CHAPTER XXIII.
DOCTOR STILLMAN'S JOURNAL.
I have been kindly permitted to select the following from the private journal of Dr. J. D. B. Stillman, of New York, an intelligent fellow-passenger on the Anteus. It will give some idea of the state of feeling on board during our absence.
"Sunday, May 20th. Eleven passengers left the vessel yesterday in a small boat, with the intention of going ashore on the island of Juan Fernandez for fruit and fresh provisions. At first they made but little progress ahead of the ship, but the wind soon fell away entirely, and about noon the boat could not be seen from the mast-head. Another party of eight passengers prepared to start about two o'clock this morning. The captain, however, was so uneasy at the absence of the other boat, that he refused liberty. Lights were kept burning in the rigging during the night. Toward morning a breeze sprung up. Short sail was carried for fear the boat should attempt to reach us and miss her way. At sunrise it was again calm. The islands loomed higher, but nothing could be distinguished. At 11 A.M. a stiff breeze sprang up from the direction of Masatierra, and the day was spent in beating to windward, and straining our eyes in the hope of discerning some traces of our lost comrades. The wind continued to freshen all day. At 8 P.M. the sea was quite rough. No light could be seen on the shore. The captain, who is well acquainted with the island, says if they attempted to land on the south side they would be inevitably swamped, and some or all lost, as the shore is rock-bound, and the only safe landing is on the north side, fifteen miles farther on. The probability is that they were too much exhausted to attempt landing, and night would have fallen before they could have reached the land at any rate. I am confident in the opinion that they are on the north side of the island, and that they lay all last night on their oars, and landed this morning, too much exhausted to attempt returning the same day. I have great confidence in some of the company; but to-night gloom is general, and a fearful presentiment seems to rest upon the minds of all that we shall soon have to record a melancholy casualty.
"Monday, 21st. The wind this morning is blowing very fresh. We have been all day beating nearer the island. Objects are quite distinct on the south shore. It is very high and nearly barren. Indeed, so steep are the lofty mountain sides that there does not appear to be soil enough adhering to the rocks to support a spire of grass, except near the summits, which are over a thousand feet in height where they rise near the water; and every where, so far as we can see, the shore is rock-bound, upon which the surf beats fearfully. They could not be so wild as to attempt landing on this side. To-night the wind blows a gale, and we shall be compelled to await a change before we attempt the windward side. Hopes are getting faint. The distress of those who are most interested in the parties is great. Some of our best men were of the company. In fact, it is a question which has absorbed all others, What has become of the boat? To-night I have rather congratulated myself that I did not go. To add to our perplexity, the air is becoming thick, and rain is coming on. The clouds hang heavy and dark over the mountains. At nightfall the wind suddenly changes to S.W. The ship is put about, and run for the north side of the island.
"May 22d. While I was writing last night, a loud shout called us all in great haste on deck. A light had been discovered on the shore, and hearty cheers expressed the deep anxiety of all, now in a great measure relieved. There was no doubt that they had reached the shore, and that some of the number were surviving. I felt assured that all was right. Signals were set from the rigging, and the vessel lay to during the night. At dawn of day we were twenty miles distant from the island. Made all sail and stood in for the harbor. As we neared the shore, discovered a large ship at anchor, and a brig rounding the western point. Soon after, we distinguished the tiny sail of our lost boat making for the ship. The captain, in order to show a proper resentment for the disobedience of orders, directed that no demonstrations of joy should be made; and, as they came alongside, they were received in silence."
The shades of evening were gathering upon the horizon. A murmur of life arose from the decks, but it fell unheeded upon my ear. For now, and for many days and nights in our dreary voyage, there was no life for me but in the past. I felt that my happiest hours were there.
Once more I turned to look upon the dim island that was fading away in the south. A steady breeze wafted us onward; the sun's last rays yet lingered in the sky; twilight hung upon the ocean, and its gentle spirit
"Rendered birth
To dim enchantments—melting heaven to earth—
Leaving on craggy hills and running streams
A softness like the atmosphere of dreams."
DREAMS AND REALITIES
And was this the last of the island-world? was it to be in future years a mere dream of the past? was I never more to behold its wild grottoes and green valleys? was all the romance of life to fade away with it in the twilight? was it, like the cream-colored volume, to reveal enchantments that henceforth could dwell only in the memory?
Fresh, and fair, and wondrous it was in its romantic beauty when the mists were scattered away, and I beheld it for the first time in the glowing light of morning, with the white sea-foam sparkling on its shores, and the birds singing in its groves. How rich the air was with sweet odors; how varied and changing the colors upon the hill-sides; how softly steeped in shadows were its glens and woodland slopes—what a world of romance was there!
PEAK OF YONKA
I had pressed its sod with my feet; reveled in its streams; lived again my early life in its pleasant valleys; passed some happy hours there with friends from whom I soon must part; and now, what was it? A dim cloud on the horizon, sinking in the sea, fading away in the shadows of night.
I looked again; faintly and more faintly still its mountains loomed above the deep. Weary with gazing, I closed my eyes, and for a moment I saw it again; but it was only in fancy. I looked—and it had passed away! Was it forever?
"And now the light of many stars
Quivered in tremulous softness on the air."
Yet not forever is it lost to me; for often in the busy world I pause and think of that dream-land in the far-off seas, and it rises before me as I saw it in the morning sun, all rich and strange in its beauty; and again I wander through its romantic vales, and again it brings back pleasant memories of the cream-colored volume; and as I look once more, startled from my reverie by the hum of life, it fades away as it faded then in the shadows of night, but not forever. Though I never more may behold it with mortal eyes, yet I see it where distance can not dim the sight: it hath not passed away forever.