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Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tom Allen, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.

THE LITTLE SAVAGE

BY

CAPTAIN MARRYAT

THIS IS FAIRY GOLD, BOY; AND 'T WILL PROVE SO.

SHAKESPEARE

INTRODUCTION

There is a reference, in _The Life and Letters of Captain
Marryat_ by his daughter Florence Marryat, to "_The Little
Savage_, only two chapters of the second volume of which were
written by himself."

This sentence may be variously interpreted, but most probably
implies that Marryat wrote all Part I (of the first edition) and two
chapters of Part II, that is--as far as the end of Chapter xxiv. The
remaining pages may be the work of his son Frank S. Marryat, who
_edited_ the first edition, supplying a brief preface to Part II:--

"I cannot publish this last work of my late father without some
prefatory remarks, as, in justice to the public, as well as to
himself, I should state, that his lamented decease prevented his
concluding the second volume."

"The present volume has been for some time at press, but the
long-protracted illness of the author delayed its publication."

_The Little Savage_ opens well. The picture of a lad, who was
born on a desert island--though of English parents--and really
deserves to be called a savage, growing up with no other
companionship than that of his father's murderer, is boldly conceived
and executed with some power. The man Jackson is a thoroughly human
ruffian, who naturally detests the boy he has so terribly injured,
and bullies him brutally. Under this treatment Frank's animal
passions are inevitably aroused, and when the lightning had struck
his tyrant blind, he turns upon him with a quiet savagery that is
narrated with admirable detachment.

This original situation arrests the reader's attention and secures
his interest in Frank Henniker's development towards civilisation and
virtue. His experience of absolute solitude after Jackson's death
serves to bring out his sympathies with animals and flowers; while,
on the arrival of Mrs Reichardt, he proves himself a loyal comrade
under kind treatment.

It is much to be regretted that Marryat did not live to finish his
work.

R. B. J.

_The Little Savage_ originally appeared in 1848-49. Marryat,
who was born in 1792, died at Langham, Norfolk, August 9, 1848.

The following is the list of his published works:--

Suggestions for the Abolition of the Present System of Impressment
in the Naval Service, 1822; The Naval Officer, or Scenes and
Adventures in the Life of Frank Mildmay, 1829; The King's Own, 1830;
Newton Forster (from the _Metropolitan Magazine_), 1832; Jacob
Faithful (from the _Metropolitan Magazine_), 1834; Peter Simple,
1834; The Pacha of Many Tales, 1835; Midshipman Easy (from the
_Metropolitan Magazine_), 1836; Japhet in Search of a Father
(from the _Metropolitan Magazine_), 1836; The Pirate and The
Three Cutters, 1836; A Code of Signals for the Use of Vessels
employed in the Merchant Service, 1837; Snarleyyow, or The Dog Fiend,
1837; A Diary in America, with Remarks on its Institutions, 1839; The
Phantom Ship, 1839; Poor Jack, 1840; Olla Podrida (articles from the
_Metropolitan Magazine_), 1840; Joseph Rushbrook, or The Poacher,
1841; Masterman Ready, or The Wreck of the _Pacific_, 1841; Percival
Keene, 1842; Narrative of the Travels and Adventures of Monsieur Violet
in California, Sonora, and Western Texas, 1843; The Settlers in Canada,
1844; The Mission, or Scenes in Africa, 1845; The Privateer's Man, 1846;
The Children of the New Forest, 1847; The Little Savage (posthumous),
1848-49; Valerie (posthumous), 1849; Life and Letters, Florence Marryat,
1872.

THE LITTLE SAVAGE

Chapter I

I am about to write a very curious history, as the reader will agree
with me when he has read this book. We have more than one narrative
of people being cast away upon desolate islands, and being left to
their own resources, and no works are perhaps read with more
interest; but I believe I am the first instance of a boy being left
alone upon an uninhabited island. Such was, however, the case; and
now I shall tell my own story.

