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Name:_______________________ CSCI 1302 OO Programming
Armstrong Atlantic State University
(50 minutes) Instructor: Dr. Y. Daniel Liang

Part I:

A. (2 pts)
What is wrong in the following code?
public class Test {
public static void main(String[] args) {
Number x = new Integer(3);
System.out.println(x.intValue());
System.out.println(x.compareTo(new Integer(4)));
}
}

What is wrong in the following code?

public class Test {
public static void main(String[] args) {
Number x = new Integer(3);
System.out.println(x.intValue());
System.out.println((Integer)x.compareTo(new Integer(4)));
}
}

B. (3 pts)

Suppose that statement2 causes an exception in the

following try-catch block:

public void m2() {

m1();
}

public void m1() {

try {
statement1;
statement2;
statement3;
}
catch (Exception1 ex1) {
}
catch (Exception2 ex2) {
}

statement4;
}

Answer the following questions:

• Will statement3 be executed?

• If the exception is not caught, will statement4
be executed?
• If the exception is caught in the catch block,
will statement4 be executed?

1
C. (2 pt)

Why does the following method have a compile error?

public void m(int value) {

if (value < 40)
throw new Exception("value is too small");
}

d. (2 pt)

Why is the following code incorrect for storing the content

of object?

import java.io.*;

public class Test {

private int a = 5;
private double b = 5.5;
private String m = "value is too small";

public static void main(String[] args) throws Exception {

Test t = new Test();

ObjectOutputStream output = new ObjectOutputStream(new FileOutputStream("Test.dat"));

output.writeObject(t);
output.close();

ObjectInputStream input = new ObjectInputStream(new FileInputStream("Test.dat"));

Test t1 = (Test)(input.readObject());

System.out.println(t1.a);
System.out.println(t1.b);
System.out.println(t1.m);
input.close();
}
}

Part II: Write Programs

(5 pts) Write a program that stores an array of the five int values 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5, a Date object

for the current time, and the double value 5.5 into the file named Test.dat.

2
(10 pts) Write a class named Hexagon that extends GeometricObject and
implements the Comparable interface. Assume all six sides of the
hexagon are of equal size. The Hexagon class is defined as
follows:

public class Hexagon extends GeometricObject implements Cloneable,

Comparable<Hexagon> {
private double side;

/** Construct a Hexagon with the specified side */

public Hexagon(double side) {
// Implement it

@Override
public double getArea() {
// Implement it ( area = 3* 3 * side * side )

@Override
public double getPerimeter() {
// Implement it

@Override
public int compareTo(Hexagon obj) {
// Implement it (compare two Hexagons based on their sides)

@Override
public Object clone() {
// Implement it

3
 }
}

4
Part III: Multiple Choice Questions: (1 pts each)
(Please circle your answers on paper first. After you
finish the test, enter your choices online to LiveLab. Log
in and click Take Instructor Assigned Quiz. Choose Quiz2.
You have 5 minutes to enter and submit the answers.)

Part III: Multiple Choice Questions:

1. The output from the following code is __________.

java.util.ArrayList<String> list = new java.util.ArrayList<>();

list.add("New York");
java.util.ArrayList<String> list1 =
(java.util.ArrayList<String>)(list.clone());
list.add("Atlanta");
list1.add("Dallas");
System.out.println(list);

a. [New York]
b. [New York, Atlanta]
c. [New York, Atlanta, Dallas]
d. [New York, Dallas]

#
2. Show the output of running the class Test in the following code:

interface A {
void print();
}

class C {}

class B extends C implements A {

public void print() { }
}

public class Test {

public static void main(String[] args) {
B b = new B();
if (b instanceof A)
System.out.println("b is an instance of A");
if (b instanceof C)
System.out.println("b is an instance of C");
}
}

a. Nothing.
b. b is an instance of A.
c. b is an instance of C.
d. b is an instance of A followed by b is an instance of C.

5
3. Suppose A is an interface, B is an abstract class that partial
implements A, and A is a concrete class with a default constructor that
extends B. Which of the following is correct?
a. A a = new A();
b. A a = new B();
c. B b = new A();
d. B b = new B();
Key:c

#
4. Which of the following is correct?
a. An abstract class does not contain constructors.
b. The constructors in an abstract class should be protected.
c. The constructors in an abstract class are private.
d. You may declare a final abstract class.
e. An interface may contain constructors.
Key:b

#
5. What is the output of running class C?

class A {
public A() {
System.out.println(
"The default constructor of A is invoked");
}
}

class B extends A {
public B(String s) {
System.out.println(s);
}
}

public class C {
public static void main(String[] args) {
B b = new B("The constructor of B is invoked");
}
}
a. none
b. "The constructor of B is invoked"
c. "The default constructor of A is invoked" "The constructor of B
is invoked"
d. "The default constructor of A is invoked"

#
6. Analyze the following code:

public class Test1 {

public Object max(Object o1, Object o2) {
if ((Comparable)o1.compareTo(o2) >= 0) {
return o1;
}
else {
return o2;
}
}

6
}

a. The program has a syntax error because Test1 does not have a main
method.
b. The program has a syntax error because o1 is an Object instance
and it does not have the compareTo method.
c. The program has a syntax error because you cannot cast an Object
instance o1 into Comparable.
d. The program would compile if ((Comparable)o1.compareTo(o2) >= 0)
is replaced by (((Comparable)o1).compareTo(o2) >= 0).
e. b and d are both correct.

