In the days when voyages were more tedious and dangerous than they are now, when steam was unknown, and the art of navigation little studied, it was especially important to secure safe resting-places for vessels bound on distant voyages. Halfway ports where the health of the sailors might be recruited, where the ship often battered and leaking, might be repaired, and stored once more with water and fresh vegetables, were absolutely essential to safe and profitable commerce.

But until about the year 1500 the Venetian traders to India had found no such harbor of refuge in the South Atlantic. Their ships came and went nevertheless, and if many were lost, yet the profits of the trade were such as to repay the merchants for many a bale of rich goods which lay beneath the waters, and to lead Venice to guard as one of her most valuable rights the trade with India.

The Portuguese also were merchants and explorers, and had a large and important navy, and they were not content to leave the Indian traffic wholly in the hands of the Venetians. Therefore about the year 1501 three vessels were sent out to India by the Portuguese Government. On their return voyage during May of the following year a sudden and violent storm overtook them.

They were in the midst of the wide Atlantic, driven backwards and forwards by the furious wind and waves.

One of the ships was separated from the other two, and was in greater danger. All hope of guiding her was at an end, and the captain and crew stood waiting in despair for the death which could not be far distant.

It seems probable from that which afterwards happened, that some at least among the sailors thought, in their danger, on God, and cried to Him to save them. And we may well believe this to have been so. There are but few who when trouble is near forget God. It is in smooth and fair water, in calm and sunshine, that we are so ready to think that we can guide and help ourselves. When the clouds gather, and the storm-winds blow, then we cry unto God in our trouble. And God is so good that He does not turn away from those who call on Him in their need, even when in their joy they had turned away from Him.

Help came to these sailors tossed on the wide, wild sea, but it did not come in the way that they had hoped. At first it seemed only like greater peril, for through the haze which darkened the sea, the dim outline of land was seen, standing high, sharp, and dark against the sky.

What land it could be they did not know. In such rough charts as they possessed, no rock even was marked, no speck of land for many hundred miles on either side the place where they were now fighting for their lives.

The ship was driven nearer and nearer, and, so far as the mariners could tell, they were being driven to certain destruction, for what ship could hope to avoid the terrible wall of rocks before them, or live in the white seething waters which boiled at its foot. A shout, an eager wondering cry, from one of the sailors, roused his comrades; he was pointing to a narrow inlet between the rocks, on either side of which the sand lay smooth and low—if they could only gain that opening there might yet be hope. But the ship was past all guidance, and the only chance of life seemed to lie in the boats, which might be directed up the narrow inlet, so that the men might land in safety on its shores. At last the anxious, terrified sailors stood safely on the beach, watching the still raging sea as it washed to their feet plank and mast and rudder of their now broken ship.

Their first thought was to offer thanks to God who had delivered them, and then they began to look around at this strange unknown land on which they had been thrown.

“Let us build ourselves a shelter with the planks of the broken ship, she will never sail blue water again,” said one sailor.

“Nay,” replied another, “rather let us build a house for God, let us leave a church on this island. We need no shelter in the warm May weather, no rain will fall for months yet, I warrant, and some of those rare trees yonder will be our fittest roof.”

“But of what use can a church be when none dwell here to worship?” asked a third.

“Doubtless many will come to dwell here when we return home and tell the story of the new land, and many ships will stay here to rest the sailors and to gather stores. Were it not well done that they should find prepared a place which should remind them of their duty to their God, and of His care of them?”

“And,” said the captain, speaking now for the first time, “were it not well done that we, whom He has so wonderfully preserved, should try even in this imperfect fashion to show our gratitude? He will accept even such poor service, therefore, in my judgment, let it be done.”

“Let it be done,” cried all, and, as if impatient to begin, the sailors rushed knee-deep into the sea, seizing and drawing high on the beach the floating spars and planks ready for their new service.

But before such work could be begun it was needful to explore the new land, to search for any traces of inhabitants, and above all to discover, if possible, food and water to refresh themselves.

There was one high peak, towering above the many hills which crowned the island, and towards this a party of sailors made their way, keeping closely together for fear that the natives of the land might suddenly attack them from rock or thicket.

