THE RUINS OF BURNSIDE.Sadly, amid this once delightful plain,Stern ruin broods o’er crumbling porch and wall,And shapeless stones, with moss o’ergrown, remainTo tell, Burnside, the story of thy fall:These ancient oaks, although decaying, green,Like weary watchers, guard the solemn scene.Where cowslip cup and daisy sweetly bloomed,Hemlock and fern, in rank luxuriance spread;Where rose and lily once the air perfumed,Wild dock and nettle sprout, no fragrance shed:And here no more the throstle’s mellow layAwakes with gladsome song the jocund day.O’er yon church wall the ivy creeps, as fainTo shield it from thy withering touch, Decay;No pastor ever more shall there explainThe sacred text, nor with his hearers, prayTo the Eternal Throne for grace divine;Nor sing His praise, nor taste the bread and wine.And here of yore the parish school-house stood,Where flaxen-pated boys were taught to read;At merry noon, in wild unfettered mood,They rushed with boisterous glee to stream or mead;The care-worn teacher homeward wends his way,And freer feels than his free boys at play.Yon roofless cot, which still the alders shade,While all around is desolate and sere,Perchance the dwelling of some village maid,Who fondly watched her aged parents here;And with her thrifty needle, or her wheel,Earned for the lowly three the scanty meal.Close by yon smithy stood the village inn,Where farmers clinched each bargain o’er a glass;And oft, amid mirth’s unrestricted din,Would Time with softer foot, and swifter pass.The husband here his noisy revel kept,While by her lonely hearth the good wife wept.At lazy twilight, ’neath yon ancient elm,The village statesmen met in grave debate,And sagely told, if at their country’s helm,How bravely they would steer the ship of stateFrom treacherous quicksands or from leeward shore,And all they said, betrayed their wondrous lore.I’ve seen the thoughtless rustic pass thee by;In thee, perhaps, his ancestors were bred,And, at my question, point without a sigh,Where calmly rest thy unremembered dead;I asked thy fate, and, as he answered, smiled,‘Thus looked these ruins since I was a child.’Methinks, Burnside, I see thee in thy prime,When thou wert blessed with innocent content,Thy robust dwellers, prodigal of time,Yet still with cheerful heart to labor went;Nor envied lordly pomp, with courtly train,Of empty rank and fruitful acres vain.Methinks I see a summer evening pass,When thou wert peopled, and in sinless gleeMethinks the lusty ploughman and his lassDance with unmeasured mirth, enraptured, free,While seated from the joyous throng apart,The blind musician labors at his art.Though fancy, wayward as the vagrant wind,May picture scenes of unambitious taste,Yet vainly now, we look around to findThy early beauty mid this dreary waste;Unmourned, unmissed, thus in thy fallen state,Thou art an emblem of the common fate!Before the stern destroyer all shall bow,And sweet Burnside, like thine, ’twill be my lotTo lie a ruin, tenantless and low,By friends unmentioned, and by foes forgot:As earth’s uncounted millions I shall be—No mortal think, no record speak of me!Kenneth Rookwood.
Sadly, amid this once delightful plain,Stern ruin broods o’er crumbling porch and wall,And shapeless stones, with moss o’ergrown, remainTo tell, Burnside, the story of thy fall:These ancient oaks, although decaying, green,Like weary watchers, guard the solemn scene.Where cowslip cup and daisy sweetly bloomed,Hemlock and fern, in rank luxuriance spread;Where rose and lily once the air perfumed,Wild dock and nettle sprout, no fragrance shed:And here no more the throstle’s mellow layAwakes with gladsome song the jocund day.O’er yon church wall the ivy creeps, as fainTo shield it from thy withering touch, Decay;No pastor ever more shall there explainThe sacred text, nor with his hearers, prayTo the Eternal Throne for grace divine;Nor sing His praise, nor taste the bread and wine.And here of yore the parish school-house stood,Where flaxen-pated boys were taught to read;At merry noon, in wild unfettered mood,They rushed with boisterous glee to stream or mead;The care-worn teacher homeward wends his way,And freer feels than his free boys at play.Yon roofless cot, which still the alders shade,While all around is desolate and sere,Perchance the dwelling of some village maid,Who fondly watched her aged parents here;And with her thrifty needle, or her wheel,Earned for the lowly three the scanty meal.Close by yon smithy stood the village inn,Where farmers clinched each bargain o’er a glass;And oft, amid mirth’s unrestricted din,Would Time with softer foot, and swifter pass.The husband here his noisy revel kept,While by her lonely hearth the good wife wept.At lazy twilight, ’neath yon ancient elm,The village statesmen met in grave debate,And sagely told, if at their country’s helm,How bravely they would steer the ship of stateFrom treacherous quicksands or from leeward shore,And all they said, betrayed their wondrous lore.I’ve seen the thoughtless rustic pass thee by;In thee, perhaps, his ancestors were bred,And, at my question, point without a sigh,Where calmly rest thy unremembered dead;I asked thy fate, and, as he answered, smiled,‘Thus looked these ruins since I was a child.’Methinks, Burnside, I see thee in thy prime,When thou wert blessed with innocent content,Thy robust dwellers, prodigal of time,Yet still with cheerful heart to labor went;Nor envied lordly pomp, with courtly train,Of empty rank and fruitful acres vain.Methinks I see a summer evening pass,When thou wert peopled, and in sinless gleeMethinks the lusty ploughman and his lassDance with unmeasured mirth, enraptured, free,While seated from the joyous throng apart,The blind musician labors at his art.Though fancy, wayward as the vagrant wind,May picture scenes of unambitious taste,Yet vainly now, we look around to findThy early beauty mid this dreary waste;Unmourned, unmissed, thus in thy fallen state,Thou art an emblem of the common fate!Before the stern destroyer all shall bow,And sweet Burnside, like thine, ’twill be my lotTo lie a ruin, tenantless and low,By friends unmentioned, and by foes forgot:As earth’s uncounted millions I shall be—No mortal think, no record speak of me!
Sadly, amid this once delightful plain,Stern ruin broods o’er crumbling porch and wall,And shapeless stones, with moss o’ergrown, remainTo tell, Burnside, the story of thy fall:These ancient oaks, although decaying, green,Like weary watchers, guard the solemn scene.
Sadly, amid this once delightful plain,
Stern ruin broods o’er crumbling porch and wall,
And shapeless stones, with moss o’ergrown, remain
To tell, Burnside, the story of thy fall:
These ancient oaks, although decaying, green,
Like weary watchers, guard the solemn scene.
Where cowslip cup and daisy sweetly bloomed,Hemlock and fern, in rank luxuriance spread;Where rose and lily once the air perfumed,Wild dock and nettle sprout, no fragrance shed:And here no more the throstle’s mellow layAwakes with gladsome song the jocund day.
Where cowslip cup and daisy sweetly bloomed,
Hemlock and fern, in rank luxuriance spread;
Where rose and lily once the air perfumed,
Wild dock and nettle sprout, no fragrance shed:
And here no more the throstle’s mellow lay
Awakes with gladsome song the jocund day.
O’er yon church wall the ivy creeps, as fainTo shield it from thy withering touch, Decay;No pastor ever more shall there explainThe sacred text, nor with his hearers, prayTo the Eternal Throne for grace divine;Nor sing His praise, nor taste the bread and wine.
O’er yon church wall the ivy creeps, as fain
To shield it from thy withering touch, Decay;
No pastor ever more shall there explain
The sacred text, nor with his hearers, pray
To the Eternal Throne for grace divine;
Nor sing His praise, nor taste the bread and wine.
And here of yore the parish school-house stood,Where flaxen-pated boys were taught to read;At merry noon, in wild unfettered mood,They rushed with boisterous glee to stream or mead;The care-worn teacher homeward wends his way,And freer feels than his free boys at play.
And here of yore the parish school-house stood,
Where flaxen-pated boys were taught to read;
At merry noon, in wild unfettered mood,
They rushed with boisterous glee to stream or mead;
The care-worn teacher homeward wends his way,
And freer feels than his free boys at play.
Yon roofless cot, which still the alders shade,While all around is desolate and sere,Perchance the dwelling of some village maid,Who fondly watched her aged parents here;And with her thrifty needle, or her wheel,Earned for the lowly three the scanty meal.
Yon roofless cot, which still the alders shade,
While all around is desolate and sere,
Perchance the dwelling of some village maid,
Who fondly watched her aged parents here;
And with her thrifty needle, or her wheel,
Earned for the lowly three the scanty meal.
Close by yon smithy stood the village inn,Where farmers clinched each bargain o’er a glass;And oft, amid mirth’s unrestricted din,Would Time with softer foot, and swifter pass.The husband here his noisy revel kept,While by her lonely hearth the good wife wept.
Close by yon smithy stood the village inn,
Where farmers clinched each bargain o’er a glass;
And oft, amid mirth’s unrestricted din,
Would Time with softer foot, and swifter pass.
The husband here his noisy revel kept,
While by her lonely hearth the good wife wept.
At lazy twilight, ’neath yon ancient elm,The village statesmen met in grave debate,And sagely told, if at their country’s helm,How bravely they would steer the ship of stateFrom treacherous quicksands or from leeward shore,And all they said, betrayed their wondrous lore.
At lazy twilight, ’neath yon ancient elm,
The village statesmen met in grave debate,
And sagely told, if at their country’s helm,
How bravely they would steer the ship of state
From treacherous quicksands or from leeward shore,
And all they said, betrayed their wondrous lore.
I’ve seen the thoughtless rustic pass thee by;In thee, perhaps, his ancestors were bred,And, at my question, point without a sigh,Where calmly rest thy unremembered dead;I asked thy fate, and, as he answered, smiled,‘Thus looked these ruins since I was a child.’
I’ve seen the thoughtless rustic pass thee by;
In thee, perhaps, his ancestors were bred,
And, at my question, point without a sigh,
Where calmly rest thy unremembered dead;
I asked thy fate, and, as he answered, smiled,
‘Thus looked these ruins since I was a child.’
Methinks, Burnside, I see thee in thy prime,When thou wert blessed with innocent content,Thy robust dwellers, prodigal of time,Yet still with cheerful heart to labor went;Nor envied lordly pomp, with courtly train,Of empty rank and fruitful acres vain.
Methinks, Burnside, I see thee in thy prime,
When thou wert blessed with innocent content,
Thy robust dwellers, prodigal of time,
Yet still with cheerful heart to labor went;
Nor envied lordly pomp, with courtly train,
Of empty rank and fruitful acres vain.
Methinks I see a summer evening pass,When thou wert peopled, and in sinless gleeMethinks the lusty ploughman and his lassDance with unmeasured mirth, enraptured, free,While seated from the joyous throng apart,The blind musician labors at his art.
Methinks I see a summer evening pass,
When thou wert peopled, and in sinless glee
Methinks the lusty ploughman and his lass
Dance with unmeasured mirth, enraptured, free,
While seated from the joyous throng apart,
The blind musician labors at his art.
Though fancy, wayward as the vagrant wind,May picture scenes of unambitious taste,Yet vainly now, we look around to findThy early beauty mid this dreary waste;Unmourned, unmissed, thus in thy fallen state,Thou art an emblem of the common fate!
Though fancy, wayward as the vagrant wind,
May picture scenes of unambitious taste,
Yet vainly now, we look around to find
Thy early beauty mid this dreary waste;
Unmourned, unmissed, thus in thy fallen state,
Thou art an emblem of the common fate!
Before the stern destroyer all shall bow,And sweet Burnside, like thine, ’twill be my lotTo lie a ruin, tenantless and low,By friends unmentioned, and by foes forgot:As earth’s uncounted millions I shall be—No mortal think, no record speak of me!
Before the stern destroyer all shall bow,
And sweet Burnside, like thine, ’twill be my lot
To lie a ruin, tenantless and low,
By friends unmentioned, and by foes forgot:
As earth’s uncounted millions I shall be—
No mortal think, no record speak of me!
Kenneth Rookwood.
