Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol III, No 13, 1851

THE PEARL-DIVERS

At the commencement of the last year's fishery, there was a man whom, go wherever I would, I was always certain to meet. Like myself, he was a diver, and like myself moreover, he pretended to have no surname, but went simply by the name of Rafael. At the cleansing-trough, beneath the surface of the sea, no matter where it was, we were always thrown together, so that we quickly became intimate; and his remarkable skill as a diver had inspired me with considerable esteem for him. Alike courageous as skillful, he snapped his fingers at the sharks, declaring his power to intimidate them by a particular expression of the eye. In fine, he was a fearless diver, an industrious workman, and, above all, a most jovial comrade.

Matters went smoothly enough between us, till the day when a girl and her mother took up their abode at the island Espiritu Sante.3 Some business that I had to transact with the dealers in this island afforded me an opportunity of seeing her. I fell desperately in love; and as I enjoyed a certain amount of reputation, neither she nor her mother looked with an unfavorable eye on my suit or my presents. When the day's work was over, and every body supposed me asleep in my hut, I swam across to the island, whence I returned about an hour after midnight without my absence being at all surmised.

Some days had elapsed since my first nocturnal visit to Espiritu Sante, when, as I was one morning going to the fishery just before daybreak, I met one of those old crones who pretend to be able to charm the sharks by their spells. She was seated near my hut, and appeared to be watching my arrival. As she perceived me, she exclaimed, "How fares it with my son, José Juan?"

"Good morning, mother!" I replied, and was passing on, when she approached me, and said, "Listen to me, José Juan; I have to speak to you of that which nearly concerns you."

"Nearly concerns me!" I repeated, in great surprise.

"Yes. Do you deny that your heart is in the island of Espiritu Sante, or that you cross the strait every night to see and converse with her on whom you have bestowed your love?"

"How know you that?"

"No matter; I know it well. José Juan, for you this voyage is fraught with a twofold peril. The foes whom my charms can hold harmless during the day only lie in wait for you each night beneath the waves; on the shore, foes more dangerous still, and over whom my arts are powerless, dog your steps. I come to offer you my aid to combat these double dangers."

My only answer was by a loud laugh of contempt. The old Indian's eyes sparkled with fiendish fury as she exclaimed, "And because you are without faith, you deem me without power? Be it so; there are those who believe in the influence you but scoff at."

As she spoke, she drew from her pocket a little case of printed cloth, and producing amid pearls of inferior value one of a large size and brilliant water, she replied, "Know you aught of this?" It was one I had given to Jesusita; for such was the girl's name.

"How came you by it?" cried I.

The witch gave me a look of hatred.

"How came I by it? Why, 'twas given me by a damsel the fairest that ever set foot on these shores; a damsel who would be the glory and happiness of a young man, and who came to crave my protection – that protection you hold so cheap – for one she fondly loves."

"His name!" I exclaimed, with a fearful sinking at my heart.

"What matters it," jeeringly returned the hag, "since his name is not the one you bear?"

I hardly know how I resisted the impulse to crush the cursed witch beneath my feet; but after a moment's reflection, I turned my back to her that she might not read in my face the anguish of my soul, and coolly saying, "You are a lying old dotard," I walked on to the fishery.

On the evening of that day, which seemed as if it would never close, I went as usual to Jesusita, and the welcome she gave me soon dispelled all lurking suspicions. I felt no doubt but that the old woman, in resentment of my contemptuous treatment, had purposely deceived me as to the name of him for whom Jesusita had craved that protection which I had despised.

I had utterly forgotten my scene with the witch, when, one night, I was as usual crossing the strait on my return home. The sky was dark and lowering, yet not so cloudy but that I could distinguish amid the waves something which, from its manner of swimming, I could make out to be a man. The object was alongside of me. The old crone's words rushed upon my memory, and I felt a thrill of agony convulse my frame. For an enemy I cared but little; the idea that I had a rival unnerved me at once.

