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Sixty Year's Memories of Art and Artists X . OUR ship sailed on Wednesday, and we had just got acquainted a little with our fellow passengers when on Saturday night, after retiring to our berths, we struck upon a rock off some portion of the Nova Scotia coast. In an instant all was confusion and uproar, everybody rushing in his night costume to the saloon. Contradictory orders were issued by the captain and under officers. Nobody knew what the matter was nor where we were. The whole thing was like a clap of thunder out of a clear sky. We were hard and fast upon the rocks, and the vessel was laboring and jamming badly. After waiting a long time it was determined that we must take to the boats. The ladies were to be saved first. I found in the cabin a bottle of brandy. I knocked off the neck and gave to the ladies and others about me a little Dutch courage. Poor Mrs. Pelby, of theatrical fame, was frantic with fear, a contrast to her daughter, Miss Anderson, who was perfectly calm. My friends, Gay and Wilde, and myself were lowered into the third boat, just at the time when the ship was straining fearfully, and the spars were threatening destruction to those below. We found the boat filled with men, hardly a place to sit or stand, and but one sailor to manage the craft. We unanimously made him skipper. We found that there was but one oar, and the boat was filling with water. I chanced by good luck to see that the plug was out which belonged in the bottom of the boat directly under me, and so I stuffed my handkerchief into the hole, and then we bailed out the boat with our hats. The other three boats had drifted from us, and we were left alone in the darkness. We waited with anxious hearts the coming of light. When it came nothing but water and fog about us! We glided down into the deep hollows of the waves, and then rose to their crests. As the morning advanced, the fog broke away, and the welcome sight of land met our almost unbelieving eyes. Yes, there it was, the stern, rugged form of an island some three or four miles away with the white breakers beating on its rocky shores. It was decided to steer for the island, and find if possible a landing, but in a little time our almost dismantled ship came in sight, and we laid our course for her. Soon a boat came out from a little cove to assist us in getting in. How thankful we were to be on land again! I had slipped a bottle of wine into my overcoat pocket on leaving the ship, and it served us well for many of our boat's passengers were weary and discouraged, and it gave us new strength. We found a few men still clinging to the wreck where the sea had washed over them all night. As soon as we saw this we pulled our boat across the bar separating us from the cove where the ship lay, and took it as near as possible to her. Then the men on the ship threw out lines, and soon we had the satisfaction of having them with us. We now learned that the passengers on the other three boats had landed on the larger island three miles or so from the ship. We had thought them lost, and they had the same idea of our fate, so that when we were at last landed on this bleak-looking shore, tears of gratitude and rejoicing flowed from many eyes. There were two houses on the island, rough shelters indeed, but one
served for the officers and passengers, and the other for the sailors. There was one large
room with a huge stone fireplace in one hut, and in that room thirty of us had to camp on
the floor. Some were delicate ladies unused to hardship. Among them was Mrs. Bigelow, wife
of the Mayor of Boston. Her son accompanied her. They were going abroad in search of
health. Mrs. Pelby, who had been so frightened after our striking upon the rocks, now
became the heroine of the hour. Her practical good sense and power of adapting herself to the situation, together with her firm and good spirits gave the other ladies courage. and made them bear their trials well. She called it a picnic, and named herself Robinson Crusoe, had her man Friday, and my friend Gay she called Orson because he had had no barber since leaving Boston, and was uncombed. She was indeed a blessing to the unfortunate ladies, and in truth to us all. She infused a spirit of confidence. The wreck was visited by the captain at low water, and provisions in plenty were procured, and the ship's cook gave us enough to eat, but the tea was of the coarsest kind, called sailor's tea, to sweeten which we had molasses. Poor Mrs. Bigelow, when asked if she would have some, answered despairingly: "A very little, if you please." It was a little dreary notwithstanding, waiting for the storm to clear off, for we were obliged to remain ten days on our inhospitable island, and take our parts in the Crusoe life. A box of mine containing pencils and paper was thrown on shore, and I amused myself making sketches of the wreck, our hut, and various characters and passengers. Among the latter was a pantomimist who had been playing at the National Theatre, Boston. He was a capital model, and threw himself with much genuine artistic feeling into picturesque poses. I drew him as a disconsolate ship-wrecked man sitting on the rocks. The ease of the pose made me strive to reader it truly. It told the story well, and later in Boston it was lithographed by Rowse, and headed a bill-board describing an entertainment for the benefit of the actor. When the storm cleared away we were taken to the mainland of Nova Scotia, and from there set sail for Eastport, Maine, in a little schooner, but, bad weather coming on, we were forced to put in at Yarmouth for the night and next day. The hospitable people of this town received us with great kindness, and we luxuriated in soft beds and good things to eat. These true-hearted people seemed to take delight in making our stay comfortable. They were very intelligent, and much like their English brothers across the sea. Once more we sailed in our little schooner for Eastport where we arrived just too late to catch the weekly steamer for Boston, but we were lodged in a good hotel, and the townspeople made us the lions of the hour, entertained us with dances and parties, and made our enforced week's stay pass quickly. Once more in Boston after a three weeks' absence, and with but a week to get ready for the next packet, which was to sail on the first of June. I had saved nothing from the wreck but my little box, my letter of credit, and the seastained clothes I stood in, but I had time to get a few things, receive the congratulations of many friends, who were also most kind to me, and sail again for Liverpool. This time our voyage of twenty-five days was an ideal one. The wind drove us along steadily to our port. After spending a few days agreeably in London, and listening to the sweet notes of Jenny Lind in " La Fille du Regiment" at Covent Garden, we left for Paris. Yes, a few more days in Paris seeing old friends and seeing the sights, then Gay and I left for the Rhine, leaving Wilde to pursue his art studies with a French painter. At Cologne we began our sketching tour taking all the characteristic points of both banks. We passed a very pleasant summer, exploring the many points of interest, and our stay at Braubach, just above Coblentz and almost opposite the Stolzenfels, was especially pleasant. The old fortress, towering high above the town, was particularly fine, and our hotel itself was a mediaeval structure flanked by walls and towers on the river front. The towns people were kindly disposed towards us, and made us join in the festivities of vintage time. The ripe grapes were luscious, and the vineyards were free to us. The Protestant pastor insisted upon our drinking as much wine as he did - which was a hard thing to do. Good wine, indeed, but we were not accustomed to its lavish use. And speaking of the use of wine by the Rhinelanders, when I was at Oberwezel two years before I had noticed in the common sitting-room of the hotel three or four men sitting around a table with huge decanters of wine before them, talking and quietly smoking their porcelain pipes and drinking. They were discussing topics of national importance, and there they sat stolid and grave all the day, consuming quart after quart of the pure liquid. I think the three were the doctor, the minister and the lawyer of the town. When after two years I returned to the town, the same men, the same pipes and the same kind of wine were there, and may be to this day. How men can absorb so much liquid is one of the mysteries of the human organization hard to understand. |
