“What vessels are these, Captain?” inquired Oriel, pointing to several ships, appearing at different distances in the open sea before them.
“Yonder vessel, whose tall masts are bending before the brisk breeze that fills her sails, is an Algerine merchantman, and has most probably a cargo of dancing masters, cooks, figurantes, and opera singers, which are as much now the chief produce of the people to whom she belongs, as they were a thousand years ago the principal exports of their progenitors. That sombre thing, with the long funnel in the centre of her deck, is very similar to the steamers of which the ancients were so proud, before an improved propelling power was discovered. She belongs to the Abyssinians—a people remarkably slow in adopting the inventions of their more civilised neighbours; she trades from the sea of Babel Mandeb to the Gulph of Guinea, sometimes touching at Madagascar, and the neighbouring islands, and carries passengers, pigs, crockery, and snuff. This rakish looking craft, flying afore the wind like a petrel in a storm, is a free trader with a rich cargo of smuggled merchandise from the continent to the Mauritius; and the big ship yonder, bearing down upon us as if she’d sink every thing that stood in her way, is a man of war belonging to the Liberians—a powerful nation of blacks. All these small fry that are starting up from every point, are merely coasting vessels—government packets,—fishing smacks—pilot boats,—pleasure yachts, and other floaters of a similar nature.”
“But what is this?” inquired Oriel, pointing to something of a very strange appearance that was seen at the distance of about three quarters of a mile, making way at a rapid rate towards the shore. They all gazed in that direction, and a most extraordinary spectacle they beheld. At first it seemed like a ball—but as it approached the ship it enlarged, and every one who saw it knew it to be a balloon. How it came there, floating on the waves by itself, many conjectured; but their surprise at its appearance was wonderfully increased, when they observed a man, with his body immersed in the waves, clinging to it, or more probably attached to its fastenings. His peril he endeavoured to make known by screams of the most piercing description; but it was not till the miserable wretch was being rapidly borne past their vessel that the people of the Albatross discovered the full extent of his danger. For at least half a mile behind him the sea was a mass of white smoking foam, which was created by nearly a hundred immense sharks following him with eager speed, lashing the waves with their tails, leaping over each other, plunging, snorting, and displaying the most ravenous desire to catch him in their enormous jaws. Sometimes the balloon ascended a little distance above the sea and then would rapidly descend, plunging the unhappy aeronaut over his head in the salt water; but while the sharks were all striving against each other to make a mouthful of his limbs, it would again ascend, floating swiftly over the surface, bearing its screaming appendant about a foot above his unrelenting pursuers, who continued to follow him struggling furiously with each other, and eagerly snapping at his limbs whenever they approached the surface of the water. It was impossible to render him any assistance, although he passed within a few yards of the ship, he was carried so swiftly along; and on he went, shrieking with agony, now high above the waves—then dashed in beneath them—then flying over the surface, with the horrid expectation of being immediately devoured by the hungry pack by whom he was pursued.
“Scrunch me, if that isn’t the most cruel chase I ever saw,” exclaimed the captain.
“These sort of accidents are not at all extraordinary,” observed Fortyfolios, “and with such things must frequently occur. Balloons are an old invention, and one the least useful for philosophical purposes of any we have received from the ancients. Attempts have been made, attended with success, to get one or several individuals borne by them from an island to an adjoining continent, and from one part of a continent to a part far remote; but as they have found it impossible to control the current of wind met with in certain elevations, and as they can seldom rely upon a current in any one direction lasting for any length of time, they have been able to rise as high as they please, but can never previously fix exactly upon the place of their descent; and it has in many instances occurred, as in the one we have just now observed, that after the aeronaut has made his ascent, a sudden wind takes him in a direction contrary to what he designed, or various currents rising unexpectedly at nearly the same time, he is shifted about to every point of the compass; and when he is obliged to descend, he finds himself floating over some unknown sea, or some wild uncultivated land, hundreds of miles from human assistance, where he is left to endure the conviction that he must either be drowned or starved. A balloon is, in fact, a toy, with which one fool amuses many.”
Nothing more was said on the subject, although the dangerous situation of the poor fellow who had attached himself to the balloon was anxiously watched as long as he remained in sight, and the imminent peril in which he was seen: his heart-rending cries, and desperate struggles, long left their unpleasant impression on the memory of all who beheld him.
The bold outline of the coast they were approaching every hour became more apparent: its singular mountain and other landmarks were seen, pointed out, and commented on. Birds flew into the rigging—weeds accumulated before the ship—and stray logs of timber, broken barrels, and pieces of wreck, were continually floating past. The character of the scenery now began to be clearly defined—the lowlands spreading out far and wide into the interior, intersected by numerous railroads, and the mountains holding up their proud heads covered with vegetation nearly to their summits. The more the country became visible, the greater was the evidence it exhibited of a high degree of cultivation, a fruitful soil, and a numerous and industrious population; and as buildings began to be made out, it was observable from their form, numbers, and disposition, that manufactures was a primary object in the estimation of the inhabitants.
“You will find these people a money-getting generation,” said the professor to his pupil: “their sole object appears to be to accumulate, and their only idea of the respectability of a person is derived from the proportion of substance he is worth. They never ask, is a man an excellent husband, an exemplary father, or an admirable citizen?—is he distinguished by the attention with which he fulfils his moral duties, or celebrated by the right application of extraordinary talents? they merely inquire how much money he has in his pockets. In fact, when they speak at all of ‘a good man,’ they allude to some individual imagined to be possessed of a certain amount of available property: money with them is every thing. Respectability means money—reputation or credit means money, and cleverness means money. Money, therefore, is the universal virtue: they who have the most are honoured the most, and they who have it not at all are considered by those who have it, although in ever so small a proportion, as being separated from their fellow-creatures by an impassable chasm, where all that is infamous is thought to dwell.”
“And yet they are considered to be a very religious people,” remarked Oriel.
“None are more regular in going to church, none are greater respecters of the ceremonies of worship, but of religion they are ignorant,” replied Fortyfolios. “Nothing can be more certain than that it is impossible that a pure morality or a sincere devotion can exist, when the heart is filled with one engrossing desire—the accumulation of capital—the very principle of which is selfishness—a feeling incompatible with the social charities of true religion.”