Glad
was I when the day broke, and I saw a neighbor open his door
and come out.
was I when the day broke, and I saw a neighbor open his door
and come out.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v08 - Dah to Dra
He
died in 1879.
Dana's literary activity falls within the first third of this century.
During that period, unproductive of great work, he ranked among the
foremost writers. His papers in the North American Review, as the
first original criticism on this side of the Atlantic, marked an era in
our letters. He was
one of the first to recognize the genius of
Wordsworth and of Coleridge; under the influence of the latter he
wrote the poem by which he is chiefly known, The Buccaneer. ' He
claimed for it a basis of truth; it is in fact a story out of 'The
Pirate's Own Book,' with the element of the supernatural added to
convey the moral lesson. His verse is contained in a slender vol-
ume. It lacks fluency and melody, but shows keen perception of
Nature's beauty, especially in her sterner, more solemn moods, and
sympathy with the human heart. Dana was not so much a poet
born with the inevitable gift of song (he would otherwise not have
become almost silent during the last fifty years of his life), as a man
of strong intellect who in his youth turned to verse for recreation.
Though best known by his poems, he stands out strongest and
most original as novelist. 'Paul Felton,' his masterpiece in prose, is
a powerful study of a diseased condition of mind. In its searching
psychologic analysis it stands quite apart from the more or less flac-
cid production of its day. He indeed could not escape the influence
of Charles Brockden Brown, whom he greatly admired, and he in
turn reached out forward toward Poe and other writers of the
analytic school. One powerful story of Poe's, indeed, seems to have
been suggested by Dana's work: the demon horse in Metzenger-
stein' is a superior copy of the Spectre Horse in The Buccaneer. '
These stories were not popular in his day: they are too remote from
ordinary life, too gloomy and painful; they have no definite locality
or nationality; their characters have little in common with every-day
humanity. His prose style however is clear, direct, and strong.
Even after he ceased to write, he had an important influence on
American letters by the independence of his opinions, his friendships
with literary men, chief among whom was Bryant, and his live
interest in the younger literature produced under conditions more
favorable and more inspiring than he had known.
## p. 4287 (#49) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
4287
THE ISLAND
From The Buccaneer
HE Island lies nine leagues away,
Along its solitary shore
Of craggy rock and sandy bay,
No sound but ocean's roar,
Save where the bold wild sea-bird makes her home,
Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam.
THE
But when the light winds lie at rest,
And on the glassy, heaving sea,
The black duck with her glossy breast
Sits swinging silently,
How beautiful! no ripples break the reach.
And silvery waves go noiseless up the beach.
And inland rests the green, warm dell;
The brook comes tinkling down its side;
From out the trees the Sabbath bell
Rings cheerful, far and wide,
Mingling its sound with bleatings of the flocks
That feed about the vale among the rocks.
Nor holy bell nor pastoral bleat
In former days within the vale;
Flapped in the bay the pirate's sheet;
Curses were on the gale;
Rich goods lay on the sand, and murdered men:
Pirate and wrecker kept their revels then.
But calm, low voices, words of grace,
Now slowly fall upon the ear;
A quiet look is in each face,
Subdued and holy fear.
Each motion gentle; all is kindly done -
Come, listen how from crime this Isle was won.
## p. 4288 (#50) ############################################
4288
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
THE DOOM OF LEE
From The Buccaneer
HO'S sitting on that long black ledge
Which makes so far out in the sea,
Feeling the kelp-weed on its edge?
Poor idle Matthew Lee!
WHO'S
So weak and pale? A year and little more.
And bravely did he lord it round this shore!
And on the shingles now he sits,
And rolls the pebbles 'neath his hands;
Now walks the beach; then stops by fits,
And scores the smooth wet sands;
Then tries each cliff and cove and jut that bounds
The isles; then home from many weary rounds.
They ask him why he wanders so,
From day to day, the uneven strand?
"I wish, I wish that I might go!
But I would go by land;
And there's no way that I can find -I've tried
All day and night! " He seaward looked, and sighed.
It brought the tear to many an eye
That once his eye had made to quail.
"Lee, go with us; our sloop is nigh;
Come! help us hoist her sail. "
He shook. -"You know the Spirit Horse I ride!
He'll let me on the sea with none beside! "
He views the ships that come and go,
Looking so like to living things.
O! 'tis a proud and gallant show
Of bright and broad-spread wings,
Making it light around them, as they keep
Their course right onward through the unsounded deep.
And where the far-off sand-bars lift
Their backs in long and narrow line,
The breakers shout, and leap, and shift,
And send the sparkling brine
Into the air, then rush to mimic strife:
Glad creatures of the sea, and full of life! -
## p. 4289 (#51) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
4289
But not to Lee. He sits alone;
No fellowship nor joy for him.
Borne down by woe, he makes no moan,
Though tears will sometimes dim
That asking eye-oh, how his worn thoughts crave—
Not joy again, but rest within the grave.
To-night the charmèd number's told.
"Twice have I come for thee," it said.
"Once more, and none shall thee behold.
Come! live one, to the dead! "—
So hears his soul, and fears the coming night;
Yet sick and weary of the soft calm light.
Again he sits within that room;
All day he leans at that still board;
None to bring comfort to his gloom,
Or speak a friendly word.
Weakened with fear, lone, haunted by remorse,
Poor shattered wretch, there waits he that pale Horse.
Not long he waits. Where now are gone
Peak, citadel, and tower, that stood
Beautiful, while the west sun shone
And bathed them in his flood
Of airy glory! - Sudden darkness fell;
And down they went,-peak, tower, citadel.
The darkness, like a dome of stone,
Ceils up the heavens. 'Tis hush as death
All but the ocean's dull low moan.
How hard Lee draws his breath!
He shudders as he feels the working Power.
Arouse thee, Lee! up! man thee for thine hour!
VIII-269
'Tis close at hand; for there, once more,
The burning ship. Wide sheets of flame
And shafted fire she showed before;
Twice thus she hither came;
But now she rolls a naked hulk, and throws
A wasting light; then, settling, down she goes.
-
-
And where she sank, up slowly came
The Spectre Horse from out the sea.
And there he stands! His pale sides flame.
He'll meet thee shortly, Lee.
## p. 4290 (#52) ############################################
4290
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
He treads the waters as a solid floor:
He's moving on. Lee waits him at the door.
They're met. "I know thou com'st for me,"
Lee's spirit to the Spectre said;
"I know that I must go with thee
Take me not to the dead.
It was not I alone that did the deed! "
Dreadful the eye of that still, spectral Steed!
Lee cannot turn. There is a force
In that fixed eye which holds him fast.
How still they stand! -the man and horse.
"Thine hour is almost past. "
"Oh, spare me," cries the wretch, "thou fearful one! »
"My time is full—I must not go alone. "
"I'm weak and faint. Oh let me stay! "
"Nay, murderer, rest nor stay for thee! "
The horse and man are on their way;
He bears him to the sea.
Hark! how the Spectre breathes through this still night!
See, from his nostrils streams a deathly light!
He's on the beach, but stops not there;
He's on the sea! that dreadful horse!
Lee flings and writhes in wild despair!
In vain! The spirit-corse
Holds him by fearful spell; he cannot leap.
Within that horrid light he rides the deep.
It lights the sea around their track-
The curling comb, and dark steel wave:
There yet sits Lee the Spectre's back
Gone! gone! and none to save!
They're seen no more; the night has shut them in.
May Heaven have pity on thee, man of sin!
The earth has washed away its stain;
The sealed-up sky is breaking forth,
Mustering its glorious hosts again,
From the far south and north;
The climbing moon plays on the rippling sea. —
Oh, whither on its waters rideth Lee?
## p. 4291 (#53) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
4291
PAUL AND ABEL
From Paul Felton'
HE
TOOK a path which led through the fields back of his
house, and wound among the steep rocks part way up the
range of high hills, till it reached a small locust grove,
where it ended. He began climbing a ridge near him, and
reaching the top of it, beheld all around him a scene desolate
and broken as the ocean. It looked for miles as if one immense
gray rock had been heaved up and shattered by an earthquake.
