The Emigrant's Lost Son Part 1

The Emigrant's Lost Son.

by Anonymous.

INTRODUCTION

That no person in this state of existence may be tempted to a.s.sert his own independence, the affairs of life are so ordered that much of the happiness enjoyed by mankind depends upon their communion with each other. Human affections, if they were permitted to act freely, as they spontaneously arise in the breast of mankind, are designed to bind all the human race in one bond of brotherhood.

Our own parents and near relatives first call these affections into active exercise. Their care and attention to our welfare, the interest they take in preserving us in a state of safety and health, and in teaching us also the duties we owe both to our Creator and fellow-creatures, tend to give the first impetus to the germs of our affections; and it is by the exercise of these very affections that we derive a continual source of happiness, which becomes hereafter the chief means by which the refinement of the senses may be effected.

Thus it is, that when death, or other causes, deprive us of our immediate parental guidance, the affections as naturally seek for new objects, on which to exert their influence, as the operations of any other well recognised principles proceed in the works of nature.

The author and hero of the following narrative, was called upon to experience the sudden deprivation of not only his parents, but of all his dearest friends; and that at an age when the heart first expands to the relations of our existence, and is most sensitive to the emotions of grief; when, unexpectedly and unprepared, it is cut off from all sympathy or communication with human kind. At the age of thirteen he was lost in an almost boundless Guiana forest, where he remained for several years, dependent solely upon his own resources, mental and physical--that is, on the one hand, to bear the mind up against the shock it received in being thrown suddenly into solitude; and, on the other, to provide for his daily wants. That man never was intended to live in what is denominated "a state of nature," is manifest by his long infancy and the tardy development of his mental powers. No animal is so long after its birth before it can support the body on its legs as man; in none is the period of complete adult stature so long protracted. When born into the world he is entirely defenceless, his great distinctions from other animals are reason and speech: these, however, are germs which are not developed of themselves, but are brought to maturity by extraneous a.s.sistance, cultivation, and education; hence we must infer that man was intended for social union, and that his imaginary state of nature, which some writers have spoken of, never has existed.

Man, however, in his nature, is limited in no respect; being fitted for every kind of life, every climate, and every variety of food. The Deity has given him the whole earth for his abode, and the produce thereof for his nourishment. With the advantages, however, of an early moral and religious education, together with an excellent const.i.tution, our juvenile exile from man was enabled, under the direction of a watchful Providence, to preserve his life, protect his mind against despondency, and procure a subsistence in the midst of dangers.

The difficulties he encountered, the manner in which he overcame them, and the scenes which were brought under his view in the extended field of observation into which he was thrown, it is the object of the following narrative to lay before the reader. To those whose knowledge extends not beyond the world of man to the boundless fields of nature, it may appear that such a life must have been one of monotonous listlessness, from which few materials could be gathered to impart knowledge or interest to the general reader.

Our hero, however, found employment for the mind in every moment of his waking hours, and was furnished with objects for study in the forest, that might engage the longest period of life allotted to man to catalogue or enumerate.

Happily for the exile, his mind was formed to seek for knowledge in the only sources open to man for the full development of the intellectual powers; namely, observation and reflection.

Denied the aid of books, in the far woods that "steeped in their moonbeams lie," he called upon his Maker, and the echo of the floor of the forest recognised his presence. Acquiring confidence from this a.s.surance, and relying on Providence for protection, he converted the scenes around him into a school of study, and realized in the woods a life of activity instead of one of solitude. He soon discovered, when left to draw deductions from his own experience in the scenes of Nature, that there is nothing but what is beautiful, nothing unworthy of admiration. "The disregard," he says, "which by many is paid to her productions, reflects no honour on those who evince it, and little credit on a system of education that does not at once lead its pupils to the grand fountain of all knowledge. While the majority," he adds, "of my youthful contemporaries were engaged in committing to memory a vocabulary of words, I was busily engaged in studying the things themselves." While others were spending their time in acquiring a knowledge of the customs and forms of artificial society, our exile had the great book of nature widely spread open before him, Throughout that period of life which is usually devoted, by the majority of individuals, to study the purposes of social life, he was conversing only with the trees; or with the birds, and insects, and other tribes, of the animal kingdom, all the works of G.o.d, and to which his attachment was ardent and sincere. Now that he is again in the society of his fellow-men, the recollections of his sylvan probation are as vividly depicted on his mind as at the moment when he first received the impressions. Trees which supplied him with food, or shelter from the heat of the sun or the rains of the climate, are still dear to his recollection, and he often reverts to them with feelings of grat.i.tude and respect, from which he would not, if he could, estrange the affections of his heart.