#
7. Which of the following statements regarding abstract methods is not
true?
a. An abstract class can have instances created using the constructor
of the abstract class.
b. An abstract class can be extended.
c. A subclass of a non-abstract superclass can be abstract.
d. A subclass can override a concrete method in a superclass to declare
it abstract.
e. An abstract class can be used as a data type.

#
8. Which of the following possible modifications will fix the errors in
this code?

public class Test {

private double code;

public double getCode() {

return code;
}

protected abstract void setCode(double code);

}

a. Remove abstract in the setCode method declaration.

b. Change protected to public.
c. Add abstract in the class declaration.
d. b and c.

#
9. Analyze the following code.

class Test {
public static void main(String[] args) {
Object x = new Integer(2);
System.out.println(x.toString());
}
}

a. The program has syntax errors because an Integer object is

assigned to x.
b. When x.toString() is invoked, the toString() method in the Object
class is used.

7
c. When x.toString() is invoked, the toString() method in the
Integer class is used.
d. None of the above.

#
10. What exception type does the following program throw?
public class Test {
public static void main(String[] args) {
Object o = new Object();
String d = (String)o;
}
}

a. ArithmeticException
b. No exception
c. StringIndexOutOfBoundsException
d. ArrayIndexOutOfBoundsException
e. ClassCastException

#
11. What exception type does the following program throw?
public class Test {
public static void main(String[] args) {
Object o = null;
System.out.println(o.toString());
}
}

a. ArrayIndexOutOfBoundsException
b. ClassCastException
c. NullPointerException
d. ArithmeticException
e. StringIndexOutOfBoundsException

#
12. To append data to an existing file, use _____________ to construct a
FileOutputStream for file out.dat.
a. new FileOutputStream("out.dat")
b. new FileOutputStream("out.dat", false)
c. new FileOutputStream("out.dat", true)
d. new FileOutputStream(true, "out.dat")

#
13. After the following program is finished, how many bytes are written to the file t.dat?

import java.io.*;

8
public class Test {
public static void main(String[] args) throws IOException {
DataOutputStream output = new DataOutputStream(
new FileOutputStream("t.dat"));
output.writeInt(1234);
output.writeShort(5678);
output.close();
}
}
a. 2 bytes.
b. 4 bytes.
c. 6 bytes.
d. 8 bytes.
e. 12 bytes

#
14. Which of the following statements is not true?
a. ObjectInputStream/ObjectOutputStream enables you to perform I/O for objects in
addition for primitive type values and strings.
b. Since ObjectInputStream/ObjectOutputStream contains all the functions of
DataInputStream/DataOutputStream, you can replace
DataInputStream/DataOutputStream completely by
ObjectInputStream/ObjectOutputStream.
c. To write an object, the object must be serializable.
d. The Serializable interface does not contain any methods. So it is a mark interface.
e. If a class is serializable, all its data fields are seriablizable.

Please double check your answer before clicking the Submit

button. Whatever submitted to LiveLab is FINAL and counted
for your grade.

Have you submitted your answer to LiveLib? ______________

9
Other documents randomly have
different content
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Book of Gallant
Vagabonds
 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will
have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using
this eBook.

Title: The Book of Gallant Vagabonds

Author: Henry Beston

Release date: October 3, 2021 [eBook #66460]

Language: English

Credits: Steve Mattern and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at

https://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK OF GALLANT

VAGABONDS ***
 The BOOK of
GALLANT VAGABONDS
HENRY BESTON

Ship Bonetta Salem Departing from Leghorn

Courtesy Peabody Museum, Salem, Massachusetts.

THE HARBOR OF LEGHORN IN SHELLEY’S DAY SHOWING THE AMERICAN SHIP “BONETTA”
OF SALEM LEAVING PORT.
 The Book of
Gallant Vagabonds
By
HENRY BESTON

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

Copyright, 1925,
By George H. Doran Company

THE BOOK OF GALLANT VAGABONDS

—A—
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To
COLONEL THEODORE ROOSEVELT
and
MRS. THEODORE ROOSEVELT
IN GRATEFUL APPRECIATION OF
MANY YEARS OF FRIENDSHIP
AND ENCOURAGEMENT
 FOREWORD
“The wide seas and the mountains called to him,
And grey dawn saw his camp-fires in the rain.”