Here and there might be seen shooting out of the clefts, old
trees, like masts at sea. It was as if the sea in a storm had
become suddenly fixed, with all its ships upon it. The sun
shone glaring and hot on it, but there was neither life, nor
motion, nor sound; the spirit of desolation had gone over it, and
it had become the place of death. His heart sunk within him,
and something like a superstitious dread entered him. He tried
to rouse himself, and look about with a composed mind. It was
in vain - he felt as if some dreadful unseen power stood near
him. He would have spoken, but he dared not in such a place.
To shake this off, he began clambering over one ridge after
another, till, passing cautiously round a beetling rock, a sharp
cry from out it shot through him. Every small jut and preci-
pice sent it back with a Satanic taunt; and the crowd of hollows
and points seemed for the instant alive with thousands of fiends.
Paul's blood ran cold, and he scarcely breathed as he waited for
their cry again; but all was still. Though his mind was of a
superstitious cast, he had courage and fortitude; and ashamed of
his weakness, he reached forward, and stooping down looked into
the cavity. He started as his eye fell on the object within it.
"Who and what are you? " cried he. "Come out, and let me
see whether you are man or devil. " And out crawled a miser-
able boy, looking as if shrunk up with fear and famine. "Speak,
and tell me who you are, and what you do here," said Paul.
The poor fellow's jaws moved and quivered, but he did not utter
a sound. His spare frame shook, and his knees knocked against
each other as in an ague fit. Paul looked at him for a moment.
His loose shambly frame was nearly bare to the bones, his light
sunburnt hair hung long and straight round his thin jaws and
white eyes, that shone with a delirious glare, as if his mind had
been terror-struck. There was a sickly, beseeching smile about
## p. 4292 (#54) ############################################
4292
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
his mouth. His skin, between the freckles, was as white as a
leper's, and his teeth long and yellow. He appeared like one
who had witnessed the destruction about him, and was the only
living thing spared, to make death seem more horrible.
"Who put you here to starve? " said Paul to him.
«< Nobody, sir. "
"Why did you come, then? »
>>>>
"Oh, I can't help it; I must come.
"Must!
And why must you? " The boy looked round tim-
idly, and crouching near Paul, said in a tremulous, low voice,
his eyes glancing fearfully through the chasm, ""Tis He, 'tis He
that makes me! " Paul turned suddenly round, and saw before
him for the first time the deserted tract of pine wood and sand
which has been described. "Who and where is he? " asked Paul
impatiently, expecting to see some one.
"There, there, in the wood yonder," answered the boy,
crouching still lower, and pointing with his finger, whilst his
hand shook as if palsied.
"I see nothing," said Paul, "but these pines. What possesses
you? Why do you shudder so, and look so pale? Do you take
the shadows of the trees for devils ? "
"Don't speak of them. They'll be on me, if you talk of
them here," whispered the boy eagerly. Drops of sweat stood
on his brow from the agony of terror he was in. As Paul looked
at the lad, he felt something like fear creeping over him.
turned his eyes involuntarily to the wood again. "If we must
not talk here," said he at last, "come along with me, and tell
me what all this means. " The boy rose, and followed close to
Paul.
"Is it the Devil you have seen, that you shake so? »
"You have named him; I never must," said the boy. "I have
seen strange sights, and heard sounds whispered close to my
ears, so full of spite, and so dreadful, I dared not look round
lest I should see some awful face at mine.
I've thought I felt it
touch me sometimes. "
"And what wicked thing have you done, that they should
haunt you so ? "
"Oh, sir, I was a foolhardy boy. Two years ago I was not
afraid of anything. Nobody dared go into the wood, or even so
much as over the rocks, to look at it, after what happened
there. "—"I've heard a foolish story," said Paul. -" So once, sir,
## p. 4293 (#55) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
4293
the thought took me that I would go there a-bird's-nesting, and
bring home the eggs and show to the men.
And it would never
go out of my mind after, though I began to wish I hadn't
thought any such thing. Every night when I went to bed I
would lie and say to myself, To-morrow is the day for me to
go;' and I did not like to be alone in the dark, and wanted some
one with me to touch me when I had bad dreams. And when
I waked in the morning, I felt as if something dreadful was
coming upon me before night. Well, every day,-I don't know
how it was, I found myself near this ridge; and every time I
went farther and farther up it, though I grew more and more
frightened. And when I had gone as far as I dared, I was
afraid to wait, but would turn and make away so fast that many
a time I fell down some of these places, and got lamed and
bruised. The boys began to think something, and would whis-
per each other and look at me; and when they found I saw
them, they would turn away. It grew hard for me to be one at
their games, though once I used to be the first chosen in I
can't tell how it was, but all this only made me go on; and as
the boys kept out of the way, I began to feel as if I must do
what I had thought of, and as if there was somebody, I couldn't
think who, that was to have me and make me do what he
pleased. So it went on, sir, day after day," continued the lad,
in a weak, timid tone, but comforted at finding one to tell his
story to; "till at last I reached as far as the hollow where you
just now frighted me so, when I heard you near me. I didn't
run off as I used to from the other places, but sat down under
the rock. Then I looked out and saw the trees. I tried to get
up and run home, but I couldn't; I dared not come out and go
round the corner of the rock. I tried to look another way, but
my eyes seemed fastened on the trees; I couldn't take 'em off.
At last I thought something told me it was time for me to go
on. I got up. "
Here poor Abel shook so that he seized hold of Paul's arm to
help him. Paul recoiled as if an unclean creature touched him.
The boy shrunk back.
"Go on," said Paul recovering himself. The boy took com-
fort from the sound of another's voice: "I went a little way
down the hollow, sir, as if drawn along. Then I came to a
steep place; I put my legs over to let myself down; my knees
grew so weak I dared not trust myself; I tried to draw them up,
-
## p. 4294 (#56) ############################################
4294
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
but the strength was all gone out of them, and then my feet were
as heavy as if made of lead. I gave a screech, and there was a
yell close to me and for miles round, that nigh stunned me. I
can't say how, but the last thing I knew was my leaping along
the rocks, while there was nothing but flames of fire shooting
all round me. It was scarce midday when I left home; and
when I came to myself under the locusts it was growing dark. "
"Rest here awhile," said Paul, looking at the boy as at some
mysterious being, "and tell out your story. "
Glad at being in company, the boy sat down upon the grass,
and went on with his tale:-"I crawled home as well as I
could, and went to bed. When I was falling asleep I had the
same feeling I had when sitting over the rock. I dared not lie
in bed any longer, for I couldn't keep awake while there.
Glad
was I when the day broke, and I saw a neighbor open his door
and come out. I was not well all day, and I tried to think
myself more ill than I was, because I somehow thought that
then I needn't go to the wood. But the next day He was not
to be put off; and I went, though I cried and prayed all the
way that I might not be made to go. But I could not stop till
I had got over the hill, and reached the sand round the wood.
When I put my foot on it, all the joints in me jerked as if they
would not hold together, so that I cried out with the pain. When
I came under the trees there was a deep sound, and great shad-
ows were all round me. My hair stood on end, and my eyes
kept glimmering; yet I couldn't go back. I went on till I
found a crow's nest. I climbed the tree, and took out the eggs.
The old crow kept flying round and round me. As soon as I
felt the eggs in my hand and my work done, I dropped from
the tree and ran for the hollow. I can't tell how it was, but it
seemed to me that I didn't gain a foot of ground-it was just
as if the whole wood went with me. Then I thought He had
me his.
The ground began to bend and the trees to move. At
last I was nigh blind. I struck against one tree and another
till I fell to the ground. How long I lay there I can't tell;
but when I came to I was on the sand, the sun blazing hot upon
me and my skin scorched up. I was so stiff and ached so, I
could hardly stand upright. I didn't feel or think anything
after this; and hardly knew where I was till somebody came
and touched me, and asked me whether I was walking in my
sleep; and I looked up and found myself close home.