My first recollections are, that I was in company with a man upon
this island, and that we walked often along the sea-shore. It was
rocky and difficult to climb in many parts, and the man used to drag
or pull me over the dangerous places. He was very unkind to me, which
may appear strange, as I was the only companion that he had; but he
was of a morose and gloomy disposition. He would sit down squatted in
the corner of our cabin, and sometimes not speak for hours--or he
would remain the whole day looking out at the sea, as if watching for
something, but what I never could tell; for if I spoke, he would not
reply; and if near to him, I was sure to receive a cuff or a heavy
blow. I should imagine that I was about five years old at the time
that I first recollect clearly what passed. I may have been younger.
I may as well here state what I gathered from him at different times,
relative to our being left upon this desolate spot. It was with
difficulty that I did so; for, generally speaking, he would throw a
stone at me if I asked questions, that is, if I repeatedly asked them
after he had refused to answer. It was on one occasion, when he was
lying sick, that I gained the information, and that only by refusing
to attend him or bring him food and water. He would be very angry,
and say, that when he got well again, he would make me smart for it;
but I cared not, for I was then getting strong, whilst he was getting
weaker every day, and I had no love for him, for he had never shown
any to me, but always treated me with great severity.

He told me, that about twelve years before (not that I knew what he
meant by a year, for I had never heard the term used by him), an
English ship (I did not know what a ship was) had been swamped near
the island, in a heavy gale, and that seven men and one woman had
been saved, and all the other people lost. That the ship had been
broken into pieces, and that they had saved nothing--that they had
picked up among the rocks pieces of the wood with which it had been
made, and had built the cabin in which we lived. That one had died
after another, and had been buried (what death or burial meant, I had
no idea at the time), and that I had been born on the island; (How
was I born? thought I)--that most of them had died before I was two
years old; and that then, he and my mother were the only two left
besides me. My mother had died a few months afterwards. I was obliged
to ask him many questions to understand all this; indeed, I did not
understand it till long afterwards, although I had an idea of what he
would say. Had I been left with any other person, I should, of
course, by conversation, have learnt much; but he never would
converse, still less explain. He called me, Boy, and I called him,
Master. His inveterate silence was the occasion of my language being
composed of very few words; for, except to order me to do this or
that, to procure what was required, he never would converse. He did
however mutter to himself, and talk in his sleep, and I used to lie
awake and listen, that I might gain information; not at first, but
when I grew older. He used to cry out in his sleep constantly.--"A
judgment, a judgment on me for my sins, my heavy sins--God be
merciful!" But what judgment, or what sin was, or what was God, I did
not then know, although I mused on words repeated so often.

I will now describe the island, and the way in which we lived. The
island was very small, perhaps not three miles round; it was of rock,
and there was no beach nor landing place, the sea washing its sides
with deep water. It was, as I afterwards discovered, one of the group
of islands to which the Peruvians despatch vessels every year to
collect the guano, or refuse of the sea birds which resort to the
islands; but the one on which we were was small, and detached some
distance from the others, on which the guano was found in great
profusion; so that hitherto it had been neglected, and no vessel had
ever come near it. Indeed, the other islands were not to be seen from
it except on a very clear day, when they appeared like a cloud or
mist on the horizon. The shores of the island were, moreover, so
precipitous, that there was no landing place, and the eternal wash of
the ocean would have made it almost impossible for a vessel to have
taken off a cargo. Such was the island upon which I found myself in
company with this man. Our cabin was built of ship-plank and timber,
under the shelter of a cliff, about fifty yards from the water; there
was a flat of about thirty yards square in front of it, and from the
cliff there trickled down a rill of water, which fell into a hole dug
out to collect it, and then found its way over the flat to the rocks
beneath. The cabin itself was large, and capable of holding many more
people than had ever lived in it; but it was not too large, as we had
to secure in it our provisions for many months. There were several
bed-places level with the floor, which were rendered soft enough to
lie on, by being filled with the feathers of birds. Furniture there
was none, except two or three old axes, blunted with long use, a tin
pannikin, a mess kid and some rude vessels to hold water, cut out of
wood. On the summit of the island there was a forest of underwood,
and the bushes extended some distance down the ravines which led from
the summit to the shore. One of my most arduous tasks was to climb
these ravines and collect wood, but fortunately a fire was not often
required. The climate was warm all the year round, and there seldom
was a fall of rain; when it did fall, it was generally expended on
the summit of the island, and did not reach us. At a certain period
of the year, the birds came to the island in numberless quantities to
breed, and their chief resort was some tolerably level ground--
indeed, in many places, it was quite level with the accumulation of
guano--which ground was divided from the spot where our cabin was
built by a deep ravine. On this spot, which might perhaps contain
about twenty acres or more, the sea birds would sit upon their eggs,
not four inches apart from each other, and the whole surface of this
twenty acres would be completely covered with them. There they would
remain from the time of the laying of the eggs, until the young ones
were able to leave the nests and fly away with them. At the season
when the birds were on the island, all was gaiety, bustle, and noise,
but after their departure it was quiet and solitude. I used to long
for their arrival, and was delighted with the animation which
gladdened the island, the male birds diving in every direction after
fish, wheeling and soaring in the air, and uttering loud cries, which
were responded to by their mates on the nests.

