of rendering himself a willing victim to his inclinations! For where was now that ruddy glow, that vigour of constitution, which had hitherto combated every trial, and which he seemed to imagine would continue even to the latest period of his life? Such proud boasts and vain expectations were at an end! Sad and oppressed, he was inclined to think the ravages made by his late illness might never be repaired.
Thus he who, in the giddy hours of prosperity, mocked at adversity, was now reduced to a state, sensible of its utmost rigour—to drink, to its dregs, the bitter chalice of disappointment.
It was then, when totally removed from every scene of pleasure, and incapacitated to employ himself in any pursuit whatever,—it was then that he brooded over his errors, that he numbered his evils, and traced them to their real source; that he saw, with a deep contrition of mind, his vain-glorious pomp, his high-minded nothingness—in what consisting? In those exterior embellishments only, those temporary advantages, those attainments and accomplishments, superficial in themselves when leading to nought beyond them,—ornaments which Providence had bestowed for occasions and uses which his thoughtlessness had perverted; every unworthy desire, every trifling pursuit, every false reasoning, all were presented to his view in their degraded forms and destructive tendencies; whilst virtue, in the exercise of rationality, seemed alone of consequence.
Thus Douglas, while involuntarily adverting to every circumstance of his past life, and also to the cause of his then lamentable situation, became deeply moved; the fruits of his meditation enabling him clearly to discern that those misfortunes he bewailed wholly originated in his deficiency of moral courage,—from error, folly, irregularity,— with their demoralising effects existing in him: and from a conviction so salutary, his mental sight was at last led to behold the ineffable beauty of morality and virtue,—in short, the understanding of truth, united to the pure affections of the heart for the practice of it.
In proportion as the charms of sense and the things of time began to lose their predominating influence over him, with that train of fluctuating thought thence engendered, the intellectual principle assumed the ascendancy. Opening, as it were, the window of his soul, and casting a contemplative gaze around,—as the first dawn is seen to chase the obscure atmosphere of night, announcing the coming of a day serene and beautiful, so the first ray of truth shone in upon Douglas, preceding a reception infinitely more enlarged, bright, and exalted! He began to feel the real value of true wisdom; for as much as he deplored the time he had lost, his mind became elevated. His affliction for the loss of Rosilia (though he felt conscious he should never love but her) became softened when he reflected that it was thence he had been led to the review of himself, and might also date the first stage of his reformation. This idea, though enhancing to him her perfections, yet brought with it a degree of consolation, to which, during the course of his former despondency, he imagined he should never attain.
In pursuing the train of his awakened meditation, and passing from thought to thought, Douglas took a wider range, entering into a nice definition, in which he distinctly separated the natural propensities and blind instinct which rule the animal creation, from that high prerogative of reason and of liberty with which man is so eminently and nobly gifted. These ideas, happily, prepared his mind to acknowledge and bless the infinite mercy of an overruling Providence.
Thus, in progression, as from shade to light, his understanding became more illumined, for it had risen to the reception and comprehension of themes such as manifested that he was restored to that order in the link of being from which he had unhappily deviated, and that his change of principles was as complete as it was sincere. By the frequent recurrence of such contemplations, Douglas gradually raised himself from the depth of grief, and vowed a solemn protestation against every criminal indulgence.
Such were the first fruits of his awakened conscience. His mortal part was a prey to the languor of a long convalescence; but by the exercise of his mental powers the virtues which, in after times, dignified the man, then acquired their first strength, their first activity.
When sufficiently recovered to go on deck, Douglas felt very desirous to behold the fair object who had presented herself to him in his cabin; and, in consequence, seeing a party of ladies assembled together, he looked anxiously towards them, hesitating whether to advance, when Colonel Melbourne, giving him the support of his arm, led him directly amidst the pleasing circle, in order to introduce him to his lady, who, after the usual compliments, and a few words of congratulation on his improved health, presented him to her young protégée, Miss Airey, seated beside her.
Sensible of the discovery he had made, so agreeable and gratifying to the curiosity which had impelled his approach, Douglas involuntarily fixed upon Miss Airey a look of apparent recognition. Could it be her? she who, he was informed, had so frequently watched by his side, during the most alarming stages of his insensibility and fever? The heightened colouring of her cheek, the tender but confused glances which ere averted met his penetrating eyes, the soft sighs which escaped her were so eloquently descriptive of her feelings, that he could no longer doubt but that Miss Airey was that object: and though not beautiful, though not answering to the painting an exalted fancy had drawn of her, he nevertheless felt a conviction that she was the guardian spirit who had beamed upon his soul like some bright vision whilst just awakening from his lethargic slumber. The deepest impressions of gratitude seizing him, he would instantly have expressed them had not a delicate respect suppressed his speech.
Upon witnessing in Miss Airey the force of her emotions, the words he had essayed to utter died in faint murmurs upon his lips, and judiciously, to relieve her embarrassment, he turned to address himself to Mrs. Melbourne.
From their peculiar situation, companions in the same vessel ploughing the watery deep, Herbert and Douglas often accidentally met; and notwithstanding the admiration of the former for the latter daily strengthened, he would still have been sensible of reserve and distance, had not Douglas, by his usual ease and urbanity of address, endeavoured to dispel it.
The superiority of age, and other circumstances, were sufficient to preclude a near association; yet on account of some affinity in their mutual fate, Douglas was desirous to draw upon himself the regard of Herbert, and, after occasional conversations, so far won upon his confidence as to extract from him the way in which the miniature he had seen him wear had fallen into his possession, as also the cause of his wearing it,—springing, as he was informed, from the juvenile partiality he had indulged in for Rosilia, as also the childish promise he had extorted from her never to unite herself to any one but himself. Though conceiving, such a promise, innocently made during her unreflective years, not in any sense obligatory, yet he had felt flattered by it; her words of consent had ever left their impression on his heart; and his mother, devoted to his interests, had bound herself to do all in her power towards procuring him a successful issue to his hopes.