There are times when everyone wants to be a vagabond, and go

down the road to adventure, strange peoples, the mountains, and
the sea. The bonds of convention, however, are many and strong,
and only a few ever break them and go.
In this book I have gathered together the strange and romantic
lives of actual wanderers who did what so many have wished to do;
here are some who gave up all to go and see the world. The
booming of temple gongs over the rice fields sounded in their ears,
they tasted strange food cooked on charcoal fires in the twilight
quiet of midocean isles, they knew the mountain wind keen with the
smell of snow, the mystery of roads along great rivers, and the
broad path of ships on lonely seas. Whatever was to be seen, they
went to see; they did things the world thought could not be done.
Life is a kind of book which is put into our hands with many pages
still uncut; some are content with the open leaves, others cut a few
pages, the vagabond reads the whole book if he can.
I have called these wanderers “Gallant Vagabonds” to separate
them from both the professional travellers and the vagabond ne’er-
do-wells. The gallant vagabond is not the man with the sun helmet
and the file of native bearers; nor is he the wastrel who drifts down-
stream and sees the world as he goes; the real prince of vagabonds
is the wayfarer with scarce a penny in his pocket who fights his way
upstream to see where the river rises, and crosses the dark
mountains to find the fabled town. His curiosity is never purely
geographical, it lies in the whole fantastic mystery of life.
 The true gallant vagabond is one of the heroes of humanity, and
history owes him many of her great discoveries, many of her most
spirited and romantic episodes.
Here you will find, gathered in their own vagabond company, John
Ledyard the runaway college sophomore who thought of walking
round the world, Belzoni the monk who became an acrobat and then
an archæologist, Edward John Trelawny, the deserter, pirate, and
country gentleman who came so mysteriously into the life of Shelley;
Thomas Morton, the jovial Elizabethan who scandalized the New
England Puritans with a Mayday revel, Arthur Rimbaud the poet who
became an African trader, and James Bruce the sturdy Scot who rose
to be a great lord in Abyssinia. The accounts are authentic, and if
they seem like fiction, the reader must call to mind the old adage
about the strangeness of the truth.
I wish to thank Mr. John Farrar, Editor of The Bookman, for the
kindest of help and encouragement, and I welcome this same
opportunity to thank Mr. Warren Butler of Salem, Massachusetts,
who found me the old print of the ship Bonetta.
H. B.
New York City.
 CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
One JOHN LEDYARD 19
Two BELZONI 57
Three EDWARD JOHN TRELAWNY 95
Four THOMAS MORTON OF MERRY-MOUNT 137
Five JAMES BRUCE 175
Six ARTHUR RIMBAUD 211
 ILLUSTRATIONS
THE HARBOR OF LEGHORN IN SHELLEY’S DAY
SHOWING THE AMERICAN SHIP BONETTA OF
SALEM LEAVING PORT Frontispiece
PAGE
JOHN LEDYARD 21
BELZONI 59
TRELAWNY AS THE OLD SEAMAN IN SIR JOHN E.
MILLAIS’S PAINTING THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE 97
JAMES BRUCE 177
ARTHUR RIMBAUD 213
One: JOHN LEDYARD
 One: JOHN LEDYARD
I
Here was a man who was born with two great gifts, one the most
precious in the world, the other the most perilous. The first was an
abounding physical vitality which made the casual business of being
alive a divine adventure, the second, an imagination of the sort
which refuses discipline and runs away with the whole mind.
The adventure begins in the spring of the year 1772 with the
farmers of the Connecticut Valley halting their ploughs in the furrow,
and straightening up to stare at a certain extraordinary vehicle going
north on the river road. This vehicle was nothing less than a two-
wheeled sulky, then a rig almost unheard of outside the towns, and
one never known to be used by travellers. A sulky with bundle
baggage lashed behind, surely the driver must be an odd kind of
rogue! Stopping at nightfall at a farm, the stranger met with close
scrutiny by rural candle light. He was a fair-haired youth an inch or
so under six feet tall, and of that “rangy” and powerful build which is
as characteristic of American soil as Indian corn. His eyes, which
were well spaced in a wide forehead, were grey-blue in color, he had
a good chin to face the world with, and something of a lean and
eagle-ish nose. His name, he said, was John Ledyard, and he was on
his way to become a missionary to the Indians.
This youth, John Ledyard, third of his name, had seen the light of
day in the village of Groton, Connecticut; his father, a sea captain,
had died young; legal mischance or a descent of harpy relatives had
deprived the young mother of her property, and John had been
brought up in the house of his grandfather at Hartford. Then had
come years at grammar school, the death of his grandfather, his
virtual adoption by an uncle and aunt, and the attempt of these
good folk to make a lawyer of him, which experiment had not been a
success.
At twenty-one years of age, John presented something of a
problem to his kinsmen. What was to be done with this great fair-
haired youth who had neither money nor influential friends?
Suddenly Destiny came down the Connecticut Valley with a letter.
 JOHN LEDYARD

Courtesy Judge John A. Aiken.