But it was also our harvest time; we seldom touched the old birds,
as they were not in flesh, but as soon as the young ones were within
a few days of leaving the nests, we were then busy enough. In spite
of the screaming and the flapping of their wings in our faces, and
the darting their beaks at our eyes, of the old birds, as we robbed
them of their progeny, we collected hundreds every day, and bore as
heavy a load as we could carry across the ravine to the platform in
front of our cabin, where we busied ourselves in skinning them,
splitting them, and hanging them out to dry in the sun. The air of
the island was so pure that no putrefaction ever took place, and
during the last fortnight of the birds coming on the island, we had
collected a sufficiency for our support until their return on the
following year. As soon as they were quite dry they were packed up in
a corner of the cabin for use.

These birds were, it may be said, the only produce of the island,
with the exception of fish, and the eggs taken at the time of their
first making their nests. Fish were to be taken in large quantities.
It was sufficient to put a line over the rocks, and it had hardly
time to go down a fathom before anything at the end of it was seized.
Indeed, our means of taking them were as simple as their voracity was
great. Our lines were composed of the sinews of the legs of the
man-of-war birds, as I afterwards heard them named; and, as these were
only about a foot long, it required a great many of them knotted
together to make a line. At the end of the line was a bait fixed over
a strong fish-bone, which was fastened to the line by the middle; a
half-hitch of the line round one end kept the bone on a parallel with
the line until the bait was seized, when the line being taughtened,
the half-hitch slipped off and the bone remained crossways in the
gullet of the fish, which was drawn up by it. Simple as this
contrivance was, it answered as well as the best hook, of which I had
never seen one at that time. The fish were so strong and large, that,
when I was young, the man would not allow me to attempt to catch
them, lest they should pull me into the water; but, as I grew bigger,
I could master them. Such was our food from one year's end to the
other; we had no variety, except when occasionally we broiled the
dried birds or the fish upon the embers, instead of eating them dried
by the sun. Our raiment, such as it was, we were also indebted to the
feathered tribe for. The birds were skinned with the feathers on, and
their skins sewn together with sinews, and a fish-bone by way of a
needle. These garments were not very durable, but the climate was so
fine that we did not suffer from the cold at any season of the year.
I used to make myself a new dress every year when the birds came; but
by the time that they returned, I had little left of my last year's
suit, the fragments of which might be found among the rocky and steep
parts of the ravine where we used to collect firing.

Living such a life, with so few wants, and those periodically and
easily supplied, hardly varied from one year's end to another, it may
easily be imagined that I had but few ideas. I might have had more,
if my companion had not been of such a taciturn and morose habit; as
it was, I looked at the wide ocean, and the sky, and the sun, moon,
and stars, wondering, puzzled, afraid to ask questions, and ending
all by sleeping away a large portion of my existence. We had no tools
except the old ones, which were useless--no employment of any kind.
There was a book, and I asked what it was for and what it was, but I
got no answer. It remained upon the shelf, for if I looked at it I
was ordered away, and at last I regarded it with a sort of fear, as
if it were a kind of incomprehensible animal. The day was passed in
idleness and almost silence; perhaps not a dozen sentences were
exchanged in the twenty-four hours. My companion always the same,
brooding over something which appeared ever to occupy his thoughts,
and angry if roused up from his reverie.

