Chapter: SKETCH NINTH. HOOD'S ISLE AND THE HERMIT OBERLUS.

  "That darkesome glen they enter, where they find
  That cursed man low sitting on the ground,
  Musing full sadly in his sullein mind;
  His griesly lockes long gronen and unbound,
  Disordered hong about his shoulders round,
  And hid his face, through which his hollow eyne
  Lookt deadly dull, and stared as astound;
  His raw-bone cheekes, through penurie and pine,
  Were shronke into the jawes, as he did never dine.
  His garments nought but many ragged clouts,
  With thornes together pind and patched reads,
  The which his naked sides he wrapt abouts."


Southeast of Crossman's Isle lies Hood's Isle, or McCain's Beclouded
Isle; and upon its south side is a vitreous cove with a wide strand of
dark pounded black lava, called Black Beach, or Oberlus's Landing. It
might fitly have been styled Charon's.

It received its name from a wild white creature who spent many years
here; in the person of a European bringing into this savage region
qualities more diabolical than are to be found among any of the
surrounding cannibals.

About half a century ago, Oberlus deserted at the above-named island,
then, as now, a solitude. He built himself a den of lava and clinkers,
about a mile from the Landing, subsequently called after him, in a vale,
or expanded gulch, containing here and there among the rocks about two
acres of soil capable of rude cultivation; the only place on the isle
not too blasted for that purpose. Here he succeeded in raising a sort of
degenerate potatoes and pumpkins, which from time to time he exchanged
with needy whalemen passing, for spirits or dollars.

His appearance, from all accounts, was that of the victim of some
malignant sorceress; he seemed to have drunk of Circe's cup; beast-like;
rags insufficient to hide his nakedness; his befreckled skin blistered
by continual exposure to the sun; nose flat; countenance contorted,
heavy, earthy; hair and beard unshorn, profuse, and of fiery red. He
struck strangers much as if he were a volcanic creature thrown up by the
same convulsion which exploded into sight the isle. All bepatched and
coiled asleep in his lonely lava den among the mountains, he looked,
they say, as a heaped drift of withered leaves, torn from autumn trees,
and so left in some hidden nook by the whirling halt for an instant of a
fierce night-wind, which then ruthlessly sweeps on, somewhere else to
repeat the capricious act. It is also reported to have been the
strangest sight, this same Oberlus, of a sultry, cloudy morning, hidden
under his shocking old black tarpaulin hat, hoeing potatoes among the
lava. So warped and crooked was his strange nature, that the very handle
of his hoe seemed gradually to have shrunk and twisted in his grasp,
being a wretched bent stick, elbowed more like a savage's war-sickle
than a civilized hoe-handle. It was his mysterious custom upon a first
encounter with a stranger ever to present his back; possibly, because
that was his better side, since it revealed the least. If the encounter
chanced in his garden, as it sometimes did--the new-landed strangers
going from the sea-side straight through the gorge, to hunt up the queer
green-grocer reported doing business here--Oberlus for a time hoed on,
unmindful of all greeting, jovial or bland; as the curious stranger
would turn to face him, the recluse, hoe in hand, as diligently would
avert himself; bowed over, and sullenly revolving round his murphy hill.
Thus far for hoeing. When planting, his whole aspect and all his
gestures were so malevolently and uselessly sinister and secret, that he
seemed rather in act of dropping poison into wells than potatoes into
soil. But among his lesser and more harmless marvels was an idea he ever
had, that his visitors came equally as well led by longings to behold
the mighty hermit Oberlus in his royal state of solitude, as simply, to
obtain potatoes, or find whatever company might be upon a barren isle.
It seems incredible that such a being should possess such vanity; a
misanthrope be conceited; but he really had his notion; and upon the
strength of it, often gave himself amusing airs to captains. But after
all, this is somewhat of a piece with the well-known eccentricity of
some convicts, proud of that very hatefulness which makes them
notorious. At other times, another unaccountable whim would seize him,
and he would long dodge advancing strangers round the clinkered corners
of his hut; sometimes like a stealthy bear, he would slink through the
withered thickets up the mountains, and refuse to see the human face.

Except his occasional visitors from the sea, for a long period, the only
companions of Oberlus were the crawling tortoises; and he seemed more
than degraded to their level, having no desires for a time beyond
theirs, unless it were for the stupor brought on by drunkenness. But
sufficiently debased as he appeared, there yet lurked in him, only
awaiting occasion for discovery, a still further proneness. Indeed, the
sole superiority of Oberlus over the tortoises was his possession of a
larger capacity of degradation; and along with that, something like an
intelligent will to it. Moreover, what is about to be revealed, perhaps
will show, that selfish ambition, or the love of rule for its own sake,
far from being the peculiar infirmity of noble minds, is shared by
beings which have no mind at all. No creatures are so selfishly
tyrannical as some brutes; as any one who has observed the tenants of
the pasture must occasionally have observed.

