Robinson Crusoe was evidently Ledyard’s beau idéal of a hero. To the young mind which makes companions of its own dream, solitude is sweet, as it favours their growth, and throws a gorgeous mantle over their deformities. Our young traveller seems to have early conceived the design of achieving a reputation, and in the mean while, until he should have made the first step, and acquired the right to exact some degree of consideration among mankind, the dim forest, or the lonely river, was a more agreeable associate in his mind than any of those two-legged animals with which a residence at college daily brought him into contact. He therefore at once resolved to put an end to so mawkish a way of life. Selecting from the majestic forest which clothed the margin of the Connecticut River a tree large enough to form a canoe, he contrived, with the aid of some of his fellow-students, to fell and convey it to the stream, which runs near the college. Here it was hollowed out, and fashioned in the requisite shape, and when completed measured fifty feet in length by three in breadth. His young college companions enabled him to lay in the necessary store of provisions. He had a bear-skin for a covering; a Greek Testament and Ovid to amuse him on the way; and thus equipped, he pushed off into the current, bade adieu to his youthful friends, turned his back upon Dartmouth, and floated leisurely down the stream. Hartford, the place of his destination, was one hundred and forty miles distant. The country, during much of the way, was a wilderness, and the river, of the navigation of which he was totally ignorant, exhibited in many places dangerous falls and rapids. However, youth and ignorance are generally bold. He was, besides, too well pleased at escaping from the irksomeness of regular study, and, indeed, too much enamoured of danger itself to have been terrified, even had he fully understood the character of the river.
The canoe being carried along with sufficient rapidity by the force of the current, he had but little occasion for using his paddles, and filled up the intervals of reflection with reading. He was thus employed when the canoe approached Bellows Falls. The noise of the waters rushing with impetuous velocity through their narrow channel between the rocks, roused him to a sense of his danger, fortunately, in time to enable him by the strenuous use of his paddles to reach the shore. His canoe was dragged round the fall by the kindness of the good people of the neighbourhood, who were amazed at the boldness and novelty of his enterprise, and again safely launched upon the waters below. No further account is given of this singular voyage. He arrived safely at Hartford about daybreak one fine morning in spring, and astonished his friends by the strangeness of his appearance, and the no less strange relation of his adventures.
Whether or not any efforts were made on this occasion to induce Ledyard to resume his missionary studies is not known; but if there were it was without success. His inclinations, as I have already observed, had now taken another direction. He was desirous of becoming a regular clergyman, and exerted himself, unfit as he was, to obtain a preacher’s license. Inferior claims have sometimes been urged with effect; but Ledyard’s were rejected; and in that reckless state of mind produced by disappointment and disgust, which none but those who have been buffeted by adverse fortune can properly conceive, he threw himself into the first gap which he saw open, and determined to combat with the ills of life in the humble condition of a common sailor. In this capacity he sailed for Gibraltar, in the ship of a Captain Deshon, who had been a friend of his father. Though this gentleman, we are told, regarded him more in the light of a companion than as one of his crew, Ledyard seems to have conceived no very favourable idea of a seafaring life from his voyage across the Atlantic, and on his landing at Gibraltar, determined to avoid a repetition of the experiment by enlisting in the army. By the solicitations of Captain Deshon, however, who at the same time strongly remonstrated with him on the impropriety of his conduct, he was released, and returned with his liberator to New-London. This voyage put to flight his romantic ideas respecting the life of a mariner; and he once more saw himself dependent on his friends, without profession or prospect.
From the conversation of some of the older members of his family, he had learned that in England he possessed many wealthy relations; and the idea now occurred to him, that could he but make himself known to these, he should be received with open arms, and lifted up at once to a respectable position in society. With him to resolve and to act were the same thing. He immediately proceeded to New-York, where, finding a vessel bound for England, he obtained a birth, probably on condition of his working as a sailor. On landing at Plymouth, he found himself penniless, and without a friend, in a strange country; but his courage, sustained by the golden hopes with which he amused his imagination, was proof against misfortune. His calamities, he flattered himself, were soon to have an end. He was now within a few days’ journey of his wealthy relations; and provided he kept, as the vulgar say, body and soul together, what did it signify how he passed the brief interval which separated him from his island of Barataria? Accordingly, relying upon that principle in our nature by which compassion is kindled, and the hand stretched forth to relieve, as often as real honest distress presents itself, he set out for London. On the way his good genius brought him acquainted with an Irishman, whose pockets were as guiltless of coin as his own; and as it is a comfort not to be “alone unhappy” in this “wide and universal theatre,” these two moneyless friends were a great consolation to each other. In fact, it is often among the poor and unfortunate that fellowship is most sweet. The sight of another’s sufferings excites our magnanimity. We scorn to sink under what we see by another man’s experience can be borne, perhaps, without repining. And thus two poor devils without a penny may be of use to each other, by reciprocally affording an example of fortitude and patience. Ledyard and his Hibernian companion begged by turns, and in this way reached London, where they separated, each to cherish his poverty in a different nook.