## p. 4295 (#57) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
4295
me.
"The boys began to gather round me as if I were something
strange; and when I looked at them they would move back from
'What have you been doing, Abel? ' one of them asked me
at last. 'No good, I warrant you,' answered another, who stood
back of me. And when I turned around to speak to him he
drew behind the others, as if afraid I should harm him; - and I
was too weak and frightened to hurt a fly. 'See his hands;
they are stained all over. '-'And there's a crow's egg, as I'm
alive! ' said another. -'And the crow is the Devil's bird, Tom,
isn't it? ' asked a little boy. 'O Abel, you've been to that wood
and made yourself over to Him. '-They moved off one after
another, every now and then turning round and looking at me
as if I were cursed. After this they would not speak to me nor
come nigh me. I heard people talking, and saw them going
about, but not one of them all could I speak to, or get to come
near me; it was dreadful, being so alone! I met a boy that
used to be with me all day long; and I begged him not to go
off from me so, and to stop, if it were only for a moment.
'You played with me once,' said I; 'and won't you do so much.
as look at me, or ask me how I am, when I am so weak and ill
too? ' He began to hang back a little, and I thought from his
face that he pitied me. I could have cried for joy, and was
going up to him, but he turned away. I called out after him,
telling him that I would not so much as touch him with my
finger, or come any nearer to him, if he would only stop and
speak one word to me; but he went away shaking his head, and
muttering something, I hardly knew what,-how that I did not
belong to them, but was the Evil One's now. I sat down on a
stone and cried, and wished that I was dead; for I couldn't help
it, though it was wicked in me to do so. "
"And is there no one," asked Paul, "who will notice you or
speak to you? Do you live so alone now? " It made his heart
ache to look down upon the pining, forlorn creature before him.
"Not a soul," whined out the boy. "My grandmother is dead
now, and only the gentlefolks give me anything; for they don't
seem afraid of me, though they look as if they didn't like me,
and wanted me gone. All I can, I get to eat in the woods, and
I beg out of the village. But I dare not go far, because I don't
know when He will want me. But I am not alone, He's with
me day and night. As I go along the street in the daytime, I
feel Him near me, though I can't see Him; and it is as if He
## p. 4296 (#58) ############################################
4296
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
were speaking to me; and yet I don't hear any words. He
makes me follow Him to that wood; and I have to sit the whole
day where you found me, and I dare not complain nor move, till
I feel He will let me go. I've looked at the pines, sometimes,
till I have seen spirits moving all through them. Oh, 'tis an
awful place; they breathe cold upon me when He makes me go
there. "
"Poor wretch! " said Paul.
"I'm weak and hungry, and yet when I try to eat, something
chokes me; I don't love what I eat. "
"Come along with me, and you shall have something to
nourish and warm you; for you are pale and shiver, and look
cold here in the very sun. ”
rolled down his
He got up and
The boy looked up at Paul, and the tears
cheeks at hearing one speak so kindly to him.
followed meekly after to the house.
Paul, seeing a servant in the yard, ordered the boy some-
thing to eat. The man cast his eye upon Abel, and then looked
at Paul as if he had not understood him. "I spoke distinctly
enough," said Paul; "and don't you see that the boy is nigh
starved? " The man gave a mysterious look at both of them,
and with a shake of his head as he turned away, went to do as
he was bid.
"What means the fellow? " said Paul to himself as he entered
the house. "Does he take me to be bound to Satan too? Yet
there may be bonds upon the soul, though we know it not; and
evil spirits at work within us, of which we little dream. And
are there no beings but those seen of mortal eye or felt by
mortal touch? Are there not passing in and around this piece
of moving mold, in which the spirit is pent up, those whom it
hears not? those whom it has no finer sense whereby to com-
mune with? Are all the instant joys that come and go, we
know not whence nor whither, but creations of the mind? Or
are they not rather bright and heavenly messengers, whom when
this spirit is set free it will see in all their beauty? whose
sweet sounds it will then drink in? Yes, it is, it is so; and all
around us is populous with beings, now invisible to us as this
circling air. "
The moon was down and the sky overcast when they began
to wind among the rocks. Though Paul's walks had lain of
late in this direction, he was not enough acquainted with the
## p. 4297 (#59) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
4297
passage to find his way through it in the dark. Abel, who had
traversed it often in the night, alone and in terror, now took
heart at having some one with him at such an hour, and of
fered unhesitatingly to lead. "The boy winds round those
crags with the speed and ease of a stream," said Paul; "not so
fast, Abel. "
"Take hold of the root which shoots out over your head, sir,
for 'tis ticklish work getting along just here. Do you feel it,
sir? "
"I have hold," said Paul.
"Let yourself gently down by it, sir. You needn't be a bit
afraid, for 'twill not give way; man couldn't have fastened it
stronger. "
This was the first time Abel had felt his power, or had been
of consequence to any one, since the boys had turned him out
from their games; and it gave him a momentary activity, and
an unsettled sort of spirit, which he had never known since
then. He had been shunned and abhorred; and he believed him-
self the victim of some demoniac power. To have another in
this fearful bondage with him, as Paul had intimated, was a
relief from his dreadful solitariness in his terrors and sufferings.
"And he said that it was I who was to work a curse on him,"
muttered Abel. "It cannot be, surely, that such a thing as I
am can harm a man like him! " And though Abel remembered
Paul's kindness, and that this was to seal his own doom too, yet
it stirred the spirit of pride within him.
"What are you muttering to yourself, there in the dark,"
demanded Paul; "or whom talk you with, you withered wretch ? »
Abel shook in every joint at the sound of Paul's harsh voice.
"It is so dreadfully still here," said Abel; "I hear nothing
but your steps behind me, and they make me start. " This was
true; for notwithstanding his touch of instant pride, his terrors
and his fear of Paul were as great as ever.
"Speak louder then," said Paul, "or hold your peace. I like
not your muttering; it bodes no good. "
"It may bring a curse to you, worse than that on me, if a
worse can be," said Abel to himself; "but who can help it? "
Day broke before they cleared the ridge; a drizzling rain
came on; and the wind, beginning to rise, drove through the
crevices in the rocks with sharp whistling sounds which seemed
to come from malignant spirits of the air.
## p. 4298 (#60) ############################################
4298
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
They had scarcely entered the wood when the storm became
furious; and the trees, swaying and beating with their branches
against one another, seemed possessed of a supernatural madness,
and engaged in wild conflict, as if there were life and passion in
them; and their broken, decayed arms groaned like things in
torment. The terror of these sights and sounds was too much
for poor Abel; it nearly crazed him; and he set up a shriek that
for a moment drowned the noise of the storm. It startled Paul;
and when he looked at him, the boy's face was of a ghostly
whiteness. The rain had drenched him to the skin; his clothes
clung to his lean body, that shook as if it would come apart; his
eyes flew wildly, and his teeth chattered against each other. The
fears and torture of his mind gave something unearthly to his
look, that made Paul start back. "Abel-boy-fiend-speak!
What has seized you? "
"They told me so," cried Abel-"I've done it-I led the
way for you- they're coming, they're coming-we're lost! "
"Peace, fool," said Paul, trying to shake off the power he felt
Abel gaining over him, "and find us a shelter if you can. "
"There's only the hut," said Abel, "and I wouldn't go into
that if it rained fire. "
"And why not? "
"I once felt that it was for me to go, and I went so near
as to see in at the door. And I saw something in the hut - it
was not a man, for it flitted by the opening just like a shadow;
and I heard two muttering something to one another; it wasn't
like other sounds, for as soon as I heard it, it made me stop
my ears. I couldn't stay any longer, and I ran till I cleared
the wood. Oh! 'tis His biding-place, when He comes to the
wood. "
"And is it of His own building? " asked Paul, sarcastically.