CORONATION OF GEORGE THE FOURTH.BY THE LATE WILLIAM ABBOTT.Thereis one great and peculiar characteristic in all the movements ofJohn Bull. A more gullible epitome of the human race does not exist. Let the case be right or wrong, only apply to him an inflammatory preparation, through the medium of a little exaggerated truth, and his frame is prepared to receive the largest dose of monstrous improbabilities that can possibly be administered; and till he has had his ‘full swing’ in the expression of his outraged feelings and boiling indignation, you might as easily attempt to check the mighty torrent of Niagara. John, however, is a free agent, and on the truest principles of freedom will hear but one side of the question as long as his prejudices continue; and after all, I believe it may fairly be put down to an honest impulse in favor of the oppressed, and a determination that no man, however elevated in rank, shall be screened from that equal justice which England delights in according. But the scales of justice, though equally balanced in the courts, get so bruised and bespattered in the minds of the fickle multitude, that time alone will bring them to their proper equilibrium. Let us travel back to the impeachment of theDuke of York, in the case of the celebratedMrs. Clark. To attempt to palliate the acts of His Royal Highness was to commit an overt act of treason against the sovereign people; to admit his indiscretions, but deny his guilty participation, or even knowledge of the peculations committed in his name, would expose one to the reputation of being either a fool or a madman. The sage counsellors of the city, those bright constellations immortalized in all ages, not only set the noble example of awardingthe freedom of the city to the immortal Colonel Wardle for his wholesale calumnies, but services of plate poured in from all parts; and even a portion of the legislators of Great Britain were offering up their humble adoration at the shrine of an accomplished courtezan. What was the result? Reflection gradually triumphed; all the gross and filthy exaggerations were sifted through the dirty channels which had given rise to them; a sober judgment at length was given; and the Duke, though not freed from the responsibility of having been betrayed into great errors, was honorably and universally acquitted of all intentional wrong. From that moment a more popular prince was not in existence; and with the exception of those human infirmities ‘which flesh is heir to,’ few men descended to the grave more really beloved. The chief of the gang of persecutors, Colonel Wardle, shrunk into miserable retirement, and died ‘unwept, unhonored, and unsung.’This, however, was nothing when compared with the mighty fever of excitement produced in the public mind by the arrival ofQueen Carolinein England. Here was political diet to satisfy the cravings of all parties; a stepping-stone to popularity in which all ranks participated. The peer, the lawyer, the church-warden, down to the very skimmings of the parish; sober rational people; the class so honorably prized in England, the middle class, also became enthusiasts in the cause of the ‘most virtuous Queen that ever graced these realms.’ The independent voters of Westminster; the illustrious class of donkey-drivers; the retailers of cats’-meat; all, all felt a noble indignation at the treatment of ‘Keveen Caroline.’ Days that if allotted to labor would have increased the comforts of their homes and families, were freely sacrificed to processions in honor of Her Majesty. Addresses poured in from every parish in the vast metropolis; representatives of virtuous females were hired, all dressed in white—sweet emblem of their purity! Perhaps England was never nearer the brink of engulphing ruin. The high Tory aristocracy almost stood alone at this momentous period. The public sentiment took but one tone at the theatres; and ‘Godsave theQueen’ was continually called for. At Covent-Garden and Drury-Lane an occasional struggle was made against the popular cry, but it was speedily drowned in clamor. The trial commenced, and an unfortunate witness appeared on behalf of the crown, who obtained the universal cognomen of ‘Non mi Ricordo.’ This added fuel to the fire; and the irritation of the public mind was roused into phrenzy by the impression that perjured witnesses were suborned from foreign countries to immolate the Queen upon the altar of vengeance. If the Queen’s counsel had been satisfied with allowing the evidence for the prosecution to remain uncontradicted, and suffered the case to stand upon its own merits, Her Majesty must have been acquitted; but ‘by your own lips I will condemn you’ was made too manifest in the defence. The division left so small a majority, that ministers wisely abandoned any farther prosecution of the case. I heard most of the speeches of the defence; and it was curious to observe the different modes of argument adopted.Broughamwas an advocate, pleading eagerly a doubtful cause;Denmanwas the enthusiastic defender of a Queen conscious of her innocence, and setting all personal considerations at defiance. Thepublic feeling, no longer fed by an opposing power, calmly settled down, and men began to wonder at the cause of their phrenzy. The innocence of the Queen did not appear so manifest, as the unwise and heartless treatment she experienced. ‘A widowed wife, a childless mother;’ these were powerful enough to excite the deepest sympathy; and certainly a much harder lot could not have befallen the humblest of her sex. Theatres are very commonly the touchstones by which one may discover the bearing of the public mind; and Her Majesty, by way of proving it, visited all the minor theatres, which were densely crowded upon each attendance. A play was then commanded at the two Theatres Royal. The effect produced at Drury-Lane I do not recollect; but it is certain that the announcement at Covent-Garden reduced rather than increased the receipts. The pit was but moderately attended, and the boxes nearly deserted. This was a touchstone from which there was no escaping; and it was really a mortifying scene to witness the utter neglect with which majesty was received. But alas! the bitter cup of mortification was to be drained to the very dregs; and the Queen’s own rashness, or the bad advice of wrong-headed counsellors, hastened the catastrophe.A short period had elapsed, when the public attention was gradually directed towardthe Coronation. The court papers teemed with descriptions of the expected magnificence. The length of time that had intervened between the coronation of George III. and the intended pageant of George IV., excited all the feeling of novelty. The known magnificence of the King, his undisputed taste, and his gallant, princely bearing, all kept attention on thequi vive. The unfortunate Queen, who obstinately rejected all compromise, remained in the country; and like an ignis fatuus, disturbed the serenity of men’s minds, and kept alive a feeling of anxiety. Mr. Harris, the manager and one of the proprietors of Covent-Garden, was gifted with a tact always ready to take advantage of scenes of passing interest. He lost no time in reviving the second part of Henry IV., with all the splendor of the coronation. The champion on this occasion excited much more interest than all the beauties ofShakspeare, and the theatre was nightly crowded to suffocation. The whole company of performers paraded in the procession; and though a member of the peerage, I cannot exactly call to mind the title I bore; which, however, with my accustomed good fortune, I exchanged for a real character at the real coronation. Having the honor of being known most particularly to the Earl of Glengall, he with the greatest kindness made me his page upon that memorable occasion. This certainly was a very distinguished mark of his friendship, for only one Esquire was allotted to each peer, and the greatest interest was made to obtain those appointments.The eventful morning came; and London presented at day-break crowds of carriages of every description, and its floating population pouring in dense masses to every point that possessed the slightest degree of interest. Lord Glengall, in order to avoid the misery of passing through crowded streets, and of being every moment impeded in his course, engaged apartments in Lambeth, at Godfrey and Jule’s, the boat-builders, where he slept the night preceding. His lordship had appointed me to breakfast with him there, at six o’clock on that eventfulmorning; I was resolved to be in time, and at half past two,A. M., I left my home and fell in with a line of carriages on my way toward Westminster bridge. I found that many of them had been there from twelve the preceding night; peers and peeresses in their robes, gently moving, not hastening, to the desired spot. After waiting some two hours with exemplary patience, and finding my case entirely hopeless, I wisely took the precaution of driving to the water-side at Chelsea, for the purpose of procuring a boat. As it is possible that some of the distinguished artists of the day may wish to convey my appearance to posterity, I will give a description of my dress; and I shall also feel greatly obliged, if at the same time they will select the best-looking portrait of me for the likeness: a scarlet tunic, embroidered with gold-thread; a purple satin sash, with a deep gold fringe; a ruffà la Elizabeth; white satin pantaloons; shoes with crimson rosettes; black velvet hat and feathers. My hair, not naturally curling, had been put in gracefulpapillotethe preceding evening. As I write in the reign of QueenVictoria, the reader will readily believe that people are not much in the habit of walking about the streets in such a costume. Imagine therefore my arrival at the watermen’s landing very soon after five o’clock in the morning; a splendid sun pouring, if not absolutely a flood of light, yet its lovely beams upon my person. Crowds of little girls and boys instantly gathered on the spot, receiving me with small voices but loud huzzahs, as I descended from the carriage. A boat was immediately ordered; but as there were several at the landing, all but the one engaged naturally felt the cruelty of not being permitted to come in for their share of extortion on such an occasion.‘I say, Sir,’ said one of the unwashed, ‘them’s a pretty pair of red ribbands in your shoes; I want just such a pair for my little ’un at home.’I knew there was only one way of dealing with them; I therefore put on one of my blandest smiles, and gently replied: ‘Well, my good fellow, if you will give me your address, I will send you a pair to-morrow.’ This settled the affair in good humor, and I was suffered to reach the boat without farther annoyance. We had put into the stream but a short distance, when I encountered a boat-full of roysterers; for old father Thames was thickly studded on this occasion with boats of all classes; when one turned to another in the boat and cried out in the most lugubrious accents, which did not fail to excite shouts of laughter:‘I say, Bill, is that ’ere feller a man or a voman?’I thought now I had fairly passed my ordeal and might go on in peace; but no; we were obliged to pull in near shore, as we were rowing against tide. Milbank was crowded, and from the midst of the polite assemblage a gentle female voice cried out:‘My eyes! Tom! if there isn’t one of Astley’s riders!’I at length arrived at my place of appointment, and had a good hearty laugh at breakfast over my little annoyances. While engaged in that interesting meal, the shouts of the people passed across the water. It was occasioned by the arrival of the Queen, who was refused admittance to the Abbey. Almost all parties blamed her for the attempt, nor did she produce the sensation she had evidently calculated upon. Itwas like trying to renew a lost game, when all interest had subsided. It was the final blow to all her ambitious aspirations, which speedily ended, where all our vanities must end, in the silent grave. I wish it to be perfectly understood that I have no idea of entering into a rivalry with Hume, in giving another History of England; but as these events of stirring interest passed within my own time, and of which I was a close observer, I trust the introduction will not appear misplaced; taking into consideration that I profess to give my general reminiscences, and not simply to confine them to my profession. Perhaps it would be wise on my part to drop a veil over the gorgeous spectacle; for like a visit to the Falls of Niagara, the most enlarged description a prudent person ought to indulge in, would be simply, ‘I have seen the Falls;’ so if I were to show my prudence, I should say, ‘I saw the Coronation.’ But how is it possible to refrain from giving expression, however slight and sketchy, to scenes of such unexampled magnificence?We crossed the river at seven o’clock, and had the advantage of passing through the private residence of one of the principal officers of the House of Commons, and marched on to Westminster Hall without impediment. I had a distinct ticket for the Abbey where I had no duty to perform; and indeed throughout the day it was purely nominal. I had therefore all the advantages of passing and repassing at my own will and discretion, and of paying visits to the Palace-Yard to different friends who had secured places to witness the procession. On first entering that most magnificent of halls, it was impossible not to be struck with its gigantic proportions and superb embellishments. Galleries were erected for the peeresses, foreign ambassadors, and the most distinguished visitors. Admirable arrangements were also made for that portion of the public who had been so fortunate as to procure a Lord Chamberlain’s ticket. Costume also was strictly attended to here, no gentleman being admitted save in full court-suit or military uniform; and the ladies of course shone in all the splendor that gave grace to their lovely forms, and added a native lustre to all the artificial aids which gave such light and brilliancy to the glowing scene.The monotony of the early part of the morning was relieved by the absurd evolutions of the gentlemen from the cinque-ports who had the privilege of carrying the Canopy of the Cloth of Gold over His Majesty. If truth may be told on state occasions, it must be said that they did not perform their movements with much grace. They were not regularly disciplined troops, but fairly occupied the position of the ‘awkward squad.’ It had the effect, however, of exciting a good deal of merriment; indeed I have seldom seen a rehearsal produce such striking effects. The high and imposing ceremonies of the Church, partaking largely of the grand and mystic formula which belonged to our cathedral service before the Reformation, and which again bids fair, at least partially, to occupy its altars, impressed upon the vast and brilliant assemblage gathered beneath the Gothic roof a mingled feeling of royalty and devotion, which was in former days the very essence of chivalry, and which seemed to have taken new growth in this advanced age, from the associating link of ancient costume, which met the eye at every turn. The austere and solemn silence of the place was lostin the mingled feelings which occupied all hearts; and as the lofty chants of the church swelled into divine melody, a half-breathing, a solemn, suppressed emotion, spoke deeply to the heart of other realms above. It is impossible to hear the loud swell of the organ and exquisite melody of the varieties of the human voice harmoniously blended, and bursting forth together in one loud and glorious song of praise, without feeling that our destiny is more than earthly. It should be taken into consideration that there is a vast multitude on the outside, who are really getting impatient for their part of the pageant. It is true, those who have secured places in the different splendid pavilions erected in the immediate vicinity of the platform, are more at their ease, and with the aid of long purses can indulge in all the luxuries so amply provided by liberal caterers; but still ‘fair play’ is our motto; and we will at once throw open the abbey-doors and marshal forth the most brilliantcortégethat ever issued from its sacred walls; the herb-woman, Miss Fellows, and her attendants, strewing the path with flowers, blending the red rose and the white together, symbolical of the fact, that ‘no longer division racked the state,’ but that unreserved allegiance was due to the monarch before them. The excitement of the morning with respect to theQueenhad not entirely subsided; and some few greetings must have caught theKing’sear, that were not expressive of unbounded loyalty; but these formed a very slight proportion of the people.Lord Castlereaghcame in also for his share of these unseemly greetings; but his noble glance and really majestic appearance; his smile, not of disdain, but which marked an unflinching firmness of resolve; speedily converted their anger into applause.The Duke of YorkandPrince Leopoldexcited great interest by their dignified and elegant deportment. TheKing, as he passed up the hall, was greeted with the most enthusiastic cheering and the waving of handkerchiefs from the élite of both sexes; but he appeared oppressed and worn down with fatigue, in which doubtless anxiety had its portion. His Majesty then retired to an apartment prepared for his reception, to take some repose during the royal banquet.The long tables running down the hall on each side were covered with rich damask; triumphal arches and every ingenious device that could by possibility bear upon the pageant, were lavishly placed upon the tables, splendidly ornamented with artificial flowers, rivalling the goddess Flora herself. The entrance to the hall was a grand Gothic archway; but one of the most singular effects produced, was by the numerous chandeliers inormoluhanging from the lofty roof, sending forth myriads of little twinkling stars, that essayed to dim the light of the sun, who here and there sent in his beams through the narrow loopholes and windows of the hall, to catch a glimpse of the splendid ceremonies. The banquet commenced; and it was not a little amusing to see the city authorities maintain their charter by commencing a most formidable attack upon the turtle and the viands which were so profusely spread over the table. Not a moment was lost. Triumphal arches quickly assumed the appearance of shapeless ruins, and wines from every quarter of the globe paid a heavy duty upon being deposited in the city vats!At length the martial clangor of the trumpet announced the royal banquet. His Majesty took his seat on thedais, with the imperial crown upon his head amid the deafening shouts of the up-standing noblesse of the land.Lord Glengall’sseat was high up in the hall; and next to him, on one side, was theEarl of Blessington, whom I had the honor of knowing, and theEarl of Falmouthon the other, both of whom are now gathered to their fathers. They insisted upon my taking a seat with them, to which of course I was nothing loath; and there I fully participated in all the luxuries of the table, instead of waiting like an humble page for the remains of the feast. Lord Blessington requested me to go into the peeresses’ gallery and endeavour to procure refreshments forLady Blessington. I had never seen her ladyship; but her famed beauty and talents did not render the task one of great difficulty. Amid a blaze of beauty, I soon discovered the fair lady, to whom I was to enact my part of Esquire. In return for the attentions I had the good fortune to offer, I received most gracious smiles, and the blandest of speeches, and felt myself rise in stature as I again paced the ancient hall. At length one of the most imposing ceremonies commenced; and many a swan-like neck was stretched to catch a glimpse of the unapproachable magnificence of the scene; the entrance of the champion (accompanied by the hero of a thousand battles,) in a full suit of armor and superbly mounted on a white charger with a plume of feathers on its head; theMarquis of Anglesea, similarly caparisoned; theLord Howardof Effingham, and others of comparatively less note. It had been whispered that Mr. Horace Seymour (nowSir Horace,) had been selected by His Majesty for that important character, and his splendid appearance would perhaps under other circumstances have justified the choice. The right, however, was hereditary, and the real representative would indeed have shown craven, and unworthy the high distinction, if he had relinquished so honorable a position. The anecdote which is related at the coronation of George III., of the challenge having been accepted in behalf ofPrince Charles Stuart, after the gauntlet was dashed upon the earth, was here omitted; for here, happily, there was an undisputed succession. After the champion had drank to the health of ‘George the Fourth, the rightful monarch of Great Britain,’ in a cup of gold sent by His Majesty, (and which is retained by the champion,) he and the accompanying nobles backed their horses the whole distance down the hall, gracefully bowing to their monarch at distinct intervals, amid the most enthusiastic cheering.Walter Scottwas there, his eye sparkling with delight, and devouring that magnificence of whichhispen alone could convey the unlimited splendor.Non nobis Dominewas given by a numerous choir most superbly; and the whole of the ceremonies were at length concluded. I left the hall with the loss of my cap and feathers, and in a humble beaver, which I borrowed from a friend in the immediate vicinity, I elbowed my way through the crowd, sated with splendor and fairly exhausted. London was a blaze of light, and Hyde Park, I presume for the first time, was brilliantly illuminated. Fireworks of the most dazzling description shot meteor-like from every open spot in the vast metropolis, and the pyrotechnical art displayed in the parks at the governmentexpense beggared all description. As I have already stated, Covent-Garden Theatre made a golden harvest by anticipating the coronation; but it was left for Drury-Lane to give as near as possible a fac-simile of the one that had so recently taken place. A platform was thrown over the centre of the pit, across which the procession took place.Ellistonrepeated it so often to crowded houses, that at length he fancied himself theKingde jure; and his enthusiasm carried him to such an extent, that on one occasion he stopped suddenly in the centre of the platform, and with a most gracious and benignant smile, extended his arms at full length and gave the audience a regal blessing, in the following pithy sentence: ‘Bless ye, my people!’
Thereis one great and peculiar characteristic in all the movements ofJohn Bull. A more gullible epitome of the human race does not exist. Let the case be right or wrong, only apply to him an inflammatory preparation, through the medium of a little exaggerated truth, and his frame is prepared to receive the largest dose of monstrous improbabilities that can possibly be administered; and till he has had his ‘full swing’ in the expression of his outraged feelings and boiling indignation, you might as easily attempt to check the mighty torrent of Niagara. John, however, is a free agent, and on the truest principles of freedom will hear but one side of the question as long as his prejudices continue; and after all, I believe it may fairly be put down to an honest impulse in favor of the oppressed, and a determination that no man, however elevated in rank, shall be screened from that equal justice which England delights in according. But the scales of justice, though equally balanced in the courts, get so bruised and bespattered in the minds of the fickle multitude, that time alone will bring them to their proper equilibrium. Let us travel back to the impeachment of theDuke of York, in the case of the celebratedMrs. Clark. To attempt to palliate the acts of His Royal Highness was to commit an overt act of treason against the sovereign people; to admit his indiscretions, but deny his guilty participation, or even knowledge of the peculations committed in his name, would expose one to the reputation of being either a fool or a madman. The sage counsellors of the city, those bright constellations immortalized in all ages, not only set the noble example of awardingthe freedom of the city to the immortal Colonel Wardle for his wholesale calumnies, but services of plate poured in from all parts; and even a portion of the legislators of Great Britain were offering up their humble adoration at the shrine of an accomplished courtezan. What was the result? Reflection gradually triumphed; all the gross and filthy exaggerations were sifted through the dirty channels which had given rise to them; a sober judgment at length was given; and the Duke, though not freed from the responsibility of having been betrayed into great errors, was honorably and universally acquitted of all intentional wrong. From that moment a more popular prince was not in existence; and with the exception of those human infirmities ‘which flesh is heir to,’ few men descended to the grave more really beloved. The chief of the gang of persecutors, Colonel Wardle, shrunk into miserable retirement, and died ‘unwept, unhonored, and unsung.’
This, however, was nothing when compared with the mighty fever of excitement produced in the public mind by the arrival ofQueen Carolinein England. Here was political diet to satisfy the cravings of all parties; a stepping-stone to popularity in which all ranks participated. The peer, the lawyer, the church-warden, down to the very skimmings of the parish; sober rational people; the class so honorably prized in England, the middle class, also became enthusiasts in the cause of the ‘most virtuous Queen that ever graced these realms.’ The independent voters of Westminster; the illustrious class of donkey-drivers; the retailers of cats’-meat; all, all felt a noble indignation at the treatment of ‘Keveen Caroline.’ Days that if allotted to labor would have increased the comforts of their homes and families, were freely sacrificed to processions in honor of Her Majesty. Addresses poured in from every parish in the vast metropolis; representatives of virtuous females were hired, all dressed in white—sweet emblem of their purity! Perhaps England was never nearer the brink of engulphing ruin. The high Tory aristocracy almost stood alone at this momentous period. The public sentiment took but one tone at the theatres; and ‘Godsave theQueen’ was continually called for. At Covent-Garden and Drury-Lane an occasional struggle was made against the popular cry, but it was speedily drowned in clamor. The trial commenced, and an unfortunate witness appeared on behalf of the crown, who obtained the universal cognomen of ‘Non mi Ricordo.’ This added fuel to the fire; and the irritation of the public mind was roused into phrenzy by the impression that perjured witnesses were suborned from foreign countries to immolate the Queen upon the altar of vengeance. If the Queen’s counsel had been satisfied with allowing the evidence for the prosecution to remain uncontradicted, and suffered the case to stand upon its own merits, Her Majesty must have been acquitted; but ‘by your own lips I will condemn you’ was made too manifest in the defence. The division left so small a majority, that ministers wisely abandoned any farther prosecution of the case. I heard most of the speeches of the defence; and it was curious to observe the different modes of argument adopted.Broughamwas an advocate, pleading eagerly a doubtful cause;Denmanwas the enthusiastic defender of a Queen conscious of her innocence, and setting all personal considerations at defiance. Thepublic feeling, no longer fed by an opposing power, calmly settled down, and men began to wonder at the cause of their phrenzy. The innocence of the Queen did not appear so manifest, as the unwise and heartless treatment she experienced. ‘A widowed wife, a childless mother;’ these were powerful enough to excite the deepest sympathy; and certainly a much harder lot could not have befallen the humblest of her sex. Theatres are very commonly the touchstones by which one may discover the bearing of the public mind; and Her Majesty, by way of proving it, visited all the minor theatres, which were densely crowded upon each attendance. A play was then commanded at the two Theatres Royal. The effect produced at Drury-Lane I do not recollect; but it is certain that the announcement at Covent-Garden reduced rather than increased the receipts. The pit was but moderately attended, and the boxes nearly deserted. This was a touchstone from which there was no escaping; and it was really a mortifying scene to witness the utter neglect with which majesty was received. But alas! the bitter cup of mortification was to be drained to the very dregs; and the Queen’s own rashness, or the bad advice of wrong-headed counsellors, hastened the catastrophe.
A short period had elapsed, when the public attention was gradually directed towardthe Coronation. The court papers teemed with descriptions of the expected magnificence. The length of time that had intervened between the coronation of George III. and the intended pageant of George IV., excited all the feeling of novelty. The known magnificence of the King, his undisputed taste, and his gallant, princely bearing, all kept attention on thequi vive. The unfortunate Queen, who obstinately rejected all compromise, remained in the country; and like an ignis fatuus, disturbed the serenity of men’s minds, and kept alive a feeling of anxiety. Mr. Harris, the manager and one of the proprietors of Covent-Garden, was gifted with a tact always ready to take advantage of scenes of passing interest. He lost no time in reviving the second part of Henry IV., with all the splendor of the coronation. The champion on this occasion excited much more interest than all the beauties ofShakspeare, and the theatre was nightly crowded to suffocation. The whole company of performers paraded in the procession; and though a member of the peerage, I cannot exactly call to mind the title I bore; which, however, with my accustomed good fortune, I exchanged for a real character at the real coronation. Having the honor of being known most particularly to the Earl of Glengall, he with the greatest kindness made me his page upon that memorable occasion. This certainly was a very distinguished mark of his friendship, for only one Esquire was allotted to each peer, and the greatest interest was made to obtain those appointments.
The eventful morning came; and London presented at day-break crowds of carriages of every description, and its floating population pouring in dense masses to every point that possessed the slightest degree of interest. Lord Glengall, in order to avoid the misery of passing through crowded streets, and of being every moment impeded in his course, engaged apartments in Lambeth, at Godfrey and Jule’s, the boat-builders, where he slept the night preceding. His lordship had appointed me to breakfast with him there, at six o’clock on that eventfulmorning; I was resolved to be in time, and at half past two,A. M., I left my home and fell in with a line of carriages on my way toward Westminster bridge. I found that many of them had been there from twelve the preceding night; peers and peeresses in their robes, gently moving, not hastening, to the desired spot. After waiting some two hours with exemplary patience, and finding my case entirely hopeless, I wisely took the precaution of driving to the water-side at Chelsea, for the purpose of procuring a boat. As it is possible that some of the distinguished artists of the day may wish to convey my appearance to posterity, I will give a description of my dress; and I shall also feel greatly obliged, if at the same time they will select the best-looking portrait of me for the likeness: a scarlet tunic, embroidered with gold-thread; a purple satin sash, with a deep gold fringe; a ruffà la Elizabeth; white satin pantaloons; shoes with crimson rosettes; black velvet hat and feathers. My hair, not naturally curling, had been put in gracefulpapillotethe preceding evening. As I write in the reign of QueenVictoria, the reader will readily believe that people are not much in the habit of walking about the streets in such a costume. Imagine therefore my arrival at the watermen’s landing very soon after five o’clock in the morning; a splendid sun pouring, if not absolutely a flood of light, yet its lovely beams upon my person. Crowds of little girls and boys instantly gathered on the spot, receiving me with small voices but loud huzzahs, as I descended from the carriage. A boat was immediately ordered; but as there were several at the landing, all but the one engaged naturally felt the cruelty of not being permitted to come in for their share of extortion on such an occasion.
‘I say, Sir,’ said one of the unwashed, ‘them’s a pretty pair of red ribbands in your shoes; I want just such a pair for my little ’un at home.’
I knew there was only one way of dealing with them; I therefore put on one of my blandest smiles, and gently replied: ‘Well, my good fellow, if you will give me your address, I will send you a pair to-morrow.’ This settled the affair in good humor, and I was suffered to reach the boat without farther annoyance. We had put into the stream but a short distance, when I encountered a boat-full of roysterers; for old father Thames was thickly studded on this occasion with boats of all classes; when one turned to another in the boat and cried out in the most lugubrious accents, which did not fail to excite shouts of laughter:
‘I say, Bill, is that ’ere feller a man or a voman?’