Hunger, which has a kind of predilection for great cities, seems to sharpen the sight as well as the wits of men; for, amid the vast throng of equipages which jostle and almost hide each other in the streets of London, Ledyard’s eye caught the family name upon a carriage; and he learned from the coachman the profession and address of the owner, who was a rich merchant. El Dorado was before him. He hastened to the house, and although the master himself was absent, he found the son, who, at all events, listened to his story. When he had heard him out, however, he very coolly informed our sanguine traveller that he wholly disbelieved his representations, never having heard of any relations in America; but that from the East Indies, he added, they expected a member of the family, whom Ledyard greatly resembled; and that if in reality he was the person, he would be received with open arms.
This reception, so different from that which he had anticipated, yet so extremely natural under the circumstances of the case, was more than Ledyard’s philosophy, which had not yet been sufficiently disciplined by poverty, could digest; and he quitted the house of his cautious relative with avowed disgust. How he now continued to subsist is not known. It appears, however, that in spite of his distress he succeeded in making the acquaintance of several respectable individuals, to whom he related his story, and who, taking an interest in his fate, exerted themselves to effect a reconciliation between him and his wealthy friends, but without success; for distrust on the one part, and haughtiness on the other, intervened, and shipwrecked their good intentions.
While our traveller’s affairs were in this precarious or rather desperate state, an account of the preparations which were making for Captain Cook’s third voyage round the world reached him in his obscurity. Ambition, which for some time seems to have been almost stifled in his mind by his distresses, now again awoke. He longed to form a part of the glorious enterprise, and to behold, at least, if he could not share in the achievements of the illustrious navigator. As a preliminary step he enlisted in the marine service; and having procured an interview with Captain Cook, his energy and enthusiasm so strongly recommended him, that the great discoverer immediately took him into his service, and promoted him to be a corporal of marines.
The expedition sailed from England on the 12th of July, 1776. It consisted of two ships, the Resolution, commanded by Captain Cook, and the Discovery, by Captain Clerke. After touching at Teneriffe, and the Cape of Good Hope, where they laid in a large stock of provisions, and live animals, designed to be left at the various islands on which they did not exist, they sailed towards the southern extremity of New-Holland. In twenty-five days they arrived at Kerguelen’s Island, then recently discovered. It was barren, and totally without inhabitants. There was, however, a scanty supply of grass, and a species of wild cabbage, which they cut for their cattle. Fresh water was found in abundance; for it rained profusely, so that torrents came tumbling down from the hills, and enabled them to replenish their empty casks. Seals and sea-dogs covered the shore; and vast flocks of birds hovered around. Never having experienced in their lonely island the danger of approaching man, they did not fly from their visiters, but suffered themselves, and more particularly the penguin, to be knocked down with clubs. Here they celebrated Christmas, and then proceeded to Van Dieman’s Land.
Within less than two months after leaving the Cape of Good Hope they cast anchor in Adventure Bay, in this island, which was then supposed to form a part of New-Holland. At first no inhabitants appeared, though, in sailing along the coast, they had observed columns of smoke ascending between the trees; but in a few days the natives, men, women, and children, came down to the beach, exhibiting in their persons the extreme of human wretchedness. They were black, with negro features, and woolly hair, besmeared with red ochre and grease, and went completely naked. Bread and fish, which were given them, they threw away; but of the flesh of birds they appeared fond. Their only weapon was a rude stick about three feet long, and sharpened at one end. They had no canoes, no houses, and appeared to be, to a great degree, destitute of curiosity.
Having laid in a sufficient stock of wood and water, the expedition proceeded to New-Zealand, where they remained a whole month, employed in laying in provisions, and in making observations on the character of the country and its inhabitants. They found the New-Zealanders a race differing in many respects from the natives of all the surrounding islands. Cannibalism of the most revolting kind flourished here in all its glory. The first thought of a man on beholding the face of a fellow-creature, like Fontenelle’s on seeing a flock of sheep in a meadow, was what nice eating he would make; and if they abstained from devouring their neighbours as well as their enemies, it was merely from fear of reprisals. Yet, united with propensities which, if found to be ineradicable, would justify their extermination, these people are said to possess a vehement affection for their friends, constancy in their attachments, and a strong disposition to love. It is very possible that both their good and bad qualities may have been misrepresented. The views and feelings of savages are not easily comprehended, and it is seldom that those who enjoy opportunities of observing them possess the genius to divine, from a few flitting and often constrained manifestations of them, the secret temper of the soul.