I determined to ascertain who the unknown might be; and not wishing to be seen, I swam under water in his direction. When, according to my calculation, we must have crossed each other, he above and I below the surface, I rose above water. The blood had rushed to my head with such violence as to render me unable for some time to distinguish aught amidst the darkness beyond the phosphorescent light that played upon the crest of the waves; unerring signs of a coming storm. Nevertheless, I held on my course in the direction of Espiritu Sante. Some few minutes elapsed ere I again beheld the swimmer's head. He clove the waves with such rapidity that I could scarce keep pace with him. But one alone among all I knew could vie with me in swiftness; I redoubled my efforts, and soon gained so much on him as obliged me to strike out less quickly. In short, I saw him land upon a rock and ascend it; and as a flash of lightning played upon sea and shore, I recognized the face of Rafael. Here, as elsewhere, were we doomed to cross each other's path. A feeling of hatred, deadly and intense, was busy at my heart, and methought it were well we met but once again. However, we were destined to meet on one more occasion than I had reckoned upon.

At first I determined upon calling him by name and discovering my presence; but there are moments in one's life when our actions refuse to second the will. Spite of myself, I suffered him to pursue his way, while I gained the eminence he had just quitted. Thence was it easy for me to watch his course. I observed him take the same direction I was so wont to take, then knock at the door of that hut I knew so well. He entered, and disappeared.

I fancied for one moment I heard, borne along the howling of the gale, the old witch's scoffing laugh as she croaked out, "What matters it to you, since his name is not the one you bear?" and, looming amid the darkness, methought I saw her shriveled and withered arm stretched out in the direction of Jesusita's dwelling; and I rushed forward, knife in hand. A few strides, and I stood before the door, and stooped down to listen; but I heard naught beyond indistinct murmurings. I had now partially recovered my sang-froid, and bent my whole thoughts upon revenge.

I drew my knife, and passed it along a stone to assure its edge; but I did so with such carelessness or agitation that it shivered to the hilt. Thus deprived of the sole weapon that I could rely upon for my revenge, I felt that I had not an instant to lose. I ran in all haste to the beach, and unmoored a boat that lay alongside. My rage renewed my energies: I crossed the strait, rushed to my hut, procured another knife, and again set out to Espiritu Sante. The gale increased in violence. The sea gleamed like a fiery lake. The gavista's4 wailing cry re-echoed along the rocks; the sea-wolf's howl was heard amid the darkness. All at once sounds of another kind broke upon my ear: they seemed to proceed from the very bosom of the ocean. I listened; but a sudden squall overpowered the confused murmurings of the waves, and I fancied my senses had deceived me, when, some seconds afterward, the cry was repeated. This time I was not mistaken: the cry I heard was that of a human being in the very extremity of anguish and despair. As the voice proceeded from the direction of the island, I at once conjectured it was Rafael who was calling for help. I looked out, but looked in vain; the obscurity was too thick, and I could distinguish nothing. Suddenly, I again heard the voice exclaim, "Boat ahoy, for God's blessed sake!"

It was Rafael's voice. 'Tis all very well to have sworn to do your enemy to death, to wreak your just revenge on him who has so bitterly aggrieved you; yet when, on a night murky and dark as that his tones arise from forth a sea swarming with monsters, and when those tones are uttered by a fearless man, and, albeit, wrestling in mortal peril, there is in that cry of last anguish somewhat that strikes awe to the very soul. I could not repress a shudder.

But my emotion was of short duration. I heard the sounds of a strong arm buffeting the waves, and I rowed in that direction. Amidst a luminous shower of spray and foam I discovered Rafael. Singular enough, instead of availing himself of his strength to gain the boat, he remained stationary. I quickly perceived the cause. At some distance from him, a little below the surface of the water, there was a strong phosphoric light; this light was slowly making way toward Rafael. Right well I knew what that light portended; it streamed from a tintorera5 of the largest size. One stroke of the oar, and I was close to Rafael: he uttered a cry as he perceived me, but was too much exhausted to speak. He seized the gunwale of the boat by an effort of despair, but his arms were too wearied to enable him to raise his body. His eyes, though glazed with fear, yet bore so expressive a glance as they encountered mine, that I seized his hands in my own, and pressed them forcibly against the sides of the boat. The tintorera still gradually advanced. For a moment, but one brief moment, Rafael's legs hung motionless; he uttered a piercing shriek, his eyes closed, his hands let loose their hold, and the upper part of his body fell back into the sea. The shark had bitten him in two.

