/ 
 
 Persons, Places and Things. 
 
 EMBRACING A SERIES OF 
 
 i 
 
 STORIES OF ADVENTURE, SKETCHES OF TRAVEL 
 AND DESCRIPTIONS OF PLACES. 
 
 BY POPULAR WRITERS. 
 
 WITH OVER TWO HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
 
 1878. 
 
ft*^* 
 
 Copyright, 1877, 
 By y. B. LippiNcoTT a- Co. 
 
 Lippincott's Press, 
 Philada. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 WANDERINGS WITH VIRGIL. Edward C. Bruce 5 
 
 WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. Two Parts. Ellts 
 
 Yarnall 15 
 
 SIX MONTHS AMONG CANNIBALS 41 
 
 AN ADVENTURE IN JAPAN 49 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. Two Parts. Edward C. Bruce 60 
 
 AN AFRICAN FAIRHAVEN 102 
 
 PICTURES FROM SPAIN. Two Parts. Edward King 113 
 
 THE TRIANON PALACES. Marie Howland 145 
 
 JOSEPHINE AND MALMAISON. Marie Howland 158 
 
 CRUMBS FROM THE RHINELAND. Alice Gray 168 
 
 TRAVELS IN THE AIR. Two Parts 180 
 
 GLIMPSES OF POLYNESIA 198 
 
 AN ESCAPE FROM SIBERIA ! 206 
 
 AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. Two Parts 223 
 
 TWO WEEKS IN THE CARLIST COUNTRY. Cecil Buckland 249 
 
 QUAINT CRAFT. W. L. O. O'Grady 264 
 
 THE GOLDEN EAGLE AND HIS EYRIE. W. A. Baillie-Grohman 272 
 
 3 
 
PERSONS, PLACES AND THINGS. 
 
 WANDERINGS WITH VIRGIL. 
 
 
 PIAIN OF TROY, FROM TENEDOS. 
 
 FROM this our modern upstart land 
 of Atlantis there pass every year to 
 the circling shores of the great Central 
 Sea, in search of knowledge, health or 
 pleasure, more voyagers by far than em- 
 barked with ^neas in his twenty ships 
 built from the woods of Phrygian Ida, 
 and skw the last peak of fatherland sink 
 into the eastern shadows of twilight be- 
 hind Tenedos. They would outnumber, 
 a score or two to one, the little remnant 
 that disembarked with him from one ship 
 
 at Latium, and gave to the world the 
 Latin race and the Alban fathers and 
 the walls of lofty Rome. Add to them 
 the reinforcements from the ancient edge 
 of the globe, Britain and North-western 
 Europe, and the host of sight-seers will 
 exceed the army that Agamemnon, king 
 of men, marshaled under the walls of 
 Ilium for the long fight that will rage for 
 ever. 
 
 Among all these there exists, doubt- 
 less, a full share of latent heroism, dor- 
 
 5 
 
 . 
 
WANDERINGS WITH VIRGIL. 
 
 mant devotion and capacity for manifes- 
 tation of the highest qualities of mortals. 
 The "pink parasol by the Pyramids" 
 probably shades as fair a face and as 
 much of "true womanly" in form and 
 heart as did the golden coif of Briseis ; 
 and its escort would promptly and grace- 
 fully pick up the glaive of Achilles or go 
 with Jason wool-gathering to the Crimea 
 — an exploit the latter, in fact, which Mr. 
 Kinglake and his British readers think a 
 mere bagatelle to the victory of Inker- 
 mann. But, for all tha., none of them 
 will personify beauty and valor in the 
 eyes of the poet and the painter of thirty 
 centuries hence. They will sink, life 
 and memory, into the mass of what the 
 dyspeptic Carlyle calls seventeen millions 
 of bores, and might as justly, had he cho- 
 sen to extend the characterization to his 
 own bailiwick, have called seventy mil- 
 lions. Is it that the disproportion be- 
 tween actualities and probabilities is so 
 immense ; that gifts and opportunities so 
 seldom come together; that the condi- 
 tions of the required result are so nu- 
 merous and involved ; that Nature, prod- 
 igal and wasteful in the moral and intel- 
 lectual as in the physical sernina reruin, 
 refuses to innumerable individuals and 
 long cycles of time their just and nor- 
 mal development, like the immeasurable 
 majority of codfish eggs that never hatch ? 
 Or is it that a long list of special elements 
 combines to give to this amphitheatre 
 of the world an attracting and inspiring 
 charm no other region will ever possess ? 
 Volumes have been, and volumes more 
 might be, written on the features which 
 make the Mediterranean a unique field 
 for all human activities. Its axis run- 
 ning with latitude and not with longi- 
 tude, its climate has still the entire range 
 of the temperate zone. Alpine glaciers 
 overhang its northern rim, while its south- 
 ern waves lap the tawny sands of the 
 Libyan desert. Its waters reflect the fir 
 and the palm, the ibex and the camel. 
 Tideless and landlocked ; with a coast- 
 line, counting the islands, equal to that 
 of the Atlantic ; its sinuosities present- 
 ing harbors to every wind, often but a 
 few hours', and rarely more than two 
 days', sail apart; endowed with a won- 
 
 derful variety of commodities of its own, 
 besides those which drift to it by the Don 
 from the Arctic plains, by the Nile from 
 Capricorn, and by the Straits of Hercules 
 from the Main, — it has from all time enjoy- 
 ed the civilizing influence of commerce. 
 To vessels which seldom lost sight of the 
 stars by night, and could not be driven 
 more than two or three days from land, 
 the compass was not an essential. The 
 three great voyages which have left us 
 their logs — those of Ulysses, yEneas and 
 Paul — were indeed circuitous enough, 
 but from design mainly in the first two 
 cases, while the apostle seems to have 
 been unfortunate in his selection of skip- 
 pers ; and it is clear, from his own ac- 
 count, that they ascribed their extraordi- 
 narily bad luck to an equally unfortunate 
 choice of a passenger. 
 
 From a period undreamed of by Nie- 
 buhr or Deucalion — the close of the Gla- 
 cial period, when the Lapp slid north- 
 ward with the seal, leaving the hairy ele- 
 phant to die in Italy, and determine, per- 
 haps, the site of Rome by bequeathing 
 his caput to the Capitol — this vestibule 
 of three continents must have been the 
 life-seat of the nations, the lungs of the 
 globe. Froqi north, east and south, 
 peoples and languages struggled thith- 
 er. They groped instinctively toward the 
 daylight, as Russia yearns for Constan- 
 tinople and Prussia for the Scheldt. They 
 found, among the ever-blooming islands 
 and peninsulas of that sunny sea, the 
 seeds of the highest style of man. The 
 insular spirit of mingled enterprise and in- 
 dependence fostered political liberty and 
 free thought. A swarm of little empires 
 sprang up, alike in blood, habits and tra- 
 ditions. Near enough to communicate, 
 but not to be absorbed, their relations 
 ran through an intricate dance of alliance 
 and war, the two conditions equally tend- 
 ing to make common property of the ad- 
 vances in culture of each state. Mer- 
 chant-ship and war-galley bore fructifica- 
 tion from island to island like so many 
 bees, stinging and stingless, transporting 
 pollen from flower to flower. There arose 
 a singular balance of unity in diversity 
 in mental character, art, religion and so- 
 cial and political institutions. We read 
 
WANDERINGS WITH VIRGIL. 
 
 of a multitude of lawgivers — Solon, 
 Draco, Lycurgus, Minos, etc., each im- 
 posing his rigidly-drawn system for an 
 unchanged duration of centuries on his 
 particular people. Codifiers they should 
 more properly be called, like Justinian 
 and Alfonso ; not creating wholly new 
 
 and arbitrary schemes of jurisprudence, 
 but collating, pruning and defining for 
 better practical service the customs 
 which had grown up in the ages before 
 them. Some of these men were deified, 
 simply because they seemed to embody 
 the national genius or were convenient 
 
 historical starting-points. In those pan- 
 theistic days air, land and sea were su- 
 persaturated with divinity. It floated on 
 the winds, spoke in the- thunder, lurked 
 in the shadows of the woods, sank into 
 the centre of the earth and pervaded the 
 deep. Its manifestations were every- 
 where, and rested on the humblest ob- 
 jects. Worshipers who ascribed divine 
 attributes to their chimney-pieces and 
 boundary-stones might not unnaturally 
 detect them in their attorneys. 
 
 Ancient history, so called, is modern. 
 What are the nine hundred years during 
 which the Spartans boasted of having 
 adhered to the injunctions of their first 
 lawgiver, or the three or four centuries 
 to the back of that since the immortals 
 saw fit to overset the Asian realm and 
 the derelict race of Priam, and Neptune's 
 Troy lay smoking on the ground, to the 
 succession of fossil dominions, here two 
 or three, there five, six, seven deep, re- 
 vealed to us on these shores by those un- 
 pretending and uncritical investigators. 
 
 the shovel and the pick ? Herculaneum, 
 partly disinterred last century, and most- 
 ly re-abandoned to the mould in this, is 
 known to have been one of the most 
 ancient Greek cities in Italy. The tufa 
 that enshrouds it is a duplicate of the 
 tufa on which it stands, and beneath that 
 is a soil full of the clearest traces of till- 
 age which must have been bestowed upon 
 it before the beginning of tradition, since 
 the eruption of a. d. 79 was the first re- 
 corded of Vesuvius. Behind the Etrus- 
 cans, who antedate Rome, and whose 
 language, as inscribed upon their lately- 
 opened tombs, remains uninterpreted, 
 was at least one civilization of as high 
 an order as theirs, represented by nu- 
 merous remains. And still beyond that, 
 we shall doubtless be soon perusing, or 
 attempting to peruse, new leaves of the 
 buried volume, older and more valuable 
 than the lost books of the Sibyl. Troy 
 herself speaks in this way literally from 
 her ashes, and tells a tale we should not 
 have gathered from all that has been 
 
8 
 
 WANDERINGS WITH VIRGIL. 
 
 written of her. In the debris of her 
 citadel, sixty feet deep, not less than six 
 successive and distinct series of occu- 
 pants are traced, each raised, by the ruin 
 of its predecessor, to a loftier stronghold 
 and a broader view over the rich historic 
 plains. 
 
 These strata of pre-historic history car- 
 ry us to a region through which we have 
 no other guide. As we emerge from it 
 into the mist of myths, the half-light of 
 tradition, or the light, often equally un- 
 certain, of the earlier historians, we get 
 at least names, events, and some dates, 
 more or less confused and contradictory. 
 Hardly so far back as this does Virgil 
 pretend to carry his readers. . The poet 
 romances less than the historian, and con- 
 tents himself with ground where a firmer 
 footing may be had. There he grows 
 quite circumstantial, and throws together 
 statements, obviously the result of long 
 and close research, that have been too 
 unsparingly pooh-poohed by critics pos- 
 sessed of but microscopic fragments of 
 the authorities that guided him. 
 
 Hard fact is coming daily to the rescue 
 of the classic annalists in verse and prose 
 from the merciless skepticism dealt out 
 to them in our times. The ground we 
 tread upon is made to testify in their be- 
 half. Witnesses for the dead rise from 
 beneath the feet of the living. A few 
 strokes of the mattock, and we stand in 
 the Scasan gate, on the stones that Hec- 
 tor trod. A few more, and we lift from 
 the smoke-stained ruin of a wall hard 
 by a clump of Priam's treasure, saved 
 from "the red pursuing Greek" by the 
 wreck he had wrought — double-lipped 
 cups, images of the Penates, chains, arm- 
 lets and other decorations. The debris 
 we throw aside is filled with the bones and 
 armor of dead warriors. If we have not 
 here the exact studies from which Homer 
 drew, we have at least those from which 
 he might have drawn with strictly iden- 
 tical results. If his is a phantom Troy, 
 what is the reality before us ? The field 
 of Waterloo is at this day more difficult 
 to identify by those who may have fought 
 there, or by others who depend on con- 
 temporary descriptions, if we shut out 
 the Belgian monument, than this mar- 
 
 velous photograph, in palpable stone, 
 metal and ashes, of a mythical city and 
 conflict described with the most pains- 
 taking minuteness by a mythical poet in 
 writings that have been public property 
 for twenty-five centuries. It may not 
 have been Troy, but it must have been 
 a Troy. Homer may be but a collective 
 term for a lot of unknown rhapsodists, 
 who all wrote in the same dialect of the 
 same language, in perfectly sequent style, 
 of a single series of events participated 
 in by the same group of men on the same 
 ground. But the foundation of proba- 
 bilities so laid is stronger than that sus- 
 taining many recognized facts of history. 
 
 It is noteworthy that, as a rule, each 
 newachievement of the modern explorer 
 adds to the vindication of ancient accu- 
 racy. Within the past generation mere- 
 ly, the Pygmies have been detected in the 
 Nyam-Nyams ; the sources of the Nile 
 have been found to be as laid down by 
 Ptolemy ; " Memnon's statue that at sun-' 
 rise played " is shown by scientific dem- 
 onstration to have been actually vocal, 
 without the aid or need of sacerdotal jug- 
 glery ; that arrant empiric and contemner 
 of induction, Aristotle, has been proved 
 right on certain points in zoology utterly 
 obscure to our naturalists ; excavations 
 have dispersed a cloud of Teutonic the- 
 ories on the original substructures of 
 Rome ; the temple of Ephesian Diana 
 has had its pavement and pillars brought 
 to light, and found to correspond like a 
 " working draft" to the dimensions and 
 design handed down to us ; and gene- 
 rally it may be said that the light thrown 
 by Pompeii on the domestic life, is not 
 more sharp, clear and awakening than 
 that shed from many other fields of in- 
 quiry on the literary conscientiousness, 
 of the Greeks and Romans. 
 
 We may, then, yield to the temptation 
 of crediting the Mantuan with a broader 
 and more solid foundation of facts than 
 the critics have alloVved him — such a 
 one, perhaps, as that of Scott's historic 
 novels and Shakespeare's historic plays. 
 For his supernatural machinery, it was 
 the fashionable decoration of the day. 
 It does not exceed, in proportion to mat- 
 ter of fact, the same element in Macbeth, 
 
WANDERINGS WITH VIRGIL. 
 
 nor excel, in either proportion or extrav- 
 agance, the like embellishment in the 
 Lusiad or the Geriisalemrne. It is no- 
 torious that, deft at adornment and illus- 
 tration, he was not strong in invention. 
 Thoroughly master of the traditions and 
 records bearing on his subject^ supplied 
 him by study and travel, these the charac- 
 ter of his mind gave him small power of 
 .amplifying, even had there been more 
 necessity for it. In fact, there was very 
 little. They were abundant and roman- 
 tic. They were accepted by everybody 
 around him. They ran back hardly as 
 far as the Heptarchy lies from us, and 
 
 the monuments of them were incompa- 
 rably more various and complete than 
 we have of Saxon times. The language 
 in which they were mostly delivered had 
 remained practically unchanged from a 
 period long prior to the alleged date of 
 the events, and was still vernacular. So 
 with the terminology of men and places. 
 Compared with ^neas, Arthur, the 
 one hero of pre-Saxon Britain, the cen- 
 tral figure in the poetry of him whose 
 place in future literary fame the England 
 of to-day fondly dreams will be far above 
 Virgil, and name-giver to one of Victo- 
 ria's sons, sinks into the mistiest of shad- 
 
 ows. We cannot say that we know any 
 more of him than of the sword where- 
 with he wrought such miracles of hom- 
 icide, the Round Table at which he en- 
 tertained the lovers of his wife, the Holy 
 Graal in the vain' pursuit whereof he 
 spent so much valuable time, or the fab- 
 ulous battles in which he was so regular- 
 ly beaten. 
 
 Unhappy Dido is also quite an histor- 
 ical personage. Her colonizing tour, 
 starting from a point on the same coast, 
 preceded by a few years that of her 
 "pious" deserter. Under her true Phce- 
 nico-Hebraic name of Elisa she is hand- 
 ed down to us as a fourth or fifth cousin 
 of our intimate and equally unfortunate 
 
 friend Jezebel. Josephus, a standard au- 
 thority, had access to the Tyrian state- 
 paper office, and found no difficulty in 
 tracing her. The Ethbaal of Scripture, 
 or Ithobalus, father-in-law of Ahab, was, 
 we are told, great-grandfather to Elisa 
 the "beautiful" or the "wanderer" — 
 whichever Dido means. And sensible 
 sister Anna — is it Bluebeard we are re- 
 ferring to? — how homely and familiar 
 the name ! 
 
 Dismissing the quarrelsome rabble of 
 gods who made all the mischief — even 
 the lovely Venus, avertens, rosea cervice 
 — we find our trip with the Trojan ref- 
 ugees, divested of its heavenly and hell- 
 ish incumbrances, a pleasant, tangible. 
 
WANDERINGS WITH VIRGIL. 
 
 every-day circumnavigation of the east- 
 ern half of the Mediterranean. A yachts- 
 man of the nineteenth century might fol- 
 low the Virgilian itinerary with advan- 
 tage. Thrace, his first land, would not 
 prove particularly attractive, but he would 
 not have to fear the ghost of Polydorus 
 or the police of acer Lycurgus. A short 
 stay on this coast served ^neas, and 
 with even diminished drawbacks a still 
 shorter would satisfy his successor. 
 
 Striking into the blue bosom of the 
 Cyclades, he lands on rocky Delos, a 
 "fast-anchored isle" now as in the days 
 of ^neas, whatever may have been its 
 turn for locomotion in hoar antiquity, 
 when those foam-born beauties of islets 
 rose from the deep, and are fabled to 
 have floated about for a space in search 
 of good holding -ground. The process 
 of isle - building along those volcanic 
 coasts is still going on in what may be 
 termed a normal and regular, as well as 
 in a cataclysmal, way ; at least one isl- 
 and, comparable in size to the Lesser 
 or sacred Delos, having been suddenly 
 erupted not many years since. This one 
 floated, moreover, but only in a disin- 
 tegrated state, a scum of pumice having 
 been all that remained of it after a few 
 months' existence. Good King Anius 
 will not meet him at the pier, if only be- 
 cause there is no pier. Nor will the or- 
 acle be heard from the rock-seated tem- 
 ple of Apollo, where the pedestal of the 
 god's colossal statue, inscribed with the 
 words of dedication, is said still to be 
 visible. But he may fancy, as he recalls 
 the still tremendous power of the Vati- 
 can, that the prophecy yet holds good, 
 that the House of ^neas, his sons' sons 
 and their descendants, shall rule over 
 every land. 
 
 Among the architectural rem ains which 
 cover the island, the visitor may stumble 
 over stones laid at least five centuries be- 
 fore Solomon, intermingled with similar 
 contributions from sixty subsequent gen- 
 erations of devotees, for the island lost 
 its sanctity only with the decadence of 
 the old religion. Hadrian, the most tire- 
 less of imperial builders, mated the tem- 
 ple of Apollo with others to Neptune 
 and Hercules. Although the standing- 
 
 prohibition against being born or dying 
 on the island must, one would suppose, 
 have kept its population down, the resi- 
 dents and visitors were numerous enough 
 to require a spacious marble theatre. The 
 Naumachia, two hundred and eighty-nine 
 feet by two hundred, still admits four 
 feet of water — deep enough to float any 
 craft small enough to manoeuvre in so 
 confined a space. The religious trade 
 of the island overflowed into the sub- 
 urb, more capacious, of Great Delos, less 
 noted, but a mass of ruins, among them 
 one hundred and twenty altars, as count- 
 ed by Tournefort. Numbers of tombs 
 with Phoenician inscriptions attest its an- 
 tiquity as a resort. 
 
 Submissively sharing the blunder'of 
 his guide, our supposititious voyager fol- 
 lows him to Crete, in search of the wrong 
 ancestor. He will make better tim.e 
 thither, unable though he be to say, vio- 
 db yupiter adsit. Steam beats Jove, 
 and the three days Virgil considered a 
 fast trip would be dawdling now. Two 
 or three years ago the voyage would 
 have been longer, for the irrepressible 
 Greek spirit was in one of its throes, and 
 the barbarians held the isle of a hundred 
 cities in military and naval quarantine. 
 They have again beaten down the Da- 
 naids — for the time — and will welcome 
 you to the wilderness they call peace. 
 But you will not wait for the plague to 
 drive you away, tired of tracing the vast 
 and unchronicled ruins of old among 
 the contemporary desolation wrought by 
 fanaticism. Taking the chances of foul 
 weather, like that which made Palinurus, 
 unable to discern the sky by day or night, 
 confess himself in a double sense at sea, 
 the tourist steers for the roost of those 
 fouler fowls the Harpies, the buzzards of 
 Olympus, off the west coast of the Morea. 
 
 Making the briefest possible stay amid 
 such unsavory recollections, the traveler 
 skirts the "currant islands," as they may 
 most characteristically be styled for their 
 contribution to the national dish of their 
 late protector, John Bull. Giving the 
 domain of " fierce Ulysses" a wide berth, 
 he sails over the wrecks of Actium to do 
 religious service on another sacred isle, 
 consecrated in the old days by a temple 
 
WANDERINGS WITH VIRGIL. 
 
 of Apollo and to modern minds by the 
 despair of Sappho. It. was from a great 
 white rock that gave the island its name 
 that the poetess tried the final cure-all 
 for an acute case of love-sickness. Vir- 
 gil reserves his pathos for the next land- 
 ing. And displayed it is in one of the 
 finest passages of the poem. 
 
 Hectoris Andromache, Pyrrhin' connubia servas ? 
 
 exclaims the indignant exile to the sad 
 captive still, though the spouse of a Tro- 
 jan and the sharer of a Greek throne. 
 She disarms him by tears for the lord of 
 her youth and by her declared envy of 
 her dead sister Polyxena, a sacrifice to 
 the fury of Achilles. 
 
 The next incident of note is less dif- 
 fusely and dramatically treated — the 
 death of Anchises. One would have ex- 
 pected the writer or his hero to exhaust 
 upon this scene his utmost powers in 
 elegiac art. But they both dismiss the 
 old gentleman somewhat abruptly. To 
 both he was becoming a cumbrous piece 
 of property — a clog alike on halliards 
 and hexameters. So he is dropped. 
 at Drepanum, now Trepani, under the 
 
 western promontory of Sicily. Strabo, 
 not hampered in his transportation facil- 
 ities by verse, carries him all the way, 
 and lands him comfortably — but, we 
 may be allowed to surmise, a little strick- 
 en with the rheumatics — in Italy. The 
 present inhabitants of Trepani settle the 
 question by showing his tomb. From 
 this, of course, there can be no appeal. 
 Aphrodite, his widow, we dare say, still 
 keeps the sepulchre decked with wreaths 
 of asphodel, little comfort as she brought 
 him during life. 
 
 It is somewhat singular that we are 
 given so slight an explanation of what 
 brought the wanderer to Carthage, the 
 most important intermediate point, his- 
 torically and poetically, of his voyage. 
 He simply informs Dido that a god 
 brought him to her shores. It was ap- 
 parently but a bit of maternal design on 
 the part of the professional matchmaker 
 and unmaker of the skies. Venus had 
 an eye on the Phoenician widow as a 
 capital /«r// for her son, so often defeat- 
 ed in his efforts to settle himself. She 
 renovated his storm-beaten form and 
 features, and sent him to court with a 
 
 DREPANUM (modern TREPANI). 
 
 fresh outfit of good looks. She breath- 
 ed upon him, and lo ! his locks were of 
 gold, his complexion the rose, and his 
 eyes aglitter with the light of pride and 
 
 joy. Poor Elisa ! In this first transac- 
 tion between the representatives of the 
 two great rival powers, Punic faith was 
 not on the Punic side : the Latins record 
 
WANDERINGS WITH VIRGIL. 
 
 their own faithlessness. It is fair to pre- 
 sume that the balance of right inclined 
 the same way on many of the subsequent 
 
 occasions where the blame was all thrown 
 on Carthaginian treachery. Two thou- 
 sand inscriptions, in two forms of the 
 
 CARTHAGE. 
 
 Phoenician or Hebrew chai'acter. lately 
 exhumed upon the spot, against less than 
 a dozen found prior to the last half cen- 
 tury, may assist in adjusting the long un- 
 even scales. 
 
 Antagonism of maritime interests is 
 not enough to account for the peculiar 
 intensity of the hatred which existed be- 
 tween Carthage and Rome. Difference 
 of race must have had much to do with 
 it. Whatever the cause, from the day 
 when Hannibal took his oath of lifelong 
 warfare with the Romans to that when 
 the Senate pronounced its decree of 
 extermination against his city, the long 
 conflict was marked by a bitterness we do 
 not find in the other wars of either com- 
 batant. Carthage was destroyed — that 
 is, the original city was overthrown — and 
 its inhabitants slain or dispersed, but the 
 commercial advantages of the locality 
 were such as to ensure its revival. The 
 attempt of Gracchus, with a colony of 
 six thousand, to rebuild it, was defeat- 
 ed, according to a legend like that con- 
 nected with the effort to restore the walls 
 of Jerusalem, by supernatural interfer- 
 ence. Augustus, however, fired perhaps 
 by the strains of his favorite, renewed 
 
 the undertaking with more success — so 
 much, indeed, that within two centuries 
 after its destruction it had risen to be 
 considered the metropolis of Africa. As 
 Africa did not include Egypt, this does 
 not imply that it excelled Alexandria, 
 much less that it had regained its pris- 
 tine magnificence, with seven hundred 
 thousand inhabitants and an arsenal con- 
 taining two hundred ships of war. A 
 century later the famous TertuUian ruled 
 the city as Calvin did Geneva. To still 
 unconverted Rome he boasted that Carth- 
 age was almost entirely Christian, only 
 the cobwebbed temples being left to mark 
 the decrepit survival of the old religion. 
 But the new creed obviously missed the 
 advantage of outside pressure. It fell 
 into sects and feuds of the wildest de- 
 scription, which were finally wound up 
 in 431 A. D. by Genseric the Wend,- a 
 countryman of Bismarck's. This in- 
 augurator of the bbit-und-eisen system 
 of settling civil and religious misunder- 
 standings left the ancient city in about 
 its present condition. 
 
 From the summit of the Byrsa, or cit- 
 adel — interpreted by Virgil to mean the 
 space enclosed by a bull's hide slit into 
 
WANDERINGS WITH VIRGIL. 
 
 13 
 
 shoestrings, according, to the original 
 grant to the Phoenicians, but considered 
 by Hebraists to be identical with Bosra, 
 "a fortified place " — the eye roams over 
 a vast expanse flecked with ruins pretty 
 thoroughly comminuted. Of the aque- 
 duct, which strode fifty miles across the 
 desert, a few arches only remain, sixty 
 or seventy feet high, with massive piers 
 sixteen feet square. Parts of the great 
 cisterns remain, with broken sewers, 
 sculptured blocks, tesselated pavements, 
 etc. Many sculptured gems have been 
 discovered. The explorations, owing to 
 the arid character of the country and its 
 remoteness from the chief highways of 
 men and traffic, have been slight and 
 desultory imtil now. The Turks and 
 Arabs have scratched the surface, as they 
 do for wheat, but they do not go deep 
 enough for the harvest. Ruin has pro- 
 tected ruin . The inscriptions having gen- 
 erally been placed in the lower parts of 
 the edifices, were preserved by the fall 
 of the upper. The very thoroughness 
 of Scipio's demolition may thus have 
 been the means of handing down to us 
 some of the most valuable, as being the 
 most instructive, parts of the Phoenician 
 
 structures. He may thus have provided 
 us with a new reading of the history of 
 the Punic wars, and secured his enemies 
 a fairer hearing by the very steps he took 
 to prevent it. And thus doth the whirli- 
 gig of time bring round its revenges. 
 
 But the gentle bard of Mantua turns 
 from the spectacle of Rome's mightiest 
 foe, not only in the dust, but a part of 
 the dust, with no trace of the bitter feel- 
 ing that possessed those who had seen 
 Hannibal sweep consular armies from 
 the soil of Italy like summer flies. The 
 same retrospective glance took in a 
 sadder and a newer wreck — the wreck 
 of the republic. The Rome of his own 
 youth, the Rome whose bright and dewy 
 dawn he was limning with the richest 
 tints of poesy, was free Rome. His at- 
 tachment to his friend and benefactor 
 Augustus never caused him to disown 
 his regrets, however it may have led him 
 to stifle their expression. Recognizing, 
 as nine-tenths of his countrymen had 
 recognized, the inevitableness of the 
 great change, and luxuriating with them 
 in the repose that followed the stormy 
 throes of the dying commonwealth, he 
 had no word of evil for the past. His 
 
 political sympathies were not with des- 
 potism, and he could not, with his broth- 
 er Horace, have jested over campaign- 
 
 ing experiences in the army of Brutus. 
 Had his genius been of the same cast 
 with that of the stern and vehement, ii' 
 
u 
 
 WANDERINGS WITH VIRGIL. 
 
 sometimes extravagant, Lucan, he would 
 have been more apt to join him in ex- 
 claiming — 
 
 Victrix causa Diis placuit, sed vUta Catoni. 
 
 As it was, he sought not to fire, but to 
 cheer his countrymen. If patriotism 
 were capable of nothing more than 
 euthanasia, he labored to secure it that. 
 On its wrongs he would not dwell. "Let 
 us not speak of them," he might have 
 said, in the words of anothei Italian bard 
 who a thousand years later invoked his 
 shade to guide him through another lim- 
 bo of horrors — 
 
 Non ragionam' di lor' ma gui.rda e passa. 
 
 Yet when, having finally brought his 
 hero to the shores of Italy and unrolled 
 before him the scroll of the future, he is 
 compelled to note this blot upon it, his 
 few words have no uncertain sound : 
 
 Ne, pueri, ne tanta animis assuescite bella ; 
 Neu patriae validas in viscera vertite vires. 
 
 To present, indeed, such subjects to 
 the contemplation of his countrymen, 
 would, without regard to his political 
 sentiments, have been less in harmony 
 with the taste and temperament of Vir- 
 gil than to depict for them the natural 
 and pastoral charms characteristic of 
 their land, which had survived all vicis- 
 situdes of human and elemental strife, 
 and were not less fresh than when they 
 first met the eye of the Trojan founder. 
 In the seven-twelfths of the ^neid de- 
 voted to Italy we have plenty of hard 
 fighting, though rather of the stage va- 
 riety, clashing to slow music ; and in the 
 other five adventure to excess. But the 
 artist, defective in the discrimination of 
 character and a bad figure-drawer, is ob- 
 viously a landscape painter. We have 
 his true soul in the Georgics and Bu- 
 colics. 
 
 It is rather odd that so placid and 
 amiable a writer should have been sur- 
 rounded, during the Middle Ages, with 
 
 something of superstitious glamour. The 
 sortes Virgiliance were in almost as high 
 repute as the sortes BibliccB. His em- 
 ployment of the sensational device of a 
 descent into Hades may have been a 
 cause of it. More may have been due 
 to his association, in life, writings and 
 place of sepulture, with Cumae, the re- 
 treat of the Erythrsean Sibyl, the chief 
 of all her class. To his citation, in the 
 opening lines of the fourth Eclogue, of 
 the Cumaean prophecy of a new era of 
 the world, to arrive in his day, about the 
 time of the birth of Christ, a certain the- 
 ological significance was ascribed. In 
 the first stanza of the finest of the monk- 
 ish hymns, David and the Sibyl are ap- 
 pealed to as co-ordinate authorities. It 
 is a curious circumstance, in this connec- 
 tion, that the destruction of the Cumaean 
 grotto, maintained in full splendor for at 
 least two centuries after Virgil's time, and 
 long after shattered by the engineering 
 operations of Narses against the Gothic 
 fortress on the superjacent hill, should 
 have been caused by an earthquake in 
 1539, in the heat of the Reformation. It 
 was coincidence enough to remind con- 
 temporaries of the alliance which had so 
 long subsisted in the popular imagina- 
 tion. 
 
 The poet's witchery lay in his limpid 
 numbers. Their spell is as potent as 
 ever. It leads us ove» blue waters and 
 glowing sands ; under white cliffs and 
 volcanic smoke ; past islets bathed in an 
 atmosphere so clear and yet so deep as 
 to make fact seem fancy and fancy fact ; 
 to spots haunted by the most entrancing 
 or the most momentous memories, where 
 Nature seems to have collected for su- 
 preme exertion all her mightiest forces, 
 spiritual and material. They bring us 
 in contact with typical men and events, 
 and will delight as long as mankind shall 
 appreciate classic story and classic taste. 
 
WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 TWO PARTS.— I. 
 
 RYDAL MOUNT. 
 
 August ii, 1853. 
 
 IN company with my dear friend, the 
 Rev. Derwent Coleridge, I called to- 
 day at Rydal Mount. I had great inter- 
 est in entering again the grounds and 
 the house which six years ago I visited 
 with such eager expectation. Everything 
 remains as it was in the poet's lifetime 
 — the books and the pictures and the 
 furniture. Wordsworth's chair stands 
 in its accustomed place by the drawing- 
 room fireside. Mrs. Wordsworth seems 
 also unchanged. Her manners are 
 simple and unpretending, but she re- 
 ceived me very cordially. As was nat- 
 ural, almost the first inquiries were after 
 Mrs. Henry Reed and her children. She 
 spoke with much feeling of Professor 
 Reed arid Miss Bronson, who scarcely a 
 year ago perished in the Arctic. They left 
 Rydal Mount for Liverpool to embark, 
 and it was little more than a week after 
 
 their parting from this dear venerable 
 lady that the waves closed over them. 
 Mrs. Wordsworth is almost eighty-five, 
 and is as clear in mind as she ever was. 
 You forget her great age in talking with 
 her. And what tenderness there is in 
 the tones of her voice, and what truth- 
 ful simplicity in her words ! We did not 
 remain very long. I accepted her invi- 
 tation to drink tea the next evening in 
 company with Mr. Coleridge. As we 
 drove away we passed the spot where 
 Wordsworth gave me his hand in part- 
 ing six years ago, and but six months 
 before his death. Later in the day, Mr. 
 Coleridge and I took a walk along the 
 Brathayto Skelwith Force and back, a 
 round of six miles. The valley through 
 which we went was familiar ground to 
 Mr. Coleridge, he and his brother Hart- 
 ley — " My poor brother Hartley !" as Mr. 
 Coleridge says when he speaks of him — 
 
 15 
 
[6 
 
 WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 having spent five or six years there in 
 their schoolboy days. We went to the 
 cottage where they had Hved, and the 
 well-remembered rooms brought up to 
 my friend a crowd of recollections of 
 forty yeais ago. He talked much of 
 those early days as we walked together 
 along that sweet valley. We reached 
 
 the Force, which is a pretty waterfall, 
 and returned on the other side of the 
 valley. It rained occasionally, but one 
 gets used to this in England. 
 
 Ateg. 12, Sunday. I went .o the new 
 Ambleside church this morning. It is 
 one of Gilbert Scott's works, but not al- 
 together pleasing, I sat with Dr. John 
 
 GRASMERE CHURCH. 
 
 Davy, brother of Sir Humphry. We 
 were close to the memorial window for 
 which Dr. Davy had applied, through 
 Professor Reed, for American contribu- 
 tions. When the service was over, I re- 
 mained to study this window. Its ap- 
 propriate inscription is — 
 
 Guliemi Wordsworth Amatores et Ainici, 
 partim Angli, partim Anglo-Americani. 
 
 Other smaller windows are near by, 
 commemorating members of the Words- 
 worth family, so that the corner becomes 
 a Wordsworth chapel. One window re- 
 mains without inscription : it awaits Mrs. 
 Wordsworth's departure, and will com- 
 memorate her and her daughter Dora. 
 At two o'clock I started for my walk 
 to Grasmere, five miles distant, where I 
 had agreed to meet Mr. Coleridge. My 
 way at first was along the Rothay by 
 the lovely road at the base of Lough 
 
 as with an encircling arm one side of the 
 Ambleside valley. There was deep 
 shade here and there, and for a part 
 of the way there was the shadow of the 
 mountain itself. I passed Fox How, 
 where there are only servants at pres- 
 ent, the family being away. Other pret- 
 ty houses, with lovely shade about them, 
 I also passed, and the sweep of the road 
 gave me a perpetually changing view. 
 Then I crossed a bridge, and soon found 
 myself in the Vale of Rydal. Skirting 
 the small Rydalmere, I next entered the 
 sweet Grasmere Vale. In the distance 
 was the church which was my destina- 
 tion, the square tower being a striking 
 object in the view. It was a day of won- 
 derful brightness, and the green of the 
 mountain sheep-pastures and the purple 
 of the slate rock, which is seen here and 
 
WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 17 
 
 there, made a lovely contrast in the sun- 
 light. 
 
 The church, which I reached at length, 
 is the one commemorated by Words- 
 worth in the Excursion : 
 
 Not raised in nice proportions was the pile. 
 
 But large and massy, for duration built. 
 
 With pillars crowded, and the roof upheld 
 
 By naked rafters intricately crossed. 
 
 Like leafless under-boughs 'mid some thick grove. 
 
 The interior is interesting. The pave- 
 ment is of blue flagstones worn and un- 
 even. The pillars support two rows of 
 
 low stone arches, one above the other, 
 and on these rest the beams and other 
 framework, black with age, which up- 
 hold the roof. The pillars are square 
 and are of separate stones, and all has 
 the look of rude strength, the rough 
 work of very ancient days. The con- 
 gregation was large. Mr. Coleridge 
 preached. When the service was over 
 I waited a while to look at the tablet 
 to Wordsworth, which is on the wall 
 directly over the pew he occupied for 
 many years. The inscription is a trans- 
 
 RYDALMERE. 
 
 lation from the Latin of the dedication 
 to him of Mr. Keble's Lectures on Poetry, 
 and is as follows : 
 
 To the memory of 
 
 William Wordsworth, 
 
 A true philosopher and poet, 
 
 W X) by the special gift and calling of 
 
 Almighty God, 
 
 Whether he discoursed on man or Nature, 
 
 Failed not to lift up the heart 
 
 to holy things. 
 
 Tired not of maintaining the cause 
 
 of the poor and simple. 
 
 And so in perilous times was raised up 
 
 to be a chief minister, 
 
 Not only of noblest poesy, 
 
 but of high and sacred truth. 
 
 Mr. Coleridore and I now started for 
 
 the walk we had arranged to take to- 
 gether. It was to be a vigorous climb, 
 and then a descent and a circuit of the 
 vales of Rydal and Grasmere ; and we 
 had two hours for it. We took a nar- 
 row road leading up the mountain on 
 the west side of Grasmere Lake : coming 
 down a little, we ascended once more to 
 look down on Rydal Water. The views 
 were very lovely, and the mountain-air 
 was exhilarating. These lakes, with 
 their dark mountain settings, are like 
 mirrors in their black transparency. 
 Rydal Water is dotted with islands, each 
 with its few trees, everything seeming in 
 miniature. We went to a house which 
 
WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 is the highest human habitation in Eng- 
 land, save one on the top of Kirkstone 
 Pass. The people occupying it knew 
 Mr. Coleridge well : they showed me, at 
 his request, the kitchen with its pave- 
 ment of flagstones, and the opening be- 
 tween the rafters which served for the 
 chimney — a curious specimen of West- 
 moreland cottage-life. 
 
 KIRKSTONE PASS. 
 
 We reached at length Rydal Mount, 
 which was our destination, and found 
 there Miss Edith Coleridge, daughter of 
 Sara Coleridge ; William Wordsworth, a 
 grandson of the poet ; and Mr. Carter, 
 Wordsworth's secretary for forty years. 
 Young Wordsworth has his grandfather's 
 face : he seems thoughtful, and, though si- 
 lent, his manner is prepossessing. He is 
 about twenty years of age, and is an un- 
 dergraduate of Baliol College, Oxford. 
 
 Mr. Coleridge left us soon after tea, 
 having to return to Grasmere. I walked 
 out on the terrace with Mr. Carter, and 
 enjoyed the fine view it commands of 
 the valley of the Rothay, with Lake 
 Windermere in the distance. It is a 
 double terrace, with flower-beds inter- 
 spersed, rich in bloom and fragrance. 
 On either hand there is shrubbery of 
 luxuriant growth, and one wall of the 
 house is ivy-grown. All speaks of lov- 
 ing and tender care. Much of the work 
 of raising the terraces was done, I 
 believe, by Wordsworth's own hands. 
 There are seats here and there, on 
 
 which one would be tempted to spend 
 many an hour watching the changing 
 lights on the distant hillsides and the 
 fair valleys. Mr. Carter pointed out to 
 me the valley down which " the Wander- 
 er" and his party came to the "church- 
 yard among the mountains" (the Gras- 
 mere church). He showed me also the 
 stone with its inscription — 
 
 In these fair vales hath many a tree 
 
 At Wordsworth's suit been spared, 
 And from the builder's hand this f.tone. 
 For some rude beauty of its own. 
 
 Was rescued by the bard : 
 So let it rest, and time will come 
 
 When here the tender-hei.rted 
 May heave a gentle sigh for him 
 
 As one of the departed. 
 
 Mr. Carter was most helpful 
 to the poet during the long 
 years of his association with 
 him. One could fancy that 
 he appreciated from the first 
 the dignity of the service he 
 was thus rendering. Mrs. 
 Wordsworth has only a lease 
 '""-" of Rydal Mount: at her 
 death it must pass to stran- 
 gers, for neither of her sons 
 will be able to live there. I have omit- 
 ted to say that she is rapidly losing her 
 sight, but she has scarcely any other in- ■ 
 firmity of age. 
 
 Aug. 13. Early this morning I started 
 for an excursion which had been planned 
 for me by Mr. Coleridge. I went by 
 coach from Ambleside, ascending the 
 Kirkstone Pass. I was outside, and 
 could enjoy at first, as I looked back, 
 the sweet morning view of Lake Win- 
 dermere with its islands and its fair 
 green hillsides. But soon the sharp as- 
 cent of the road brought us between 
 steep mountain-declivities, shutting out 
 all view except of their desolate gray 
 slopes. There were but scanty patches 
 of grass here and there : all else was 
 stony and barren. I walked in advance 
 of the coach, enjoying the silence and 
 the solitude, and the grand slopes of the 
 naked mountains on either hand. Up 
 and up we went, until at last the sum- 
 mit of the pass was reached. There 
 stands the old stone house said to be 
 the highest inhabited house in England 
 
WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 ^9 
 
 — a rude enough dwelling, and at pres- 
 ent an alehouse. Beginning now our 
 descent toward Patterdale, we had from 
 the summit of the pass a view of the 
 little lake of Brotherswater, and soon 
 our road was along the margin of this 
 fair high-lying tarn. The mountains 
 
 stand quite around the lake, leaving 
 only space for the road. From the foot 
 of the pass a drive of a few miles 
 brought us to Patterdale, and there my 
 coach-journey ended. I climbed to a 
 stone-quarry on the hillside opposite, 
 and thence had a view of the valley 
 
 ULLSWATER. 
 
 through which I had just passed, and of 
 the lake of UUswater stretching off to 
 the right. Returning to the inn at Pat- 
 terdale, I engaged a boat to take me to 
 Lyulph's Tower, distant five or six 
 miles. A young man with drawing- 
 materials and pack slung over his shoul- 
 der was about to leave the inn. I asked 
 him to take a seat with me, and we were 
 soon side by side in the open boat on the 
 beautiful lake. From the level of the 
 water the mountains rising on either 
 hand appeared in their full dignity. 
 The lake is quite shut in by these steep 
 and lofty hills. For a while the clouds 
 were threatening, but we dreaded wind 
 more than rain, for these lakes are often 
 lashed by sudden storms. We landed 
 and climbed to Lyulph's Tower, and 
 there below, in its fair loveliness, lay the 
 
 sweet Ullswater, this upper reach of it be- 
 ing of quite wonderful beauty. Thence 
 we made our way to Aira Force, a mile 
 distant — a dashing waterfall in a narrow 
 gorge. Its height is about eighty feet. 
 The "woody glen" and the "torrent 
 hoarse," as Wordsworth describes it, 
 are appropriate words. 
 
