The Tempest



In the evening I started, ... down the road I had traversed under so

many vicissitudes.



"Don't you think that," I asked the coachman, in the first stage out

of London, "a very remarkable sky? I don't remember to have seen one

like it."



"Nor I--not equal to it," he replied. "That's wind, sir. There'll be

mischief done at sea, I expect, before long."



It was a murky confusion--here and there blotted with a color like the

color of the smoke from damp fuel--of flying clouds tossed up into most

remarkable heaps, suggesting greater heights in the clouds than there

were depths below them to the bottom of the deepest hollows in the

earth, through which the wild moon seemed to plunge headlong, as if,

in a dread disturbance of the laws of nature, she had lost her way and

were frightened. There had been a wind all day: and it was rising

then, with an extraordinary great sound. In another hour it had much

increased, and the sky was more overcast, and it blew hard.



But, as the night advanced, the clouds closing in and densely

overspreading the whole sky, then very dark, it came on to blow,

harder and harder. It still increased, until our horses could scarcely

face the wind. Many times, in the dark part of the night (it was then

late in September, when the nights were not short), the leaders turned

about, or came to a dead stop; and we were often in serious

apprehension that the coach would be blown over. Sweeping gusts of

rain came up before this storm like showers of steel; and at those

times, when there was any shelter of trees or lee walls to be got, we

were fain to stop, in a sheer impossibility of continuing the

struggle.



When the day broke, it blew harder and harder. I had been in Yarmouth

when the seamen said it blew great guns, but I had never known the

like of this, or anything approaching to it. We came to Ipswich--very

late, having had to fight every inch of ground since we were ten miles

out of London; and found a cluster of people in the market-place, who

had risen from their beds in the night, fearful of falling chimneys.

Some of these, congregating about the inn-yard while we changed

horses, told us of great sheets of lead having been ripped off a high

church-tower, and flung into a by-street, which they then blocked up.

Others had to tell of country people, coming in from neighboring

villages, who had seen great trees lying torn out of the earth, and

whole ricks scattered about the roads and fields. Still, there was no

abatement in the storm, but it blew harder.



As we struggled on, nearer and nearer to the sea, from which this

mighty wind was blowing dead on shore, its force became more and more

terrific. Long before we saw the sea, its spray was on our lips, and

showered salt rain upon us. The water was out, over miles and miles of

the flat country adjacent to Yarmouth; and every sheet and puddle

lashed its banks, and had its stress of little breakers setting

heavily towards us. When we came within sight of the sea, the waves on

the horizon, caught at intervals above the rolling abyss, were like

glimpses of another shore with towers and buildings. When at last we

got into the town, the people came out to the doors, all aslant, and

with streaming hair, making a wonder of the mail that had come through

such a night.



I put up at the old inn, and went down to look at the sea; staggering

along the street, which was strewn with sand and sea-weed, and with

flying blotches of sea-foam; afraid of falling slates and tiles; and

holding by people I met at angry corners. Coming near the beach, I

saw, not only the boatmen, but half the people of the town, lurking

behind buildings; some, now and then braving the fury of the storm to

look away to sea, and blown sheer out of their course in trying to get

zigzag back.



Joining these groups, I found bewailing women whose husbands were away

in herring or oyster boats, which there was too much reason to think

might have foundered before they could run in anywhere for safety.

Grizzled old sailors were among the people, shaking their heads as

they looked from water to sky, and muttering to one another;

shipowners, excited and uneasy; children huddling together, and

peering into older faces; even stout mariners, disturbed and anxious,

levelling their glasses at the sea from behind places of shelter, as

if they were surveying an enemy.



The tremendous sea itself, when I could find sufficient pause to look

at it, in the agitation of the blinding wind, the flying stones and

sand, and the awful noise, confounded me. As the high watery walls

came rolling in, and, at their highest tumbled into surf, they looked

as if the least would ingulf the town. As the receding wave swept back

with a hoarse roar, it seemed to scoop out deep caves in the beach, as

if its purpose were to undermine the earth. When some white-headed

billows thundered on, and dashed themselves to pieces before they

reached the land, every fragment of the late whole seemed possessed by

the full might of its wrath, rushing to be gathered to the composition

of another monster. Undulating hills were changed to valleys,

undulating valleys (with a solitary storm-bird sometimes skimming

through them) were lifted up to hills; masses of water shivered and

shook the beach with a booming sound; every shape tumultuously rolled

on, as soon as made, to change its shape and place, and beat another

shape and place away; the ideal shore on the horizon, with its towers

and buildings, rose and fell; the clouds flew fast and thick; I seemed

to see a rending and upheaving of all nature.



