The breeze springing up more freshly, we sailed with increased speed towards the distressed vessel, the forepart of which was now one sheet of flame; we saw the angry fiery element enveloping the foremast from top to bottom as in a garment, now sweep over to the mainmast, the sails of which were instantly on fire. How far the conflagration had proceeded inside we could not ascertain; but we were very certain the crew had left her and taken to the boats, for our continued cannon shots were answered by muskets fired from the barge and jolly boat.
As we approached carefully so as to avoid danger to ourselves from the collision with the burning ship, a wild cry arose from the foredeck of the latter–piercing yet mournful, and while pained and astonished we looked about to discover what it meant, a spectacle singular as fearful met our eyes. The ship had a number of animals on board which were being taken to England for a menagerie. In their haste to leave, the crew had either forgotten to unloose them, or feared that by liberating them, they might meet in their rage a worse enemy than even the fire. In wild and unavailing efforts, they dashed furiously against the iron bars that inclosed them, and their fearful cries almost drowned the hissing and crackling sound of the flames. At length they reached the mizzenmast, and the falling yards loosened a plank or two of one of the cages–a noble lion with flowing mane and glaring eyes burst forth and sprung overboard. At the same instant an elephant had freed himself from the rope which fettered his hind legs. Flourishing his long proboscis he rushed into the midst of the fire, but soon driven back by the heat he retreated to a portion of the foredeck which had not yet ignited, and his death-cry echoed loud and mournfully over the dusky ocean.
The falling of the mainmast ended the sad catastrophe. The cages of the other animals had taken fire, and their wild occupants bursting through the half burned planks, showed their dark forms here and there on the deck, and maddened with pain, shrieked aloud in agony as they plunged into the sea. The elephant drew himself up as for a last effort, and was about to spring overboard, as one bright, blinding glare shot athwart our eyes, and the next moment, vessel, animals, all had vanished as if by magic. The explosion that followed instantly–the sparkling brands that were hurled in all directions, explained that the flames had reached the magazine and thus blown up the luckless ship.
By this time, we had come up close to the boats, when a strange sound of snorting and moaning caused us to turn our eyes once more to the spot where the ship disappeared. We saw the huge form of the lion contending with the waves; attracted by the voices of men he was making every effort to reach the jolly boat. With consternation, the crew of the frail craft observed the advance of this dangerous messmate, for if he laid but one of his paws upon the side, overladen as she was already, she must inevitably sink by the increased weight. The sailors plied their oars with renewed force–the little boat shot over the waters like an arrow, and the poor animal was left far behind. For a long time, panting and toiling, he continued the pursuit, battling vigorously with wind and waves; but at last his strokes grew weaker, his breathing shorter, and we saw him finally yield quietly to the waves that settled over him even as they had closed above the devoted ship.
The captain now called the sailors, who silent and motionless were standing about, regarding the singular and impressive spectacle, to their several duties. The sails were taken in, ropes were thrown to the boats, and such a number of dark figures clambered up the deck that we began to be uneasy, and rather doubtful of the character of the rescued. We soon, however, became convinced that we had to do with honorable people, and who, singular as they looked to us in their oriental garb, took all possible pains to show their gratitude for our timely succor. From the few Europeans on board, we learned that the ship was from Sumatra bound to London; we therefore landed them on the Isle of Bourbon whose port we entered two days after.
With the cold climate that we exchanged for a warmer as we again approached the equator, we lost sight of the countless flocks of sea-birds that so long had accompanied us. It is something remarkable that they only inhabit the colder latitudes, for in a warmer climate it is a rare thing to find them. Sometimes a few weary land-birds that have strayed from their homeward way, skim over the ocean, or rest upon the masts; how they maintain themselves on the wing cannot be conjectured, but certain it is, they have been seen on the trackless ocean, when no point of land was within hundreds of miles.