"No," answered Abel; "'twas built by the two wood-cutters;
and one of them came to a bloody end, and they say the other
died the same night, foaming at the mouth like one possessed.
There it is," said he, almost breathless, as he crouched down and
pointed at the hut under the trees. "Do not go, sir,” he said.
catching hold of the skirts of Paul's coat,-"I've never dared go
nigher since. "-"Let loose, boy," cried Paul, striking Abel's
hand from his coat, "I'll not be fooled with. " Abel, alarmed at
being left alone, crawled after Paul as far as he dared go; then
taking hold of him once more, made a supplicating motion to
## p. 4299 (#61) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
4299
him to stop; he was afraid to speak. Paul pushed on without
regarding him.
The hut stood on the edge of a sand-bank that was kept
up by a large pine, whose roots and fibres, lying partly bare,
looked like some giant spider that had half buried himself in
the sand. On the right of the hut was a patch of broken
ground, in which were still standing a few straggling dried
stalks of Indian corn; and from two dead trees hung knotted
pieces of broken line, which had formerly served for a clothes-
line. The hut was built of half-trimmed trunks of trees laid on
each other, crossing at the four corners and running out at
unequal lengths, the chinks partly filled in with sods and moss.
The door, which lay on the floor, was of twisted boughs; and
the roof, of the same, was caved in, and but partly kept out
the sun and rain.
As Paul drew near the entrance he stopped, though the
wind just then came in a heavy gust, and the rain fell like a
flood. It was not a dread of what he might see within; but
it seemed to him that there was a spell round him, drawing
him nearer and nearer to its centre; and he felt the hand of
some invisible power upon him. As he stepped into the hut
a chill ran over him, and his eyes shut involuntarily. Abel
watched him eagerly; and as he saw him enter, tossed his arms
wildly shouting, "Gone, gone! They'll have me
me too-they're
coming, they're coming! " and threw himself on his face to
the ground.
Driven from home by his maddening passions, a perverse
delight in self-torture had taken possession of Paul; and his
mind so hungered for more intense excitement, that it craved
to prove true all which its jealousy and superstition had
imaged. He had walked on, lost in this fearful riot, but with
no particular object in view, and taking only a kind of crazed
joy in his bewildered state. Esther's love for him, which he
at times thought past doubt feigned, the darkness of the night,
and then the driving storm with its confused motions and
sounds, made an uproar of the mind which drove out all
settled purpose or thought.
The stillness of the place into which he had now entered,
where was heard nothing but the slow, regular dripping of the
rain from the broken roof upon the hard-trod floor; the lowered
and distant sound of the storm without; the sudden change
## p. 4300 (#62) ############################################
4300
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
from the whirl and swaying of the trees to the steady walls
of the building, put a sudden stop to the violent working of
his brain, and he gradually fell into a stupor.
When Abel began to recover, he could scarcely raise himself
from the ground. He looked round, but could see nothing of
Paul. "They have bound us together," said he; "and something
is drawing me toward him. There is no help for me; I must
go whither he goes. " As he was drawn nearer and nearer to
the hut he seemed to struggle and hang back, as if pushed on
against his will. At last he reached the doorway; and clinging
to its side with a desperate hold, as if not to be forced in, put
his head forward a little, casting a hasty glance into the building.
"There he is, and alive! " breathed out Abel.
Paul's stupor was now beginning to leave him; his recollec-
tion was returning; and what had passed came back slowly and
at intervals. There was something he had said to Esther before
leaving home-he could not tell what; then his gazing after her
as she drove from the house; then something of Abel,—and he
sprang from the ground as if he felt the boy's touch again about
his knees; then the ball-room, and a multitude of voices, and all
talking of his wife. Suddenly she appeared darting by him; and
Frank was there. Then came his agony and tortures again; all
returned upon him as in the confusion of some horrible trance.
Then the hut seemed to enlarge and the walls to rock; and
shadows of those he knew, and of terrible beings he had never
seen before, were flitting round him and mocking at him. His
own substantial form seemed to him undergoing a change, and
taking the shape and substance of the accursed ones at which he
looked. As he felt the change going on he tried to utter a cry,
but he could not make a sound nor move a limb. The ground
under him rocked and pitched; it grew darker and darker, till
everything was visionary; and he thought himself surrounded by
spirits, and in the mansions of the damned. Something like a
deep black cloud began to gather gradually round him. The
gigantic structure, with its tall terrific arches, turned slowly into
darkness, and the spirits within disappeared one after another,
till as the ends of the cloud met and closed, he saw the last of
them looking at him with an infernal laugh in his undefined
visage.
Abel continued watching him in speechless agony. Paul's
consciousness was now leaving him; his head began to swim
## p. 4301 (#63) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
4301
he reeled; and as his hand swept down the side of the hut,
while trying to save himself, it struck against a rusty knife that
had been left sticking loosely between the logs. "Let go, let
go! " shrieked Abel; "there's blood on 't-'tis cursed, 'tis cursed. "
As Paul swung round with the knife in his hand, Abel sprang
from the door with a shrill cry, and Paul sank on the floor,
muttering to himself, "What said They? »
When he began to come to himself a little, he was still sitting
on the ground, his back against the wall. His senses were yet
confused. He thought he saw his wife near him, and a bloody
knife by his side. After sitting a little longer his mind grad-
ually grew clearer, and at last he felt for the first time that his
hand held something. As his eye fell on it and he saw dis-
tinctly what it was, he leaped upright with a savage yell and
dashed the knife from him as if it had been an asp stinging
him. He stood with his bloodshot eyes fastened on it, his hands
spread, and his body shrunk up with horror. "Forged in hell!
and for me, for me! " he screamed, as he sprang forward and
seized it with a convulsive grasp. "Damned pledge of the
league that binds us! " he cried, holding it up and glaring
wildly on it. "And yet a voice did warn me of what, I know
not. Which of ye put it in this hand? Speak let me look on
you?
D'ye hear me, and will not answer? Nay, nay, what
needs it? This tells me, though it speaks not.
I know your
promptings now," he said, folding his arms deliberately; "your
work must be done; and I am doomed to it. "
-
## p. 4302 (#64) ############################################
T
4302
RICHARD HENRY DANA, JUNIOR
(1815-1882)
HE literary fame of Richard Henry Dana the younger rests on
a single book, produced at the age of twenty-five. Two
Years Before the Mast' stands unique in English literature:
it reports a man's actual experiences at sea, yet touches the facts
with a fine imagination. It is a bit of Dana's own life while on a
vacation away from college. The manner in which he got his
material was remarkable, but to the literature he came as by birth-
right, through his father, Richard Henry Dana the elder, then
a well-known poet, novelist, and essayist.
He was born in Cambridge in 1815, grow-
ing up in the intellectual atmosphere of
that university town, and in due course of
time entering Harvard College, where his
father and grandfather before him had been
trained in law and letters. An attack of
the measles during his third year at col-
lege left him with weakened eyes, and an
active outdoor life was prescribed as the
only remedy. From boyhood up he had
been passionately fond of the sea; small
wonder, then, that he now determined to
take a long sea voyage. Refusing a berth
R. H. DANA, JR.
offered him on a vessel bound for the East
Indies, he chose to go as common sailor before the mast, on a mer-
chantman starting on a two-years' trading voyage around Cape Horn
to California. At that time boys of good family from the New
England coast towns often took such trips. Dana indeed found a
companion in a former merchant's clerk of Boston. They left on
August 14th, 1834, doubled Cape Horn, spent many months in the
waters of the Pacific and on the coast of California, trading with the
natives and taking in cargoes of hides, and returned to Boston in
September, 1836. Young Dana, entirely cured of his weakness, re-
entered college, graduated the next year, and then went to study in
the law school of Harvard. During his cruise he had kept a journal,
which he now worked over into the narrative that made him famous,
and that bids fair to keep his name alive as long as boys, young or
old, delight in sea stories. It is really not a story at all, but
## p.
died in 1879.