 A mile farther we found a road and a 
 little inn. We asked for luncheon, but 
 in the principal room, to v/hich we were 
 shown, two traveling tailors were at 
 work. It seemed pleasanter to be in the 
 open air, so we had our table under the 
 trees outside. My companion proved to 
 be a clergyman : he was fresh from Ox- 
 ford, and had just taken orders. We 
 had fallen at once into intimacy, but we 
 had immediately to part company. My 
 way was onward to Keswick, a walk of 
 
WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 eleven miles. I ascended first a long 
 hill, and then my route wound along or 
 around the side of a mountain. Above 
 and below me was bare heath or moun- 
 tain-moor : there were no trees whatever. 
 For near two hours I saw no house or 
 sign of cultivation, nor did I meet a hu- 
 man being. The wind blew strongly in 
 my face, but my blood coursed through 
 all my veins, and I had ever before me 
 a wide sweeping view. I descended at 
 length into the fair valley through which 
 the Greta flows, and about two hours 
 more of steady walking brought me to 
 Keswick. My stopping-place, however, 
 was at the inn at Portingscale on the 
 banks of Derwent-water, a mile out of 
 Keswick, where I had agreed to meet Mr. 
 
 Coleridge. I dined, and was resting after 
 my long walk, when I heard his voice in 
 the hall inquiring for me. With him were 
 three other gentlemen, one of them the 
 friend with whom he was staying, who 
 asked me to return with them and drink 
 tea at his house. One of the four was 
 Dr. Carlyle, a brother of the Chelsea 
 philosopher, himself a man of letters, the 
 prose translator of Dante. I soon found 
 myself in a pretty drawing-room looking 
 out on Derwent-water. Mr. Leitch was 
 our host. We had a great deal of ani- 
 mated talk at the tea-table, and later 
 in the long twilight Mr. Coleridge read 
 to us the Ancient Mariner and Gene- 
 vieve, his father's matchless poems. He 
 reads extremely well. We sat by one of 
 
 DERVITENT- WATER. 
 
 the large windows, and the fair lake 
 stretching before us and the mountains 
 beyond seemed to put one in the mood 
 for the poetry. 
 
 Aug. 14. I went to Mr. Leitch's to 
 breakfast this morning, meeting nearly 
 the same party, and had another hour 
 of pleasant talk. Then Dr. Carlyle, Mr. 
 Coleridge, Mr. Leitch and I rowed across 
 the lake. Landing near the town, Mr. 
 Coleridge and 1 took leave of the others 
 and went up into Keswick, and so out 
 to Greta Hall, the former residence of 
 Southey, now occupied by sirangers. It 
 has a lovely situation on a knoll. Skid- 
 
 daw looking down upon it, and other 
 mountains standing around and in the 
 distance, and the Greta flowing, or rath- 
 er winding, by, for it is a stream which 
 has many twists and turnings. We call- 
 ed at the house, and Mr. Coleridge sent 
 in his name, telling the servant he had a 
 friend with him, an American, to whom 
 he would like to show some of the 
 rooms, adding, "I was born here." There 
 was a little delay, for the occupant of the 
 house was a bachelor and his hours 
 were late. So we looked first at the 
 grounds, and my friend, as we walked 
 slowly along under the trees and looked 
 
WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 down on the Greta, seemed to be car- 
 ried altogether back to his childhood. 
 On that spot it was that his brother 
 
 Hartley used to tell to him and to their 
 sister Sara, as well as to Southey's chil- 
 dren, stories literally without end^ one 
 
 
 GRETA HALL. 
 
 narration in particular in its ceaseless 
 flow going on year after year. " Here, 
 too," said my friend, pointing to a small 
 house near by, "was the residence of the 
 Bhow Begum." Need I add that this 
 reference was to that strange book. 
 The Doctor? 
 
 We were now summoned to the house, 
 and though we saw no one except the 
 civil housekeeper who accompanied us, 
 all was thrown open to us. My friend at 
 every room had some explanation to 
 make: "This was the dining-room;" 
 "here was Mr. Southey's seat;" "here 
 sat my mother." One room was called 
 Paul, for some one had said its furni- 
 ture was taken wrongly from another 
 room — robbing Peter to pay Paul. Up 
 stairs was the library, the room of all 
 others sacred, for there had passed so 
 much of the thirty years of Southey's life 
 of unwearied labor. The very walls 
 seemed to speak of that honorable in- 
 dustry. I looked from the windows 
 on those glories of lake and mountain 
 which had been the poet's solace and 
 
 delight, and recalled his own description 
 of the view in The Visioit of Judgment ; 
 
 Mountain and lake and vale ; the hills that calm and 
 
 majestic 
 Lifted their heads in the silent sky. 
 
 Near the library was the room in which 
 he died after years of mental darkness. 
 In the same room Mrs. Southey had been 
 released from life after a still longer pe- 
 riod of mental decay. It was long watch- 
 ing by her bedside, Wordsworth told me, 
 which had caused Southey's own mind 
 to give way. 
 
 Leaving Greta Hall with all its inter- 
 esting associations, we returned to the 
 road. Near the gateway were some cot- 
 tages. "An old fiddler used to live here," 
 said Mr. Coleridge. Then inquiring of 
 some men at work near by, he learned 
 to his surprise that he was still there. 
 "But it is more than forty years since I 
 knew him : he used to teach me to play 
 on the violin." "He is still there," the 
 men repeated ; and we entered the cot- 
 tage. An old man rose from his seat 
 near the fire as Mr. Coleridge asked for 
 
WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 him by name. "Do you remember me?" 
 said my friend. "You gave me lessons 
 on the viohn more than forty years ago, 
 until my uncle Southey interfered and 
 said I should play no longer : he feared 
 it would make me idle." " I remember 
 you perfectly," said the old man. " You 
 would have done very well if you had 
 kept on." Then followed mutual in- 
 
 quiries. The wife of the old man sat 
 by his side crippled with rheumatism, 
 from which he ■ himself also suffered. 
 " But she bears it very patiently, sir," 
 said he. There seemed Christian sub- 
 mission in the old people — a tranquil 
 waiting for the end. 
 
 Our next visit was to Miss Katherine 
 Southev, who lives at a beautiful cottage 
 
 FALLS OF LODORK. 
 
 close at the foot of Skiddaw. She is 
 one of the three commemorated in The 
 Triad. Three little children, Robert, 
 Edith and Bertha Southey, grandchil- 
 dren of the poet, came out to meet us. 
 Miss Southey greeted her cousin warmly. 
 She is of cheerful, agreeable manners. 
 We talked of Greta Hall, and the cou- 
 sins called up their old recollections. 
 
 Mr. Coleridge went up stairs to see the 
 aged Mrs. Lovell, his aunt, the last of 
 her generation, so to say — sister of Mrs. 
 Coleridge and Mrs. Southey. It was 
 one of Southey's good deeds that he 
 cared for this lady from the beginning 
 of her early widowhood as long as his 
 own life lasted. She was, I believe, one 
 of his household and family for more 
 
WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 than forty years ; and since his death 
 his children have continued the same 
 dutiful offices. (As I copy these notes, 
 now long after the date of my visit, I may 
 add that Mrs. Lovell died in 1862, aged 
 ninety-one.) 
 
 Miss Southey showed me some of the 
 manuscripts of her father — very minute, 
 but exquisitely neat and clear. 
 When the cousins took leave of 
 each other. Miss Southey's eyes 
 were filled with tears. We now 
 took to our boat again, and start- 
 ed for the Falls of Lodore at the 
 other end of Derwent-water. We 
 stopped at Marshall's Island, so 
 called from the owner, who has 
 made it a summer residence of 
 marvelous beauty, though the 
 extent of it is but five acres. 
 Trees of every variety adorn the 
 grounds. The house is in the 
 centre, of stately proportions : the 
 drawing-room in the second story 
 opens on to a balcony command- 
 ing a view which is beyond mea- 
 sure enchanting. Books in pro- 
 fusion lay upon the table, and 
 pictures and drawings were upon 
 the walls, all telling of refine- 
 ment as well as of abundance 
 of this world's goods. Return- 
 ing to our boat, my friend and I 
 took the oars. Our next stopping-place 
 vvas at St. Herbert's Island — a hermitage 
 a thousand or more years ago. A few 
 remains of what may have been an ora- 
 tor}"^ are still to be seen. St. Herbert 
 was the friend of the good St. Cuthbert, 
 whose especial shrine and memorial is 
 Durham Cathedral, Once a year, ac- 
 cording to Bede, he left his cell to visit 
 St. Cuthbert and " receive from him the 
 food of eternal life." And in Words- 
 worth's verse is embalmed the tradition 
 that, pacing on the shore of this small 
 island, St. Herbert prayed that he and 
 his friend might die in the same mo- 
 ment ; "nor in vain so prayed he :" 
 
 Those holy men both died in the same hour. 
 
 At length we reached Lodore. Here 
 our real work was to begin. We climbed 
 to the top of the hill down which the 
 
 stream falls over rocks piled upon rocks, 
 forming a succession of cascades. It was 
 a ladder-Hke ascent of no little difficulty. 
 After admiring the view of the rocky 
 chasm and the falls, we turned to enjoy 
 the prospect which opened before us 
 from Ladderbrow, as it is called. Der- 
 went-water lay stretched before us, and 
 
 STY- HEAD PASS. 
 
 Skiddaw rose in its giant majesty in the 
 distance. The view is a celebrated one. 
 We then entered the wood, crossed a 
 beck or small stream, losing our way 
 once, and at length reached an upland 
 valley — Watendlath — very retired and 
 secluded, with its small hamlet, and 
 near by a tarn — "A little lake, and yet 
 uplifted high among the mountains." 
 The day was cloudy, but there was not 
 much mist. Climbing another ridge, 
 we found ourselves looking down upon 
 Borrowdale and the little village of Ross- 
 thwaite, one of the loveliest views I ever 
 beheld. Sunlight was upon the vale 
 while we stood in the shadow. We were 
 looking up Borrowdale to the Sty-head 
 Pass. As we descended into the valley 
 we could enjoy the view of it every step 
 of the way. At Rossthwaite we had 
 luncheon. It was half-past three. We 
 
24 
 
 WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 had still a mountain to climb ; and as 
 there was something of danger, for we 
 might lose our way should the mist in- 
 crease, we took a guide, a man well 
 known to Mr. Coleridge — one of the 
 dalesmen of Borrowdale. We started 
 at a vigorous pace, and, following the 
 course of a stony brook, ascended the 
 steep mountain-side. It was very sharp 
 work, for it was an absolutely continuous 
 ascent, and there was no pathway what- 
 ever. There was no sign of human hab- 
 itation. On either hand were only the 
 stony mountain slopes. It seemed a 
 long and weary way, but at the end of 
 two hours of steady climbing we reached 
 the summit. A cold mist here enveloped 
 us. We hastened on, our guide accom- 
 panying us a short distance over the 
 moor as we began our descent : he saw 
 us clear of the mist and safely on our 
 way. When we had reached an emi- 
 nence from which we could look down 
 into Far Easdale, our route was clear to 
 us, and we turned and waved our adieus 
 to our friendly guide. We were already 
 a long way t)ff from him, and he was 
 resting where we had left him, waiting to 
 see that we took the right course. De- 
 scending rapidly, we went on and on 
 through the desolate and lonely valley 
 of Far Easdale — a vale within a vale, 
 for it opens into Easdale. Hereabouts 
 it was that George and Sarah Green 
 lost their way and perished on a win- 
 ter's night, as the story is recorded in 
 Wordsworth's verse and De Quincey's 
 exquisite prose. So dreary is the sol- 
 itude that scarcely a sheep-track is to 
 be found in the valley. All around 
 there is nothing but a bare and stony 
 heath. 
 
 We hastened on, for Mr. Coleridge 
 knew there would be anxiety in regard 
 to us, as evening was drawing on. An- 
 other ascent being accomplished, we 
 looked down into Easdale, surrounded 
 by its mountain-girdle. The sun was 
 setting, and as we were drawing near 
 our destination I almost forgot my fa- 
 tigue. At length we reached Mr. Cole- 
 ridge's cottage at the entrance to the Vale 
 of Grasmere. Mrs. Coleridge came out 
 to meet us, and expressed much relief at 
 
 seeing us. She knew the perils of a long 
 walk over these lonely mountains. 
 
 I found an invitation for me from Mrs. 
 Fletcher, a venerable lady of eighty-five, 
 who had been a friend of Jeffrey, and 
 one of the literary circle of Edinburgh 
 of sixty years and more ago. I made 
 myself as presentable as I could for the 
 occasion, drawing a little upon Mr. Cole- 
 ridge, and after a few cups of tea he and 
 I sallied forth. Mrs. Coleridge and Miss 
 Edith had already gone. Lankrigg is 
 the name of Mrs. Fletcher's beautiful 
 cottage. We found a brilliant company 
 assembled. Mrs. Fletcher welcomed me 
 with sweet but stately courtesy. " I am 
 always glad to see Americans," she said : 
 " my father used to drink General Wash- 
 ington's health every day of his life." 
 Her look was radiant as she said this : 
 there was light in her eyes and color in 
 her cheeks, and altogether her appear- 
 ance was most striking. I never saw a 
 more beautiful old age. I talked with 
 her son, Mr. Angus Fletcher, a sculptor 
 of some distinction. A bust of Words- 
 worth and one of Joanna Baillie, works 
 of his, were in the drawing-room. He 
 told me of his having lately been to see 
 Tennyson, who is on Coniston Water in 
 this neighborhood, in a house lent him 
 by Mr. Marshall of Marshall's Island. 
 Mr. Fletcher said he asked Tennyson 
 to read some of his poetry to him. 
 "No," was the reply : "I will do no such 
 thing. You only want to take me off 
 with the blue -stockings about here." 
 But they got on well together in their 
 after-talk, and Tennyson, softening a 
 little, said he would read him some- 
 thing. "Nothing of my own, however: 
 I will not give you that triumph. I will 
 read you something from Milton." "Oh, 
 very well," said Mr, Fletcher: "I con- 
 sider that quite as good poetry." 
 
 The evening over, a drive of six miles 
 brought me to the friends with whom I 
 was staying at Rothay Bank, near Am- 
 bleside. 
 
 Au£.i^. Dined to-day at Rydal Mount 
 — the one o'clock dinner which is al- 
 ways the hour there — with Mrs. Words- 
 worth, young William Wordsworth and 
 Mr. Carter. Six years almost to a day 
 
WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 25 
 
 since I last sat in that quaint room in 
 the familiar presence of the great poet 
 himself. It is a low room without a ceil- 
 ing — the rafters showing. A great num- 
 ber of small prints in black frames are 
 on the walls, chiefly portraits. There are 
 portraits of the royal family also, but 
 these are in gilt frames : they were the 
 gift of the queen to Wordsworth, but 
 they seemed to me of small value for a 
 royal present. I was glad to see again 
 the bust of Wordsworth by Chantrey, 
 and also the old oak cabinet or armoire 
 with its interesting Latin inscription, both 
 of which the great poet showed to me 
 as among his choice possessions. James, 
 who has lived there for thirty years, 
 waited. at the table. Mrs. Wordsworth 
 took wine with me, the single glass of 
 port which she drinks daily. It was the 
 last day of her eighty-fourth year. 
 
 The library, which adjoins the draw- 
 ing-room, is smaller in size, and the col- 
 lection of books is not large. I noticed 
 that many were presentation copies : in 
 one of them — a folio volume describing 
 the Skerryvore Rock Lighthouse — was 
 the following inscription (the author of 
 the book was the architect of the light- 
 house) : " To William Wordsworth, a 
 humble token of admiration for his 
 character as a man and his genius as 
 a poet, and in grateful remembrance of 
 the peace and consolation derived from 
 the companionship of his writings dur- 
 ing the author's solitude on the Skerry- 
 vore Rock." 
 
 John, the loquacious but intelligent 
 coachman of the friend at whose house 
 I am staying, told me of his waiting at 
 dinner at Rydal Mount a good many 
 years ago : his then master was one 
 of the guests. Miss Martineau, Hartley 
 Coleridge and F. W. Faber were present. 
 Mr. Faber had then charge of the little 
 church at Rydal. There was a rush 
 and flow of talk, as one could well im- 
 agine — such a chatter, John said, as he 
 had never heard — but the instant Words- 
 worth spoke all were attention. John 
 himself was awed by the great man's 
 talk, and described well its power. He 
 told me also of a slight incident in re- 
 gard to Wordsworth's last hours. Very 
 
 shortly before his death it was thought 
 he might be more comfortable if he was 
 shaved. Accordingly, he was raised in 
 the bed, and his faithful servant was 
 about to minister to him in this way 
 when Wordsworth said in his serious, 
 calm voice, "James, let me die easy." 
 I may note here something which has 
 been told me in regard to poor Hartley 
 Coleridge's last days. During his ill- 
 ness a little child, the daughter of an 
 artist who lived near him, quite an in- 
 fant, used to be brought to him, and he 
 would sit for hours holding it in his 
 arms and looking down upon it with 
 mournful tenderness, thinking doubt- 
 less of his own wasted life. 
 
 Sunday, Aug. 19. Walked to the Ry- 
 dal church this morning. Just as I 
 reached the porch I saw Mrs. Words- 
 worth with her arm extended feeling for 
 the door. I went forward to assist her : 
 she turned her kind face toward me, not 
 knowing who it was. "Mr. Yarnall," I 
 said. "Oh," said she, "I am glad to see 
 you, Mr. Yarnall. You will take a seat 
 with us of course." William, her grand- 
 son, was now close behind us. We went 
 to the pew, the nearest to the chancel on 
 the left, and I sat in what had doubtless 
 been Wordsworth's seat. The prayer- 
 book I took up had on the fly-leaf, " Do- 
 rothy Wordsworth to William Words- 
 worth, Jr., 1819." The service over, 
 Mrs. Wordsworth said to me, "You will 
 dine with us of course." She took my 
 arm, and as we went out of the church 
 I was struck with the looks of affection- 
 ate reverence in the faces of those we 
 passed. As we walked along she said 
 in her kind way, "I should have been 
 glad if you had taken up your abode 
 with us while here, but you expected to 
 leave Ambleside immediately when I 
 last saw you." The Misses Quillinan, 
 the step-daughters of the late Dora 
 Quillinan, who was Dora Wordsworth, 
 were the guests besides myself to-day. 
 In the drawing-room after dinner it was 
 interesting to me to look at the portrait 
 of the elder Miss Quillinan (Jemima), 
 taken when a child six years old, and 
 to recall the lines addressed to her, or 
 rather suggested by the picture ; 
 
26 
 
 WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 Beguiled into forgetfulness of care. 
 Due to the day's unfinished task, of pen 
 Or book regardless, and of that fair scene 
 In Nature's prodigality displayed 
 Before my window, oftentimes and long 
 I gaze upon a portrait jvhose mild gleam 
 Of beauty never ceases to enrich 
 The common light. 
 
 The sonnet, too, beginning — 
 
 Rotha, my spiritual child ! this head was gray 
 When at the sacred font for thee I stood. 
 Pledged till thou reach the verge of womanhood. 
 
 And shalt become thy own sufficient stay — 
 
 came naturally to my mind as I talked 
 with the younger sister. These ladies 
 are intelligent and refined, and of very 
 pleasing manners : their mother was a 
 daughter of Sir Egerton Brydges. They 
 live at a pretty cottage underneath Lough 
 Rigg, not far from Fox How. 
 
 We went to church again at half-past 
 three : I walked with Mrs. Wordsworth. 
 She spoke of herself — said she was rap- 
 idly growing blind : in the last week she 
 had perceived a great change. One 
 would get used to the deprivation, she 
 supposed, however. Her life had been 
 
 a happy one, she added : she had very 
 much to be thankful for. Her manner 
 in church, I may mention, is most rev- 
 erent, her head bowed and her hands 
 clasped. As I returned from church 
 with her a tourist accosted me : Could 
 I tell him which was Mr. Wordsworth's 
 house } I pointed it out to him. " We 
 have many such inquiries," Mrs. Words- 
 worth said. 
 
 I had now to make my final adieus to 
 the dear venerable lady. (I little thought 
 I should ever see her again.) Her serene 
 and tranquil old age, I said to myself, 
 would be a lesson to me for life. She 
 wished me a good voyage and a safe 
 return to my friends. 
 
 William Wordsworth kindly went with 
 me for a mountain-climb. We ascended 
 Lough Rigg, from which we looked down 
 on three lakes, Windermere, Rydal and 
 Grasmere — a last view of all this beauty. 
 How lovely were the evening lights on 
 mountain and valley ! 
 
WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 CONCLUDING PART. 
 
 RoTHAY Bank, Ambleside, Aug. 7, 1857. 
 
 AGAIN, after a two years' absence, I 
 find myself in this sweet region. 
 
 With my kind host, Mr. C , I went 
 
 this morning to call on Mrs. Arnold at 
 Fox How. We found six or eight per- 
 sons in the drawing-room. It was my 
 first meeting with Mrs. Arnold : she 
 came forward to receive us, welcomed 
 me cordially, and presented me to her 
 three daughters, Mrs. Twining, Mrs. 
 Cropper and Miss Frances Arnold. I 
 was fresh from Wharfeside, the home 
 of her eldest daughter, Mrs. Forster. 
 We talked about that home of such 
 peculiar intellectual brightness, and I 
 told of the happy days I had passed 
 there. Mrs. Arnold's manners are gen- 
 tle and" winning, and I can see that her 
 daughters owe much to her. She asked 
 me what evening I could spend with 
 them, and Sunday was agreed upon. 
 Fox How I was most glad to see thus 
 
 with the stream of life flowing on in it : 
 when I was last here the family were 
 away. Mr. Penrose, a brother of Mrs. 
 Arnold, a clergyman of Lincolnshire, 
 Mrs. Penrose, and Dr. and Mrs. Perry 
 of Bonn were the others in the room. 
 Dr. Arnold's portrait was on the wall, 
 also prints of Mr. Justice Coleridge, of 
 Archbishop Whately, of Wordsworth 
 and of Julius Hare. The views from 
 the windows had their own peculiar 
 beauty, half hidden though the land- 
 scape was to-day in rolling mist. 
 
 Attg. 8. Walked to-day along the 
 beautiful road under Lough Rigg, that 
 huge winding mountain, past Fox How 
 and many other lovely country homes. 
 Went then into the Vale of Rydal and 
 skirted this beautiful lake, watched the 
 reflections in the water, and gazed on 
 the noble hills which surround the vale. 
 I continued on : Grasmere came in 
 sight — a large lake with a view in the 
 
 27 
 
28 
 
 WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 distance of the square white tower of 
 the church under whose shadow Words- 
 worth lies. I passed the cottage in which 
 Hartley Coleridge lived and in which he 
 died. At length I reached the head of 
 the lake, and then the church which was 
 my destination. Once more I stood at 
 the grave of Wordsworth, that sacred 
 spot which, as I believe, many genera- 
 
 tions will visit, and whence a voice, we 
 may hope, will ever speak to men of the 
 beauty of this fair earth and the higher 
 glory of which it is the shadow. The 
 great poet lies by the side of his daugh- 
 ter, Dora Ouillinan ; next to her lies 
 Dorothy Wordsworth, his sister; then 
 Edward QuiUinan and his first wife; and 
 there is space left for Mrs. Wordsworth. 
 
 ^<*,l' . 
 
 WORDSWORTH'S GRAVE. 
 
 Sarah Hutchinson, Mrs. Wordsworth's 
 sister, also lies here : on the stone which 
 marks her grave is the following : 
 
 Near the graves of two young children, 
 
 removed from a family to vv^hich through life she was 
 
 devoted. 
 
 Here lies the body 
 
 of 
 
 Sarah Hutchinson, 
 
 the beloved sister and faithful friend 
 
 of mourners who have caused this stone to be erected 
 
 with an earnest wish that their own remains 
 
 may be laid by her side, and a humble hope 
 
 that through Christ they may together 
 
 be made partakers of the same Blessed Resurrection. 
 
 Here follow the dates of her birth and 
 death, and then — 
 
 In fulfillment of the wish above expressed here repose 
 
 the remains of 
 
 William Wordsworth, 
 
 Dorothy Wordsworth. 
 
 [Space being left for Mary Wordsworth.] 
 A little farther on are the graves of the 
 two young children alluded to in the 
 
 foregoing. On the tombstone of one is 
 this inscription : 
 
 Six months to six years added he remained 
 Upon this sinful earth, by sin unstained. 
 O Blessed Lord, whose mercy then removed 
 A child whom every eye that looked on loved ! 
 Support us, make us calmly to resign 
 What we possessed, but now is wholly Thine. 
 
 I lingered near an hour around these 
 graves, and then retraced my steps 
 along the water-side and beneath the 
 shade of the solemn hills. I passed 
 Town End, once the residence of Words- 
 worth, and halfway between Grasmere 
 and Rydal I climbed the old road to 
 the Wishing Gate, from which there is 
 a beautiful view of Grasmere. Looking 
 down on this fair and peaceful scene, I 
 did not wonder that what Wordsworth 
 calls "the superstitions of the heart" 
 had invested the place with a magic 
 power. It seemed natural, too, to think 
 
WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 29 
 
 that only what was best and purest in 
 each soul would be touched by the spell. 
 
 The local Genius ne'er befriends 
 Desires whose course in folly ends. 
 Whose just reward is shame. 
 
 Continuing my walk, I reached the 
 Vale of Rydal, and then turned by the 
 pretty shady ascending road leading to 
 Rydal Mount. I entered by the small 
 gateway the fair terraced garden so rich 
 in bloom and fragrance. I 
 saw once more the old greet- 
 ing, Salve! as I stood on „ 
 the threshold. James, the 
 old servant, welcomed me 
 and conducted me to the 
 drawing-room. I found 
 Mrs. Wordsworth seated in 
 her old place by the fireside. 
 Her greeting was simple and 
 cordial, but only by my voice 
 could she know me, for I 
 saw at once that she was 
 quite blind. Her grandson 
 William was with her. She 
 was cheerful and bright, and 
 talked of the events of the 
 day in the sweet quiet manner peculiar 
 to her, and with clear intelligence, and 
 yet she was within a few days of being 
 eighty-seven. She was mindful, too, of 
 the duties of hospitality, for finding I had 
 walked about eight miles she insisted on 
 ordering some luncheon for me. I had 
 a good deal of talk with young Words- 
 worth. His resemblance to his grand- 
 father has become quite remarkable. 
 He has the same dreamy eyes and the 
 same forehead. But there seemed a 
 benediction in the very pi'esence of 
 Mrs. Wordsworth, so much did her 
 countenance express peace and purity, 
 so gentle and so sweetly gracious was 
 her bearing. 
 
 Aug. 9, Sunday. I went this after- 
 noon to the little Rydal church, and I sat 
 in Mrs. Wordsworth's pew. No one was 
 there but young Wordsworth. Mrs. Ar- 
 nold's pew is directly opposite, both being 
 at the end of the church nearest to the 
 chancel. Mrs. Arnold and her three 
 daughters were present. The old clerk 
 from his desk near the pulpit said at the 
 end of the service, "Let us sing to the 
 
 praise and glory of God the 'undredth 
 psalm — the 'undredth psalm," and then 
 with feeble step walked down the aisle to 
 take his place as leader of the choir. The 
 preacher was a stranger, and the sermon 
 was an appeal for missions. He seemed 
 a good and earnest man, but his manner 
 was odd, and some things he said were 
 odd too. The woman of Samaria was 
 the text: "You remember that when Dr. 
 
 ^S^^"" 
 
 LOUGH RIGG TARN. 
 
 of the Scotch Church was in the 
 
 Holy Land he visited the well, and as 
 he sat there he took out his Bible to 
 read the chapter, and he let it fall into 
 the well, and it was not recovered for a 
 long time afterward : the well was deep." 
 One hardly saw the drift of this. But 
 still stranger was what followed. Speak- 
 ing of our Lord's humility: "We do not 
 hear of His going about except on foot, 
 never in any vehicle. Once only do we 
 hear of His riding on an ass, and that was 
 a borrowed one." There was a quaintness 
 in this that was worthy of the old days, 
 and certainly there was nothing of irrev- 
 erence in the preacher's manner. John 
 Mason Neale, I remember, quotes some- 
 where the following equally quaint utter- 
 ance from a Middle-Age writer : 
 
 Be Thou, O Lord, the Rider, 
 
 And me the little ass. 
 That to the Holy City 
 
 Together we may pass. 
 
 After the service I walked up to Rydal 
 Mount with Mrs. Arnold. Mrs. Words- 
 worth was in the drawing-room. It was 
 an interesting sight to see the two ladies 
 
3° 
 
 WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 talking with each other — on the one 
 side reverence and respect, on the other 
 strong regard, and on Loth manifest af- 
 fection. I thought, Would the poet and 
 the teacher have been what they were 
 to the world but for the help and exam- 
 ple which each had at hand in his house- 
 hold life? 
 
 At half-past six I went to Fox How, 
 
 UP THE DUDDON. 
 
 where I was to drink tea. We were 
 a large party at the table : we did not 
 remain long, however, for we were to 
 ascend Lough Rigg to see the sun set. 
 We had a lovely climb in the long sum- 
 mer twilight. We wandered on to a 
 jutting rock, and from thence we saw 
 the sun go down in glory behind the 
 mountains, leaving a splendor of crim- 
 son in the light clouds for long afterward. 
 Below us was Lough Rigg Tarn, which 
 Wordsworth has somewhere commem- 
 orated. Mrs. Twining told us of a walk 
 with the poet she recalled, though she was 
 very young at the time, which occasioned 
 the poem : her father too was with them. 
 A row of pines ascending a mountain on 
 the opposite side of the valley was pointed 
 out as " Fan's Funeral " — "A joke against 
 me," said Miss Arnold. It seemed that 
 'n childhood she had somehow got the 
 impression that it was a troop of mourn- 
 ers following a bier — perhaps some one 
 had said " How like a funeral ! " — and 
 many times afterward, in visiting the 
 spot, the child still supposed it was a 
 
 funeral, and wondered it should be so 
 long stationary. 
 
 As we came down the mountain, Miss 
 Arnold spoke of her recollection of the 
 day of Wordsworth's death. She and 
 one of her young friends were almost 
 alone at Fox How. All day they knew 
 that the end was at hand , and their 
 minds were filled with the thought of it. 
 Late in the afternoon they climb- 
 ed one of the hills looking down 
 on Rydal Mount, their hearts 
 bowed with a solemnity of feel- 
 ing — burning, one might almost 
 say, within them as they thought 
 of the moment that approached. 
 Suddenly as they looked they 
 saw that the windows of the 
 house wei'e being closed, and 
 they knew thus of the faring 
 forth of the great soul. It was 
 almost as if they themselves had 
 witnessed his departure. I could 
 well understand how the solemn 
 Nature around would have a 
 grave and awful look to them 
 as they pondered in their young 
 hearts that ending and that be- 
 ginning. I spoke of Wordsworth's own 
 lines on hearing that "the dissolution of 
 Mr. Fox was hourly expected" : 
 
 A power is passing from the earth 
 To breathless Nature's dark abyss ; 
 
 But when the great and good depart, 
 What is it more than this — 
 
 That man, who is from God sent forth. 
 
 Doth yet again to God return ? 
 Such ebb and flow must always be : 
 
 Then wherefore should we mourn ? 
 
 At Fox How we assembled again in 
 the pleasant drawing-room : books were 
 brought out, and passages referred to 
 which had been suggested in our walk. 
 At length the bell was rung for prayers, 
 and the servants came in : Mr. Penrose 
 officiated. One could not but think how 
 often Dr. Arnold's voice had been heard 
 there saying the same office. Some re- 
 freshment was brought in. I remained 
 but a few minutes longer. Mrs. Arnold 
 asked me to dine with them on Wed- 
 nesday. 
 
 Aug. lo. My kind host has arranged 
 an excursion of about three days, that I 
 
WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 31 
 
 may see a part of this Lake district 
 which is seldom visited. We started 
 from his gate at ten o'clock by coach 
 for Broughton, by way of Coniston 
 Water — a beautiful drive, the weather 
 delightful and all very promising. At 
 Broughton we had a glimpse of the val- 
 
 ley of the Duddon. Thence we went 
 by rail along the sea-coast as far as 
 Ravensglass, a lonely fishing village. 
 Here we hired a car for Strand's near 
 Wast Water, a distance of seven or 
 eight miles. We stopped, however, a 
 mile from Ravensglass, at Muncaster 
 
 WAST WATER. 
 
 Castle, "the seat of the ancient family 
 of the Penningtons." The guidebooks 
 say that Henry VI. was entertained here 
 on his flight after the battle of Hexham, 
 and that when he left Muncaster he 
 gave to Sir John Pennington an enamel- 
 ed glass vase. The glass has been care- 
 fully preserved in the castle, the tradition 
 being that the family would never want 
 a male heir while it remained unbroken. 
 We drove through the park by a wind- 
 ing road, which brought us to the castle. 
 The chief thing here is what is known 
 as the terrace, cut on a hillside, and 
 commanding a view which is said to be 
 the finest in Cumberland. All around 
 are noble trees and beautiful shrubbery 
 and gay flowers, so that one could hard- 
 ly think the great sea so near. Indeed, 
 it had seemed like enchantment, the 
 
 turning in from the bleak coast to all 
 this rich foHage and summer beauty. 
 Very lovely are the grounds, because so 
 unartificial. Nature has been the great 
 beautifier. After we left the terrace we 
 came to a little church quite embosom- 
 ed in the trees — as secluded a nook as 
 one could imagine : it is in the castle- 
 grounds, but is the church of the neigh- 
 borhood. 
 
 We continued our drive. Alas ! the 
 promise of the morning was not fulfilled. 
 Clouds had gathered, and at length the 
 rain began. At Strand's we found rooms 
 in a very small inn, and concluded to 
 stay there quietly for the night. So we 
 had our tea-dinner, and composed our- 
 selves to such in-door occupation as was 
 possible. Books there were few of — 
 some volumes of Swift's works, two 
 
32 
 
 WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 volumes of poems — Liverpool poets of 
 fifty years ago who had not achieved 
 fame. However, with the aid of these 
 notes, which had fallen in arrear, and 
 with occasional talk, the hours were be- 
 guiled. 
 
 Aug. II. Still rainy and lowering. 
 We breakfasted and waited, hoping for 
 fair-weather signs. The rain did for a 
 while cease, and I drove alone to Wast 
 Water, two miles distant. This lake of 
 black waters, with the bare mountains 
 rising round it, showed well under the 
 sombre sky. The mountains were cap- 
 ped with mist, so I could only imagine 
 their height, but the whole length of the 
 lake lay stretched out before me. In 
 desolate, savage beauty this surpasses 
 all the other lakes of the region. It is 
 said to look its best on gloomy days : 
 its dark color is perhaps due to the 
 great depth of the water. 
 
 Returning to the inn, I found my 
 friends all ready for our start for Sea- 
 thwaite, eight miles distant. We had 
 still to keep to the one-horse car, the only 
 vehicle to be had in these out-of-the-way 
 places. At Seathwaite we obtained an 
 open carriage for the rest of the journey, 
 eighteen miles. We passed through 
 Egremont, and saw the ruins of the 
 castle — through Ennerdale, and stopped 
 to look at the churchyard, the scene of 
 Wordsworth's beautiful pastoral The 
 Brothers. At Scale Hill, which was 
 our destination, we had again good 
 weather, and it was a lovely view with 
 which our journey for the day closed. 
 My friends' carriage was awaiting us at 
 the hotel, and the coachman had brought 
 us our letters. He left Rothay Bank this 
 morning, and came by way of Keswick, 
 a drive of thirty miles. We dined, and 
 then, as the clouds had broken away 
 and the sun was about setting, we went 
 out to enjoy the evening. We climbed 
 the hill, from which a beautiful view 
 of Crummock Water opened before us. 
 John the coachman came up afterward, 
 bringing his bugle, on which he plays 
 very well. He soon set for us "the wild 
 echoes flying," and all the vale below 
 was filled with the sound. We then 
 wandered away to the edge of the lake 
 
 and watched the play of the evening 
 light on the tranquil waters. 
 
 Aug. 12. We started at half-past six 
 this morning to drive to Keswick to 
 breakfast, twelve miles. The weather 
 was beautiful, and all the fair vales 
 and hills were in their full loveliness 
 in the morning light. As we drew near 
 Keswick we saw from a hill Derwent- 
 water and Bassenthwaite Lake, and the 
 town in the centre of the valley, which 
 lay below us. We passed the church 
 where Southey lies, and then crossed 
 the Greta and drove by Greta Hall, and 
 so into Keswick. Here we breakfasted, 
 and our horses had a two hours' rest, 
 and we then started again for Amble- 
 side, seventeen miles. We ascended 
 first the long hill from which there is the 
 noble view of the Vale of Keswick and 
 of its lakes, and of Skiddaw and the 
 other mountains — a view which twice 
 before I have had the happiness to see. 
 When I last looked down on it, it was 
 under a cloudy sky : now there was the 
 full beauty of sunlight. But every foot 
 of the way between Keswick and Amble- 
 side has its charm : Southey calls it the 
 most beautiful drive in the world. Why 
 should I attempt to describe it ? I may 
 note the wonderful reflections in the 
 Lakes of Grasmere and Rydal, especi- 
 ally the latter. There was no ripple to 
 disturb the glassy transparency. The 
 islands, the sloping shores, the hedges, 
 and the grazing sheep, all were doubled, 
 and no water-line was to be seen.' I 
 suppose the mountains around protect 
 the lake from currents of wind, and 
 give a blackness to it which makes it 
 so excellent a mirror. 
 
 At a little after one my friends set me 
 down at the entrance to Fox How. I 
 was to dine there to meet Thomas Ar- 
 nold and William Wordsworth, and we 
 were to have a walk together in the af- 
 ternoon. But Arnold had been sudden- 
 ly called to Dublin, and had just started. 
 Wordsworth, however, was there, and 
 with him Mr. Henry Crabb Robinson, 
 who had just come to spend a few days 
 at Rydal Mount — an old man of eighty- 
 three, but fresh and gay and wonder- 
 fully fluent in discourse. He was a 
 
iVALJirS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 II 
 
 great friend of Wordsworth's, and was 
 twice his companion in travehng on 
 the Continent. Southey, Coleridge and 
 Lamb he knew well also. I was pre- 
 sented to him, and reminded him that 
 
 five years ago I had the honor to break- 
 fast with him in London — a fact which, 
 I grieve to record, he seemed quite to 
 have forgotten. 
 
 Dinner was soon announced, and the 
 
 CRUMMOCK AND BUTTERMERE. 
 
 large table was again well filled. Mr. 
 Robinson took the talk pretty much. 
 He sat on Mrs. Arnold's right, and I 
 was directly opposite. Perhaps it was 
 having me in full view that led him to 
 speak so much of the Americans he had 
 known in the last forty years. He told 
 us of his chance meeting with young 
 Goddard of Boston in Switzerland in 
 1820, when he and Wordsworth were 
 traveling together, and how that meet- 
 ing had caused poor Goddard's death. 
 Wishing to be in Wordsworth's com- 
 pany, he had asked Mr. Robinson's per- 
 mission to join them in the ascent of the 
 Rigi. He altered by so doing his course 
 of travel, and a day or two afterward, 
 in crossing the Lake of Zug in an open 
 boat with a companion, a storm came on, 
 the boat was upset, and he was drowned: 
 his companion escaped by swimming to 
 shore. .We recalled Wordsworth's ele- 
 giac stanzas on the occasion, and I ven- 
 tured to add as a conclusion to the story 
 that when Professor Reed was getting 
 together the American contribution to 
 3 
 
 the Wordsworth memorial window, a 
 letter came from Mrs. Goddard, the 
 mother of the young man who near forty 
 years before had perished, desiring to 
 take part in the commemoration, and re- 
 ferring to the imperishable monument to 
 her son which the great poet had reared. 
 She was then eighty-five, and had lived 
 to give this token of her gratitude. 
 
 Mr. Robinson had a great deal to say 
 about the Rev. James Richmond, an 
 American, a man of genius, but famous 
 chiefly for his eccentricity. But I need 
 make no further note of his discourse. 
 He diverged perpetually, and sometimes 
 did not come back to the main track of 
 his story. I was half sorry that my 
 presence should be the occasion of his 
 talking so much about my countrymen. 
 I should have preferred a subject which 
 would have been of more interest to the 
 others who were present. But it was idle 
 to attempt to direct the current of his 
 speech. Equally futile was Mrs. Ar- 
 
IVALKS AND VISITS IN IVORDSlVORTir S C0UN7RY. 
 
 nold's effort to retain possession of the 
 joint which was placed before her, and 
 which she was about to carve. Mr. 
 Robinson insisted with peremptory cour- 
 tesy on reheving her, and as he bran- 
 dished the great knife, continuing the 
 while his animated talk, there was natu- 
 rally a less skillful performance of the duty 
 which was then of immediate urgency. 
 Glances were exchanged by Mrs. Ar- 
 nold with some of her guests, in part 
 of apology and in part of amusement 
 at the spectacle. And, sooth to say, the 
 fair tablecloth suffered from Mr. Robin- 
 son's double mind. 
 
 I remained most of the afternoon at Fox 
 How, walking about the grounds or sitting 
 under the shade of trees near the house, 
 talking with one or other of the ladies. 
 Seldom have I passed pleasanter hours. 
 In the evening I was again with Mrs. 
 Arnold and her daughters on a visit at 
 one of the neighboring houses. Nine 
 o'clock came, and with it the Times, 
 which was eagerly opened. The news 
 from India is just now of absorbing in- 
 terest. I should mention that Mrs. Ar- 
 nold read us this afternoon letters from 
 her son William, author of Oakfield, 
 from the Punjaub. Under date of Feb- 
 ruary last he speaks of a Mohammed- 
 an secret organization, having its centre 
 at Delhi and ramifications everywhere, 
 which he thinks means evil. He is the 
 more of this opinion because his Per- 
 sian secretary, whom he thinks very ill 
 of, belongs to it. Writing under date of 
 June 15, he says the Bengal Sepoy no 
 longer exists, and that the civilization of 
 fifty years has gone in a day. The lay- 
 ing of the Atlantic cable is another mat- 
 ter of great interest just now. All Eng- 
 land is watching its progress. Despatches 
 from the ship come almost hourly as it 
 steams westward. 
 
 Aug. 16. My last Sunday in Eng- 
 land. I went by the beautiful Fox How 
 road to Rydal to church, and sat in Mrs. 
 Wordsworth's pew. She and Mr. Crabb 
 Robinson and William Wordsworth were 
 there. Mrs. Wordsworth to-day enters 
 her eighty-eighth year. I sat by her 
 side as I did two years ago, in this same 
 pew, the Sunday before I sailed. Her 
 
 meek countenance, her reverent look, I 
 saw once more — the face of one to whom 
 the angels seemed already ministering. 
 Service being over, I shook hands with 
 her, and received a kind invitation to dine 
 at Rydal Mount. Leaning on Mr. Rob- 
 inson's arm, she went out, Wordsworth 
 and I following. Mrs. Arnold and her 
 daughters stopped to make their con- 
 gratulations on her birthday, as others 
 did, following her afterward with lov- 
 ing looks. We ascended the steep hill, 
 Mr. Robinson talking, as usual, a great 
 deal. 
 
 Once more I was at Rydal Mount : 
 there were the books, the pictures, the 
 old chairs. I went up stairs with Words- 
 worth to his room : it is the one that 
 Dorothy Wordsworth, the poet's sister, 
 occupied so long — the room in which 
 she died. The house is very old, the 
 passages narrow, the ceilings low, yet 
 there is an air of comfort everywhere. 
 At dinner Mr. Robinson was the talker, 
 as he always is. He told us of his inter- 
 course with Goethe, whom he seems to 
 have seen a good deal of. He said he 
 never mentioned Wordsworth's name 
 to Goethe, fearing that he would either 
 say he had never read his poetry or that 
 he did not like it. He said Southey was 
 only a collector of other men's thoughts : 
 Wordsworth gave forth his own. Words- 
 worth was like the spider, spinning his 
 thread from his own substance : Southey 
 the bee, gathering wherever he could. 
 Mrs. Wordsworth did not join us at table 
 till the dessert came in. Then her one 
 glass of port having been poured out for 
 her, she took it in her hand and turn- 
 ing her face toward me, said, "I wish 
 you your health, Mr. Yarnall, and a 
 prosperous voyage and a safe return 
 to your friends !" 
 