There is no music so sweet to his ear as the breezes that animated the lofty cloud-aspiring monarchs of the forest, with which he claims a peculiar acquaintance, or the murmuring of the brook, where he was wont to slake his thirst; no concert to his sense of sound so grateful as the wild notes of the birds that chanted, morning and evening, their Maker's praise, as he offered up his own prayers of grat.i.tude for the prolongation of his existence, or the hummings of the myriads of insects, that every hour, in his woodland rovings, arrested his attention.

It was while listening to these voices of the Creator that his heart was first touched with feelings of admiration and wonder at the multifarious and exquisitely organized beings that everywhere, whether in tranquil meditation or in active search of his food, met his sight.

He saw nature everywhere teeming with life, and proclaiming in language intelligible to every one the presence of an All-directing Power. It was in the forest, too, in the midst of the wonders of the creation, that the lost youth first aspired to lift up his thoughts to heaven, and mentally exclaim--"These are thy works, oh G.o.d!" It was also in the lonely wilderness he first cherished the hope, in the language of the Indian, that the Great Spirit had provided for him a higher state of happiness; and then it was he offered up a prayer, that this hope might, in his Maker's own time, be realized. It was also in the wilderness, communing with his own thoughts, that he first received an a.s.surance that he possessed a soul to be saved, and became imbued with a firm conviction that the wise Creator, in his infinite beneficence, designed the happiness of his creatures, and that nothing can deprive the human race of his blessings but a connexion with sin.

With an undivided mind, intent only on examining and admiring the works of creation, the youth, in his lonely wayfaring, everywhere found the presence of his Maker. At the earliest moment of incipient vegetation, he was busy watching the indications of bursting nature preparing to re-robe the trees; and in a prospective vista he beheld the joyous movements of the various tribes of birds and insects providing for the wants of themselves and their progeny. Not less busily was his mind engaged when these labours actually commenced, in noting the construction of their habitations, and in admiring the wonderful ingenuity each displayed in providing for its own peculiar wants and safety.

Thus engaged in almost continual observation, he was enabled to trace the manner in which numbers of the feathered and insect tribes worked out the purposes of their existence. As the multifarious branches of the trees of the forest expanded themselves into fulness of leaf, he saw nations after nations of living things on the move to claim his attention, all pouring forth to seize on their share of the abundance of nature. As each revolving season hastened the decay of or imparted new vigour to the monarchs of the forest, the exile from man had an opportunity, abstracted as he was from the busy affairs of human life, to distinguish the various characteristics of the tribes of insects that took possession of the trees, differing from those which, apparently innoxiously, fed on their fulness of vegetable youthfulness, and the insects that came to prey only on the trunk or branches of those that age or disease had brought to decay. He saw the leaves of the forest come into life, witnessed their gradual expansion into verdant beauty; he was there, likewise, at their decline and fall--recurring symbols of the succession of the races of mankind,--and when, the biting north winds denuded of their leaves many of these mighty monarchs of the forest, he collected them to form his woodland bed. No season pa.s.sed without adding to his store of information in reference to the works of nature, which knowledge, as we have already said, it is the design of this work to impart to others. It is the natural history of the forest, or so much of it as has been seen by one individual during a period of six years' sojourn in its solitude.