On the first day of December, a long range of blue hills rose on the far horizon as if springing from the sea; we soon found it to be the coast of Sumatra. Contrary winds kept us beating about and prevented our entering the straits of Sunda, but we found ourselves surrounded by a number of ships from all nations sharing a like fate, and waiting with the same impatience for a favoring wind to blow them into Sunda Roads or to their different destinations. At last the wished for breeze sprung up, the sails swelled, and our gallant ship sailed proudly through the straits. On all sides were seen chains of blue hills and richly wooded islands rising out of the water; the long coast of Java and Sumatra covered with vegetation and groups of beautiful trees, and the thousand little green islets that studded the straits like emeralds cast at random, presented a lively picture that contrasted pleasantly with the late monotony we had endured. Huge trunks of pistangs and tops of cocoanut trees, broken off by the wind were driven about in all directions, and as they met us, awakened almost as much apprehension as would a reef of rocks. We passed many islands uninhabited, and with their impervious forests still remaining in primitive wildness, clothed in the beauty of a perpetual verdure unknown in northern regions, and soon came in sight of the white houses of the island of Java, which surrounded with lofty trees and blooming gardens, proclaimed themselves the dwellings of Europeans. From many eminences the Dutch flag was seen floating, and as we sailed along, a Java village looked out from among the tall cocoanut trees; little barks shot out from the shore and steered towards our ship, and one European boat manned with eight Javanese rowers, and bearing the flag of Holland at her stern reached us first.
A police officer, corpulent and full of importance, now came on board and handed the captain a sheet of paper on which he was desired to inscribe the name and destination of the vessel, from what port she had sailed, what burthen she carried, and other notices of the same kind.
This finished, the Javanese barks rowed swiftly along side; these small crafts are generally made of the trunk of a tree, neatly hollowed out; they are filled with fruit, fowls, eggs, apes, parrots, shells, and such like wares, with which the owner drives a profitable trade with the ships. He sits on a little bench in the midst of his merchandize with a short, broad oar in either hand; with this he propels his fragile vessel; which is often not more than an inch or two above the water’s edge. After we had exchanged our pure Spanish piastres, which is the coin they most prefer, for such things as we needed, the traffic with the sailors commenced.
Such old jackets, woolen shirts, caps and whatever other articles of clothing they could spare were bartered for eggs, cocoanuts, pine apples and other eatables. This accounts for the singular garb of the Javanese boatmen,–striped shirts, woolen caps and duck trowsers are strangely mingled with portions of the oriental dress, and a sailor’s jacket with large brass buttons is considered quite ornamental. Next to clothing they prefer knives, scissors and articles of iron ware. In general the Javanese are pretty good judges of the value of these articles, and mostly contrive to make a more profitable traffic from their fruit and poultry than the European sailor with his stock of old clothes. In the evening it is often the case at this time of year that constant lightnings play round the horizon, illumining the picturesque shores of Java and Sumatra. Impenetrable darkness shrouds both earth and sea, and only by the light of the electric flash is the mariner shown how to keep off land, and with shortened sail holds on his way. On board of all vessels, on binnacle, masts and spars are hung lighted lanterns in order to avoid collision with each other, for in the thick darkness that envelopes all around, no object can be discerned at a distance of three yards. In the meantime the wind pipes shrilly through the shrouds, and lashes the waves into foam white as snow-wreaths. After a few hours all again is still, no breeze disturbs the ocean, the sails flap lazily against the mast, the waves subside to a glassy smoothness, and the rain gradually ceases as the dawn approaches. So pass the nights in this climate during the rainy season.
In the morning we found ourselves surrounded with a great number of vessels, the white sails of European ships covered the sea on all sides, contrasting strongly with the small coasters made of plaited hemp that darted gaily over the blue waves, and fishing boats of all sorts and sizes were crossing our path or following in our wake. We were seemingly enclosed in a nest of small islands, and it was a mystery to conceive how it would be possible to find our way out of such a labyrinth. Only by the high volcanic hills, with their crowns of light smoke were we able to recognize the mainland of Java, whilst the flowery coast of Sumatra faded gradually from our view, until at length it was lost on the distant horizon. But the experienced eye of our captain discerned clearly the way that lay before us; for many years he had guided his ship in safety through these dangerous seas, and attentive to his duty and his chart, he disentangled her from among this knot of islands and we found ourselves once more in a free offing. Soon the Roads of Batavia were in sight, where more than fifty large ships and an incredible number of smaller ones were lying at anchor. The French, Dutch, Austrian and English flags greeted our arrival, one ship after another welcomed us to the roads with their thundering cannon, which was regularly answered by the guard ship constantly stationed here. At last our anchor was let down and fell rattling into the deep. But, different from Sumatra and the coast of Java we had left, nothing was to be seen at Batavia but a flat, low beach overgrown with bushes, behind which appeared some groups of green trees, and in the far distance rose a chain of blue hills from the summits of which clouds of smoke were issuing, that told of the many volcanic fires that are constantly burning in the Island of Java.