Chapter II

The reader must understand that the foregoing remarks are to be
considered as referring to my position and amount of knowledge when I
was seven or eight years old. My master, as I called him, was a short
square-built man, about sixty years of age, as I afterwards estimated
from recollection and comparison. His hair fell down his back in
thick clusters and was still of a dark color, and his beard was full
two feet long and very bushy; indeed, he was covered with hair,
wherever his person was exposed. He was, I should say, very powerful
had he had occasion to exert his strength, but with the exception of
the time at which we collected the birds, and occasionally going up
the ravine to bring down faggots of wood, he seldom moved out of the
cabin unless it was to bathe. There was a pool of salt water of about
twenty yards square, near the sea, but separated from it by a low
ridge of rocks, over which the waves only beat when the sea was rough
and the wind on that side of the island. Every morning almost we went
down to bathe in that pool, as it was secure from the sharks, which
were very numerous. I could swim like a fish as early as I can
recollect, but whether I was taught, or learnt myself, I cannot tell.
Thus was my life passed away; my duties were trifling; I had little
or nothing to employ myself about, for I had no means of employment.
I seldom heard the human voice, and became as taciturn as my
companion. My amusements were equally confined--looking down into the
depths of the ocean, as I lay over the rocky wall which girded the
major portion of the island, and watching the motions of the finny
tribes below, wondering at the stars during the night season, eating,
and sleeping. Thus did I pass away an existence without pleasure and
without pain. As for what my thoughts were I can hardly say, my
knowledge and my ideas were too confined for me to have any food for
thought. I was little better than a beast of the field, that lies
down on the pasture after he is filled. There was one great source of
interest however, which was, to listen to the sleeping talk of my
companion, and I always looked forward to the time when the night
fell and we repaired to our beds. I would lie awake for hours,
listening to his ejaculations and murmured speech, trying in vain to
find out some meaning in what he would say--but I gained little; he
talked of "that woman"--appearing to be constantly with other men,
and muttering about something he had hidden away. One night, when the
moon was shining bright, he sat up in his bed, which, as I have
before said, was on the floor of the cabin, and throwing aside the
feathers upon which he had been lying, scratched the mould away below
them and lifted up a piece of board. After a minute he replaced
everything, and lay down again. He evidently was sleeping during the
whole time. Here, at last, was something to feed my thoughts with. I
had heard him say in his sleep that he had hidden something--this
must be the hiding place. What was it? Perhaps I ought here to
observe that my feelings towards this man were those of positive
dislike, if not hatred; I never had received one kind word or deed
from him, that I could recollect. Harsh and unfeeling towards me,
evidently looking upon me with ill-will, and only suffering me
because I saved him some trouble, and perhaps because he wished to
have a living thing for his companion,--his feelings towards me were
reciprocated by mine towards him. What age I was at the time my
mother died, I know not, but I had some faint recollection of one who
treated me with kindness and caresses, and these recollections became
more forcible in my dreams, when I saw a figure very different from
that of my companion (a female figure) hanging over me or leading me
by the hand. How I used to try to continue those dreams, by closing
my eyes again after I had woke up! And yet I knew not that they had
been brought about by the dim recollection of my infancy; I knew not
that the figure that appeared to me was the shadow of my mother; but
I loved the dreams because I was treated kindly in them.

But a change took place by the hand of Providence. One day, after we
had just laid in our yearly provision of sea birds, I was busy
arranging the skins of the old birds, on the flat rock, for my annual
garment, which was joined together something like a sack, with holes
for the head and arms to pass through; when, as I looked to seaward,
I saw a large white object on the water.

"Look, master," said I, pointing towards it.

"A ship, a ship!" cried my companion.

"Oh," thought I, "that is a ship; I recollect that he said they came
here in a ship." I kept my eyes on her, and she rounded to.

"Is she alive?" inquired I.

"You're a fool," said the man; "come and help me to pile up this
wood that we may make a signal to her. Go and fetch some water and
throw on it, that there may be plenty of smoke. Thank God, I may
leave this cursed hole at last!"

I hardly understood him, but I went for the water and brought it in
the mess kid.

"I want more wood yet," said he. "Her head is this way, and she will
come nearer."

"Then she is alive," said I.

"Away, fool!" said he, giving me a cuff on the head; "get some more
water and throw on the wood."