From what has been stated, the reader will not expect to find any cla.s.sified arrangement of subjects in this work; things are spoken of as they were seen, either in the stillness of the shade at one time, or in the raging of the storm at another. Forest trees, in general, are described; those which may afford food to man are more frequently mentioned. Of quadrupeds, birds of the air, and insects, those that most excited his attention are more especially noticed. Those whose ferocity or whose shyness rendered it hazardous or difficult to approach them, are less spoken of. The details of the author's history, in reference to his probation in the wilds of nature, he has endeavoured to relate in a most familiar manner, and in the simplest language; and when describing scenes and events, faithfully to impart the impressions made on his own mind as they occurred.

Reasoning from the convictions arising from his experience,--that is, the effects wrought upon his own mind--he thinks that the study of natural objects, used as a means for the improvement of the religious and moral character of mankind, has been much overlooked by the philanthropist, and neglected by those who are sincere in their desire to improve their own species.

When the author was restored to society, nothing more excited his surprise than the total absence of a system of education which should at once direct the mind of youth to the fountain of all knowledge; and, in consequence, to persons he met with who took any lively interest in the study of natural objects, he remarked, "Your system of education appears more designed to exercise the mere verbal memory, than to excite observation or reflection;" adding, "that an acquaintance with the works of the Deity, as they are seen remote from the haunts of men, not only expands and elevates the thought, but spiritualises the soul."

The contemplation of nature's works, while it subdues the pride of man, harmonizes the feelings of social life, and in a peculiar manner prepares the mind for the reception of revealed truths. It is only necessary to add that, the education of the "Emigrant's Son,"

previously to his exclusion from the world of man, had not in any way been of a peculiarly religious tendency; nor had he evinced any predilection for discussing religious topics. Yet, when he was brought to contemplate the works of the Deity on an extended scale, he everywhere found the indications of the presence of a superior and all-wise Creator in those scenes. It is therefore natural that he should feel a desire that others should seek and find Him at the same pure fountain of knowledge. "The voice of my beloved; behold he cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills." (Solomon, ii. 9.)

True it is, that the student who once enters the portals of natural history, seldom thinks of returning. Strolling from object to object, his appet.i.te is never satiated. St. Pierre aptly remarked, that "nature invites to the cultivation of herself." Should the perusal of the following page direct the mind of the youthful reader to the study of nature, the object of publis.h.i.+ng this narrative will have been attained.

G. H. W.

HARRINGTON COTTAGE, BROMPTON

THE EMIGRANT'S LOST SON.

CHAPTER I.

CAUSE OF LEAVING ENGLAND AND ARRIVAL AT THE FOREST.

"On the bosom, lone and still, Of nature east, I early sought to stroll Through wood and wild, o'er forest, rook, and hill, Companionless; without a wish or goal, Save to discover every shape and voice Of living thing that there did fearlessly rejoice."

As it is my object to lay before my readers only that portion of my life which was pa.s.sed in the wilds of nature, it will be unnecessary for me to detain them with a lengthened account of the genealogy of my family.

My father occupied a small farm in the west of England, situate near a peaceful village, the curate of which superintended the education of myself and some fourteen or fifteen of the neighbouring youths. I was between ten and eleven years of age, when a stranger arrived at our house, informing the family that, in consequence of the death of my father's elder brother, he, together with two surviving brothers, had jointly become the proprietors of a tract of land situate in the south-western part of Guiana.

It subsequently appeared that my deceased uncle had speculated in the purchase of the land in question, intending to have invited his three brothers to join him in the cultivation of it. Death frustrated these intentions, the land became the joint property of the survivors, and after using every effort to dispose of it in this country, being unsuccessful in meeting with a purchaser, the three brothers came to the resolution of going out, together with their families, and sharing their newly-acquired property.

[Sidenote: First leaving home]

When the order was finally given to prepare for the voyage, it operated on my mind almost as a penal sentence; expatriation presented itself to my imagination as the climax of all evils. It now suddenly occurred to me that I had a thousand local attachments, all of which were to be broken asunder; my imagination pa.s.sing in review a painful parting with my schoolfellows and other intimates; when all the early and recent scenes of my short career poured in on the memory, and seemed to bind me to the immediate locality of my existence and its environs. I then discovered that I had a real attachment for my teacher, the good pastor of a small flock; indeed, every person known to me, I thought had, in some way, been peculiarly kind, and a torrent of grat.i.tude overflowed the heart; while the idea of quitting the scenes of my childhood, and all I then knew of the world, presented itself as the annihilation of every object from which I had hitherto derived pleasure.