Not finding Ham among the people whom this memorable wind--for it is

still remembered down there as the greatest ever known to blow upon

that coast--had brought together, I made my way to his house. It was

shut; and as no one answered to my knocking, I went by back ways and

by-lanes, to the yard where he worked. I learned, there, that he had

gone to Lowestoft, to meet some sudden exigency of ship-repairing in

which his skill was required; but that he would be back to-morrow

morning, in good time.



I went back to the inn; and when I had washed and dressed, tried to

sleep, but in vain, it was five o'clock in the afternoon. I had not

sat five minutes by the coffee-room fire, when the waiter coming to

stir it, as an excuse for talking, told me that two colliers had gone

down, with all hands, a few miles away; and that some other ships had

been seen laboring hard in the Roads, and trying in great distress, to

keep off shore. Mercy on them, and on all poor sailors, said he, if we

had another night like the last!



I was very much depressed in spirits; very solitary; and felt an

uneasiness in Ham's not being there, disproportionate to the occasion.

I was seriously affected, without knowing how much, by late events;

and my long exposure to the fierce wind had confused me. There was

that jumble in my thoughts and recollections, that I had lost the

clear arrangement of time and distance. Thus, if I had gone out into

the town, I should not have been surprised, I think, to encounter some

one who I knew must be then in London. So to speak, there was in these

respects a curious inattention in my mind. Yet it was busy, too, with

all the remembrances the place naturally awakened; and they were

particularly distinct and vivid.



In this state, the waiter's dismal intelligence about the ships

immediately connected itself, without any effort of my volition, with

my uneasiness about Ham. I was persuaded that I had an apprehension of

his returning from Lowestoft by sea, and being lost. This grew so

strong with me, that I resolved to go back to the yard before I took

my dinner, and ask the boat-builder if he thought his attempting to

return by sea at all likely? If he gave me the least reason to think

so, I would go over to Lowestoft and prevent it by bringing him with

me.



I hastily ordered my dinner, and went back to the yard. I was none too

soon; for the boat-builder, with a lantern in his hand, was locking

the yard-gate. He quite laughed, when I asked him the question, and

said there was no fear; no man in his senses, or out of them, would

put off in such a gale of wind, least of all Ham Peggotty, who had

been born to seafaring.



So sensible of this, beforehand, that I had really felt ashamed of

doing what I was nevertheless impelled to do, I went back to the inn.

If such a wind could rise, I think it was rising. The howl and roar,

the rattling of the doors and windows, the rumbling in the chimneys,

the apparent rocking of the very house that sheltered me, and the

prodigious tumult of the sea, were more fearful than in the morning.

But there was now a great darkness besides; and that invested the

storm with new terrors, real and fanciful.



I could not eat, I could not sit still, I could not continue steadfast

to anything. Something within me, faintly answering to the storm

without, tossed up the depths of my memory, and made a tumult in them.

Yet, in all the hurry of my thoughts, wild running with the thundering

sea,--the storm and my uneasiness regarding Ham, were always in the

foreground.



My dinner went away almost untasted, and I tried to refresh myself

with a glass or two of wine. In vain. I fell into a dull slumber

before the fire, without losing my consciousness, either of the uproar

out of doors, or of the place in which I was. Both became overshadowed

by a new and indefinable horror; and when I awoke--or rather when I

shook off the lethargy that bound me in my chair--my whole frame

thrilled with objectless and unintelligent fear.



I walked to and fro, tried to read an old gazetteer, listened to the

awful noises: looked at faces, scenes, and figures in the fire. At

length, the steady ticking of the undisturbed clock on the wall,

tormented me to that degree that I resolved to go to bed.



It was reassuring, on such a night, to be told that some of the

inn-servants had agreed together to sit up until morning. I went to

bed, exceedingly weary and heavy; but, on my lying down, all such

sensations vanished, as if by magic, and I was broad awake, with every

sense refined.



For hours I lay there, listening to the wind and water; imagining,

now, that I heard shrieks out at sea; now, that I distinctly heard the

firing of signal guns; and now, the fall of houses in the town. I got

up, several times, and looked out; but could see nothing, except the

reflection in the window-panes of the faint candle I had left burning,

and of my own haggard face looking in at me from the black void.



