I left Portoer,the little haven I mentioned,soon after I finished my last letter.The sea was rough,and I perceived that our pilot was right not to venture farther during a hazy night.We had agreed to pay four dollars for a boat from Helgeraac.I mention the sum,because they would demand twice as much from a stranger.I was obliged to pay fifteen for the one I hired at Stromstad.When we were ready to set out,our boatman offered to return a dollar and let us go in one of the boats of the place,the pilot who lived there being better acquainted with the coast.He only demanded a dollar and a half,which was reasonable.I found him a civil and rather intelligent man;he was in the American service several years,during the Revolution.
I soon perceived that an experienced mariner was necessary to guide us,for we were continually obliged to tack about,to avoid the rocks,which,scarcely reaching to the surface of the water,could only be discovered by the breaking of the waves over them.
The view of this wild coast,as we sailed along it,afforded me a continual subject for meditation.I anticipated the future improvement of the world,and observed how much man has still to do to obtain of the earth all it could yield.I even carried my speculations so far as to advance a million or two of years to the moment when the earth would perhaps be so perfectly cultivated,and so completely peopled,as to render it necessary to inhabit every spot--yes,these bleak shores.Imagination went still farther,and pictured the state of man when the earth could no longer support him.Whither was he to flee from universal famine?Do not smile;Ireally became distressed for these fellow creatures yet unborn.The images fastened on me,and the world appeared a vast prison.I was soon to be in a smaller one--for no other name can I give to Rusoer.
It would be difficult to form an idea of the place,if you have never seen one of these rocky coasts.
We were a considerable time entering amongst the islands,before we saw about two hundred houses crowded together under a very high rock--still higher appearing above.Talk not of Bastilles!To be born here was to be bastilled by nature--shut out from all that opens the understanding,or enlarges the heart.Huddled one behind another,not more than a quarter of the dwellings even had a prospect of the sea.A few planks formed passages from house to house,which you must often scale,mounting steps like a ladder to enter.
The only road across the rocks leads to a habitation sterile enough,you may suppose,when I tell you that the little earth on the adjacent ones was carried there by the late inhabitant.A path,almost impracticable for a horse,goes on to Arendall,still further to the westward.
I inquired for a walk,and,mounting near two hundred steps made round a rock,walked up and down for about a hundred yards viewing the sea,to which I quickly descended by steps that cheated the declivity.The ocean and these tremendous bulwarks enclosed me on every side.I felt the confinement,and wished for wings to reach still loftier cliffs,whose slippery sides no foot was so hardy as to tread.Yet what was it to see?--only a boundless waste of water--not a glimpse of smiling nature--not a patch of lively green to relieve the aching sight,or vary the objects of meditation.
I felt my breath oppressed,though nothing could be clearer than the atmosphere.Wandering there alone,I found the solitude desirable;my mind was stored with ideas,which this new scene associated with astonishing rapidity.But I shuddered at the thought of receiving existence,and remaining here,in the solitude of ignorance,till forced to leave a world of which I had seen so little,for the character of the inhabitants is as uncultivated,if not as picturesquely wild,as their abode.
