A Sentimental Sketch

A Sentimental Sketch

The following diary entry belongs to William Hodges, Captain Cook’s painter on his voyage to discover Terra Australis.

August 5, 1774 ―

Georg saw my drawings of Sophy, and I told him all about them. ― I was on deck appreciating the sun’s slip beneath the clouds on the horizon. The beauty of the sunset on the main, so rosy, soon stirred up a longing to return to the previous week, if not a sharp melancholy about my future with Sophy that would not be. So I took out her sketched profile in a bid to sooth my heart―and savor her memory.

As the wrestling waves before me faded, and her features came to the fore in my mind, I shed a light tear, remembering her with full force, that beautiful young woman who most perfectly taught me in one day what all the Italian and Spanish pastorals have only most poorly described to me.

An adolescent German voice from behind me then asked what I had in my hands that had me so overcome with feeling. Surprised, and embarrassed for fear that my approacher wasn’t the sensible, lettered young man I suspected, but rather one of the ship’s crew, most of them quite rough fellows, I rubbed my eye with my wrist and hastened out: “Ah, the sea splashed me in the e―Georg! Guten abend, was machst du?”

Recognizing the slim pale face, I immediately relaxed. ― “Oder wer ist das, Herr Künstler?” he remarked cheerfully, signaling that he had observed somewhat of the drawing before I moved to conceal it. I took it out, and he looked at the female profile. Georg being the person I best get along with on this voyage, and truth be told, desirous of giving vent to my heart’s pain, I confessed to him that, in a word, it belonged to a young lady native to the islands where we were last week, with whom I fell perfectly in love.

“And Sophy, this indigenous young lady whom you love, is named?”―“Yes and no,” I responded, “I gave her that name, taking it from the name of an old tragedy. Her name was such in her tongue that I could never properly pronounce it, but that is what I thought it best resembled in sound.”

I handed him the drawing for his better judging. As he looked it over at his leisure, I leant over the railing, observing the waves falling over each other underneath a sky that was quickly shedding its purple hide for a black, star-dotted coat.

“Out here,” I then said, “under Captain Cook’s mighty powers of navigation and great spirit of adventure, I expected to meet with most curious animals, and most wonderful flowers, along with sublime views of the sea and seaside landscapes―and account it all a splendid experience―and I have seen those things, and sketched and painted a great deal of them, and all that has been immensely satisfactory.”

George handed back the chalk drawing, and, having rolled it up, I tucked it into its usual place in my coat. ― “And in respect to the men we should meet in our expedition, in my half-ignorance, half-arrogance, I expected nothing less than fierce, rudimentary peoples―with whom I should have no more relation than necessary to make art for the benefit of the British nation. Never, Georg―never did I suspect I should finally understand why Catullus wrote that being in love was being in pain.”

“Well, now you must tell me all that happened,” Georg replied. “I dare presume that that will explain why we found you bloodied up and lifeless on the beach, won’t it? Furneaux told us the cause was your running into a band of rascals who had had too much of English gin for the first time. None of us thought more of it, since it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve embroiled ourselves in unfortunate ways with the natives.”

“Yes, that will explain it. Very well, Georg, let me entertain you for a quarter of an hour then,” I said. “This day a week ago we had moored at one of these Friendly Islands in the early morning, right?” ― My German friend nodded. I continued: “I don’t know if you remember but this island appeared to us wondrous thick with palm trees and wild grass, and not two leagues distant was one steep, rocky hill overlooking the whole island.”

“I remember.”

“From the top of this hill I supposed that I could get sight of all around, and probably have the opportunity to capture a full view―for a painting, that is. So I grabbed some supplies, dropped them into a satchel, and immediately went off to explore. It was not long, winding through the wood, before I came upon a magnificent waterfall. It didn’t go too high up, but the incoming stream had a powerful current, and the way in which the cliff and its rocks stemmed the stream made for wonderful splashes. Thick foilage also beautifully spotted the waterfall. I perched myself on a pile of rocks, and began to sketch my surroundings. When I had done with the contours and attended now to putting in shadows, I thought I heard behind me a couple of branches swept slowly to one side. I turn towards the sound, and see a small face looking back at me from among the leaves.”

“Ah, Sophy das?” Georg asked.

“Not Sophy,” I responded. “I was rather eager to know my observer than flee, because the eyes looking at me did so without the least hint of malignity. Rising, with my drawing board in one hand, and in the other my stub of chalk, I squinted at that pair of black eyes to locate their master. As if I had said aloud that I was pleased to make his acquaintance, my observer stepped forward. ― It was a mere child, Georg, clearly indigenous, about ten years of age, clothed after the manner of the people we know inhabit the region.” ― Georg tilted his head in agreement, resting one arm on the ship’s railing.