The Reverend Eleazar Wheelock, founder of Dartmouth, wrote to

John inviting him to the college. The passion of this good man’s life
was the evangelization of the dispossessed and incorrigible redskins;
he visited them in their forlorn and dwindling encampments; he took
their young men to be his pupils, and he had founded his college
largely for the sake of training the sons of colonists to be Indian
missionaries. Good Doctor Wheelock had been a friend of
grandfather Ledyard’s, and something or other had recalled to his
mind the fair-haired boy who he had seen playing about the old
man’s house at Hartford. He would make a missionary of the lad,
and send him forth to comfort the copper-skinned of the elect. A
letter arrived offering John the status of a free pupil destined to the
Indian field. Sulky and ancient nag were presently produced from
somewhere, perhaps from John’s own pocket, for he had just
inherited a tiny legacy; the uncle and aunt waved farewell, a whip
cracked in the air, and John and his sulky vanished over the hills and
far away.
At Dartmouth College, he liked to act in plays, and clad in robes of
Yankee calico, strutted about as the Numidian Prince, Syphax, in Mr.
Addison’s “Tragedy of Cato.” A savour of old-fashioned rhetoric and
magniloquence made its way from these plays into John’s mind, and
coloured his letters and his language all his life. He liked the out-of-
doors, and on one occasion induced a group of comrades to climb
with him to the top of a neighboring height, and spend the night on
evergreen boughs strewn on the floor of deep holes dug in the
snow. Doctor Wheelock nodded an enthusiastic consent; he saw in
John’s adventure fine training in hardship for his future missionaries!
Letters of classmates paint Ledyard as restless, impatient of the dry
bones of discipline, authoritative on occasion, and more a man with
devoted cronies than one largely and carelessly popular. All other
Dartmouth memories have faded in the epic glow of the adventurer’s
flight from his Alma Mater.
He came to college in a sulky, he left it an even more adventurous
way. In the spring of 1773, the sound of the axe rings in the
Dartmouth woods. Presently comes a shout, a great, crackling crash,
and the sound and tremor of a heavy blow upon the earth. John
Ledyard and his cronies have just felled a giant pine standing close
by the bank of the Connecticut River. From this log, the homespun
undergraduates fashion a dug-out canoe, fifty feet long and three
feet wide, a veritable barge of a canoe, and once the digging and
hacking is done with, John himself weaves at the stern of the craft a
kind of shelter-bower of willow wands. Word passes among the lads
to be at the river early in the morning.
The spring in northern New England is no gracious and gradual
awakening, it is shy, even timid, of approach, and there are times
when the new leaves and petals have quite the air of children who
have run out of the house on a winter’s day. Then comes a sudden
night of warmth and southwest wind, smells of wet earth and the
sound of flooded streams fill all the dark, a rushing spirit of fertility
shakes the land, and the rising sun reveals a world hurrying on to
June. A dangerous spring in a Puritan land, for flesh and spirit are
taken unawares, and swept off to the shrines of gods who have
never made a covenant with man.
Such a spring it was, as the forest undergraduates gathered at the
huge dug-out under the slanting light of early day, and watched their
friend carry supplies to his canoe. John first put aboard a provender
of dried venison and cornmeal, then a huge bearskin for a coverlet,
and last of all two strangely assorted books, a Greek New Testament
and the poems of Ovid. The truant Yankee sophomore steps into his
canoe. A long halloo, a push all together, and the craft has slid off
into the river, which, clear of ice and swollen by a thousand
mountain streams, is rushing past their little college and on into the
world. The current seizes the canoe; the wet paddle blade flashes in
the cool sun; John masters the swirl with his strength and
woodsman skill, and the future vagabond disappears on the way to
his fantastic destiny. Little does the truant know that in January and
February, 1787, a forlorn, penniless but indomitable traveller will
accomplish one of the most amazing feats ever performed by mortal
man, a fifteen hundred mile trudge through an unknown country
deep in arctic snow and cold, and that the vagabond will be John
Ledyard.
 The mystery of his truancy remains to puzzle the world. For after
all, why had he run away? In abandoning Dartmouth, he had locked
behind him the one door to an education which had opened to him
in his obscurity. John Ledyard’s contemporaries said simply that the
spring was racing in his blood, and that the born vagabond had been
unable to control a vagabond urge. There is a world of truth in the
reply, but not quite all the truth. The present day, with greater
historical perspective, will have it that this fair-haired lad was not
really a scion of the seaboard generations of transplanted
Englishmen, but a son of the new, native-born, and native-minded
culture which was springing up in the hearts of Americans during the
last half of the eighteenth century. This lad is no spiritual kinsman of
harsh and merciless Endecott; his place is with Daniel Boone and the
lords of the frontier. But at Dartmouth, the seventeenth century sat
in the seat of power, for, intellectually, Wheelock was a
contemporary of Cotton Mather; the two dominies would have talked
the same Canaanitish jargon, and shared an identical attitude to life.
But young John was of different stuff, and, moreover, he was in
certain ways, curiously modern. His flight from Dartmouth thus
becomes a bit of vagabondage hiding an instinctive recoil, for had he
accepted a missionary career, the seventeenth century would have
claimed him forever for its own.
Down the Connecticut River floats the log canoe, carrying a young
New Englander from theology under Oliver Cromwell to adventure
under George the Third.