Home-Sickness of a Siberian
Every Russian officer is permitted to choose their servants from among the soldiers, the number varying according to the rank; the under lieutenants having the right to one, the captains can demand three, and the field marshal twenty-four. These men, although freed from military duty, are still numbered as belonging to their several regiments, which they are obliged to enter, whenever their master pleases. They are better fed and clothed than their comrades, and upon the whole, live an easier and pleasanter life. Among these soldier-servants, I became acquainted with one, a Siberian, whose regiment was quartered in a small town in the government of Pultowa. He was a dragoon and servant to the Adjutant of the division, with whom I spent many hours in playing chess, and this man waited on us, bringing us tea, or whatever other refreshments we needed.
Fulfilling all his duties to his master not only with ability, but the greatest fidelity, he was treated with more friendship, and allowed indulgences denied to others of his class, the humane officer whom it was his lot to serve, knowing how to appreciate his faithfulness, and wishing to remove the deep melancholy under which he constantly labored.
This he was not able to do–for it was caused by home-sickness. He pined for his rude home in Siberia–for the ice-fields, the marshy meadows, and the barren steppes of his fatherland–he saw no beauty in the summer plains of the South, no charm in the cultivated fields, nor found pleasure in the society into which he was thrown. His sadness increased every day–he lost his flesh, and at length became incapable of effort, reduced to the borders of the grave.
In vain did his kind master endeavor to soothe him with comforting words–as vain the attempt of the garrison surgeon to cure him with varied prescriptions. His malady grew in proportion with their efforts to heal it, until it took the form of monomania. He saw no means by which he could accomplish his return to his beloved country so as to be able to remain there in safety,–did he leave his kind master and fly, it would be of no avail, for the same power that had at first compelled his forced service, would exact it anew and with greater vigor. He, therefore, took the desperate resolution to get himself banished. This he could not do except he committed the crime of murder, and an opportunity soon offered itself.1 The victim was a young girl, a servant in the same house with himself. She was of a taunting, irritating disposition, and disputes were constantly occurring between them–he resolved she should be the sacrifice to his home-sickness, and accordingly in the next provocation he received from her, he gave her a blow which killed her. He was imprisoned, tried by military law, and his judges not knowing him to be a Siberian, and never guessing his motive for the deed which he acknowledged he had committed, passed sentence of banishment for life to Siberia.
But this decree was only to be fulfilled after a preliminary punishment had been inflicted–a punishment of which he had not thought, and which embittered, if it did not destroy, the hope of seeing his fatherland once more.
Before he commenced his journey into banishment, he was to receive seventy strokes of the knout, and the chances were that he would die under the operation, few constitutions being able to endure its severity. But he did survive it, and the fortitude with which he bore it awoke the admiration of all. I was obliged to be one of the spectators of the execution of this bloody sentence, so I had a full opportunity of witnessing the stoical heroism with which the unhappy man bore the strokes that tore his flesh from his back and shoulders. But if I was astonished at this courageous endurance of bodily pain, I was yet more so when I saw the look of eager inquiry, that notwithstanding the terrible suffering he was undergoing, he cast from time to time on his soldier’s cap that lay on the ground quite near him, into which according to the Russian custom, the spectators were dropping money, and so great was their admiration of his endurance, that it was filled to the brim with gold and silver coin, together with bank notes of larger value. Virtue and crime were so mingled in this man, that it was hard to form an opinion of him. The love of country, one of the highest of human emotions, and avarice, almost the lowest, gave the poor criminal, after receiving the seventieth stroke, strength sufficient to walk with the support of the jailor’s arm to the hospital, from whence a few weeks after, his wounds being healed, he was sent with some other criminals to his beloved Siberia.