Читать книгу Journal of a Residence in America - Fanny Kemble - Страница 14

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A fair wind—a fine day—though very very cold and damp. It seems, in our squall last night, we had also a small piece of mutiny. During the mate's watch, and while the storm was at the worst, the man who was steering left the helm, and refused to obey orders; whereupon Mr. Curtis took up a hatchet, and assured him he would knock his brains out—which the captain said, had it been his watch, he should have done on the spot, and without further warning. We are upon the Newfoundland banks, though not yet on soundings. Stitched my gown—worked at my nightcap—walked about:—Mr. ——read Quentin Durward to us while we worked. The extreme cold made us take refuge in our cabin, where I sat working and singing till dinner-time. Dined at table again; afterwards came back to our cabin—began writing journal, and was interrupted by hearing a bustle in the dinner-room. The gentlemen were all standing up, and presently I heard Walter Scott's name passed round:—it made me lay down my pen. Oh! how pleasant it sounded—that unanimous blessing of strangers upon a great and good man, thus far from him—from all but our own small community. The genuine and spontaneous tribute to moral worth and mental power! Poor, poor Sir Walter! And yet no prayer that can be breathed to bless, no grateful and soul felt invocation, can snatch him from the common doom of earth-born flesh, or buy away one hour's anguish and prostration of body and spirit, before the triumphant infirmities of our miserable nature. I thought of Dante's lines, that I read but a day ago; and yet—and yet—fame is something. His fame is good—is great—is glorious. To be enshrined in the hearts of all virtuous and wise men, as the friend of virtue and the teacher of wisdom; to have freely given pleasure, happiness, forgetfulness, to millions of his fellow-creatures; to have made excellence lovely, and enjoyment pure and salutary; to have taught none but lessons of honour and integrity; to have surrounded his memory, and filled the minds of all men with images fair, and bright, and wonderful, yet left around his name no halo, and in the hearts of others no slightest cloud to blot these enchanting creations; to have done nothing but good with God's good gifts—is not this fame worth something? 'Tis worth man's love, and God's approval—'tis worth toiling for, living for, and dying for. He has earned it fairly—he is a great and good man—peace be with him in his hour of mortal sorrow, and eternal peace hereafter in the heaven to which he surely goes. They then drank Washington Irving—a gentle spirit, too. After working for some time more, came on deck, where we danced with infinite glee, disturbed only by the surpassing uproar of Colonel——.

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The only of our crew whom I cotton to fairly, are the——, and that good-natured lad, Mr. ——: though the former rather distress me by their abundant admiration, and the latter by his inveterate Yorkshire, and never opening his mouth when he sings, which, as he has a very sweet voice, is a cruel piece of selfishness, keeping half his tones, and all his words, for his own private satisfaction.