II
Now came difficulties and explanations, and John cut the knot by
going to sea. Four years later, at the end of a voyage, a young
American seaman walks the narrow streets of London’s “Sailortown.”
John Ledyard is now twenty-five years old, life has done little with
him, and he has done little with life; his friends at home are
beginning to regard him as something of a ne’er-do-well, and the
pockets of his sailor breeches are emptier than ever.
 In “Sailortown” an April sun is shining, the dank smell of the
Thames mingles with wood smoke from the hearths, and there is a
sound of men’s voices and a clink of glasses at the doors of
mariner’s inns. John steps into a tavern, and hears news which fires
his imagination, and sets his blood to racing. Captain James Cook,
the great navigator and explorer, is about to make a third voyage to
the South Seas, and ships are being prepared and loaded for the
expedition. With characteristic audacity, John hurries directly to the
Captain at his lodgings in Chelsea Hospital, and boldly requests to be
allowed to go. His colonial directness pleases, and John Ledyard
walks back to London, no longer an obscure American seaman, but a
corporal of His Majesty’s Marines attached to Cook’s own vessel, the
Discovery.
The two ships of the expedition, the old Resolution and the new
Discovery, sailed from England on July 12th, 1776, bound for the
South Pacific by the Cape of Good Hope.
He was a marine, now, on a British naval vessel; a roving Yankee
caught up in the old navy’s conventionalised routine. A bugle or a
drum tattoo woke him at early dawn as he slept in the low ’tween
deck caves where the timbers groaned when the wind freshened in
the night, and the lanterns and the hammocks swung to the listing
of the ship; he escaped from the darkness below, the warm, human
smell, and the sight of sleepy men and nakedness to the humid
deck, the lilac morning, and the vast splendour of the awakening
sea; the drill drum beat for him, he heard the shuffle and the tramp
of feet, the peremptory order, and, in the silences, the wind in the
rigging and the endless, dissolving whisper of alongside foam.
This Discovery was the more interesting of the ships. Captain Cook
himself was aboard, a man over six feet in height, with brown eyes,
a pleasant countenance, and brown hair tied behind. Ledyard often
saw the tall figure in great cloak and three-cornered hat standing at
the other end of the deck. Perhaps of even greater interest to the
ship’s company was the Noah’s ark farmyard aboard of cattle, sheep,
goats, ducks, dogs, horses, cats, pigs, and rabbits, all intended as
gifts to estimable savages who had no such allies, for the eighteenth
century was nothing if not benevolent. When in port for any length
of time, the sea-going bull and the other grazing animals were put
ashore for pasturage; at the Cape of Good Hope, a rascally Hottentot
delayed the expedition by stealing a salty and intrepid cow. During a
stay in the east, this animal world was strengthened by a vast
contingent of cockroaches who fell in showers to the deck when the
sails were unfurled before getting under way; not a romantic picture,
this, but one with a genuine flavor of old sailing ship days. And when
all other things wearied, there was a battle to watch, that battle with
never a truce which is the sailing of a sailing ship in open sea.
After a pause by the barren rocks of Kerguelen Land in the
Antarctic, and after revisiting Tasmania and New Zealand, the
expedition sounded its way through the archipelagos of the South
Pacific, and anchored in the bay of Tongataboo in the Friendly
Islands. The ships remained there twenty-six days gathering stores.
Tongataboo—the name has a ring of the Bab Ballads; but it hides
the memory of a Paradise. John found himself among a people who
were beautiful, courteous, and friendly, for no whites had yet
poisoned them either with their maladies or their civilization, and
there was no tiresome angel with a flaming sword. First of a line of
roaring Yankee whalemen and sailors, Corporal John walks the island
night under the giant moon, watching the smooth, incoming seas
burst and scatter into a churning wash that might be a liquid and
greener moonlight; first of American adventurers in the South Seas,
John Ledyard hears the endless clatter and dry rustling of the island
palms. He lives in a tent ashore, refers to the natives as “the
Indians,” eats fish baked in plantain leaves, and drinks water from a
coconut shell. Late in the golden night, he hears over the faint
monotone of the breaking sea, “a number of flutes, beginning
almost at the same time, burst from every quarter of the
surrounding grove.” Not to be outdone in the matter of
entertainment, Cook delights the innocent natives with a display of
fireworks, a form of entertainment then regarded as the height of
the ingenious and the civilized. Surely it was pleasant to be alive
when Paradise was young. From the Friendly Islands, the Discovery
carried John to Hawaii, and thence to the coast whose memory was
to shape the greater adventures of his life.
By the last half of the eighteenth century, the one accessible coast
of North America which lingered unvisited and unexplored, was the
coast of the Pacific North Northwest,—or to be more definite, the
shores of northern British Columbia and the great peninsula of
Alaska. The geographers of the day were aware that Bering had
sighted such a coast, and that the Russians had crossed to it from
northeastern Siberia and claimed it for their empire, but with these
two facts their knowledge came to an end. The character and the
conformation of the land remained unknown. Cook was to be the
first to make a scientific survey of the region, for the Admiralty had
instructed him to explore any rivers or inlets that might lead
eastward to Hudson’s or Baffin’s bay through the “Northwest
Passage” of romance. The ships turned north in December, 1777,
and arrived off the coast of what is now the state of Oregon on
March 7th, 1778. The weather was cold and stormy, but summer
came upon them as they worked their way to the north, the splendid
summer of the cool, northwestern land.
John Ledyard was once more on American soil, and what an
America it was, this great unknown land of bold, indented coasts,
evergreens and alders, snow-capped inland mountains, and great
rivers moving unsullied to the sea! The beauty and living quality of
the new country conquered the Connecticut explorer even as it
conquered those who followed him. Carefully charting the way,
Cook’s expedition sailed along the coast to Alaska, past the towering
cliffs of vast glaciers rising pale-green from the darker surges
washing at their base; into this great fjord and into that went the
ships, waking the deep arctic silence with the plunge of their
anchors and the hurrying rattle of chain. At the Island of Unalaska,
