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obeyed; but the lieutenant in the launch, instead of pulling in to the assistance of his commander, rowed further off at the very moment that the services of himself and people were most required. Nor was this all the mischief that ensued; for, as it devolved upon the pinnace to receive the marines, she became so crowded, as to render the men incapable of using their firearms. The marines on shore, however, fired; but the moment their pieces were discharged, the islanders rushed en masse upon them, forced the party into the water, where four of them were killed, and the lieutenant wounded. At this critical period Captain Cook was left entirely alone upon a rock near the shore. He, however, hurried towards the pinnace, holding his left arm round the back of his head, to shield it from the stones, and carrying his musket under his right. An islander, armed with a club, was seen in a crouching posture cautiously following him, as if watching for an opportunity to spring forward upon his victim. This man was a relation of the king's, and remarkably agile and quick. At length, he jumped forward upon the captain, and struck him a heavy blow on the back of his head, and then turned and fled. The captain appeared to be somewhat stunned: he staggered a few paces, and, dropping his musket, fell on his hands and one knee; but whilst striving to recover his upright position, another islander rushed forward, and with an iron dagger stabbed him in the neck. He again made an effort to proceed, but fell into a small pool of water not more than knee-deep, and numbers instantly ran to the spot, and endeavoured to keep him down; but by his struggles he was enabled to get his head above the surface, and casting a look towards the pinnace (then not more than five or six yards distant), seemed to be imploring assistance. It is asserted that, in consequence of the crowded state of the pinnace (through the withdrawal of the launch), the crew of that boat were unable to render any aid; but it is also probable that the emergency of this unexpected catastrophe deprived the English of that cool judgment which was requisite on such an occasion. The islanders, perceiving that no help was afforded, forced him under water again, but in a deeper place; yet his great muscular power once more enabled him to raise himself and cling to the rock. At this moment a forcible blow was given with a club, and he fell down lifeless. The savages then hauled his corpse upon the rock; and ferociously stabbed the body all over, snatching the dagger from each other's hands to wreak their sanguinary vengeance on the slain. The body was left some time exposed upon the rock; and as the islanders gave way, through terror at their own act and the fire from the boats, it might have been recovered entire. But no attempt of the kind was made ; and it was afterwards, together with the marines, cut up, and the parts distributed amongst the chiefs. The mutilated fragments were subsequently restored, and committed to the deep with all the honours due to the rank of the deceased. Thus (February 14, 1779) perished in an inglorious brawl with a set of savages, one of England's greatest navigators, whose services to science have never been surpassed by any man belonging to his profession. It may almost be said that he fell a victim to his humanity; for if, instead of retreating before his barbarous pursuers, with a view to spare their lives, he had turned revengefully upon them, his fate might have been very different.

The death of their commander was felt to be a heavy blow by the officers and seamen of the expedition. With deep sorrow the ship's companies left Owyhee, where the catastrophe had occurred, the command of the Resolution devolving on Captain Clerke, and Mr Gore acting as commander of the Discovery. After making some further exploratory searches among the Sandwich Islands, the vessels visited Kamtschatka and Behring's Strait. Here it was found impossible to penetrate through the ice either on the coast of America or that of Asia, so that they returned to the southward; and on the 22d August 1779 Captain Clerke died of consumption, and was succeeded by Captain Gore, who in his turn gave Lieutenant King an acting order in the Discovery. After a second visit to Kamtschatka, the two ships returned by way of China, remained some time at Canton, touched at the Cape, and arrived at the Nore, 4th October 1780, after an absence of four years, two months, and twenty-two days, during which the Resolution lost only five men by sickness, and the Discovery did not lose a single man.

By this as well as the preceding voyages of Cook, a considerable addition was made to a knowledge of the earth's surface. Besides clearing up doubts respecting the Southern Ocean, and making known many islands in the Pacific, the navigator did an inestimable service to his country in visiting the coasts of New South Wales, Van Diemen's Land, New Zealand, and Norfolk Island—all now colonial possessions of Britain, and rapidly becoming the seat of a large and flourishing nation of Anglo-Australians—the England of the southern hemisphere.