 The interval after dinner was short. 
 I received, if I may so say, Mrs. Words- 
 worth's final blessing and went my way, 
 thankful it had been given me to draw 
 near to one so pure, to a nature so nobly 
 simple. Not only her children, but all 
 who have come in contact with her, will 
 rise up to call her blessed. Surely, thrice 
 blessed was the poet with such a wife ; 
 and indeed he himself with wonderful 
 
WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 35 
 
 fullness has declared she was almost as 
 the presence of God to him : 
 
 That sigh of thine, not meant for human ear, 
 Tells that these words thy humbleness offend ; 
 Yet bear me up, else faltering in the rear 
 Of a steep march : support me to the end. 
 Peace settles where the intellect is meek. 
 And Love is dutiful in thought and deed ; 
 Through thee communion with that love I seek ; 
 The faith Heaven strengthens where he moulds the 
 creed. 
 
 My last evening in this sweet region was 
 spent at Fox How. With Mr. Thomas 
 Arnold and Miss Arnold I once more in 
 the long twilight climbed Lough Rigg 
 Fell. There stretching out before us 
 
 was range after range of gray moun- 
 tains, with Skiddaw in the distance — a 
 solemn and peaceful view, and to me a 
 leavetaking of one of the loveliest re- 
 gions of the earth. 
 
 Hotel, Windermere Station, July 4, 1873. 
 Again, after sixteen years' interval, I 
 am on the threshold of this lovely re- 
 gion, I have been walking in the twi- 
 light hours through bowery lanes, hoping 
 to reach the lake, but I took a wrong 
 direction, and only when it was time to 
 return did I get from a high part of the 
 road a glimpse of the fair waters. I pass- 
 
 ed many gateways with broad graveled 
 drives leading from them, doubtless to 
 beautiful homes, for all this neighbor- 
 hood is occupied by lovely dwellings, 
 more or less secluded and embowered 
 in all luxuriant greenery. It was be- 
 tween nine and ten o'clock when I got 
 back to the solitude of the hotel. There 
 were people there, no one of whom I 
 knew. I can stand being alone with 
 Nature, but the constrained silence of 
 the coffee-room of an English inn is a 
 trifle depressing. 
 
 Jidy 5. I started early in a fly for the 
 ferry at Bowness, then crossed the lake 
 in almost a toy steamer to the Nab 
 promontory, and thence took my way 
 on foot by a quickly -ascending road 
 toward Hawkshead. From the summit 
 of the ridge I looked back upon Lake 
 Windermere with its wooded promon- 
 tories and its islands and its encircling 
 mountains. The morning was beauti- 
 ful, and the whole scene was in its rich 
 summer loveliness. I had forgotten how 
 fair and glorious were these Westmore- 
 land lakes and mountains. Farther on 
 
 I came to Esthwaite Water, a lake a 
 mile and a half in length, and soon 
 afterward I entered the Vale of Hawks- 
 head. The old church on a rocky emi- 
 nence is the chief object as you ap- 
 proach the town. At the base of the 
 hill on which it stands is the grammar 
 school at which Wordsworth received 
 his first lessons, as he tells us in The 
 Prelude. I found carpenters at work in 
 the old school-room, and one of them 
 told me he had himself been a scholar 
 there, and he showed me the desk at 
 which Wordsworth sat. The school- 
 house, the church and the streets of the 
 town had all a quaint and antique look. 
 I could fancy there had been little change 
 since Wordsworth and his brother Chris- 
 topher, afterward master of Trinity Col- 
 lege, Cambridge, were scholars here, 
 near a hundred years ago. It had been 
 the chief object of my pilgrimage, the 
 sight of this school-house. Coniston 
 was my further destination. A coach 
 was standing at the door of an inn, 
 which I found was just starting for this 
 place, so I climbed to an outside seat, 
 
36 
 
 WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 and found as my sole companion a 
 good-natured man who at once entered 
 into talk with me. He seemed a well- 
 to-do man, and as he told me soon 
 whence he had come and whither he 
 was going, I naturally imparted to him 
 what had been the object of my pil- 
 grimage to Hawkshead. He seemed 
 to find it hard to account to himself for 
 my enthusiasm : still, the only inquiry 
 
 he made of me in endeavoring to en- 
 lighten himself was a singular one. 
 "Was he a rich man ?" he asked me, 
 referring to Wordsworth. I was obliged 
 to admit that he was not. Then we 
 talked of the races at Newcastle, and 
 on this subject my friend had greatly 
 the advantage of me. 
 
 We descended upon Coniston Water 
 by a long steep hill. The hotel known 
 
 WINDERMERE. 
 
 as the Waterhead Inn is beautiful as to 
 architecture, and there were about it 
 flower-beds with geraniums in glorious 
 bloom — such splendor of color as I never 
 saw before. I went out in a boat on the 
 lake, and enjoyed for a while the view 
 of the hills around. Then rain came on, 
 and I had to row quickly back, and my 
 remaining hours were spent at the inn. 
 But the spacious coffee-room command- 
 ed such a delightful view that there was 
 little hardship in remaining in-doors. 
 At about five in the afternoon I started 
 on the coach for Ambleside. I was on 
 top by the coachman, a civil fellow who 
 knew every foot of the way. Three 
 young ladies sat on the still higher seat 
 behind. They were of severe propriety 
 of manner, but they were refined, and 
 talked with a careful modulation of voice 
 
 which is peculiarly English. The after- 
 noon was dull, but it did not rain. The 
 road was perpetually either up hill or 
 down, and the views every step of the 
 way were lovely. We went through 
 Yewdale, and stopped within a few min- 
 utes' walk of Skelvvith Force, a waterfall 
 reminding one of a single portion of 
 Trenton Falls. Time was allowed us to 
 see this, and then we climbed to our 
 high seats again, the young ladies hav- 
 ing the help of a ladder, and drove 
 along the banks of the Brathay, passing 
 as I drew near Ambleside the gateway 
 of the pretty house which had been a 
 home to me in two former visits. Alas ! 
 the dispensers of that gracious hospital- 
 ity, my kind host and hostess, have both 
 been removed by death. At the Salu- 
 tation Inn, Ambleside, I received the 
 
WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 ;7 
 
 welcome answer that I could have a 
 room: the traveling season has begun, 
 and as I had not written in advance, I 
 had my fears. 
 
 yuly 6. It rained last night when I 
 went to bed, but the day broke glorious- 
 ly, and this wonderful, this enchanting 
 region seemed to have a new and fresh, 
 charm. A young Canadian joined me 
 in my walk to the Rydal church just 
 under Rydal Mount. There was the little 
 church just as I had last seen it, only 
 that it had been greatly improved as to 
 the exterior architecture. Inside it was 
 but little changed : the old high-backed 
 pews remained. Therein her accustom- 
 ed place, in the large square pew near 
 the chancel, sat Mrs. Arnold, and by her 
 
 Miss Frances Arnold, both fronting the 
 small congregation. I looked at the 
 pew on the other side and missed the 
 sweet and aged face of Mrs. Words- 
 worth. But the whole church seemed a 
 memorial of her. My meeting with Mrs. 
 Arnold and Miss Arnold was very pleas- 
 ant and cordial when the service was 
 over : they asked me to dine with them, 
 and introduced me to the dean of Ehir- 
 ham, who was with them. Mrs. Arnold 
 and the dean drove. Miss Arnold said 
 she would walk, so she and her nephew 
 (a son of Thomas Arnold, looking won- 
 derfully like his uncle, Matthew Arnold) 
 and I went by that most lovely road which 
 winds underneath Lough Rigg. The 
 walk and the talk were delightful to 
 
 .J.^f-m 
 
 CONISTON WATER. 
 
 me : the day was of rare splendor, and 
 there was the unspeakable beauty of the 
 valley and of the mountains around. 
 
 At Fox How, Mrs. Arnold and the 
 dean were in the garden : the dear old 
 lady (she is now eighty-two) came for- 
 ward and made the kindest inquiries 
 about those I had left at home, and 
 was in every way most gentle and gra- 
 cious. And then we walked into the 
 house, and into the drawing-room, and 
 it seemed like a bit of enchantment, 
 the view from the window looking back 
 over the way we had come — the sol- 
 emn mountains shutting all the beauty 
 in, as it were, giving thus a framework 
 and a setting to it. We sat and talked, 
 and there was such a sense of kindly 
 
 feeling as to make the hospitality I was 
 enjoying doubly grateful. The ladies 
 went away for a moment, and I could 
 look at the books and the pictures. 
 Everything spoke of culture and of 
 thought. Much seemed to have been 
 added to the room since I last saw it. 
 A fine drawing in water-color, a por- 
 trait of Mrs. Arnold, hung over the fire- 
 place — a recent picture. On the table I 
 saw two thick volumes — the memoir and 
 letters of Sara Coleridge. I had not 
 known that the book was out : it seemed 
 strange that I should see it thus for the 
 first time at Fox How. 
 
 Our talk at dinner was very pleasant. 
 The dean of Durham is Dr. Lake : he 
 was, as Miss Arnold informed me, Dr. 
 
38 
 
 WALKS AND V/SITS IN WORDSVVORlir S COUNTRY. 
 
 Arnold's favorite pupil. The fact of his 
 being a dean was proof of his learning 
 and high reputation, for in latter times 
 these appointments are only given on 
 the ground of distinguished merit. He 
 said Emerson dined with him some 
 months ago when at Durham ; that he 
 spoke of having seen a good deal of 
 Carlyle when in London ; that he, Car- 
 lyle, was out of health and depressed. 
 The loss of his wife preyed on him : 
 he was unable to sleep, and the chief 
 comfort he found in his sleepless hours 
 was in saying over and over again the 
 Lord's Prayer. Emerson's daughter was 
 traveling with him, but being unwell, 
 she could not go to dine at the dean's. 
 At the table something from Keble was 
 quoted, but neither Emerson nor the 
 dean could get it right. "Oh, I'll ask 
 my daughter," said Emerson. Emer- 
 son went with the dean to the cathedral 
 service, and seemed greatly impressed 
 by it. We talked of the Hare book. 
 Memorials of a Quiet Life. Miss Ar- 
 nold had kno.wn well both Augustus and 
 Maria Hare, as well as Julius and Esther 
 Hare : indeed, it was probably at Fox 
 How that the engagement of Julius Hare 
 to Esther Maurice took place. The wri- 
 ter of the Memorials was well known to 
 them at Fox How — a man with some 
 eccentricity of character, with the femi- 
 nine element somewhat in excess in his 
 composition. Miss Arnold said she had 
 within a few days talked about the book 
 with Miss Martineau, who denounced it 
 on some fantastic ground or other. Miss 
 Arnold said it was not pleasant to her to 
 hear this adverse criticism — " But you 
 know one cannot tell a lady of great 
 age, through a trumpet, that you utter- 
 ly object to what she is saying." The 
 dean spoke of Professor Jowett — said 
 he was hardly the leader at Oxford he 
 used to be : men who were his follow- 
 ers have gone quite beyond him, and 
 Jowett seems to draw back in conse- 
 quence. Of Maurice the dean spoke 
 with great respect : he said Hutton, the 
 editor of the Spectator, was the chief 
 representative of his opinions. Mr. 
 Forster too might be mentioned as a 
 leading man on whom the teaching of 
 
 Maurice had had a strong influence. Mrs. 
 Arnold took part with much animation 
 in all the talk :■ she seemed perfectly 
 bright in mind. I was delighted to see 
 her cheerfulness and serenity, and to 
 feel that her closing days had so much 
 of joy in them. 
 
 As I climbed Lough Rigg late in the 
 afternoon I thought of the long forty 
 years of Mrs. Arnold's widowhood, and 
 of how much had been given to cheer 
 its loneliness — the loving dutifulness of 
 her children, her home in this beautiful 
 region, around which must cling, for her, 
 such vivid and tender associations, the 
 ever-recurring evidences of the fruitful- 
 ness of her husband's teaching. All 
 this must have brought peace to her in 
 the slowly-passing years. I thought of 
 Wordsworth too when, my view widen- 
 ing with each step, I at last reached a 
 height from which I could look down 
 on Rydal Water as well as Windermere. 
 I wondered whether this grand Nature 
 had made the man, or whether his ge- 
 nius had invested it with something 
 of the charm which it has now for all 
 beholders. I stood among gray mossy 
 rocks : sheep were browsing on the 
 grassy spaces between ; below me lay 
 the whole Ambleside Valley, with the 
 church in the centre. A very Sabbath 
 stillness seemed on all the hills and in 
 the vale beneath. I said to myself, 
 " Surely to any man such sights as these 
 must give elevation of mind : how 
 much more to a poet !" I could under- 
 stand the good that must have come to 
 Wordsworth, wandering as he did over 
 these hills, with the thought ever present 
 to him that Nature was to be his teacher, 
 and that it was to be his work to in- 
 terpret her to men. 
 
 Late in the afternoon I called on the 
 Misses Quillinan (Jemima and Rotha, 
 commemorated by Wordsworth), and 
 had pleasant talk with them over the 
 past. They told me that my friend of 
 former visits, William Wordsworth, the 
 poet's grandson, was now at home from 
 India on a visit : he has been head of a 
 college at Poonah for twelve years. I 
 shall hope to see him when I reach 
 Cockermouth. The ladies told me that 
 
WALKS AND VISITS IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 
 
 39 
 
 the old Wishing Gate had been removed, 
 and a new gate put in its place : they 
 showed me a bar of the old gate, and 
 I sought to make trial once more of its 
 mystic power. The Misses Quillinan, 
 as being the step-daughters of Dora 
 Quillinan, are the nearest, and indeed 
 the only, representatives of Wordsworth 
 remaining here in the neighborhood of 
 Rydal Mount. 
 
 Jtdy 7. I left Ambleside to-day for 
 Keswick. I was on the outside of the 
 coach, and had a full view of the slopes 
 of the hills, the green of the pastures, 
 
 fretted here and there by crags ; and I 
 saw the sweet lakes once more, Rydal 
 and Grasmere, and farther on there were 
 numerous flocks of sheep coming down 
 the mountains, probably for the shearing. 
 Dogs were guiding them and keeping 
 them together with wonderful and un- 
 erring instinct. And then we passed 
 Thirlmere, which is the highest of the 
 English lakes. Here the view had be- 
 come wild and desolate, the hillsides 
 bare and rocky. We descended from 
 this high valley into a fair smiling coun- 
 try once more. The coach stopped at 
 
 THIRLMKKJi. 
 
 the entrance to St. John's Vale, and I 
 determined to walk to Keswick by that 
 route. It is a narrow, winding valley, 
 shut in by deep hills, with a stream flow- 
 ing through it. On either side of the 
 water there is thick wood, but with open 
 spaces here and there, and farm-houses. 
 The rocks which overhang the vale at 
 about the centre have the look of a fort- 
 ress. I entered the vale of the Greta, 
 and then descended the long Saddle- 
 back, and made my way at length to 
 the Portingscale Hotel: there I rested 
 after my three hours' walk, and in the 
 evening went on by rail to the neigh- 
 borhood of Cockermouth, where I was 
 to spend a few days at the house of some 
 dear friends. 
 
 Of this visit 1 need make but little rec- 
 ord. I saw at Cockermouth the square 
 and respectable mansion, quite the most 
 
 considerable house in the town, in which 
 Wordsworth was born April 7, 1770. 
 The house has undergone but little 
 change, it is said, since that date. I 
 met William Wordsworth too, as I had 
 hoped I should. He and his wife were 
 staying with his father, the Rev. John 
 Wordsworth, vicar of Cockermouth. He 
 was bearded and bronzed and otherwise 
 changed, as a man well might be after 
 twelve years in India. His wife show- 
 ed more of the ill effect of the climate : 
 her appearance was extremely delicate. 
 I may note one interesting incident 
 which Mr. Wordsworth told me. He 
 had been on a visit to Professor Jowett 
 at Oxford, and was there on a Saturday, 
 the day on which Jowett gathers about 
 him whatever people of distinction he 
 knows. " On this occasion," said Words- 
 worth, "I was to hand out to dinner a 
 particular lady, but her name was not 
 
40 
 
 n 'J LA'S AND 1 7 SITS /A' IVORDSIVORTI/'S COUNTRY. 
 
 mentioned to me, or at least I did not 
 catch it. She, however, was told that I 
 was a grandson of Wordsworth. ' Oh,' 
 said she, ' I began to read Wordsworth 
 
 when I was fifteen, and have gone on 
 ever since with continually increasing 
 pleasure ;' and then her talk flowed on 
 with such strength and power, and show- 
 
 HOUSE IN COCKERMOUTH IN WHICH WORDSWORTH WAS BORN. 
 
 ed such elevation of mind and such grasp 
 and mastery of all learning, that I was 
 certain she could be no other than Mrs. 
 Lewes. So I asked her if she was not 
 the author of Middlemarch, and she said 
 she was. In the drawing-room afterward 
 she showed herself on the same level 
 with Greek scholars and men of science, 
 with whom she talked, filling with won- 
 der all who listened." 
 
 Mr. Wordsworth spoke of his import- 
 ant position at Poonah, giving him di- 
 rection of the education both^of Hindoos 
 and Europeans. I could not doubt his 
 fitness for the work he had undertaken, 
 but I remembered what I thought was the 
 oromise of sixteen years ago, and I fan- 
 
 cied that whatever India might have 
 gained, England had lost a man of let- 
 ters — perhaps a poet. He was the last 
 of my friends of the Lake district with 
 whom I had intercourse in that visit of 
 1873. It chanced that he accompanied 
 me on my journey from Cockermouth 
 to Carlisle, and there, on the threshold 
 as it were of the region, we parted — he 
 for the East when his brief furlough 
 should be over, I for the West. I felt 
 always that I had much in cornmon with 
 him, but now, with half the globe be- 
 tween us, and the changes which the 
 flowing years might bring, the chance 
 was small of our ever meeting again. 
 
SIX MONTHS AMONG CANNIBALS. 
 
 A HALT IN THE BRUSH. 
 
 PERHAPS as good an illustration of 
 the purely absurd (according to civ- 
 ilized notions) as can be imagined is a 
 congregation of cannibals in a mission- 
 ar)' church weeping bitterly over the story 
 of Calvary. Fresh from their revolting 
 feasts upon the flesh of their conquered 
 
 enemies, these gentle savages weep over 
 the sufferings of One separated from them 
 by race, by distance, by almost every con- 
 ceivable lack of the conditions for natural 
 sympathy, and by over eighteen hundred 
 years of time ! Surely there must be 
 hope for people who ma'')'*"'?st such sensi- 
 
 41 
 
42 
 
 SIX MONTHS AMONG CANNIBALS. 
 
 bility, and v/e may fairly question wheth- 
 er cannibaUsm be necessarily the sign of 
 the lowest human degradation. A good 
 deal of light is thrown upon the subject 
 by the writings of the young engineer, 
 Jules Garnier, who was lately charged by 
 the French minister of the interior with 
 a mission of exploration in New Caledo- 
 nia, the Pacific island discovered by Cap- 
 tain Cook just one hundred years ago, 
 and ceded to the French in 1853. 
 
 It is about three hundred and sixty 
 miles from Sydney to New Caledonia, a 
 long, narrow island lying just north of 
 the Tropic of Capricorn, and completely 
 surrounded by belts of coral reef crenel- 
 lated here and there, and forming chan- 
 nels or passes where ships may enter. 
 Navigation through these channels is, 
 however, exceedingly hazardous in any 
 but calm weather; and it was formerly 
 thought that the island was on this ac- 
 count practically valueless for coloniza- 
 tion. Once inside them, however, vessels 
 may anchor safely anywhere, for there 
 is in effect a continuous roadstead all 
 around the island. The passage through 
 the narrow pass of Dumbea, just outside 
 of Noumea, affords a striking spectacle. 
 On each side of the ship is a wall of 
 foam, and the reverberating thunder of 
 the waves dashing and breaking upon 
 the jagged reefs keeps the mind in breath- 
 less suspense. 
 
 The site of Noumea seems to be the 
 most unfortunate that could be chosen. 
 It is a barren, rocky spot, divested of all 
 luxuriance of vegetation, and the nearest 
 water, a brook called Pont des Fran^ais, 
 is ten miles away. The appearance of 
 the town, which fronts the harbor in the 
 form of an amphitheatre, the houses and 
 gardens rising higher and higher as they 
 recede from the sea, tended somewhat to 
 reassure the explorer, who had been won- 
 dering that human stupidity should have 
 been equal to selecting in a tropical coun- 
 try, and in one of the best-watered isl- 
 ands of the world, such a situation for 
 its capital. Wells are of little account, 
 for the water thus obtained is at the level 
 of the sea, and always salt. The popu- 
 lation has to depend upon the rain that 
 falls on roofs, and as the cleanliness of 
 
 these is of prime importance, domestica- 
 ting pigeons is strictly forbidden. This 
 might not be rnuch of a deprivation in 
 most places, but in New Caledonia, of all 
 the world, there is a kind of giant pigeon 
 as large as a common hen ! This is the 
 7ioton, the Carpophage Goliath of the 
 naturalist. 
 
 The hotel at Noumea was a kind of 
 barracks, with partitions so slight that 
 every guest was forced to hear every 
 sound in his neighbors' rooms. M. Gar- 
 nier, to escape this inconvenience, pur- 
 chased a garden-plot, had a cottage built 
 in a few days, and so became a proprietor 
 in Oceanica. Before setting out on his 
 exploring expedition into the interior he 
 tried to interest the government in a plan 
 for cisterns to supply the city with water 
 — a project easy of execution from the 
 natural conformation of the locality. But 
 his scheme received no encouragement 
 from the old-fogyish authorities. They 
 were at that moment entertaining one 
 which for simplicity reminded Garnier 
 of the egg problem of Columbus. This 
 was to distill the sea-water. He made 
 a calculation of the cost of thus supply- 
 ing each of the sixteen hundred inhab- 
 itants with five quarts of water a day, 
 which showed that the proposition was 
 impracticable under the circumstances. 
 
 From the showing of official accounts, 
 this French colony of New Caledonia must 
 be one of the most absurd that exists. 
 The military and naval force far exceeds 
 in number the whole civil population ; 
 and this, too, when the natives are quiet 
 and submissive, few in number, and fast 
 dying out through the inordinate use of 
 the worst kind of tobacco, pulmonary 
 consumption and other concomitants of 
 civilization not necessary to enumerate. 
 Contrast this with the rich and populous 
 province of Victoria, which has only three 
 hundred and fifty soldiers ; with Brisbane, 
 which has only sixteen to a population 
 of one hundred thousand ; and finally 
 Tasmania, which has only seven soldiers 
 for two hundred thousand colonists ! 
 
 It was believed formerly that New 
 Caledonia was rich in gold-mines, and 
 the principal object of the expedition of 
 M. Garnier was to discover these. After 
 
SIX MONTHS AMONG CANNIBALS. 
 
 43 
 
 one or two short excursions in the neigh- 
 borhood of Noumea he set out on an 
 eight months' journey through the entire 
 eastern portion of the island. The plan 
 which he adopted was to double the 
 southern extremity of the island, sail up 
 the eastern coast between the reefs and 
 the mainland, as is the custom, stopping 
 at the principal stations and making long 
 excursions into the interior, accompanied 
 by a guard of seven men. This plan he 
 carried out, though some parts of the 
 country to be explored were inhabited 
 by tribes that had seldom or never seen 
 a European. His testimony as to the 
 almost unexceptionable kindness of the 
 natives, cannibals though they are, must 
 be gratifying to those who accept the 
 doctrine of the brotherhood of man. Of 
 the natives near Balarde he says : "The 
 moment you land all offer to guide your 
 steps, and in every way they can to sat- 
 isfy your needs. Do you wish to hunt ? 
 A native is ever ready to show you the 
 marsh where ducks most abound. Are 
 you hungry or thirsty ? They fly to the 
 cocoanut plantation with the agility of 
 monkeys. If a swamp or a brook stops 
 your course, the shoulders of the first 
 comer are ever ready to carry you across. 
 If it rains, they run to bring banana- 
 leaves or make you a shelter of bark. 
 When night comes they light your way 
 with resinous torches, and finally, when 
 you leave them, you read in their faces 
 signs of sincere regret." 
 
 Captain Cook, in his eulogies of these 
 gentle savages, probably never dreamed 
 that they were anthropophagi, and if he 
 had known the fact, his kindly nature 
 would have found some extenuation for 
 them. Cannibals, as a rule — certainly 
 those of New Caledonia — do not eat each 
 other indiscriminately. For example, 
 they dispose of their dead with tender 
 care, though they despatch with their 
 clubs even their best friends when dy- 
 ing ; but this is with them a religious 
 duty. They only eat their enemies when 
 they have killed them in battle. This 
 also, in their code of morals, appears 
 to be a duty. Toussenel, in his Zoologie 
 Passionelle, has a kind word even for 
 these savages : " Let us pity the canni- 
 
 bal, and not blame him too severely. 
 We who boast of our refined Christian 
 civilization murder men by tens of thou- 
 sands from motives less excusable than 
 hunger. The crime lies not in roasting 
 our dead enemy, but in killing him when 
 he wishes to live." 
 
 During M. Garnier's expedition he met 
 the chief Onime, once the head of a pow- 
 erful tribe, now old and dispossessed of 
 his power through the revolt of his tribe 
 some years previous. At that time a 
 price had been put upon his head, and 
 he took refuge in the mountains. There 
 was no sign of discouragement or cruelty 
 in his manners, but his face expressed a 
 bitter and profound sorrow. There was 
 not a pig or a chicken on his place — for 
 he would have nothing imported by the 
 papales, or Europeans — but he gave his 
 guests a large quantity of yams, for which 
 he would accept no return except a little 
 tobacco. When, however, Garnier tied 
 a pretty crimson handkerchief about the 
 head of Onime's child, who danced for 
 joy at the possession of such a treasure, 
 the old chief was visibly moved, and 
 gave his hand to the stranger. Two 
 years later this old man, being suspect- 
 ed of complicity in the assassination of 
 a colonist, was arrested, bound in chains 
 and thrown into a dungeon. Three times 
 he broke his chains and escaped, and 
 each time was recaptured. He was then 
 transported to Noumea. M. Garnier hap- 
 pened to be on the same ship. The con- 
 dition of the old man was pitiful. Deep 
 wounds, exposing the bones, were worn 
 into his wrists and ankles in his attempts 
 to free himself from his chains. Three 
 days later he died, and on a subsequent 
 examination of facts M. Garnier became 
 convinced that Onime was innocent of 
 the crime charged against him. On the 
 ship he recognized Garnier, and accepted 
 from him a little tobacco. Tobacco is 
 more coveted by these people than any- 
 thing else in the world, and the stronger 
 it is the better. The child almost as soon 
 as he can walk will smoke in an old pipe 
 the poisonous tobacco furnished special- 
 ly for the natives, which is so strong that 
 it makes the most inveterate European 
 smoker ill. " Gin and brandy have been 
 
44 
 
 SIX MONTHS AMONG CANNIBALS. 
 
 introduced successfully," but the natives 
 as a rule make horrible grimaces in 
 drinking them, and invariably drink two 
 or three cups of water immediately to put 
 out the fi?-e, as they say. 
 
 These natives speak a kind of " pigeon 
 English." It would be pigeon French, 
 doubtless, had their first relations been 
 with the French instead of the English. 
 The government has now stopped the 
 sale of spirituous liquors to the natives, 
 and recommended the chiefs to forbid 
 their subjects smoking until a certain 
 age, but no precautions yet taken have 
 had much influence upon their physical 
 condition. They are rapidly dying out. 
 The most prevalent disease is pulmonary 
 consumption, which they declare has been 
 given them by the Europeans. Fewer 
 and fewer children are born every year, 
 and in the tribes about Poebo and some 
 others these are almost all males. Here 
 is a curious fact for scientists. Is not 
 the cause to be found in the deteriorated 
 physical condition of the women ? Mary 
 Trist, in her. careful and extensive ex- 
 perimentation with butterfly grubs, has 
 shown that by generous feeding these all 
 develop into females, while by starving 
 males only appear. 
 
 M. Garnier believes that the principal 
 cause of the deterioration and decay of 
 the natives in New Caledonia is the ter- 
 rible tobacco that is furnished to them. 
 " Everybody pays for any service from 
 the natives in this poison." A mission- 
 ary once asked a native convert why he 
 had not attended mass. " Because you 
 don't give me any tobacco," replied this 
 hopeful Christian. To him, as to many 
 others, says M. Garnier, going to church 
 means working for the missionary, just 
 as much as digging in his garden, and 
 he therefore expects remuneration. The 
 young girls in 'regions where there are 
 missions established all wear chaplets, 
 for they are good Catholics after a fash- 
 ion, and generally refuse to marry pa- 
 gans. This operates to bring the young 
 men under the religious yoke. Self-in- 
 terest is their strong motive generally. 
 The missionary makes them understand 
 the value of his counsel in their tribes. 
 It means their raising cocoanuts for their 
 
 oil, flocks of chickens and droves of 
 hogs, for all of which they can obtain 
 pipes, quantities of tobacco, a gun, and 
 gaudy-colored cottons. When the chiefs 
 find that their power is gradually passing 
 from them into the hands of the mission- 
 aries, they only smoke more poisonous 
 tobacco, expose themselves all the more 
 to the weather through the cheap frag- 
 mentary dress they have adopted, and 
 so the ravages of consumption are ac- 
 celerated. Pious Christian women, who 
 have always given freely of their store 
 to missionary causes, begin to see that 
 the results are not commensurate with 
 their sacrifices — that their charity, even 
 their personal work among heathens, 
 teaching them to read and write and 
 study the catechism, to cover their bodies 
 with dress and to love the arts of civil- 
 ization, can avail little against the rum, 
 tobacco and nameless maladies legally 
 or illegally introduced with Christianity. 
 
 During one of M. Garnier's excursions 
 into the interior he came across one of 
 the sacred groves where the natives bury 
 their dead, if hanging them up in trees 
 can be so designated. His guides all 
 refused to accompany him, fearing to 
 excite the anger of the manes of their 
 ancestors. He therefore entered the high 
 grove alone. Numerous corpses, envel- 
 oped in carefully-woven mats and then 
 bound in a kind of basket, were suspend- 
 ed from the branches of the trees. Some 
 of these were falling in pieces, and the 
 ground was strewn with whitened bones. 
 It seems strange that this form of burial 
 should be chosen in a country where at 
 least once a year there occurs a terri- 
 ble cyclone that destroys crops, unroofs 
 houses, uproots trees, and often sends 
 these basket-caskets flying with the co- 
 coanuts through the air. 
 
 In New Caledonia there are no fero- 
 cious beasts, and the largest animal is a 
 very rare bird which the natives call the 
 kagon. When, therefore, they saw the 
 English eating the meat from beef bones 
 they inferred that these were the bones 
 of giants, and naively inquired how they 
 were captured and what weapons of war 
 they used. The confidence and admira- 
 tion of these children of Nature are easi- 
 
SIX MONTHS AMONG CANNIBALS. 
 
 45 
 
 ly gained, and under such circumstances 
 they talk freely and delight in imparting 
 all the information they possess. Among 
 one of the tribes near Balarde, M. Gar- 
 nier noticed a young woman of superior 
 beauty, and made inquiries about her. 
 
 This was larat, daughter of the chief 
 Oundo. The hornlike protuberances on 
 her head were two "scarlet flowers, which 
 were very becoming in her dark hair." 
 
 This poor little woman had a history. 
 It is told in a few words : her father sold 
 
 
 lARAT DAUGHIER Oh THE CHIl I OUNDO 
 
 her to the captain of a trading-vessel for 
 a cask of brandy. The "extenuating 
 circumstances" in this case are that 
 Oundo had been invited on board the 
 captain's ship, plied with brandy, and 
 
 when nearly drunk assented to the shame- 
 less bargain. When Oundo became so- 
 ber he repented of his act, and the more 
 bitterly because the young girl was be- 
 trothed to the young chief of a neighbor- 
 
46 
 
 SIX MONTHS AMONG CANNIBALS. 
 
 ing tribe. But he had given his word, 
 and was as great a moral coward as 
 many of his betters are, who think that 
 honor may be preserved by dishonor. 
 Nearly every coaster has a native woman 
 on board — some poor girl of low extrac- 
 tion, or some orphan left to the mercy 
 of her chief and sold for a hatchet or 
 a few yards of tawdry calico ; but the 
 daughters of chiefs are not thus deliver- 
 ed over to the lusts of Europeans. The 
 case of larat was an exception. These 
 coasters' wives, if such they may be call- 
 ed, are said to be very devoted mothers 
 and faithful servants. All day long they 
 may be seen managing the rudder or 
 cooking in the narrow kitchen on deck. 
 The vessel in the service of M. Gar- 
 nier left him at Balarde, near the north- 
 eastern extremity of the island, but, 
 having determined to explore farther 
 north, he applied to Oundo, who furnish- 
 ed him with a native boat or canoe and 
 two men for the expedition. In this boat 
 were stowed the camping and exploring 
 apparatus and cooking utensils, and three 
 of his men, who were too fatigued by 
 late excursions to follow Garnier on foot. 
 The canoe was not very large, and this 
 freight sunk it very low in the water ; yet 
 as the sea was perfectly calm, no danger 
 was apprehended until, a slight breeze 
 springing up, a sail was hoisted. The 
 shore-party continued their course, ex- 
 ploring, digging, breaking minerals, etc., 
 generally in sight of the canoe, which 
 M. Garnier watched with some anxiety. 
 Suddenly, Poulone, his faithful native 
 guide, exclaimed, " Captain, the pirogue 
 sinks !" There was no time to be lost, 
 for one of the men could not swim at 
 all, and the other two but indifferently. 
 Fortunately, the trunk of a tree was 
 found near the water, some paddles were 
 improvised, and this primitive kind of 
 boat was quickly afloat, with the captain 
 and Poulone on board. The canoe was 
 some rods from the shore, but the three 
 men were picked up, having been sup- 
 ported meanwhile by their dark compan- 
 ions. The latter did not swim ashore, 
 but the moment they were relieved from 
 their charges, and without a word, set 
 about getting the canoe afloat. As to 
 
 the cargo, it was all in plain sight, but 
 more than twenty feet under the lim- 
 pid water. This was a great misfortune. 
 Some of the instruments were valuable, 
 and could not be replaced. If not re- 
 covered, the expedition to the north of 
 the island must be abandoned. In this 
 strait Garnier despatched a messenger 
 back to Oundo, asking the old chief to 
 come to the rescue with all his tribe. " I 
 did not count in vain," says he, "upon 
 the generosity of this man, for very soon 
 I saw him approach, followed by the 
 young people of his tribe." He listened 
 to the recital of the misfortune with every 
 sign of sympathy. 
 
 "Oundo," said M. Garnier, "I expect 
 that you will once more show your well- 
 tried friendship for the French people by 
 rendering me a great service. Do you 
 think you can recover these things for 
 me ?" 
 
 "Oundo will try," replied the chief 
 simply. He then addressed his people 
 and gave his commands. In a moment, 
 and with a loud cry of approbation and 
 good-will, they dashed into the water 
 and swam out to the scene of disaster. 
 
 It is a fine sight to see these natives 
 of Oceanica, the best swimmers in the 
 world, darting under the water like bronze 
 tritons. They generally swim beneath 
 the surface, coming up from time to 
 time to breathe, and shaking the water 
 from their thick curly hair. M. Garnier 
 followed the natives on the log that had 
 served as a lifeboat, and to encourage 
 them by example undressed and threw 
 himself into the water. The work com- 
 menced. Twenty or thirty feet is not 
 much of a dive for a South Sea Islander. 
 Every minute tlie divers brought up some 
 object with a shout of triumph. They 
 were in their element, and so spiritedly 
 did they undertake the task that women, 
 and even the children, dived to the bot- 
 tom and constantly brought up some 
 small object. The three guns of the 
 men, their trappings, the heavy box of 
 zoological specimens, all the instruments, 
 were brought up in succession. Even 
 the sole cooking-pot of the expedition 
 and the tin plates were recovered. The 
 work occupied some six hours. M. Gar- 
 
SIX MONTHS AMONG CANNIBALS. 
 
 47 
 
 nier thanked the chief and his brave 
 people, who when the work was finish- 
 ed returned to their huts as quietly as 
 they came. And this chief was the man 
 
 who had sold his daughter for a keg of 
 brandy ! 
 
 Another chief, named Bourarte, the 
 head of a great tribe near Hienguene, 
 
 deserves, a few words. He was a chief 
 of very superior experience and intelli- 
 gence. He had studied civilization dili- 
 gently, enjoyed the society of Europeans 
 and knew that his people were barba- 
 
 rians. His story is a most touching one. 
 He said : " I always loved the Enghsh. 
 They treated me as a chief, and paid me 
 honestly for all they received. One day 
 I consented to go with them to their great 
 
SIX MONTHS AMONG CANNIBALS. 
 
 city of Sydney. It was there that I learn- 
 ed the weakness of my people. I was 
 well received everywhere, but I longed 
 to return. It was with pleasure that I 
 saw again our mountains and heard the 
 joyful cries of welcome from my tribe. 
 About that time your people came. I 
 paid little attention to them at first, but 
 because one of my men killed a Kanac- 
 ka who was a protege of the missionaries 
 there came a great ship (the Styx) into 
 my port. The captain sent for me. I 
 went on board without fear, but my con- 
 fidence was betrayed. I was made a 
 prisoner and transported to Tahiti. It 
 was six years before I saw my tribe again : 
 they had already mourned me as dead. 
 I will tell you what happened in my ab- 
 sence. My people prepared for venge- 
 ance : the French were apprised of the 
 fact. They came again. And as my 
 people, filled with curiosity, flocked to 
 the shore, the French fired their cannon 
 into the crowd. My people were fright- 
 ened and fled into the woods. Your sol- 
 diers landed, and for three days they 
 burned our huts, destroyed our planta- 
 tions and cut down our cocoa trees. 
 And all this time," added the old chief 
 with a heavy sigh, "I was a prisoner at 
 Tahiti, braiding baskets to gain a little 
 food, and the grief that I suffered whiten- 
 ed my head before the time." 
 
 After a long pause, during which the 
 old Bourarte seemed lost in thought, he 
 said, " It is true that my people revenged 
 themselves. They killed a good many, 
 and among them one of your chiefs. 
 What is most strange about this war is, 
 that three English colonists, who lived 
 peacefully among us by their commerce 
 and fishing, were taken by the French 
 and shot. Another Englishman, Cap- 
 tain Paddon, to whom I had sold many 
 a cargo of sandal-wood, on learning the 
 fate of his compatriots, fled on board a 
 little boat with one Kanacka and a few 
 provisions, got out to sea, and, as I have 
 been told, actually gained the port of 
 Sydney." This, it seems, is a historical 
 fact. It was a boat without a deck, and 
 the distance is three hundred and sixty 
 marine miles ! 
 
 The result of the exploring mission of 
 
 M. Garnier was not a discovery of gold- 
 mines, as so many had hoped. He is 
 of the opinion that gold deposits are 
 scarce in the island. His report of the 
 natives is on the whole favorable, and 
 confirms the testimony of missionaries 
 and others, that they are superior sav- 
 ages, easily civilized and Christianized, 
 but from some cause or combination of 
 causes fast dying out before the advance 
 of civilization. In some respects they 
 are less rude than other South Sea Isl- 
 anders, but they treat their women in 
 much the same way. M. Garnier gives 
 us a photograph of a New Caledonia 
 family on the road, the head of the fam- 
 ily, a big, stolid brute apparently, bur- 
 dened only with his club, while his wife 
 staggers along under the combined load 
 of sugar-canes, yams, dried fishes and 
 other provisions. 
 
 A more revolting, but also, happily, a 
 far rarer sight, was that of a cannibal 
 banquet, of which M. Garnier was a con- 
 cealed witness. The scene was a thicket 
 in the wildest poition of the country, and 
 only the chiefs of the tribe, which had 
 just gained a victory over its enemies, 
 took part in the feast. A blazing fire 
 threw its bright glare on a dozen figures 
 seated around huge banana-leaves, on 
 which were spread the smoking viands 
 of the diabolical repast. A disgusting 
 odor was wafted toward the spot where 
 our Frenchman and his companions lay 
 perdu, enchained by ahorrible fascination 
 which produced the sensation of night- 
 mare. Directly in front of them was an 
 old chief with long white beard and 
 wrinkled skin, who gnawed a head still 
 covered with the singed hair. Thrust- 
 ing a pointed stick into the eye-sockets, 
 he contrived to extract a portion of the 
 brain, afterward placing the skull in the 
 hottest part of the fire, and thus separat- 
 ing the bones to obtain a wider aperture. 
 The click of a trigger close to his ear 
 recalled M. Garnier to his senses, and 
 arresting the arm of his sergeant, who, 
 excited to indignation, had brought bis 
 musket to his shoulder, he hurried from 
 a scene calculated, beyond all others, to 
 thrill the nerves and curdle the blood of 
 a civilized spectator. 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN JAPAN. 
 
 THE contributions of Japan to our I iarized their minds with the physiogno- 
 Centennial Exposition have great- I my, the dress and the arts of the Jap- 
 anese. In the engrav- 
 ing on the following 
 page many will recog- 
 nize the curious night- 
 lamp or lantern, the 
 little low table, and 
 especially the screens 
 or partitions presenting 
 those ever-recurring 
 storks or flamingoes on 
 the wing, the sketchy, 
 struggling vegetation 
 and the conventional 
 pyramidal mountains ; 
 but the bed may sur- 
 prise some whose no- 
 tions of a Japanese 
 couch are derived from 
 that wonderfully-elab- 
 orate carved bedstead 
 which was one of the 
 marvels of the exposi- 
 tion. The bed here 
 shown is the common 
 one found everywhere 
 in Japan. The sleep- 
 ing arrangements 
 are heroically simple, 
 requiring no extra 
 rooms, the bed and 
 sleeping apartment be- 
 i n g improvised any- 
 where with large 
 screens, a thin mattress 
 of rice straw and a 
 wooden pillow — the 
 latter a sort of guillo- 
 tine-block Avith a hard 
 cushion on the top 
 covered with many 
 sheets of white paper. 
 These sheets are turn- 
 ed or changed as they 
 become soiled. This 
 strange head-support, 
 the same, we are told, 
 ly augmented the respect of our people I as that used by the ancient Egyptians, 
 for that interesting coimtry, and famil- | preserves an elaborate coiffure, like tha' 
 4 49 
 
 PORTRAIT OF M. COLLACHE IN JAPANESE COSTUME. 
 
AN AD VENTURE IN JAPAN. 
 
 5° 
 
 of the Japanese, from all danger of de 
 rangement during sleep. 
 
 The illustrations 
 of this paper are 
 from sketches 
 made on the spot 
 by a French gen- 
 tleman, M. Col- 
 lache.whowasone 
 ofthe corps of mil- 
 itary officers sent 
 to Yedo in 1868 to 
 instruct the Japa- 
 nese troops in the 
 art of European 
 warfare. On one 
 occasion he was 
 received by one of 
 the ministers of a 
 provincial prince 
 in a tea-house 
 {ptchaya). Misde- 
 scription ofthe din- 
 ner is very interest- 
 ing. Hot saki — a 
 fermented liquor 
 made from rice — 
 was passed from 
 hand to hand in a 
 delicate porcelain 
 cup thin as an egg- 
 shell. Eggs vari- 
 ously prepared, a 
 sort of radish pre- 
 served or pickled, 
 fish raw and cook- 
 ed, boiledbamboo- 
 roots and shell-fish 
 formed the first 
 course. Tables 
 about a foot high 
 were then brought 
 and placed one be- 
 fore each guest, 
 who squatted on 
 his heels if able 
 to do so ; which 
 Europeans seldom 
 are, at least for 
 any considerable 
 length of time. 
 
 They generally sit on the mats cross- 
 legged. The little tables on this occa- 
 sion bore each a huge bowl of rice and 
 
 two lacquered bowls, each containing a 
 different soup, the principal ingredients 
 
 of which were eggs, mushrooms, vege- 
 tables, rice-cakes and tiny fish. Broiled 
 fish was served also, chopsticks, of course 
 
AN AD VENTURE IN JAPAN. 
 
 51 
 
 being used in place of knives and forks. 
 The dinner was enlivened by singing, the 
 
 performers being young girls accompany- 
 ing themselves with odd-looking, long- 
 necked guitars of three strings. The 
 
 dinner ended with tea, served in little 
 cups : afterward came smoking in tiny 
 pipes and the per- 
 formances of dan- 
 cing-girls. 
 