Ay! I might, perchance, have grasped his limbs too firmly in mine, possibly I prevented him from getting into the boat, but my knife was innocent of his blood; besides, was he not my rival – perchance my successful rival? However, scarcely had he disappeared than I plunged after him; for although the tintorera had ridded me of a hated foe, still I bore it a grudge for its brutal proceedings in thus summarily disposing of poor Rafael. Besides, the honor of the corporation of divers was at stake. Having once tasted human flesh, the shark would doubtless attack us in turn. Well, nothing so much excites the ferocity of the tintorera as such tempestuous nights as the one that bore its silent testimony to my rival's fate. A viscous substance that oozes from porous holes around the monster's mouth diffuses itself over the surface of the skin, rendering them as luminous as fire-flies, and this particularly during a thunderstorm. This luminous appearance is the more visible in proportion to the darkness of the night. By a merciful dispensation of nature, they are almost unable to see; so that the silent swimmer has at least one advantage over them. Moreover, they can not seize their prey without turning on their backs; so that it is not difficult to imagine that a courageous man and a skillful swimmer has some chances in his favor.

I dived to no great depth, in order to husband my wind, and also to cast a hasty glance above, beneath, and around me. The waves roared above my head, loud as a crash of thunder; fiery flakes of water drove around like dust before the winds of March; but in my immediate vicinity all was calm. A black and shapeless mass struck against me as I lay suspended in my billowy recess; 'twas all that was left of Rafael. Surely it was written in the book of doom that I should always find that man in my path.

I surmised that the brute I was in quest of would be at no great distance, for the fiery streak I had perceived waxed larger and larger. The tintorera and myself must, I inferred, be at equal depths; but the shark was preparing to rise. My breath began to fail, and I was unwilling to allow the monster to get above me, as then he could have made me share Rafael's fate without troubling himself to turn on his back. My hopes of obtaining the victory over it depended upon the time it required to execute this manœuvre. The tintorera swam diagonally toward me with such rapidity that at one time I was near enough to distinguish the membrane that half-covered its eyes, and to feel its dusky fins graze my body. Gobbets of human flesh still clung around the lower jaw. The monster gazed on me with its dim, glassy eye. My head had that moment attained the level of its own. I drank in the air with a gurgle I could not suppress, and struck out a lusty stroke in a parallel direction and turned round: well for me I did so. The moon lighted up for a single instant the whitish-gray colored belly of the tintorera– that instant was enough for as it opened its enormous mouth, bristling with its double row of long pointed teeth, I plunged the dagger I had reserved for Rafael into its body, and drew it lengthwise forth. The tintorera, mortally wounded, sprung several feet out of the water, and fell striking out furiously with its tail, which fortunately did not reach me. For a space I struggled, half blinded by the crimson foam that beat against my face; but as I beheld the huge carcass of the enemy floating a lifeless mass upon the surface, I gave vent to a triumphant shout, which, spite of the storm, might be heard on either coast.

Day-light began to dawn as I gained the shore, in a state of utter exhaustion from the exertion I had undergone. The fishermen were raising their nets, and, as I arrived, the tide washed upon the coast the tintorera and Rafael's ghastly remains. It was soon spread abroad that I had endeavored to rescue my friend from his horrible fate, and my heroic conduct was lauded to the echo. But one person, and one alone, suspected the truth – that person is now my wife.

PHANTOMS AND REALITIES. – AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 6

PART THE SECOND – NOONIX

Things happen in the world every day which appear incredible on paper. Individuals may secretly acknowledge to themselves the likelihood of such things, but the bulk of mankind feel it necessary to treat them openly with skepticism and ridicule. The real is sometimes too real for the line and plummet of the established criticism. It is the province of art to avoid these exceptional incidents, or to modify and adapt them so that they shall appear to harmonize with universal humanity. Hence it is that fiction is often more truthful than biography; and it is obvious enough that it ought to be so, if it deal only with materials that are reconcilable with the general experience.