The intelligence of Captain Cook's death was received with melancholy regrets in England. The king granted a pension of £200 per annum to his widow, and £25 per annum to each of the children ; the Royal Society had a gold medal struck in commemoration of him ; and various other honours at home and abroad were paid to his memory. Thus, by his own persevering efforts,' as has been well observed by the author of the Pursuit of Knowledge under Difficulties, 'did this great man raise himself from the lowest obscurity to a reputation wide as the world itself, and certain to last as long as the age in which he flourished shall be remembered by history. But better still than even all this fame—than either the honours which he received while living, or those which, when he was no more, his country and mankind bestowed upon his memory—he had exalted himself in the scale of moral and intellectual being; had won for himself, by his unwearied striving, a new and nobler nature, and taken a high place among the instructors and best benefactors of mankind. This alone is true happiness—the one worthy end of human exertion or ambition-the only satisfying reward of all labour, and study, and virtuous activity or endurance. Among the shipmates with whom Cook mixed when he first went to sea, there was perhaps no one who ever either raised himself above the condition to which he then belonged in point of outward circumstances, or enlarged in any considerable degree the knowledge or mental resources he then possessed. And some will perhaps say that this was little to be regretted, at least on their own account; that the many who spent their lives in their original sphere were probably as happy as the one who succeeded in rising above it; but this is, indeed, to cast a hasty glance on human life and human nature. That man was never truly happy-happy upon reflection, and while looking to the past or the future—who could not say to himself that he had made something of the faculties God gave him, and had not lived altogether without progression, like one of the inferior animals. We do not speak of mere wealth or station; these are comparatively nothing; are as often missed as attained, even by those who best merit them; and do not of themselves constitute happiness when they are possessed. But there must be some consciousness of an intellectual or moral progress, or there can be no satisfaction, no self-congratulation on reviewing what of life may be already gone, no hope in the prospect of what is yet to come. All men feel this, and feel it strongly; and if they could secure for themselves the source of happiness in question by a wish, would avail themselves of the privilege with sufficient alacrity. Nobody would pass his life in ignorance, if knowledge might be had by merely looking up to the clouds for it: it is the labour necessary for its acquirement that scares them; and this labour they have not resolution to encounter. Yet it is, in truth, from the exertion by which it must be obtained that knowledge derives at least half its value; for to this entirely we owe the sense of merit in ourselves which the acquisition brings along with it; and hence no little of the happiness of which we have just described its possession to be the source; besides that, the labour itself soon becomes an enjoyment. Let these observations meet with a ready reception among youth, in whatever rank in life. Honour and fame are not to be achieved by seeking for them alone, nor are their possession the end and aim of human existence. It is only by an unwearied striving after a new and nobler nature; only by being useful to our fellows, and making the most of those qualities of mind which God has given us, that happiness is to be attained, or that we fulfil the ends of our being.


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N such a country as Britain, where from time immemorial the outlines of hill and valley have remained the same, we instinctively look upon the solid earth on which

we tread as a kind of type or standard of durability. Ke The sky is ever changing; the sea is never at rest; the brook, the river, the cataract, the lake are swollen by the storm or dried up by the drought; but the firm framework of the land seems to lie motionless all the while. True, if we watch, we shall find that its surface, even where it consists of the hardest rock, is slowly crumbling away, that it cannot resist the universal process of change which runs through nature. Yet, after all, this decay affects merely the outer skin, and its advance seems to most men so slow that it is not taken into account. Beneath the wasting surface, the solid foundations of the country seem to stand century after century firm as at the first.

So deeply is this faith in the stability of the dry land fixed in the mind, that comparatively few of us ever adequately realise that the tranquillity might come to an end, and that the firm earth on which we and our forefathers have for generations built our cities and towns, might heave and break open under our feet, and our cities

No. 42.


might be tossed into ruins. Hardly a year passes, indeed, without tremors of greater or less distinctness being felt in some part of England. Sometimes we read in the papers that throughout the western counties an underground rumbling, as of thunder, has been heard, houses have been shaken, and the inhabitants startled out of sleep; at other times, accounts from the north tell of the rocking of beds, the jingling of dishes, the tinkling of bells, or even of the fall of plaster from walls or ceilings. The narratives are duly read, a little curiosity is excited, and in a few days the subject passes out of mind.

Within the period embraced by human history and tradition, no volcanic eruption nor any earthquake shock of magnitude has been witnessed in the British Islands; we have happily escaped from any visitation of one of the most dreadful calamities which can befall us. And yet there was a time, which, in a geological sense, is not very remote, when a line of volcanos blazed all along the north-west of Britain, and extended even onwards to Iceland. The subterranean fires have for the present died out. We may wander among the old lava-beds and ashes without perhaps ever suspecting what has really been their origin. No hot springs rise from them, nor emanations of gas, such as occur in some districts of extinct volcanos. They have been wasted by the elements, carved into picturesque glens and ravines and mountains, and all trace of their early contour has been wholly effaced. We have, however, no good reason for asserting, or even for suspecting, that the underground forces have finally died out in our region, and that no future volcano or great earthquake is possible. In the past geological history of this country there have been many volcanic periods separated from each other by vast intervals of tranquillity. It is quite possible that the present is another of these intervals, and that the volcanic forces may break out again. From the bygone history of our country, therefore, as well as from its possible future, we have good grounds for taking an interest in all that relates to underground movements.

The present short paper proposes to give a sketch of the effects produced on the surface of the earth by the action of forces which are lodged within the interior. We shall first consider the phenomena of sudden movements, or what are known as earthquakes; next, the nature of volcanos; and lastly, the gradual rising or sinking of wide tracts of land or sea-bed. Having examined these phenomena separately, we may then look at them as a whole, and glance at the theories which have been proposed to account for them.

EARTHQUAKES. The term earthquake is loosely applied to all subterranean noises or tremors, whether of so slight a kind as to be hardly perceptible, or so violent as to cause vast destruction, and permanently to

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