The Adventures of Louis de Rougemont

by Louis de Rougemont

But for a long time I utterly refused to believe that my darlings were lost—they were truly as sisters to me; and Yamba and I and the natives dived for them time after time, searching the sea in every direction. But at length, seeing that I was exhausted, Yamba forcibly detained me, and told me that I myself would inevitably drown if I went into the water again. The wound in my thigh (I am uncertain to this day whether it was the result of the gun-shot or mere collision with the rough gunwale of the canoe) was bleeding freely; and as it was also pointed out to me that there was a very strong and swift current at this spot, I allowed myself to be taken away without any further opposition.

I simply could not realise my bereavement. It seemed too terrible and stunning to think, that when God had provided me with these two charming companions, who were all in all to me every moment of my existence, as a consolation for the horrors I had gone through—it seemed impossible, I say, that they should be snatched from me just at the very moment when salvation seemed within our reach. Every detail of the incident passed before my mental vision, but I could not grasp it—I could not seem to think it real. I can never explain it. These poor girls were more to me than loving sisters. They turned the black night of my desolate existence into sunshine, and they were perpetually devising some sweet little surprise—some little thing which would please me and add additional brightness to our daily lives. This dreadful thing happened many years ago, but to this day, and to the day of my death, I feel sure I shall suffer agonies of grief and remorse (I blame myself for not having forbidden them to go in the canoe) for this terrible catastrophe.

After we returned to the land, I haunted the sea-shore for hours, hoping to see the bodies rise to the surface; but I watched in vain. When at length the full magnitude of the disaster dawned upon me, despair—the utter abandonment of despair—filled my soul for the first time. Never again would my sweet companions cheer my solitary moments. Never again would I see their loved forms, or hear their low, musical voices. Never again would we play together like children on the sand. Never again would we build aerial castles about the bright and happy future that was in store for us, looking back from the bourne of civilisation on our fantastic adventures. Never again should we compare our lot with that of Robinson Crusoe or the Swiss Family Robinson.

My bright dream had passed away, and with a sudden revulsion of feeling I realised that the people around me were repulsive cannibals, among whom I was apparently doomed to pass the remainder of my hideous days—a fate infinitely more terrible than that of joining my darlings beneath the restless waves, that beat for ever on that lonely shore. I was a long time before I could even bring myself to be thankful for Yamba’s escape, which was no doubt dreadfully ungrateful of me. I can only ask your pity and sympathy in my terrible affliction. What made my sorrow and remorse the more poignant, was the reflection that if I had retained one atom of my self-possession I would never have dreamed of approaching the little European vessel at the head of a whole flotilla of catamarans, filled with yelling and gesticulating savages. As to the people on board the vessel, I exonerated them then, and I exonerate them now, from all blame. Had you or I been on board, we should probably have done exactly the same thing under the circumstances.

Clearly the only reasonable plan of action was to have gone alone; but then, at critical times, even the wisest among us is apt to lose his head. God knows I paid dearly enough for my lack of judgment on this melancholy occasion.

My wound was not at all serious, and, thanks to Yamba’s care, it quickly healed, and I was able to get about once more.

But I ought to tell you that when we returned I could not bear to go into our hut, where every little bunch of withered flowers, every garment of skin, and every implement, proclaimed aloud the stunning loss I had sustained. No, I went back direct to the camp of the natives, and remained among them until the moment came for my departure. I think it was in the soft, still nights that I felt it most. I wept till I was as weak as a baby. Oh the torments of remorse I endured—the fierce resentment against an all-wise Providence! “Alone! alone! alone!” I would shriek in an agony of wretchedness; “Gone! gone! gone! Oh, come back to me, come back to me, I cannot live here now.”

And I soon realised that it was impossible for me to remain there any longer. There was much weeping and lamentation among the native women, but I guessed it was not so much on account of the poor girls, as out of sympathy for the loss the great white chief had sustained. I think Yamba went among them, and pointed out the magnitude of the disaster; otherwise they would have failed to grasp it. What was the loss of a woman or two to them? I felt, I say, that I could not settle down in my hut again, and I was consumed with an intense longing to go away into the wilderness and there hide my grief. In making an attempt to reach civilisation, I thought this time of going due south, so that perhaps I might ultimately reach Sydney, or Melbourne, or Adelaide. I argued thus casually to myself, little dreaming of the vast distances—mountain ranges and waterless deserts—that separated me from these great cities. For all I knew, I might have come upon them in a few weeks! All I was certain of was that they lay somewhere to the south. Time was no object to me, and I might as well be walking in the direction of civilisation as remaining in idle misery in my bay home, brooding over the disaster that had clouded my life and made it infinitely more intolerable than it was before the girls came.

Yamba instantly agreed to accompany me, and a few weeks after the loss of the girls we started out once more on our wanderings, accompanied by my ever faithful dog.

Bruno also missed his young mistresses. He would moan and cry pitifully, and run aimlessly up and down the beach looking out to sea. Ah! had I only taken Bruno on that fatal day, he would not have let my dear ones drown!