I thought now I had fairly passed my ordeal and might go on in peace; but no; we were obliged to pull in near shore, as we were rowing against tide. Milbank was crowded, and from the midst of the polite assemblage a gentle female voice cried out:
‘My eyes! Tom! if there isn’t one of Astley’s riders!’
I at length arrived at my place of appointment, and had a good hearty laugh at breakfast over my little annoyances. While engaged in that interesting meal, the shouts of the people passed across the water. It was occasioned by the arrival of the Queen, who was refused admittance to the Abbey. Almost all parties blamed her for the attempt, nor did she produce the sensation she had evidently calculated upon. Itwas like trying to renew a lost game, when all interest had subsided. It was the final blow to all her ambitious aspirations, which speedily ended, where all our vanities must end, in the silent grave. I wish it to be perfectly understood that I have no idea of entering into a rivalry with Hume, in giving another History of England; but as these events of stirring interest passed within my own time, and of which I was a close observer, I trust the introduction will not appear misplaced; taking into consideration that I profess to give my general reminiscences, and not simply to confine them to my profession. Perhaps it would be wise on my part to drop a veil over the gorgeous spectacle; for like a visit to the Falls of Niagara, the most enlarged description a prudent person ought to indulge in, would be simply, ‘I have seen the Falls;’ so if I were to show my prudence, I should say, ‘I saw the Coronation.’ But how is it possible to refrain from giving expression, however slight and sketchy, to scenes of such unexampled magnificence?
We crossed the river at seven o’clock, and had the advantage of passing through the private residence of one of the principal officers of the House of Commons, and marched on to Westminster Hall without impediment. I had a distinct ticket for the Abbey where I had no duty to perform; and indeed throughout the day it was purely nominal. I had therefore all the advantages of passing and repassing at my own will and discretion, and of paying visits to the Palace-Yard to different friends who had secured places to witness the procession. On first entering that most magnificent of halls, it was impossible not to be struck with its gigantic proportions and superb embellishments. Galleries were erected for the peeresses, foreign ambassadors, and the most distinguished visitors. Admirable arrangements were also made for that portion of the public who had been so fortunate as to procure a Lord Chamberlain’s ticket. Costume also was strictly attended to here, no gentleman being admitted save in full court-suit or military uniform; and the ladies of course shone in all the splendor that gave grace to their lovely forms, and added a native lustre to all the artificial aids which gave such light and brilliancy to the glowing scene.
The monotony of the early part of the morning was relieved by the absurd evolutions of the gentlemen from the cinque-ports who had the privilege of carrying the Canopy of the Cloth of Gold over His Majesty. If truth may be told on state occasions, it must be said that they did not perform their movements with much grace. They were not regularly disciplined troops, but fairly occupied the position of the ‘awkward squad.’ It had the effect, however, of exciting a good deal of merriment; indeed I have seldom seen a rehearsal produce such striking effects. The high and imposing ceremonies of the Church, partaking largely of the grand and mystic formula which belonged to our cathedral service before the Reformation, and which again bids fair, at least partially, to occupy its altars, impressed upon the vast and brilliant assemblage gathered beneath the Gothic roof a mingled feeling of royalty and devotion, which was in former days the very essence of chivalry, and which seemed to have taken new growth in this advanced age, from the associating link of ancient costume, which met the eye at every turn. The austere and solemn silence of the place was lostin the mingled feelings which occupied all hearts; and as the lofty chants of the church swelled into divine melody, a half-breathing, a solemn, suppressed emotion, spoke deeply to the heart of other realms above. It is impossible to hear the loud swell of the organ and exquisite melody of the varieties of the human voice harmoniously blended, and bursting forth together in one loud and glorious song of praise, without feeling that our destiny is more than earthly. It should be taken into consideration that there is a vast multitude on the outside, who are really getting impatient for their part of the pageant. It is true, those who have secured places in the different splendid pavilions erected in the immediate vicinity of the platform, are more at their ease, and with the aid of long purses can indulge in all the luxuries so amply provided by liberal caterers; but still ‘fair play’ is our motto; and we will at once throw open the abbey-doors and marshal forth the most brilliantcortégethat ever issued from its sacred walls; the herb-woman, Miss Fellows, and her attendants, strewing the path with flowers, blending the red rose and the white together, symbolical of the fact, that ‘no longer division racked the state,’ but that unreserved allegiance was due to the monarch before them. The excitement of the morning with respect to theQueenhad not entirely subsided; and some few greetings must have caught theKing’sear, that were not expressive of unbounded loyalty; but these formed a very slight proportion of the people.Lord Castlereaghcame in also for his share of these unseemly greetings; but his noble glance and really majestic appearance; his smile, not of disdain, but which marked an unflinching firmness of resolve; speedily converted their anger into applause.The Duke of YorkandPrince Leopoldexcited great interest by their dignified and elegant deportment. TheKing, as he passed up the hall, was greeted with the most enthusiastic cheering and the waving of handkerchiefs from the élite of both sexes; but he appeared oppressed and worn down with fatigue, in which doubtless anxiety had its portion. His Majesty then retired to an apartment prepared for his reception, to take some repose during the royal banquet.
The long tables running down the hall on each side were covered with rich damask; triumphal arches and every ingenious device that could by possibility bear upon the pageant, were lavishly placed upon the tables, splendidly ornamented with artificial flowers, rivalling the goddess Flora herself. The entrance to the hall was a grand Gothic archway; but one of the most singular effects produced, was by the numerous chandeliers inormoluhanging from the lofty roof, sending forth myriads of little twinkling stars, that essayed to dim the light of the sun, who here and there sent in his beams through the narrow loopholes and windows of the hall, to catch a glimpse of the splendid ceremonies. The banquet commenced; and it was not a little amusing to see the city authorities maintain their charter by commencing a most formidable attack upon the turtle and the viands which were so profusely spread over the table. Not a moment was lost. Triumphal arches quickly assumed the appearance of shapeless ruins, and wines from every quarter of the globe paid a heavy duty upon being deposited in the city vats!
At length the martial clangor of the trumpet announced the royal banquet. His Majesty took his seat on thedais, with the imperial crown upon his head amid the deafening shouts of the up-standing noblesse of the land.Lord Glengall’sseat was high up in the hall; and next to him, on one side, was theEarl of Blessington, whom I had the honor of knowing, and theEarl of Falmouthon the other, both of whom are now gathered to their fathers. They insisted upon my taking a seat with them, to which of course I was nothing loath; and there I fully participated in all the luxuries of the table, instead of waiting like an humble page for the remains of the feast. Lord Blessington requested me to go into the peeresses’ gallery and endeavour to procure refreshments forLady Blessington. I had never seen her ladyship; but her famed beauty and talents did not render the task one of great difficulty. Amid a blaze of beauty, I soon discovered the fair lady, to whom I was to enact my part of Esquire. In return for the attentions I had the good fortune to offer, I received most gracious smiles, and the blandest of speeches, and felt myself rise in stature as I again paced the ancient hall. At length one of the most imposing ceremonies commenced; and many a swan-like neck was stretched to catch a glimpse of the unapproachable magnificence of the scene; the entrance of the champion (accompanied by the hero of a thousand battles,) in a full suit of armor and superbly mounted on a white charger with a plume of feathers on its head; theMarquis of Anglesea, similarly caparisoned; theLord Howardof Effingham, and others of comparatively less note. It had been whispered that Mr. Horace Seymour (nowSir Horace,) had been selected by His Majesty for that important character, and his splendid appearance would perhaps under other circumstances have justified the choice. The right, however, was hereditary, and the real representative would indeed have shown craven, and unworthy the high distinction, if he had relinquished so honorable a position. The anecdote which is related at the coronation of George III., of the challenge having been accepted in behalf ofPrince Charles Stuart, after the gauntlet was dashed upon the earth, was here omitted; for here, happily, there was an undisputed succession. After the champion had drank to the health of ‘George the Fourth, the rightful monarch of Great Britain,’ in a cup of gold sent by His Majesty, (and which is retained by the champion,) he and the accompanying nobles backed their horses the whole distance down the hall, gracefully bowing to their monarch at distinct intervals, amid the most enthusiastic cheering.
Walter Scottwas there, his eye sparkling with delight, and devouring that magnificence of whichhispen alone could convey the unlimited splendor.Non nobis Dominewas given by a numerous choir most superbly; and the whole of the ceremonies were at length concluded. I left the hall with the loss of my cap and feathers, and in a humble beaver, which I borrowed from a friend in the immediate vicinity, I elbowed my way through the crowd, sated with splendor and fairly exhausted. London was a blaze of light, and Hyde Park, I presume for the first time, was brilliantly illuminated. Fireworks of the most dazzling description shot meteor-like from every open spot in the vast metropolis, and the pyrotechnical art displayed in the parks at the governmentexpense beggared all description. As I have already stated, Covent-Garden Theatre made a golden harvest by anticipating the coronation; but it was left for Drury-Lane to give as near as possible a fac-simile of the one that had so recently taken place. A platform was thrown over the centre of the pit, across which the procession took place.Ellistonrepeated it so often to crowded houses, that at length he fancied himself theKingde jure; and his enthusiasm carried him to such an extent, that on one occasion he stopped suddenly in the centre of the platform, and with a most gracious and benignant smile, extended his arms at full length and gave the audience a regal blessing, in the following pithy sentence: ‘Bless ye, my people!’
I FOLLOW.‘O! mon roi!Prends comme moi racine, ou donne-moi des ailesComme a toi!’Victor Hugo.Eagle! that coursing by on mighty pinion,Cleaving the cloud with firm and dauntless breast,Hast deigned to stoop thee from thy proud dominion,To circle in thy flight my lowly nest.I mark thee now, all heavenward ascending,Thy far form cresting the cerulean,Above earth’s shadows on thy pathway wending,Thine eye of fire aye fixed upon the sun.Oh! as I watch thee, all unfettered sweepingHigh o’er the rift that weighs my pinion here,I yearn like thee my plume in ether steeping,To soar away through yon free atmosphere.Thine eye was on my spirit’s humble dwelling,And as I met its all pervading rays,I felt along each vein new nature swelling,And my weak heart grow strong beneath thy gaze.And thus infused with thine unfearing spirit,My wing, that scarcely might essay yon rack,Casting the feebleness it did inherit,Would boldly dare with thee the upward track.And think not I would sink: no, all unquailing,I poise me now to follow on thy way;To mount the tempest-cloud with nerve unfailing,And thread the path whereon the lightnings play.Press on! strong plumed! on tireless wing upspringing,Thy course be ever toward the empyrean;And at thy side my bonded spirit winging,Will mount with thee till thy high goal be won!New-York, December, 1843.Mary E. Hewitt.
‘O! mon roi!Prends comme moi racine, ou donne-moi des ailesComme a toi!’Victor Hugo.
‘O! mon roi!Prends comme moi racine, ou donne-moi des ailesComme a toi!’
‘O! mon roi!Prends comme moi racine, ou donne-moi des ailesComme a toi!’
‘O! mon roi!
Prends comme moi racine, ou donne-moi des ailes
Comme a toi!’
Victor Hugo.
Eagle! that coursing by on mighty pinion,Cleaving the cloud with firm and dauntless breast,Hast deigned to stoop thee from thy proud dominion,To circle in thy flight my lowly nest.I mark thee now, all heavenward ascending,Thy far form cresting the cerulean,Above earth’s shadows on thy pathway wending,Thine eye of fire aye fixed upon the sun.Oh! as I watch thee, all unfettered sweepingHigh o’er the rift that weighs my pinion here,I yearn like thee my plume in ether steeping,To soar away through yon free atmosphere.Thine eye was on my spirit’s humble dwelling,And as I met its all pervading rays,I felt along each vein new nature swelling,And my weak heart grow strong beneath thy gaze.And thus infused with thine unfearing spirit,My wing, that scarcely might essay yon rack,Casting the feebleness it did inherit,Would boldly dare with thee the upward track.And think not I would sink: no, all unquailing,I poise me now to follow on thy way;To mount the tempest-cloud with nerve unfailing,And thread the path whereon the lightnings play.Press on! strong plumed! on tireless wing upspringing,Thy course be ever toward the empyrean;And at thy side my bonded spirit winging,Will mount with thee till thy high goal be won!
Eagle! that coursing by on mighty pinion,Cleaving the cloud with firm and dauntless breast,Hast deigned to stoop thee from thy proud dominion,To circle in thy flight my lowly nest.
Eagle! that coursing by on mighty pinion,
Cleaving the cloud with firm and dauntless breast,
Hast deigned to stoop thee from thy proud dominion,
To circle in thy flight my lowly nest.
I mark thee now, all heavenward ascending,Thy far form cresting the cerulean,Above earth’s shadows on thy pathway wending,Thine eye of fire aye fixed upon the sun.
I mark thee now, all heavenward ascending,
Thy far form cresting the cerulean,
Above earth’s shadows on thy pathway wending,
Thine eye of fire aye fixed upon the sun.
Oh! as I watch thee, all unfettered sweepingHigh o’er the rift that weighs my pinion here,I yearn like thee my plume in ether steeping,To soar away through yon free atmosphere.
