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Life of John Sterling-Part13_Thomas Carlyle(1795-1881)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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"In the course of a few days I had the other room, _g_, which is under

the same roof as the one saved, rebuilt; and Susan stayed in this



temporary abode for a week,--when we left Colonarie, and came to

Brighton. Mr. Munro's kindness exceeds all precedent. We shall



certainly remain here till my Wife is recovered from her confinement.

In the mean while we shall have a new house built, in which we hope to



be well settled before Christmas.

"The roof was half blown off the kitchen, but I have had it mended



already; the other offices were all swept away. The gig is much

injured; and my horse received a wound in the fall of the stable, from



which he will not be recovered for some weeks: in the mean time I

have no choice but to buy another, as I must go at least once or twice



a week to Colonarie, besides business in Town. As to our own

comforts, we can scarcely expect ever to recover from the blow that



has now stricken us. No money would repay me for the loss of my

books, of which a large proportion had been in my hands for so many



years that they were like old and faithful friends, and of which many

had been given me at different times by the persons in the world whom



I most value.

"But against all this I have to set the preservation of our lives, in



a way the most awfully providential; and the safety of every one on

the Estate. And I have also the great satisfaction of reflecting that



all the Negroes from whom any assistance could reasonably be expected,

behaved like so many Heroes of Antiquity; risking their lives and



limbs for us and our property, while their own poor houses were flying

like chaff before the hurricane. There are few White people here who



can say as much for their Black dependents; and the force and value of

the relation between Master and Slave has been tried by the late



calamity on a large scale.

"Great part of both sides of this Island has been laid completely



waste. The beautiful wide and fertile Plain called the Charib

Country, extending for many miles to the north of Colonarie, and



formerly containing the finest sets of works and best dwelling-houses

in the Island, is, I am told, completely desolate: on several estates



not a roof even of a Negro hut standing. In the embarrassed

circumstances of many of the proprietors, the ruin is, I fear,



irreparable.--At Colonarie the damage is serious, but by no means

desperate. The crop is perhaps injured ten or fifteen per cent. The



roofs of several large buildings are destroyed, but these we are

already supplying; and the injuries done to the cottages of the



Negroes are, by this time, nearly if not quite remedied.

"Indeed, all that has been suffered in St. Vincent appears nothing



when compared with the appalling loss of property and of human lives

at Barbadoes. There the Town is little but a heap of ruins, and the



corpses are reckoned by thousands; while throughout the Island there

are not, I believe, ten estates on which the buildings are standing.



The Elliotts, from whom we have heard, are living with all their

family in a tent; and may think themselves wonderfully saved, when



whole families round them were crushed at once beneath their houses.

Hugh Barton, the only officer of the Garrison hurt, has broken his



arm, and we know nothing of his prospects of recovery. The more

horrible misfortune of Barbadoes is partly to be accounted for by the



fact of the hurricane having begun there during the night. The

flatness of the surface in that Island presented no obstacle to the



wind, which must, however, I think have been in itself more furious

than with us. No other island has suffered considerably.



"I have told both my Uncle and Anthony that I have given you the

details of our recent history;--which are not so pleasant that I



should wish to write them again. Perhaps you will be good enough to

let them see this, as soon as you and my Father can spare it.... I am



ever, dearest Mother,

"Your grateful and affectionate



"JOHN STERLING."

This Letter, I observe, is dated 28th August, 1831; which is otherwise



a day of mark to the world and me,--the Poet Goethe's last birthday.

While Sterling sat in the Tropical solitudes, penning this history,



little European Weimar had its carriages and state-carriages busy on

the streets, and was astir with compliments and visiting-cards, doing



its best, as heretofore, on behalf of a remarkable day; and was not,

for centuries or tens of centuries, to see the like of it again!--



At Brighton, the hospitable home of those Munros, our friends

continued for above two months. Their first child, Edward, as above



noticed, was born here, "14th October, 1831;"--and now the poor lady,

safe from all her various perils, could return to Colonarie under good






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