Dana's literary activity falls within the first third of this century.
During that period, unproductive of great work, he ranked among the
foremost writers. His papers in the North American Review, as the
first original criticism on this side of the Atlantic, marked an era in
our letters. He was
one of the first to recognize the genius of
Wordsworth and of Coleridge; under the influence of the latter he
wrote the poem by which he is chiefly known, The Buccaneer. ' He
claimed for it a basis of truth; it is in fact a story out of 'The
Pirate's Own Book,' with the element of the supernatural added to
convey the moral lesson. His verse is contained in a slender vol-
ume. It lacks fluency and melody, but shows keen perception of
Nature's beauty, especially in her sterner, more solemn moods, and
sympathy with the human heart. Dana was not so much a poet
born with the inevitable gift of song (he would otherwise not have
become almost silent during the last fifty years of his life), as a man
of strong intellect who in his youth turned to verse for recreation.
Though best known by his poems, he stands out strongest and
most original as novelist. 'Paul Felton,' his masterpiece in prose, is
a powerful study of a diseased condition of mind. In its searching
psychologic analysis it stands quite apart from the more or less flac-
cid production of its day. He indeed could not escape the influence
of Charles Brockden Brown, whom he greatly admired, and he in
turn reached out forward toward Poe and other writers of the
analytic school. One powerful story of Poe's, indeed, seems to have
been suggested by Dana's work: the demon horse in Metzenger-
stein' is a superior copy of the Spectre Horse in The Buccaneer. '
These stories were not popular in his day: they are too remote from
ordinary life, too gloomy and painful; they have no definite locality
or nationality; their characters have little in common with every-day
humanity. His prose style however is clear, direct, and strong.
Even after he ceased to write, he had an important influence on
American letters by the independence of his opinions, his friendships
with literary men, chief among whom was Bryant, and his live
interest in the younger literature produced under conditions more
favorable and more inspiring than he had known.
## p. 4287 (#49) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
4287
THE ISLAND
From The Buccaneer
HE Island lies nine leagues away,
Along its solitary shore
Of craggy rock and sandy bay,
No sound but ocean's roar,
Save where the bold wild sea-bird makes her home,
Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam.
THE
But when the light winds lie at rest,
And on the glassy, heaving sea,
The black duck with her glossy breast
Sits swinging silently,
How beautiful! no ripples break the reach.
And silvery waves go noiseless up the beach.
And inland rests the green, warm dell;
The brook comes tinkling down its side;
From out the trees the Sabbath bell
Rings cheerful, far and wide,
Mingling its sound with bleatings of the flocks
That feed about the vale among the rocks.
Nor holy bell nor pastoral bleat
In former days within the vale;
Flapped in the bay the pirate's sheet;
Curses were on the gale;
Rich goods lay on the sand, and murdered men:
Pirate and wrecker kept their revels then.
But calm, low voices, words of grace,
Now slowly fall upon the ear;
A quiet look is in each face,
Subdued and holy fear.
Each motion gentle; all is kindly done -
Come, listen how from crime this Isle was won.
## p. 4288 (#50) ############################################
4288
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
THE DOOM OF LEE
From The Buccaneer
HO'S sitting on that long black ledge
Which makes so far out in the sea,
Feeling the kelp-weed on its edge?
Poor idle Matthew Lee!
WHO'S
So weak and pale? A year and little more.
And bravely did he lord it round this shore!
And on the shingles now he sits,
And rolls the pebbles 'neath his hands;
Now walks the beach; then stops by fits,
And scores the smooth wet sands;
Then tries each cliff and cove and jut that bounds
The isles; then home from many weary rounds.
They ask him why he wanders so,
From day to day, the uneven strand?
"I wish, I wish that I might go!
But I would go by land;
And there's no way that I can find -I've tried
All day and night! " He seaward looked, and sighed.
It brought the tear to many an eye
That once his eye had made to quail.
"Lee, go with us; our sloop is nigh;
Come! help us hoist her sail. "
He shook. -"You know the Spirit Horse I ride!
He'll let me on the sea with none beside! "
He views the ships that come and go,
Looking so like to living things.
O! 'tis a proud and gallant show
Of bright and broad-spread wings,
Making it light around them, as they keep
Their course right onward through the unsounded deep.
And where the far-off sand-bars lift
Their backs in long and narrow line,
The breakers shout, and leap, and shift,
And send the sparkling brine
Into the air, then rush to mimic strife:
Glad creatures of the sea, and full of life! -
## p. 4289 (#51) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
4289
But not to Lee. He sits alone;
No fellowship nor joy for him.
Borne down by woe, he makes no moan,
Though tears will sometimes dim
That asking eye-oh, how his worn thoughts crave—
Not joy again, but rest within the grave.
To-night the charmèd number's told.
"Twice have I come for thee," it said.
"Once more, and none shall thee behold.
Come! live one, to the dead! "—
So hears his soul, and fears the coming night;
Yet sick and weary of the soft calm light.
Again he sits within that room;
All day he leans at that still board;
None to bring comfort to his gloom,
Or speak a friendly word.
Weakened with fear, lone, haunted by remorse,
Poor shattered wretch, there waits he that pale Horse.
Not long he waits. Where now are gone
Peak, citadel, and tower, that stood
Beautiful, while the west sun shone
And bathed them in his flood
Of airy glory! - Sudden darkness fell;
And down they went,-peak, tower, citadel.
The darkness, like a dome of stone,
Ceils up the heavens. 'Tis hush as death
All but the ocean's dull low moan.
How hard Lee draws his breath!
He shudders as he feels the working Power.
Arouse thee, Lee! up! man thee for thine hour!
VIII-269
'Tis close at hand; for there, once more,
The burning ship. Wide sheets of flame
And shafted fire she showed before;
Twice thus she hither came;
But now she rolls a naked hulk, and throws
A wasting light; then, settling, down she goes.
-
-
And where she sank, up slowly came
The Spectre Horse from out the sea.
And there he stands! His pale sides flame.
He'll meet thee shortly, Lee.
## p. 4290 (#52) ############################################
4290
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
He treads the waters as a solid floor:
He's moving on. Lee waits him at the door.
They're met. "I know thou com'st for me,"
Lee's spirit to the Spectre said;
"I know that I must go with thee
Take me not to the dead.
It was not I alone that did the deed! "
Dreadful the eye of that still, spectral Steed!
Lee cannot turn. There is a force
In that fixed eye which holds him fast.
How still they stand! -the man and horse.
"Thine hour is almost past. "
"Oh, spare me," cries the wretch, "thou fearful one! »
"My time is full—I must not go alone. "
"I'm weak and faint. Oh let me stay! "
"Nay, murderer, rest nor stay for thee! "
The horse and man are on their way;
He bears him to the sea.
Hark! how the Spectre breathes through this still night!
See, from his nostrils streams a deathly light!
He's on the beach, but stops not there;
He's on the sea! that dreadful horse!
Lee flings and writhes in wild despair!
In vain! The spirit-corse
Holds him by fearful spell; he cannot leap.
Within that horrid light he rides the deep.
It lights the sea around their track-
The curling comb, and dark steel wave:
There yet sits Lee the Spectre's back
Gone! gone! and none to save!
They're seen no more; the night has shut them in.
May Heaven have pity on thee, man of sin!
The earth has washed away its stain;
The sealed-up sky is breaking forth,
Mustering its glorious hosts again,
From the far south and north;
The climbing moon plays on the rippling sea. —
Oh, whither on its waters rideth Lee?
## p. 4291 (#53) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
4291
PAUL AND ABEL
From Paul Felton'
HE
TOOK a path which led through the fields back of his
house, and wound among the steep rocks part way up the
range of high hills, till it reached a small locust grove,
where it ended. He began climbing a ridge near him, and
reaching the top of it, beheld all around him a scene desolate
and broken as the ocean. It looked for miles as if one immense
gray rock had been heaved up and shattered by an earthquake.