Oh! as I watch thee, all unfettered sweeping
High o’er the rift that weighs my pinion here,
I yearn like thee my plume in ether steeping,
To soar away through yon free atmosphere.
Thine eye was on my spirit’s humble dwelling,And as I met its all pervading rays,I felt along each vein new nature swelling,And my weak heart grow strong beneath thy gaze.
Thine eye was on my spirit’s humble dwelling,
And as I met its all pervading rays,
I felt along each vein new nature swelling,
And my weak heart grow strong beneath thy gaze.
And thus infused with thine unfearing spirit,My wing, that scarcely might essay yon rack,Casting the feebleness it did inherit,Would boldly dare with thee the upward track.
And thus infused with thine unfearing spirit,
My wing, that scarcely might essay yon rack,
Casting the feebleness it did inherit,
Would boldly dare with thee the upward track.
And think not I would sink: no, all unquailing,I poise me now to follow on thy way;To mount the tempest-cloud with nerve unfailing,And thread the path whereon the lightnings play.
And think not I would sink: no, all unquailing,
I poise me now to follow on thy way;
To mount the tempest-cloud with nerve unfailing,
And thread the path whereon the lightnings play.
Press on! strong plumed! on tireless wing upspringing,Thy course be ever toward the empyrean;And at thy side my bonded spirit winging,Will mount with thee till thy high goal be won!
Press on! strong plumed! on tireless wing upspringing,
Thy course be ever toward the empyrean;
And at thy side my bonded spirit winging,
Will mount with thee till thy high goal be won!
New-York, December, 1843.Mary E. Hewitt.
REMINISCENCES OF A DARTMOOR PRISONER.NUMBER ONE.Itwas my fortune to be taken prisoner in India during the war of 1812. I was, with others, confined in Fort William at Calcutta, for several months, until the authorities could find an opportunity to send us to England. At length the Bengal fleet being ready for their return voyage, the prisoners were distributed on board the several vessels which composed it. I was placed with a few others on board the ‘Lord Wellington,’ and being in a destitute condition, I agreed to assist in working the ship to England, at the same rate as the regular hands on board. The fleet rendezvoused in the near vicinity, and consisted of something over thirty sail, most of them of the largest class, and equal in size to a line-of-battle ship. They were well armed, some carrying thirty or forty guns, with a plentiful supply of muskets, pikes, etc. This had been customary for many years, as a protection against the French privateers and men-of-war, which swarmed the Indian ocean; in many instances proving themselves more than a match for their enemies, and sometimes beating off large class frigates.On going on board, I found between four and five hundred people, including officers, passengers, and crew. The captain was a large heavy-built man, very unwieldy, and remarkable only for having a large, long body placed upon very small legs. He reminded me of an ill-constructed building, ready to fall by its own weight. He appeared never to be happy unless he was ‘in hot water,’ either with the passengers or crew. There were six mates, or more properly lieutenants, for all the officers were in uniform. There were also a dozen or more midshipmen, a boatswain and his two mates, gunners, quarter-masters, armorers, sail-makers, and carpenters in abundance. In short, we were fitted out in complete man-of-war fashion; not forgetting the cat-o’-nine-tails, which was used with great liberality. The crew was made up of all nations, but the majority consisted of broken-down men-of-war’s men, who being unfit for His Majesty’s service had little fear of imprisonment. The others were composed of Portuguese, Dutch, Italian, etc.; and taken altogether, one would have inferred that they must have been drafted from Falstaff’s regiment of taterdamallions.One fine morning the fleet got under way. Nothing note-worthy or interesting however occurred until we made the island of Ceylon, where we lay a couple of days; during which time the crewgotandkeptmost unaccountably drunk. The officers tried every method to solve the mystery, but without effect. The truth was, the men became suddenly fond of cocoa-nuts, selecting them from the bum-boats in preference to any other fruit. The secret was, that the shell was bored before the nut was quite ripe, the juice poured out, andArracksubstituted in its place. Our next place of stopping was Madras, where we took inmore cargo, but no more cocoa-nuts, as no fruit-boats put off to us, the weather being too rough to admit of it.We had now been at sea several weeks, and had many among our crew and passengers upon the sick-list. Of the former, was a young man on his first voyage. He had been ill more than a week, and there being no physician on board, there was little or nothing done for him. At length he became delirious at intervals; and during the whole of the last night of his existence he made the most piercing and heart-rending cries; calling incessantly for his mother and sister, and lamenting that he should never see them more. Poor fellow! before the next night he was sewed up in his hammock, with a couple of shot at his feet; prayers were read over him, and in the presence of his silent and pensive ship-mates, he was consigned to the ocean, that vast and sublime grave of countless millions of our race. Several weeks after this occurrence, one of the passengers, a Frenchman, died of the consumption, and was buried in the same way; and had not the subject been of too serious a nature, the event would have partaken somewhat of the ludicrous. As usual, the shot was placed at the feet of the dead body, but proved to be insufficient to sink it. The consequence was, that the head and shoulders remained above the surface, bobbing up and down, until we lost sight of it in the distance. The captain’s clerk always officiated as Chaplain at the funerals and divine service; which latter, by the way, was more of a farce than any thing else; for I have known more than one instance where they have been interrupted in the very midst by a squall of wind. Then to see the hubbub; the congregation dispersed; some ordered aloft, with such pious (though sometimes more forcible) ejaculations as: ‘Lay aloft there, you lubbers!D—nyour bloods! I’ll see your back-bones! I’ll set the cat at you!’ etc.We now approached the Cape of Good Hope. The weather became lowering; and as the day advanced, heavy masses of black clouds gradually arose above the horizon, and palled the sky. Night came on suddenly, and with it the threatened storm in all its fury. The darkness was as it were the quintessence of an ink-bottle.Nothingcould be seen, save when the lightning gleamed, or when the rockets which were sent up from the Commodore, and broke forth, spreading their lurid, baleful light to give notice to the squadron of their position; then for an instant the whole scene was lit up with a hideous glare, when all would subside again into tenfold darkness. This, accompanied by the whistling of the wind, the roar of thunder, and the booming of a gun at intervals from the Commodore, to give notice for putting about, gave a grandeur and sublimity to the scene, which I have never seen surpassed. Fear gave way to excitement; and the idea of perishing amid this terrible war of the elements was worth years of the monotony of every-day life. I thought too of the Flying Dutchman, but did not fall in with him until some time after, and then it was by day-light, and without the poetry of ‘darkness, and cloud, and storm.’The tempest gradually subsided, and at the end of two or three days scarcely a breath of wind was to be felt. Angry Nature had changed her frowns for sportive smiles; the face of the great deep was like polishedglass; but there was a long swell of the ocean, apparently of miles in length; its bosom heaving and sinking, as if still oppressed with its late troubles. Our ship lay utterly unmanageable, her sails flapping idly against the masts. There was not sufficient wind to make her answer the helm; and there we lay, rolling and plunging, expecting every moment to see our masts go by the board. The lower yards dipped at every roll; and so great was the strain, that it drew the strong iron ring-bolts by which the guns were secured, and the lashings which fastened the large water-butts broke loose. This was at night; and the power and speed with which these heavy articles were driven from side to side was truly terrific. It took all hands the whole night, (and not without great danger) to secure them. The next day, a new and greater danger presented itself in a different form. A large ship, about the size of our own, lay in the same helpless condition; and by reason of a current, or some other cause, approached so near that it became truly alarming. Both vessels were rolling their keels nearly out of the water; and had they come in contact, it would have been certain destruction to both. It was necessary that something should be done immediately; and the crews of both vessels were ordered into their respective boats, with lines attached to the ships; and with several hours’ hard labor at the oars, they were enabled to separate them.It was about this time that I had a view, not of the Flying Dutchman exactly, but of his ship, while standing on the forecastle early one morning. There had been a fog during the night, and a portion of the vapor still hung over the surface of the water. I had remained in that position but a few moments, when my attention was called by the boatswain’s-mate, who stood near by: ‘Look yonder!’ said he, pointing with his finger. I looked in the direction indicated, and lo! there lay the mystic ‘Phantom Ship.’ She was only a few yards off; perfectly becalmed, with no more motion than if painted on canvass, and apparently not over six feet long, yet perfect in every respect. I was gazing in admiration, with my eyes rivetted upon the object, when there came a light breath of air, so light that I could hardly feel it; presently the mist began gradually to rise and disperse; the ship began to recede; the magic scene was at an end! A breeze had sprung up, and the phantom-ship proved to be one of the fleet; and by a signal from the Commodore, she took her station in line with the other vessels. I never saw any thing like it before nor since. The atmospheric delusion was astonishing; but it was nothing new to the old boatswain’s-mate. All the other vessels were obscured by the fog, and this happened to be the nearest to us. Had the others been in sight they might (or might not) have presented the same appearance. Possibly the position of that particular ship helped to produce the effect. The sight of so large a fleet formed in two lines, extending four or five miles, each convoyed by a man-of-war, like a troop of soldiers led on in single-file by its officers, was ‘beautiful exceedingly;’ especially when the rising or setting sun illuminated their white sails, and a signal-gun from the Commodore changed their course; every ship in that vast fleet, at the cry of ‘About ship!’ moving as by one mind, and gracefully bowing to, and as it were saluting, the breeze! It was a scene never to be forgotten.The wind gradually increased until it became a smart breeze, and we soon neared the Island of St. Helena. Here we first heard of the downfall ofNapoleon, the greatest warrior of all ages; one who struck such terror into the souls of combined Europe, that they dared not let him go free, and imposed upon Great Britain the honorable task of becoming his jailor; and her very heart quaked within her bosom while life remained in his; doomed though he was to perpetual and hopeless exile, upon an isolated rock in the midst of the ocean. On seeing the yellow flags, with the motto ‘Orange boven,’ flying at the mast-heads of the shipping, and hearing of the overthrow of the power of France, our old Dutch boatswain’s-mate, (who in his youth had served with the brave Admiral De Winter, and who had braved the ‘battle and the breeze’ for more than half a century,) was touched to the very depths of his stout heart. He was completely melted, and wept like a child over the fallen fortunes ofNapoleon. ‘Holland,’ said he, ‘has lost her best friend. Who like him will watch over and protect my country!’ He was naturally of a cheerful disposition; but from that time to the close of the voyage, he appeared sad and disheartened, and a smile scarce ever came over his countenance. I may remark in passing, that there were on board of our ship some ten or fifteen Dutch prisoners, who were the remnant of a large force that had formerly been garrisoned at the island of Java. All but these few had been gradually wasted away by pestilence and the poisoned spears and knives of the natives; and Holland, being so much engaged in her wars at home, had no means of aiding so distant a colony. Such was their condition when the island fell into the hands of the English; and they were rescued from destruction by the natives, only by becoming prisoners of war to the English. They were all old men, and some of them could speak a little English: they used to relate to me their former condition, and talk of their future prospects. The tale was a sad one. When young they were ‘kidnapped,’ as they termed it, by the government, as no volunteers could be got to serve in that sickly climate. They were forced from home and their parents at a tender age and sent to that far country, whence they had no prospect of ever returning, or hearing from their friends. Some of them had been absent for forty years, during which time they had seen none of their connexions, and seldom heard from them; for many years all intercourse had been dropped. They felt themselves entire strangers in the world; they were going to Holland to be sure, but not to their home. After the lapse of so many years, where could they seek for their friends? Death and other causes had removed and scattered them; and they almost dreaded the time when they should again set their feet upon the land of their fathers. Having been many months their associate in imprisonment, I took a deep interest in these poor fellows; participated in their feelings, and parted from them with regret. Peace to their memories! They have without doubt long ere this ended their weary pilgrimage of life.We remained at St. Helena several weeks, waiting for the China fleet, during which time we took in a fresh supply of provisions, water, etc. This now famed island is nothing more nor less than a huge irregular block of granite, rising perpendicularly from the midst of the sea.The town, what there is of it, is built in a gully or chasm in the rock: the inhabitants are composed mostly of the military establishment and those connected with it, with perhaps a few exceptions. The island is only useful as a stopping-place for outward and homeward bound India-men, etc; and the inhabitants would be in a state of starvation, were it not for the supplies of provisions which they obtain from the shipping which put in there. All manner of coins from all manner of countries are in circulation here; and all copper coin goes for a penny, be it twice the size of a dollar, or as small as a five-cent piece. A person that way minded might soon make a large and curious collection here.The China fleet now made its appearance, and after a few days’ delay we all got under weigh, with a convoy of a frigate, a sloop-of-war, and a transport full of troops, who on their arrival in England were ordered immediately to the United States, where they were sadly cut up at the battle of New-Orleans. We left the island with a stiff breeze, which continued with fine clear weather for several days. The fleet amounted to over seventy sail, and was arranged in two lines; and in fine weather, with all sail set, we composed a beautiful spectacle. During the whole of the voyage the utmost precaution was used to prevent an attack or capture by privateers, or national vessels of the enemy. Lights of every kind were strictly forbidden at night, except through a special order from a superior officer, and a double watch was kept day and night.‘Land, ho!’ cried the look-out at the mast-head, one day. It proved to be what is termed the Western Islands, which lay directly ahead of us. ‘Sail, ho!’ was the next cry; and all eyes were turned toward the strangers. They were two ‘long, low, black-looking schooners,’ lying-to very quietly, about three miles ahead. ‘See thed——dYankees!’ shouted all hands, in full chorus, as the American flag was displayed at their gaff. A thrill shot through my nerves; my heart swelled, and my eyes filled with tears, as I beheld the Flag of my Country for the first time for many months. No one can imagine the love he bears his native land, until he tests it as I have done. Many were the speculations as to the probability of capturing the saucy privateersman; for by this time all the sail that the convoy could possibly set was spread in chase of the enemy, who as yet had made no attempt to fly, although apparently but a stone’s throw ahead of us. Our captain was the only one in my hearing who seemed to doubt their being taken: ‘Thed——dscamps know too well,’ said he, ‘what their craft can do, to trust themselves so near us.’ We now appeared close on board of them, and the chase well under way, when each fired a gun in defiance or derision, and darted off like birds. It was now nearly dark, and we were not far from land, for which one of the schooners seemed to fly right before the wind, closely pursued by the frigate, under all the canvass she could set. The other put out to sea, close-hauled upon the wind. The brig and transport, the fastest craft in the fleet, crowded all sail, but without nearing the schooner, as she could lie at least two points more to windward than her pursuers. They both escaped! The frigate being disabled, by springing her fore-top-mast, gave up the chase; the others relinquished the pursuit as fruitless, and rejoined the fleet.The night was extremely dark; and the next morning two large vessels were missing. It seemed that the privateers had returned, and hovering around, watched their opportunity, and captured two of our most richly-freighted ships; but as those seas were swarming with British cruisers, they were shortly re-captured and sent to England, where the whole fleet soon arrived. The West-India fleet came into port about the same time; and the amount of wealth brought into London by the safe arrival of the Bengal, China, and West-India fleets, must have been almost incredible. For myself, I was consigned to a dreary prison, ‘as will more particularly appear’ in an ensuing number.