"This island's mine by Sycorax my mother," said Oberlus to himself,
glaring round upon his haggard solitude. By some means, barter or
theft--for in those days ships at intervals still kept touching at his
Landing--he obtained an old musket, with a few charges of powder and
ball. Possessed of arms, he was stimulated to enterprise, as a tiger
that first feels the coming of its claws. The long habit of sole
dominion over every object round him, his almost unbroken solitude, his
never encountering humanity except on terms of misanthropic
independence, or mercantile craftiness, and even such encounters being
comparatively but rare; all this must have gradually nourished in him a
vast idea of his own importance, together with a pure animal sort of
scorn for all the rest of the universe.

The unfortunate Creole, who enjoyed his brief term of royalty at
Charles's Isle was perhaps in some degree influenced by not unworthy
motives; such as prompt other adventurous spirits to lead colonists into
distant regions and assume political preeminence over them. His summary
execution of many of his Peruvians is quite pardonable, considering the
desperate characters he had to deal with; while his offering canine
battle to the banded rebels seems under the circumstances altogether
just. But for this King Oberlus and what shortly follows, no shade of
palliation can be given. He acted out of mere delight in tyranny and
cruelty, by virtue of a quality in him inherited from Sycorax his
mother. Armed now with that shocking blunderbuss, strong in the thought
of being master of that horrid isle, he panted for a chance to prove his
potency upon the first specimen of humanity which should fall
unbefriended into his hands.

Nor was he long without it. One day he spied a boat upon the beach, with
one man, a negro, standing by it. Some distance off was a ship, and
Oberlus immediately knew how matters stood. The vessel had put in for
wood, and the boat's crew had gone into the thickets for it. From a
convenient spot he kept watch of the boat, till presently a straggling
company appeared loaded with billets. Throwing these on the beach, they
again went into the thickets, while the negro proceeded to load the
boat.

Oberlus now makes all haste and accosts the negro, who, aghast at
seeing any living being inhabiting such a solitude, and especially so
horrific a one, immediately falls into a panic, not at all lessened by
the ursine suavity of Oberlus, who begs the favor of assisting him in
his labors. The negro stands with several billets on his shoulder, in
act of shouldering others; and Oberlus, with a short cord concealed in
his bosom, kindly proceeds to lift those other billets to their place.
In so doing, he persists in keeping behind the negro, who, rightly
suspicious of this, in vain dodges about to gain the front of Oberlus;
but Oberlus dodges also; till at last, weary of this bootless attempt at
treachery, or fearful of being surprised by the remainder of the party,
Oberlus runs off a little space to a bush, and fetching his blunderbuss,
savagely commands the negro to desist work and follow him. He refuses.
Whereupon, presenting his piece, Oberlus snaps at him. Luckily the
blunderbuss misses fire; but by this time, frightened out of his wits,
the negro, upon a second intrepid summons, drops his billets, surrenders
at discretion, and follows on. By a narrow defile familiar to him,
Oberlus speedily removes out of sight of the water.

On their way up the mountains, he exultingly informs the negro, that
henceforth he is to work for him, and be his slave, and that his
treatment would entirely depend on his future conduct. But Oberlus,
deceived by the first impulsive cowardice of the black, in an evil
moment slackens his vigilance. Passing through a narrow way, and
perceiving his leader quite off his guard, the negro, a powerful fellow,
suddenly grasps him in his arms, throws him down, wrests his musketoon
from him, ties his hands with the monster's own cord, shoulders him, and
returns with him down to the boat. When the rest of the party arrive,
Oberlus is carried on board the ship. This proved an Englishman, and a
smuggler; a sort of craft not apt to be over-charitable. Oberlus is
severely whipped, then handcuffed, taken ashore, and compelled to make
known his habitation and produce his property. His potatoes, pumpkins,
and tortoises, with a pile of dollars he had hoarded from his mercantile
operations were secured on the spot. But while the too vindictive
smugglers were busy destroying his hut and garden, Oberlus makes his
escape into the mountains, and conceals himself there in impenetrable
recesses, only known to himself, till the ship sails, when he ventures
back, and by means of an old file which he sticks into a tree, contrives
to free himself from his handcuffs.

Brooding among the ruins of his hut, and the desolate clinkers and
extinct volcanoes of this outcast isle, the insulted misanthrope now
meditates a signal revenge upon humanity, but conceals his purposes.
Vessels still touch the Landing at times; and by-and-by Oberlus is
enabled to supply them with some vegetables.