John offered to go with native guides in search of some “white
strangers,” and thus had a unique opportunity to spy out the land.
 “I took with me some presents adapted to the taste of the
Indians, brandy in bottles, and bread, but no other provisions. I
went entirely unarmed by the advice of Captain Cook.... The country
was rough and hilly; and the weather wet and cold. At about three
hours before dark we came to a large bay, ... and saw a canoe
approaching us from the opposite side of the bay, in which were two
Indians. It was beginning to be dark when the canoe came to us. It
was a skin canoe after the Esquimaux plan (a kayak) with two holes
to accommodate two sitters. The Indians that came in the canoe
talked a little with my two guides and desired I would get into the
canoe. This I did not very readily agree to, however, as there was no
other place for me but to be thrust into the space between the
holes, extended at length upon my back, and wholly excluded from
seeing the way I went, or the power of extricating myself on any
emergency. But as there was no alternative I submitted thus to be
stowed away in bulk, and went head foremost very swift through the
water about an hour, when I felt the canoe strike a beach, and
afterwards lifted up and carried some distance, and then sat down
again, after which I was drawn up by the shoulders by three or four
men, for it was now so dark that I could not tell who they were,
though I was conscious that I heard a language that was new.
“I was conducted by two of these persons, who appeared to be
strangers, about forty rods, when I saw lights and a number of
huts.... As we approached one of them, a door opened, and
discovered a lamp by which, to my joy and surprise, I discovered
that the two men who held me by each arm were Europeans, fair
and comely, and concluded from their appearance that they were
Russians, which I soon after found to be true.... We had supper
which consisted of boiled whale, halibut fried in oil, and broiled
salmon.... I had a very comfortable bed composed of different fur
skins, both under and over me.... After I had lain down, the Russians
assembled the Indians in a very silent manner, and said prayers after
the manner of the Greek church which is much like the Roman.”
The meeting of the New England marine and certain Russian fur
traders visiting Alaska to buy skins for the Chinese trade, is not
without significance to the philosophic reader of history, for it is the
first contact of a white civilisation advancing across America from
the east with another and a belated white civilisation approaching
the continent from the west. Had Columbus failed, what strange
results might not have sprung from this Russian enterprise! But
Yankee John rises to end the reverie. A notion of advancing his
fortune by joining in the Alaskan fur trade is getting into his head,
and he enters in his journal that skins which were purchased in
Alaska for six pence were sold later in China for a hundred dollars.
Save for the tragic death of Captain Cook, who was attacked by
natives at Hawaii, and “fell into the water and spoke no more,” there
is little in the further history of the ships to halt the chronicle of
Corporal John. The ships revisited the Bering Sea and the Russian
Asiatic coast, cruised to China, and returned to England round the
same Cape of Good Hope. The expedition had been at sea exactly
four years and three months.
For two troubled years, John Ledyard walks the flagstones of a
British barrack yard, for the war of the Revolution is being fought in
America, and he can neither escape nor bring himself to take naval
service against his countrymen. Barrack life, however, ends by
exhausting his patience, he seeks a transfer to the American station,
and the December of 1782 finds him aboard a British man of war
lying in Huntington Bay, Long Island. As the island was then in the
hands of the British, John obtains seven days’ leave, but patriotically
forgets to report aboard. From a stay with friends at Huntington, he
hastens to Southold, where his mother keeps a boarding house, then
frequented chiefly by British officers.
He rode up to the door, alighted, went in, and asked if he could be
accommodated in her house as a lodger. She replied that he could,
and showed him a room into which his baggage was conveyed. After
having adjusted his dress, he came out, and took a seat by the fire
in company with several other officers, without making himself
known to his mother, or entering into conversation with any person.
She frequently passed and repassed through the room, and her eye
was observed to be attracted to him with more than usual attention.
At last after looking at him steadily for some minutes, she
deliberately put on her spectacles, approached nearer to him,
begging his pardon for her rudeness, and telling him that he so
much resembled a son of hers, who had been absent eight years,
that she could not resist her inclination to view him more closely.
“The scene that followed,” adds the old chronicler, “may be
imagined, but not described.”
Travelling by night down the Long Island shore, John found a way
to reach Hartford, and took refuge there at the house of his Uncle
Seymour. He remained with him four months, writing an account of
his voyage with Cook. The book was published, and is now
exceedingly rare. “I am now at Mr. Seymour’s,” wrote John, “and as
happy as need be. I have a little cash, two coats, three waistcoats,
six pair stockings, and half a dozen ruffled shirts.... I eat and drink
when I am asked, and visit when invited, in short, I generally do as I
am bid. All I want of my friends is friendship, possessed of that, I
am happy.”
The long and cruel struggle of the American Revolution was
drawing to an end. Peace was at hand. John Ledyard, now thirty-two
years of age, found himself a personage in his own country. He was
John Ledyard, “the American traveller.” And he had lost his corporal’s
chevrons—popular imagination had seen to that; John was now
Captain Ledyard; Major Ledyard, and even Colonel Ledyard to the
eloquent. The American traveller! The great, fair-haired, “rangy” lad
had grown into a tall energetic man whose countenance told of
hardship and adventure; there were lines, such as sailors have,
about his eyes, his nose was thinner and more than ever eagle-like,
and the grey eyes had a look in them the world but rarely sees. The
man stands at the window of the house in Hartford, looking down
the still, New England street, but the inner eye sees only the
northwest coast, the waterfalls on the sides of the sea ravines, the
dark trees, and the crests of snow. He alone, of all the American
world, has seen the unknown land; he alone can guide his fellow-
adventurers of the young republic to the wealth that waits the
gathering of the bold.