“The first thing the boy did was strain his neck the better to discern what he must have seen me work on the past half hour. I raised my board, signaling to him whether he wished to inspect it close. He did not reply, keeping his gaze on the drawing board like a cat does on a candle flame. Having approached him slowly, I handed him it. This smudged, incomplete drawing of the waterfall next us positively amazed him. He turned his eyes in quick succession to the drawing, its object, and the piece of chalk in my hand. This last I then held out to his view. Intrigued beyond expression, he was venturing to pick the chalk from my hand when a woman’s cry issued from our right. Seeing the boy’s gestures, I believed it summoned him. Before either of us could do anything in reply, out from the wood where the boy had hid stepped a young woman about twice his age.”

“Sophy ohne Zweifel?” Georg redoubled.

“Richtig,” I said. “But words here will fail me. What could I say to fully describe you her beauty? Es gibt nichts!―But in a word, she was as striking as Helen must have been; she was as charming as Dido no doubt was. Everything―absolutely everything―about her was lovely to the extreme. I was positively smitten, Georg. But of course, we were strangers to each other in every single respect; and fully ignorant of her people’s customs, I had recourse to those of my own. ― As politely and calmly as possible, I introduced myself and gestured to her that the boy had only wanted to see my work, and I was only pleased to show it off.”

Crossing his arms, Georg now leaned back on the railing. ― “Sophy seemed to understand me, and, affected by the boy’s fascination with my drawing, joined him in studying it,” I continued. “Fortunately, I remembered I had in my satchel a handful of loose sheets on which I had already done sketches or tested watercolors on. I took these out for them to see as well. Taking advantage of the budding ease with which they interacted with me, I ventured to ask how I could get to the top of the island’s main hill, pointing to the large mass to our left beyond the waterfall, and walking in place. They both understood me; but while the boy volunteered with the utmost alacrity to be my guide, the young woman hesitated. From her gestures, I surmised that she urged the boy homewards.”

“So what relation did the boy have with the young lady?” Georg asked.

“I shall never know. She had the air of his older sister, but he may well have been her nephew, or cousin, or son,” I informed him. “At any rate, the boy was visibly disappointed by her instructions. I’m afraid I was just as much, because the young woman seemed unsure ultimately what decision to make. She lifted her index finger in my direction, and then in the hill’s direction, as if to verify what I was asking. I requested the waterfall drawing from the boy. I flipped it over, drew a rough, hasty outline of the hill in question with the chalk, and then a small figure representing me at its top. Sophy looked at me, and then at the boy. At last she grabbed the boy by hand, and began stepping in the direction of the hill, speaking firmly a couple of sentences to him in their tongue. The boy smiled in reply, and ran ahead of us. He stopped after a dozen feet, turned around, and signaled to me to hasten―this was when I understood they were to oblige me.”

“I suppose then you wooed her with your dazzling wit?” Georg added with a facetious smile.

I feigned a laugh in reply before saying: “Not at all, Georg! The three of us proceeded to thread the island’s tropical woods―up muddy slopes, over many kinds of roots and rocks, and through a couple of easy fields. But though the two young natives addressed each other frequently, I said not two words together throughout the three-hour walk. This was due principally to one thing: I was perfectly exhausted―but not my companions, for whom, surely, journeys across the island are a common and regular part of their lives, the young woman and her ward never under a dozen feet ahead of me. I could scarce keep up. ― I’m afraid I was also the object of their jests. Their remarks in my direction, or with me in their view, were always accompanied with giggling or laughing.” ― Georg giggled himself.

“But, Georg, I was not at all troubled by any of this, nor by my fatigue, nor by the humid air, nor by however filthy my clothes became, because I kept in mind the debt I lay in for their countenance,” I said. “As well, it flattered me that the young woman would sometimes turn to me, offering a most tender smile. For every foot I rose above the level of the sea, I sunk a foot in love with her.”

“How was the hilltop when you reached it?” Georg asked.

“Sublime―the entire region discovered, and the brilliant sea in full view. I set immediately to making drawings of the landscape. In the meantime, my company observed me in wonder, now over my shoulder, now by my side, and I gladly exhibited my efforts in chalk.”

“Before that day, they must have never believed man could achieve such verisimilar art,” added Georg.

