When He Entered Upon This Phase Of His Career He Was A
Thoroughly Experienced Seaman.
He was widely read in voyaging
literature, intellectually well endowed, alert-minded, eager,
courageous, and vigorous.
The French nation has had no greater sailor
than Laperouse.
De Lesseps, the companion of his voyage as far as Kamchatka, has left a
brief but striking characterisation of him. "He was," says this
witness, "an accomplished gentleman, perfectly urbane and full of wit,
and possessed of those charming manners which pertained to the
eighteenth century. He was always agreeable in his relations with
subordinates and officers alike." The same writer tells us that
when Louis XVI gave him the command of the expedition he had the
reputation of being the ablest seaman in the French navy.
Certainly he was no common man to whose memory stands that tall
monument at Botany Bay. It was erected at the cost of the French
Government by the Baron de Bougainville, in 1825, and serves not only
as a reminder of a fine character and a full, rich and manly life, but
of a series of historical events that are of capital consequence in the
exploration and occupation of Australia.
It will be appropriate to conclude this brief biography with a tribute
to the French navigator from the pen of an English poet. Thomas
Campbell is best remembered by such vigorous poems as "Ye Mariners of
England," and "The Battle of the Baltic," which express a tense and
elevated British patriotism. All the more impressive for that very
reason is his elegy in honour of a sailor of another nation, whose
merits as a man and whose charm as a writer Campbell had recognised
from his boyhood. The following are his.
LINES WRITTEN IN A BLANK LEAF OF LAPEROUSE'S "VOYAGES"
Loved Voyager! whose pages had a zest
More sweet than fiction to my wondering breast,
When, rapt in fancy, many a boyish day
I tracked his wanderings o'er the watery way,
Roamed round the Aleutian isles in waking dreams,
Or plucked the fleur-de-lys by Jesso's streams,
Or gladly leaped on that far Tartar strand,
Where Europe's anchor ne'er had bit the sand,
Where scarce a roving wild tribe crossed the plain,
Or human voice broke nature's silent reign, -
But vast and grassy deserts feed the bear,
And sweeping deer-herds dread no hunter's snare.
Such young delight his real records brought,
His truth so touched romantic springs of thought,
That, all my after life, his fate and fame
Entwined romance with Laperouse's name.
Fair were his ships, expert his gallant crews,
And glorious was the emprise of Laperouse -
Humanely glorious! Men will weep for him,
When many a guilty martial fame is dim:
He ploughed the deep to bind no captive's chain -
Pursued no rapine - strewed no wreck with slain;
And, save that in the deep themselves lie low,
His heroes plucked no wreath from human woe.
'Twas his the earth's remotest bounds to scan,
Conciliating with gifts barbaric man -
Enrich the world's contemporaneous mind,
And amplify the picture of mankind.
Far on the vast Pacific, 'midst those isles
O'er which the earliest morn of Asia smiles,
He sounded and gave charts to many a shore
And gulf of ocean new to nautic lore;
Yet he that led discovery o'er the wave,
Still finds himself an undiscovered grave.
He came not back! Conjecture's cheek grew pale,
Year after year; in no propitious gale
His lilied banner held its homeward way,
And Science saddened at her martyr's stay.
An age elapsed: no wreck told where or when
The chief went down with all his gallant men,
Or whether by the storm and wild sea flood
He perished, or by wilder men of blood.
The shuddering fancy only guess'd his doom,
And doubt to sorrow gave but deeper gloom.
An age elapsed: when men were dead or gray,
Whose hearts had mourned him in their youthful day,
Fame traced on Vanikoro's shore at last,
The boiling surge had mounted o'er his mast.
The islesmen told of some surviving men,
But Christian eyes beheld them ne'er again.
Sad bourne of all his toils - with all his band
To sleep, wrecked, shroudless, on a savage strand!
Yet what is all that fires a hero's scorn
Of death? - the hope to live in hearts unborn.
Life to the brave is not its fleeting breath,
But worth - foretasting fame that follows death.
That worth had Laperouse, that meed he won.
He sleeps - his life's long stormy watch is done.
In the great deep, whose boundaries and space
He measured, fate ordained his resting place;
But bade his fame, like th' ocean rolling o'er
His relics, visit every earthly shore.
Fair Science on that ocean's azure robe
Still writes his name in picturing the globe,
And paints (what fairer wreath could glory twine?)
His watery course - a world-encircling line.
End of Laperouse, by Ernest Scott
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