III
He went first to New York, and walked up dusty stairs into
counting houses and shipping offices. “Send a vessel to the
northwest coast,” he said to those who would listen; “I have been to
it with Captain Cook, it is a glorious, new land, and you may buy furs
there for a song, and sell them in China at a great profit.” Shrewd
eyes watched him as he sat talking, leaning forward on the edge of
his chair; and the papers on which he had written his plans for an
expedition crinkled between wary and unsympathetic hands. So this
rolling stone wished to guide them to the beds of moss! One after
another, his interviews ended in a scraping of chairs, a polite return
of his papers, and the formality of bows at an opening door.
He had a better reception at Philadelphia, whither someone had
sent him with a letter to the great banker, Robert Morris. “I have had
two interviews with him at the Finance Office, and tomorrow I
expect a conclusive one. What a noble hold he instantly took of the
enterprise!” And later in the same letter, “Send me some money for
Heaven’s sake, lest the laurel now suspended over the brows of your
friend, should fall irrecoverably into the dust. Adieu.” John’s heart
beats high, the dawn of fortune seems at hand, the eastern sky is
gay. He goes to Boston, to New London, and to New York in search
of a suitable ship, but all in vain, and as he searches, the season
becomes too far advanced to think of prosecuting the northwest
voyage; and presently the false dawn fades, Mr. Morris withdraws
from the venture, and John finds himself in New London once again.
It was clear that he could hope for nothing from the merchants of
the United States. “The flame of enterprise I kindled in America,” he
wrote, “terminated in a flash.... Perseverance was an effort of
understanding which twelve rich merchants were incapable of
making.” His exasperation was natural enough, yet in justice to the
American ship owner of the time, the economic disorder and poverty
of the country should be noted, as well as the fact the owners were
being asked to send a long and costly expedition round the Horn on
the word of a solitary enthusiast. Would European merchants listen?
The winter of 1784-85 found John at the great French port of
L’Orient, living on a subsidy granted him by merchants interested in
his scheme, but once again hope rose and perished like the seed
upon thin ground.
From L’Orient he went to Paris, the Paris of 1785, the Paris of the
Bastile, the great nobles, the philosophers of universal benevolence,
and the usual Parisian miscellany of the world’s most artful and
distinguished knaves. Into this picturesque world, so soon and so
terribly to be rent apart, stepped the new adventurer, Mr. Ledyard
the American traveller! He was practically penniless, yet he managed
to subsist in a modest manner. “You wonder by what means I exist,
having brought with me to Paris, this time twelve months, only three
louis d’ors. Ask vice-consuls, consuls, ministers, and
plenipotentiaries, all of whom have been tributary to me. You think I
joke. No, upon my honour, and however irreconcilable to my temper,
disposition and education, it is nevertheless strictly true.” He lived in
a room in the village of St. Germain, and went to Paris afoot, a
distance of some twelve miles. Other American adventurers were
there, of the type that have long haunted Paris. John had no
illusions about them. “Such a set of moneyless villains,” he
remarked, “have never appeared since the epoch of the happy villain
Falstaff. I have but five French crowns in the world, Franks has not a
sol, and the Fitz Hughs cannot get their tobacco money.”
While in Paris, his dream of a trading voyage collapsed for the last
time. Captain John Paul Jones listened to him, and fell in eagerly
with his plans, but the necessary money could not be raised, and so
ended the tale.
Poor as he is, Ledyard is still a personage, and walks boldly with
the great. Lafayette befriends him. “If I find in my travels a
mountain,” said John, “as much elevated above other mountains as
he is above ordinary men, I will name it Lafayette.” He goes to
breakfast at the house of the first American minister to France, and