The young heart is generally thought to bound with joyousness at the prospect of a change of scene, but it was otherwise with me: the world, in the map of my microcosm, excepting the circ.u.mscribed view I had taken of it, was an entire desert, where there was no one to love or be loved. In this state of mind the agitation of my feelings nearly choked me, till I sought the favourite arm of a tree in the orchard, where, un.o.bserved, I found relief in a flood of tears. Still oppressed, as the evening advanced I crept to bed without speaking to any one,--not even to my sister, whose buoyant joyfulness at the time excited my surprise. I spent the night in a state of half-dreamy stupor, being neither asleep nor awake; whilst the imagination was engaged in endeavouring to contrast the retrospection of the past with the prospects of the future. Every act of kindness which had been bestowed upon me, stood out in strong relief in my memory, as a vista of other days, and into which I had not previously been permitted to look; whilst the little village-world was presented to my view as a bright speck in creation--an oasis in a desert, all around which was a ma.s.s of confusion and darkness.

The placid countenance of the curate, monarch of his locality, with all the scholastic paraphernalia, were brought vividly under review; the form on which I was wont to sit, with every cut I had made on the well-marked desk with my knife--an instrument with which boys early prove themselves tool-loving animals--were all objects of endearment to me. My fancy then roamed into the little churchyard, where I took a view of each mouldering heap, with the tombstones at the head and foot, every epitaph on which I had committed to memory. I then stood under the brave old Hercules, as we designated an oak tree where four of us had met most days to proceed together to school. Here I distinctly noted--such is the power of memory when the feelings are excited--each abrupt rising of its rugged roots, and marked the boundary of its shadows at different hours of the day, as described by its broad, out-spreading limbs on the greensward.

I wandered to the copse, entered by a well-defined gap at the angular point; noted each spot where I had taken eggs or young ones from birds that had been incautious enough to attract my attention; paused to take a last look at the hazel from which I had gathered the largest cob-nut; lingering at every step, and sighing as I pa.s.sed each object of remembrance. The following morning, sleepless and weary, I arose with the sun, and collected all my little stock of property--bows and arrows, fis.h.i.+ng-tackle, bats, b.a.l.l.s, and other juvenile valuables; these I labelled as presents to my intimates. My heart then knew how highly it was susceptible of friends.h.i.+p; it had yet to learn how readily, after the lapse of a few years, such attachments are forgotten. The desire in after life to meet with an old schoolfellow is seldom prompted by a higher motive than a curiosity to learn his success in the world.

It is probable that my parents had a.s.sociations and connexions from which they were about to separate, and deeper feelings of regret to struggle with, than myself, when parting from attached friends. It is fresh in my memory that our calls were very numerous, and that many reasons were adduced to dissuade my father from emigration. The Sunday previously to our departure, the curate, from the pulpit, mentioned the intention of the families to emigrate, and offered up a prayer for the realization of their prospects of success. I shall ever remember the day I left the kind preceptor of my youth and the companions of my boyish days. My father had sent a chaise to fetch me and my valuable stock of personal property a day before our final departure. I think I see now the mild old curate shaking my hand and giving me his blessing and friendly advice, while around the gate of the old house were a.s.sembled my school companions, to take a last sight of me before I took my leave of home and of them.