Here and there might be seen shooting out of the clefts, old
trees, like masts at sea. It was as if the sea in a storm had
become suddenly fixed, with all its ships upon it. The sun
shone glaring and hot on it, but there was neither life, nor
motion, nor sound; the spirit of desolation had gone over it, and
it had become the place of death. His heart sunk within him,
and something like a superstitious dread entered him. He tried
to rouse himself, and look about with a composed mind. It was
in vain - he felt as if some dreadful unseen power stood near
him. He would have spoken, but he dared not in such a place.
To shake this off, he began clambering over one ridge after
another, till, passing cautiously round a beetling rock, a sharp
cry from out it shot through him. Every small jut and preci-
pice sent it back with a Satanic taunt; and the crowd of hollows
and points seemed for the instant alive with thousands of fiends.
Paul's blood ran cold, and he scarcely breathed as he waited for
their cry again; but all was still. Though his mind was of a
superstitious cast, he had courage and fortitude; and ashamed of
his weakness, he reached forward, and stooping down looked into
the cavity. He started as his eye fell on the object within it.
"Who and what are you? " cried he. "Come out, and let me
see whether you are man or devil. " And out crawled a miser-
able boy, looking as if shrunk up with fear and famine. "Speak,
and tell me who you are, and what you do here," said Paul.
The poor fellow's jaws moved and quivered, but he did not utter
a sound. His spare frame shook, and his knees knocked against
each other as in an ague fit. Paul looked at him for a moment.
His loose shambly frame was nearly bare to the bones, his light
sunburnt hair hung long and straight round his thin jaws and
white eyes, that shone with a delirious glare, as if his mind had
been terror-struck. There was a sickly, beseeching smile about
## p. 4292 (#54) ############################################
4292
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
his mouth. His skin, between the freckles, was as white as a
leper's, and his teeth long and yellow. He appeared like one
who had witnessed the destruction about him, and was the only
living thing spared, to make death seem more horrible.
"Who put you here to starve? " said Paul to him.
«< Nobody, sir. "
"Why did you come, then? »
>>>>
"Oh, I can't help it; I must come.
"Must!
And why must you? " The boy looked round tim-
idly, and crouching near Paul, said in a tremulous, low voice,
his eyes glancing fearfully through the chasm, ""Tis He, 'tis He
that makes me! " Paul turned suddenly round, and saw before
him for the first time the deserted tract of pine wood and sand
which has been described. "Who and where is he? " asked Paul
impatiently, expecting to see some one.
"There, there, in the wood yonder," answered the boy,
crouching still lower, and pointing with his finger, whilst his
hand shook as if palsied.
"I see nothing," said Paul, "but these pines. What possesses
you? Why do you shudder so, and look so pale? Do you take
the shadows of the trees for devils ? "
"Don't speak of them. They'll be on me, if you talk of
them here," whispered the boy eagerly. Drops of sweat stood
on his brow from the agony of terror he was in. As Paul looked
at the lad, he felt something like fear creeping over him.
turned his eyes involuntarily to the wood again. "If we must
not talk here," said he at last, "come along with me, and tell
me what all this means. " The boy rose, and followed close to
Paul.
"Is it the Devil you have seen, that you shake so? »
"You have named him; I never must," said the boy. "I have
seen strange sights, and heard sounds whispered close to my
ears, so full of spite, and so dreadful, I dared not look round
lest I should see some awful face at mine.
I've thought I felt it
touch me sometimes. "
"And what wicked thing have you done, that they should
haunt you so ? "
"Oh, sir, I was a foolhardy boy. Two years ago I was not
afraid of anything. Nobody dared go into the wood, or even so
much as over the rocks, to look at it, after what happened
there. "—"I've heard a foolish story," said Paul. -" So once, sir,
## p. 4293 (#55) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
4293
the thought took me that I would go there a-bird's-nesting, and
bring home the eggs and show to the men.
And it would never
go out of my mind after, though I began to wish I hadn't
thought any such thing. Every night when I went to bed I
would lie and say to myself, To-morrow is the day for me to
go;' and I did not like to be alone in the dark, and wanted some
one with me to touch me when I had bad dreams. And when
I waked in the morning, I felt as if something dreadful was
coming upon me before night. Well, every day,-I don't know
how it was, I found myself near this ridge; and every time I
went farther and farther up it, though I grew more and more
frightened. And when I had gone as far as I dared, I was
afraid to wait, but would turn and make away so fast that many
a time I fell down some of these places, and got lamed and
bruised. The boys began to think something, and would whis-
per each other and look at me; and when they found I saw
them, they would turn away. It grew hard for me to be one at
their games, though once I used to be the first chosen in I
can't tell how it was, but all this only made me go on; and as
the boys kept out of the way, I began to feel as if I must do
what I had thought of, and as if there was somebody, I couldn't
think who, that was to have me and make me do what he
pleased. So it went on, sir, day after day," continued the lad,
in a weak, timid tone, but comforted at finding one to tell his
story to; "till at last I reached as far as the hollow where you
just now frighted me so, when I heard you near me. I didn't
run off as I used to from the other places, but sat down under
the rock. Then I looked out and saw the trees. I tried to get
up and run home, but I couldn't; I dared not come out and go
round the corner of the rock. I tried to look another way, but
my eyes seemed fastened on the trees; I couldn't take 'em off.
At last I thought something told me it was time for me to go
on. I got up. "
Here poor Abel shook so that he seized hold of Paul's arm to
help him. Paul recoiled as if an unclean creature touched him.
The boy shrunk back.
"Go on," said Paul recovering himself. The boy took com-
fort from the sound of another's voice: "I went a little way
down the hollow, sir, as if drawn along. Then I came to a
steep place; I put my legs over to let myself down; my knees
grew so weak I dared not trust myself; I tried to draw them up,
-
## p. 4294 (#56) ############################################
4294
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
but the strength was all gone out of them, and then my feet were
as heavy as if made of lead. I gave a screech, and there was a
yell close to me and for miles round, that nigh stunned me. I
can't say how, but the last thing I knew was my leaping along
the rocks, while there was nothing but flames of fire shooting
all round me. It was scarce midday when I left home; and
when I came to myself under the locusts it was growing dark. "
"Rest here awhile," said Paul, looking at the boy as at some
mysterious being, "and tell out your story. "
Glad at being in company, the boy sat down upon the grass,
and went on with his tale:-"I crawled home as well as I
could, and went to bed. When I was falling asleep I had the
same feeling I had when sitting over the rock. I dared not lie
in bed any longer, for I couldn't keep awake while there.
Glad
was I when the day broke, and I saw a neighbor open his door
and come out. I was not well all day, and I tried to think
myself more ill than I was, because I somehow thought that
then I needn't go to the wood. But the next day He was not
to be put off; and I went, though I cried and prayed all the
way that I might not be made to go. But I could not stop till
I had got over the hill, and reached the sand round the wood.
When I put my foot on it, all the joints in me jerked as if they
would not hold together, so that I cried out with the pain. When
I came under the trees there was a deep sound, and great shad-
ows were all round me. My hair stood on end, and my eyes
kept glimmering; yet I couldn't go back. I went on till I
found a crow's nest. I climbed the tree, and took out the eggs.
The old crow kept flying round and round me. As soon as I
felt the eggs in my hand and my work done, I dropped from
the tree and ran for the hollow. I can't tell how it was, but it
seemed to me that I didn't gain a foot of ground-it was just
as if the whole wood went with me. Then I thought He had
me his.
The ground began to bend and the trees to move. At
last I was nigh blind. I struck against one tree and another
till I fell to the ground. How long I lay there I can't tell;
but when I came to I was on the sand, the sun blazing hot upon
me and my skin scorched up. I was so stiff and ached so, I
could hardly stand upright. I didn't feel or think anything
after this; and hardly knew where I was till somebody came
and touched me, and asked me whether I was walking in my
sleep; and I looked up and found myself close home.