 The military in- 
 struction of the 
 troops was inter- 
 rupted by grave 
 political troubles, 
 the insurrection of 
 the daimios or feu- 
 dal lords against 
 the tycoon, who 
 represents the 
 temporal party and 
 the party of prog- 
 ress of Japan. The 
 French commis- 
 sion, however, re- 
 mained in the 
 country and took 
 up arms for the 
 tycoon. 
 
 On one occasion 
 during the strug- 
 gle it was decided 
 to surprise and at- 
 tack the enemy's 
 fleet lying in the 
 little h ar b o r of 
 Nambou. It con- 
 sisted of eight 
 ships, large and 
 small, one being a 
 powerful iron-clad 
 bought in this 
 country, while the 
 attacking force 
 numbered three 
 only — the Kaiten, 
 the Aschwelotte 
 and the Hannrio, 
 the first being a 
 steam corvette 
 armed with twen- 
 ty-two guns of dif- 
 ferent calibres: 
 M. CoUache com- 
 manded the Asch- 
 welotte. The ex- 
 pedition failed to accomplish its object, 
 but the experience of the commander 
 of the Aschwelotte is full of interest. At 
 
52 
 
 AN AD VENTURE IN JAPAN, 
 
 ^m 
 
 \% 
 
 Samimoura the Kaiten sent a boat ashore 
 for news. Scarcely had the boat return- 
 ed when a Japanese boat left the shore 
 and came out to the fleet, which in order 
 to make this landing safe had run up the 
 enemy's flag. The Aschwelotte stopped, 
 
 and some yacounins — ^Japanese officers 
 — came on board to present their com- 
 pliments. They had been deceived by 
 the flag, and were amazed when they 
 saw M. Collache, whom they recognized, 
 having met him before. Here was a di- 
 
AN AD VENTURE IN JAPAN. 
 
 sz 
 
 lemma ! To keep these men as prison- 
 ers of war was not desirable, and to allow 
 them to return was to betray the object of 
 the expedition. The former course was 
 decided upon, and the yacounins, hav- 
 ing had the matter explained to them, 
 took it very philosophically, or, in other 
 words, with true Japanese indifference to 
 the inevitable. 
 
 The next event of importance was the 
 running aground of the Aschwelotte upon 
 reefs in a fog, and the hailing of a fisher- 
 man, who came on board and served as 
 pilot. This was but the beginning of 
 disasters. A severe storm not only de- 
 layed the attack, but so injured the ma- 
 chinery of the Aschwelotte that she was 
 obliged to put into a port beyond Miako, 
 the destination, for repairs. During the 
 storm the Hannrio was lost sight of, but 
 the Kaiten accompanied the Aschwelotte 
 into port, the former under the American, 
 the latter under the Russian, flag. The 
 repairs of the Aschwelotte's machinery 
 proved very unsatisfactory. Her speed 
 was greatly retarded, and the other ship 
 went ahead and engaged the enemy, ex- 
 pecting the Aschwelotte to come up with 
 her fresh troops in the heat of the combat. 
 
 The expedition proved an utter failure. 
 The Aschwelotte's crew heard the can- 
 nonade with terrible impatience at the 
 slow progress of the ship, which could 
 not reach the scene until after the action 
 had ceased. Entering the Bay of Mia- 
 ko, they saw the Kaiten come out and 
 sail north with all speed, refusing to re- 
 ply to the signals of the Aschwelotte. 
 This was a mystery which was not ex- 
 plained until long after. M. Collache 
 now saw himself, his ship and his men 
 in imminent peril. Capture was inevit- 
 able unless the ship could be run ashore 
 and the crew escape into the mountains 
 of Nambou. About thirty yards from the 
 shore the ship ran on the rocks. Then 
 occurred a scene of indescribable confu- 
 sion. M. Collache, revolver in hand, 
 compelled the men to defer lowering the 
 boats until the cargo was thrown over- 
 board, to prevent its falling into the en- 
 emy's hands. They spiked the guns, 
 smashed the engine, and the command- 
 er, being the last to leave the ship, pre- 
 
 pared a fuse for blowing it up. For this ■ 
 purpose all the ammunition had been 
 heaped together in the hold. Most of 
 the crew of seventy natives had gone 
 ashore in the boats, and were ordered 
 to wait while a boat returned to the 
 ship for the rest; but seeing the Stone- 
 wall and another ship of the enemy close 
 upon them, they were seized with panic 
 and scrambled up the cliffs in terror, 
 leaving M. Collache to swim ashore — a 
 feat he accomplished with one hand, 
 holding his arms above the water with 
 the other to prevent their getting wet. 
 The enemy's ships now opened fire upon 
 the flying crew, but only two were killed. 
 The rest reached the summit of the cliffs 
 safely just as a terrible explosion and a 
 dense column of smoke announced the 
 blowing up of the Aschwelotte. The 
 enemy sent some of his force ashore to 
 pursue the fugitives, and a shower of 
 bullets fell around them while ascending 
 a hill some distance from the river. No 
 one was hurt, however, and the pursuit 
 was abandoned. 
 
 While passing along a romantic path 
 through a wood the party came across a 
 rock upon whose numerous points were 
 hung bits of folded paper. M. Collache 
 put out his hand to take one of them. 
 His companions cried out to hinder him, 
 and explained that these papers were jj/,?« 
 mousoubis {yen, "marriage," and mou- 
 soubai, "to bind"), bearing the names 
 of unhappy lovers disappointed in their 
 hopes of marriage. Before these rocks, 
 thus consecrated, they com e to pray to God 
 to remove the obstacles to their union. " I 
 perceived in this," says M. Collache, "one 
 of the most touching traits of Japanese 
 sensibility. Very grave in their outward 
 bearing, the Japanese affect, especially 
 before Europeans, indifference to every- 
 thing relating to tender sentiment ; but 
 beneath this conventional mask beat gen- 
 erous hearts, loyal to the family affections 
 and to friends." 
 
 The first night after abandoning the 
 ship the whole party slept crowded in 
 two rooms of a small village, which was 
 so poor that it did not possess a grain of 
 rice. All that could be obtained was a 
 small quantity of yellow and rather in- 
 
54 
 
 AN ADVENTURE IN JAPAN. 
 
 :^-MS 
 
 
 
 THE lovers' rock. 
 
 sipid grains or seeds, which keen hunger 
 made palatable, as it did also an old and 
 rather tough fowl which M. CoUache 
 chared with his Japanese officers, A 
 cordon of sentinels was stationed around 
 the house to prevent a surprise. 
 
 The next. morning M. Collache held a 
 council with his men to discuss the situ- 
 ation. He proposed that the party should 
 separate — that the Japanese, disguising 
 themselves as peasants, should each seek 
 whatever destination he desired, while 
 
AN AD VENTURE IN JAPAN. 
 
 55 
 
 he, their chief, sure to be captured soon- 
 er or later, should at once give himself 
 up to the enemy. The rest would not 
 agree to this, but proposed that they 
 should all surrender, commending them- 
 selves to the clemency of the victor. 
 This seemed to the chief like a lack of 
 courage, and he reproached them spirit- 
 edly, bat finally said, " I am not a Japa- 
 nese : do as you think best ;" and with- 
 out waiting for a reply ordered an imme- 
 diate departure, the destination being a 
 village on the sea not far distant, where 
 an abundance of rice and other provis- 
 icns could be obtained. At this place 
 the sight of fishing-vessels anchored in 
 the bay suggested the possibility of hir- 
 ing a junk to take them to Hacodate, the 
 place from which the expedition had set 
 out. M. CoUache made this proposition 
 to his first officer, who received it with 
 many idle objections, and, being pressed 
 for better reasons, confessed that after a 
 council held among themselves he had 
 written to the prince of Nambou surren- 
 dering the party as prisoners, the chief 
 being mentioned as one of the number. 
 To leave after this would be an act of 
 bad faith, and not to be thought of for 
 a moment. This prince had been on the 
 side of the tycoon during the insurrection 
 of the daimios, and had not abandoned 
 his cause until after repeated defeats. 
 
 The following morning four yacounins 
 arrived, and after a long conference with 
 the Japanese officers announced that the 
 prince their master received the party 
 under his protection, engaging himself 
 to conduct them safely to Yedo at his 
 own expense. All the men were then 
 called, one by one, to lay down their 
 arms, the chief alone excepted. This 
 was a signal mark of respect, and most 
 gratefully received. An escort of sol- 
 diers next appeared with horses and oxen 
 bearing pack-saddles. Each one chose 
 the mount he preferred. "I confess," 
 says M. Collache, " that I could not but 
 laugh at the odd figure of my Japan- 
 ese soldiers astride these horned beasts, 
 which nearly all of them chose, not 
 knowing how to ride a horse." Each 
 prisoner had two guards, who walked 
 one on each side of his horse or ox, and 
 
 thus the cavalcade, numbering nearly 
 four hundred, moved on toward the cap- 
 ital of Japan. The weather was mag- 
 nificent, and the kindness of the prince 
 of Nambou unremitting. He gave to 
 the chief and to each of the Japanese 
 officers ten rios each (about sixteen dol- 
 lars), and half that sum to each of the 
 men, for the purchase of extras necessary 
 on the journey. Everywhere they were 
 treated courteously ; and as the messen- 
 gers sent on ahead to engage lodgings 
 carried the news that among the rebels 
 there was a European prisoner, they 
 found a considerable crowd gathered be- 
 fore every inn where they dismounted; 
 but as M. Collache was beardless, bronzed 
 by exposure and wore the costume of the 
 country, he was never suspected of being 
 the European. They always mistook one 
 of the Japanese officers for him — a man 
 wearing a moustache and dressed in the 
 uniform of an American naval officer. 
 
 When the cavalcade reached the sub- 
 urbs of Yedo, one of the officers came 
 to M. Collache and announced with evi- 
 dent embarrassment that he had received 
 the cruel order to take away his arms. 
 Another came with a present of fifteen 
 rios (one hundred and twenty francs) 
 from the prince of Nambou, and a gra- 
 cious message demanding pardon for all 
 the discomforts experienced during the 
 journey, and apologizing for the modest 
 sum remitted : the state of his fortune 
 did not permit him to do more. M. Col- 
 lache was profoundly moved by the kind- 
 ness of the prince, and returned a mes- 
 sage to that effect. 
 
 From this last halting-place the pris- 
 oners were carried in cangos, a kind of 
 sedan-chair, to the prison. There they 
 were divested of whatever they carried 
 about their persons, an exact inventory 
 being made in every case, and then con- 
 ducted to their cells, which were literally 
 cages, having a double row of bars. M. 
 Collache was put in a cage with fourteen 
 others. The sole article of furniture was 
 a bucket of water. He remarks upon 
 the gayety of spirits of his companions, 
 which from the first never left them, and 
 adds that this gayety so reacted upon him 
 that he found himself, despite his position 
 
56 
 
 AN ADVENTURE IN JAPAN. 
 
 and the fact that he might at any mo- 
 ment be led out to execution, joining in 
 their laughter and their devices to while 
 away the time. 
 
 Three meals were served to the pris- 
 oners daily, composed exclusively of 
 
 rice except at midday, when salt fish 
 was added. M. Collache, not hking 
 salt fish nor a diet exclusively of rice, 
 asked for some of the money taken from 
 him on his entrance to the prison. The 
 request was granted, and this enabled 
 
AN AD VENTURE IN JAPAN. 
 
 57 
 
 him to procure soup at each meal pre- 
 pared by one of the jailers. 
 
 On the third day his companions were 
 taken away, and he was left alone in his 
 cage. " I should have suffered intense- 
 ly from solitude," he says, "but for a 
 singular adventure which happened the 
 next day. The barriers of my cage were 
 sufficiently far apart for me to pass my 
 arm between them. On three sides I 
 had a view of prison-walls, but they were 
 distant from me about six feet. In these 
 walls, high up, there were very small 
 windows, through which my cage was 
 lighted. By climbing up my bars I 
 could see a small patch of sky and the 
 few trees embraced by my narrow hori- 
 zon. The fourth side of my cage looked 
 out on a board wall of a neighboring 
 prison. My companions had left me 
 on the morning of the preceding day. 
 As the night approached, and as I felt 
 myself gradually being overcome by a 
 gloomy melancholy, I heard some one 
 call me in Japanese. I trembled in every 
 limb at this call : I could not imagine 
 from whence it came. It was a muffled 
 voice, seeming to come from under the 
 ground. To the prisoner every unusual 
 sound suggests the hope of escape. Vis- 
 ions of trap-doors and underground pas- 
 sages rushed into my mind. I listened 
 intently. The voice called again, but 
 this time all mystery vanished. It came 
 from the board partition. It was only a 
 prisoner like myself. Still, it was a 
 pleasure to have any one to talk with, 
 and an animated conversation ensued. 
 My neighbor was also a prisoner of war. 
 Captured at the opening of the campaign, 
 he had been confined eight months in a 
 dark cell, so low that it permitted only a 
 sitting posture. I expressed pity for his 
 horrible position. He replied, laughing, 
 that he began to be perfectly habituated 
 to his narrow dwelling, and, moreover, 
 he had found a way to render it more 
 agreeable. Before revealing his secret 
 he made me promise the most perfect 
 discretion. Immediately one of the 
 boards of his wall was silently removed, 
 and in the opening there appeared the 
 head of a young man. His face, which 
 was frightfully pale, wore a pleasant 
 
 smile. I cannot express the emotion I 
 experienced at witnessing the sudden 
 opening of this solid wall and the ap- 
 pearance of a human face. It was like 
 the opening of a coffin by the dead." 
 
 The prisoner explained that in the 
 long silence and darkness of his cell he 
 had occupied his hours in creeping about 
 and feeling every part of his wall until 
 at last he found a nail whose head pro- 
 jected slightly beyond the surface. To 
 work at this nail, and finally loosen and 
 remove it with his teeth and nails, and 
 then to remove the board, was an easy 
 task for him. Thus he had been able 
 to admit a little air and dayhght into his 
 gloomy prison. The conversation was 
 kept up until far into the night. The 
 next day, as soon as the guardians were 
 out of the way, the board in the wall was 
 again silently removed, and there being 
 more light, M. CoUache had a better 
 view of the unhappy prisoner. " His 
 face was that of a man intelligent and 
 sincere, but the darkness in which he 
 had so long lived had made his com- 
 plexion the color of porcelain. Still, he 
 was all smiles, and appeared to support 
 his misfortunes in the most philosophical 
 manner in the world." 
 
 A way was soon found for other com- 
 munication than that of words. The 
 French prisoner, with some soft Japanese 
 paper, braided a cord some four yards 
 long, and fastening a small weight upon 
 one end threw it to his friend. On this 
 cord he sent him a little money with 
 which to procure much-needed articles 
 through the turnkeys. The things most 
 coveted were India-ink and pencils. 
 These were strictly forbidden, but M. 
 Collache, by great perseverance, and es- 
 pecially by promising to give the turnkey 
 some sketches, obtained them at last. 
 These he shared with his neighbor, and 
 from this time the continued inter- 
 change of sketches of all kinds became 
 the most precious pastime. 
 
 Eight days passed. The cage was 
 then opened, and two yacounins ap- 
 peared. They came to conduct M. Col- 
 lache before a council of war held in a 
 hall of the prison. A large part of the 
 room was occupied by a platform, in the 
 
58 
 
 AN AD VENTURE IN JAPAN. 
 
 ,,,„,,.«i„iii«i:u;-i«. iH- ii,«iB«>lH|i *«iK:iliV:!iJl|iiiJ[/ /fffljWlilp^ 
 
 centre of which sat the president assisted 
 by two judges. On each side sat a re- 
 porter with writing materials. By one 
 of the judges sat an interpreter. The 
 four central figures held fans in their 
 hands. Behind them was a folding 
 
 screen which concealed a person evi 
 dently of high rank. Papers, apparently 
 bearing questions to be put to the pris- 
 oner, were continually passing from be- 
 hind this screen. The prisoner knelt 
 upon an old mat placed before the plat- 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN JAPAN. 
 
 59 
 
 fomi between the two officers who had 
 introduced him, and who also knelt. 
 After the first words the interpreter said 
 to the prisoner that it would be better 
 for him to state his case himself, as he 
 •spoke Japanese far better than he, the 
 interpreter, spoke French. 
 
 After certain preliminary questions es- 
 tablishing the identity of the prisoner, he 
 was asked why he had espoused the 
 cause of the Tocoungavas (the support- 
 ers of the tycoon). " I explained as well 
 as I could," he says, "making prominent 
 the fact that the object of the French 
 was one eminently calculated to benefit 
 Japan — that the English, on the contrary, 
 sought to exploit the Japanese. I added 
 that the English, by lending immense 
 sums of money, intended to cripple the 
 government by an enormous debt, and 
 then, having the country at their mercy, 
 dictate their own terms of settlement. I 
 then explained at length the project that 
 we entertained with regard to Yesso, and 
 the method we proposed to make it a 
 grand centre of civilization." 
 
 The Japanese listened attentively, and 
 gradually the marked hostility with which 
 they first received the prisoner disappear- 
 ed. Four times he was led before this 
 council, and each time, on being dis- 
 missed, the president asked, what he 
 could send to his cell that would be 
 agreeable to him. On each of these 
 days a plate of chicken was added to 
 his rations. He was interrogated in 
 every way and cross-questioned to make 
 him admit that he had been sent on a hos- 
 tile mission by the French government ; 
 and he had great trouble to disabuse their 
 minds of this belief. The examination 
 finally ended : the prisoner was con- 
 demned to die. 
 
 "You have been taken," said the pres- 
 ident, "bearing arms against the Japa- 
 nese. Now, when a Japanese kills a 
 Frenchman, what is his punishment?" 
 
 " He is condemned to death and exe- 
 cuted," replied the prisoner. 
 
 "What, then, do you think will be 
 your punishment?" 
 
 "You will cut off my head," replied 
 M. Collache, emphasizing the sentence 
 with a gesture. 
 
 "Right," said the president ; and this 
 ended the examination. 
 
 The details of the trial were of course 
 communicated to the prisoner before 
 mentioned. He appeared deeply moved 
 at the result. The next morning at sun- 
 rise the cage was opened by yacounins, 
 who, not knowing that the prisoner un- 
 derstood Japanese, and not wishing him 
 to entertain any illusion, intimated to him 
 by gestures that his head was to come off. 
 He asked permission to bid farewell to 
 his fellow-prisoners, and was conducted 
 from cage to cage for a brief word and 
 a pressure of hands. In the court of the 
 prison, full of armed soldiers, there was 
 a cango and four stalwart bearers stand- 
 ing ready to carry the prisoner to the 
 place of execution. "I do not wish to 
 attempt the portrayal of my feelings," 
 writes the prisoner, " as the soldiers closed 
 around the cango and the march com- 
 menced. I was calm outwardly, for I 
 had long been accustomed to the idea 
 of death : moreover, my pride made me 
 wish to show the Japanese that French- 
 men can die as bravely as they." 
 
 After a long march through the popu- 
 lous streets of Yedo the prisoner was set 
 down in an immense court bounded on 
 three sides by high buildings, on the 
 fourth by a canal. The troops all retired, 
 leaving the prisoner alone. He opened 
 the door of his cango, got out, but not 
 knowing where to go, he stood dazed, 
 looking around the court. Presently a 
 door opened, and a Japanese, whose cos- 
 tume showed him to be of high rank, 
 appeared. The prisoner approached him 
 and asked what was to be done with him. 
 
 "We are waiting," he replied, "for a 
 boat which is to take you to Yokohama, 
 where you will be delivered to the min- 
 ister of France." 
 
 " I am not, then, to be executed ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 A terrible weight was removed from 
 the heart of the prisoner by this one 
 word. In a few seconds a boat touched 
 the landing, rowed by two men and 
 bearing an escort of four yacounins. At 
 the French legation a receipt was given 
 for the body of the prisoner. There M. 
 Collache found everv article taken from 
 
6o 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 him on entering the prison carefully 
 preserved. A boat was waiting to take 
 him on board a French ship, where he 
 was amazed to find all his French com- 
 rades. Long explanations ensued. The 
 Hannrio, disabled by the storm, had put 
 
 back to Hacodate. The commander of 
 the Kaiten had been grievously wound- 
 ed, the ship had been captured by the 
 Japanese admiral, and this explained 
 why the signals of the Aschwelotte had 
 not been answered. 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 TWO PARTS. 
 
 IN the blazing chimneys of a blast-fur- 
 nace at night we have a very stinking 
 spectacle, familiar as it is. By day, the 
 incandescent gases that form the wav- 
 ing red flag of the iron-master are less 
 visible, but great volumes of smoke float 
 abroad over a blackened country, where 
 many forms of vegetation are blighted, 
 grass is smothered and the trunks of trees 
 don a dingy cloak. It is an artificial vol- 
 cano on a small scale, with several cra- 
 ters, an attendant desert' corresponding 
 to that which surrounds Hecla, and a 
 steady accumulation on the soil of the 
 products of combustion. We approach 
 the cupola amid the deafening clank of 
 trip-hammers and whir of fly-wheels in 
 no feeble mimicry of the groans of the 
 Titans under Ossa or Enceladus under 
 Etna. The heat grows more and more 
 oppressive as we draw toward the cen- 
 tre of activity. Presently, an opening is 
 formed, and a white-hot torrent of slag, 
 or lava, pours slowly forth. This cools 
 so rapidly that the gases imprisoned 
 within its substance have not time to 
 
 escape. They thus give the hardened 
 mass, generally, a cellular or porous 
 structure and a comparatively low spe- 
 cific gravity. On the surface a crust 
 forms immediately, and you may soon 
 walk upon it without prejudice to your 
 shoes, as the Vesuvian tourists traverse 
 the still-moving lava and light their way 
 with torches improvised by thrusting 
 their walking - sticks into the crevices. 
 Altogether, the rehearsal of the phe- 
 nomena of an eruption is, as far as it 
 goes, exact. It would be more so were 
 a mound of earth and rock heaped up 
 around the furnace and its vent, while 
 unlimited fuel continued to be supplied 
 at the buried base. Dump into the 
 chimney a quantity of material like that 
 which surrounds it, add some barrels of 
 water, and hurry out of the way. A vio- 
 lent ejection of lava in a vertical direc- 
 tion will take the place of the sluggish 
 lateral flow we have witnessed. Cooled 
 still more quickly by its more rapid pas- 
 sage through the atmosphere, it becomes 
 more porous and lighter. It may resem- 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 6i 
 
 ble pumice. But there can be no such 
 variety of mineral forms as that yielded 
 by volcanoes. Lime, iron and clay, as a 
 rule, comprise the contents of the fur- 
 nace, with but a trifle of the charac- 
 teristic element of sulphur, with which 
 smelters of iron have as little to do as 
 possible. The subterranean laboratory is 
 infinite in its resources, and they appear 
 in all the combinations heat can produce. 
 The crystalline marble of the statuary, 
 the granite of the builder, the gold-bear- 
 ing quartz that enriches states, and the 
 gem that glitters on the brow of beauty 
 are but a few of the fruits of the same 
 alembic. The lava itself varies greatly 
 in the density of its structure, as, to a 
 less extent, does its relative of the iron- 
 furnace. Its gradations in this respect 
 lie between basalt, or the almost equally 
 hard paving-stones of Pompeii, and the 
 delicate floating fibres scattered by Mau- 
 na Loa over the island at its base, and 
 termed by the natives the hair of their 
 ancient goddess Pele. The latter sub- 
 stance is the result of a current of cold 
 
 air passing sharply across the surface 
 of an outpour of lava, and has been re- 
 cently reproduced artificially at the great 
 iron-works of Essen. It resembles spun 
 glass, and may, like it, be used as a tex- 
 tile. Pumice, which is lighter than wa- 
 ter, and in great eruptions has been known 
 to cover square miles of sea. is a more 
 familiar form. 
 
 Man has naturally been always curious 
 about the chimneys of his spherical dwell- 
 ing-place. He is fond of observing them 
 from below, and, when he can, from 
 above. Vesuvius is one of the stock 
 shows of Italy, like the Apollo and the 
 Coliseum. Two generations ago "its 
 blaze " was " a usual sight to gaping 
 tourists from its hackneyed height." It 
 is still more so now, the telegraph en- 
 abling lovers of the marvelous to stay at 
 home till the last moment, and traverse 
 Europe between the last preliminary throe 
 and the actual outbreak. After the con- 
 struction of a few more railways on the 
 west coast of South America we shall, 
 on our side of the Atlantic, be able to 
 
62 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 make pleasure excursions at short notice 
 to Sangay, Sorata and Antuco, each of 
 which in round numbers exceeds in alti- 
 tude by fifty per cent. Vesuvius piled on 
 Etna. Or we may at once shorten the 
 
 trip and encourage home industry in the 
 eruptive line by taking Mr. Proctor 
 Knott's railway to Mount St. Helen's, a 
 peak of our own, not quite so lofty as 
 its fellow-warders of the opposite end of 
 
 CRATER OF VESUVIUS IN 1 845. 
 
 che Cordillei'as, but nearly up to the uni- 
 ted inches of the two European cracks. 
 
 A course of inquiry which began with 
 the establishment of the first volcanic 
 observatory by Empedocles, and has 
 been pursued in our day by such men 
 as Spallanzani, De Buch and Humboldt, 
 could not fail to have notable results. Let 
 us glance at some of them, and at some 
 of the labors through which they were 
 attained. 
 
 Dissection — in the case of so active a 
 subject as a volcano really vivisection — 
 was the first thing in hand. The frame 
 of the giant, his head and arteries coursed 
 by fire, the nervous fluids that made the 
 expansion and contraction of his granite 
 muscles felt across a continent, his chev- 
 elure of flame and smoke that darkened 
 kingdoms, and his eructations of ashes 
 and melted rock that buried cities, were 
 to be probed and analyzed. The task 
 was one eminently calculated to bring 
 out the heroism of science and add to 
 its martyrology. More than one ex- 
 
 plorer has paid for his ardor with his 
 life, and others have lived to show how 
 savants can behave under fire — and 
 above it. Dismissing the story of Em- 
 pedocles and his fireproof sandal, we 
 may cite the recent destruction of Count 
 Vidua among the volcanoes of Celebes. 
 Free from those dangers, seated in a 
 region where the fire-mountain and the 
 mastodon seem equally extinct, let us 
 take a less perilous peep into these fiery 
 secrets of the under -world. We have 
 the advantage over the jackdaw study- 
 ing the hole in the millstone, in that our 
 view is not met by utter darkness. We 
 climb, for example, with Spallanzani and 
 his successors to the top of Stromboli. 
 A third of the way down the mountain- 
 side, opposite to that by which we as- 
 cended, we see the bowl of white-hot 
 broth that has been full and bubbling 
 without the slightest intermission for at 
 least twenty-three centuries. At intervals 
 more or less regular it boils over with a 
 I splutter that shakes the earth and sends 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 (>2, 
 
 a spray of incandescent rocks into the sea, 
 which grumbles the while like a black- 
 smith's water-barrel when he cools a bar 
 of iron from the anvil. Or, turning our 
 backs on this very moderate specimen 
 of a volcanic vent, we step to the Sand- 
 wich Islands and skirt the six square 
 miles of molten lava at Kilauea, the 
 lower and secondary crater of Mauna 
 Loa. It would melt down two Strom- 
 bohs, and the five hundred feet through 
 which it rises and falls would scarce be 
 so increased, by the throwing of them 
 into the basin, as to cause the overflow 
 which has long been looked for in vain. 
 Vaster still, though not at present occu- 
 
 pied by lava, is the cavity of Dasar in 
 Java. Standing on its brim, three hun- 
 dred feet high, one can scarcely perceive 
 a horseman in the middle, and to trav- 
 erse its utterly barren expanse, deep with 
 cinders, is a fatiguing march. There are, 
 moreover, craters within craters, like a 
 cup and saucer, the cup reversed and a 
 hole in its bottom. This is a common 
 form, the interior cone being composed 
 of the later ejections, and changing shape 
 and dimensions with the fluctuations in 
 the activity of the volcano. Etna and 
 Vesuvius vary their profile in a course 
 of years by the growth and decrease of 
 this mound. It sometimes rises several 
 
 SUMMIT OF PICHINCHA. 
 
 hundred feet above the level of the wall 
 of the main crater, and its disappearance 
 correspondingly reduces the apparent 
 height of the mountain. At Pichincha, 
 where the scale is grander, Humboldt 
 saw, twelve or fifteen hundred feet be- 
 neath him, what he describes as the 
 ' " summits of several mountains." They 
 stood in a circular trough three miles in 
 . diameter, the bottom of which went down, 
 \ he had no doubt, to the level of the city 
 j of Quito. His feet pressed eternal snow. 
 The size of the crater does not bear 
 i any fixed relation to that of the volcano 
 to which it belongs. The diameter of 
 the summit-basin of Volcano, one of the 
 ; Lipari Islands, which has the honor of 
 
 having contributed the generic name, 
 is, for instance, three thousand feet, the 
 mountain rising but twelve hundred feet 
 above the sea; while Etna, with an ele- 
 vation of nearly eleven thousand feet, 
 has a crater but half as large. • Etna, in 
 turn, excels in this feature the Peak of 
 Teneriffe, which is fourteen hundred feet 
 higher, and has emitted from its narrow 
 mouth the substance of the whole island 
 upon which in one sense it stands and 
 which in another it composes. 
 
 Some mountains have a plurality of 
 craters. Colima, in Mexico, projects 
 smoke and lava simultaneously from 
 two ; the volcano of the Isle de Bourbon 
 has three, erected upon cones of consid- 
 
64 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 erable magnitude ; and the Gunung Sa- 
 1am of Java is provided with six. 
 
 Again, not only do mountains which 
 possess craters, or even a relay of them, 
 
 frequently neglect to use them in their 
 moments of frenzy, and branch off, like 
 some human spouters, into side-issues, 
 but there are volcanoes devoid of ter- 
 
 STROMBOLI. 
 
 minal craters altogether. Among those 
 is Antisana, nineteen thousand feet high. 
 Nor can Ararat be said to possess one. 
 This famous hill, 17,210 feet above the 
 sea and 14,000 above the surrounding 
 plain, only took its place in the ranks of 
 active volcanoes in 1840, after a silence 
 running back beyond the event which 
 gives it celebrity. The eruption of that 
 year is unfortunately less minutely chron- 
 icled than the voyage of the ark, but it 
 appears to have proceeded from an open- 
 ing in the flank of the mountain. An 
 internal accumulation of water from the 
 snows which perpetually whiten the in- 
 accessible summit is supposed to have 
 been brought in contact with the subter- 
 ranean fires. The superficial drainage is 
 very imperfect, only two springs showing 
 themselves. The neighborhood has al- 
 ways been subject to earthquakes, and 
 there are traces of volcanic action at 
 some unknown period of the past. 
 
 As water is so important an agent in 
 the production of volcanic thi'oes, it is 
 
 looked to by those who have an imme- 
 diate and fearful interest in the matter to 
 give warning of an approaching convul- 
 sion. The wells, they say, sink and the 
 springs disappear, as the departure of the 
 savages from the vicinity of the settle- 
 ments used to betoken to our frontiers- 
 men an Indian war. The element, so 
 powerful as a friend and an enemy, be- 
 gins its attack by drawing in its pickets. 
 The time for preparation may be a few 
 hours or it may be some days, but when 
 the wells change level it has come. So 
 it was at Naples in 1779, 1806 and 1822. 
 At the same time, the sign is not infal- 
 lible, nor does it always manifest itself 
 when an eruption is at hand. A cause 
 for the frequent occurrence of the phe- 
 nomenon is easy to suggest. The expul- 
 sion of an enormous volume of matter, 
 solid or gaseous, must produce a vacuum, 
 and any surface fluid within reach will 
 be absorbed to fill it. An infusion of the 
 water with clay, scoriae or other matter by 
 the direct action of the expulsive force, 
 
F 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 65 
 
 changing its color to white, red or black, 
 admits of as ready an explanation. When 
 such portents are followed closely by a 
 preliminary growl from the awakening 
 monster, the crisis cannot be far off. 
 The movements of the imprisoned gases 
 which thus make themselves felt may or 
 may not be attended by marked tremors 
 
 of the surface. Generally, they are com- 
 paratively slight, and are confined to the 
 immediate neighborhood. Of the excep- 
 tions we shall speak farther on. The 
 sound is said to be distinct from those 
 which attend the actual eruption, as the 
 indistinct and muffled mutterings of a 
 gagged mouth are different from the ex- 
 
 WALLS OF THE CRATER OF KILAUEA. 
 
 pressions which follow the removal of the 
 obstruction. In the language of Etna, 
 when well at work, a sharp and clear 
 clangor i§ sometimes detected that goes 
 to account for the ancient myth of Vul- 
 can's having there located his smithy. 
 The reverberation, among the dura ilia 
 of the mountain, of loosened rocks and 
 5 
 
 blasts of vapor jostling each other in the 
 rush for the outlet, suggests volition. 
 
 The sympathy of ocean is sometimes 
 as early in showing itself. Earthquakes 
 are commonly accompanied by an agita- 
 tion of the sea, but it sometimes occurs 
 at the moment of an eruption. This 
 happened at the destruction of Hercula- 
 
66 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 neum, and at the outbreak of the same 
 mountain in 1775. A few hours before 
 the latter eruption, with no perceptible 
 movement of the land the waves fled 
 from the Neapolitan coast so suddenly 
 and so far that the inhabitants thought 
 
 the bottom of the sea had fallen through 
 at some remote point. 
 
 The revival of a volcano rising beyond 
 the limit of perpetual snow is marked by 
 a thaw which often spreads devastation 
 over the subjacent slopes and plain. Ice- 
 
 land, Kamtschatka and the Andes are 
 especially subject to this disaster. In 
 1742, Bouguer and Condamine were qui- 
 etly measuring an arc of the meridian 
 under the shadow of Cotopaxi when the 
 summit-snow melted and swept away six 
 
 hundred houses and eight hundred hu- 
 man beings. Sixty-one years later the 
 same proud and shapely cone grew rest- 
 ive under a scorching cross-examination 
 at the hands of Humboldt. For fifteen 
 years it had been still and silent, smoke- 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 67 
 
 less, white and beautiful. At sunrise one 
 morning the mass of glittering snow, spot- 
 less the evening before, had disappeared, 
 and in its place stood a stern black mass 
 of rock. Tolima, on the 
 Isthmus of Panama, had 
 for a centur}'^ after its 
 discovery by Europeans 
 manifested no symptoms 
 of restlessness. Its white 
 cap had never been doff- 
 ed to the heralds of civ- 
 ilization. They expected 
 such an event as little 
 as "a thaw in Zembla." 
 March 12, 1595, its head 
 was abruptly bared, and 
 it paid its new lords an un- 
 welcome homage in the 
 shape of fire and water. 
 
 The dwellers in vol- 
 canic lands do not al- 
 ways wait for any of 
 these warnings. Obser- 
 vation and experience 
 seem to have provided 
 them with a special sense 
 they cannot define, and 
 not possessed by stran- 
 gers. In 1835, for ex- 
 ample, Vesuvius gave 
 forth none of the recog- 
 nized notes of danger, 
 yet those who had spent 
 their lives at its base were 
 conscious of an approach- 
 ing crisis. The air, they said, was heavy 
 and oppressive — very calm, though not 
 warmer than usual. May this sensation, 
 frequently noted on like occasions else- 
 where, be due to a discharge of carbonic 
 acid, gas, rolling down the sides of the 
 mountain, and mingling with the atmo- 
 sphere before it separates and sinks ? 
 
 This gas, combined with sulphurous 
 and hydrochloric gas, and with steam, 
 exists abundantly in the vertical jet of 
 smoke and cinders thrown out at the mo- 
 ment of eruption — Pliny's "pine tree." 
 This column, the vanguard of the Plutonic 
 invasion, is driven through the before un- 
 bi'oken crust of the crater with immense 
 force. Comparatively light as it is, it 
 rises to a height of hundreds, and even 
 
 thousands, of yards before dispersing 
 horizontally. Far above it rise the more 
 solid matters of ejection, especially the 
 hollow globes of incandescent and viscous 
 
 SMOKE-COLUMN. 
 
 lava, which, as they cool, derive a spheri- 
 cal form from rotation. A sheaf of these 
 balls of fire was seen one hundred and 
 eighty miles at sea when the eruption of 
 Kotlugaia occurred in 1 860 — an angle im- 
 plying an elevation of twenty -four thou- 
 sand feet, or nearly five miles. They 
 were heard to burst at a distance of a 
 hundred miles. We can have no dif- 
 ficulty in realizing this when we consider 
 the tremendous force with which expul- 
 sion is effected. The pressure at the 
 crater of Etna is estimated at three 
 hundred atmospheres, and at that of 
 Antisana fifteen hundred, or twenty-one 
 thousand pounds, to the square inch ! 
 The utmost working power of a locomo- 
 tive or other high-pressure engine does 
 
68 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 not exceed one hundred and forty pounds 
 to the inch. 
 
 The column of smoke by day becomes, 
 hke that of Moses, one of fire by night. 
 This is due to the reflection from the 
 molten lava which boils beneath and is 
 hurled aloft in fragments. Lightning is 
 also produced, visible by day, when a 
 high electrical tension is reached ; and 
 thunder from above mingles with that 
 below. The emission of actual flame 
 from the crater has been a disputed point. 
 
 LAVA-JETj MAUNA LOA. 
 
 Spallanzani, Gay-Lussac, Poulett-Scrope, 
 Brongniart and Waltershausen, after ob- 
 servation during long periods of volca- 
 noes in every part of the world, united 
 in declaring that they never detected it. 
 They denied the presence of hydrogen 
 or other inflammable gas. Bunzen and 
 Fouque, however, detected hydrogen in 
 eruptions on the islands of Iceland, San- 
 torin and Lanzerote. Sir H. Davy, £lie 
 de Beaumont and Pilla avow that they 
 distinctly saw flames issue from Vesuvius 
 and Etna ; and the later observations of 
 
 Abich seem to establish the existence of 
 flame. It is, however, not conspicuous 
 enough to be notable among the lumi- 
 nous effects of eruptions. Practically, as 
 applied to volcanoes, the word remains 
 a fa(^on de parler. 
 
 The eight yards of ashes and rapilli 
 enveloping Pompeii cease to sui'prise in 
 face of more modern illustrations of the 
 mass of these substances sometimes eject- 
 ed. That thrown out by Hecla in 1766 
 covered a breadth of a hundred and fifty 
 miles. The cinders from Timboro, half 
 a century later, were carried nearly nine 
 hundred miles. Instances of this kind, 
 in which the actual depth of the deposit 
 at any one point was inconsiderable, are 
 numerous and familiar. More in point is 
 the thickness — four hundred feet — of the 
 layer of ashes spread by Sangay upon the 
 surface of the adjacent country. 
 
 The cinders, when they fall, are rarely 
 dry, although incandescent at the time 
 of discharge. They absorb water from 
 the volumes of steam which pass out si- 
 multaneously. We have here an expla- 
 nation of the casts of the human form 
 found at Pompeii and perpetuated by 
 means of plaster. The victims were 
 enveloped in a paste which hardened 
 ere decomposition set in, and attained, 
 under pressure, a consistency capable of 
 resisting the force of the gases resulting 
 from that process. 
 
 In chemical composition volcanic ashes 
 vary. Vauquelin's analysis of some from 
 Etna shows, in large proportion, silica, 
 sulphate of lime, sulphuret of iron and 
 alumina ; and, in smaller, magnesia, car- 
 bon, copper and sulphur. Volcanic soils 
 are, as a rule, noted for their fertility. 
 Gypsum and potash abound in them. 
 The latter is a chief ingredient in gran- 
 ite, which is lava cooled under pressure. 
 
 All grades of projectiles are used by 
 the subterranean artillery. The sand 
 and rapilli discharged with the ashes 
 correspond to drop- shot. The bombs, 
 already mentioned, are of dimensions as 
 various as those employed by military 
 engineers. They are alleged to differ 
 in size according to the elevation of the 
 mountains from which they are fired. A 
 howitzer like Stromboli carries shells of 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 69 
 
 a few inches in diameter, while such 
 Rodman monsters as Cotopaxi bombard 
 heaven and earth with hollow shot of two 
 or three yards calibre. They leave the 
 crater with about the same velocity im- 
 parted by gunpowder — from twelve to 
 fifteen hundred feet per second. 
 
 Most of the ejected solids fall back 
 into the crater, where they are remelted 
 and again ejected, keeping up this alter- 
 
 nation of liquid and solid, of repose and 
 movement, as long as the eruption lasts. 
 The lava which rejects and receives them 
 varies much in fluidity. In some cases 
 stones cast upon its white-hot surface 
 give back a ring as if from a hard sub- 
 stance, and in others they ai-e instantly 
 swallowed up and liquefied. A fluctua- 
 tion of consistency between that of water 
 and that of thick gas-tar of course gives 
 
 LAVA-FIELD, HECLA, 
 
 rise to marked differences in the speed 
 of the escaping torrent when it overflows, 
 and in its aspect when cooled. The ve- 
 locity of the stream, sometimes barely 
 perceptible to the eye, and again — as at 
 Mauna Loa in 1840 — reaching the rate 
 of nine miles an hour, is checked by 
 the refrigeration of the surface, which 
 encloses the glowing mass in an elastic 
 sac. When this crust is so strained as 
 to give way, the jet results in knobs and 
 stalagmites of botyroidal form, as in the 
 examples we engrave from Hecla and 
 Hawaii. A more common appearance 
 is that of scorise or scales formed by the 
 contraction of the surface in cooling, like 
 those from heated iron. On Etna, in 
 1820, a stream of lava which had com- 
 menced its exit more than a year before 
 was still in motion at the rate of a yard 
 an hour. It resembled a mass of cin- 
 dere which rolled upon each other with 
 
 a metallic rattle. The enclosed core of 
 lava glowed at night with a dull red, and 
 quantities of steam escaped constantly 
 from the ci-evices. A similar degree of 
 viscosity has left, at Mauna Loa, indu- 
 rated bubbles or mamelon-shaped hills 
 a hundred feet high, and at Bourbon the 
 pasty slag is slowly ejected in ropy coils 
 like those of a cable. 
 
 Experiments made by Ste. Claire De- 
 ville indicate seven hundred degrees of 
 heat in lava outside of the crater. The 
 rapid cooling of the surface aids in re- 
 taining the internal heat; so that we 
 cease to be surprised at its continuing to 
 be perceptible, in large masses, for half 
 a century, the crust varying little, if at 
 all, in temperature from the surround- 
 ing soil. This fact seems to militate 
 against the theory that the tropical cli- 
 mate which fossil forms indicate to have 
 prevailed in the higli latitudes during 
 
70 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 some of the geologic epochs was due to 
 the interior heat of the globe. A crust 
 but a few inches thick enables us to walk 
 and breathe comfortably over lava as 
 hot as melted iron ; and the spherical, 
 and, so to speak, finished, form already 
 assumed by the earth at the periods in 
 question prove that its shell must have 
 attained a very considerable thickness, 
 perhaps closely approaching that which 
 it now possesses. No good evidence ex- 
 ists, we believe, that volcanic activity has 
 much decreased since the first appearance 
 of animal life. The giant ferns and club- 
 mosses of the northern coal-measures 
 grew and died as tranquilly. as their min- 
 iature descendants, and the sedimentary 
 
 strata in which their remains are imbed- 
 ded prove ages of rarely and but locally 
 broken repose over the breadth of con- 
 tinents. For a solution of this question 
 we must look up, and not down — to the 
 movements of the heavenly bodies, and 
 not to the central fire of our planet. Os- 
 cillations of the earth's axis relatively to 
 the ecliptic will probably furnish it. 
 