[Sidenote: Voyage to Demerara]

Our journey to the coast, and voyage to Demerara, a _ci-devant_ Dutch settlement, was unattended by any circ.u.mstance of peculiar interest. I therefore take up the narrative from the period of our landing. My father was purely a business man, never permitting pleasure or curiosity to divert him from his pursuits. Immediately, therefore, on our arrival at Demerara, preparations were made for us to proceed on towards our destination, regarding the situation and name of which I had not up to that time taken any interest, I had, however, heard that we had to travel some hundreds of miles over a country where there were no roads, as in England. I also remember a long discussion between my father and my two uncles, whether we should travel with a waggon or purchase horses and mules to carry our luggage and relieve the females when fatigued. As our course was through an extensive wooded country, where carriages could not conveniently pa.s.s, the latter mode of travelling was ultimately adopted. Our party consisted of nine persons, namely, my father, mother, sister, and self; one uncle, with a grown-up son (his father being a widower); the other uncle, his wife, and son (a youth three years older than myself).

My father provided himself with a horse and mule; the latter to carry our personal necessaries, and the former to alternately relieve my mother, and my sister, who was a healthy girl of sixteen years of age, when either was fatigued with walking. One other horse was purchased for the use of my aunt and the party in general. We were provided with two painted cloths, to be used as a covering when we should halt for rest, and no better accommodation could be obtained. I remember my father making a pen-and-ink sketch of the route, marking down, with the a.s.sistance of a traveller, the stages we were daily to accomplish.

[Sidenote: Crossing the savanna]

Thus prepared and equipped, as all of us were in excellent health and spirits, we commenced our journey over the plantations of the settlers, proceeding onwards till we reached the extended savannas--open plains.

Here the scene was altogether so new and striking, that it was with difficulty I could be prevented from running after every living thing that came under my view. At one moment I was lost in wonder at the mult.i.tudes of creeping creatures which, at every step, crossed my path, while the birds of the air in numbers, variety, and plumage, fixed me with astonishment. My excitement was so great that I actually screamed with delight; at another moment I ran from object to object with such eagerness, that, my mother became alarmed for my intellect, affirming that no one in their senses could sustain so much unnatural excitement.

On the third day of our journey I began to be seriously fatigued, and my father placed me across the back of our mule. This, however, was a measure against which the animal at once entered his protest, by refusing to move forward the moment I threw my legs across him; his conduct seemed to imply that at starting a contract had been made with him to carry the baggage, and he would not consent to its infringement; and it would appear that the mere attempt to overburden him soured his temper for the whole journey; for a more obstinate or perverse mule was never crossed by man or boy. At length we entered into a compromise, by removing a portion of his baggage to one of our horses; and he then allowed me to ride in peace, as he proceeded sulkily along. He was, however, faithful to his second bargain, never evincing any more discontent. This third day of our journey was the longest we had yet had, and we were all of us anxiously looking for some habitation towards its close, where we might rest for the night. The sun soon promised to hide his golden beams behind the hills which formed the horizon, and we all showed signs of fatigue. We were much delighted when my father informed us that we were approaching the house of a settler, where he hoped to obtain shelter for the night. We proceeded up a steep declivity to the house in question, forming rather a picturesque party. My sister was first, mounted on a heavy dappled grey horse, with my father and mother by her side. I followed on my mule; while the remainder of the party were some fifty yards in the rear. As we halted before the house, my father informed us that, in all probability, this would be the last time we should find accommodation, even in the outhouse of a settler; and that in future we should have to resort to our painted cloths for shelter during the night.

We all retired to rest, therefore, with a determination to lay in a good stock of sleep. Notwithstanding this determination, and the fatigue I had endured in the excessive heat of the day, the novelty of my new existence resisted every effort to close my eyes for rest; and I arose in the morning but very little refreshed.

[Sidenote: The blessing of rain]

During the first five days of our journey the intense heat of the sun, to which we were unseasoned, annoyed us all exceedingly; while the scorching earth so much blistered my feet that, on the sixth morning, I lingered behind, and divested myself of both stockings and shoes, hanging them upon the mule's baggage. In the school of experience nature is head master. The relief was almost instantaneous; and, during that day, I surprised my fellow-travellers with my pedestrian performances, which induced them all to follow my example. Early the same afternoon, the rain began to fall in torrents, or rather in sheets, previously to which, during our journey over the plains, the extreme dryness of the weather had occasioned one of those vegetable conflagrations so common in hot countries. Hitherto the scene had been arid, the land being hard to the feet, and painfully dry to the eye.