He then went into the cabin to strike a light, which he obtained by
a piece of iron and flint, with some fine dry moss for tinder. While
he was so employed, my eyes were fixed on the vessel, wondering what
it could be. It moved through the water, turned this way and that.
"It must be alive," thought I; "is it a fish or a bird?" As I watched
the vessel, the sun was going down and there was not more than an
hour's daylight. The wind was very light and variable, which
accounted for the vessel so often altering her course. My companion
came out with his hands full of smoking tinder, and putting it under
the wood, was busy blowing it into a flame. The wood was soon set
fire to, and the smoke ascended several feet into the air.

"They'll see that," said he.

"What then, it has eyes? it must be alive. Does it mind the wind?"
inquired I, having no answer to my first remark, "for look there, the
little clouds are coming up fast," and I pointed to the horizon,
where some small clouds were rising up and which were, as I knew from
experience and constantly watching the sky, a sign of a short but
violent gale, or tornado, of which we usually had one, if not two, at
this season of the year.

"Yes; confound it," replied my companion, grinding his teeth, "it
will blow her off! That's my luck."

In the meantime, the smoke ascended in the air and the vessel
approached nearer and nearer, until she was within, I suppose, two
miles of the island, and then it fell quite calm. My companion threw
more water on to increase the smoke, and the vessel now hauling up
her courses, I perceived that there were people on board, and while I
was arranging my ideas as to what the vessel might be, my companion
cried out--"They see us, they see us! there's hope now. Confound it,
I've been here long enough. Hurrah for old England!" and he commenced
dancing and capering about like a madman. At last he said,

"Look out and see if she sends a boat, while I go into the cabin."

"What's a boat?" said I.

"Out, you fool! tell me if you see anything,"

"Yes, I do see something," replied I. "Look at the squall coming
along the water, it will be here very soon; and see how thick the
clouds are getting up: we shall have as much wind and rain as we had
the time before last, when the birds came."

"Confound it," replied he, "I wish they'd lower a boat, at all
events;" and so saying, he went into the cabin, and I perceived that
he was busy at his bed-place.

My eyes were still fixed upon the squall, as I watched it advancing
at a furious speed on the surface of the water; at first it was a
deep black line on the horizon, but as it approached the vessel, it
changed to white; the surface of the water was still smooth. The
clouds were not more than ten degrees above the horizon, although
they were thick and opaque--but at this season of the year, these
tornadoes, as I may call them, visited us; sometimes we had one,
sometimes more, and it was only when these gusts came on that we had
any rain below. On board of the vessel--I speak now from my after
knowledge--they did not appear to be aware of the danger; the sails
were all set and flapping against the masts. At last, I perceived a
small object close to the vessel; this I presumed was the boat which
my companion looked for. It was like a young vessel close to the old
one, but I said nothing; as I was watching and wondering what effect
the rising wind would have upon her, for the observations of my
companion had made me feel that it was important. After a time, I
perceived that the white sails were disappearing, and that the forms
of men were very busy, and moving on board, and the boat went back to
the side of the vessel. The fact is, they had not perceived the
squall until it was too late, for in another moment almost, I saw
that the vessel bowed down to the fury of the gale, and after that,
the mist was so great that I couldn't see her any more.

"Is she sending a boat, boy?" cried my companion.

"I can't see her," replied I; "for she is hidden by the wind."

As I said this, the tornado reached to where we stood, and threw me
off my legs to the entrance of the cabin; and with the wind came down
a torrent of rain, which drenched us, and the clouds covered the
whole of the firmament, which became dark; the lightning darted in
every direction, with peals of thunder which were deafening. I
crawled into the cabin, into which the rain beat in great fury and
flowed out again in a small river.

My companion sat near me, lowering and silent. For two hours the
tornado lasted without interruption; the sun had set, and the
darkness was opaque. It was impossible to move against the force of
the wind and the deluge of water which descended. Speak, we did not,
but shut our eyes against the lightning, and held our fingers to our
ears to deaden the noise of the thunder, which burst upon us in the
most awful manner. My companion groaned at intervals, whether from
fear, I know not; I had no fear, for I did not know the danger, or
that there was a God to judge the earth.

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