But I am not amenable to the canons of art. I am not writing fiction. I am relating facts; and if they should appear unreasonable or improbable, I appeal, for their vindication, to the candor of the reader. Every man, if he looks back into the vicissitudes of his life, will find passages which would be pronounced pure exaggeration and extravagance in a novel.

When I met Astræa the next morning, I could perceive those traces of deep anxiety which recent circumstances had naturally left behind, and which the flush and excitement of the preceding evening had concealed. She was very pale and nervous. She felt that the moment had come when all disguises between us must end forever, and she trembled on the verge of disclosures that visibly shook her fortitude.

The day was calm and breathless. Scarcely a leaf stirred in the trees, and the long shadows slept without a ruffle on the turf. The stillness of the place contrasted strangely with the tempest of emotions that was raging in my heart. I longed to get into the air. I felt the house stifling, and thought that I should breathe more freely among the branches of the little wood that looked so green and cool down by the margin of the stream. There was a rustic seat there under a canopy of drooping boughs, close upon the water and the bridge, where we could enjoy the luxury of perfect solitude. Requesting her to follow me, I went alone into the wood.

The interval seemed to me long before she came; and when she did come, she was paler and more agitated than before. I tried to give her confidence by repeated protestations of my devotion; and as she seemed to gather courage from the earnestness of my language, I again and again renewed the pledges which bound me to her, at any risk our position might demand.

"It is that," she exclaimed, "which gives me hope and comfort. You have had time to reflect on these pledges, and weigh the consequences they involve, and you now repeat them to me with an ardor which I should do you a great wrong to doubt. I entirely trust to you. If I am deceived, I will try still to be just, and hardly blame you so much as the world, which few men can relinquish for love."

There was a pause, during which she gradually recovered her self-composure. I felt that these expressions gave me a nobler motive for surrendering every thing for her sake. She seemed to make me a hero by the penalties my devotion enforced upon me; and I was eager to prove myself capable of the most heroic sacrifices. In the abyss of an overwhelming passion, where reason is imprisoned by the senses, every man is willing to be a martyr.

"You have required of me, Astræa," said I, "no, not required; but you have placed before me the possibility of sufferings and trials resulting from our union – loss of friends, the surrender of many things that enter into the ordinary scheme of married life, and that are considered by the world indispensable to its happiness. I am ready to relinquish them all. I have looked for this end. I know not why it should be so, nor does it give me a moment's concern. I only know that I love you passionately, and that life is desolation to me without you. Let us therefore have no further delay. All impediments are now out of our path. We have our destinies in our own hands. Let us knit them into one, and disappoint the scandal and malignity which, from that hour, can exercise no further influence over us."

"You spoke," returned Astræa, looking with a calm, clear gaze into my face, as if she penetrated my soul, "you spoke of married life."

The question surprised me. It was her look more than her words that conveyed a meaning, indistinct, but full of terrible suggestions. It was a key to a thousand painful conjectures, which flashed upon me in an instant, leaving confusion and giddiness behind, and nothing certain but the fear of what was to follow. I could not answer her; or, rather, did not know how to answer her, and merely tried to reassure her with a smile, which I felt was hollow and unnatural.

"One word," she proceeded, in the same tone, "must dispel that dream forever. It is not for us that serene life you speak of. It is not for me. Our destinies, if they be knit together, must be cemented by our own hands, not at the altar in the church, but in the sight of heaven – a bond more solemn, and imposing a more sacred obligation."