The steep, rugged, broken hill was scaled at last, and from its summit the adventurers looked down on their place of refuge. They were on an island, which seemed to be some miles in length; it was thickly covered with trees, and in one part a broad, open plain, fresh and fertile, stretched before them. There were many streams, dancing merrily down the broken cliffs, or shaded by tall tree-ferns and waving grasses. But nowhere was there any sign of human habitation; no palm-roofed huts, no canoes, no figures crossing the open spaces between the trees. And not only man, but even animals seemed wanting here.

The place was a complete solitude; the sea-birds had not strayed farther than the cliffs where their nests were made, and save one little brown bird, not unlike a sparrow, which chirped among the boughs, the sailors neither heard nor saw any signs of life.

Fruit there was in abundance on the trees, and with this spoil they hastened back to their comrades, who had meanwhile been exploring the sides of the inlet.

A shout from the party of these explorers told the descending sailors that some discovery had been made, and as they came nearer they saw that a fire had been kindled on the beach, though with what object it was hard to guess.

They were not long left in doubt, for shouts of “Turtle, turtle! come and see the turtle we have cooked for dinner!” caused them to hasten to the fire, on which was now seething an immense turtle, great numbers of which were to be seen crawling along the beach.

The fruit was a welcome addition to the feast, and the sailors were soon forgetting peril and disaster over a hearty and refreshing repast.

Then the whole party stretched themselves at ease under the trees; they recounted to each other their adventures and discoveries. It was clear that they were on an island, and that this island was far distant from any known land. There appeared no doubt that it was uninhabited and unknown, and great was the satisfaction of the captain in the thought of carrying home to Portugal the tidings of a discovery so important. For all saw what great service would be done to Portuguese commerce by the establishment of a half-way station on their return from India, and the feeling of regret for their lost ship was swallowed up and forgotten in delight at the honor which they should receive at having first planted the flag of Portugal on the Island of St. Helena, for thus did the captain name the newly-found island.

The sailors made no doubt that now the violence of the storm was over, that they would soon be rescued from their imprisonment by the other ships, and meanwhile they set heartily to work to build their church.

The ship’s carpenter undertook the principal directions, while the captain determined on the best site for the new building, and marked its outline on the turf.

Willing hands made the work light, and ere many days had passed the church began to rise, plank by plank, amid the palm-trees and leafy shade around.

The two remaining ships soon arrived, and their crews stayed long enough to complete the church, and to lay in a store of fruit, turtles, and fresh water, and then all set sail for Portugal, and St. Helena for long years was henceforth reckoned among the possessions of that crown.

But though highly prized as a resting-place for ships, it did not at first become a colony. Two small dwellings were built on either side the church, but none inhabited them for about twelve years, when a Portuguese nobleman, named Lopez, came to live there in banishment, with no companions but three or four negro slaves, who under his direction, cultivated the soil, planted and reared many new kinds of trees and fruits, and tended the fowls and animals which were abundantly supplied for his needs.

He did not, however, continue many years in St. Helena, and long the island remained without inhabitants.

Sometimes a passing ship would leave one or more of her crew, who were ill, that they might be restored by the vegetables and fruits, the pure air and clear water of the island.

It happened once, nearly ninety years after the first discovery, that an English crew landed for refreshment, and wandering about the island approached the little church. They believed themselves the only human beings on the island, and were therefore greatly surprised to hear a voice singing within the church.

“It is a Portuguese,” they said one to another, “let us enter and make him prisoner.”

Without another word the doors were thrown open, and there kneeling alone in the church, they discovered a strange figure, wild and terrified, dressed in a rough suit of goat-skin.

“Who are you?” cried the foremost of the sailors, forgetting that the supposed Portuguese was not likely to answer an English question; but the man started to his feet at the words, gazed round him, looking one by one into the eager and wondering faces before him, and then, as if he could no longer contain his joy, he rushed towards them, and threw himself into the arms of the foremost.