Itwas my fortune to be taken prisoner in India during the war of 1812. I was, with others, confined in Fort William at Calcutta, for several months, until the authorities could find an opportunity to send us to England. At length the Bengal fleet being ready for their return voyage, the prisoners were distributed on board the several vessels which composed it. I was placed with a few others on board the ‘Lord Wellington,’ and being in a destitute condition, I agreed to assist in working the ship to England, at the same rate as the regular hands on board. The fleet rendezvoused in the near vicinity, and consisted of something over thirty sail, most of them of the largest class, and equal in size to a line-of-battle ship. They were well armed, some carrying thirty or forty guns, with a plentiful supply of muskets, pikes, etc. This had been customary for many years, as a protection against the French privateers and men-of-war, which swarmed the Indian ocean; in many instances proving themselves more than a match for their enemies, and sometimes beating off large class frigates.
On going on board, I found between four and five hundred people, including officers, passengers, and crew. The captain was a large heavy-built man, very unwieldy, and remarkable only for having a large, long body placed upon very small legs. He reminded me of an ill-constructed building, ready to fall by its own weight. He appeared never to be happy unless he was ‘in hot water,’ either with the passengers or crew. There were six mates, or more properly lieutenants, for all the officers were in uniform. There were also a dozen or more midshipmen, a boatswain and his two mates, gunners, quarter-masters, armorers, sail-makers, and carpenters in abundance. In short, we were fitted out in complete man-of-war fashion; not forgetting the cat-o’-nine-tails, which was used with great liberality. The crew was made up of all nations, but the majority consisted of broken-down men-of-war’s men, who being unfit for His Majesty’s service had little fear of imprisonment. The others were composed of Portuguese, Dutch, Italian, etc.; and taken altogether, one would have inferred that they must have been drafted from Falstaff’s regiment of taterdamallions.
One fine morning the fleet got under way. Nothing note-worthy or interesting however occurred until we made the island of Ceylon, where we lay a couple of days; during which time the crewgotandkeptmost unaccountably drunk. The officers tried every method to solve the mystery, but without effect. The truth was, the men became suddenly fond of cocoa-nuts, selecting them from the bum-boats in preference to any other fruit. The secret was, that the shell was bored before the nut was quite ripe, the juice poured out, andArracksubstituted in its place. Our next place of stopping was Madras, where we took inmore cargo, but no more cocoa-nuts, as no fruit-boats put off to us, the weather being too rough to admit of it.
We had now been at sea several weeks, and had many among our crew and passengers upon the sick-list. Of the former, was a young man on his first voyage. He had been ill more than a week, and there being no physician on board, there was little or nothing done for him. At length he became delirious at intervals; and during the whole of the last night of his existence he made the most piercing and heart-rending cries; calling incessantly for his mother and sister, and lamenting that he should never see them more. Poor fellow! before the next night he was sewed up in his hammock, with a couple of shot at his feet; prayers were read over him, and in the presence of his silent and pensive ship-mates, he was consigned to the ocean, that vast and sublime grave of countless millions of our race. Several weeks after this occurrence, one of the passengers, a Frenchman, died of the consumption, and was buried in the same way; and had not the subject been of too serious a nature, the event would have partaken somewhat of the ludicrous. As usual, the shot was placed at the feet of the dead body, but proved to be insufficient to sink it. The consequence was, that the head and shoulders remained above the surface, bobbing up and down, until we lost sight of it in the distance. The captain’s clerk always officiated as Chaplain at the funerals and divine service; which latter, by the way, was more of a farce than any thing else; for I have known more than one instance where they have been interrupted in the very midst by a squall of wind. Then to see the hubbub; the congregation dispersed; some ordered aloft, with such pious (though sometimes more forcible) ejaculations as: ‘Lay aloft there, you lubbers!D—nyour bloods! I’ll see your back-bones! I’ll set the cat at you!’ etc.
We now approached the Cape of Good Hope. The weather became lowering; and as the day advanced, heavy masses of black clouds gradually arose above the horizon, and palled the sky. Night came on suddenly, and with it the threatened storm in all its fury. The darkness was as it were the quintessence of an ink-bottle.Nothingcould be seen, save when the lightning gleamed, or when the rockets which were sent up from the Commodore, and broke forth, spreading their lurid, baleful light to give notice to the squadron of their position; then for an instant the whole scene was lit up with a hideous glare, when all would subside again into tenfold darkness. This, accompanied by the whistling of the wind, the roar of thunder, and the booming of a gun at intervals from the Commodore, to give notice for putting about, gave a grandeur and sublimity to the scene, which I have never seen surpassed. Fear gave way to excitement; and the idea of perishing amid this terrible war of the elements was worth years of the monotony of every-day life. I thought too of the Flying Dutchman, but did not fall in with him until some time after, and then it was by day-light, and without the poetry of ‘darkness, and cloud, and storm.’
The tempest gradually subsided, and at the end of two or three days scarcely a breath of wind was to be felt. Angry Nature had changed her frowns for sportive smiles; the face of the great deep was like polishedglass; but there was a long swell of the ocean, apparently of miles in length; its bosom heaving and sinking, as if still oppressed with its late troubles. Our ship lay utterly unmanageable, her sails flapping idly against the masts. There was not sufficient wind to make her answer the helm; and there we lay, rolling and plunging, expecting every moment to see our masts go by the board. The lower yards dipped at every roll; and so great was the strain, that it drew the strong iron ring-bolts by which the guns were secured, and the lashings which fastened the large water-butts broke loose. This was at night; and the power and speed with which these heavy articles were driven from side to side was truly terrific. It took all hands the whole night, (and not without great danger) to secure them. The next day, a new and greater danger presented itself in a different form. A large ship, about the size of our own, lay in the same helpless condition; and by reason of a current, or some other cause, approached so near that it became truly alarming. Both vessels were rolling their keels nearly out of the water; and had they come in contact, it would have been certain destruction to both. It was necessary that something should be done immediately; and the crews of both vessels were ordered into their respective boats, with lines attached to the ships; and with several hours’ hard labor at the oars, they were enabled to separate them.
It was about this time that I had a view, not of the Flying Dutchman exactly, but of his ship, while standing on the forecastle early one morning. There had been a fog during the night, and a portion of the vapor still hung over the surface of the water. I had remained in that position but a few moments, when my attention was called by the boatswain’s-mate, who stood near by: ‘Look yonder!’ said he, pointing with his finger. I looked in the direction indicated, and lo! there lay the mystic ‘Phantom Ship.’ She was only a few yards off; perfectly becalmed, with no more motion than if painted on canvass, and apparently not over six feet long, yet perfect in every respect. I was gazing in admiration, with my eyes rivetted upon the object, when there came a light breath of air, so light that I could hardly feel it; presently the mist began gradually to rise and disperse; the ship began to recede; the magic scene was at an end! A breeze had sprung up, and the phantom-ship proved to be one of the fleet; and by a signal from the Commodore, she took her station in line with the other vessels. I never saw any thing like it before nor since. The atmospheric delusion was astonishing; but it was nothing new to the old boatswain’s-mate. All the other vessels were obscured by the fog, and this happened to be the nearest to us. Had the others been in sight they might (or might not) have presented the same appearance. Possibly the position of that particular ship helped to produce the effect. The sight of so large a fleet formed in two lines, extending four or five miles, each convoyed by a man-of-war, like a troop of soldiers led on in single-file by its officers, was ‘beautiful exceedingly;’ especially when the rising or setting sun illuminated their white sails, and a signal-gun from the Commodore changed their course; every ship in that vast fleet, at the cry of ‘About ship!’ moving as by one mind, and gracefully bowing to, and as it were saluting, the breeze! It was a scene never to be forgotten.
The wind gradually increased until it became a smart breeze, and we soon neared the Island of St. Helena. Here we first heard of the downfall ofNapoleon, the greatest warrior of all ages; one who struck such terror into the souls of combined Europe, that they dared not let him go free, and imposed upon Great Britain the honorable task of becoming his jailor; and her very heart quaked within her bosom while life remained in his; doomed though he was to perpetual and hopeless exile, upon an isolated rock in the midst of the ocean. On seeing the yellow flags, with the motto ‘Orange boven,’ flying at the mast-heads of the shipping, and hearing of the overthrow of the power of France, our old Dutch boatswain’s-mate, (who in his youth had served with the brave Admiral De Winter, and who had braved the ‘battle and the breeze’ for more than half a century,) was touched to the very depths of his stout heart. He was completely melted, and wept like a child over the fallen fortunes ofNapoleon. ‘Holland,’ said he, ‘has lost her best friend. Who like him will watch over and protect my country!’ He was naturally of a cheerful disposition; but from that time to the close of the voyage, he appeared sad and disheartened, and a smile scarce ever came over his countenance. I may remark in passing, that there were on board of our ship some ten or fifteen Dutch prisoners, who were the remnant of a large force that had formerly been garrisoned at the island of Java. All but these few had been gradually wasted away by pestilence and the poisoned spears and knives of the natives; and Holland, being so much engaged in her wars at home, had no means of aiding so distant a colony. Such was their condition when the island fell into the hands of the English; and they were rescued from destruction by the natives, only by becoming prisoners of war to the English. They were all old men, and some of them could speak a little English: they used to relate to me their former condition, and talk of their future prospects. The tale was a sad one. When young they were ‘kidnapped,’ as they termed it, by the government, as no volunteers could be got to serve in that sickly climate. They were forced from home and their parents at a tender age and sent to that far country, whence they had no prospect of ever returning, or hearing from their friends. Some of them had been absent for forty years, during which time they had seen none of their connexions, and seldom heard from them; for many years all intercourse had been dropped. They felt themselves entire strangers in the world; they were going to Holland to be sure, but not to their home. After the lapse of so many years, where could they seek for their friends? Death and other causes had removed and scattered them; and they almost dreaded the time when they should again set their feet upon the land of their fathers. Having been many months their associate in imprisonment, I took a deep interest in these poor fellows; participated in their feelings, and parted from them with regret. Peace to their memories! They have without doubt long ere this ended their weary pilgrimage of life.
We remained at St. Helena several weeks, waiting for the China fleet, during which time we took in a fresh supply of provisions, water, etc. This now famed island is nothing more nor less than a huge irregular block of granite, rising perpendicularly from the midst of the sea.The town, what there is of it, is built in a gully or chasm in the rock: the inhabitants are composed mostly of the military establishment and those connected with it, with perhaps a few exceptions. The island is only useful as a stopping-place for outward and homeward bound India-men, etc; and the inhabitants would be in a state of starvation, were it not for the supplies of provisions which they obtain from the shipping which put in there. All manner of coins from all manner of countries are in circulation here; and all copper coin goes for a penny, be it twice the size of a dollar, or as small as a five-cent piece. A person that way minded might soon make a large and curious collection here.
