We would
undertake six voyages round the world if it could afford to our country
either profit or pleasure." They were not the last words he wrote, but
we may appropriately take them as being, not merely his adieu to a
friend, but to the world.
Time sped on; the date given for the arrival at Ile-de-France was
passed; the year 1789 dawned and ticked off the tally of its days. But
nothing was heard of Laperouse. People in France grew anxious, one
especially we may be sure - she who knew so well where the ships would
anchor in Port Louis if they emerged out of the ocean brume, and who
longed so ardently that renewed acquaintance with scenes once sweetly
familiar would awaken memories meet to give wings to speed and spurs to
delay. Not a word came to sustain or cheer, and the faint flush of hope
faded to the wan hue of despair on the cheek of love. By 1791 all
expectation of seeing the expedition return was abandoned. But could
not some news of its fate be ascertained? Had it faded out of being
like a summer cloud, leaving not a trace behind? Might not some inkling
be had, some small relics obtained, some whisper caught, in
those distant isles,
"Where the sea egg flames on the coral, and the long-backed breakers croon
Their endless ocean legend to the lazy, locked lagoon."
France was then in the throes of her great social earthquake; but it
stands to the credit of the National Assembly that, amidst many
turbulent projects and boiling passions, they found time and had the
disposition to cause the fitting out of a new expedition to search for
tidings of those whose disappearance weighed heavily on the heart of
the nation.