## p. 4295 (#57) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
4295
me.
"The boys began to gather round me as if I were something
strange; and when I looked at them they would move back from
'What have you been doing, Abel? ' one of them asked me
at last. 'No good, I warrant you,' answered another, who stood
back of me. And when I turned around to speak to him he
drew behind the others, as if afraid I should harm him; - and I
was too weak and frightened to hurt a fly. 'See his hands;
they are stained all over. '-'And there's a crow's egg, as I'm
alive! ' said another. -'And the crow is the Devil's bird, Tom,
isn't it? ' asked a little boy. 'O Abel, you've been to that wood
and made yourself over to Him. '-They moved off one after
another, every now and then turning round and looking at me
as if I were cursed. After this they would not speak to me nor
come nigh me. I heard people talking, and saw them going
about, but not one of them all could I speak to, or get to come
near me; it was dreadful, being so alone! I met a boy that
used to be with me all day long; and I begged him not to go
off from me so, and to stop, if it were only for a moment.
'You played with me once,' said I; 'and won't you do so much.
as look at me, or ask me how I am, when I am so weak and ill
too? ' He began to hang back a little, and I thought from his
face that he pitied me. I could have cried for joy, and was
going up to him, but he turned away. I called out after him,
telling him that I would not so much as touch him with my
finger, or come any nearer to him, if he would only stop and
speak one word to me; but he went away shaking his head, and
muttering something, I hardly knew what,-how that I did not
belong to them, but was the Evil One's now. I sat down on a
stone and cried, and wished that I was dead; for I couldn't help
it, though it was wicked in me to do so. "
"And is there no one," asked Paul, "who will notice you or
speak to you? Do you live so alone now? " It made his heart
ache to look down upon the pining, forlorn creature before him.
"Not a soul," whined out the boy. "My grandmother is dead
now, and only the gentlefolks give me anything; for they don't
seem afraid of me, though they look as if they didn't like me,
and wanted me gone. All I can, I get to eat in the woods, and
I beg out of the village. But I dare not go far, because I don't
know when He will want me. But I am not alone, He's with
me day and night. As I go along the street in the daytime, I
feel Him near me, though I can't see Him; and it is as if He
## p. 4296 (#58) ############################################
4296
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
were speaking to me; and yet I don't hear any words. He
makes me follow Him to that wood; and I have to sit the whole
day where you found me, and I dare not complain nor move, till
I feel He will let me go. I've looked at the pines, sometimes,
till I have seen spirits moving all through them. Oh, 'tis an
awful place; they breathe cold upon me when He makes me go
there. "
"Poor wretch! " said Paul.
"I'm weak and hungry, and yet when I try to eat, something
chokes me; I don't love what I eat. "
"Come along with me, and you shall have something to
nourish and warm you; for you are pale and shiver, and look
cold here in the very sun. ”
rolled down his
He got up and
The boy looked up at Paul, and the tears
cheeks at hearing one speak so kindly to him.
followed meekly after to the house.
Paul, seeing a servant in the yard, ordered the boy some-
thing to eat. The man cast his eye upon Abel, and then looked
at Paul as if he had not understood him. "I spoke distinctly
enough," said Paul; "and don't you see that the boy is nigh
starved? " The man gave a mysterious look at both of them,
and with a shake of his head as he turned away, went to do as
he was bid.
"What means the fellow? " said Paul to himself as he entered
the house. "Does he take me to be bound to Satan too? Yet
there may be bonds upon the soul, though we know it not; and
evil spirits at work within us, of which we little dream. And
are there no beings but those seen of mortal eye or felt by
mortal touch? Are there not passing in and around this piece
of moving mold, in which the spirit is pent up, those whom it
hears not? those whom it has no finer sense whereby to com-
mune with? Are all the instant joys that come and go, we
know not whence nor whither, but creations of the mind? Or
are they not rather bright and heavenly messengers, whom when
this spirit is set free it will see in all their beauty? whose
sweet sounds it will then drink in? Yes, it is, it is so; and all
around us is populous with beings, now invisible to us as this
circling air. "
The moon was down and the sky overcast when they began
to wind among the rocks. Though Paul's walks had lain of
late in this direction, he was not enough acquainted with the
## p. 4297 (#59) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
4297
passage to find his way through it in the dark. Abel, who had
traversed it often in the night, alone and in terror, now took
heart at having some one with him at such an hour, and of
fered unhesitatingly to lead. "The boy winds round those
crags with the speed and ease of a stream," said Paul; "not so
fast, Abel. "
"Take hold of the root which shoots out over your head, sir,
for 'tis ticklish work getting along just here. Do you feel it,
sir? "
"I have hold," said Paul.
"Let yourself gently down by it, sir. You needn't be a bit
afraid, for 'twill not give way; man couldn't have fastened it
stronger. "
This was the first time Abel had felt his power, or had been
of consequence to any one, since the boys had turned him out
from their games; and it gave him a momentary activity, and
an unsettled sort of spirit, which he had never known since
then. He had been shunned and abhorred; and he believed him-
self the victim of some demoniac power. To have another in
this fearful bondage with him, as Paul had intimated, was a
relief from his dreadful solitariness in his terrors and sufferings.
"And he said that it was I who was to work a curse on him,"
muttered Abel. "It cannot be, surely, that such a thing as I
am can harm a man like him! " And though Abel remembered
Paul's kindness, and that this was to seal his own doom too, yet
it stirred the spirit of pride within him.
"What are you muttering to yourself, there in the dark,"
demanded Paul; "or whom talk you with, you withered wretch ? »
Abel shook in every joint at the sound of Paul's harsh voice.
"It is so dreadfully still here," said Abel; "I hear nothing
but your steps behind me, and they make me start. " This was
true; for notwithstanding his touch of instant pride, his terrors
and his fear of Paul were as great as ever.
"Speak louder then," said Paul, "or hold your peace. I like
not your muttering; it bodes no good. "
"It may bring a curse to you, worse than that on me, if a
worse can be," said Abel to himself; "but who can help it? "
Day broke before they cleared the ridge; a drizzling rain
came on; and the wind, beginning to rise, drove through the
crevices in the rocks with sharp whistling sounds which seemed
to come from malignant spirits of the air.
## p. 4298 (#60) ############################################
4298
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
They had scarcely entered the wood when the storm became
furious; and the trees, swaying and beating with their branches
against one another, seemed possessed of a supernatural madness,
and engaged in wild conflict, as if there were life and passion in
them; and their broken, decayed arms groaned like things in
torment. The terror of these sights and sounds was too much
for poor Abel; it nearly crazed him; and he set up a shriek that
for a moment drowned the noise of the storm. It startled Paul;
and when he looked at him, the boy's face was of a ghostly
whiteness. The rain had drenched him to the skin; his clothes
clung to his lean body, that shook as if it would come apart; his
eyes flew wildly, and his teeth chattered against each other. The
fears and torture of his mind gave something unearthly to his
look, that made Paul start back. "Abel-boy-fiend-speak!
What has seized you? "
"They told me so," cried Abel-"I've done it-I led the
way for you- they're coming, they're coming-we're lost! "
"Peace, fool," said Paul, trying to shake off the power he felt
Abel gaining over him, "and find us a shelter if you can. "
"There's only the hut," said Abel, "and I wouldn't go into
that if it rained fire. "
"And why not? "
"I once felt that it was for me to go, and I went so near
as to see in at the door. And I saw something in the hut - it
was not a man, for it flitted by the opening just like a shadow;
and I heard two muttering something to one another; it wasn't
like other sounds, for as soon as I heard it, it made me stop
my ears. I couldn't stay any longer, and I ran till I cleared
the wood. Oh! 'tis His biding-place, when He comes to the
wood. "
"And is it of His own building? " asked Paul, sarcastically.