He, in his turn, had feared that the new-comers were Portuguese, and the poor English sailor, for such he was, had endured an agony of terror till the sound of English speech assured him that he was among friends and fellow-countrymen.

His story was soon told. He had been left at St. Helena by a passing ship, because he was so reduced by the voyage that the captain feared that he could never reach his home. Here he had lived for fourteen long months, and had never during that time heard a human voice, or seen the face of a friend. He had lived chiefly on the flesh of goats, which had now multiplied on the island, and had in his wild, free life quite recovered his health. But the joy of meeting with friends after so long a solitude was too great; he was quite unable to sleep, and only lived till the ship in which he had taken passage reached the West Indies.

St. Helena passed at length into the hands of the English, was colonized and brought into cultivation, and it was here that Napoleon ended the career which had laid waste and despoiled Europe. Here in this little island was bounded his wide ambition; the sea set limits to his steps on every side and stretched its strong impassible barrier all around him. Here, though not alone, he endured a solitude which was doubtless heavier to bear and more hopeless than that felt by any of the wanderers who in early days were left upon that shore. For there is no solitude like that of a heart which dwells alone, whose memories of the past can bring no gladness, and whose future lies cheerless and blank before it.

He spent his time chiefly in reading, riding on horseback, and digging in his garden. He was fond of amusing himself with children, and would join in all their little sports. He employed himself, also, in writing the memoirs of his own campaigns. “Let us live on the past,” he said. But ah! what satisfaction could a view of his past life have afforded him? Those who have lived only for this world must never expect anything but self-reproach in reviewing the opportunities of usefulness which they have lost, and the precious talents they have misemployed. What a favorable opportunity, however, was afforded to Napoleon in his solitude at St. Helena, of examining his past life. Happy would it have been for him if he had diligently used the time thus given him in mourning for his sins, and humbling himself for the misapplication of the vast talents entrusted to his charge.

That he sometimes thought of the subject of religion, indeed, is evident, if we believe a conversation which Count Monthoton, one of his attendants, has recorded. “Alexander, Caesar, Charlemagne, and myself,” Napoleon is represented to have said, “founded empires upon force! Jesus Christ alone founded His empire upon love; and at this hour millions of men would die for Him. I die before my time, and my body will be given back to the earth to become food for worms. Such is the fate which so soon awaits him who has been called the Great Napoleon! what a difference between my deep misery and the eternal kingdom of Christ, which is proclaimed, loved, and adored, and which is extending over the whole earth. Call you this dying? Is it not living rather? The death of Christ is the death of a God!” Napoleon became every day more and more unhappy. He used to feed some fish in a pond, but they sickened and died. “Everything that I love,” said he, “leaves me: everything that belongs to me is stricken!”

At last the event came which released him from all his earthly sorrows. A painful disease, called cancer in the stomach, attacked him; and, after considerable suffering, he expired on the 5th of May, 1821. The night of his dissolution was a terrible one; a fearful storm was raging all around. Napoleon had, for some hours, been insensible; towards six o’clock in the evening, however, he pronounced the words, “Head of the Army,” as if his thoughts were running on the field of battle, and immediately afterwards his immortal spirit quitted the tabernacle of clay in which it dwelt. Such was Napoleon’s death-bed. Alas! we look in vain upon it for that language of triumph which has so often broken from the lips of the followers of Jesus, when passing through the dark “valley of the shadow of death.” With Napoleon’s dying moments, contrast those of an eminent saint of God, Dr. Payson. “I seem to swim in a flood of glory,” said he to some young persons, “which God pours down upon me. And I know—I know that my happiness is but begun—I cannot doubt that it will last for ever. My young friends, were I master of the whole world, what could it do for me like this! Nothing, nothing. Now all this happiness I trace back to the religion which I have preached, and to the time when that great change took place in my heart, which, I have often told you, is necessary to salvation;—and I now tell you again, that without this change you cannot, no, you cannot see the kingdom of God!”

Napoleon was buried at Longwood, in the Island of St. Helena, under a large willow tree; but in 1840 his remains, with the consent of the British Government, were removed to Paris, and buried with grand honors in that city.