At length, my restlessness attained to such a pitch, that I hurried on

my clothes, and went down stairs. In the large kitchen, where I dimly

saw bacon and ropes of onions hanging from the beams, the watchers

were clustered together, in various attitudes, about a table,

purposely moved away from the great chimney, and brought near the

door. A pretty girl, who had her ears stopped with her apron, and her

eyes upon the door, screamed when I appeared, supposing me to be a

spirit; but the others had more presence of mind, and were glad of an

addition to their company. One man, referring to the topic they had

been discussing, asked me whether I thought the souls of the

collier-crews who had gone down, were out in the storm?



I remained there, I dare say, two hours. Once, I opened the yard-gate,

and looked into the empty street. The sand, the sea-weed, and the

flakes of foam, were driving by, and I was obliged to call for

assistance before I could shut the gate again, and make it fast

against the wind.



There was a dark gloom in my solitary chamber, when I at length

returned to it; but I was tired now, and, getting into bed again,

fell--off a tower and down a precipice--into the depths of sleep. I have

an impression that, for a long time, though I dreamed of being

elsewhere and in a variety of scenes, it was always blowing in my

dream. At length, I lost that feeble hold upon reality, and was

engaged with two dear friends, but who they were I don't know, at the

siege of some town in a roar of cannonading.



The thunder of the cannon was so loud and incessant, that I could not

hear something I much desired to hear, until I made a great exertion

and awoke. It was broad day--eight or nine o'clock; the storm raging,

in lieu of the batteries; and some one knocking and calling at my

door.



"What is the matter?" I cried.



"A wreck! Close by!"



I sprung out of bed, and asked what wreck?



"A schooner, from Spain or Portugal, laden with fruit and wine. Make

haste, sir, if you want to see her! It's thought down on the beach,

she'll go to pieces every moment."



The excited voice went clamoring along the staircase; and I wrapped

myself in my clothes as quickly as I could, and ran into the street.



Numbers of people were there before me, all running in one direction,

to the beach. I ran the same way, outstripping a good many, and soon

came facing the wild sea.



The wind might by this time have lulled a little, though not more

sensibly than if the cannonading I had dreamed of, had been diminished

by the silencing of half-a-dozen guns out of hundreds. But, the sea,

having upon it the additional agitation of the whole night, was

infinitely more terrific than when I had seen it last. Every

appearance it had then presented, bore the expression of being

swelled; and the height to which the breakers rose, and, looking

over one another, bore one another down, and rolled in, in

interminable hosts, was most appalling.



In the difficulty of hearing anything but winds and waves, and in the

crowd, and the unspeakable confusion, and my first breathless efforts

to stand against the weather, I was so confused that I looked out to

sea for the wreck, and saw nothing but the foaming heads of the great

waves. A half-dressed boatman, standing next me, pointed with his bare

arm (a tattoo'd arrow on it, pointing in the same direction) to the

left. Then, O great Heaven, I saw it, close in upon us!



One mast was broken short off, six or eight feet from the deck, and

lay over the side, entangled in a maze of sail and rigging; and all

that ruin, as the ship rolled and beat--which she did without a

moment's pause, and with a violence quite inconceivable--beat the side

as if it would stave it in. Some efforts were even then being made, to

cut this portion of the wreck away; for, as the ship, which was

broadside on, turned towards us in her rolling, I plainly descried her

people at work with axes, especially one active figure with long

curling hair, conspicuous among the rest. But, a great cry, which was

audible even above the wind and water, rose from the shore at this

moment; the sea, sweeping over the rolling wreck, made a clean breach,

and carried men, spars, casks, planks, bulwarks, heaps of such toys,

into the boiling surge.



The second mast was yet standing, with the rags of a rent sail, and a

wild confusion of broken cordage flapping to and fro. The ship had

struck once, the same boatman hoarsely said in my ear, and then lifted

in and struck again. I understood him to add that she was parting

amidships, and I could readily suppose so, for the rolling and beating

were too tremendous for any human work to suffer long. As he spoke,

there was another great cry of pity from the beach; four men arose

with the wreck out of the deep, clinging to the rigging of the

remaining mast; uppermost, the active figure with the curling hair.