The China fleet now made its appearance, and after a few days’ delay we all got under weigh, with a convoy of a frigate, a sloop-of-war, and a transport full of troops, who on their arrival in England were ordered immediately to the United States, where they were sadly cut up at the battle of New-Orleans. We left the island with a stiff breeze, which continued with fine clear weather for several days. The fleet amounted to over seventy sail, and was arranged in two lines; and in fine weather, with all sail set, we composed a beautiful spectacle. During the whole of the voyage the utmost precaution was used to prevent an attack or capture by privateers, or national vessels of the enemy. Lights of every kind were strictly forbidden at night, except through a special order from a superior officer, and a double watch was kept day and night.
‘Land, ho!’ cried the look-out at the mast-head, one day. It proved to be what is termed the Western Islands, which lay directly ahead of us. ‘Sail, ho!’ was the next cry; and all eyes were turned toward the strangers. They were two ‘long, low, black-looking schooners,’ lying-to very quietly, about three miles ahead. ‘See thed——dYankees!’ shouted all hands, in full chorus, as the American flag was displayed at their gaff. A thrill shot through my nerves; my heart swelled, and my eyes filled with tears, as I beheld the Flag of my Country for the first time for many months. No one can imagine the love he bears his native land, until he tests it as I have done. Many were the speculations as to the probability of capturing the saucy privateersman; for by this time all the sail that the convoy could possibly set was spread in chase of the enemy, who as yet had made no attempt to fly, although apparently but a stone’s throw ahead of us. Our captain was the only one in my hearing who seemed to doubt their being taken: ‘Thed——dscamps know too well,’ said he, ‘what their craft can do, to trust themselves so near us.’ We now appeared close on board of them, and the chase well under way, when each fired a gun in defiance or derision, and darted off like birds. It was now nearly dark, and we were not far from land, for which one of the schooners seemed to fly right before the wind, closely pursued by the frigate, under all the canvass she could set. The other put out to sea, close-hauled upon the wind. The brig and transport, the fastest craft in the fleet, crowded all sail, but without nearing the schooner, as she could lie at least two points more to windward than her pursuers. They both escaped! The frigate being disabled, by springing her fore-top-mast, gave up the chase; the others relinquished the pursuit as fruitless, and rejoined the fleet.
The night was extremely dark; and the next morning two large vessels were missing. It seemed that the privateers had returned, and hovering around, watched their opportunity, and captured two of our most richly-freighted ships; but as those seas were swarming with British cruisers, they were shortly re-captured and sent to England, where the whole fleet soon arrived. The West-India fleet came into port about the same time; and the amount of wealth brought into London by the safe arrival of the Bengal, China, and West-India fleets, must have been almost incredible. For myself, I was consigned to a dreary prison, ‘as will more particularly appear’ in an ensuing number.
A VERITABLE SEA STORY.BY HARRY FRANCO.‘Thesea, the sea, the o—pen sea, the blue, thefresh;’ but here we halt;Mr.Cornwallknew very little about the sea, or he would have writtenSALT.‘The whales they whistled, the porpoise rolled,And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;’Worse and worse; more blunders than words, and such a jumble!Whalesspout, but never whistle; dolphins’ backs are silver; and porpoises never roll, but tumble.‘It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies,And like a cradled creature lies,’ and squalls,He should have added; but to avoid brawlsWith the poet’s friends I’ll quote no more; butentre nous,Those who write correctly about the sea are exceeding few.YoungDanawith us, andMarryatover the water,1Are all the writers that I know of, who appear to have brought aDiscerning eye to bear on that peculiar state of existence,An ocean life, which looks so romantic at a distance.To succeed where every body else fails, would be an uncommon glory,While to fail would be no disgrace; so I am resolved to try my hand upon a sea-story.In naming sea-authors, I omittedCooper,Chamier,Sue, and many others,Because they appear to have gone to sea without asking leave of their mothers:For those good ladies never could have consented that their boys should dwell onAn element that Nature never fitted them to excel on.Their descriptions are so fine, and their tars so exceedingly flowery,They appear to have gathered their ideas from some naval spectacle at the ‘Bowery;’And in fact I have serious doubts whether either of them ever saw blue water,Or ever had the felicity of saluting the ‘gunner’s daughter.’It was on board of the packet ——, from feelings deferentialTo private griefs, I omit all facts that are non-essential:To Havre we were bound, and passengers there were four of us,Three men and a lady—not an individual more of us.The month was July, the weather warm and hazy,The sea smooth as glass, the winds asleep or lazy.Dull times of course, for the sea, though favorable to the mind’s expansion,Yet keeps the body confined to a very few feet of stanchion.Our employments were nought save eating, drinking and sleeping,Excepting the lady, who a diary was keeping.She was a very pleasant person though fat, and a long way past forty,Which will of course prevent any body from thinking any thing naughty.A very pleasant person, but such an enormous feeder,That our captain began to fear she might prove a famine-breeder;A sort of female Falstaff, fond of jokes and gay society,Cards, claret, eau-de-vie, and a great hater of sobriety.Her favorite game at cards she acknowledged wasecarté,But like Mrs. Battle, she loved whist, and we soon made up a party.We played from morn till night, and then from night till morning,Although the captain, who was pious, continually gave us warning.That time so badly spent would lead to some disaster;At which MadameG——would laugh, and only deal the faster.Breakfast was served at eight, and as soon as it was endedRound flew the cards; and the game was not suspendedUntil seven-bells struck, when we stopped a while for lunch,To allow Madame time to imbibe her allowance of punch;This done, at work we went, with heated blood and flushed faces,Talking of kings, queens, knaves, tricks, clubs and aces.At six bells (threeP. M.,) we threw down our cards and went to dinner,Where Madame never missed her appetite, whether she had been a loser or a winner;Then up from the almonds and raisins, and down again to the queens and aces,We had only to remove from one end of the table to the other to resume our places;Another pause at six,P. M., for in spite of all our speeches,Madame’s partner would lay down his cards for the sake of pouchong and brandy peaches;Being French and polite, of course, she only said ‘Eh bien!’ but no doubt thought him a lubber,For a cup of washy tea to break in upon her rubber.At four bells (tenP. M.,) up from the cards and down again at the table,To drink champaigne and eat cold chicken as long as we were able:With very slight variations this was the daily life we led,Breakfast, whist; lunch, whist; dinner, whist; supper, whist; and then to bed.The sea, for aught we know, was like that which Coleridge’s mariners sailed on;We never looked at it, nor the sky, nor the stars; and our captain railed on,But still we played, until one day there was a sudden dismemberment of our party;We had dined on soupà la tortu, (made of pig’s feet,) of which Madame ate uncommonly hearty;And had just resumed our game; it was her cut, but she made no motion;‘Cut, Madame,’ said I; ‘Good Heavens!’ exclaimed her partner, ‘I’ve a notionThat shehascut for good; quick! help her! she’s falling!’And the next moment on the floor of the cabin she lay sprawling.Poor Madame! It was in vain that we tried hartshorne, bathing and bleeding;Her spirit took its flight, tired to death of her high feeding:For spirits are best content with steady habits and spare diet,And will remain much longer in a tabernacle where they can enjoy repose and quietThan in a body that is continually uneasy with stuffing,And goes about like an overloaded porter, sweating and puffing.The next morning at four-bells, the sun was just uprisen,Glowing with very joy to leave his watery prison;The bright cerulean waves with golden scales were crested,Forming the fairest scene on which my eyes had ever rested;The wind wasS. S. W., and when they let go the main-top bowlineTo square the after yards, our good ship stopped her rolling.Madame lay on the quarter-deck sewed up in part of an old spanker,And for this glorious sight of the ocean we had solely to thank her,For to have kept her lying in the cabin would have caused some of us to feel qualmish,And she could not have been kept on deck, as the weather was growing warmish;Therefore it had been resolved in a kind of council, on the captain’s motion,At sunrise to commit the old lady to the ocean.She was placed upon a plank, resting upon the taffrail, (the stern railing,)One end of which was secured by a bight of the trysail brailing.The captain read the prayers, somewhat curtailed, but a just proportion,The plank was raised, ‘Amen!’ the corpse dropped into the ocean.Down in its deep mysterious caves she sunk to sleep with fishes,While a few bubbles rose from her and burst as if in mockery of human wishes.‘Up with your helm; brace round; haul out your bowlines;Clear up the deck; keep her full; coil down your tow-lines!’The ship was on her course, and not a word said to remind usOf the melancholy fact that we had left one of our number behind us.‘Shocking affair!’ I remarked to Madame’s partner, who looked solemn as a mummy,‘O! horrid!’ said he; ‘I shall now be compelled to play with a Dummy!’
‘Thesea, the sea, the o—pen sea, the blue, thefresh;’ but here we halt;Mr.Cornwallknew very little about the sea, or he would have writtenSALT.‘The whales they whistled, the porpoise rolled,And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;’Worse and worse; more blunders than words, and such a jumble!Whalesspout, but never whistle; dolphins’ backs are silver; and porpoises never roll, but tumble.‘It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies,And like a cradled creature lies,’ and squalls,He should have added; but to avoid brawlsWith the poet’s friends I’ll quote no more; butentre nous,Those who write correctly about the sea are exceeding few.YoungDanawith us, andMarryatover the water,1Are all the writers that I know of, who appear to have brought aDiscerning eye to bear on that peculiar state of existence,An ocean life, which looks so romantic at a distance.To succeed where every body else fails, would be an uncommon glory,While to fail would be no disgrace; so I am resolved to try my hand upon a sea-story.In naming sea-authors, I omittedCooper,Chamier,Sue, and many others,Because they appear to have gone to sea without asking leave of their mothers:For those good ladies never could have consented that their boys should dwell onAn element that Nature never fitted them to excel on.Their descriptions are so fine, and their tars so exceedingly flowery,They appear to have gathered their ideas from some naval spectacle at the ‘Bowery;’And in fact I have serious doubts whether either of them ever saw blue water,Or ever had the felicity of saluting the ‘gunner’s daughter.’It was on board of the packet ——, from feelings deferentialTo private griefs, I omit all facts that are non-essential:To Havre we were bound, and passengers there were four of us,Three men and a lady—not an individual more of us.The month was July, the weather warm and hazy,The sea smooth as glass, the winds asleep or lazy.Dull times of course, for the sea, though favorable to the mind’s expansion,Yet keeps the body confined to a very few feet of stanchion.Our employments were nought save eating, drinking and sleeping,Excepting the lady, who a diary was keeping.She was a very pleasant person though fat, and a long way past forty,Which will of course prevent any body from thinking any thing naughty.A very pleasant person, but such an enormous feeder,That our captain began to fear she might prove a famine-breeder;A sort of female Falstaff, fond of jokes and gay society,Cards, claret, eau-de-vie, and a great hater of sobriety.Her favorite game at cards she acknowledged wasecarté,But like Mrs. Battle, she loved whist, and we soon made up a party.We played from morn till night, and then from night till morning,Although the captain, who was pious, continually gave us warning.That time so badly spent would lead to some disaster;At which MadameG——would laugh, and only deal the faster.Breakfast was served at eight, and as soon as it was endedRound flew the cards; and the game was not suspendedUntil seven-bells struck, when we stopped a while for lunch,To allow Madame time to imbibe her allowance of punch;This done, at work we went, with heated blood and flushed faces,Talking of kings, queens, knaves, tricks, clubs and aces.At six bells (threeP. M.,) we threw down our cards and went to dinner,Where Madame never missed her appetite, whether she had been a loser or a winner;Then up from the almonds and raisins, and down again to the queens and aces,We had only to remove from one end of the table to the other to resume our places;Another pause at six,P. M., for in spite of all our speeches,Madame’s partner would lay down his cards for the sake of pouchong and brandy peaches;Being French and polite, of course, she only said ‘Eh bien!’ but no doubt thought him a lubber,For a cup of washy tea to break in upon her rubber.At four bells (tenP. M.,) up from the cards and down again at the table,To drink champaigne and eat cold chicken as long as we were able:With very slight variations this was the daily life we led,Breakfast, whist; lunch, whist; dinner, whist; supper, whist; and then to bed.The sea, for aught we know, was like that which Coleridge’s mariners sailed on;We never looked at it, nor the sky, nor the stars; and our captain railed on,But still we played, until one day there was a sudden dismemberment of our party;We had dined on soupà la tortu, (made of pig’s feet,) of which Madame ate uncommonly hearty;And had just resumed our game; it was her cut, but she made no motion;‘Cut, Madame,’ said I; ‘Good Heavens!’ exclaimed her partner, ‘I’ve a notionThat shehascut for good; quick! help her! she’s falling!’And the next moment on the floor of the cabin she lay sprawling.Poor Madame! It was in vain that we tried hartshorne, bathing and bleeding;Her spirit took its flight, tired to death of her high feeding:For spirits are best content with steady habits and spare diet,And will remain much longer in a tabernacle where they can enjoy repose and quietThan in a body that is continually uneasy with stuffing,And goes about like an overloaded porter, sweating and puffing.The next morning at four-bells, the sun was just uprisen,Glowing with very joy to leave his watery prison;The bright cerulean waves with golden scales were crested,Forming the fairest scene on which my eyes had ever rested;The wind wasS. S. W., and when they let go the main-top bowlineTo square the after yards, our good ship stopped her rolling.Madame lay on the quarter-deck sewed up in part of an old spanker,And for this glorious sight of the ocean we had solely to thank her,For to have kept her lying in the cabin would have caused some of us to feel qualmish,And she could not have been kept on deck, as the weather was growing warmish;Therefore it had been resolved in a kind of council, on the captain’s motion,At sunrise to commit the old lady to the ocean.She was placed upon a plank, resting upon the taffrail, (the stern railing,)One end of which was secured by a bight of the trysail brailing.The captain read the prayers, somewhat curtailed, but a just proportion,The plank was raised, ‘Amen!’ the corpse dropped into the ocean.Down in its deep mysterious caves she sunk to sleep with fishes,While a few bubbles rose from her and burst as if in mockery of human wishes.‘Up with your helm; brace round; haul out your bowlines;Clear up the deck; keep her full; coil down your tow-lines!’The ship was on her course, and not a word said to remind usOf the melancholy fact that we had left one of our number behind us.‘Shocking affair!’ I remarked to Madame’s partner, who looked solemn as a mummy,‘O! horrid!’ said he; ‘I shall now be compelled to play with a Dummy!’