 A curious fact has been noted in con- 
 nection with the formation of lava. Many 
 of the minerals composing it give no evi- 
 dence of having undergone complete fu- 
 sion. Crystals of augite are expelled by 
 Stromboli ; and in the lavas of other vol- 
 canoes occur other crystalline substances 
 easily fusible, and yet unchanged by their 
 
 LAVA-BED, MOUNT BOURBON. 
 
 incandescent matrix. The large crystals 
 of feldspar found in porphyritic granite, 
 with the sharp mechanical separation of 
 the other constituents of that rock, are 
 additional illustrations. Dolomieu un- 
 dertakes to explain this by supposing 
 that the volcanic heat insinuates itself 
 between the molecules of crystals like 
 water among the particles of the salts 
 which it dissolves, the one like the other 
 leaving the original forms intact when it 
 disappears. The same philosopher takes 
 sulphur to be the flux that imparts fluid- 
 ity to granite. Others maintain that sul- 
 phur is by no means an invariable com- 
 ponent, and that another flux must be 
 sought. This they conceive to be found 
 in water, abundant in all lava when 
 
 erupted, escaping in the shape of steam 
 when it cools freely in the open air, and 
 absorbed by crystallization when the cool- 
 ing occurs quickly or under pressure. 
 The most remarkable and conspicuous 
 effect in the latter case is the formation 
 of basalt. Of this rock we shall have 
 more to say in noticing pre-historic vol- 
 canoes, for it is so rarely associated with 
 recent eruptions that its igneous origin 
 was, down to the present century, warm- 
 ly disputed. It exists, however, at the base 
 of Etna, and in excavations made through 
 the lavas upon its side. A prismatic for- 
 mation of the same character is found 
 in the crater of Vulcano. The prisms, 
 usually hexagonal, but exhibiting many 
 other polygons, are erected perpendicu- 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 71 
 
 
 i 
 
 ■; :iti||llli| I 
 ' i If 
 
 ''ill 
 
72 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 larly to the plane of refrigeration. They 
 are therefore indined at every angle. 
 They are, according to the thickness of 
 the bed, of all lengths, from an inch to 
 nearly four hundred feet. The two illus- 
 trations (pp. 37 and 39) we present, taken 
 from the harbor of Catania, display the 
 columns in every position. 
 
 We must here refer to some odd results 
 of the contrast between the internal and 
 the superficial temperature of lava. Trees 
 which lie in its way are often only car- 
 
 bonized on the outside, instead of being 
 at once overthrown and reduced to ashes. 
 The sap protects the wood, produces a 
 hard and comparatively cool film on the 
 invading liquid, and so far saves the tree. 
 This repellent power of steam is not dif- 
 ficult for any one to apprehend who ever 
 ran a rifle-ball in a damp mould and had 
 the lead driven into his eye. Much dry- 
 er subjects than green trees have over- 
 come the volcanic ardor. The traveler 
 is shown at Catania the arcade formed 
 
 THE GUNUNG SUMBING. 
 
 in 1669, two centuries ago, by a current 
 from Etna which overtopped, without 
 prostrating or destroying, the city wall. 
 Even in the prevailing character of 
 their volcanic ejections the Old and New 
 Worlds differ. Lava, the chief product 
 in the former, is comparatively rare in 
 the latter ; while eruptions of mud, little 
 known in Europe, are frequent among 
 the Cordilleras. These are not to be 
 confounded with the turbid floods sent 
 down by the melting of snows under a 
 sudden access of heat from the interior. 
 
 They are veritable outpours of clay and 
 water, mixed often with fish caught up 
 from the subterranean retreats where they 
 spawn. Cotopaxi, Sangay, Tunguragua 
 and Carguairazo are in the habit of scat- 
 tering fish and mud in highly objection- 
 able quantities — so profuse as in more 
 than one instance to have caused pesti- 
 lence from the effluvium. The far East 
 shares this distinction with America. The 
 Japanese volcano Miyiyama in 1793 is 
 said to have buried fifty thousand of the 
 inhabitants under a torrent of water, rocks 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 , III II I 
 /'.'III, 
 
 '. ' III I 
 
 ''1' ' I I ' II I 
 I , II ' 
 
 ,11 I 
 
 I i! 
 
 /' '"ifl 
 
 ,11', ' ^ 
 
 ' I I'll' I 
 
 J ' ) it '111 
 
 %:\A 
 
 'I ill" 
 iiiii. 
 
 ( I, I '"'l 
 
 ,'i I'l 
 
 'I'li'iP 
 
 i,ii|iiii III "r 
 
 ii I'l 
 
 '',, I'll 
 
 || , I If I',",' 
 
 '' ' <iiii .il,yJ,iYi<,ii < 
 
 I I, 
 
 III" ,|ili'wi'|l|||i''iiii I, ■ ''I 
 
 i, 'l flH ll „l 
 
 I |l 
 'lljll 
 
 iiirt'iiiiiii'iii itt '**-^'^'' I ' 'iii'i ■ 
 
 I b hi||i ' 
 
 I ii' \/» \ 
 
 I . ,1 , , I II L , I 
 
 l| ' llllI ' 
 
 Ii 11,1' I rr ir.pl ( i ' ' ' i 
 
74 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 and clay. Java was similarly ravaged in 
 1822. The regularly-grooved cone of one 
 of the volcanoes, the Sumlaing, shows an 
 exceptional effect of such flows upon the 
 shape of their source. Emissions of clay. 
 
 like those of lava, proceed from crevices 
 on the slope or at the base of the moun- 
 tain, as well as from the crater. The in- 
 frequency of an outpour of lava from the 
 summits of the volcanoes of the Cordil- 
 
 POPOCATEPETL. 
 
 leras is due to their immense height, and 
 the consequent weight of the column of 
 melted matter. The surface-water, for 
 the sam-e reason, has farther to sink be- 
 fore reaching fire, and is apt to be ex- 
 pelled in company with the earth, cin- 
 ders and other comparatively light ma- 
 terials through which it passes. 
 
 Volcanoes, like all other classes of 
 natural objects, have their individual 
 characters. Let us glance at some of 
 these idiosyncrasies — themes of contem- 
 plative inquiry to us, but obtrusive enough 
 to those who have direct practical expe- 
 rience of them. 
 
 Chili is exceptionally rich — if such a 
 term can be applied to so unpleasant 
 a kind of wealth — in volcanoes. Her 
 limits include the loftiest in the world. 
 Aconcagua and Tupungato rise to the 
 
 heights respectively of 23,100 and 22,000 
 feet. The former rears its central cone 
 in the midst of twelve others, the baker's 
 dozen playing together with perfect unan- 
 imity, and not by turns, as usually hap- 
 pens with neighboring vents. Antuco, 
 of nearly the same height, has been more 
 thoroughly explored, owing to its greater 
 accessibility. Far exceeding Cotopaxi, and 
 still more Teneriffe, in elevation, it joins 
 them in the exceptional sharpness of its 
 apex among the volcanoes of the globe. 
 It rises by three stages or stories. The 
 lowest is composed of the prevailing 
 rocks of the Andes, and swells from the 
 foot-hills of the coast with a compara- 
 tively moderate slope, which increases to 
 a grade of fifteen or twenty degrees on 
 the main cone. The upper portion of 
 this, for twelve hundred feet, is white 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 75 
 
 with perpetual snow, and is terminated 
 by a circular platform or ledge around 
 the base of the smaller cone, which as- 
 cends with the still sharper inclination 
 of thirty to thirty-five degrees, thus giv- 
 ing a beautifully-curved profile to the 
 whole mountain. The crater is ellipti- 
 cal in form, not more than two hundred 
 yards in its longest dimension. It never 
 sends out lava, that substance finding 
 egress from crevices a long way below, 
 but is in the habit of projecting heavy 
 stones to a height so great that they have 
 been known to fall among passing cara- 
 vans twelve leagues off. Such is the 
 statement of M. Poppig, based upon local 
 accounts. A steady column of smoke 
 rises from two thousand to three thou- 
 sand feet above the summit. White 
 steam blends sometimes with the smoke, 
 
 and, rising to a vast height, separates 
 itself and floats off in a broad cloud. 
 Before this has been absorbed by the at- 
 mosphere or the distance, another and 
 another will take shape and follow in its 
 wake, all visible at once. Slowly they 
 drift together and coalesce, and a rain- 
 cloud gladdens the green valleys far 
 below. 
 
 Antuco has the additional trait of wind- 
 ing up each of its actual eruptions with a 
 jet of cold water. This, the explorer 
 was convinced, came from the crater, 
 but whether it entered from the snows 
 or from a fathomless lake which adorns 
 the western side of the mountain and 
 bears its name, remained a question. 
 
 A phenomenon wholly peculiar to the 
 Chilian volcanoes has been noted by a 
 number of scientific voyagers. This is 
 
 THE friar's peak. 
 
 a glow, like broad flashes of lightning, 
 which in the nights of summer crowns 
 the summits and brightens the whole 
 sky. It is neither preceded nor follow- 
 ed by storms, and its electric nature is 
 doubted. Perhaps the extreme rarefac- 
 tion of the atmosphere at a height so far 
 above the other volcanoes of the srlobe 
 
 permits the inflamed gases to traverse a 
 wider space before extinction, and to be 
 more distinctly visible. The Peruvian 
 craters, however, nearly as high, differ 
 only in being nearer the equator and in 
 a warmer zone. Whatever the as yet 
 unascertained cause, the spectacle lends 
 a rare charm to the Chilian nights. 
 
76 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 Beautiful names are a heritage of Cis- 
 atlantic volcanoes. However mischiev- 
 ous in other respects may have been the 
 amalgamation of Castilian and Indian, 
 it has certainly produced a musical no- 
 menclature. The long penultimate vowel 
 makes a chant of each name, and of none 
 more than Popoca-tepetl, that word so 
 barbarized by our school-boys young and 
 old. The reader will recall the versi- 
 cles of John Quincy Adams, one of the 
 men "whose foible was omniscience," in 
 
 paraphrase of Horace's " Integer vitae," 
 etc.: 
 
 In bog and quagmire, deep and dank. 
 
 His foot shall never settle : 
 He mounts the summit of Mont Blanc, 
 
 Or Popocatepetl ! 
 
 This mountain, and its mate of almost 
 identical stature, of eighteen thousand 
 feet — Orizaba — are our next-door vol- 
 canic neighbors, and were once for some 
 months American territory. Very quiet 
 neighbors of their kind they are, too ; 
 
 /,/,Mi| 111 I W\"'K\W 
 
 ORIZABA. 
 
 c\:fi<?4S*^..^- 
 
 only a little smoke placing them on the 
 active list. They are interesting as show- 
 ing nearly their whole height above the 
 plain which borders the Gulf, and pre- 
 senting to the eye in a single picture all 
 the vegetable zones. Orizaba offers the 
 interior wall of its crater invitingly to 
 the spectator at Vera Cruz, but rarely 
 indeed is the challenge accepted. The 
 circumference of the abyss is about five 
 miles, in a long ellipse, which declines 
 with the southern slope of the mountain, 
 and is literally a conic section. The out- 
 line of Popocatepetl is equally striking, 
 being broken, above the snow-line, by a 
 
 rock called the Pico del Fraile, answer- 
 ing as a landmark to the Grands Mulets 
 of Mont Blanc. The crater, nearly a 
 thousand feet deep and four thousand 
 by five tliousand in horizontal extent, is 
 actually inhabited, the exhausted giant 
 having yielded his crest to the yoke of 
 commerce. 
 
 Halfway down 
 Hangs one who gathers sulphur. Dreadful trade ! 
 
 That irreducible flux, most volatile yet 
 most persistent of elements, is gathered 
 from beds and efflorescence. Sulphurous 
 vapor constantly exudes from many crev- 
 ices. The nearly perpendicular walls de- 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 77 
 
 rive from it a prevailing tint of yellowish- 
 white, yet they are remarkable for strata 
 of porphyritic lava with crystals of feld- 
 
 spar. Hand in hand with science and 
 commerce, history climbs this dreary 
 height. Cortes drew from the white 
 
 peak, looked up to by the Aztecs for un- 
 known centuries with superstitious rev- 
 erence, the means of their enslavement. 
 It .s a moot-point still whether the sul- 
 phur he used for replenishing his ammu- 
 nition-boxes was drawn from openings 
 on the mountain-side or from the crater ; 
 but as it is known that his followers as- 
 tonished the Indians by ascending Oriza- 
 ba, the presumption is that they reached 
 also the summit of its mate. 
 
 Hecla, if placed by the side of one of 
 the Mexican mountains just mentioned, 
 would hardly play the part of a cinder- 
 bank, its height being under five thou- 
 sand feet. Yet it is the boss of a lava- 
 shieid that covers the bosom of the North 
 Atlantic for a space of forty thousand 
 square miles. The whole island may 
 be pronounced one volcano. Among its 
 matters of eruption figures common salt, 
 derived either from the deposits of rock- 
 salt frequently associated with volcanic 
 regions, or, as some think, directly from 
 the sea. The force which brought the 
 island into being devoted itself with 
 steadiness and perseverance to its deso- 
 lation until, in 1763, the work seemed tol- 
 erably complete. Hecla then rested for 
 eighty years. In 1845 it suddenly re- 
 
 vived, and the vault of lava which form- 
 ed its top fell in with a fearful crash. The 
 other chimneys of this roof of Hades 
 meanwhile were not idle. The lava from 
 Skaptar-Jokul in 1783 flowed in oppo- 
 site directions till it formed a continuous 
 line of ninety miles — the distance be- 
 tween New York and Philadelphia — with 
 a depth of from one hundred to six hun- 
 dred feet. Lava in beds comparable in 
 extent to this is familiar in other regions 
 of eruption. In Iceland the climate adds 
 at once lightning and ice to the machi- 
 nery of destruction. Twelve ponies and 
 a man were killed by a single flash from 
 Kablegia-Jokul. The glaciers are pro- 
 jected both in fragments and in melted 
 torrents. Summer snows, hail large and 
 thick enough to destroy the smaller an- 
 imals, and rains of tropical volume, if 
 not wholly superinduced by volcanic ac- 
 tion, at least accompany and are aggra- 
 vated by it. They do not prevail else- 
 where in that latitude. 
 
 The simile "kindling fire through ice 
 like Hecla's flame" loses its point when 
 we recall the buried deposits of ice found 
 on Etna and many other volcanoes. An 
 overlay of loose and f>orous rocks — bad 
 conductors of heat as volcanic rocks gen- 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE 
 
 I 
 
 K!ilI|i'i;l|ll'jl!!linBl|ll|llll|fil"'ln'"li;'ri!!|;«l,B:lll, 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 erally are — produces these natural, or un- 
 natural, refrigerators. We have already 
 had occasion to note the singular alterna- 
 tion of alliance and antagonism between 
 fire and water, resulting in the most vio- 
 lent repulsion and the most intimate com- 
 bination. Nowhere is the association 
 more striking or multiform than in Ice- 
 land. There, the two ^sr_^_ 
 elements have separate 
 sets of craters. The 
 Geysers have ceased 
 to be unique since the 
 discovery of fountains 
 resembling them in 
 California, in New Zea- 
 land and on the head- 
 waters of the Missouri, 
 but for magnitude and 
 beauty they remain un- 
 rivaled. In their struc- 
 ture and methods of ac- 
 tion we see something 
 regular, finished and 
 artistic. They rank 
 with the symmetrical 
 crystal, the calyx of a 
 flower and the perfect -^ ^S ^ 
 level of the sea among 
 the workmanlike, as 
 opposed to the acci- 
 dental and amorphous, 
 shapes of creation. 
 The funnel of a vol- 
 cano, when inactive, 
 cannot be probed by 
 the eye. Heaps of 
 scoriae or indurated 
 lava conceal the open- 
 ing, and we can only 
 speculate as to whether 
 it is capped with a vault- 
 ed coverlid or corked 
 with a long core that penetrates to the in- 
 ternal fires. At the Great Geyser, on the 
 contrary, you stand upon a regularly-form- 
 ed mound some eighty feet across and of 
 slight elevation. At your feet opens a cir- 
 cular basin of half that diameter and eight 
 or ten feet deep, coated with silicious con- 
 cretions like moss encrusted with silver. 
 In the centre of this cavity you see, when 
 the perfectly-transparent water is at rest, 
 a cylindrical canal, ten feet across at its 
 
 mouth and gradually narrowing as its 
 enameled tube sinks out of sight. The 
 water, when in repose, fills the basin to 
 the brim, and the fiercest and loftiest jets 
 cause but little of it to flow down the 
 sides of the mound. These explosions 
 are preceded by sounds like distant can- 
 non. Large bubbles rise to the surface, 
 
 j 
 
 THE STROCKR. 
 
 which grows convex, and the boiling col- 
 umn shoots to a height of from a hun- 
 dred to a hundred and fifty feet. 
 
 The Strockr (Churn) has formed no 
 mound, but rises from a slight depres- 
 sion in the plain. Its water, of a yel- 
 lowish tint though perfectly clear, some- 
 times sinks twenty or thirty feet below 
 the orifice. This is five feet in diameter. 
 The tube, perfectly round, dwindles as it 
 descends. Its jets attain even a greater 
 
8o 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 height than those of its neiglibor, and 
 are longer sustained. Henderson re- 
 ports having seen one rise for three- 
 quarters of an hour continuously to an 
 elevation at some moments of two hun- 
 dred feet. Ohlsen saw the column main- 
 tained at a fourth less than that height 
 for a period more than twice as long. 
 
 These spasms occur, like those of the 
 Great Geyser, at measured intervals. 
 Tourists have learned, however, that 
 they need not wait upon the good plea- 
 sure of the Strockr. A contribution of 
 stones is speedily responded to by an 
 outbreak. The ebullition constantly go- 
 ing on at the bottom becomes feebler 
 
 FORMATION OF A GEYSER. 
 
 and more feeble till all is silent. The 
 elastic reservoir of steam which supplies 
 the motive -power momentarily recedes 
 before the lowered temperature, as the 
 gauge of an engine flies back when the 
 furnace-door is opened and fuel thrown 
 in. Soon the recoil comes. Ebullition 
 is again heard, faintly at first, but grow- 
 ing louder, until at the end of a few min- 
 utes the water is seen to rise to the mouth 
 and spring seven or eight feet above it. 
 The column, solid as a tree-trunk, gains 
 by successive leaps its normal elevation 
 of over a hundred feet, only a few drops 
 falling without the margin, so that the 
 aggressive inquirer may stand close by, 
 fearless of the vengeance of the irritated 
 giant. Retaliation is related to have be- 
 fallen an innocent horse. The animal 
 slipped into the Churn, and was return- 
 ed in a few minutes thoroughly cooked. 
 The Strockr is modern, having been 
 an inconsiderable hot spring eighty years 
 ago, when the third and oldest of the 
 stormy trinity, the Old Geyser, was si- 
 lenced. A convulsion of the soil swept 
 off thirty or forty feet of the low hill on 
 
 which it rose. The canals which fed the 
 fountain were thus brought to light. The 
 Geyser of history dwindled to a couple 
 of basins, the larger perhaps fifteen feet 
 across. The water stands at the same 
 level in both. At the bottom two chan- 
 nels are seen to pass into a sort of cave, 
 clouds of steam from which reveal the 
 boiler that fed the ancient fountain. 
 
 An idea of the Geyser apparatus may 
 be gathered from the accompanying cut. 
 The jets are due to a reciprocation of 
 pressure between water and steam in an 
 underground reservoir. Heat is supplied 
 by volcanic fires far above the boiling- 
 point. When the steam reaches a suf- 
 ficient pressure, its expansion drives out 
 the water ; the weight of which, in re- 
 turning at a reduced temperature, com- 
 bines with the lowered heat to compress 
 the steam until it can muster strength for 
 a new effort. Water in the liquid and 
 water in the vaporized state have by 
 turns the mastery. The vertical pipes 
 are never empty, so that the pressure of 
 the water is constant, and the steam can 
 gain only temporary and partial relief. 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 A number of other hot springs are 
 scattered over the plain or basin of six 
 square miles in which the Geysers :==^_ 
 are found. They keep the air full | 
 of steam, but their surface never ^B 
 rises into jets. At Rotomohama, 
 in New Zealand, a similar depres- 
 sion is occupied by a hot lake, the 
 edges fringed with boiling fountains 
 and the terraces above seamed with 
 boiling cascades. In the production 
 of these jets the siphon would ap- 
 pear to play a more prominent part 
 than in Iceland. 
 
 In the crevices which exhale hy- 
 drogen, carbonic acid gas, sulphuric 
 vapors, naphtha, and mud impreg- 
 nated with different salts we have 
 other secondary forms of volcanic 
 action. These often occur at points 
 remote from living craters, and far- 
 ther inland than we usually see the 
 latter. Inflammable gas emerges 
 at Barigazzo, Pietramala and other 
 points in Central Italy ; near Gre- 
 noble in France, six hundred miles 
 from any active volcano ; in Persia 
 and in China, as well as in the vol- 
 canic region of Central America. 
 The fires of Bakou, kept alive by 
 the Parsees for some thousands 
 of years, supply a familiar example. 
 Equally well known are the springs 
 of naphtha — not to be confounded 
 with the petroleum-wells of Penn- 
 sylvania and Virginia — existing in 
 the same region and in one or two 
 of the West India Islands. The salsas or 
 mud-springs of Java and the Apennines 
 emit a strong bituminous odor. Neither 
 of these localities possesses coal, so that 
 the fossil vegetable or animal matter 
 which furnishes the bitumen has not 
 yet been traced. It is probably dissemi- 
 nated through strata of bituminous lime- 
 stone, of which the Seyssel mastic, used 
 for asphaltum pavements, is an exainple. 
 
 The solfataras, illustrated by that of 
 Pozzuoli near Naples, have a closer con- 
 nection with existing volcanoes. They 
 represent an earlier stage on the road to 
 extinction marked out by the other classes 
 of foci we have just named. That of 
 Poz:?uoli, like everything else on the 
 6 
 
 shores of the marvelous bay, has been 
 exhaustively studied. Geologists are a 
 
 TERMINAL CRATER OF MAUNA LOA. 
 
 unit in pronouncing it a half-dead volca- 
 no. The monster's rocky ribs have almost 
 ceased to heave, his bronchial tubes are 
 clogged, and his parting sighs are dense 
 with sulphur. The sympathizing sages 
 who watch his last moments detect from 
 year to year his failing strength. But he 
 is very likely to outlive them. The pro- 
 cess of dissolution with so vast a body is 
 slow. It may be preceded by intervals 
 of coma covering four or five centuries, 
 and the vital fires may then again flicker 
 up into convulsions. The Titans meas- 
 ure their threescore and ten not by years, 
 but by aeons, and their dying hours by 
 ages. 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 CONCLUDING PART. 
 
 BEFORE considering the embryology 
 of fire-mountains, let us begin with 
 their birth. This was formerly provoc- 
 ative of disputes not unworthy in their 
 ardor of the fiery theme. The theory of 
 "craters of elevation," or the lifting of a 
 great mountain bodily by subterranean 
 force in the form of a gigantic vesicle 
 or bubble, was asserted and defended by 
 no less authority than that of Von Buch 
 and Alexander von Humboldt. It was 
 opposed by Lyell, Poulett-Scrope and the 
 great majority of modern geologists. Von 
 Buch, the father of the theory, based it 
 chiefly on his observations in the Canary 
 Islands. One of them especially, Palma, 
 seemed to offer support to it by the shape 
 in which the mountain was projected 
 above the level of the sea. From all the 
 82 
 
 coasts of the island the ground rises grad- 
 ually toward the centre, attaining a height, 
 at the rim of the hollow interior, of over 
 five thousand feet. The depth of the 
 central basin is nearly as great. At one 
 point it is cut through by a ravine which 
 opens a passage to the sea. Along this 
 furrow, called the Barranca de las An- 
 gustias, the almost perpendicular inside 
 walls of the great crater continue them- 
 selves at a diminishing elevation. The 
 external slope, much gentler, is studded 
 with cones of scoriae, many of them hav- 
 ing miniature craters which formerly sent 
 forth lava. 
 
 Von Buch conceived that the layers of 
 volcanic matter which compose the isl- 
 and, and are now tilted toward a com- 
 mon centre, lay originally in a horizon- 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 tal position at the bottom of the sea. 
 Raised thence, the hollow summit, after 
 enduring the strain to a certain point, 
 fell in, and left the immense cavity now 
 occupying its place. To subsequent ac- 
 cretions by ejection he allows but little 
 effect in swelling the mass of the island. 
 Finding in the centre of the reversed and 
 fallen cone the point of least resistance, 
 the forces beneath effected there a new 
 outlet, and formed a crater of eruption, 
 the matters expelled from which grad- 
 ually filled the cavity and raised them- 
 selves above it. Hence the familiar spec- 
 tacle of an active cone rising in the cen- 
 tre of an amphitheatre. Barren Island, 
 
 in the Bay of Bengal, offers a clear illus- 
 tration. The Somma, or ancient wall 
 which encloses Vesuvius, and a similar 
 erection which has been traced around 
 Teneriffe, suggest themselves among 
 many others we could cite. Volcano, 
 represented in these pages in profile and 
 in plan, has a secondary crater on the 
 exterior circuit. 
 
 Another argument in favor of this view 
 was based on the assumed impossibility 
 of lava coming to a stand upon an in- 
 clination of more than six degrees to the 
 horizon. Observations are, however, nu- 
 merous and positive of its having arrest- 
 ed its progress and formed sheets upon a 
 
 BARREN ISLAND. 
 
 surface of fifteen, or even at Mauna Loa 
 of twenty-four, degrees slope. At Lanze- 
 rote, in the eruption of 1750-56, a stream 
 of basaltic lava formed a layer from two 
 to four feet thick on a grade of thirty 
 degrees. The sharply - drawn furrows 
 at Palma, supposed by Von Buch to be 
 crevices opened in the process of eleva- 
 tion, are wider at bottom than top, con- 
 trary to the shape required by such an 
 origin. 
 
 According to the view of the opposite 
 party, a comparatively slight opening, 
 like the fissures through which water 
 passes "down, having been effected in 
 the crust of the globe, ashes and melted 
 stone, simultaneously or in various shades 
 of alternation, are projected in volumes 
 which in the course of time build up the 
 
 volcano, with no great local disturbance 
 of the penetrated strata. The canal or 
 vertical pipe, inconsiderable it may be 
 at frrst, enlarges its dimensions — like 
 that, for instance, of Vesuvius, which 
 was widened to a diameter of one tliou- 
 sand feet by the explosions of fifteen 
 days. The ejected matter rolls back 
 into the enlarged funnel, and thus, aid- 
 ed by the secular sinking of the exhaust- 
 ed focus beneath, forms a vast cavity, 
 sometimes miles across. The showers 
 and currents which reach the scarp are 
 subject only to the influence of gravity 
 and the rains. Thus, their thickness 
 increases. The apparent height of the 
 enceinte is enhanced also by the break- 
 ing through, generally at a single point, 
 of water or lava from the cavitv. The 
 
84 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 degradation thus caused often forms pen- 
 insulas in the sea and corresponding de- 
 posits on land. In the Pacific are many 
 hollow islands like Palma, with the floor 
 more depressed, so as to lie under water. 
 
 One of this character furnished a refuge 
 two or three years ago to the water-log- 
 ged transport Megsera and her crew. If 
 we draw a horizontal line across the low- 
 est point of the crater of Orizaba, we have 
 
 VOLCANO AND VOLCANELLO. 
 
 one of these islands reproduced and their 
 formation illustrated. 
 
 Upon the pej-pendicular walls of the 
 tremendous seam called the Val del 
 Bove, three thousand feet deep, the an- 
 atomy of Etna is depicted. It presents 
 a succession of inclined beds of lava, 
 tufa and scoriae, cut through by dykes 
 or narrow injected clefts, which traverse 
 them nearly at right angles. Such fis- 
 sures, we may remark here, are the 
 channels into which pass, either origin- 
 ally or after the decomposition of their 
 first contents, the sublimations which 
 leave metallic ores. 
 
 It is a fair presumption, were there no 
 facts to justify other than a presumption, 
 that the great volcanoes are born like the 
 little ones — like their little ones, for we 
 adverted in a former article to the sec- 
 ondary cones which are ejected from the 
 flanks of the primary. They are fre- 
 quent attendants upon cataclysms in all 
 volcanic regions. Two small mountains 
 called Monte Rossi were formed in a fort- 
 night on the side of Etna in 1669, the 
 ejected cinders covering a space of two 
 miles. These are members of a large 
 family that flourishes around the same 
 hearth. It numbers about eighty at 
 present, but is liable to change from the 
 
 diseases which afflict infancy. Many are 
 swept off in early childhood, while others 
 grow up through ^jetenesse orageuse, and 
 finally fill the place of their enfeebled 
 parent in the active world. 
 
 But the study of nascent volcanoes- 
 is not limited to specimens like these. 
 Hills of greater size and in detached 
 localities have erected themselves before 
 the eyes of modern observers, and add- 
 ed to the long list sent down by their 
 predecessors. The Chinese and Japan- 
 ese records note occurrences of the kind. 
 Aristotle tells us of a submarine eruption 
 in his day. Strabo describes*a flaming 
 mountain that sprang up in a night, and 
 made the sea boil to a distance of five 
 furlongs. Ovid speaks with the scientif- 
 ic precision to be expected from a poet 
 of his stamp of a like apparition on the 
 promontory of Methone. 
 
 We shall refer to events not depend- 
 ent for their authenticity on Mongol 
 chroniclers or Roman poets. On a Sep- 
 tember afternoon in 1538 the sea sud- 
 denly backed a thousand yards from the 
 Neapolitan coast under Monte Barbaro. 
 Next morning the earth sank in the place 
 afterward occupied by the crater. Wa- 
 ter flowed from the spot, at first cold, 
 but afterward tepid, with a strong odor 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 85 
 
 of sulphur. Toward noon, the sea, which 
 had lowered its level twelve yards since 
 morning, rose again, and at the same 
 moment a crater opened near Lake 
 Avernus, hard by, and ejected smoke, 
 flame, cinders, stones and mud with the 
 noise of cannon. The air was black 
 with ashes and scoriae, and in four days 
 they had built up in the valley between 
 the lake and Monte Barbaro a hill near- 
 ly as high as the latter, and three miles 
 in circumference. The eruption began 
 
 on the 29th, and fpur days after, the 3d 
 of October, it was possible to climb the 
 hill, three thousand feet high. The work 
 had been done, however, in forty-eight 
 hours. That the blister theory gets small 
 comfort from Monte Nuovo is clear from 
 the fact that the columns of the ancient 
 temple of Apollo at the base of the moun- 
 tain maintained their perpendicular. A re- 
 sult, either of the immediate outburst or 
 of the earthquakes which had afflicted 
 the neighborhood for two years previous- 
 
 bird's-eye view of volcano and volcanello. 
 
 ly, was an upheaval of the adjacent shore 
 to an extent of thirty-six feet, as a de- 
 posit of recent shells at that elevation 
 indicates. This is a rise utterly trivial 
 by the side of that attained by the moun- 
 tain, and it appears to have been but one 
 of several oscillations experienced on the 
 same shores within the Christian era, as 
 Lyell has pointed out in his remarks on 
 the so-called temple of Serapis. 
 
 Monte Nuovo has been idle since the 
 year of its birth, only a little smoke rep- 
 resenting the once formidable life that 
 filled its crater. But it may revive at 
 any time, as perhaps even may, after a 
 far longer period of repose, its classic 
 neighbors, Lucinus, Acheron, Avernus, 
 and a host of others silent for many cen- 
 turies, but still breathing heavily, and 
 sometimes stertorously. From 1500 to 
 1631 A. D. the crater of Vesuvius was as 
 
 placid and pastoral as when Spartacus, 
 the Roman Robin Hood, pranked it there 
 gayly with his merry men in dells dense 
 and fragrant with ilex and myrtle. 
 
 It was on the 29th of September, two 
 hundred and twenty-one years later, and 
 on the opposite side of the Atlantic, that 
 Jorullo saw the light. It rose, and stands, 
 fifteen hundred feet above the plain, thirty 
 leagues from the coast and more than 
 forty from any other volcano. The ba- 
 saltic rocks of the neighboring moun- 
 tains, however, indicate an ancient seat 
 of volcanic activity. This apart, its iso- 
 lation from the ordinary sources of irrita- 
 tion is, as compared with Monte Nuovo, 
 complete. Jorullo rose so suddenly that 
 the first warning was the discovery of 
 ashes on the hats of peons at work on 
 the spot. These infernal snowflakes, 
 "soft and mute," preceded the tempest. 
 
86 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 It burst in all its fury by the time the na- 
 tives had fled to the hills. 
 
 JoruUo appears to have burned for 
 
 ■ about a year, and to have ejected in that 
 
 time four sheets of lava, and covered a 
 
 tract four miles square, thenceforward 
 
 known, from its utter desolation, as the 
 
 Malpays, or Bad Lands. It, with five 
 other cones reared at the same time, 
 and somewhat less in height, emits in 
 our day only a little smoke. The plain 
 around it is nevertheless covered with 
 jets of smoke and vapor from thousands 
 of little fumaroles three or four feet 
 
 MONTE NUOVO. 
 
 high, styled by the inhabitants hornitos, 
 or ovens. This lava-strewn plateau was 
 thought by Humboldt to have been rais- 
 ed five hundred feet above the surround- 
 ing level at the instant of Jorullo's ap- 
 pearance or just before it; but modern 
 explorers agree in the opinion that what 
 elevation exists is due to emissions of 
 lava. It does not exceed a fourth of the 
 distance from the original surface to the 
 summit of the new mountain, nor does 
 it amount in bulk to a greater mass than 
 that repeatedly ejected at a single erup- 
 tion elsewhere. 
 
 Izalco, in San Salvador, is ten years 
 younger than JoruUo. Its birthday was 
 the 25th of February, 1770. It came up 
 
 through a farm, the occupants of which 
 had for some months been disturbed by 
 subterranean shocks and noises. The 
 earth opened half a mile from the stead- 
 ing, and sent out lava and smoke. No 
 tumescence is mentioned. It could not 
 possibly have been great enough to give 
 any countenance to the bubble theory, 
 or the hacienderos would have been ab- 
 ruptly poured off the sides of their unfor- 
 tunate plantation. They had no care 
 but to get out of the way of the cinders, 
 which were borne by the wind eighteen 
 miles. 
 
 Unlike the two others, Izalco did not 
 exhaust itself with a single effort. It 
 continued, and still continues, to rage 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 «7 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 and to increase in height. It has attain- 
 ed the stature of Vesuvius, and there is 
 no reason why it should not, in the re- 
 mote future that shall make our age geo- 
 logic, rank with the existing giants of the 
 Cordilleras, created doubtless in substan- 
 tially the same way. 
 
 It is barely a quarter of a century since 
 Central America was further enriched 
 with a new volcano. Mr. George Squier 
 
 witnessed the occurrence, and describes 
 in his lively way an ascent he soon after 
 made to the cone. The volcano was a 
 lusty infant, but ceased to breathe before 
 the neighboring clergy could follow their 
 custom of blessing and baptizing it. Ail 
 the Nicaraguan volcanoes were thus 
 Christianized soon after the Conquest, 
 with the exception of one fiery heathen 
 who never sent back the deputation of 
 
 JULIA IbLAND. 
 
 monks commissioned to plant the cross 
 upon his crest. Unregenerate Momo- 
 tombo still speaks in the old thunder to 
 the strange idols of stone that stare up 
 at him from the woods below. 
 
 Religious honors were likewise accord- 
 ed to islets of volcanic origin in the Med- 
 iterranean. Delos and Rhodes the clas- 
 sic historians and naturalists could report 
 only on the strength of tradition as hav- 
 ing suddenly sprung from the waves. 
 To the birth of others, as Thera, The- 
 raica, Hiera and Thia, they were able 
 to affix known dates. Their accounts 
 have been verified by modern geologists, 
 who trace the eruptive rocks in all these 
 islands. Collateral evidence has been 
 furnished by the actual elevation of ad- 
 ditional islands in the same sea, and out 
 of the substance of the ancient ones, 
 within the Christian era. 
 
 In A. D. 726, Hiera and Thia were 
 blended by a new eruption into one isl- 
 
 and. This, now called Great Kainieni, 
 was enlarged in 1 573 by the accession 
 from the same source of a fire-blacken- 
 ed rock styled Little Kaimeni ; and in 
 1707-12, New Kaimwii, two thousand 
 yards across and two hundred feet high, 
 was added to the group. In 1866 this 
 persistent focus was again convulsed. 
 New Kaimeni was enlarged by a prom- 
 ontory two hundred feet long at one 
 point, and a projection of nearly equal 
 dimensions at another part of the coast. 
 During this eruption an incandescent 
 rock set fire to a vessel and killed the 
 captain. 
 
 Elevation and depression were alike 
 traits of these convulsions. The new 
 islands rose and fell several times be- 
 fore establishing a firm submarine foun- 
 dation, and their elder neighbors suffer- 
 ed at some points a lowering of their lev- 
 el. The road of Santorin, in which they 
 lie, may be accounted the mother-crater. 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRF. 
 
 Meanwhile, far west of the Cyclades, 
 Etna was giving signs of a propensity for 
 annexation. In July, 1831, in the open 
 sea off the harbor of Sciacca, on the south- 
 western coast of Sicily, the skipper of a 
 
 Sicilian brig was astonished by the spec- 
 tacle of a wave that swelled to a height 
 of eighty feet, and when it subsided gave 
 way to a dense column of smoke. This 
 happened several times, at intervals of 
 
 EXTINCT CRATERS IN AUVERGNE. 
 
 fifteen or twenty minutes. Scorite and 
 dead fish floated ashore in great quan- 
 tities. In twelve days an islet had been 
 formed, crateriform in shape, and cap- 
 ped with a sheaf of smoke and ashes two 
 thousand feet high. The greatest breadth 
 of the mound was eight hundred feet. Its 
 height was variable, but usually at the 
 extreme point sixty feet. The materials 
 ejected were too light to build a solid sub- 
 stratum or resist the action of the waves. 
 Hence the short-lived island, with a flag 
 and a name — ^Julia, Graham, Nerita, Fer- 
 dinandea — for each month of its exist- 
 ence, had in November disappeared. On 
 the 25th of December the sounding-line 
 showed twenty-four fathoms on its site. 
 Etna's first outlying colony was a failure. 
 The island of Sabrina, in the Azores, 
 had a longer lease of life — from 181 1 to 
 1822. That of Johanna Bogaslawa, in the 
 Aleutian Archipelego, has passed three- 
 score and ten, but shows plain marks of 
 age and portents of, dissolution. Like 
 Sabrina and Julia, the hyperborean re- 
 cruit was rickety from the cradle. His 
 bony framework was defective and de- 
 ficient. The softer tissues predominated; 
 
 and as neither men nor volcanoes can 
 live like jelly-fish, he must perforce suc- 
 cumb. He lacked the stamina of the 
 Grecian striplings, the lusty sprouts of 
 Olympus. 
 
 From the young and the effete let us 
 pass to those which may be safely de- 
 clared lifeless. Italy contains a number 
 of them, as we have before intimated. 
 Mont Albano overlooks Rome and the 
 Campagna. Its lavas have overflowed 
 the tufa ejected from many craters on 
 the latter plain, and furnishing the Etei'- 
 nal City itself with both its natural and 
 its artificial foundations. At Baccano is 
 found another large extinct crater. 
 
 The traces of superficial volcanic ac- 
 tion, perfectly apparent to the tourist 
 of to-day in Germany, Hungary, Spain, 
 Greece and its islands, were not detect- 
 ed, or certainly not openly recognized, 
 before the beginning of the present cen 
 tury. Lyell has made us familiar with 
 the beautifully-marked groups of craters 
 in Catalonia and Auvergne. In the lat- 
 ter are pointed out thirty -nine, besides 
 some others less unmistakably marked. 
 They all lie within a space of twenty-five 
 
9° 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 or thirty mJes. Lava, scoriae, calcined 
 stones and soil of the character due to 
 the disintegration of such materials leave 
 no doubt of the forces which have once 
 been at virork, even were the conforma- 
 tion of the country such as to admit of 
 question on that point. The most cur- 
 sory reader who glances at the engraving 
 of the beautiful Lake Pavin, slumbering 
 at the foot of Mont Dialme in its cradle 
 railed in with basalt, must pronounce its 
 basin a duplicate of those of Etna and 
 Kilauea. " Its fires are out from shore 
 
 to shore," and the probability of their re- 
 kindling may be postponed at least to 
 some remote period in the future when 
 the continent shall have been remodeled. 
 They have been extinguished from the 
 Pliocene period, and deposits containing 
 the bones of the hippopotamus, tapir, etc. 
 interleave with their latest lava -beds. 
 Yet these beds, one of them thirteen 
 miles long, are as fresh-looking in their 
 texture as though the eruption had oc- 
 curred last year. The surface of the 
 country, in its relations to the sea-level, 
 
 LAKE PAVIN. 
 
 has not been materially changed. The 
 region was then, as now, inland, and the 
 volcanic outbursts sub-aerial. 
 
 Very different in the conditions of for- 
 mation are the traces of the same force 
 we encounter in Staffa and on the coast 
 of Antrim. The famous causeway and 
 cave were shaped at the bottom of the 
 sea, and the lava, crystallized into col- 
 umns, subsequently upheaved by a move- 
 ment extending over a wide area, and 
 acting so smoothly and uniformly as to 
 cause little or no disruption. The pillars 
 
 are as erect as when the whale swam 
 above them. A reproduction on land 
 of Fingal's retreat is seen in the Cheese 
 Grotto near Coblentz. The basalt there 
 flowed from a height on which craters 
 are traceable to-day. Beds of the same 
 rock in the Bay of Trezza, illustrated in 
 these pages, carry us back to the sea, 
 and lead us south toward another island 
 of volcanic origin, not dependent on tra- 
 dition or fable for association with giants, 
 but trodden within living memory hy a 
 mightier than Fingal. For Napoleon, 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 9^ 
 
 boin of the hi e-fi aught soil of the Med- | Our own territory affords singukirly few 
 iterranean, the summit of an extinct vol- j signs of igneous activity, ancient or mod- 
 cano was a fittin"; tomb. I ern. In a breadth of three millions of 
 
92 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 square miles the United States can claim 
 but two active volcanoes — St. Helen's, a 
 fellow-picket, far removed, of Jorullo on 
 the line of the Cordilleras, and its file- 
 closer on the north, St. Elias, a twin in 
 height of Orizaba. Pre-historic craters 
 are nearly as rare. Oddly enough, the 
 chief one we have to cite, that of Mount 
 
 Shasta near the California and Oregon 
 line, has associated itself with the single 
 military event which the meagre annals 
 of our Pacific coast have contributed to 
 history. 
 
 Taking no note of the extinct volcanoes 
 of the Pacific, many of which would be 
 invisible and unknown to us but for the 
 
 ENTRANCE TO FINGAL S CAVE. 
 
 labors of the coral-insect in erecting is- 
 lands upon their slowly-sinking walls, it 
 IS obvious that the ocean must conceal a 
 vastly greater number of effete craters 
 than are discoverable on land. This re- 
 sults not only from the superficial excess 
 of the sea over the continents, but from 
 its greater depth as compared with the 
 average elevation of the land. Very few 
 volcanoes are as high as the average, 
 and none so high as the extreme, depth 
 of the sea. Judging from the number of 
 submarine outbursts observed during the 
 past few centuries, immensely numerous 
 must be those which have occurred since 
 the land upon the face of the globe as- 
 sumed or approached its actual configu- 
 ration. The depth below the new islets. 
 
 abortive or complete, is but a fraction of 
 the prevailing depth of the ocean. Many 
 must, within a few generations, have fail- 
 ed to reach the surface, and others still 
 may have sent to it smoke and ashes un- 
 seen from ship or shore. All have left a 
 foundation-platform of trap or granite to 
 rise to light, perhaps, in the future, when 
 the points of eruption now above ground 
 shall have descended in turn. 
 
 Until the system of soundings now in 
 its infancy shall present us with better 
 profile maps of the floor of the ocean, 
 the eruptive centres there concealed will 
 refuse us their assistance in arriving at 
 definite conclusions based on the distri- 
 bution of volcanoes and the tracing of 
 lines of disturbance. We must be con- 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRF. 
 
 93 
 
 tent with deductions based on the known 
 minority. 
 
