Short stories; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
Produced by David Widger
TO WHOM THIS MAY COME
By Edward Bellamy
1898
It is now about a year since I took passage at Calcutta in the ship
Adelaide for New York. We had baffling weather till New Amsterdam Island
was sighted, where we took a new point of departure. Three days later,
a terrible gale struck us Four days we flew before it, whither, no one
knew, for neither sun, moon, nor stars were at any time visible, and we
could take no observation. Toward midnight of the fourth day, the glare
of lightning revealed the Adelaide in a hopeless position, close in upon
a low-lying shore, and driving straight toward it. All around and astern
far out to sea was such a maze of rocks and shoals that it was a miracle
we had come so far. Presently the ship struck, and almost instantly went
to pieces, so great was the violence of the sea. I gave myself up for
lost, and was indeed already past the worst of drowning, when I was
recalled to consciousness by being thrown with a tremendous shock upon
the beach. I had just strength enough to drag myself above the reach of
the waves, and then I fell down and knew no more.
When I awoke, the storm was over. The sun, already halfway up the sky,
had dried my clothing, and renewed the vigor of my bruised and aching
limbs. On sea or shore I saw no vestige of my ship or my companions, of
whom I appeared the sole survivor. I was not, however, alone. A group
of persons, apparently the inhabitants of the country, stood near,
observing me with looks of friendliness which at once freed me from
apprehension as to my treatment at their hands. They were a white and
handsome people, evidently of a high order of civilization, though I
recognized in them the traits of no race with which I was familiar.
Seeing that it was evidently their idea of etiquette to leave it to
strangers to open conversation, I addressed them in English, but failed
to elicit any response beyond deprecating smiles. I then accosted
them successively in the French, German, Italian, Spanish, Dutch, and
Portuguese tongues, but with no better results. I began to be very much
puzzled as to what could possibly be the nationality of a white and
evidently civilized race to which no one of the tongues of the great
seafaring nations was intelligible. The oddest thing of all was the
unbroken silence with which they contemplated my efforts to open
communication with them. It was as if they were agreed not to give me
a clue to their language by even a whisper; for while they regarded one
another with looks of smiling intelligence, they did not once open their
lips. But if this behavior suggested that they were amusing themselves
at my expense, that presumption was negatived by the unmistakable
friendliness and sympathy which their whole bearing expressed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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