by Robert Reed
way or that, in spite of their angry buffetings . Adrian also could
swim—but the weakness of his frame prevented him from feeling
pleasure in the exercise, or acquiring any great expertness . But what
power could the strongest swimmer oppose to the overpowering
violence of ocean in its fury? My efforts to prepare my companions
were rendered nearly futile —for the roaring breakers prevented our
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1241
hearing one another speak, and the waves, that broke continually
over our boat, obliged me to exert all my strength in lading the water
out, as fast as it came in . The while darkness, palpable and rayless,
hemmed us round, dissipated only by the lightning; sometimes we
beheld thunderbolts, fiery red, fall into the sea, and at intervals vast
spouts stooped from the clouds, churning the wild ocean, which rose
to meet them; while the fierce gale bore the rack onwards, and they
were lost in the chaotic mingling of sky and sea . Our gunwales had
been torn away, our single sail had been rent to ribbands, and borne
down the stream of the wind . We had cut away our mast, and light-
ened the boat of all she contained—Clara attempted to assist me
in heaving the water from the hold, and, as she turned her eyes to
look on the lightning, I could discern by that momentary gleam, that
resignation had conquered every fear . We have a power given us in
any worst extremity, which props the else feeble mind of man, and
enables us to endure the most savage tortures with a stillness of soul
which in hours of happiness we could not have imagined . A calm,
more dreadful in truth than the tempest, allayed the wild beatings
of my heart—a calm like that of the gamester, the suicide, and the
murderer, when the last die is on the point of being cast—while the
poisoned cup is at the lips,—as the death-blow is about to be given .
Hours passed thus—hours which might write old age on the face
of beardless youth, and grizzle the silky hair of infancy—-hours,
while the chaotic uproar continued, while each dread gust tran-
scended in fury the one before, and our skiff hung on the breaking
wave, and then rushed into the valley below, and trembled and spun
between the watery precipices that seemed most to meet above her .
For a moment the gale paused, and ocean sank to comparative si-
lence—it was a breathless interval; the wind which, as a practised
leaper, had gathered itself up before it sprung, now with terrific
roar rushed over the sea, and the waves struck our stern . Adrian
exclaimed that the rudder was gone;—“We are lost,” cried Clara,
“Save yourselves—O save yourselves!” The lightning shewed me
the poor girl half buried in the water at the bottom of the boat; as
she was sinking in it Adrian caught her up, and sustained her in his
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1242
arms . We were without a rudder—we rushed prow foremost into the
vast billows piled up a-head— they broke over and filled the tiny
skiff; one scream I heard—one cry that we were gone, I uttered; I
found myself in the waters; darkness was around . When the light
of the tempest flashed, I saw the keel of our upset boat close to
me—I clung to this, grasping it with clenched hand and nails, while
I endeavoured during each flash to discover any appearance of my
companions . I thought I saw Adrian at no great distance from me,
clinging to an oar; I sprung from my hold, and with energy beyond
my human strength, I dashed aside the waters as I strove to lay hold
of him . As that hope failed, instinctive love of life animated me, and
feelings of contention, as if a hostile will combated with mine . I
breasted the surges, and flung them from me, as I would the oppos-
ing front and sharpened claws of a lion about to enfang my bosom .
When I had been beaten down by one wave, I rose on another, while
I felt bitter pride curl my lip .
Ever since the storm had carried us near the shore, we had never
attained any great distance from it. With every flash I saw the bor-
dering coast; yet the progress I made was small, while each wave, as
it receded, carried me back into ocean’s far abysses . At one moment
I felt my foot touch the sand, and then again I was in deep water;
my arms began to lose their power of motion; my breath failed me
under the influence of the strangling waters— a thousand wild and
delirious thoughts crossed me: as well as I can now recall them, my
chief feeling was, how sweet it would be to lay my head on the quiet
earth, where the surges would no longer strike my weakened frame,
nor the sound of waters ring in my ears—to attain this repose, not
to save my life, I made a last effort—the shelving shore suddenly
presented a footing for me . I rose, and was again thrown down by
the breakers—a point of rock to which I was enabled to cling, gave
me a moment’s respite; and then, taking advantage of the ebbing of
the waves, I ran forwards— gained the dry sands, and fell senseless
on the oozy reeds that sprinkled them .
I must have lain long deprived of life; for when first, with a sick-
ening feeling, I unclosed my eyes, the light of morning met them .
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1243
Great change had taken place meanwhile: grey dawn dappled the
flying clouds, which sped onwards, leaving visible at intervals vast
lakes of pure ether . A fountain of light arose in an encreasing stream
from the east, behind the waves of the Adriatic, changing the grey to
a roseate hue, and then flooding sky and sea with aerial gold.