 Two-thirds — after one estimate 155 out 
 of 225, and by another 190 out of 270 — 
 
 of the volcanoes in action are found in 
 islands. With very few exceptions the 
 others are all within a few leagues of the 
 sea or of large bodies of water. • The 
 
 CRATER OF TENERIFFE. 
 
 same proportion holds among those which 
 appear to be temporarily at rest, or have 
 been so since geologic times. The latter, 
 when found far inland, are attended by 
 vestiges of ancient lakes or shore-lines. 
 The craters of Auvergne and the Eifel 
 adjoin broad basins long since filled up 
 with fossiliferous deposits. In Central 
 Asia the gas-springs fortify the testimony 
 of the landlocked seas that the Caspian, 
 the Aral and a chain of smaller salt lakes 
 were once connected with each other and 
 with the Northern Ocean. The solitary 
 eruptive demonstration the United States 
 east of the Rocky Mountains has been 
 favored with since tradition began, and 
 since long befor*^, was that at New Mad- 
 rid in 181 1. Mud and water are said to 
 have been thrown as high as the trees, 
 but sulphurous exhalations are not proved 
 to have been emitted, nor were other in- 
 dications of igneous activity noted. If 
 this immediate cause did exist, it was 
 doubtless due to irritation from surface- 
 water in the Mississippi or its swamps 
 passing through old cavities in the strata 
 
 or new ones formed by convulsions of 
 the earth connected with the great earth- 
 quake of Caracas. More probably the 
 absorption and ejection of water, as shown 
 in the rising and sinking of shallow lakes, 
 was a result of the earthquake passing 
 along a long-cooled subterranean duct, 
 and in no way connected with local ig- 
 neous action. 
 
 The eastern and northern coasts of the 
 Pacific are formed by a volcanic range, 
 as every schoolboy knows. Starting from 
 Tierra del Fuego, it passes througli Mex- 
 ico and our western limits to Behring 
 Strait. There, deflected south-westward- 
 ly, it makes stepping-stones of the Aleu- 
 tian cluster, and goes through Kamtchat- 
 ka, Japan and the Philippines to the Mo- 
 luccas. There it divides — one branch 
 turning westward by Borneo, Java and 
 Sumatra to Birmah, while a second 
 threads the New Hebrides and New 
 Zealand toward its culmination at the 
 South Pole in Mounts Erebus and Ter- 
 ror, making a tolerably continuous oval. 
 Looking to the Atlantic, another system 
 
94 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRF. 
 
 may be traced from Iceland past the 
 Hebrides, the middle Rhine, Auvergne, 
 and the Apennines to Vesuvius, Etna 
 and the Grecian Archipelago. This line 
 may be connected with the other system 
 on the east by Ararat and the Thian- 
 Shan, and to the west by Madeira, the 
 Azores, the Caribbees and Venezuela. 
 From this branch an offshoot skirts the 
 African coast in a line parallel with it, 
 and strikes, by way of Teneriffe, St. Paul 
 and St. Helena, toward the same objec- 
 tive point at the South Pole. 
 
 Upheavals and depressions on a great 
 
 scale, and operating slowly over vast 
 areas, have made broad gaps in these 
 lines, and obliterated others formerly no 
 doubt quite as clearly marked. No one 
 of these rows of chimneys is at any time 
 continuous and synchronous in activity ; 
 but the clefts supposed to underlie and 
 be tapped by them reveal their continu- 
 ity frequently by sympathetic movements 
 involving points separated by thousands 
 of miles. Paroxysms in Hecla, Vesuvius 
 and Etna have more than once been pal- 
 pably coincident. In 1835, Coseguina in 
 Nicaragua, Corcovado and Aconcagua, 
 
 RUINS OF LISBON. 
 
 burst into eruption on one and the same 
 day. The first and last are separated 
 by an interval ot thirty -five hundred 
 miles. What vehicle of communication 
 is it that travels with such velocity ? 
 Sound would traverse the distance named 
 in about five hours. It is on record that 
 Coseguina was heard at Bogota, eleven 
 hundred miles as the crow flies. The 
 atmosphere could not have accomplished 
 this. The reverberation must have been 
 
 conveyed along the crust of the earth 
 through the secret speaking-tube of the 
 fraternity. The mere concussion may 
 have caused the explosions, by unsettling 
 the equilibrium of the slumbering forces, 
 much as the Strockr is summoned into 
 action by a pebble. Without requiring 
 the existence of hollow cores to the moun- 
 tain-ridges, we may justly assume a hori- 
 zontal prolongation of such ducts as sup- 
 ply active craters, or grooves which fa- 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRF. 
 
 95 
 
 cilitate the passage of gases along certain 
 lines. The products of combustion must 
 have the means of reaching their definite 
 and permanent outlets. When any of 
 these are found to act in concert, the 
 conviction of their having a subterranean 
 
 connection cannot be escaped. That 
 acute and systematic observer, Charles 
 Darwin, long ago made such a declara- 
 tion, and facts to sustain it have since ac- 
 cumulated. 
 
 When the gases rising from the molten 
 
 DESTRUCTION OF SAN SALVADOR. 
 
 interior lake seek egress, they force their 
 way in a broad sheet through the space 
 between its surface and the under side of 
 the incumbent shell, and the enormous 
 tension cannot fail to tell upon the in- 
 elastic crust. As a rule, the volume of 
 these fluids seems insufficient to pro- 
 duce a serious tremor unless steam be 
 added to them by an influx of water. 
 Even then, the vibration, they cause be- 
 fore reaching the escape-valve is, even 
 in extreme cases, relatively very slight. 
 The most terrible earthquake does not 
 compare, when measured by the body 
 upon the surface of which it acts, with 
 the twitch of a horse's skin in shaking 
 off" a fly. ■ It is imperceptible to the eye 
 of those who experience it in an open 
 plain. Men and the lower animals are 
 seldom overthrown by the movement of 
 the soil. Their injuries are due to the fall- 
 
 ing of walls, and less frequently to the 
 sudden opening of crevices in the soil. 
 These disruptions, a few feet across, 
 dwindle to an infinitely small disloca- 
 tion as they sink toward the centre of 
 disturbance. Usually, the shocks last but 
 a few moments, room for expansion into 
 sea or air having been found by the im- 
 prisoned vapor. Sometimes, however, 
 they are repeated during days, and even 
 months. The destructive earthquake 
 which warned the Pompeians of their 
 approaching doom, and gave them a 
 foretaste of it, preceded the eruption six 
 years. Of the prolonged series of shocks 
 heralding other outbreaks, and those 
 especially of new volcanoes, we have 
 heretofore made mention. 
 
 Slight as the oscillation may be, it 
 never fails to terrify all who feel it. No 
 one ever gets broken in to earthquakes. 
 
I!: 
 
 96 
 
 They sap the fundamental behef of all. 
 Men who have faith in nothing else be- 
 lieve in the solidity of the ground they 
 stand on. To doubt it never occurs to 
 them. It possesses them even in their 
 sleep; so that when, in the dead of 
 night, the whole foundation of things 
 reels beneath them for an instant, and 
 to the extent of an inch or two, horror, 
 
 OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 unconscious in inception ana uncontrol- 
 lable in course, snatches them from their 
 beds and sets tliem, staring awake, face 
 to face with the end of all things. The 
 beasts of the field show as unmistakable 
 affright, for they too have their basal be- 
 liefs. Stricken dumb or bellowing with 
 terror, they contribute to the general 
 effect of the situation. They are seized 
 
 upon by artists who undertake to depict 
 such scenes as powerful accessories, lit- 
 tle as the actual spectators are apt to 
 trouble themselves about what becomes 
 of the brutes. In fact, an earthquake, un- 
 less of such violence as to throw down 
 buildings, or experienced so near the 
 shore as to display the advance and 
 recession of a billow, is not a spectacle. 
 It does not address the eye. A voyager 
 in a balloon, looking down upon the spot, 
 would be at a loss to comprehend the 
 cries and the rushing to and fro of the 
 people. 
 
 The South and Central Americans 
 have become by long usage connois- 
 seurs — though never amateurs — in earth- 
 quakes. They classify them into varie- 
 
 ties. The name of temblor they give to 
 a moderate shudder, with sounds like 
 those habitual in the immediate neigh- 
 borhood of volcanoes. The noise re- 
 sembles the rattle of a distant skirmish, 
 interspersed with the muffled " diapason 
 of the cannonade." Some tiles may fall 
 and some glasses be shattered. Beyond 
 such disasters the damage is nil. Such 
 movements wander occasionally far be- 
 yond the regular theatre of convulsion. 
 In these excursions they appear to be 
 the sequelae, or more properly the dilute 
 effect, of the severer species, named by 
 the Spanish Americans terramotos, the 
 visitants from below so fraught with hu- 
 man misery and suffering. 
 
 In their intensest efforts the shocks 
 
UUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 97 
 
 act in a vertical, horizontal or gyratory 
 direction. The first is sometimes so 
 sharp as to raise objects clear of the 
 ground. At Riobamba, in 1797, "les 
 cadavres d'un grande nombre d'habi- 
 tants furent lances siir une coUine haute 
 de plusieurs centaines de pieds, et situee 
 au dela du ruisseau de Suican." Thus 
 Boscovich. We are afraid to translate 
 his statement. He follows Humboldt. 
 The Spanish province of Murcia was 
 visited by a projicient thrust of this kind 
 
 on the 2 1 St of March, 1829, but we can- 
 not believe that the thirty-five hundred 
 houses then and there destroyed were 
 tossed bodily into the air. Hamilton is 
 more circumstantial in describing the 
 convulsion of Calabria in 1783. The 
 mountains, he says, rose and fell : "some 
 houses were transported without material 
 injury to more elevated situations, and 
 others were torn from their foundations 
 and overset. Some of the inhabitants 
 were abruptly lifted and deposited saft. 
 
 WELLS CAUSED BY EARTHQUAKES. 
 
 and sound on the adjacent heights, and 
 one woman who was up in a lemon tree 
 found herself deposited upon the ground 
 without the slightest damage " ! Such 
 events are apt to enliven the rural imag- 
 ination, as we infer from the remarkable 
 accounts brought over by the sturdy beg- 
 gars whom an eruption of Etna frequent- 
 ly throws across the Atlantic. 
 
 More puzzling and perilous than the 
 propulsive is the rotatory style of agita- 
 tion. We may well believe that notes 
 7 
 
 from calm and curious observers of this 
 phenomenon are not plentiful. The soil 
 is described as whirling like the surface 
 of coffee when stirred with a spoon. It 
 seems to be liquid. The land-waves may 
 be regular or irregular. The results of 
 both astonish, whether with ruin or the 
 inexplicable arrest of ruin. Cultivated 
 fields slide one over the other. In the 
 Calabrian earthquake above mention- 
 ed the pedestals of two obelisks in front 
 of the church of St. Etienne del Bosco 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 :» 
 
 ERUPTION OF WATER IN HONDURAS. 
 
 maintained their normal position, but the 
 capstones were twisted some inches upon 
 the centre. Still greater is said to have 
 been the wrench undergone by a tower in 
 Majorca in 1851. The base turned sixty 
 degrees upon its axis, while the upper 
 part stood firm. 
 
 The climax of these saltatory trans- 
 ports of staid Mother Earth is attained 
 in the combination of all these move- 
 ments. The result is but faintly shad- 
 owed by our native representative of an 
 earthquake — a steamboat explosion. At 
 Port Royal, Jamaica, in 1692, everything, 
 alive and inanimate, was thrown togeth- 
 er pell-mell. The earth was like violent- 
 
 ly-agitated water. Some of the people 
 are reported to have been thrown from 
 the centre of the town into the harbor, 
 where they retained presence of mind 
 and strength enough to swim ashore ! 
 
 Humboldt was shown, when survey- 
 ing the ruins of Riobamba, a spot where 
 the furniture of one house was extracted 
 from the ruins of another a considerable 
 distance off. The respective proprietors 
 preserved their bodily health sufficiently 
 to have the question of ownership settled 
 by a lawsuit. Fancy New York or Phila- 
 delphia thus "thrown into hotch-potch," 
 and the profits thence ensuing to the 
 lawyers ! 
 
 I 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 99 
 
 San Salvador, built upon a bank of 
 volcanic sand three or four hundred feet 
 thick, was destroyed in ten seconds on 
 the night of April i6, 1854. It had mem- 
 ory of several serious shocks, but the 
 latest was half a century back, and the 
 inhabitants had gained confidence from 
 the immunity of two generations. To 
 slight innocuous movements, so frequent 
 as to gain for the city the sobriquet of 
 "the Hammock," they had become hab- 
 ituated. The catastrophe was not unat- 
 tended by premonitions in the shape 
 of heavy detonations and more de- 
 cided agitations than usual, and 
 many of the people anticipated it bv 
 taking up their quarters, some hours 
 previously, in the open plazas and 
 the patios of their dwelhngs. Hence 
 the comparatively slight loss of life 
 A few of the older and more solid- 
 ly-built houses stood, but none re- 
 mained habitable. 
 
 Of numerous and equally disas- 
 trous earthquakes in more recent 
 years, none have eclipsed in the 
 general mind that of Lisbon, No- 
 vember I, 1755. The attack and 
 instantaneous reduction of a Eu 
 ropean capital by a new and ter- 
 rible invader made an impression 
 that will yet be long in dying out 
 The accounts of eye-witnesses are 
 abundant and full. Even in our 
 day, a hundred and twenty years 
 later, new ones are discovered in 
 private letters written at the tune, 
 and since buried in desks and chests 
 Many English were in the city 01 
 on vessels in the Tagus who could 
 describe the event in its two aspects 
 on land and water. 
 
 In this case there was no warning. At 
 half-past nine in the morning a tremen- 
 dous noise was followed by a shock which 
 prostrated the most solid structures of 
 Lisbon in an instant. Some minutes 
 after the. movement was renewed in a 
 kind likened to that of a chariot rolling 
 with extreme violence over a rugged sur- 
 face. First and last, the terrible blow 
 occupied six minutes. The bed of the 
 river rose in several places to the level 
 of its waters, and the great quay of the 
 
 Prada was swallowed up with a crowd 
 who had sought safety upon it. For a 
 brief space of time the harbor was left 
 almost dry, but the water returned in a 
 billow fifty feet high, which swept many 
 walls left standing. Toward noon an- 
 other shock, more feeble than its prede- 
 cessors, closed the tragedy, which was not 
 confined to Lisbon. Oporto, Cadiz and 
 Madrid felt the shock at the same time, 
 almost to a minute. Other towns and 
 some of the loftiest mountains of the 
 
 TEMPLE OF SERAPIS. 
 
 Peninsula experienced it with more or 
 less marked results, but it did not restrict 
 iteslf to the bounds of Spain and Portu- 
 gal, nor was its severity by any means 
 measured solely by distance from any 
 supposed focus. The convulsion is esti- 
 mated to have affected an area equal to 
 a twelfth part of the surface of the globe. 
 Not only was all Europe shaken, but a 
 part of America and North Africa. The 
 disturbance, however, was not simultane- 
 ous over this extent. It distributed itself 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 ii ■:! 
 
 through some days. Turin and Milan 
 felt it seriously, the latter on the ist of 
 November, and the former on the 9th. 
 In Brieg houses were overthrown. The 
 Lake of Neufchatel overflowed its banks. 
 The small Lake of Morat near it sank 
 twenty feet, and remained at the new 
 level. Vesuvius, in eruption at the time, 
 was suddenly silenced, and its column 
 of smoke reabsorbed into the crater. 
 Churches in Rotterdam were shaken ten 
 hours after the Lisbon shock. Lakes and 
 springs in many parts of Germany, Nor- 
 way and Sweden were affected. A lit- 
 toral wave swept the coasts of Western 
 Europe, rising eight or ten feet on the 
 coast of Cornwall, and doing great mis- 
 chief there. The Scottish lakes rose three 
 feet. Tetuan, Tangiers, Fez, Mequinez 
 and other African towns approached Lis- 
 bon in the completeness of their destruc- 
 tion. At Mequinez a mountain opened 
 and discharged torrents of turbid water 
 ■ — one of the escape - valves, possibly. 
 Westward across the Atlantic the vast 
 oscillation took its way. At Madeira the 
 sea rose fifteen feet. A billow twenty 
 feet high is said to have entered the har- 
 bor of St. Martin's in the West Indies. 
 On the 1 8th of November the impulse 
 reached New England. In Boston chim- 
 neys were overthrown or cracked, and 
 among the farms stone fences had the 
 like mishaps. 
 
 The shocks are social. They like com- 
 panionship, and are wont to travel in 
 company. Yet they have a chief, re- 
 sponsible, like other chiefs, for all the 
 mischief. The procession may last for 
 hours, days and months. At San Sal- 
 vador, in 1856, 118 shocks were counted. 
 At Lisbon, after the decisive crash, the 
 earth did not wholly attain repose for two 
 months, and when Bale was overthrown 
 in 1356 the soil was in motion for a whole 
 year. 
 
 Periodicity has been averred to cha- 
 racterize the recurrence of earthquakes, 
 but the proofs are few and feeble. Out 
 of so many recorded it would be strange 
 not to find coincidences going to sustain 
 such a view. Lima had a visitation on 
 the 17th of June in the years 1578 and 
 1678. Copiapo's period has been placed 
 
 at twenty-three years on the strength of 
 three returns. Syria and Southern Italy 
 are said to alternate with each other, 
 their orbits intersecting a ring of earth- 
 quakes at equidistant points. The two 
 countries are said never to have been 
 convulsed at the same time. Extraor- 
 dinary instances in the reverse direction 
 are furnished by the tremor which on the 
 1 6th of November, 1827, devastated Bo- 
 gota, and shook less seriously the city of 
 Okhotsk in Siberia, nine thousand miles 
 distant, and by the convulsion of Jan- 
 uary 19, 1850, simultaneous at Schuscha 
 in the Caucasus and in Italy, Chili and 
 California. The vibration here, however 
 caused, must have moved with the ve- 
 locity of sound, and without interruption 
 from the subterranean dams alleged by 
 the dwellers on the Andes to stop at cer- 
 tain points the transmission of shocks, 
 and called by them bridges. 
 
 The tread of the earthquake is not 
 stamped only in shattered cities. It rends 
 the rock they stood upon and pierces the 
 soil with living wells. The granite of 
 Monte Polisterra in Calabria was split in 
 1783 for a distance of nine or ten leagues. 
 At Terranova and Oppido houses disap- 
 peared utterly. Rosarno shows a be- 
 quest of the same convulsion in cylin- 
 drical wells which recall the Geysers. 
 These are but examples of crevices and 
 wells opened in other parts of the world 
 recently and anciently. Dykes and 
 "faults," or slides, thus originating, are 
 familiar to quarrymen, miners and geolo- 
 gists. 
 
 A cup-shaped depression at the bottom 
 of a sheet of water, suddenly formed, has 
 been seen to throw up a magnificent col- 
 umn due to the rapid confluence of the 
 water to a common centre. An eleva- 
 tion, on the other hand, will pour a tem- 
 porary torrent on the surrounding shores. 
 
 Evidence is wanting of permanent ele- 
 vation or depression of the soil over any 
 considerable area due to these sharp and 
 sudden commotions. Localized effects 
 of this kind have been often traced to 
 them. Since the shock of 1750 at Con- 
 cepcion in Chili, vessels have been un- 
 able to come within three leagues of the 
 old port, and the rise of the coast is 
 
OUR FLOOR OF FIRE. 
 
 estimated at twenty-six feet. Again in 
 1822 the level of the coast at Valparaiso 
 is said to have been changed four feet, 
 and in 1835 a shock which followed an 
 eruption of Coseguina raised three hun- 
 dred miles of the Chilian coast five feet, 
 and immediately depressed it three feet. 
 This last change was so very slight as to 
 be contested. Admiral (then Lieuten- 
 ant) Wilkes tested the point by sound- 
 
 ings, and came to an adverse conclusion. 
 An elevation of the surface of New Zea- 
 land over a space of 4600 square miles 
 to a height varying at different points 
 between one and nine feet, by a violent 
 shock on the 23d of January, 1855, seems 
 to be better avouched. 
 
 In the oft-cited case of the Neapolitan 
 ruin which antiquarians dub the temple 
 of Jupiter-Serapis the alternate elevations 
 
 CRATER OF MERBABU. 
 
 and depressions are probably secular. The 
 preservation of absolute verticality by the 
 remaining columns, and absence of dis- 
 location in the pavement on which they 
 stand and constructions around them, is 
 at war with the allegation that the move- 
 ments were due to a cataclysm. 
 
 Could broad changes of level be freely 
 referred to earthquakes, the fact would 
 be easy of proof in view of the vast num- 
 ber of tremors of which we have dates 
 and other data. In the basin of the 
 Rhine 539 have been recorded since 
 the ninth century, and 4620 in the whole 
 
 world in seven years ending with 1857. 
 The alterations traceable to any or all 
 of these in the relative elevation of land 
 and ocean are a trifle to those known to 
 have been slowly going on for centuries 
 in non-volcanic regions, to say nothing 
 of those, incomparably vaster in the ag- 
 gregate, chronicled on the stony parch- 
 ments of geology. 
 
 A gradual depression of the western 
 coast of Greenland, continuous during 
 at least the past four centuries over a 
 length north and south of six hundred 
 miles, is established by incontestable 
 
AN AFRICAN. FAIRHA VEN. 
 
 proofs. Another northern peninsula, 
 that of Sweden, has been for a longer 
 period in process of upheaval. This 
 movement covers a line of a thousand 
 miles north and south. The rate at the 
 North Cape is calculated at five feet in a 
 century, diminishing toward Denmark. 
 
 From such facts we may conclude that 
 the subterranean forces act with a steady, 
 equable and prolonged effort, as well as 
 with sporadic and violent blows, and that 
 they accomplish more by the former than 
 by the latter method. We have seen 
 that the two forms of movement may 
 coexist without interfering, earthquake 
 shocks shooting across areas of uphea- 
 val and depression like lightning over the 
 plain, as the vast succession of strata en- 
 veloping the earth "like the coats of an 
 onion " are penetrated by injected clefts. 
 
 Are these forces, various in their man- 
 ifestations, complex and distinct in their 
 character ? Are they all to be summa- 
 rily ascribed to a molten interior ? If so, 
 does liquefaction by heat extend to the 
 centre of the sphere ? Has the shrink- 
 ing of the earth from either pole and ex- 
 pansion at the equator, productive of a 
 
 present difference in diameter five times 
 greater than the height of the loftiest 
 mountains, nothing to do with the erec- 
 tion of those mountains, of the long ridges 
 they stud, and of the broader and more 
 gentle plateaus upon which they stand ? 
 May not the assigned fluctuation of two 
 and a half degrees — granting that to be 
 its extreme amount — in the inclination 
 of the equator to the ecliptic, perpetually 
 changing, as it does, the distance of each 
 point on the earth's surface from its cen- 
 tre of gravity, combine with the former 
 influence in affecting gradually or sud- 
 denly the distribution of land and water? 
 The temptation to generalize upon vol- 
 canic phenomena and their origin is very 
 great: scientific men of the first rank 
 have often yielded to it. But certainty 
 will not be approached until the treasury 
 of facts shall have been far better filled 
 than now. The actual conformation of 
 the planet's surface is yet to be traced. 
 Until that be effected the study of the 
 forces which have acted, and are still 
 seen to be acting, upon it must lack 
 the bases of precision. 
 
 AN AFRICAN FAIR HAVEN. 
 
 IT was on the 4th of May, 1787, that 
 Stanislas, Chevalier de Boufflers, M^as 
 doubling Cape Verde, with the island of 
 Goree in sight, and with the further pros- 
 pect of landing there before the next 
 morning. He was "sick as a puppy," as 
 he wrote to his wife in his diary, but he 
 had left behind him the monotony and 
 torrid oppressiveness of St. Louis of Sen- 
 egal, and was approaching, not for the 
 first time, a delightful abode. It was 
 not flat, to begin with ; and that, after 
 the melancholy sandspit, the " tristes 
 sables," of St. Louis, was a great deal. 
 It was the first elevation he had seen 
 since Teneriffe. Imagine, he writes his 
 dear countess of Sabran, a rock set upon 
 a plane surface whose outline resembles 
 
 a leg of ham. On this rock is a little 
 fort ; at its foot, a little village ; to right 
 and left, batteries three-quarters demol- 
 ished. There are gardens, well fenced 
 and cultivated ; houses, by no means 
 badly built of stone, mostly thatched 
 with straw. The air is so pure and in- 
 vigorating that to breathe it is like tak- 
 ing the waters at Spa. It is the same on 
 crossing to the neighboring mainland, 
 where one may make an excursion amidst 
 delicious freshness, green meadows, lim- 
 pid waters, trees of a thousand shapes, 
 flowers of a thousand hues, birds of a 
 thousand kinds. Not here, as at Sene- 
 gal, a dangerous bar and shallow water, 
 but the safest anchorage at all times : no 
 risk of famine ; no uneasiness about the 
 
 iLl 
 
AN AFRICAN FAIRHA VEN. 
 
 103 
 
 climate. " I shouldn't have the slightest 
 fear to bring you here," are his words to 
 the countess. Then he takes to day- 
 
 ^i''8'i 
 
 ^ m ■ 
 
 dreaming, this ambitious governor of the 
 French coast of Africa: "I will transfer 
 mv residence to Goree, where there are 
 
 no impediments to navigation, and I can 
 consequently better receive the orders 
 of the court; where I can keep large 
 
 ships, and more of them ; and to whose 
 fertile and healthy neighborhood I may 
 attract French and Acadian families, and 
 
I04 
 
 AN AFRICAN. FAIRHA VEN. 
 
 thus lay the foundations of the greatest 
 establishment that ever existed outside 
 of France." 
 
 All things seemed easy to a favorite 
 of the French salons, a newly-fledged 
 Academician, an ex-abbe, a soldier and 
 a lover — the unpublished husband of one 
 of the most charming of women. Of the 
 days that were coming — of '89, of revo- 
 lution and exile — he had no prevision. 
 At Goree his spirits rose above every 
 evil, immediate or remote. He even 
 gayly records, in his home letter, the 
 fact that he has had a stomach - colic 
 during the past forty-eight hours. On 
 the loth of May he gave a grand ball to 
 all the ladies of Goree, doubtless without 
 distinction of color. On the night of the 
 1 2th he took, though he little thought it, 
 final leave of the island, returning to St. 
 Louis by the shore of the continent ; and 
 for forty leagues we watch his retreating 
 figure journeying along, " always between 
 the roaring of the sea and the roar of 
 lions, with only the unnavigable waves 
 in view on the one hand and the imprac- 
 ticable desert on the othei-." 
 
 Homely as is the chevalier's compari- 
 son of Goree to a leg of ham, its aptness 
 will be confessed by any one who has 
 visited the island, or who will consult 
 the map which accompanies Golberry's 
 Fragmens d'un Voyage en Afrique pen- 
 dant les annees 1785-6-7 (1802). Gol- 
 berry went out to Senegal with De Bouf- 
 flers as captain of the engineer corps of 
 the colony and first aide-de-camp. He 
 describes himself complacently as a sol- 
 dier and a man of the world, and he ap- 
 pears to have attracted the attention of 
 Boufflers by his esprit and his talents, 
 and thereby to have gained his appoint- 
 ment. But the governor early discover- 
 ed the self-sufficiency of his subordinate, 
 and got to have a hearty dislike of him 
 both for his character and for his uniform. 
 Golberry's professional ability, he says, 
 perhaps too harshly, was not above that 
 of a pupil of the Pouts et Chaussees. 
 "He is the feeblest architect I know," 
 and withal he cannot bear criticism or 
 rebuke. He carries in him a sort of 
 leaven that keeps him always in a state 
 of ferment and spoils all his good qual- 
 
 ities. "He has a great deal of esprit, 
 but reserves it altogether for his con- 
 A'ersation : he makes no use of it in his 
 behavior." Whenever he took ship he 
 made himself obnoxious to everybody 
 on board. " In quitting my post," re- 
 marks Boufflers on his return to France, 
 " I experience regrets for all my poor 
 friends. I except M. de Golberry, be- 
 cause he is neither poor nor my friend. 
 He has just been trafficking in the most 
 indecent manner. On his voyage he 
 quarreled with all the officers, beginning 
 with the captain. ... I commissioned 
 him to bring me the various curiosities 
 that might be found in the countries he 
 should visit. He brought back only a 
 ragged old mat, and kept everything else 
 for himself, albeit acquired with goods 
 which I had lent him. He has neither 
 sensibility, nor honor, nor talent, and I 
 think I shall rid the colony of him." 
 
 After this warning, perhaps the less we 
 have to do with Captain Golberry the 
 better ; but having gone to his book for 
 our map, it is only fair to proceed a little 
 further in it if we would judge the man 
 on his merits, and not simply on the 
 prejudices of M. de Boufflers. And first 
 we must admit that this uncomfortable 
 aide-de-camp had more of the scientific 
 spirit than his chief. He wanted to have 
 Central Africa explored by way of Sen- 
 egal ; and if he lacked the courage or 
 the opportunity to engage in such an en- 
 terprise, he could not help envying the 
 British for the lead they had taken in 
 the same direction when Mungo Park's 
 narrative was first given to the world. In 
 that shabby transaction, too, by which he 
 stocked himself with African curiosities 
 at another's expense (to put it mildly), 
 one recognizes and perhaps half excuses 
 the too ardent "collector" — a creature 
 not so well known then as now-a-days. 
 Moreover, he was a good observer, and 
 should have been highly useful to any 
 but a lovesick administrator. He ex- 
 tols the gum of Senegal as the best in 
 the world ; says that the Moors of the 
 Sahara live on it, and that six ounces of 
 it will sustain a man for twenty-four hours; 
 that, besides, it has pectoral qualities, and 
 he suggests making it into tablets after 
 
AN AFRICAN FAIRHA VEN. 
 
 105 
 
 the fashion of " what is called in England 
 portable-soop " [sic). He reports gold- 
 mines in the country of the Bambouks ; 
 
 notes the sterile dunes along the land- 
 route from Senegal to Goree ; describes 
 the coast natives and their habits ; gives 
 
 details concerning the commerce of Go- 
 ree ; and in short, except that he applauds 
 Bonaparte's re-enactment of slavery in 
 
 the colonies, creates a very favorable 
 impression of his character. He shared 
 the opinion of his superior concerning 
 
To6 
 
 AN AFRICAN FAIRHA VEN. 
 
 the value of Goree as a central govern- 
 ment station for the whole coast from 
 Cape Blanc to Sierra Leone. Between 
 these extremities of the colony the island 
 was equidistant, and, uniting in its lim- 
 ited area many of the advantages of 
 Gibraltar, was, he declared, capable at a 
 small cost of a great power of resistance. 
 In 1786, however, both the batteries 
 or water-forts mentionedby Bouffiers and 
 the main fort at the southern end of the 
 island were in a wretched condition. For 
 nearly twenty years no enemy had ap- 
 peared in either harbor to test these works. 
 Thirty years before Golberry, the famous 
 philosopher Adanson had also judged 
 them inexpugnable ; but the irony of 
 Fate willed that his English translator 
 (London, 1759) should be able to append 
 a brief note in these terms: "Commo- 
 dore Keppel has lately demonstrated our 
 author's mistake." And, in truth, in the 
 presence of Keppel's fleet of two hun- 
 dred and seventy-four guns the garrison 
 of three hundred Frenchmen and their 
 black auxiliaries could only surrender 
 at discretion. During the four years of 
 British occupation that followed (1759- 
 62) the works were probably fairly main- 
 tained, but from that time till Boufflers's 
 advent we may suppose them to have 
 fallen away through neglect. It would 
 seem as if each new possessor of the isl- 
 and, overrating its natural strength, had 
 settled down in a false security, for few 
 strongholds have so often been contend- 
 ed for or oftener changed hands. The 
 Dutch, who got it of King Biram of 
 Cape Verde in 1617, made haste to fortify 
 it after a fashion, and after enjoying it 
 without dispute for nearly half a century, 
 are not to be reproached for having lost 
 it in 1663, seeing that they were attack- 
 ed in time of peace, without any warning 
 whatever. The hero of this exploit was 
 that English captain whom Dryden de- 
 scribes in his Annus Mirabilis as 
 
 Holmes, the Achates of the general's fight. 
 Who first bewitched our eyes with Guinea gold ; 
 
 As once old Cato in the Roman sight 
 The tempting fruits of Afric did unfold. 
 
 Very little good, however, did the Royal 
 African English Company derive from 
 this immoral proceeding. The Dutch 
 
 West India Company found a vindicator 
 in no less an admiral than De Ruyter, 
 who slipped away from the Mediter- 
 ranean in "wine-month" (October) of 
 the very next year, and on the 24th had 
 reversed matters at Goree, turning out 
 the British garrison of sixty, and putting 
 in their place a hundred and fifty of his 
 own men under Johannes Cellarius, who 
 at once set to work to repair the defences. 
 They were sadly dilapidated, for, as Oli- 
 ver Dapper relates, in the bad season 
 whole batteries melted and crumbled 
 away under the copious rains. Cellarius 
 strengthened Fort Orange on the heights 
 by adding three feet to the parapet, but 
 when he came to Fort Nassau on the 
 neck or peninsula at the northern ex- 
 tremity of the plain, he was obliged to 
 remake it altogether. Unlike the upper 
 fort, which was built of thick-jointed ma- 
 sonry, the lower was constructed merely 
 of loose stones piled together and ce- 
 mented with earth, so that when a gun 
 was discharged from it whole courses 
 of stone and earth wolild come rolling 
 down. The whole seemed tolerably 
 strong to Dapper, writing in 1676, but 
 "strong" is a relative word, and a yeai 
 later a French fleet under the Comte 
 d'Estrees readily captured the island, and 
 a third set of traders — the Senegal Com- 
 pany — committed their fortunes to this 
 barren rock. Their Dutch rivals return- 
 ed no more, for the capture was confirm- 
 ed to France by the Peace of Nimeguen 
 (1678), and over the upper fortress, now 
 dubbed Fort St. Michel, as over the lat- 
 ter, rechristened Vermandois, and the for- 
 ty acres included between them, the lilies 
 of France floated undisturbed till Kep- 
 pel, as already related, showed his flag 
 in those waters. He bore a Dutch name, 
 answering to the Dutch blood in his veins ; 
 and his war -vessels, the Torbay, the 
 Nassau and the Fougueux (among oth- 
 ers), singularly represented by their 
 names the three nationalities which by 
 turns had held and bten forced to re- 
 linquish the bit of basalt that forms the 
 subject of our narrative. 
 
 Captain Golberry remarks that the air 
 at Goree, as at Cape Verde, is always 
 cooler than at St. Louis of Senegal, and 
 
AN AFRICAN FAIRHA VEN. 
 
 107 
 
 GOVERNMENT HOUSE AT GOREE. 
 
 that convalescents at the latter place are 
 with decided benefit transferred to the 
 island hospital elevated some thirty feet 
 above the sea-level. In the winter season, 
 however (November to May, inclusive), 
 which is the most healthy, the air as 
 soon as the sun is up is dry and devour- 
 ing ; the disk of that luminary seems 
 double what it is in Europe, so that one 
 tires of its brilliancy {^' on s'ennuie de la 
 gloire de ce bel asire") ; and the coming 
 of the rainy season is welcomed on ac- 
 count of the clouds. But on the general 
 subject of the temperature and the pre- 
 vailing winds the curious will find abun- 
 dant particulars in the Annales de Chimie 
 (July, 1793) from the pen of M. Prelong, 
 another of De Boufders's lieutenants, who 
 was made director of the hospital at Go- 
 ree. The rainfall from June to October 
 he gives as fifty to sixty inches, and says 
 that it sounds like hail in France : dur- 
 ing the rest of the year it does not amount 
 to two inches. It is instantly absorbed 
 by the red soil, a volcanic product [pouz- 
 zolane) which Prelong turned to good ac- 
 count, for, finding it to resist acids, he 
 made it into a cement with which he re- 
 
 paired the cisterns of the fort. A great 
 part of his meteorological observations 
 were made at night, sleep being scarcely 
 allowed him by the heat, the rats and a 
 variety of insects which he takes some 
 comfort in caUing by names familiar to 
 him in his native pays. Of that cool 
 region he was often reminded, but nev- 
 er more pleasantly than on the 14th 
 of September, 1788, when his eyes were 
 gladdened by the sight of wagtails [ber- 
 geronnettes ) arriving from the north. 
 He bethought him that Adanson had 
 seen swallows at Senegal on the 9th of 
 October, and he remembered their leav- 
 ing the department of the Hautes-Alpes 
 tosvard the end of September. In their 
 spring migration back he bore them com- 
 pany, setdng sail from Goree about the 
 middle of May, 1789, duly fortified, we 
 may suppose, by his favorite remedy for 
 sea-sickness — twenty drops of sulphuric 
 ether in a spoonful of water — and reach- 
 ing Paris on the 2d of July. "On the 
 14th," he remarks, "the Bastile was 
 taken ; and I make bold to believe that 
 no patriot felt a livelier or sincerer joy 
 than mine." In this sentiment the Che- 
 
io8 
 
 AN AFRICAN FAIRHA VEN. 
 
 valier de Boufflers could hardly be ex- 
 pected to join. 
 
 Next to that of Gaboon, the harbor of 
 Goree is the best on the coast of West 
 Africa. To its excellent qualities the 
 island owes its name, as old Dapper ex- 
 pressly states, the Netherlanders having 
 found \'i2igood and safe r^art'stead [goede 
 Reede), or, as we designate it, a "fair 
 haven." Ships may anchor, indeed, on 
 either side, in the bay proper [rade su- 
 perbe, according to Vice- Admiral Fleuriot 
 de Langle), or less securely in the Straits 
 of Dakar under the lee of the Cape. 
 Quite likely the first Europeans who 
 availed themselves of this snug refuge 
 were those bold sea-rovers, the Normans 
 of Dieppe, traces of whose settlements 
 on the neighboring main in the latter 
 part of the fourteenth century are still 
 said to exist. The Portuguese traders 
 were fifty years behind them, and it was 
 February, 1502, when Vasco da Gama, 
 on his second voyage to Calicut, reached 
 Cape Verde, "well five hundred miles from 
 Portugal," and remarked that "the people 
 there walk stark naked, men and women, 
 and they are black, and they have no 
 shame." Nearly at the same time, Ves- 
 puccius, on his way to Brazil or home- 
 ward bound, may have tarried in these 
 waters, which presently were to become 
 the scene not of peaceful commerce, but 
 of inhuman violence. The colonization 
 of America quickly changed the nature 
 of the factories on this coast, and added 
 to their previous dealings in palm oil, 
 gum, ivory, and gold-dust the traffic in 
 slaves. As this traffic increased in im- 
 portance, the port of Goree rose into 
 prominence, and became the secure ren- 
 dezvous of the slavers from Europe and 
 America. In Dibdin's time the common 
 British sailor knew it well by visit or by 
 hearsay, and could sing with unction the 
 polygamous lay of his Bold Jack "In the 
 Ways:" 
 
 I've a spanking wife at Portsmouth gates, 
 
 A pigmy at Goree, 
 An orange-tawny up the Straits, 
 
 A black at St. Lucie : 
 Thus whatsomedever course I bend, 
 
 I leads a jovial life : 
 In every mess I find a friend, 
 
 In every port a wife. 
 
 Nor were the seamen of our Bristol and 
 Newport behind the British tar in their 
 familiarity with Goree. Both in Great 
 Britain and in the colonies a lively in- 
 terest was felt in retaining control of the 
 slave-trade there. The Boston News- 
 Z^//<?r of January 11, 1763, copies from 
 an English paper Mr. Alderman Heath- 
 cote's letter to the lord mayor of Lon- 
 don, "in which are the Sentiments of 
 this great Man upon the Concessions 
 which we are now said to be about to 
 make at the ensuing Peace. The first 
 Extract relates to the Restitution of Go- 
 ree." On this subject the worthy alder- 
 man (whose name has not been preserved 
 in our biographical dictionaries) was of 
 opinion that Senegal was not worth any- 
 thing without Goree to supply America 
 and the Sugar Islands with negroes. The 
 contracting sovereigns, however, regard- 
 less of his aldermanic importance, agreed 
 in Article IX. of the preliminary articles 
 of peace signed at Fontainebleau, Novem- 
 ber 3, 1762, that "His Britannic Majesty 
 shall restore to France the Island of Go- 
 ree in the condition it was in when con- 
 quered [by Keppel] ; and His Most 
 Christian Majesty cedes in full right, 
 and guarantees to the king of Great 
 Britain, Senegal." 
 
 Clarkson was then barely out of his 
 cradle, and Emile, ou De l' Education, 
 had but just seen the light. Neither the 
 one nor the other was visible in Alder- 
 man Heathcote's horizon as a greater en- 
 em}'^ of the slave-trade than the Treaty 
 of Fontainebleau. The Rights of Man 
 had a long battle before them. France 
 had not yet finally emancipated her col- 
 onies when (by the treaty of May 29, 
 1845) she joined England in an effort to 
 suppress the slave-trade by maintaining 
 fleets on the African coast. Captain (in 
 our day Admiral) Bouet-Willaumez, was 
 sent out with fourteen sail by the Second 
 Republic, and mustered them at Goree 
 about the ist of December, 1848. He 
 was eminently successful in re-establish- 
 ing the authority of the French flag along 
 the coast, and early in the following year 
 could report as registered at the port 
 of Goree one hundred and twenty-five 
 French trading-vessels of one hundred 
 
AN AFRICAN FAIRHA VEN. 
 
 T09 
 
 tons burden and upward, and one hun- 
 dred and thirty smaller craft. But as for 
 the slave-trade, he was forced to admit 
 that it was still in full blast {e7i pleine 
 activite), though almost wholly on ac- 
 count of Brazil. Since then the trade has 
 of course been completely suppressed. 
 
 Under the Second Empire, in the in- 
 terest of regular communication, the 
 French occupied the peninsula of Cape 
 Verde (1859), ^^^ proceeded to lay out the 
 town of Dakar along the bay of the same 
 name. Two long moles for the protec- 
 tion of shipping were securely built of 
 the loose basaltic rocks along the shore ; 
 and now the sentinel on the parapet of 
 Fort St. Michel opposite relieves the te- 
 dium of his promenade by watching the 
 arrival and departure of the steamers of 
 the Messageries, which put in to Dakar 
 to coal en route between Bordeaux and 
 Brazil, or the British steamers to Fer- 
 nando Po. The batteries which protect 
 the moles cross fire with the guns of the 
 fort on Goree, so that Dapper's measure- 
 ment of the strait — "a pederero-shot " 
 [een goteIing-scheut)—]\2i?, still some ap- 
 propriateness. Modern improvements 
 in artillery, to be sure, have somewhat 
 changed the standards of such measure- 
 ment, and his dimensions of the island 
 itself [een halve kanon-scheut in de 
 lengte, e}t een 7nusket-scheut in de brete) 
 would be hugely increased if Krupp or 
 Remington had the firing of the shots. 
 A thousand yards long, and on the aver- 
 age two hundred and thirty-five yards 
 wide, is what the learned Dutchman 
 wished to indicate for the island, and 
 three thousand yards for the straits which 
 separate it from the parent volcanic mass 
 of Cape Verde. This narrow channel 
 once crossed, there is instant communi- 
 cation between Goree and St. Louis by 
 means of the coast telegraphic line which 
 was built in 1862 ; and De Boufflers, were 
 he alive now, might reasonably hope to 
 see such an extension of ocean cables 
 as would enable him to converse with 
 his dear Sabran at either seat of his 
 tropical empire. It was in these straits 
 that Adanson, the pupil of Bernard de 
 Jussieu and of Reaumur, nearly lost his 
 life while endeavoring to land at Cape 
 
 Bernard in a small boat — perhaps the 
 "chaloupe" which Golberry used as a 
 ferry on one occasion ; perhaps the Yolof 
 
 "pirogue" still m dexterous use by the 
 
 natives, for whom the surf has no terrors. 
 
 The French naturalist's first view of 
 
AN AFRICAN FAIRHA VEN. 
 