“Might very well be so,” I replied. “At some point, when I had finished one sketch, and searched for a new aspect, my eyes fell upon Sophy, who was then looking out at sea, positioned like a Grecian marble, absorbed in thought, a fresh gale playing with her sable locks. Out of a sort of painter’s instinct, I took out a new sheet and drew her. She did not fail shortly to notice what I was doing, but she never interrupted her posture, appearing content to be drawn. Inspired by―I know not what―perhaps the exercise going up the island, or by my affection for the subject―I drew quickly, easily, and precisely. When it was finished mostly to my satisfaction, out of a boyish need for approval, I went to Sophy, and handed her the drawing of which she was the focus.”

“Was she flattered?” Georg asked.

“I shouldn’t consider it flattered,” I said. “She certainly seemed moved; but, judging from her furrowed brow, I think it touched her curiosity rather than her vanity. ― She showed it to her ward, who expressed wild approbation; she laughed in turn. Returning me the sheet, she motioned to me that we should now walk back down. I agreed, and asked her for the chance to draw her profile before we did. I waved my arms in all sorts of ways to communicate this. My ludicrous gestures must have aroused in her sympathy for me, because she allowed it and assumed a steady posture. ― The drawing being finished both to her satisfaction and mine, we returned by the same path we had climbed. Despite our leisurely pace, we arrived within earshot of the waterfall when the sun had dipped below the highest canopies. All the while, Sophy and I exchanged not a few pleasantries and pregnant glances.”

“How is that possible if neither speak the other’s language?” Georg asked.

“Georg, human beings have loved since there were human beings,” I retorted. “Love has been conveyed and understood long before even the advent of agriculture. It must have been, if men and women were to produce more men and women. Therefore, in spite of being mutually unintelligble, our airs, attitudes and gestures, without a doubt, said everything that could have been said between us regarding esteem and affection. In conclusion, it is a matter of fact that Sophy and I were perfectly in love by that evening.”

“Ten years my senior, William, but you sound ten years my junior. My only rebuttal is that I have no means to prove it or disprove it. What I did see, with my own eyes, was your body measured on the beach―that we had to carry aboard because you were positively knocked. So how did that happen?” Georg, most uncivil, responded.

“Indeed I was,” I said. “But I am not angry about that. Though I have no doubt about our mutual affection, that is, between me and Sophy―there might have been boundaries that it overstepped. I don’t speak her language, and I don’t know what she might have said to the young man, or he to her, nor what the relation between them was, or had been, or would be. Maybe she was engaged to him, or he was a jealous brother, or they were an established couple. I could not know.”

“What young man?” George asked.

“When we arrived at the waterfall,” I resumed, “there chanced to be there a young man, quite stout and strong. He was awaiting them. Alarmed at first, he called the young woman and the boy to his side, and away from mine. They were alarmed themselves, because his voice carried a great deal of agitation. Both my companions urged calm, and appeared to recommend me to him. He would nevertheless have nothing. In the meantime, I positioned myself, in look and speech, as their friend and benefactor. After addressing them, the young man approached me, deep mistrust of me seated on his brow.”

“Who was he then?” Georg asked.

“We shall not know that,” I answered, “but I presume a figure of some consequence because three other men, young and strong, stepped out of the wood to support him, and I was encircled. I insisted to them emphatically that I meant well, but to no avail. They would rout me to the beach, and possibly have left me unscathed, had not one of these hot-tempered youths waxed curious about the contents of my satchel. He forced his hands inside, and despite my resistance, managed to remove my drawing of Sophy’s profile―the one right now in fact in my coat. Seeing my drawing sent them all into a violent fit. Out of fear or anger, I can’t ascertain, but an ugly skirmish followed. Despite my best swings, I was completely overpowered.”

“Klar,” Georg added, looking at his shoes, moved to a little pity perhaps.

“And here you go for proof of Sophy’s affection!” I continued. “As the young men and I battled, she gave out a hideous cry and, waving her arms wildly, drove into the group’s leader. This action perplexed her countrymen enough to give me the opportunity to fly―and I did, dashing through the wood, not without many tumbles, twists, and trips. The sandy shore attained and our ship within ken, I collapsed out of I believe sheer exhaustion, and that is how you found me the morning next.”

“What a tale, Mr Hodges! Who knew exploring uncharted waters of the Earth would lead to uncharted waters of the heart? Now you know more about love, and the Friendly Islands, but we are left still with plenty of questions.” Georg said. I nodded in full agreement with his sentiment. We both turned our attention to the sea, now a wonderful contrast between a shimmering surface and pitch black depths. The wind was cool but soft, the moon near full, and the stars sparkling.