A kind of stupor followed my fainting; my senses were alive, but
memory was extinct . The blessed respite was short—a snake lurked
near me to sting me into life—on the first retrospective emotion I
would have started up, but my limbs refused to obey me; my knees
trembled, the muscles had lost all power . I still believed that I might
find one of my beloved companions cast like me, half alive, on the
beach; and I strove in every way to restore my frame to the use of its
animal functions . I wrung the brine from my hair; and the rays of the
risen sun soon visited me with genial warmth . With the restoration
of my bodily powers, my mind became in some degree aware of the
universe of misery, henceforth to be its dwelling . I ran to the water’s
edge, calling on the beloved names . Ocean drank in, and absorbed
my feeble voice, replying with pitiless roar . I climbed a near tree:
the level sands bounded by a pine forest, and the sea clipped round
by the horizon, was all that I could discern . In vain I extended my
researches along the beach; the mast we had thrown overboard, with
tangled cordage, and remnants of a sail, was the sole relic land re-
ceived of our wreck . Sometimes I stood still, and wrung my hands .
I accused earth and sky —the universal machine and the Almighty
power that misdirected it . Again I threw myself on the sands, and
then the sighing wind, mimicking a human cry, roused me to bitter,
fallacious hope . Assured
ly if any little bark or smallest canoe had
been near, I should have sought the savage plains of ocean, found
the dear remains of my lost ones, and clinging round them, have
shared their grave .
The day passed thus; each moment contained eternity; although
when hour after hour had gone by, I wondered at the quick flight of
time . Yet even now I had not drunk the bitter potion to the dregs;
I was not yet persuaded of my loss; I did not yet feel in every
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1244
pulsation, in every nerve, in every thought, that I remained alone of
my race,—that I was the LAST MAN .
The day had clouded over, and a drizzling rain set in at sunset .
Even the eternal skies weep, I thought; is there any shame then, that
mortal man should spend himself in tears? I remembered the ancient
fables, in which human beings are described as dissolving away
through weeping into ever-gushing fountains . Ah! that so it were;
and then my destiny would be in some sort akin to the watery death
of Adrian and Clara . Oh! grief is fantastic; it weaves a web on which
to trace the history of its woe from every form and change around; it
incorporates itself with all living nature; it finds sustenance in every
object; as light, it fills all things, and, like light, it gives its own
colours to all .
I had wandered in my search to some distance from the spot
on which I had been cast, and came to one of those watch-towers,
which at stated distances line the Italian shore . I was glad of shel-
ter, glad to find a work of human hands, after I had gazed so long
on nature’s drear barrenness; so I entered, and ascended the rough
winding staircase into the guard-room . So far was fate kind, that no
harrowing vestige remained of its former inhabitants; a few planks
laid across two iron tressels, and strewed with the dried leaves of
Indian corn, was the bed presented to me; and an open chest, con-
taining some half mouldered biscuit, awakened an appetite, which
perhaps existed before, but of which, until now, I was not aware .
Thirst also, violent and parching, the result of the sea-water I had
drank, and of the exhaustion of my frame, tormented me . Kind na-
ture had gifted the supply of these wants with pleasurable sensa-
tions, so that I—even I!—was refreshed and calmed, as I ate of this
sorry fare, and drank a little of the sour wine which half filled a flask
left in this abandoned dwelling . Then I stretched myself on the bed,
not to be disdained by the victim of shipwreck . The earthy smell
of the dried leaves was balm to my sense after the hateful odour of
seaweed . I forgot my state of loneliness . I neither looked backward
nor forward; my senses were hushed to repose; I fell asleep and
dreamed of all dear inland scenes, of hay-makers, of the shepherd’s
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1245
whistle to his dog, when he demanded his help to drive the flock to
fold; of sights and sounds peculiar to my boyhood’s mountain life,
which I had long forgotten .
I awoke in a painful agony—for I fancied that ocean, breaking
its bounds, carried away the fixed continent and deep rooted moun-
tains, together with the streams I loved, the woods, and the flocks—
it raged around, with that continued and dreadful roar which had
accompanied the last wreck of surviving humanity . As my waking
sense returned, the bare walls of the guard room closed round me,
and the rain pattered against the single window . How dreadful it is, to
emerge from the oblivion of slumber, and to receive as a good mor-
row the mute wailing of one’s own hapless heart —to return from
the land of deceptive dreams, to the heavy knowledge of unchanged
disaster!—Thus was it with me, now, and for ever! The sting of
other griefs might be blunted by time; and even mine yielded some-
times during the day, to the pleasure inspired by the imagination or
the senses; but I never look first upon the morning-light but with my
fingers pressed tight on my bursting heart, and my soul deluged with
the interminable flood of hopeless misery. Now I awoke for the first
time in the dead world—I awoke alone—and the dull dirge of the
sea, heard even amidst the rain, recalled me to the reflection of the
wretch I had become . The sound came like a reproach, a scoff—like
the sting of remorse in the soul—I gasped—the veins and muscles
of my throat swelled, suffocating me. I put my fingers to my ears, I
buried my head in the leaves of my couch, I would have dived to the
centre to lose hearing of that hideous moan .