sees at the head of the table a tall angular man neatly and soberly
dressed in black, a tall man with a bony but strong frame, angular
features, light hazel eyes and sandy-reddish hair, Thomas Jefferson
of Virginia. What a table it is,—French abbés and philosopher nobles,
learned bigwigs of the day, visiting Americans, diplomats, and John
Ledyard with the backs of both hands tattooed with the scrolls of
Polynesia! John finds a sympathetic hearer in his host, for the great
Virginian has a civilized man’s interest in scientific exploration and a
patriotic American’s interest in American discovery. They stroll after
breakfast, the statesman and the vagabond, and presently the
minister suggests to his companion a voyage that fires his guest’s
imagination even as the name of Captain Cook had kindled it just
ten years before.
“I suggested to him,” runs the Virginian’s letter, “the enterprise of
exploring the western part of our continent, by passing through St.
Petersburg to Kamchatka, and procuring a passage thence in some
of the Russian vessels to Nootka Sound,[1] whence he might make
his way across the continent, and I undertook to have the
permission of the Empress of Russia solicited.”
John listens, and listening, becomes once more the vagabond who
ran away to see the world; then and there, the man flings off the
disappointed trader. “He eagerly embraced the proposition,” wrote
Jefferson. Yes, he will attempt just this thing, cross Europe and Asia,
take ship to the northwest coast, and cross the wide American
continent to Virginia. Did ever a man make such a resolve, and that
man a penniless vagabond? Is it not genuinely so mad as to be
magnificent?
“I die with anxiety,” he now wrote to a brother, “to be on the back
of the American States, after having either come from or penetrated
to the Pacific Ocean. There is an extensive field for the acquirement
of honest fame.... It was necessary that a European should discover
the existence of that continent, but in the name of Amor Patriae, let
a native explore its resources and boundaries. It is my wish to be
the man!”
Now came a false start from London, his last delay. “The great
American traveller” sits writing at a table in his humble London
lodging, perhaps again a room in Sailor Town. “I am still the slave of
fortune and the son of care,” he writes later to his brother. “I think
my last letter informed you that I was absolutely embarked on a ship
in the Thames, bound to the northwest coast of America. This will
inform you that I have disembarked from the said ship, on account
of her having been unfortunately seized by the custom house ... and
that I am obliged in consequence to alter my route, and, in short,
everything, all my little baggage, shield, buckler, lance, dogs, squire,
and all gone. I only am left, left to what?”
He counts his money, a familiar trick with him, shakes the clinking
coins in his palm, arranges them in a row on the table, and finds he
still has a few guineas left of the sum generously given him by Sir
Joseph Banks, President of the Royal Society, and certain other
English gentlemen interested in the advance of geographic
knowledge. He adds two final phrases to his letter before he seals it,
and sends it off across the sea.
“I will only add that I am going in a few days to make a tour of
the globe from London east on foot. Farewell. Fortitude! Adieu.”
It is the month of December, 1786, and from London, lost in
smoky winter mist, the tall Yankee vagabond passes unperceived to
dull Hamburg on the muddy Elbe, and thence to Copenhagen, and
Stockholm of the Swedes. The fair-haired Northmen stare at a thin
stranger with outlandish marks on his hands, who asks the way to
Russian St. Petersburg. The winter route to Russia, they tell him, lies
across the frozen gulf of Bothnia, the sledges strike off from
Stockholm, and speed east over the ice to Abo, only fifty miles on
the opposite shore; but this year the gulf is not solidly frozen, the ice
is broken in midchannel; the horses cannot pass, and tremble, and
turn about, and overturn their sleighs;—the traveller will have to
wait till the spring frees the gulf of ice, and allows a boat to pass.
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