"No," answered Abel; "'twas built by the two wood-cutters;
and one of them came to a bloody end, and they say the other
died the same night, foaming at the mouth like one possessed.
There it is," said he, almost breathless, as he crouched down and
pointed at the hut under the trees. "Do not go, sir,” he said.
catching hold of the skirts of Paul's coat,-"I've never dared go
nigher since. "-"Let loose, boy," cried Paul, striking Abel's
hand from his coat, "I'll not be fooled with. " Abel, alarmed at
being left alone, crawled after Paul as far as he dared go; then
taking hold of him once more, made a supplicating motion to
## p. 4299 (#61) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
4299
him to stop; he was afraid to speak. Paul pushed on without
regarding him.
The hut stood on the edge of a sand-bank that was kept
up by a large pine, whose roots and fibres, lying partly bare,
looked like some giant spider that had half buried himself in
the sand. On the right of the hut was a patch of broken
ground, in which were still standing a few straggling dried
stalks of Indian corn; and from two dead trees hung knotted
pieces of broken line, which had formerly served for a clothes-
line. The hut was built of half-trimmed trunks of trees laid on
each other, crossing at the four corners and running out at
unequal lengths, the chinks partly filled in with sods and moss.
The door, which lay on the floor, was of twisted boughs; and
the roof, of the same, was caved in, and but partly kept out
the sun and rain.
As Paul drew near the entrance he stopped, though the
wind just then came in a heavy gust, and the rain fell like a
flood. It was not a dread of what he might see within; but
it seemed to him that there was a spell round him, drawing
him nearer and nearer to its centre; and he felt the hand of
some invisible power upon him. As he stepped into the hut
a chill ran over him, and his eyes shut involuntarily. Abel
watched him eagerly; and as he saw him enter, tossed his arms
wildly shouting, "Gone, gone! They'll have me
me too-they're
coming, they're coming! " and threw himself on his face to
the ground.
Driven from home by his maddening passions, a perverse
delight in self-torture had taken possession of Paul; and his
mind so hungered for more intense excitement, that it craved
to prove true all which its jealousy and superstition had
imaged. He had walked on, lost in this fearful riot, but with
no particular object in view, and taking only a kind of crazed
joy in his bewildered state. Esther's love for him, which he
at times thought past doubt feigned, the darkness of the night,
and then the driving storm with its confused motions and
sounds, made an uproar of the mind which drove out all
settled purpose or thought.
The stillness of the place into which he had now entered,
where was heard nothing but the slow, regular dripping of the
rain from the broken roof upon the hard-trod floor; the lowered
and distant sound of the storm without; the sudden change
## p. 4300 (#62) ############################################
4300
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
from the whirl and swaying of the trees to the steady walls
of the building, put a sudden stop to the violent working of
his brain, and he gradually fell into a stupor.
When Abel began to recover, he could scarcely raise himself
from the ground. He looked round, but could see nothing of
Paul. "They have bound us together," said he; "and something
is drawing me toward him. There is no help for me; I must
go whither he goes. " As he was drawn nearer and nearer to
the hut he seemed to struggle and hang back, as if pushed on
against his will. At last he reached the doorway; and clinging
to its side with a desperate hold, as if not to be forced in, put
his head forward a little, casting a hasty glance into the building.
"There he is, and alive! " breathed out Abel.
Paul's stupor was now beginning to leave him; his recollec-
tion was returning; and what had passed came back slowly and
at intervals. There was something he had said to Esther before
leaving home-he could not tell what; then his gazing after her
as she drove from the house; then something of Abel,—and he
sprang from the ground as if he felt the boy's touch again about
his knees; then the ball-room, and a multitude of voices, and all
talking of his wife. Suddenly she appeared darting by him; and
Frank was there. Then came his agony and tortures again; all
returned upon him as in the confusion of some horrible trance.
Then the hut seemed to enlarge and the walls to rock; and
shadows of those he knew, and of terrible beings he had never
seen before, were flitting round him and mocking at him. His
own substantial form seemed to him undergoing a change, and
taking the shape and substance of the accursed ones at which he
looked. As he felt the change going on he tried to utter a cry,
but he could not make a sound nor move a limb. The ground
under him rocked and pitched; it grew darker and darker, till
everything was visionary; and he thought himself surrounded by
spirits, and in the mansions of the damned. Something like a
deep black cloud began to gather gradually round him. The
gigantic structure, with its tall terrific arches, turned slowly into
darkness, and the spirits within disappeared one after another,
till as the ends of the cloud met and closed, he saw the last of
them looking at him with an infernal laugh in his undefined
visage.
Abel continued watching him in speechless agony. Paul's
consciousness was now leaving him; his head began to swim
## p. 4301 (#63) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, SENIOR
4301
he reeled; and as his hand swept down the side of the hut,
while trying to save himself, it struck against a rusty knife that
had been left sticking loosely between the logs. "Let go, let
go! " shrieked Abel; "there's blood on 't-'tis cursed, 'tis cursed. "
As Paul swung round with the knife in his hand, Abel sprang
from the door with a shrill cry, and Paul sank on the floor,
muttering to himself, "What said They? »
When he began to come to himself a little, he was still sitting
on the ground, his back against the wall. His senses were yet
confused. He thought he saw his wife near him, and a bloody
knife by his side. After sitting a little longer his mind grad-
ually grew clearer, and at last he felt for the first time that his
hand held something. As his eye fell on it and he saw dis-
tinctly what it was, he leaped upright with a savage yell and
dashed the knife from him as if it had been an asp stinging
him. He stood with his bloodshot eyes fastened on it, his hands
spread, and his body shrunk up with horror. "Forged in hell!
and for me, for me! " he screamed, as he sprang forward and
seized it with a convulsive grasp. "Damned pledge of the
league that binds us! " he cried, holding it up and glaring
wildly on it. "And yet a voice did warn me of what, I know
not. Which of ye put it in this hand? Speak let me look on
you?
D'ye hear me, and will not answer? Nay, nay, what
needs it? This tells me, though it speaks not.
I know your
promptings now," he said, folding his arms deliberately; "your
work must be done; and I am doomed to it. "
-
## p. 4302 (#64) ############################################
T
4302
RICHARD HENRY DANA, JUNIOR
(1815-1882)
HE literary fame of Richard Henry Dana the younger rests on
a single book, produced at the age of twenty-five. Two
Years Before the Mast' stands unique in English literature:
it reports a man's actual experiences at sea, yet touches the facts
with a fine imagination. It is a bit of Dana's own life while on a
vacation away from college. The manner in which he got his
material was remarkable, but to the literature he came as by birth-
right, through his father, Richard Henry Dana the elder, then
a well-known poet, novelist, and essayist.
He was born in Cambridge in 1815, grow-
ing up in the intellectual atmosphere of
that university town, and in due course of
time entering Harvard College, where his
father and grandfather before him had been
trained in law and letters. An attack of
the measles during his third year at col-
lege left him with weakened eyes, and an
active outdoor life was prescribed as the
only remedy. From boyhood up he had
been passionately fond of the sea; small
wonder, then, that he now determined to
take a long sea voyage. Refusing a berth
R. H. DANA, JR.
offered him on a vessel bound for the East
Indies, he chose to go as common sailor before the mast, on a mer-
chantman starting on a two-years' trading voyage around Cape Horn
to California. At that time boys of good family from the New
England coast towns often took such trips. Dana indeed found a
companion in a former merchant's clerk of Boston. They left on
August 14th, 1834, doubled Cape Horn, spent many months in the
waters of the Pacific and on the coast of California, trading with the
natives and taking in cargoes of hides, and returned to Boston in
September, 1836. Young Dana, entirely cured of his weakness, re-
entered college, graduated the next year, and then went to study in
the law school of Harvard. During his cruise he had kept a journal,
which he now worked over into the narrative that made him famous,
and that bids fair to keep his name alive as long as boys, young or
old, delight in sea stories. It is really not a story at all, but
## p.