‘Thesea, the sea, the o—pen sea, the blue, thefresh;’ but here we halt;Mr.Cornwallknew very little about the sea, or he would have writtenSALT.‘The whales they whistled, the porpoise rolled,And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;’Worse and worse; more blunders than words, and such a jumble!Whalesspout, but never whistle; dolphins’ backs are silver; and porpoises never roll, but tumble.‘It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies,And like a cradled creature lies,’ and squalls,He should have added; but to avoid brawlsWith the poet’s friends I’ll quote no more; butentre nous,Those who write correctly about the sea are exceeding few.YoungDanawith us, andMarryatover the water,1Are all the writers that I know of, who appear to have brought aDiscerning eye to bear on that peculiar state of existence,An ocean life, which looks so romantic at a distance.To succeed where every body else fails, would be an uncommon glory,While to fail would be no disgrace; so I am resolved to try my hand upon a sea-story.In naming sea-authors, I omittedCooper,Chamier,Sue, and many others,Because they appear to have gone to sea without asking leave of their mothers:For those good ladies never could have consented that their boys should dwell onAn element that Nature never fitted them to excel on.Their descriptions are so fine, and their tars so exceedingly flowery,They appear to have gathered their ideas from some naval spectacle at the ‘Bowery;’And in fact I have serious doubts whether either of them ever saw blue water,Or ever had the felicity of saluting the ‘gunner’s daughter.’
‘Thesea, the sea, the o—pen sea, the blue, thefresh;’ but here we halt;
Mr.Cornwallknew very little about the sea, or he would have writtenSALT.
‘The whales they whistled, the porpoise rolled,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;’
Worse and worse; more blunders than words, and such a jumble!
Whalesspout, but never whistle; dolphins’ backs are silver; and porpoises never roll, but tumble.
‘It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies,
And like a cradled creature lies,’ and squalls,
He should have added; but to avoid brawls
With the poet’s friends I’ll quote no more; butentre nous,
Those who write correctly about the sea are exceeding few.
YoungDanawith us, andMarryatover the water,1
Are all the writers that I know of, who appear to have brought a
Discerning eye to bear on that peculiar state of existence,
An ocean life, which looks so romantic at a distance.
To succeed where every body else fails, would be an uncommon glory,
While to fail would be no disgrace; so I am resolved to try my hand upon a sea-story.
In naming sea-authors, I omittedCooper,Chamier,Sue, and many others,
Because they appear to have gone to sea without asking leave of their mothers:
For those good ladies never could have consented that their boys should dwell on
An element that Nature never fitted them to excel on.
Their descriptions are so fine, and their tars so exceedingly flowery,
They appear to have gathered their ideas from some naval spectacle at the ‘Bowery;’
And in fact I have serious doubts whether either of them ever saw blue water,
Or ever had the felicity of saluting the ‘gunner’s daughter.’
It was on board of the packet ——, from feelings deferentialTo private griefs, I omit all facts that are non-essential:To Havre we were bound, and passengers there were four of us,Three men and a lady—not an individual more of us.The month was July, the weather warm and hazy,The sea smooth as glass, the winds asleep or lazy.Dull times of course, for the sea, though favorable to the mind’s expansion,Yet keeps the body confined to a very few feet of stanchion.Our employments were nought save eating, drinking and sleeping,Excepting the lady, who a diary was keeping.She was a very pleasant person though fat, and a long way past forty,Which will of course prevent any body from thinking any thing naughty.A very pleasant person, but such an enormous feeder,That our captain began to fear she might prove a famine-breeder;A sort of female Falstaff, fond of jokes and gay society,Cards, claret, eau-de-vie, and a great hater of sobriety.Her favorite game at cards she acknowledged wasecarté,But like Mrs. Battle, she loved whist, and we soon made up a party.We played from morn till night, and then from night till morning,Although the captain, who was pious, continually gave us warning.That time so badly spent would lead to some disaster;At which MadameG——would laugh, and only deal the faster.Breakfast was served at eight, and as soon as it was endedRound flew the cards; and the game was not suspendedUntil seven-bells struck, when we stopped a while for lunch,To allow Madame time to imbibe her allowance of punch;This done, at work we went, with heated blood and flushed faces,Talking of kings, queens, knaves, tricks, clubs and aces.At six bells (threeP. M.,) we threw down our cards and went to dinner,Where Madame never missed her appetite, whether she had been a loser or a winner;Then up from the almonds and raisins, and down again to the queens and aces,We had only to remove from one end of the table to the other to resume our places;Another pause at six,P. M., for in spite of all our speeches,Madame’s partner would lay down his cards for the sake of pouchong and brandy peaches;Being French and polite, of course, she only said ‘Eh bien!’ but no doubt thought him a lubber,For a cup of washy tea to break in upon her rubber.At four bells (tenP. M.,) up from the cards and down again at the table,To drink champaigne and eat cold chicken as long as we were able:With very slight variations this was the daily life we led,Breakfast, whist; lunch, whist; dinner, whist; supper, whist; and then to bed.The sea, for aught we know, was like that which Coleridge’s mariners sailed on;We never looked at it, nor the sky, nor the stars; and our captain railed on,But still we played, until one day there was a sudden dismemberment of our party;We had dined on soupà la tortu, (made of pig’s feet,) of which Madame ate uncommonly hearty;And had just resumed our game; it was her cut, but she made no motion;‘Cut, Madame,’ said I; ‘Good Heavens!’ exclaimed her partner, ‘I’ve a notionThat shehascut for good; quick! help her! she’s falling!’And the next moment on the floor of the cabin she lay sprawling.Poor Madame! It was in vain that we tried hartshorne, bathing and bleeding;Her spirit took its flight, tired to death of her high feeding:For spirits are best content with steady habits and spare diet,And will remain much longer in a tabernacle where they can enjoy repose and quietThan in a body that is continually uneasy with stuffing,And goes about like an overloaded porter, sweating and puffing.
It was on board of the packet ——, from feelings deferential
To private griefs, I omit all facts that are non-essential:
To Havre we were bound, and passengers there were four of us,
Three men and a lady—not an individual more of us.
The month was July, the weather warm and hazy,
The sea smooth as glass, the winds asleep or lazy.
Dull times of course, for the sea, though favorable to the mind’s expansion,
Yet keeps the body confined to a very few feet of stanchion.
Our employments were nought save eating, drinking and sleeping,
Excepting the lady, who a diary was keeping.
She was a very pleasant person though fat, and a long way past forty,
Which will of course prevent any body from thinking any thing naughty.
A very pleasant person, but such an enormous feeder,
That our captain began to fear she might prove a famine-breeder;
A sort of female Falstaff, fond of jokes and gay society,
Cards, claret, eau-de-vie, and a great hater of sobriety.
Her favorite game at cards she acknowledged wasecarté,
But like Mrs. Battle, she loved whist, and we soon made up a party.
We played from morn till night, and then from night till morning,
Although the captain, who was pious, continually gave us warning.
That time so badly spent would lead to some disaster;
At which MadameG——would laugh, and only deal the faster.
Breakfast was served at eight, and as soon as it was ended
Round flew the cards; and the game was not suspended
Until seven-bells struck, when we stopped a while for lunch,
To allow Madame time to imbibe her allowance of punch;
This done, at work we went, with heated blood and flushed faces,
Talking of kings, queens, knaves, tricks, clubs and aces.
At six bells (threeP. M.,) we threw down our cards and went to dinner,
Where Madame never missed her appetite, whether she had been a loser or a winner;
Then up from the almonds and raisins, and down again to the queens and aces,
We had only to remove from one end of the table to the other to resume our places;
Another pause at six,P. M., for in spite of all our speeches,
Madame’s partner would lay down his cards for the sake of pouchong and brandy peaches;
Being French and polite, of course, she only said ‘Eh bien!’ but no doubt thought him a lubber,
For a cup of washy tea to break in upon her rubber.
At four bells (tenP. M.,) up from the cards and down again at the table,
To drink champaigne and eat cold chicken as long as we were able:
With very slight variations this was the daily life we led,
Breakfast, whist; lunch, whist; dinner, whist; supper, whist; and then to bed.
The sea, for aught we know, was like that which Coleridge’s mariners sailed on;
We never looked at it, nor the sky, nor the stars; and our captain railed on,
But still we played, until one day there was a sudden dismemberment of our party;
We had dined on soupà la tortu, (made of pig’s feet,) of which Madame ate uncommonly hearty;
And had just resumed our game; it was her cut, but she made no motion;
‘Cut, Madame,’ said I; ‘Good Heavens!’ exclaimed her partner, ‘I’ve a notion
That shehascut for good; quick! help her! she’s falling!’
And the next moment on the floor of the cabin she lay sprawling.
Poor Madame! It was in vain that we tried hartshorne, bathing and bleeding;
Her spirit took its flight, tired to death of her high feeding:
For spirits are best content with steady habits and spare diet,
And will remain much longer in a tabernacle where they can enjoy repose and quiet
Than in a body that is continually uneasy with stuffing,
And goes about like an overloaded porter, sweating and puffing.
The next morning at four-bells, the sun was just uprisen,Glowing with very joy to leave his watery prison;The bright cerulean waves with golden scales were crested,Forming the fairest scene on which my eyes had ever rested;The wind wasS. S. W., and when they let go the main-top bowlineTo square the after yards, our good ship stopped her rolling.Madame lay on the quarter-deck sewed up in part of an old spanker,And for this glorious sight of the ocean we had solely to thank her,For to have kept her lying in the cabin would have caused some of us to feel qualmish,And she could not have been kept on deck, as the weather was growing warmish;Therefore it had been resolved in a kind of council, on the captain’s motion,At sunrise to commit the old lady to the ocean.She was placed upon a plank, resting upon the taffrail, (the stern railing,)One end of which was secured by a bight of the trysail brailing.The captain read the prayers, somewhat curtailed, but a just proportion,The plank was raised, ‘Amen!’ the corpse dropped into the ocean.Down in its deep mysterious caves she sunk to sleep with fishes,While a few bubbles rose from her and burst as if in mockery of human wishes.‘Up with your helm; brace round; haul out your bowlines;Clear up the deck; keep her full; coil down your tow-lines!’The ship was on her course, and not a word said to remind usOf the melancholy fact that we had left one of our number behind us.‘Shocking affair!’ I remarked to Madame’s partner, who looked solemn as a mummy,‘O! horrid!’ said he; ‘I shall now be compelled to play with a Dummy!’
The next morning at four-bells, the sun was just uprisen,
Glowing with very joy to leave his watery prison;
The bright cerulean waves with golden scales were crested,
Forming the fairest scene on which my eyes had ever rested;
The wind wasS. S. W., and when they let go the main-top bowline
To square the after yards, our good ship stopped her rolling.
Madame lay on the quarter-deck sewed up in part of an old spanker,
And for this glorious sight of the ocean we had solely to thank her,
For to have kept her lying in the cabin would have caused some of us to feel qualmish,
And she could not have been kept on deck, as the weather was growing warmish;
Therefore it had been resolved in a kind of council, on the captain’s motion,
At sunrise to commit the old lady to the ocean.
She was placed upon a plank, resting upon the taffrail, (the stern railing,)
One end of which was secured by a bight of the trysail brailing.
The captain read the prayers, somewhat curtailed, but a just proportion,
The plank was raised, ‘Amen!’ the corpse dropped into the ocean.
Down in its deep mysterious caves she sunk to sleep with fishes,
While a few bubbles rose from her and burst as if in mockery of human wishes.
‘Up with your helm; brace round; haul out your bowlines;
Clear up the deck; keep her full; coil down your tow-lines!’
The ship was on her course, and not a word said to remind us
Of the melancholy fact that we had left one of our number behind us.
‘Shocking affair!’ I remarked to Madame’s partner, who looked solemn as a mummy,
‘O! horrid!’ said he; ‘I shall now be compelled to play with a Dummy!’