 Goree was had September 4, 1749. He 
 had been eight days in coming from St. 
 Louis in an easterly storm whose abate- 
 ment was foretold by the fire of St. El- 
 mo, which "winded near a minute about 
 the top of the mast and the extremity of 
 the weather-flag, and then it dispersed," 
 with the sailors' blessings for a lucky 
 omen. Here is his account of Goree 
 after landing : 
 
 "This island consists of a low, narrow 
 piece of land, a small but very steep 
 mountain, the whole the sixth part of a 
 league in length. Notwithstanding its 
 confined extent, the situation renders it 
 a very agreeable place : toward the south 
 you enjoy a prospect terminated only by 
 the sea; northward, you discover at a 
 distance Cape Verde and all the other 
 capes and neighboring promontories. 
 Though it is in the torrid zone, yet they 
 breathe a cool and temperate air almost 
 the whole year round, which is owing to 
 the equality of days and nights and its 
 being continually refreshed by alternate 
 breezes from the land and sea. M. de 
 St. Jean, the director of this island, has 
 embellished it with several fine buildings : 
 he has likewise fortified it, and is adding 
 every day to the works, so that it is now 
 become impregnable. By his diligence 
 several fresh springs have been discov- 
 ered ; the gardens have been planted 
 with excellent fruit trees ; legumes have 
 been made to grow in great plenty : in 
 short, by these different advantages, of 
 a small barren island he has inade it a 
 safe and delightful residence." 
 
 He found that the rocks which sur- 
 round the island produced an infinite 
 number of shells and fish, and a little 
 later (end of January, 1750), in the fish- 
 season, the sea was full of fish of mod- 
 erate size, so that they rushed upon the 
 land in shoals, and the negroes wading 
 secured them by the basketful. Adan- 
 son put some in pails for specimens, and 
 kept them in his chamber. At that time 
 he was lodged on the plain, in a hut 
 built, negro-fashion, of straw. A month 
 after it was finished the naturalist had a 
 clear prospect through it, thanks to the 
 white ants, who had also penetrated his 
 trunk and gnawed his books, and even 
 
 his person while in bed, and would not 
 be drowned out by salt water nor vine- 
 gar, nor any other strong liquor. Their 
 first attack on him woke him up, and he 
 was startled by a light pervading the 
 room as of fire : it proved to be only the 
 phosphorescence of the fish in his pails. 
 But a grander sight awaited him out of 
 doors, for the whole sea was aglow from 
 the same cause. 
 
 Numerous were the excursions which 
 Adanson made, with Goree as his base. 
 Perhaps as famous as any of his observa- 
 tions were those in regard to the baobab 
 trees on the Magdalen Islands, an unin- 
 habited basaltic group some four miles 
 west from Goree and about two from Cape 
 Manuel, resembling in their prolonged 
 unbroken outlines the island of Campo- 
 bello off the coast of Maine. The bao- 
 bab [Adansonia) is met with not infre- 
 quently on the adjacent main — in groves 
 particularly on the slopes of the Paps, 
 and sparsely on the promontories, where 
 they occasionally serve the mariner as 
 landmarks. The trees which Adanson 
 examined on the Magdalens had a diam- 
 eter of five to six feet, and all showed 
 the names of Europeans cut very deep 
 into their bark. One of them bore the 
 date of the fifteenth century (1449), ^'^" 
 other of the sixteenth. But this was 
 pigmy vegetation compared with a bao- 
 bab afterward encountered on the way 
 to Cape Verde, which was no less than 
 twenty-five feet in diameter, and was, as 
 he imagined, "probably the largest tree 
 on the terrestrial globe." But as every- 
 body knows, the Adansonia has since 
 met its Waterloo in the Wellingtonia 
 [Sequoia). 
 
 One other observation by this savant 
 perhaps deserves mention in passing. 
 On the night of September 9, 1750, at 
 the island of Senegal, a vessel's mast 
 forty feet high, done all over with pitch 
 and tar, was struck by lightning, which 
 made a furrow two inches deep from one 
 end to the other without touching the 
 iron-work, tackling or any of the pitched 
 cordage surrounding it, and spent itself 
 on the quarter-deck, covered with a large 
 tarpaulin of thick canvas, also done over 
 with pitch. Upon this Adanson remarks 
 
AN AFRICAN FAIRHAVEN 
 
 VIEW OF DAKAR. 
 
 that "it seems as if the rosin broke the 
 violence of the thunder " \sic in the Eng- 
 lish translation], " and diverted it another 
 way. ... I leave it to philosophers cu- 
 rious about this sort of phenomena to 
 judge whether there can be a greater 
 analogy between the ordinary effects of 
 electricity and those produced on this 
 occasion by thunder." Two years after- 
 ward Franklin was flying his kite to 
 prove the identity of lightning and the 
 electric fluid. 
 
 According to Captain Golberry, the 
 population of the town of Goree in 1785 
 consisted of 116 proprietors, both free 
 negroes and mulattoes — say 522 souls, 
 plus 1044 captifs de la case, or domestic 
 serfs, plus 200 slaves of commerce, plus 
 70 to 80 soldiers, officers, employes, etc. 
 — in all 1840. In 1868 it was described 
 as very dense, and probably amounted 
 to 6000. The native inhabitants have 
 an excellent reputation — the men for 
 their boldness and skill as navigators 
 and their commercial enterprise ; the 
 women for their beauty and chastity. 
 Catholics by faith, they lead sober and 
 useful lives ; and to those who remem- 
 
 ber the days of slavery and the display 
 of barbaric ornaments of gold and jew- 
 elry, and the gay botdis, or balls, which 
 doubtless came down from the time of 
 De Boufflers, the town has a rather som- 
 bre aspect. The moralist easily finds a 
 compensation in the new order of things, 
 and scarcely regrets the disappearance of 
 the outward signs of levity. Across the 
 channel the Mussulman blacks of Dakar, 
 the Yolofs, are remarkable for their phy- 
 sique, which is suggestive much more of 
 the Hindu than of the Ethiopian. They 
 tolerate four wives, and maintain patri- 
 archal usages. Their language is de- 
 scribed by Golberry as meagre, but agree- 
 able and pure, and especially gracious 
 and tender in the mouths of their wo- 
 men. Arabic was introduced after their 
 adoption of Islam, and a few Portuguese 
 words occur in their speech. They for- 
 merly counted by fives with the right 
 hand, and very rapidly. When De Ruy- 
 ter surprised Goree he was in turn sur- 
 prised on being accosted by an old ne- 
 gro who had known him as a cabin-boy 
 in Flushing more than forty years before, 
 and who was in fact recognized by the 
 
AN AFRICAN FAIRHA VEN. 
 
 admiral. But nothing could induce him 
 to return to Zeeland. 
 
 Our tale draws to a close. During the 
 Napoleonic wars England again took 
 possession of Goree. On the 17th of 
 January, 1804, it was held by Colonel 
 Fraser with fifty- four white men, all told, 
 in poor condition ; on the i8th they were 
 obliged to surrender to a French squad- 
 ron commanded by Lieutenant Jean-Mi- 
 chel Mahe, after an engagement in which 
 a third of their little garrison was put 
 hors de combat. On the 7th of March a 
 British frigate with a significant name, 
 the Inconstant, brought Captain Edward 
 Stirling Dickson upon the scene, and on 
 the 8th the French garrison had capitu- 
 lated, and the British colors were once 
 more hoisted from the citadel. A year 
 later, Mungo Park, in his second ill- 
 fated expedition to the Niger, enlisted at 
 Goree thirty-five men of the Royal Afri- 
 can Corps, stationed there, together with 
 Lieutenant Martyn. In 1809, Major 
 Charles William Maxwell, of the same 
 corps, was in command of the garrison. 
 In 181 X, while the British were still the 
 masters at Goree (it was restored to the 
 French in 1815), a weary vessel dropped 
 anchor there after many days of calm. 
 She had on board an old gentleman of 
 seventy, reduced with gout and with the 
 privations of the voyage, for they had 
 fallen short of water, and were barely 
 saved by begging a supply from a pass- 
 ing vessel. He belonged to one of the 
 old families of Newport, and moved in 
 the society of the Wantons, the Codding- 
 tons, the Gardners and their equals. He 
 had in his younger days frequented the 
 coast of Africa, and had more than once 
 been at Goree, no doubt engaged in the 
 traffic which centred there, and which 
 not even John Woolman could make dis- 
 reputable at Newport. When in middle 
 life he returned to his native place, the 
 story goes that he brought with him 
 wealth that could be ineasured in bottled 
 gold-dust by the wheelbarrow-load. Late 
 married — too late, to a too-youthful bride 
 
 — he made his home in a grand dwelling 
 (still pointed out), from which there was 
 a glorious prospect over the harbor. Then 
 (to compress a tragedy into a few lines) 
 a blot fell on his scutcheon, and he be- 
 came a wanderer, with the pleasant image 
 of Goree luring him to cross the ocean. 
 It was to be for him the end of earth. 
 The day before Christmas he was over- 
 come by his infirmities. "Death," in 
 the language of a Providence paper, 
 "closed this transitory scene, and re- 
 moved him to another and, we trust, ' a 
 better world.' . . . His remains were 
 very respectfully entombed on the day 
 following, attended by the governor and 
 officers of the British garrison at Goree, 
 with a number of private gentlemen." 
 
 Lightly as we have touched upon the 
 dark side of the history of Goree, it is 
 impossible, on reviewing what we have 
 written, not to recall how many thousands 
 whose descendants count the hours of 
 gradual emancipation in Brazil, or as 
 freedmen still bear the marks of servi- 
 tuae in the West Indies and the United 
 States, found this much-fought-for port 
 anything but a Fairhaven. Regarding 
 it as one extremity of that horrible " mid- 
 dle passage," the accepted etymology of 
 its nanie seems a sarcasm and a mockery. 
 On the East Coast, as Livingstone tells 
 us in his Zambesi, the heavy yoke by 
 which slaves are driven from the interior, 
 and which he calls a slave-stick, is known 
 as "goree;" and this forked log seems 
 a fitter emblem than an anchor for the 
 arms of De Boufflers's principahty. But 
 time, we must admit, has changed all 
 that, and made the emblem of honest 
 commerce justly supplant that of greed 
 and rapine. The volcanic pile which 
 might once, in the name of humanity, 
 have been cursed twenty fathoms under 
 the sea, now lifts as high in the air its 
 beneficent pharos, by which no slaver 
 steers, and whose penetrating rays seem 
 to dispel not alone the blackness of night, 
 but the moral darkness which for more 
 than two centuries enshrouded Goree. 
 
PICTURES FROM SPAIN, 
 
 TWO PARTS.— I. 
 
 THE ESCORIAL. 
 
 BEFORE entering Spain, stop at Bi- 
 arritz in France and look about you. 
 If it is the bathing season when you 
 arrive, sit down upon the sands near the 
 
 sleepy surf and watch the gayly-robed 
 bathers as they come and go, singing 
 merry songs and gesticulating madly. 
 You will have come from Bayonne, 
 
114 
 
 PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 which is hardly interesting in itself in 
 ordinary times. It is only important 
 now because it is on the high-road to 
 Biarritz, the most fashionable of French 
 watering-places. It is true that it gave 
 the bayonet its name, and that it exports 
 good wines ; it has a magnificent prom- 
 enade down by the sea, and a consulate 
 or two, with consuls who are perpetually 
 absent on fishing excursions ; but it is 
 only moon to sun, compared with Biar- 
 ritz. When there is trouble in the Span- 
 ish mountain-country, Bayonne is filled 
 with refugees — dark, asthmatic-looking 
 men in huge cloaks — men who smoke 
 cigarettes and drink sugared water all 
 day at the cafes, and who generally have 
 no money with which to pay their bills. 
 All the inns have both Spanish and 
 French signs ; the diligences which 
 climb the hilly route to Biarritz are 
 drawn by hardy little mules imported 
 from beyond the Pyrenees ; and the 
 drivers speak the dulcet dialect of old 
 Spain more readily than the staccato 
 language of France. The old men love 
 to tell strangers tales of 1 8 14, and to point 
 out the ground fought over by Soult and 
 Wellington. In the hotels you will en- 
 counter Spanish habits — slovenliness in 
 the service, viands cooked in rancid oil, 
 and strong black wines, traitorous to An- 
 glo-Saxon brains. 
 
 Eugenie made Biarritz what it is. The 
 emperor Napoleon would never have 
 thought of going so far south to build 
 a royal residence ; but the Spanish- 
 born empress made her "Todos," as she 
 liked to call him, do very much as she 
 pleased, and the result was a palace by 
 the sea. In the prosperous days of the 
 Empire distinguished company thronged 
 at Biarritz : the ambitious Bismarck lifted 
 the burden of his care while he loitered 
 there ; the venerable Thiers dipped his 
 white bead in the whiter salt spray ; the 
 impel ial court graciously bestowed its 
 smiles there now and then ; and Spanish 
 grandees were innumerable. To-day 
 fashion still makes its rendezvous on the 
 high cliffs and the pleasant stretches of 
 upland with their superb outlook over 
 the waves ; but Bismarck and Thiers, 
 Napoleon and Eugenie, come no more. 
 
 Out of Biarritz to Bayonne the road 
 winds over high hills, among avenues 
 of noble poplars, which throw friendly 
 shadows to protect you from the glaring 
 sun. Suddenly, O gioja ! the beauty of 
 the romantic coast of the Bay of Biscay 
 bursts upon the view. In mid-October 
 all the villas that dot the hills and peer 
 from the luxuriant foliage are filled with 
 visitors. In the broad avenues of the 
 central town you will meet Americans, 
 English, Russians, and even Turks, all 
 intent upon pleasure. On the beach 
 hundreds of lithe Spanish and French 
 women are disporting in the water, rush- 
 ing out occasionally to roll cigarettes un- 
 der their umbrellas after the wetting. 
 The Spanish men, who hardly cease 
 smoking even when they are asleep, 
 go in bathing with their cigars in their 
 mouths, and consider it an art never to 
 let the highest wave cover their heads. 
 A favorite amusement is to drive a 
 train of mules loaded with screaming 
 and cringing ladies into the most furi- 
 ous part of the surf, and to see how long 
 the beauties can prevent themselves from 
 being washed off by the incoming crests. 
 Nowhere is the bathing really dangerous, 
 and the beach extends for miles along 
 the base of the steep cliffs. On the dil- 
 igences, which arrive every quarter of 
 an hour all day from Bayonne and San 
 Sebastian, are hosts of merry travelers, 
 singing and rallying the pedestrians : the 
 private carriages are wonderful in style 
 and variety. The railroad does not dis- 
 turb the tranquil seclusion of the place. 
 Toward evening a charming silence per- 
 vades the town, only to be broken later 
 by the rumble of tlie diligences or the 
 conversation of the couples engaged in 
 flirtation as they walk along the per- 
 fumed avenues. Under the awnings of 
 the green -latticed cafes sit dark -eyed 
 beauties listening to the liquid accents 
 of the Spanish peddler who has trudged 
 from Burgos or Valladolid to sell glaring 
 blankets, long knives with beautifully- 
 carved handles, and scent -bottles from 
 Tangiers. At last the moon peers up 
 over cliff and thicket ; a cool breeze 
 blows inland; the semi-tropical trees 
 hide the green, delicately-veined insides 
 
PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 "5 
 
 of theh" leaves, not to turn them until 
 the morrow's dew invites ; the peasants 
 gather in groups and sing soft melodies 
 in patois to guitar music ; a band at the 
 countess's ball minsrles its notes with the 
 
 sea's innumerous sounds ; and the va- 
 rious echoes seem to merge in and en- 
 hance the majesty of 
 
 —the solemn roar 
 Of the ocean'-S surf-returning. 
 
 AN ESTUDIANTINA. 
 
 From Biarritz to San Sebastian is but 
 an hour's ride on the rattling diligence, 
 yet in that single hour the traveler feels 
 that he has in some unaccountable man- 
 ner left Europe behind him. The archi- 
 
 tecture has changed; the costumes of 
 the people by the wayside are different ; 
 manners, speech, gestures, are no longer 
 the same. The grave and earnest Basque, 
 ignorant but conscientious and virtuous, 
 
Tl6 
 
 PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 salutes one with solemn courtesy as he 
 passes. Here and there one touches 
 upon a wayside relic of the abortive cam- 
 paign of Don Carlos. A priest saunters 
 slowly by, smoking a cigarette and lazi- 
 ly swinging his umbrella. Glaring white 
 walls, low, coarse and generally out of 
 repair, are capped by immense sloping 
 roofs. The fields have a neglected look, 
 except where a Basque fai-mer has been 
 busy. He suffers but little negligence or 
 unthrift about him. 
 
 San Sebastian is a delightful little city, 
 coquettish, fresh, flooded with brilliant 
 sunlight, set down at the base of lofty 
 mountains whose summits shine like 
 blocks of crystal. It extends from the 
 pretty bay of La Concha, at the mouth 
 of which is the island of Santa Clara, to 
 the mouth of the Urremea River, which 
 ripples gently and melodiously among 
 green and sloping hills. Seaward, from 
 the promontory of Bilbao even to Biar- 
 ritz, one sees the waves lapping crags 
 and masses of stone whose yellow and 
 reddish colors contrast strangely with the 
 white foam dashing now and then over 
 their summits. The traveler goes to San 
 Sebastian to remain one or two days : the 
 enchantment, which he would be quite 
 at a loss to give any definite reason for, 
 gains upon him; and he finds himself 
 still there, or at some point on the neigh- 
 boring coast, at the end of a fortnight. 
 If from time to time he wearies of the 
 jocund life of the town, he has only to 
 penetrate the mountains half a mile 
 away. There he finds valleys full of 
 shade and mystery ; deep gorges through 
 which bridle-paths wind in perplexing 
 fashion; pinnacles from which he can 
 look up to mightier pinnacles beyond. 
 Priests, smugglers, muleteers, peasant- 
 girls in red and yellow petticoats, gra- 
 ciously salute the wanderer with grave 
 bows and curtseys. If one stops at a 
 wayside inn, he is treated with the ut- 
 most honesty and consideration : he may 
 leave his purse on the table where he 
 took his supper, and the landlord will 
 restore it to him — something that cannot 
 be said of hosts in many other portions 
 of Spain. 
 
 The railway route from San Sebastian 
 
 to Madrid runs through one of the most 
 picturesque and impressive countries in 
 the universe. The scenery is of the 
 wildest description : the road traverses 
 yawning valleys, runs along the edges 
 of precipices, plunges into sombre and 
 deserted plains, winds thi'ough passes 
 cut out of the solid rock, and pierces the 
 very hearts of the mountains sixty-nine 
 times before the environs of Madrid are 
 reached. All the way to Burgos the ex- 
 press train, which moves as slowly as an 
 "accommodation" in the United States, 
 affords one a panorama of wildness and 
 primitive life or of positive desolation. 
 The villages are far apart : it is a relief 
 to come upon one after a toilsome jour- 
 ney across one of the most forbidding 
 landscapes in Europe. At the stations 
 where the trains pause motley crowds 
 gather and beg, and when the engine 
 starts again ragged children run along 
 the roadside while they can keep up, 
 crying, " O gentle sefior ! for the love of 
 God ! for the love of Christ ! one little 
 coin ! O senor ! O seiiora ! O senorita ! one 
 little coin !" If they see that begging is 
 useless, they fall back with grieved and 
 sullen faces. Sometimes the railway's 
 slender line winds beside an embank- 
 ment which allows the traveler a glance 
 up one of the tremendous defiles, at the 
 end of whicli blue ranges of mounta;ins 
 seein to melt gently into bluer sky : 
 through the defiles generally winds a 
 wide strip of road, fringed with fantas- 
 tic foliage and enlivened by a string of 
 mules carrying merchandise to the near- 
 est town, and driven by bare-legged peas- 
 ants. The "posadas" and "haciendas" 
 which ambitiously offer rest and refresh- 
 ment are of the dirtiest, and bring to 
 mind a country stable in America rath- 
 er than a rustic inn. The window-sills 
 outside are stained with slops thrown 
 carelessly from them ; the walls are hung 
 with tobacco-stalks and flax drying ; and 
 the pig reigns supreme in the front door. 
 Some of the mountain-sides which are 
 cultivated are so steep that the unoffend- 
 ing donkey that draws the primitive 
 plough has to brace his feet and slide 
 down the furrow, dragging the shouting 
 peasant after him. Agricultural imple- 
 
PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 117 
 
 ments are of the simplest character. A 
 plough is in some districts a straight piece 
 of wood, a beam sharpened at one end, 
 and fastened to the rude harness by a 
 clumsy contrivance. Donkeys and dwarf 
 
 yellow oxen do all the draught - work : 
 one rarely sees a horse outside any large 
 town. 
 
 In the express trains one meets with 
 
 dark - haired, dark - visaged gentlemen 
 
 A SUPPER WITH BRIGANDS. 
 
 who draw their hats down over their 
 eyes and puff cigarette smoke continu- 
 ally through their nostrils, who converse 
 httle, and who only unbend from their 
 haughty demeanor when some beautiful 
 
 girl, with her lace mantilla draping her 
 fine neck and shoulders, enters the car- 
 riage. But in the slow trains one gets 
 even more knowledge of the Spanish 
 populace than he is desirous of acauir- 
 
ii8 
 
 PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 ing. The Spaniard when he travels ap- 
 pears to fancy that he has an inahenable 
 right to take with him in the same car 
 in which he rides all his household goods 
 and farm produce. A stout farmer, clad 
 in a blouse, a pair of white corduroys, 
 leathern sandals and a broad hat with 
 little tassels around its edges, clambers 
 into a compartment already overcrowded. 
 He hands his nearest neighbor a cage of 
 chickens, deposits a small bag of flour 
 in a young girl's lap, pulls his growling 
 dog in after him, sets a basket of eggs 
 on an old woman's gouty toes, scram- 
 bles into a fraction of a seat, smiles, 
 makes a hundred apologies, and lights 
 a cigarette. Two or three muleteers, 
 clad in long striped cloaks, perfume the 
 car with garlic. A soldier, with his gun 
 slung over his back, pokes the muzzle 
 of the dangerous weapon into his neigh- 
 bor's eye occasionally. Every one inter- 
 lards his or her conversation with inter- 
 jections, and often with oaths shocking 
 to ears polite. If the journey is long, 
 some clever fellow pulls a guitar out of 
 a bag, thrums its strings, hums a ballad 
 in which the others join, laughing and 
 puffing smoke between the refrains, and 
 now and then keeping time by clapping 
 their hands and stamping with their feet. 
 At a railway station, at Miranda or 
 Burgos, when the train stops to allow 
 the passengers to refresh themselves, no 
 one hurries at all. Suppose twenty min- 
 utes to be the time allowed : every one 
 seats himself solemnly at the long table 
 in the dining-room and slowly eats and 
 moderately drinks, smoking between the 
 courses. As the twenty minutes' period 
 approaches its end the guard rings a 
 bell loudly and calls the seiiores to the 
 train. A few persons look around lan- 
 guidly, as if astonished at an unusual 
 noise, but they do not bestir themselves. 
 On the contrary, they settle into their 
 chairs and address themselves to the 
 dessert. When the train is five minutes 
 behind time the guard rings again, with 
 no better success. After he has rung a 
 third time, and, stalking majestically up 
 and down the platform of the station, 
 has begun to feign closing the doors of 
 the carriages, the travelers rise slowly, 
 
 wrap their cloaks around them with great 
 care, arranging each fold as if they were 
 about to be presented to the king, and, 
 lighting fresh cigarettes, stroll to the train. 
 They stand talking at the doors until the 
 guard pushes them into the compart- 
 ments, when they glare out at him as if 
 he were guilty of a great discourtesy. 
 
 Passing Burgos, he who does not care 
 to stop in the old town and note the 
 wonders of its streets and the discom- 
 forts of its beds, can see from the rail- 
 way, by day, the spires of its marvelous 
 cathedral. He will wonder at the in- 
 comparable richness of the facade, at the 
 walls, on every square inch of which are 
 the marks of the chisels of the grand 
 sculptors of the thirteenth century, and 
 he cannot help moralizing on the curious 
 taste which placed this Gothic wonder in 
 an arid and dreary country, where it rains 
 without benefiting the soil, and where a 
 cold wind chills the very marrow. Be- 
 yond Burgos the road leads through a 
 vast desert. The shepherds, shrouded 
 in their coarse rloaks, shiver as they 
 watch their flocks in their efforts to wor- 
 ry a scanty pasturage out of the rocky 
 fields. 
 
 Sometimes a train is invaded by a rol- 
 licking estudiantina on its way back to 
 the university at Salamanca after a va- 
 cation of wandering through villages and 
 towns and many a rough adventure. The 
 students whose parents are poor organize 
 musical excursions yearly. A dozen of 
 them form a little orchestra, playing upon 
 guitars, flutes, violins and paiidcrillos, 
 and clad in the curious costume which 
 they wear in the university — a long black 
 robe descending almost to the feet, and a 
 three - cornered hat, with spoon and fork 
 stuck in one of the folds of this last-men- 
 tioned article of clothing — they enter 
 some village at nightfall and boldly ser- 
 enade the damsels listening from behind 
 the blinds upon the balconies. If they 
 arrive half famished at an inn in the 
 mountains, they order the best dinner 
 that is to be had ; devour it gayly ; then, 
 when the moment of reckoning comes, 
 they take their instruments from their 
 bags and offer to pay in music. The 
 host curses the estudiantitia, but, while 
 
PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 119 
 
 grumbling, yet accepts this form of pay- 
 ment. At night they climb upon the 
 balconies and serenade the ladies so 
 boldly that they occasionally encounter 
 rough receptions from husbands or lov- 
 
 ers. When their vacations are over they 
 fly to the nearest railroad, and re-enter 
 Salamanca and the university walls as 
 gravely as if they had been at prayer 
 ever since the close of the last term. 
 
 THE PROCESSION OF GIANTS. 
 
 As one approaches the environs of 
 Madrid he is struck with the sinister 
 and desolate character of the country. 
 He sees pine forests, huge rocks which 
 overhang narrow paths along mountain- 
 
 sides ; caves in which brigands hide ; 
 little torrents which leap over precipices 
 close by the railway. Here are plains 
 filled with rocks which have been shaken 
 into the strangest forms by volcanic ac- 
 
PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 tion. The high crags shut out the sun- 
 light from this plain. 
 
 Shortly before arriving at the Escorial 
 the route passes Las Navas, one of the 
 vilest and most dangerous little places 
 in Spain. The houses are of one story, 
 built of coarse stone, rudely carved : 
 black swine wander freely in and out 
 of them. Here the people are grossly 
 ignorant: dozens could say with truth 
 that they have never visited Madrid — 
 that they know nothing of politics ; and 
 as for reading and writing, they are not 
 even acquainted with any one who pos- 
 sesses those extraordinary accomplish- 
 ments. At Las Navas girls, dark-brown 
 as Arabs, offer the traveler fresh milk in 
 little clay pots such as one sees in Al- 
 gei'ian towns ; a hunter strolls up with 
 a wolf slung over his shoulder, and pro- 
 poses to sell it; a hare may be had for 
 ten cents. Life is not difficult in this 
 region, yet the people live miserably. 
 A blight seems to overhang the whole 
 country round about. As I wandered 
 through this plain and toward the frown- 
 ing Escorial -one dark October day, I 
 could not help fancying that a curse 
 had fallen on the locality where Philip 
 II. lived and prayed and sinned against 
 God, when he fancied himself zealously 
 serving him. 
 
 This impression of blight and curse is 
 heightened as one proceeds across the 
 rocky and uninviting country between 
 the main line of rail to Madrid and the 
 monastery of the Escorial. Leaving the 
 comfortable first -class carriages of the 
 express train to plod across the waste is 
 not very agreeable, but one is well repaid 
 by the sights within the monastic walls. 
 Shepherds, beggars and priests are the 
 only persons one encounters : the shep- 
 herds are dirty and ragged, and handle 
 their crooks very much as if they would 
 like to knock one on the head with them. 
 They answer questions civilly enough, 
 nevertheless, and point out the cross 
 perched on a high rock which marks 
 the spot where Philip II.'s dreadful or- 
 ders were carried out — where wretches 
 were hanged almost daily. Beneath the 
 loose bits of rock the curious tourist may 
 sometimes find pieces of whitened cords 
 
 which crumble as he endeavors to pick 
 them up. The shepherds handle these 
 ghastly souvenirs of a horrible past as if 
 they still had the taint of heresy upon 
 them. 
 
 A winding road between high rocks 
 clothed in brown moss leads one to a 
 ruined square in which a dismantled 
 church rears its forlorn front. A few 
 steps up a steep hill beside a thick wall 
 bring one to a point whence he can see 
 the Escorial, with its immense dome and 
 the four gloomy towers rising at the four 
 angles. Philip II. built this colossal ed- 
 ifice in the middle of the sixteenth cen- 
 tury to replace the church of San Loren- 
 zo, which was knocked over by cannon- 
 balls during the siege of San Ouentin. 
 The cynical imagination of the over- 
 religious architects of the period could 
 devise no better form for this monster 
 mona.stic palace than that of the grid- 
 iron upon which the unhappy Lawrence 
 suffered martyrdom. The four towers 
 are supposed to represent the feet and 
 the royal apartments the handle of the 
 frying instrument. Gloomy and unim- 
 pressive gardens stretch away on all 
 sides to stone walls which border green- 
 ish ponds and lakelets. The entrance 
 to the edifice is wonderfully impressive. 
 A monumental gate leads into the " Court 
 of the Kings," and brings one face to face 
 with a gigantic portico of severe simplici- 
 ty. At the summits of Doric columns are 
 six mighty caryatids representing the six 
 kings of Judea, supporting a triangular 
 capital of immense size. Out of a block 
 of granite a broad staircase is cut. The 
 church, decorated with Luca Giordano's 
 daring frescoes, reminds one of the many 
 curious freaks of which artists were guilty 
 during the decadence of the Italian school. 
 Luca's tranquil colors and strongly -ac- 
 cented designs show clearly the struggles 
 of a great artist to rise above the follies 
 and failings of his epoch. The rich rel- 
 iquaries; the delicately -chiseled coffers 
 in which repose the bones of saints; the 
 massive altar built of jasper and mar- 
 ble and surrounded with gilded bronze ; 
 statues of Charles V., Philip II., queens 
 and infantas, kneeling with clasped hands 
 and upturned eyes; the stalls in precious 
 
PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 woods ; the missals filled with Gothic vi- 
 gnettes ; the heavily- and coarsely-deco- 
 rated ceilings, — produce an effect of cold 
 and confused magnificence. In a small 
 chapel in the rear the eye is consoled by 
 
 Benvenuto Cellini's incomparable sculp- 
 ture in white marble of Christ upon the 
 cross. In the sacristy are many ad- 
 mirable paintings — Grecos and Coellos 
 which chill the imagination, but lead one 
 
 THE KINGS. 
 
 to admire- the artists. The painting by 
 Claudio Coello, representing the proces- 
 sion which received the holy Host sent 
 to Philip by the emperor of Germany, is 
 astonishingly rich in color : the hard, im- 
 
 perious faces of the Catholic dignitaries 
 surrounding the king strike one unpleas- 
 antly : the visitor recoils from them. 
 
 Wandering through a labyrinth of cold 
 and gloomy corridors, one at last reaches 
 
PICTUKES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 ajittle staircase by which he may climb 
 to the dome of the Escorial and look over 
 the vast plain. Far away, out of an in- 
 distinct mass of buildings, rise the roofs 
 of the royal palace in Madrid. To the 
 left one sees a dense forest, with a few 
 straggling hamlets on its edge ; and at 
 the base of the monastic palace's thick 
 and frowning walls nestles a little vil- 
 lage, whose precipitous streets are hor- 
 ribly paved with cobble-stones set on 
 end. A few w^retched trees struggle for 
 existence in a small market-place. At a 
 stone fountain's basin a bevy of laugh- 
 ing girls are filling water-jars, and some 
 dejected -looking donkeys are greedily 
 drinking and cynically whisking their 
 tails. 
 
 The Pantheon of the kings, the great 
 vault of the Escorial, where lie the mor- 
 tal remains of the mighty Charles, of 
 Philips II., III. and IV., of Charles II. 
 and Charles III., of the queens Isabella, 
 Anne, Margaret, and Elizabeth de Bour- 
 bon, is an unwholesome cellar, from 
 which one is glad to escape into the 
 open air. Even the sublime and pa- 
 thetic figure of Christ which surmounts 
 one of the altars seems to bring no ray 
 of tender hope, no blessed consciousness 
 of immortality, into this royal charnel- 
 house. It is impressive and repulsive 
 at once to look from the present into the 
 past, as one does in peering into the sar- 
 cophagus of one of the greatest of em- 
 perors. One may see under the glass 
 lid which seals the coffin of Charles V. 
 the body of the royal dead man only 
 partially covered by its shroud. The 
 face is still in an almost perfect state of 
 preservation : one nostril and one of the 
 eyebrows have crumbled because of con- 
 tact with the air, but the profile is still dis- 
 tinguishable, and fragments of the red- 
 dish beard yet cling to the chin. Perhaps 
 it is not wrong to feel annoyed, while in 
 this tomb of the sovereigns, that one can- 
 not also thus freely contemplate all that 
 is left of Philip II., the terrible. But he 
 is securely shut in in a black marble sar- 
 cophagus denoted only by a plain plate 
 bearing his name. One is curious to 
 know whether the calm of death gave 
 any sweetness to the imperious and un- 
 
 forgiving face of the monk and tyrant 
 who scourged Europe in the bitterness 
 of his malicious zeal. Ascending to his 
 private apartments, which are left much 
 as they were when he passed into the 
 silences beyond, one almost fears to en- 
 counter his spectre walking through the 
 narrow chambers or seated in the niche 
 which permitted him to hear mass with- 
 out entering the chapel, muttering his 
 prayers and nursing his gouty limb as 
 he supports it upon a velvet cushion. 
 One can fancy him seated before his 
 little wooden table brooding over the 
 papers which contain secrets of the state 
 — a blond tyrant, with grayish-blue eyes ; 
 with a thick, protruding under lip ; with 
 lean and bony cheeks, covered with livid 
 skin ; with small ears, which catch the 
 slightest sound ; with his cruel chin con- 
 cealed beneath a symmetrical beard. 
 Or one seems to see him musing in his 
 quaint old chair, whose back is studded 
 with copper nails riveted into leathern 
 bands ; to watch him as his hands wan- 
 der over the bosom of his velvet doublet, 
 feeling for the chaplet which so rarely 
 quits his person. This terrible mocking 
 spectre of Philip the tyrant, Philip the 
 monster, seems to pursue the hapless 
 visitor as he roams through the muse- 
 um, to which an uncivil monk grudging- 
 ly admits him, looking at the paintings 
 by Ribera, Giordano, Bosch and Tintoret, 
 and does not quit him until he has gain- 
 ed the open air and left the village and 
 monastery of the Escorial far behind 
 him. 
 
 The Spaniards, who are so very fond 
 of killing people, pay but small atten- 
 tion to the disgusting condition into which 
 many of their cemeteries fall through neg- 
 lect and the poverty so general in great 
 numbers of the small villages. In some 
 of the northern sections of Spain the 
 most horrible spectacles may often be 
 witnessed. The common ditches in which 
 the poor are hastily interred are so lightly 
 covered that the effluvium from them is 
 nauseating to the last degree. The dead 
 who have left behind them some little 
 wealth are cemented into tombs con- 
 structed in immensely thick walls : in 
 most provinces the bodies of the rich are 
 
PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 123 
 
 placed in a horizontal position in these 
 curious cells, and inscriptions upon mar- 
 ble or stone tablets indicate the rank and 
 importance of the deceased. Once a 
 year, on All Saints' Day, the cemeteries 
 
 are visited by crowds bearing flowers 
 and garlands, which are strewn upon 
 the walls, and here and there upon the 
 trenches in which repose the unhonored 
 remains of the poor. In the evening 
 
 «■ 
 
 servants in livery stand before the walls 
 in which "the representatives of noble 
 families are entombed, and hold torches 
 which cast a weird light over the burial- 
 place. In Madrid the " common ditches" 
 are covered with a black cloth, upon 
 
 which the rich carelessly throw a little 
 of the money they so scrupulously with- 
 held from the unfortunates during their 
 lifetime. One corner of these cemeteries 
 always remains dark and unvisited amid 
 the general illumination : it is that in 
 
124 
 
 PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 which those who have suffered upon the 
 scaffold are buried. A funeral among 
 the poorer classes is a very unceremoni- 
 ous affair : the priest and the mourners 
 often smoke their cigarettes as they pro- 
 ceed to the cemetery. Nothing can be 
 more repulsive in the eyes of the more 
 decorous Northern nations than the spec- 
 tacle of the funeral procession of a little 
 child in some of the Spanish towns. The 
 diminutive coffin is covered with flowers 
 and gaudy decorations, and a host of 
 chattering children surround the bier of 
 the little one, laughing and disputing 
 places with each other. The face of 
 the corpse is always exposed, so that 
 every passer-by in the streets can make 
 his comment upon it. 
 
 In numerous provinces the insane are 
 allowed to wander about the streets and 
 public squares, and Spanish law does 
 not always require that even those who 
 are dangerously crazy shall be shut up in 
 asylums. A few years since I encoun- 
 tered a madman, crowned with straw 
 and armed, with a formidable club, in 
 a street in Saragossa. This irresponsi- 
 ble person fancied himself marshaling 
 an army, and motioned to all who ap- 
 proached to give him a wide berth, that 
 his soldiers might pass. I kept prudent- 
 "*y out of reach of his stick, but ragged 
 children ran after him, teasing him and 
 mocking at the unhappy man, who some- 
 times foamed at the mouth with rage. 
 Two French travelers were once prom- 
 enading in the little village of Las Rosas, 
 when they were alarmed by a frightful 
 noise behind a low wall. Peering over 
 the mass of stones into a small yard, 
 they saw a miserable man afflicted with 
 the worst symptoms of hydrophobia. 
 His lips were white with foam, and he 
 snarled at them and showed his teeth. 
 While they were planning a retreat the 
 alcalde of the village appeared, accom- 
 panied by a group of armed peasants. 
 Three or four stout fellows lassoed the 
 madman, dragged him into a ruined 
 cottage near by, and, at the order of the 
 alcalde, shot him, leaving the body un- 
 buried where it fell. The alcalde, ques- 
 tioned by the travelers, informed them 
 that "the rage was frequent" among the 
 
 people over whose destinies ne presided ; 
 and the reason which he gave for it was 
 as remarkable as revolting. He said that 
 the homeless dogs in the neighborhood 
 often disinterred the corpses of the poor 
 in the cemetery, and, feeding upon them, 
 straightway became mad, and ran to 
 communicate their madness to the living 
 people whom they encountered. When 
 asked why he did not keep the cemetery 
 in repair, so that such things could not 
 happen, he answered, "No funds." 
 
 The stories of brigandage in Spain 
 have doubtless been greatly exaggerated, 
 but there are still brigands enough in the 
 country to make a journey in the moun- 
 tain-districts somewhat unsafe and adven- 
 turous. Now and then bandits upset and 
 rob a diligence, and within the past few 
 years several railway trains have been 
 sacked by daring fellows, who have gen- 
 erally escaped capture. In the vicinity 
 of Toledo, ancient and romantic city 
 filled with architectural wonders, brig- 
 ands have many fastnesses into which 
 the soldiery never succeed in penetrat- 
 ing. The proprietors of the lands upon 
 which these bandits take refuge dare not 
 inform against them : assassination would 
 surely be the result. In this singular 
 region of ravines and precipices among 
 the rocky cliffs, or the plains through 
 which the Tagus winds amid olive-groves 
 or past mighty oaks whose broad shade 
 is never visited by the sun, the brigand 
 makes his home : from it he sallies forth 
 when anxious for adventure ; to it he 
 returns unmolested. Sometimes a joy- 
 ous band arrives, flushed with success 
 and wine, at the house of a well-to-do 
 farmer but a short distance from the city. 
 The brigands post their sentinels at his 
 doors, compel him to serve them meat 
 and di"ink, and to carouse with them 
 until dawn, when they steal back to their 
 haunts among the hills, where wolves 
 prowl along their track, where vipers 
 hide in the recesses of the rocks, and 
 where the hoarse cry of the crows echoes 
 from the tops of the tallest trees. 
 
 Once in a while a brigand is taken 
 by strategy. One evening five members 
 of the civil guard who had been sent in 
 quest of a famous leader of banditti en- 
 
PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 125 
 
 tered a little hostelry near Toledo, and 
 sat down to rest. They unbuckled their 
 sword-belts, laid sabre and carbine aside, 
 dined judiciously and drank injudicious- 
 ly. After they had reached their second 
 
 score of cigarettes the identical man they 
 sought dropped in. He saluted them 
 gravely, noticed their condition, cover- 
 ed them with his cocked rifle, sat down 
 and ordered supper. It was served, the 
 
 A MARRIAGE IN. SPAIN. 
 
 host obeying under compulsion. A stout 
 priest happening to enter, the bandit in- 
 vited him to sup with him, intimating 
 that should he refuse there would be 
 
 accepted, ate and drank freely, mingling 
 in his conversation much pious advice to 
 the brigand. When supper was over the 
 robber, emboldened by wine, called up 
 
 one priest less in Spain. The holy man I one of the civil guards and demanded 
 
126 
 
 PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 his boots. "They are newer than mine," 
 he said, " and I want them." The trem- 
 bling guard, overcome, with fear and liq- 
 uor, approached. The bandit, thinking 
 the priest a harmless fellow, turned his 
 back upon him as he stooped to look at 
 the guard's boots. No sooner had he 
 done this than the priest sprang upon 
 him like a tiger, threw him down, seized 
 his rifle, broke the ruffian's leg with a 
 well-directed shot ; then, rousing up the 
 guards, had the bandit bound upon a 
 mule's back and taken to Toledo to 
 suffer justice. The priest was an ex- 
 dragoon, and had seen brigands many 
 times before. 
 
 At Toledo the Goths, the Moors, the 
 Jews and the Spaniards successively 
 erected curious and fantastic buildings, 
 sumptuous palaces, sombre monasteries 
 in brick and wood, profusely decorated ; 
 but Nature built in more grotesque fash- 
 ion than any of them. Under the bril- 
 liant moonlight of a Southern evening 
 the old town seems like a vision from 
 some enchanted land inhabited by fai- 
 ries or sorcerers. The Tagus roars 
 through granite passes beside ruined 
 Arabic arches, or ripples over dull-col- 
 ored sands in the town. The huge ram- 
 parts and gates built by Wamba are 
 dwarfed by the mighty ranges of the 
 Guadalupe which rise serene and mag- 
 nificent in the distance. On the seven- 
 peaked rock which forms the foundation 
 for all the quaint buildings narrow streets 
 stretch hither and thither in seemingly 
 inextricable confusion. The dwellings 
 seem each to be jealous of the other: a 
 tall house appears determined to crowd 
 a little one into the neighboring abyss ; 
 a church has grappled with a warehouse, 
 and is apparently urging the priority of 
 its claim to the narrow site. The careful 
 observer, wandering at his will from av- 
 enue to avenue, is amazed at the riches 
 which he sees displayed on every hand. 
 Door-posts, columns, gates, ceilings, 
 floors, roofs, chimneys are loaded with 
 ornamentation of the most varied kind. 
 The cathedral is lined with paintings rep- 
 resenting the persecution of the Catholics 
 by the Moors. In the sacristy, Giordano, 
 Goya and Greco have exhausted the re- 
 
 sources of their art upon the ceiling 
 After contemplating the dazzling trea- 
 sures in the vaults of this celebrated 
 church, it is painful to come out again 
 into the open air and to note the squalor 
 and ignorance among the inhabitants 
 of the poorer class. Virgins decorated 
 with thousands of pearls and diamonds, 
 saints in solid silver and in superbly- 
 decorated precious woods, objects of art 
 whose market value would be hundreds 
 of thousands of dollars, are hidden 
 away from the gaze of the masses, and 
 are only at rare intervals unveiled to the 
 prying eyes of the stranger. 
 