Warned by his former failure in kidnapping strangers, he now pursues a
quite different plan. When seamen come ashore, he makes up to them like
a free-and-easy comrade, invites them to his hut, and with whatever
affability his red-haired grimness may assume, entreats them to drink
his liquor and be merry. But his guests need little pressing; and so,
soon as rendered insensible, are tied hand and foot, and pitched among
the clinkers, are there concealed till the ship departs, when, finding
themselves entirely dependent upon Oberlus, alarmed at his changed
demeanor, his savage threats, and above all, that shocking blunderbuss,
they willingly enlist under him, becoming his humble slaves, and Oberlus
the most incredible of tyrants. So much so, that two or three perish
beneath his initiating process. He sets the remainder--four of them--to
breaking the caked soil; transporting upon their backs loads of loamy
earth, scooped up in moist clefts among the mountains; keeps them on the
roughest fare; presents his piece at the slightest hint of insurrection;
and in all respects converts them into reptiles at his feet--plebeian
garter-snakes to this Lord Anaconda.

At last, Oberlus contrives to stock his arsenal with four rusty
cutlasses, and an added supply of powder and ball intended for his
blunderbuss. Remitting in good part the labor of his slaves, he now
approves himself a man, or rather devil, of great abilities in the way
of cajoling or coercing others into acquiescence with his own ulterior
designs, however at first abhorrent to them. But indeed, prepared for
almost any eventual evil by their previous lawless life, as a sort of
ranging Cow-Boys of the sea, which had dissolved within them the whole
moral man, so that they were ready to concrete in the first offered
mould of baseness now; rotted down from manhood by their hopeless misery
on the isle; wonted to cringe in all things to their lord, himself the
worst of slaves; these wretches were now become wholly corrupted to his
hands. He used them as creatures of an inferior race; in short, he
gaffles his four animals, and makes murderers of them; out of cowards
fitly manufacturing bravos.

Now, sword or dagger, human arms are but artificial claws and fangs,
tied on like false spurs to the fighting cock. So, we repeat, Oberlus,
czar of the isle, gaffles his four subjects; that is, with intent of
glory, puts four rusty cutlasses into their hands. Like any other
autocrat, he had a noble army now.

It might be thought a servile war would hereupon ensue. Arms in the
hands of trodden slaves? how indiscreet of Emperor Oberlus! Nay, they
had but cutlasses--sad old scythes enough--he a blunderbuss, which by
its blind scatterings of all sorts of boulders, clinkers, and other
scoria would annihilate all four mutineers, like four pigeons at one
shot. Besides, at first he did not sleep in his accustomed hut; every
lurid sunset, for a time, he might have been seen wending his way among
the riven mountains, there to secrete himself till dawn in some
sulphurous pitfall, undiscoverable to his gang; but finding this at last
too troublesome, he now each evening tied his slaves hand and foot, hid
the cutlasses, and thrusting them into his barracks, shut to the door,
and lying down before it, beneath a rude shed lately added, slept out
the night, blunderbuss in hand.

It is supposed that not content with daily parading over a cindery
solitude at the head of his fine army, Oberlus now meditated the most
active mischief; his probable object being to surprise some passing ship
touching at his dominions, massacre the crew, and run away with her to
parts unknown. While these plans were simmering in his head, two ships
touch in company at the isle, on the opposite side to his; when his
designs undergo a sudden change.

The ships are in want of vegetables, which Oberlus promises in great
abundance, provided they send their boats round to his landing, so that
the crews may bring the vegetables from his garden; informing the two
captains, at the same time, that his rascals--slaves and soldiers--had
become so abominably lazy and good-for-nothing of late, that he could
not make them work by ordinary inducements, and did not have the heart
to be severe with them.

The arrangement was agreed to, and the boats were sent and hauled upon
the beach. The crews went to the lava hut; but to their surprise nobody
was there. After waiting till their patience was exhausted, they
returned to the shore, when lo, some stranger--not the Good Samaritan
either--seems to have very recently passed that way. Three of the boats
were broken in a thousand pieces, and the fourth was missing. By hard
toil over the mountains and through the clinkers, some of the strangers
succeeded in returning to that side of the isle where the ships lay,
when fresh boats are sent to the relief of the rest of the hapless
party.

However amazed at the treachery of Oberlus, the two captains, afraid of
new and still more mysterious atrocities--and indeed, half imputing such
strange events to the enchantments associated with these isles--perceive
no security but in instant flight; leaving Oberlus and his army in quiet
possession of the stolen boat.

On the eve of sailing they put a letter in a keg, giving the Pacific
Ocean intelligence of the affair, and moored the keg in the bay. Some
time subsequent, the keg was opened by another captain chancing to
anchor there, but not until after he had dispatched a boat round to
Oberlus's Landing. As may be readily surmised, he felt no little
inquietude till the boat's return: when another letter was handed him,
giving Oberlus's version of the affair. This precious document had been
found pinned half-mildewed to the clinker wall of the sulphurous and
deserted hut. It ran as follows: showing that Oberlus was at least an
accomplished writer, and no mere boor; and what is more, was capable of
the most tristful eloquence.

