Never had I seen a year going out, or going on, under quieter circumstances. Eighteen
hundred and fifty-nine had but another day to live, and truly its end was Peace on that
sea-shore that morning.
So settled and orderly was everything seaward, in the bright light of the sun and under the
transparent shadows of the clouds, that it was hard to imagine the bay otherwise, for
years past or to come, than it was that very day. The Tug-steamer lying a little off the
shore, the Lighter lying still nearer to the shore, the boat alongside the Lighter, the
regularly-turning windlass aboard the Lighter, the methodical figures at work, all slowly
and regularly heaving up and down with the breathing of the sea, all seemed as much a
part of the nature of the place as the tide itself. The tide was on the flow, and had been for
some two hours and a half; there was a slight obstruction in the sea within a few yards of
my feet: as if the stump of a tree, with earth enough about it to keep it from lying
horizontally on the water, had slipped a little from the land - and as I stood upon the
beach and observed it dimpling the light swell that was coming in, I cast a stone over it.
So orderly, so quiet, so regular - the rising and falling of the Tug-steamer, the Lighter,
and the boat - the turning of the windlass - the coming in of the tide - that I myself
seemed, to my own thinking, anything but new to the spot. Yet, I had never seen it in my
life, a minute before, and had traversed two hundred miles to get at it. That very morning
I had come bowling down, and struggling up, hill-country roads; looking back at snowy
summits; meeting courteous peasants well to do, driving fat pigs and cattle to market:
noting the neat and thrifty dwellings, with their unusual quantity of clean white linen,
drying on the bushes; having windy weather suggested by every cotter's little rick, with
its thatch straw-ridged and extra straw-ridged into overlapping compartments like the
back of a rhinoceros. Had I not given a lift of fourteen miles to the Coast-guardsman (kit
and all), who was coming to his spell of duty there, and had we not just now parted
company? So it was; but the journey seemed to glide down into the placid sea, with other
chafe and trouble, and for the moment nothing was so calmly and monotonously real
under the sunlight as the gentle rising and falling of the water with its freight, the regular
turning of the windlass aboard the Lighter, and the slight obstruction so very near my
feet.
O reader, haply turning this page by the fireside at Home, and hearing the night wind
rumble in the chimney, that slight obstruction was the uppermost fragment of the Wreck
of the Royal Charter, Australian trader and passenger ship, Homeward bound, that struck
here on the terrible morning of the twenty-sixth of this October, broke into three parts,
went down with her treasure of at least five hundred human lives, and has never stirred
since!
From which point, or from which, she drove ashore, stern foremost; on which side, or on
which, she passed the little Island in the bay, for ages henceforth to be aground certain