There was a bell on board; and as the ship rolled and dashed, like a

desperate creature driven mad, now showing us the whole sweep of her

deck, as she turned on her beam-ends towards the shore, now nothing

but her keel, as she sprung wildly over and turned towards the sea,

the bell rang; and its sound, the knell of those unhappy men, was

borne towards us on the wind. Again we lost her, and again she rose.

Two men were gone. The agony on shore increased. Men groaned, and

clasped their hands; women shrieked, and turned away their faces. Some

ran wildly up and down along the beach, crying for help where no help

could be. I found myself one of these, frantically imploring a knot of

sailors whom I knew, not to let those two lost creatures perish before

our eyes.



They were making out to me, in an agitated way--I don't know how, for

the little I could hear I was scarcely composed enough to

understand--that the life-boat had been bravely manned an hour ago, and

could do nothing; and that as no man would be so desperate as to

attempt to wade off with a rope, and establish a communication with

the shore, there was nothing left to try; when I noticed that some new

sensation moved the people on the beach, and saw them part, and Ham

came breaking through them to the front.



I ran to him--as well as I know, to repeat my appeal for help. But,

distracted though I was, by a sight so new to me and terrible, the

determination in his face, and his look, out to sea--exactly the same

look as I remembered in connection with the morning after Emily's

flight--awoke me to a knowledge of his danger. I held him back with

both arms; and implored the men with whom I had been speaking, not to

listen to him, not to do murder, not to let him stir from off that

sand!



Another cry arose on shore; and looking to the wreck, we saw the cruel

sail, with blow on blow, beat off the lower of the two men, and fly up

in triumph round the active figure left alone upon the mast.



Against such a sight, and against such determination as that of the

calmly desperate man who was already accustomed to lead half the

people present, I might as hopefully have entreated the wind. "Mas'r

Davy," he said, cheerily grasping me by both hands, "if my time is

come, 'tis come. If 'tan't, I'll bide it. Lord above bless you, and

bless all! Mates, make me ready! I'm a going off!"



I was swept away, but not unkindly, to some distance, where the people

around me made me stay; urging, as I confusedly perceived, that he was

bent on going, with help or without, and that I should endanger the

precautions for his safety by troubling those with whom they rested. I

don't know what I answered, or what they rejoined; but, I saw hurry on

the beach, and men running with ropes from a capstan that was there,

and penetrating into a circle of figures that hid him from me. Then I

saw him standing alone, in a seaman's frock and trousers: a rope in

his hand, or slung to his wrist: another round his body: and several

of the best men holding, at a little distance, to the latter, which he

laid out himself, slack upon the shore, at his feet.



The wreck, even to my unpractised eye, was breaking up. I saw that she

was parting in the middle, and that the life of the solitary man upon

the mast hung by a thread. Still, he clung to it. He had a singular

red cap on,--not like a sailor's cap, but of a finer color; and as the

few yielding planks between him and destruction rolled and bulged, and

his anticipative death-knell rung, he was seen by all of us to wave

it. I saw him do it now, and thought I was going distracted, when his

action brought an old remembrance to my mind of a once dear friend.



Ham watched the sea, standing alone, with the silence of suspended

breath behind him, and the storm before, until there was a great

retiring wave, when, with a backward glance at those who held the rope

which was made fast round his body, he dashed in after it, and in a

moment was buffeting with the water; rising with the hills, falling

with the valleys, lost beneath the foam; then drawn again to land.

They hauled in hastily.



He was hurt. I saw blood on his face, from where I stood; but he took

no thought of that. He seemed hurriedly to give them some directions

for leaving him more free--or so I judged from the motion of his

arm--and was gone as before.



And now he made for the wreck, rising with the hills, falling with the

valleys, lost beneath the rugged foam, borne in towards the shore,

borne on towards the ship, striving hard and valiantly. The distance

was nothing, but the power of the sea and wind made the strife deadly.

At length he neared the wreck. He was so near, that with one more of

his vigorous strokes he would be clinging to it,--when, a high, green,

vast hillside of water, moving on shoreward, from beyond the ship, he

seemed to leap up into it with a mighty bound, and the ship was gone!



Some eddying fragments I saw in the sea, as if a mere cask had been

broken, in running to the spot where they were hauling in.

Consternation was in every face. They drew him to my very

feet--insensible--dead. He was carried to the nearest house; and, no one

preventing me now, I remained near him, busy, while every means of

restoration were tried; but he had been beaten to death by the great

wave, and his generous heart was stilled forever.





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