"Sir: I am the most unfortunate ill-treated gentleman that lives. I am
a patriot, exiled from my country by the cruel hand of tyranny.

"Banished to these Enchanted Isles, I have again and again besought
captains of ships to sell me a boat, but always have been refused,
though I offered the handsomest prices in Mexican dollars. At length an
opportunity presented of possessing myself of one, and I did not let it
slip.

"I have been long endeavoring, by hard labor and much solitary
suffering, to accumulate something to make myself comfortable in a
virtuous though unhappy old age; but at various times have been robbed
and beaten by men professing to be Christians.

"To-day I sail from the Enchanted group in the good boat Charity bound
to the Feejee Isles.

"FATHERLESS OBERLUS.

"_P.S._--Behind the clinkers, nigh the oven, you will find the old fowl.
Do not kill it; be patient; I leave it setting; if it shall have any
chicks, I hereby bequeath them to you, whoever you may be. But don't
count your chicks before they are hatched."

The fowl proved a starveling rooster, reduced to a sitting posture by
sheer debility.

Oberlus declares that he was bound to the Feejee Isles; but this was
only to throw pursuers on a false scent. For, after a long time, he
arrived, alone in his open boat, at Guayaquil. As his miscreants were
never again beheld on Hood's Isle, it is supposed, either that they
perished for want of water on the passage to Guayaquil, or, what is
quite as probable, were thrown overboard by Oberlus, when he found the
water growing scarce.

From Guayaquil Oberlus proceeded to Payta; and there, with that nameless
witchery peculiar to some of the ugliest animals, wound himself into the
affections of a tawny damsel; prevailing upon her to accompany him back
to his Enchanted Isle; which doubtless he painted as a Paradise of
flowers, not a Tartarus of clinkers.

But unfortunately for the colonization of Hood's Isle with a choice
variety of animated nature, the extraordinary and devilish aspect of
Oberlus made him to be regarded in Payta as a highly suspicious
character. So that being found concealed one night, with matches in his
pocket, under the hull of a small vessel just ready to be launched, he
was seized and thrown into jail.

The jails in most South American towns are generally of the least
wholesome sort. Built of huge cakes of sun-burnt brick, and containing
but one room, without windows or yard, and but one door heavily grated
with wooden bars, they present both within and without the grimmest
aspect. As public edifices they conspicuously stand upon the hot and
dusty Plaza, offering to view, through the gratings, their villainous
and hopeless inmates, burrowing in all sorts of tragic squalor. And
here, for a long time, Oberlus was seen; the central figure of a mongrel
and assassin band; a creature whom it is religion to detest, since it is
philanthropy to hate a misanthrope.

    _Note_.--They who may be disposed to question the possibility of
    the character above depicted, are referred to the 2d vol. of
    Porter's Voyage into the Pacific, where they will recognize many
    sentences, for expedition's sake derived verbatim from thence, and
    incorporated here; the main difference--save a few passing
    reflections--between the two accounts being, that the present
    writer has added to Porter's facts accessory ones picked up in the
    Pacific from reliable sources; and where facts conflict, has
    naturally preferred his own authorities to Porter's. As, for
    instance, _his_ authorities place Oberlus on Hood's Isle:
    Porter's, on Charles's Isle. The letter found in the hut is also
    somewhat different; for while at the Encantadas he was informed
    that, not only did it evince a certain clerkliness, but was full
    of the strangest satiric effrontery which does not adequately
    appear in Porter's version. I accordingly altered it to suit the
    general character of its author.

       *       *       *       *       *

 Spooky Spenser quote about some evil guy. Off to Hood's Isle, and a story about a hermit named Oberlus, who killed people. Oberlus is evil-looking and dressed in rags. He lives all alone on the island. He gets delusions of grandeur and decides he wants subjects. He gets hold of a firearm from somewhere. Oberlus sees a black sailor working and tries to kidnap him for his slave. But the black man escapes, and Oberlus is captured and whipped. But then he escapes again. Oberlus gets craftier, and rather than trying to steal sailors by force, he lures them to his hut, gets them drunk, and then ties them up till their ships leave. He then keeps them as slaves , using his blunderbuss and cruelty to keep them in line. Through ill-treatment they become in time allied with him and join him in his criminal endeavors. Oberlus decides to try to capture a ship, murder the crew, and take off from the island. One ship lands, and Oberlus manages to steal a boat. When another ship comes in, it founds Oberlus gone with his slaves/confederates. He gets to Payta without his confederates . He finds a woman in Payta who he hopes to get to come back to Hood's Island, but before that can happen he is arrested for sneaking around. And the story leaves him in prison, though it doesn't say whether he died there. Then there's a paragraph assuring you that this story is really true, really.