I will not attempt to describe the effect of these expressions. A cold dew crept over my body, and I felt as if a paralysis had struck my senses. Yet at the same moment, and while she was speaking so quietly and deliberately, and uttering words, under the heavy weight of which the fabric I had reared in my imagination crumbled down, and fell with a crash that smote my brain – a crowd of memories came upon me – isolated words and gestures, the dark allusions of the dwarf, and the warnings of Astræa herself – a crowd of things that were all dark before were now lighted up. As the stream of electricity flies along the chain, traversing link after link and mile after mile, with a rapidity that baffles calculation, so my thoughts flashed over every incident of the past. I now understood it all – the mystery that lay buried in Astræa's words and abstractions – the vacant heart – the hope that looked out from her eyes, and then fled back to be quenched in silent despair – her yearnings for solitude and repose – the devotional spirit that, blighted in the world, and condemned to be shut out from seeking happiness in social conventions, had fallen back upon its own lonely strength, and made to itself a faith of passion! It was all plain to me now. But there were explanations yet to come.

"Astræa!" I cried, hoarsely, and I felt the echoes of the name moaning through the trees. "Astræa! What is the meaning of these dreadful words? Have you not pledged your faith to me?"

"Irrevocably!" she returned.

"Then what new impediment has arisen to our union?"

"None that has not existed all along. Have you not seen it darkening every hour of our intercourse? Have you not understood it in the fear that has given such intensity to feelings which, had all been open before us, would have been calm and unperturbed? – that has imparted to love, otherwise sweet and tranquil, the wild ardor of obstructed passion? Your instincts must have told you, had you allowed yourself a moment of reflection, that the woman who consents to immolate her pride, her delicacy, her fame, for the man she loves, must be fettered by ties which leave her no alternative between him and the world. Why am I here alone with you?"

This was not said in a tone of reproach, but it sounded like reproach, and wounded me. It was all true. I ought to have understood that suffering of her soul which, now that the clouds were rolling back from before my eyes, had become all at once intelligible. But to be surprised into such a discovery, to have misunderstood her unspoken agonies and sacrifices, jarred upon me, and made me feel as if my nature were not lofty enough to comprehend, by its own unassisted sympathies, the grandeur of her character. I imagined myself humiliated in her presence, and this consideration was paramount, for the moment, over all others. It stripped my devotion of all claim to a heroism kindred to her own, and deprived me of the only merit that could render me worthy of her love. Yet in the midst of this conflict, other thoughts came flooding upon me; and voices from the world I was about to relinquish for her rung like a knell upon my ears. There were still explanations to come that might afford me some refuge from these tortures.

"Yes, Astræa, I was conscious of some obstruction; but how could I divine what it was? Even now I must confess myself bewildered. But as all necessity for further reserve is at an end, you will be candid and explicit with me. What is the impediment that stands in the way of our union?"

I did not intend it, but I was aware, while I was speaking, that there was ice in my voice, and that the words issued from my lips as if they were frozen.

"You mean," she replied, coldly, but in a tone that conveyed a feeling of rising scorn, "you mean our marriage?"

"Certainly."

"I never can be your wife."

As I had anticipated some such statement, I ought not to have betrayed the amazement with which I looked at her; but it was involuntary. I did not ask her to go on; seeing, however, that I expected it, she added,

"I am the wife of another!"

I started from my seat, and, in a paroxysm of frenzy, paced up and down before her. I did not exclaim aloud, "You have deceived me!" but my flashing eyes and flushed brow expressed it more eloquently than language. She bore this in silence for a few minutes, and then addressed me again,

"I said I would try not to blame you. I blame only myself. Like all men, you are strong in protestations, and feeble, timid, and vacillating in action. You are thinking now of the world, which only last night you so courageously despised. A few hours ago, you believed yourself so superior to the common weaknesses of your sex, that you were ready to make the most heroic sacrifices. What has become of that vehement resolution, that brave self-reliance? Vanished on the instant you are put to the proof. Believe me, you have miscalculated your own nature – all men do in such cases. A woman whose heart is her life, and who shrinks in terror from all other conflicts, is alone equal to such a struggle as this. The world is your proper sphere; do not deceive yourself. You could not sustain isolation; you would be forever looking back, as you are at this moment, for the consolations and support you had abandoned."

"No, Astræa!" I exclaimed; "you wrong me. My resolution is unchanged; but you must allow something for the suddenness – the shock – "