Such was the short, simple, and ingenuous tale of Herbert; and which, in some degree, removed from Douglas much restless and impatient curiosity.
However the plans of the mother might tend to advance her son's interest, he felt assured they could not but be attended with failure. Douglas also felt an inward gratification upon finding that Herbert had laid aside the picture of which at one time he had so ardently coveted the possession—but now no longer, since he discovered it was but a mere resemblance, and not an original likeness of her whose every lineament was so deeply engraved upon his memory.
Douglas availed himself frequently of the leisure he possessed, to read such books as he was enabled to draw from his own little stock, as also those of the other passengers, which were chiefly the most approved works amongst the classics, fitted to enlarge the mind and afford it a solid and lasting basis of information; while the poets, and a few beautiful French and German novels, served as a relaxation in his lighter moments.
In such employment passed away the morning, whilst the company of the ladies engaged him in the evening, affording him frequent occasions of conversing with Miss Airey, whose first appearance had burst upon his notice in a light so interesting, and so calculated to fix upon her his deep regard; nevertheless, generally engrossed in other contemplations, and the never-fading recollection of Rosilia, he was far from desirous of disputing or in the least contending with his brother officers, in the preference each seemed so emulous to obtain in the favourable estimation of her who was the only young and unmarried lady of the party.
Meanwhile, the vessel steered its course through of the wide expanse of ocean, and at length the cry "land" was heard. It was the custom of Douglas, when not better employed, to walk the quarter deck with his telescope in hand; it appeared to him the horizon displayed a speck, bearing to the sight an indistinct appearance of land. Upon continuing his survey, he observed it gradually increase and darken. He turned to consult the captain, who, as himself, was then employed in a similar investigation, and who, in catching the inquiring eyes of Douglas, confirmed the tidings already made known, by saying, "It is the place of our destination—it is Madras."
"The news is gratifying," replied Douglas; "but the wind which chafes my cheek becomes bleak and keen; do you not think, before we reach it, we stand some hazard of being overtaken by a squall?"
The captain required not the warning, his vigilant eye had already marked the gathering clouds; one moment had scarcely elapsed, when, in the next, the sky became completely overshadowed, the winds furiously raged amongst the shrouds, whilst the busy mariners became active in slackening the cordage, and reefing the sails.
Douglas nevertheless stood on the side of the reeling deck, impressed with awe, not from a sense of danger, but from being in a situation to witness one of the grandest, most magnificent, and most solemn scenes in creation—a storm at sea!
The vessel pitched with violence upon the black tumultuous waves, which, returning with a resistless force, curled and foamed upon the deck: after which, receding, they seemed to gather themselves together, opening to the view a tremendous abyss! The thunder roared, the lightning flashed! its pale beams gleamed around, and rendered still more awful the intermediate gloom. Most horrid was the tumult, the contention, of the infuriated elements!
Upon an occasion so momentous, it was necessary that all hands should be employed: the officers, with one accord, lent their assistance with the agility of experienced seamen. Douglas might also, and with some skill, have exerted himself, but his once athletic frame seemed nerveless, his once muscular arm refused its office, shrinking relaxed beneath the ropes; but, in proportion to this outward diminution of strength, the soul had assumed new energies; unappalled, he surveyed a scene of the most stupendous magnitude, instilling high and vast conceptions of the majesty, sublimity, and immensity of the Sovereign Disposer of all things. Douglas had never felt sensible of danger, nor strove to shun it, yet he then sometimes felt his heart sink within him, when, redoubling at intervals, the agonizing cries and shrieks of the ladies met his ear.
The sound of hope at last is heard: "Danger is past! the danger is past!" re-echoes every voice. The thunder's terrific roar is hushed to peace; the lightning ceases to flash; the tempest's formidable rage abates; wild confusion no longer reigns; the fears of timid passengers subside, and the destructive effects they anticipated are scarcely to be traced! The wind veered to the south, and the freshening gale brought peace and security on its wings.
Swift over the seas the vessel drives; Madras appears in sight. The first object catching the eye, upon the anchor being cast, was an Indian upon his catamaran, who, making a sudden motion, sprung to the side of the ship, grappled there for a moment, and the next was on the deck. In a short time after a budgerow*[1] lay beside the vessel, and notice was given that it came to convey about fifteen passengers on shore.
In compliance with the message, the officers prepared to conduct the ladies to the boat, the curious structure of which, the deep sides, covered top, and encircling curtains, exciting their general inspection. It moved off, and Douglas beheld the vessel they had quitted, so late in danger of being lost, ride prosperously on the main: when the Indians broke into a religious song in Hindostanee; "Protect us from the dangers of the deep, and forgive us our sins," echoed forth in responses long and deep. Those tones, at first low, plaintive, wild, by degrees increased, as they drew near the surf, to sounds of louder depth; by the mingled howl and clamour of their voices, the Indians tried to exceed the roaring of the waves, redoubling as the waves redoubled in tumult.
The uproar of the sea, the yell of the Indians, the rapidity with which the boat at intervals was driven, threatening at every moment to be engulphed, might have infused terror into the most undaunted; the senses were nearly astounded, when, by the most violent motion, the boat, encompassed by the tremendous wave, was at last pitched high and dry on shore; the glittering spray receded, the Indians sprang to land, and the passengers were at length landed on the shores of India.
- ↑ * A large covered boat.