But another task must be mine—again I visited the detested
beach— again I vainly looked far and wide—again I raised my un-
answered cry, lifting up the only voice that could ever again force
the mute air to syllable the human thought .
What a pitiable, forlorn, disconsolate being I was! My very as-
pect and garb told the tale of my despair . My hair was matted and
wild—my limbs soiled with salt ooze; while at sea, I had thrown off
those of my garments that encumbered me, and the rain drenched
the thin summer-clothing I had retained—my feet were bare, and
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1246
the stunted reeds and broken shells made them bleed—the while,
I hurried to and fro, now looking earnestly on some distant rock
which, islanded in the sands, bore for a moment a deceptive appear-
ance—now with flashing eyes reproaching the murderous ocean for
its unutterable cruelty .
For a moment I compared myself to that monarch of the waste—
Robinson Crusoe . We had been both thrown companionless—he on
the shore of a desolate island: I on that of a desolate world . I was
rich in the so called goods of life . If I turned my steps from the
near barren scene, and entered any of the earth’s million cities, I
should find their wealth stored up for my accommodation—clothes,
food, books, and a choice of dwelling beyond the command of the
princes of former times—every climate was subject to my selection,
while he was obliged to toil in the acquirement of every necessary,
and was the inhabitant of a tropical island, against whose heats and
storms he could obtain small shelter .—Viewing the question thus,
who would not have preferred the Sybarite enjoyments I could com-
mand, the philosophic leisure, and ample intellectual resources, to
his life of labour and peril? Yet he was far happier than I: for he
could hope, nor hope in vain—the destined vessel at last arrived, to
bear him to countrymen and kindred, where the events of his soli-
tude became a fire-side tale. To none could I ever relate the story of
my adversity; no hope had I . He knew that, beyond the ocean which
begirt his lonely island, thousands lived whom the sun enlightened
when it shone also on him: beneath the meridian sun and visiting
moon, I alone bore human features; I alone could give articulation
to thought; and, when I slept, both day and night were unbeheld of
any. He had fled from his fellows
, and was transported with terror at
the print of a human foot . I would have knelt down and worshipped
the same . The wild and cruel Caribbee, the merciless Cannibal—or
worse than these, the uncouth, brute, and remorseless veteran in the
vices of civilization, would have been to me a beloved companion,
a treasure dearly prized—his nature would be kin to mine; his form
cast in the same mould; human blood would flow in his veins; a hu-
man sympathy must link us for ever . It cannot be that I shall never
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1247
behold a fellow being more!—never! —never!—not in the course
of years!—Shall I wake, and speak to none, pass the interminable
hours, my soul, islanded in the world, a solitary point, surrounded
by vacuum? Will day follow day endlessly thus? —No! no! a God
rules the world—providence has not exchanged its golden sceptre
for an aspic’s sting. Away! let me fly from the ocean-grave, let me
depart from this barren nook, paled in, as it is, from access by its
own desolateness; let me tread once again the paved towns; step
over the threshold of man’s dwellings, and most certainly I shall find
this thought a horrible vision—a maddening, but evanescent dream .
I entered Ravenna, (the town nearest to the spot whereon I had
been cast), before the second sun had set on the empty world; I saw
many living creatures; oxen, and horses, and dogs, but there was no
man among them; I entered a cottage, it was vacant; I ascended the
marble stairs of a palace, the bats and the owls were nestled in the
tapestry; I stepped softly, not to awaken the sleeping town: I rebuked
a dog, that by yelping disturbed the sacred stillness; I would not
believe that all was as it seemed—The world was not dead, but I
was mad; I was deprived of sight, hearing, and sense of touch; I was
labouring under the force of a spell, which permitted me to behold
all sights of earth, except its human inhabitants; they were pursuing
their ordinary labours . Every house had its inmate; but I could not
perceive them . If I could have deluded myself into a belief of this
kind, I should have been far more satisfied. But my brain, tenacious
of its reason, refused to lend itself to such imaginations—and though
I endeavoured to play the antic to myself, I knew that I, the offspring