 This unique city of Toledo is famous 
 for the religious processions which are 
 still a prominent feature of Spanish out- 
 door life, and which may also still be 
 seen in all their pristine glory at Seville 
 and Malaga. Many of the most touching 
 stories of Holy Scripture are represent- 
 ed by persons employed especially for 
 the purpose, and the populace enjoys the 
 odd spectacle in a decorous and reverent 
 manner. In the first days of Holy Week, 
 Toledo and Seville are crowded with vis- 
 itors from all parts of Spain and France. 
 In some of the Spanish cities the rdles 
 to be sustained in the procession are ad- 
 judged to those who will agree to fiiU 
 them for the least money. In Seville 
 and Malaga he who represents the Sa- 
 viour in the procession to the crucifixion 
 is often paid as much as two thousand 
 reals (about four hundred dollars) ; and 
 he richly earns it, for he has to under- 
 go a severe flagellation from the begin- 
 ning to the end of the route. In Tole- 
 do the procession of Los Nazarenos (the 
 Nazarenes) is the first spectacle in Holy 
 Week. At the head of the line march 
 a number of stout fellows clad in black 
 velvet costumes of the time of Philip IV., 
 wearing on their heads pointed hoods, 
 and making dolorous music with trum- 
 pets and muffled drums. Behind them 
 are ranged in regular order the groups 
 of the Passion; and in curious contrast 
 to these are men-at-arms in the armor 
 of Charles V.'s day. Each group is pre- 
 ceded by a master of ceremonies, resplen- 
 dent in evening dress partially concealed 
 under a light and loosely- fitting cloak. 
 
 ■'! I 
 
PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 127 
 
 These gentlemen wear on their breasts 
 silver medals of the order of Charity, 
 and carry in their right hands long stafifs 
 surmounted by little crosses. Behind the 
 "Passion" comes a rabble of penitents, 
 whose faces are concealed by immense 
 hoods, and who stagger under the weight 
 of a cross to which is nailed a tawdrily- 
 bedizened figure of Christ. Priests and 
 acolytes follow ; the fume of incense from 
 swinging censers loads the air ; the sound 
 of solemn song drifts up to the balconies 
 from which dark-eyed maidens peer at 
 the throngs. In the public squares tall, 
 robust men, with gayly-colored handker- 
 chiefs bound about their heads, and with 
 long cloaks draped gracefully around 
 their forms, stand motionless as the line 
 passes them. Old women prostrate them- 
 selves and kiss the ground upon which 
 one end of the cross is from time to time 
 suffered to rest ; urchins tumble and shout 
 on the pavements ; and the powerful sun- 
 light penetrates into every nook and cor- 
 ner, giving the only gayety possible to 
 a scene which always calls up remem- 
 brance of the ferocious and bigoted 
 Spain of the days of the Inquisition. 
 
 The procession of the giants in Bar- 
 celona is one of the most remarkable 
 sights in Spain. It is a masquerade 
 which inevitably mystifies the stranger, 
 but throws the native population into 
 paroxysms of delight. A dozen enor- 
 mously tall figures, representing legend- 
 ary men and women dressed in ancient 
 costumes, promenade the streets, easily 
 looking into the third - story windows. 
 They are figures artfully constructed so 
 that they can be borne upon the heads 
 of stout fellows, who now and then set 
 down their burdens and emerge from the 
 draperies to breathe. Around these giants 
 dance dozens of bronzed-faced men dress- 
 ed as women, and behind them march 
 troops of children intended to represent 
 angels. The child at the head of this 
 angelic host is usually the son or the 
 daughter of one of the richest merchants 
 of the city : the dainty little body has 
 wings made of tulle fastened upon card- 
 board: sometimes a bevy of children, 
 ranged about a placid and beautiful wo- 
 man, are intended to represent angels 
 
 grouped around the Madonna. In their 
 wake follow long rows of pupils of re- 
 ligious societies ; the officials of the city, 
 carrying wax tapers in their hands ; and 
 finally, escorted by military bands and 
 surrounded by priests and soldiers, the 
 throne of one of the earliest of canon- 
 ized Catalanian kings — a golden chair 
 richly chased, encrusted with jewels and 
 heaped with flowers — is triumphantly 
 borne before the eyes of the praying 
 thousands. 
 
 The rabble of Madrid occasionally in- 
 dulges at Christmas-tide in rather serious 
 practical joking which is dignified with 
 the name of " The Kings." A crowd of 
 low fellows, playing upon discordant 
 horns and thumping drums, sun^ound 
 the first simple fellow who happens to 
 pass, and throw about his neck a mule 
 collar to which dozens of bells are at- 
 tached. They then command him to 
 carry a tall ladder, to the top of which 
 is fastened a basket. He is informed 
 that he must assist at the ceremony of 
 the search for the three kings who came 
 from the East to visit the manger in 
 which once lay the" heaven-born Child." 
 This always occurs at night, and the vic- 
 tim, dazzled by the glare of the torches 
 and alarmed at the imperative manner 
 in which he is addressed, obeys all the 
 commands given him. After he has 
 borne the ladder through many streets 
 amid the jeers of the crowd, he is order- 
 ed to mount it and to look for the kings. 
 He climbs the ladder : no sooner is he at 
 the top than those supporting it allow it 
 to fall down, and he gets a broken head 
 or limb as the reward of his credulity. 
 
 Troops of wandering gypsies swarm 
 in Spain. In the vicinity of Grenada, 
 Malaga, Valencia, Barcelona and Seville 
 their camps are frequently pitched, and 
 the vagabonds worry the peasantry of 
 the neighborhoods into giving them em- 
 ployment. Full well the farmers know 
 that unless the king of a gypsy band is 
 supplied with the needful rations for his 
 tribe he will steal them, and they prefer 
 to make work for the company. The 
 "king" is usually a robust fellow, tall 
 and stately : his olive-colored features 
 are grave as those of the haughtiest 
 
128 
 
 PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 hidalgo ; his royal garments consist of a 
 soiled suit of white linen, and as a scep- 
 tre he wields a long whip, useful when 
 he employs his elegant leisure in the 
 classical pursuit of mule-shearing. On 
 
 his splay feet he wears a pair of straw 
 sandals ; a sombrero covers his closely- 
 clipped hair ; a rose-colored shirt with a 
 huge collar clothes his breast. He has 
 a passion for jewelry, and wears immense 
 
 THE BROKEN GUITAR. 
 
 rings upon his fingers and hoops of gold 
 in his ears. In his girdle are two or 
 three long knives from Albacete, and 
 the shears with which he clips the restive 
 mules. The queen, his wife, is a savage- 
 
 looking woman of ungainly form, with 
 long skinny hands, black piercing eyes, 
 which she persistently rolls in the most 
 mysterious and oracular fashion : hei 
 robe is of many colors, and is also gen- 
 
PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 129 
 
 erously adorned with grease from the 
 cooking - pot. Around her neck she 
 wears a variety of tahsmans and charms, 
 which she can be induced to part with 
 only when the maidens of the towns 
 near by put gold pieces into her claw 
 and beseech her for safeguards against 
 evil or for tokens with which to gain 
 the love of the caballeros whom they 
 fancy. In every camp one finds a saucy 
 brood of naked children, who indulge in 
 the most astonishing bodily contortions 
 as a stranger approaches, in the hope of 
 extorting a few small coins, for the pos- 
 session of which they fight desperately 
 among themselves. The gypsies are hos- 
 pitable : the humblest beggar may share 
 their shelter and food. They sell baskets 
 and necklaces, and pillage only when 
 they cannot get enough to eat by chaff- 
 ering and fortune-telling and tinkering. 
 Sometimes they stain their hands with 
 human blood : a corpse is found by the 
 wayside, but the camp is gone next day, 
 and justice does not pursue the king and 
 his tribe very far. 
 
 The fervor and intensity of Southern 
 passion in Spain finds one of its most 
 admirable expressions in the serenade. 
 There are few Spanish villages in which 
 the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet 
 is not nighdy repeated. The lover be- 
 
 gins the acquaintance with a few notes 
 upon his guitar beneath his loved one's 
 window. If the fair one be not obdurate, 
 he has won her heart by the tenth ser- 
 enade. Often two rivals arrive at the 
 same time beneath the window of a 
 belle : then there is a tragedy unless 
 one ignobly flees. Sometimes a young 
 man is encouraged many times in his 
 serenading before the adored one vouch- 
 safes him a word. In Seville, some years 
 since, a youth who had been encouraged 
 by one of the fairest of the Andalusian 
 maidens arrived under her balcony, and 
 began, as he had often begun before, 
 a love-ditty. He looked up : no light 
 burned in her window; the street lamp 
 only, flickering faintly at the house-cor- 
 ner, threw a feeble gleam upon the image 
 of the Virgin in a niche of the wall. As 
 he was wondering at his lack of success 
 the great oaken door of the mansion 
 creaked on its hinges, and a priest came 
 out. "Go away, my son," he said gen- 
 tly : " the good girl within is dead ; she 
 died but a few moments ago." The 
 Andalusian broke his guitar, knelt for a 
 moment before the image of the Virgin, 
 then rushed away into the darkness, and 
 the next morning a boatman drew hii 
 corpse out of the Guadalquivir. 
 
PICTURES FROM SPAIN 
 
 COr:CLUDING PART. 
 
 WOMEN AS BULL-FIGHTERS. 
 
 WHEN the citizen of Madrid has no 
 mantle, he wraps himself in his 
 pride as a cloak, and it keeps him warm. 
 You sing to him in vain of the charms 
 130 
 
 of Paris and of Venice : he listens haugh- 
 tily, but no feeling of envy aiises in his 
 mind. He rambles in the Buen Retire, 
 firmly convinced that it is the finest gar- 
 
PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 131 
 
 den in the world; the beauties prome- 
 nading in the Prado are to him the only- 
 types of womanhood worth considering 
 for an instant ; and his thin lips are 
 wreathed with supercilious smiles as he 
 asks the stranger to mention a museum 
 fit to be compared with that of his much- 
 adored Spanish capital. He loves Mad- 
 rid, " even its stains and faults," as Mon- 
 taigne did the gay and wicked Lutetia 
 of his time ; the dirtiest corner is for him 
 invested with poetic charm ; the piercing 
 blasts from the mountains, sweeping down 
 with deadly force across the arid plain 
 upon which an injudicious monarch 
 placed the chief of Spanish cities, are 
 more welcome to him than the balmy 
 breezes of Seville or Malaga. Not Lon- 
 don nor Paris cockneys are more un- 
 reasoning in their blind attachment to 
 all the pleasant and unpleasant features 
 of their native towns. 
 
 I entered the Puerta del Sol in Madrid 
 one afternoon during the spasmodic rev- 
 olution of 1S69. The great oval place, 
 surrounded with high, gloomy -looking 
 dwellings, shops and hotels, was filled 
 with a variegated assemblage of people 
 of the middle and lower classes ; and 
 every individual who could read was 
 hastily buying papers and scanning their 
 contents. In a few days eighteen or 
 twenty mushroom journals had sprung 
 into existence, and their columns were 
 filled with the most exaggerated of po- 
 litical jargon. Old women, barefooted 
 and bareheaded, stalked to and fro, 
 screaming forth the merits of the Eqical- 
 ity, the Discussion, the Combat. In their 
 wake followed ragged urchins, urging the 
 claims of the Impartial, the Diary of the 
 People, the Epoch and the Correspond- 
 ence. Curious to hold in my hand one 
 of the smallest and newest of the jour- 
 nals, I beckoned to a crone to follow me 
 to a neighboring cafe, selected my paper 
 and searched my pockets for the appro- 
 priate coin with which to pay. But I 
 found no small change : the venerable 
 vender had none, refused my proffered 
 gold -piece, demanded her paper back, 
 and overwhelmed me with expletives and 
 objurgations. A tall, grave Spaniard 
 seated near me arose, touched his hat 
 
 courteously, produced from his pocket 
 the proper money, paid the woman, 
 handed me the paper, which she had 
 already taken from me, and when I de- 
 sired to pay him held up his hands in 
 sign of protestation ; then he resumed 
 his seat, and straightway ignored my ex- 
 istence. 
 
 In the Puerta the water-peddler, the 
 aquador of sonorous voice, incessantly 
 passed and repassed, carrying his tin 
 filled with cooling drink. From time to 
 time he was stopped by thirsty pedes- 
 trians, who drank freely and much. If 
 the Spaniards consumed as much wine 
 as water, Spain would be covered with 
 inebriate asylums rather than monas- 
 teries and cathedrals. Catalonians, clad 
 in round antique hose fastened at the 
 waist by violet-colored girdles, in stiff 
 doublets and straw sandals, discussed 
 politics in animated fashion. Murcian 
 mountaineers, grave as Arabs, whom 
 they resemble, were grouped at street 
 entrances. Peripatetic merchants from 
 Alicante offered cloths from Alcoy and 
 lemons and dates. These wandering 
 commercial men were dressed in linen 
 trousers with red silk sashes at the 
 waist, black velvet vests ornamented 
 with white metal buttons, and mantles 
 of the broadest and most contradictory 
 colors. Around their heads colored 
 handkerchiefs were bound. Salaman- 
 cans, Sevilians, Majorcans, Manchegos 
 with their girdles filled with long knives, 
 hastened by, rolling out their words and 
 accompanying them with long, sweep- 
 ing gestures. A blind beggar played the 
 guitar and sold lottery-tickets alternate- 
 ly. As the twilight deepened into dusk, 
 the night-watchmen began their rounds 
 and announced the hour in quavering 
 voices. In most of the Spanish towns 
 these watchmen, called serenos, are arm- 
 ed with a mediaeval pike and a lantern. 
 They carry the keys of the doors open- 
 ing into the courtyards of the houses on 
 their round, and let the tardy lodgers 
 in. 
 
 The gravity, excessive sobriety and 
 dignity of the thousands of people as- 
 sembled in the great cafes in the vicinity 
 of the Puerta del Sol are striking. Be- 
 
132 
 
 PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 fore nearly every lounger stands a glass 
 of sugared water : he consumes this with 
 the same satisfaction which the German 
 or the Englishman finds in his beer. The 
 
 talk is not loud : people rise and depart 
 as quietly as from a church. They hus- 
 band their gayety for the festivals of their 
 saints, and their energy for the ferocity 
 
 of their revolutions. Only the street- 
 merchants bawl. 
 
 The country round Madrid is so arid 
 and desolate that one is agreeably dis- 
 appointed to find the city filled with 
 
 beautiful gardens, some of which have 
 no rivals in Southern Europe. In the 
 Prado, which is to Madrid what the 
 Champs Elysees are to Paris, all the 
 grades of Spanish society are amply rep 
 
 4 
 
PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 ^ZZ 
 
 resented every pleasant evening. The 
 beautiful promenade, with its double 
 row of noble trees, has but few architec- 
 tural embelishments. One of the rich- 
 est art-museums of Europe lies hidden 
 behind sombre and prosaic walls ; the 
 fountains of Neptune and of Cybele are 
 handsome, but not remarkable ; and the 
 obelisk of red granite known as the mon- 
 ument of the " Second of May " is a sor- 
 rowful souvenir of the French occupa- 
 tion. Under the trees are hosts of little 
 countersmadeof decorated wood, whence 
 agile waiters dispense cooling drinks to 
 the thousands seated at the long rows of 
 little tables. The Madrid public is thirsty 
 both summer and winter. Toward sun- 
 set long lines of carriages freighted with 
 the grace and beauty of the capital ap- 
 pear on two driveways, between which 
 pedestrians stroll smoking the inevitable 
 cigarette and taking off their hats with 
 grave courtesy as ladies pass. Young 
 officers mounted on horseback canter 
 slowly past the panorama of loveliness 
 and fashion. Any of these horsemen 
 can make a cigarette, twisting, filling 
 and lighting it, with one hand while he 
 holds his bridle-rein securely with the 
 other. In the midmost alley of the Pra- 
 do old men talking of finance or of their 
 dinners, politicians, soldiers-, and nurse- 
 maids surrounded by children, are gen- 
 erally to be found. In a third alley 
 young ladies of the middle class, accom- 
 panied by their mammas or their waiting- 
 maids, or severe and cynical-looking du- 
 ennas, are surrounded by adorers, who 
 sit beside them and gossip while the 
 night grows old. From beneath the fine 
 lace mantillas, and from behind deftly- 
 managed fans, flash the most magnetic 
 of glances. The mannei^s of these beau- 
 ties and their courtiers are usually frank, 
 although environed with much etiquette, 
 and the joyous, careless laughter of the 
 damsels sounds like the ringing of silver 
 bells. In spring or summer evenings 
 the Castellanas or the Recoletos, favor- 
 ite resorts for those who drive in car- 
 riages, are redolent of the perfume of 
 geraniums, lilacs and laurel-roses : soft 
 and warm breezes fill the orange sky. 
 A kind of gflamour is thrown over even 
 
 the sterile landscape which stretches away 
 beyond the obelisk. Side by side with 
 the thousand evidences of wealth and 
 luxury to be found in the Prado stalks 
 the gaunt and wan figure of Misery, 
 holding up its bony hands for the coins 
 that rarely come. 
 
 The Retiro is a great garden - park 
 which the people of Madrid call their 
 Versailles. It is delicious : the perfumed 
 thickets, the gently -sloping lawns, the 
 luxuriant bowers, enchant the senses. 
 From the high portico of one of the pa- 
 vilions there is a sweeping outlook over 
 the desolate plain through which the rail- 
 way winds to Saragossa, and in the midst 
 of which rises one huge bluff crowned 
 with fortifications and batteries which 
 constitute one of the most important 
 defences of the capital. The lakes and 
 fountains are of mediocre interest. Queen 
 Isabella showed a marked fondness for 
 this garden, and spent many an even- 
 ing there, with questionable adorers at 
 her feet. 
 
 San Isidro is the patron saint of Mad- 
 rid, and the people enter upon a gala 
 epoch, which is sometimes prolonged 
 for a fortnight from the fifteenth of May, 
 when the saint's festival begins. San 
 Isidro, it appears, was a poor servant 
 who was so exceedingly pious that he 
 at last worked miracles. He began his 
 holy career by praying about three- 
 fourths of the time, and while he was 
 thus engaged his work was done by in- 
 visible hands. One day his wiclced mas- 
 ter caught Isidro praying in a little dilap- 
 idated chapel in a field, and began beat- 
 ing him. After he had broken several 
 stout sticks over the peasant's back, he 
 began to feel thirsty, and commanded 
 Isidro to bring him a glass of water. 
 Isidro struck the ground with his spade, 
 and a cooling spring began to flow there, 
 and has never ceased flowing. At an- 
 other time a baby fell into a deep well, 
 and Isidro rescued it by commanding the 
 water to rise and deliver up the drowning 
 infant. Naturally enough, Isidro had a 
 very pious wife, who also worked mir- 
 acles, and a church stands not far from 
 the place where she was wont to spread 
 her mantle on the Manzanares River and 
 
134 
 
 PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 pass over dry shod to a shrine where she 
 liked to worship. 
 
 Madrid could not well refrain from 
 celebrating the festival of a saint so well 
 connected and so amply provided with 
 
 all the leading virtues ; and the popula- 
 tion gives itself up to unrestrained joy 
 until the epoch has passed. On the 
 morning of May fifteenth hundreds of 
 carriages, laden with merry excursion- 
 
 EVENING AMUSEMENT 
 
 ists, clatter out of the Puerta del Sol 
 down Toledo street, and away across 
 the Toledo bridge to the immense plain 
 where a fair is held. The beggars run 
 after them and shriek for alms in the 
 
 MADRID HOUSE. 
 
 name of San Isidro. But every one who 
 has any money is too earnestly bent upon 
 losing it at play or in eating and drink- 
 ing to give much thought to charity. 
 At night the militia and tlie civil guard 
 
PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 135 
 
 bring back to Madrid a long procession 
 of the offenders arrested during the day 
 — thieves, would-be assassins, actual 
 murderers, too boisterous revelers and 
 cheats — all tied together with ropes in a 
 melancholy procession, and throw them 
 into jail, where they doubtless spend the 
 dark hours supplicating San Isidro. Per- 
 haps they curse him : such things have 
 been known to happen. Once, upon a 
 San Isidro's day, the clouds sent down 
 torrents of rain. The merchants at the 
 fair, exasperated at this, rushed to the 
 Toledo bridge, upon which stands the 
 statue of the saint, and gave it a good 
 stoning. But the rain did not cease 
 until the next day. Other saints some- 
 times receive similar treatment in Spain. 
 There is no epithet too vile to bestow 
 upon San Antonio if he allows a horse 
 to die after he has eaten grain blessed 
 by the priest, no matter how hopeless 
 the animal's malady may be. 
 
 Few Americans witness the Spanish 
 Carnival, but that of Madrid is far more 
 picturesque and interesting than are those 
 of Venice and Rome. The masquerad- 
 ing is bolder, has but few restraints, and 
 is indulged in by all classes. Men, wo- 
 men and children wear the most absurd 
 costumes and play the most fantastic 
 tricks. The streets are filled with groups 
 of dancing peasants and with carriages in 
 which the young ladies and gentlemen 
 of the nobility are so artfully disguised 
 that they cannot recognize each other. 
 " Cytherea's postman," clad in a costume 
 fabricated entirely with postage-stamps 
 of all countries, made his appearance 
 one year upon the Madrid streets in Car- 
 nival-time distributing perfumed billets. 
 Toward the close of this frisky season 
 an absurd ceremonial, called " The Bu- 
 rial of the Sardine," usually occurs. A 
 venerable donkey draws a creaking bier 
 above which a dead sardine is hung. 
 A crowd of maskers, dancing, shouting, 
 singing, follow the bier to a place chosen 
 for burial.-where the little fish is interred 
 with much mock pomp, after which his 
 mourners dance for hours above his 
 grave. I have never discovered the 
 origin of this custom. 
 
 In the houses of the people of the 
 
 middle class during the whole Carnival 
 season reveling and dancing are the only 
 occupations. Sometimes, in passing by 
 an open door, one may see a group eager- 
 ly watching the dancing of a young girl 
 mounted upon a huge table. As her 
 lithe figure sways to and fro beneath 
 the image of the Virgin which looks se- 
 renely down from a dusty niche in the 
 wall, the excited people shout, clap their 
 hands and beat each other upon the 
 backs in pure joy. Now and then two 
 youpg men rush into deadly combat in 
 front of the very table on which the girl 
 is dancing, each angry with the other 
 because he has dared to compliment the 
 maiden freely. 
 
 The barbarity which even the kindliest 
 critic cannot fail to discover in the Span- 
 ish character receives its most extraordi- 
 nary illustration in the bull-fights in which 
 women do battle with the beasts. After the 
 season of the principal bull-fights is over, 
 a second series is inaugurated in Madrid, 
 and in this stout young Amazons take 
 the places of the hardy brutes who usu- 
 ally play the matadors. These heroines 
 bind up their abundant hair with long 
 ribbons, and around their bodies wear a 
 wicker bottomless barrel, which protects 
 them against the more furious assaults 
 of the tormented animals. These wo- 
 men, when dancing before the bulls and 
 inciting them to combat, look more like 
 turtles walking on their hind legs than 
 human beings. They are frequently 
 thrown high in air, and now and then 
 come crashing in their osier barrel down 
 upon the spectators. The animals chosen 
 for this minor series of combats are ordi- 
 narily young, and their human torment- 
 ors avoid killing them if possible. The 
 rings are frequently invaded by crowds 
 of amateurs who are provided with long 
 flexible poles, by the aid of which they 
 leap over the backs of the maddened 
 bulls that rush at them. A few years 
 since children were introduced in the 
 rings in combats with bull calves, in 
 which the poor little misguided human 
 creatures were sometimes crippled for 
 life by the calves, whose play was too 
 rough for them. 
 
 One day, when a Spaniard had no 
 
136 
 
 PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 money, he heard that a bull-fight was to 
 take place in the afternoon in one of the 
 rings at Madrid. He went to a dentist 
 and sold two of his beautiful front teeth 
 for the peseta which he must pay for ad- 
 
 mission. This will serve to illustrate the 
 madness of desire among the populace 
 for these spectacles. The toreadors who 
 risk themselves to please the people are 
 acclaimed in the most affectionate man- 
 
 CATCHING WILD BULLS FOR THE RING. 
 
 ner on the streets. As one of them stands 
 in the centre of an arena, with the eyes 
 of ten thousand people glaring down 
 upon him, with ten thousand faces dis- 
 torted with the rage for blood around 
 
 him, he fancies himself a hero. He 
 turns gracefully, poses, gesticulates, sa- 
 lutes ladies in the balconies, kisses his 
 hands to his especial friends. Before 
 the contest begins, an usher, clad in ?. 
 
PICTURES FROAI SPAIN. 
 
 137 
 
 black costume of the Middle Ages, ar- 
 rives mounted on a superb Andalusian 
 horse, caracoles about the ring, and final- 
 ly, pausing before the box of the govern- 
 or, takes off his hat with dainty flourish 
 and asks that the keys of the enclosure 
 in which the bulls are kept be handed 
 to him. Then ensues a procession of i?^- 
 pados, of banderillos, of cacheteros and 
 of picadores. These various tormentors 
 are clad in elegant garments which ex- 
 hibit the admirable suppleness of their 
 muscular forms. The picadores are arm- 
 ed with pikes and are mounted upon 
 horses. At a given signal the usher re- 
 tires, the gates are opened and the bull 
 bounds into the ring. He shakes his 
 noble head, flourishes his broad horns 
 and rushes at the horses. The picadores 
 push him back with their pikes, but the 
 poor horses are often fearfully gored. 
 The foreign spectator gazing at one of 
 these barbarous fights finds himself in- 
 stinctively wishing that the bull may kill 
 a man each time he charges, and that 
 the unoff"ending horses may escape in- 
 jury. But not so with the Spanish public. 
 It roars with joy when a horse is disem- 
 boweled. It beats upon the railings with 
 frenzy when a picador and his steed are 
 thrown into the air. It menaces, foams 
 at the lips, imprecates, insults when either 
 man or beast shows any faltering or cow- 
 ardice. The women's eyes gleam with 
 delight when the battle is bloody and 
 disastrous to both sides. The bull pauses 
 confounded as he sees red, blue, green, 
 yellow cloths shaken at him from all 
 sides ; the banderillos fill his shoulders 
 and neck with iron harpoons and flaming 
 darts, which excite the beast to the wild- 
 est transports of rage : he bellows, he 
 moans, he hurls himself to the ground, 
 he rises again, and he sees before him, 
 kneeling upon one knee with a cape 
 wound about one hand and a sword in 
 the other, the impassible figure of the 
 toreador, who is intent upon killing him. 
 He plunges upon this new enemy : the 
 man steps aside with the quickness of 
 thought and wounds the passing bull 
 with his sharp sword. This manoeuvre 
 is repeated many times. At last the gov- 
 ernor announces his permission to kill 
 
 the bull. Then the man with the sword 
 stands firm, and awaits the animal as he 
 makes a new sally : the keen weapon 
 flashes between the horns and is driv- 
 en into the nape, and the beast falls as 
 if struck by lightning. The populace 
 shriek and applaud : the Anglo - Saxon 
 spectator goes away sick at heart, and 
 anxious to see a wild bull suddenly rush 
 into the street and fatally gore a dozen 
 men and women, thus avenging the bar- 
 baric and useless slaughter of his kind. 
 
 We are told that the bull -fighters are 
 extremely pious, and that they pray be- 
 fore shrines for hours before entering 
 the arena. This mode of preparation is 
 taking unfair advantage of the bull. 
 
 Once in a Madrid ring a bull was 
 matched against a lion, a tiger and a 
 score of ferocious dogs. The lion began 
 the assault. He sprang for the bull, but 
 received such a shock from the creature's 
 mighty head that he rolled on the sand. 
 Second effort, the same lack of success. 
 The lion then sat down on his haunches, 
 looking very much ashamed of himself. 
 The tiger and the dogs retreated into 
 corners, and contented themselves with 
 growling. They were left in the ring at 
 night. The next morning the animals 
 were found in the same position, and the 
 bull remained master of the situation un- 
 til he was released. 
 
 At another time a formidable bull was 
 matched against a colossal elephant. The 
 bull made but one attack : the elephant 
 threw him thirty feet, then rushed upon 
 him. and stamped him to death. The 
 spectators were frightened, and hun- 
 dreds fled from their seats into the open 
 air. 
 
 Herds of wild bulls roam over the 
 plains and mountains in the vicinity 
 of Madrid, and every week a dozen or 
 twenty stout victims are brought down 
 to the capital and trained for the sacrifice. 
 The adventurous fellows who secure these 
 ferocious animals for the delectation of 
 the populace are called __<frt««</i?r^j. Once 
 in a while one or two of them are brought 
 back to Madrid with their limbs and 
 heads broken, either by some assault of 
 the bulls or by blows from clubs in the 
 hands of enraged villagers, who object 
 
^rri 
 
 ^3S 
 
 PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 to having the animals driven through 
 the hmits of their hamlets. The gana- 
 dero, mounted on his beautiful Andalu- 
 sian steed and dressed in hose of leath- 
 er and doublet profusely garnished with 
 
 triple rows of metal buttons, is an impos- 
 ing and curious figure. He has at his 
 tongue's end many a story of hairbreadth 
 escapes from whole herds of bulls. In the 
 Guadarrama range of mountains these 
 
 THE PASSION-PLAY. 
 
 ganaderos acquire, as shepherds and 
 ' bull whackers " from earliest boyhood, 
 the peculiar training necessary for their 
 dangerous career. 
 At Valencia, as at Barcelona and To- 
 
 ledo, religious mystery-plays and proces- 
 sions form one of the chief amusements 
 of the populace. In the principal thea- 
 tre of Valencia Tlie Pussioft of Christ is 
 annually performed : the spectacle 's re- 
 
PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 139 
 
 peated nightly for a fortnight in years 
 when the old city of the Cid is not dis- 
 turbed by riot or revolution. For hours 
 before the play is to begin the square 
 in front of the theatre is crowded with 
 people from the neighboring mountains. 
 The mountaineers, with their blankets 
 on their backs, their arms naked to their 
 shoulders, their girdles filled with knives 
 and their long rifles strapped upon their 
 backs, quarrel with each other for places 
 nearest the entrance. The women cook 
 the supper for their families over little 
 fires built in the streets : hundreds of 
 persons bring rude mattresses with them 
 and sleep in the open air after the per- 
 formance is .finished. 
 
 The Passion combines reverential treat- 
 ment of sacred subjects and common- 
 place dramatic effects in the most pecu- 
 liar manner. The curtain rises on a 
 scene loaded with Arabic decorations. 
 Magdalene is disclosed combing her 
 long tresses, looking at herself in a sil- 
 ver mirror and soliloquizing upon her 
 affection for the Saviour. Suddenly Ju- 
 das enters, and tells her of his love for 
 her : she repulses him in the most igno- 
 minious fashion. Judas, furious, leaves 
 her, crying out that he will have revenge. 
 At this point a few of the naive specta- 
 tors generally warn Judas to beware or 
 they will inflict summary punishment 
 upon him. The scene changes. The Sa- 
 viour is seen bidding His n:iother adieu. 
 Mary is overcome by a presentiment of 
 doom, and urges Him to remain with 
 her. But the curtain at the back of the 
 stage opens, and discloses a purgatory 
 filled with choristers representing the 
 spirits of the condemned bewailing their 
 sad fate. "Mother, these souls suffer un- 
 utterable anguish," are the words of the 
 Saviour : " I must deliver them." 
 
 All the phases of the divine passion 
 succeed in regular order, and are often 
 portrayed with rough realistic vigor. The 
 "flagellation" is sometimes so alarming- 
 ly real in appearance that the mountain- 
 eers in the audience menace with death 
 those who ply the scourges. So serious 
 and reverent are the lookers-on that they 
 refuse to be startled froin their equanim- 
 ity even when they see Saint John at the 
 
 wings with a slouch hat on to protect his 
 head from draughts of air, or when they 
 are told that Magdalene rolls cigarettes 
 behind the scenes and chats with the dan- 
 cing-girls. Occasionally, the most mon- 
 strous absurdities occur upon the stage. 
 In the tableau of the "resurrection " one 
 evening the figure of the risen Redeem- 
 er, as it passed through the air, toppled 
 over and hung head downward until the 
 person filling the role was nearly suffo- 
 cated. This Passion had such an exci- 
 table effect upon the populace that the 
 bishops of Barcelona and Madrid for- 
 bade its representation in their cities. 
 Old women often spat upon the ground 
 to express their rage when Judas ap- 
 peared upon the scene, and if the poor 
 wretch's identity were recognized on 
 the street any evening of the perform- 
 ance, he ran the risk of being torn in 
 pieces. 
 
 The lower orders of Valencia are ter- 
 rible in the expression of their malice, 
 frightfully persistent in their vengeances. 
 They are also heroic and noble in the 
 willingness with which they will sacrifice 
 themselves for their ideals. I have seen 
 the streets and public squares of Valen- 
 cia bathed in the blood of her common 
 people who had rushed madly to the 
 fray because there were indications that 
 the Republic was to be taken away from 
 them. They have been at last awed 
 into temporary inaction by superior num- 
 bers, but some day they will rise again. 
 They nourish the bitterest hatred for all 
 the machinery of personal and central- 
 ized government, and for those who con- 
 trol its movements. The people of Bar- 
 celona are identical in sentiment with 
 those of Valencia. A few years since 
 they organized a savage pursuit of a 
 woman who was suspected of furnish- 
 ing information to the secret political po- 
 lice, and mobbed her through the streets 
 until she was covered with bruises and 
 blood. The wretched woman was com- 
 pelled to take to the housetops to save 
 her life. 
 
 On the festal day of San Vicente, pa- 
 tron of Valencia, the tradesmen form long 
 processions in his honor, and the young 
 people of the upper ranks erect platforms 
 
I40 
 
 PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 in the open air upon which tableaux show- 
 ing the principal events in the life of the 
 holy man are given. Every hundredth 
 year witnesses one of the grandest fes- 
 tivals of the Roman Catholic Church in 
 
 San Vicente's honor. All the marvels 
 of the ecclesiastical treasury are exhib- 
 ited in the narrow Valencian streets. 
 Twelve stout fellows carry the cross, 
 which they are strictly enjoined not to 
 
 A BARCELONIAN MOB PURSUING A WOMAN. 
 
 set down. If, overcome with fatigue, 
 they disobey this injunction, they are 
 heavily fined, and the cross belongs 
 thenceforth to the church upon whose 
 parish soil it falls. Gigantic figures of 
 
 Saint Christopher bearing the child Jesus 
 upon his shoulder, of Methuselah, and 
 of numerous other saints fill the ranks 
 of this pageant. 
 
 In Estremadura and in various neijrh- 
 
PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 141 
 
 boring provinces the mystery-plays are 
 conducted by the priests in the open air, 
 and often last for entire days. But the 
 coming generation will probably know 
 them no more. 
 
 An execution in Spain is preceded by 
 many ceremonies which must be pecu- 
 liarly agonizing to the criminal ; yet it 
 must be admitted that the garrote is, 
 on the whole, far more humane than the 
 hangman's rope. The condemned crim- 
 inal is rarely subjected upon the scaffold 
 to those awful and barbarous delays, to 
 the bungling preparations for slaughter, 
 which frequently characterize the execu- 
 tion of the supreme penalty of the law 
 in America. The Spanish executioner 
 turns a screw with one movement of his 
 powerful hand, and all is over. But the 
 poor wretch is compelled to pass through 
 three days of penitence before he mounts 
 the scaffold. In a gloomy vault, sur- 
 rounded with the emblems of the Cath- 
 olic faith, he remains with a priest beside 
 him, reciting the customary prayers, to 
 which he is compelled to respond. Some- 
 times the criminal gives way under the 
 frightful mental torture, and is obliged to 
 take to his bed, from which he is drag- 
 ged at the appointed hour to the place 
 of punishment. On the morning of an 
 execution the commissioners of the So- 
 ciety of Charity of the locality in which 
 the crime has been committed prepare 
 the victim for his last journey. If a wo- 
 man is to be executed, a curious spec- 
 tacle is presented — that of the ladies of 
 the nobility with their own hands pre- 
 paring the criminal for the executioner's 
 hands. The charitable societies also 
 agree to care for and to give a certain 
 amount of education to the children of 
 the father or mother executed for a cap- 
 ital crime. When the prisoner is ready 
 to set out for the scaffold, he is presented 
 to his executioner. This functionary kisses 
 his hands, bids him a formal adieu and 
 begs him not to harbor any malice against 
 him. The criminal is then placed upon 
 a mule with his hands tied together, and 
 a little rustic cross is held where he can 
 see it. At the head of the sombre pro- 
 cession march priests singing requiems 
 and holding up crucifixes ; the charitable 
 
 societies come next ; and behind them 
 appears the instrument of execution in 
 the midst of a detachment of cavalry. 
 It is a platform a little less than six feet 
 high, accessible by a small staircase. 
 From its middle rises a tall post to which 
 is attached an iron collar, which by the 
 turn of an enormous vise can be brought 
 suddenly together so as to crush the neck, 
 and to break the spinal coluinn. The 
 criminal seats himself upon a stool in 
 front of the post : the executioner adjusts 
 the collar, and before the assembled 
 people have time to note the expression 
 upon the face of the doomed one the 
 vise has done its work : the head leans 
 slightly forward. The priests continue 
 their chants while the crowd disperses. 
 The body remains exposed upon the 
 scaffold until sundown, when it is placed 
 in an open coffin, upon each end of 
 which are painted skulls and crossbones, 
 and is carried to the hospital, whither it 
 is generally escorted by ?, rabble of old 
 women muttering prayers and flourish- 
 ing candles of yellow wax in their skinny 
 hands. 
 
 If the sovereign passes by the scaffold 
 just as the execution is about to take 
 place, one of the members of the So- 
 ciety of Charity kneels before him, pre- 
 sents him the cross and begs for the 
 pardon of the criminal. It is never re- 
 fused. But Spanish monarchs of the 
 present day take pains not to walk 
 abroad when an execution is to occur 
 in the capital. 
 
 There is an instance upon record of a 
 lack of skill on the part of a Spanish ex- 
 ecutioner which is very remarkable. It 
 occurred in January, 1873. The garrot- 
 ing machine to which a notorious crim- 
 inal had been attached was new and the 
 vise refused to do its office. After the 
 first effort the criminal shook his head 
 mournfully, and turned to look at the 
 executioner. A loud shout of mingled 
 horror and exultation rose from the as- 
 semblage in front of the scaffold. But 
 the executioner coolly took a knife, whit- 
 tled the post, and arranged the collar for 
 some minutes, settled it anew upon the 
 criminal's neck, and the second trial 
 succeeded. The people were greatly ex- 
 
142 
 
 PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 cited, and announced their belief that the 
 culprit should have been pardoned after 
 the first unsuccessful trial. 
 
 The proud province of Aragon is one 
 of the most attractive and peculiar sec- 
 
 tions of Spain. Obstinacy and self-will 
 are marked characteristics of the people : 
 it is said of an Aragonese that if he should 
 take a fancy to batter down a wall with 
 his head, he would keep at his work un- 
 
 AFTER AN EXECUTION IN SPAIN. 
 
 til he had made a breach or broken his 
 skull. The bravery of the men is world- 
 famed. The passions are quick in Ara- 
 gon, as well as unreasoning and im- 
 perious. Assassinations are numerous. 
 
 When affairs at Madrid in 1869 did not 
 progress to the liking of the Aragonese, 
 a band of bravos sallied out from Sara- 
 gossa with the avowed determination of 
 cutting the throats of all the government 
 
PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 M' 
 
 officials in the capital. Happily, these 
 too enthusiastic revolutionists were dis- 
 persed by superior forces before they 
 had gone far. 
 
 Saragossa, with its splendid souvenirs 
 of constitutional liberty, is to-day a feeble 
 and apparently unresisting captive in the 
 hands of a boyish Bourbon. When it 
 was the capital of the kingdom of Ar- 
 agon the people ruled their kings and 
 were jealous of oppression. To-day, the 
 gaudily-uniformed officers from the Al- 
 fonsist court fill the barracks and stalk 
 proudly through the narrow streets, and 
 the people never say them nay. The 
 town is old, decrepit, seems weary of the 
 world and anxious to be dissolved into 
 ruins. Perhaps it has a glorious future, 
 but at present there are no indications 
 of it. Here and there are a few hints of 
 modernism, such as a noble square, or a 
 public school, or a fine warehouse. But 
 these few innovations are forgotten as 
 soon as one plunges into the labyrinth 
 of small and dark streets, where ovei'- 
 hanging roofs seem whispering to each 
 other. Antonio, smoking his cigarette 
 on his balcony, may tumble the ashes 
 into the dinner - plate of his neighbor 
 tranquilly eating under his awning aci"oss 
 the way. The shops, save a few in one 
 wide street, are very primitive in their 
 character, and some are Oriental in their 
 destitution of modern furniture. Many 
 of the houses are so old that they are 
 propped up with large beams, and threat- 
 en, even with such support, to fall ere 
 long. The cathedral of Our Lady of 
 the Pillar, one of the most celebrated 
 Catholic shrines in the world, has re- 
 cently shown signs of crumbling, and 
 many devotees nearly died of fear when 
 it threatened to fall during the heavy 
 cannonading in the revolution of 1869. 
 All the inhabitants who believe in the 
 priesthood believe also that the cathe- 
 dral was founded only forty years after 
 the beginning of our Christian era. The 
 old legend is preserved in the following 
 words: "And Jesus said. My dearly be- 
 loved mother, I wish you to go to Sara- 
 gossa and order Saint James (Santiago) 
 to erect a temple in your honor, where 
 you shall be invoked for all time to 
 
 come." Saint James is supposed to have 
 accomplished his divinely-imposed duty 
 before making his famous pilgrimage to 
 Jerusalem, and the church has grown 
 to mammoth proportions from the little 
 chapel and the pillar on which the Vir- 
 gin's figure was raised so many centuries 
 ago. The dark -eyed women, as well 
 as all the lame and dirty old beggars 
 of Saragossa, daily kiss the little frag- 
 ment, said to be the only remnant of the 
 old pillar, now fixed in the cathedral 
 wall. 
 
 Near the church, and also in the imme- 
 diate vicinity of one of the ancient pictu- 
 resque gates of the city, a terrible fight 
 took place in the revolution eight years 
 ago. A cure who had, strangely enough, 
 been suspected of sympathy with the re- 
 publicans for some time, threw open his 
 house to them when the struggle with the 
 government troops came on, and from 
 his windows they kept up a dreadfully 
 oppressive fire upon the soldiers. The 
 regulars, withdrawing a little toward the 
 bank of the adjacent stream, placed two 
 cannon in range and blew to pieces both 
 the priest's house and its occupants. Be- 
 fore they had succeeded in this, however, 
 they lost several comrades and their 
 commanding general. The blood of the 
 latter still reddened the stones when I 
 visited the place in October, 1869. The 
 Aragonese were wonderfully brave on 
 this occasion. Six men, with no arms 
 but long knives, kept at bay thirty sol- 
 diers for many hours at the entrance of 
 one of the little streets. An Aragonese 
 who should come out unwounded from 
 such a battle would be a coward in the 
 estimation of all others of his race. 
 
 The village-folk in Aragon are rough, 
 but honest and reasonably hospitable. 
 They are fond of festivals, of the dance, 
 of feasting and of primitive processions. 
 At the country fairs men and women 
 climb greased poles in pursuit of the 
 booty secured at the tops, and laugh 
 uproariously when an incautious victim 
 loses his or her grip and tumbles head- 
 long to the ground. A vein of savage 
 cruelty underlies all their sports. 
 
 After a journey through Spain, and 
 some experiences of the degradation and 
 
144 
 
 PICTURES FROM SPAIN. 
 
 ignorance of inany of her people, one [ generation. But it will come : the Re- 
 is almost tempted to despair of her re- | public, so sighed for, so fought for, and 
 
 A VIIXAGE FESTIVAL IN ARAGON. 
 
 SO bravely died for by thousands, will be 
 finally established. The darkness of the 
 centuries of intolerance, of oppression. 
 
 of lawlessness, will be forgotten in pres- 
 ence of the light of a new and glorious 
 dawn. 
 
THE TRIANON PALACES, 
 
 STANDING on the upper terrace in 
 the rear of the quaint old chateau 
 of Versailles the traveler is apt to linger 
 
 enamored with the magnificent pano- 
 rama spread out before him. He has 
 perhaps just finished a run over the 
 
 many salons and galleries of the palace, 
 and his mind is a confused mass of paint- 
 ings, frescoes, sculptures, rare old gilded 
 furniture and historical relics innumer- 
 
 lO 
 
 able. He cannot hope to retain any- 
 thing but a feeble, fragmentary impres- 
 sion of all these ; but the superb land- 
 scape that now bursts upon him is a 
 145 
 
146 
 
 THE TRIANON PALACES. 
 
 single ravishing picture where the genius 
 of man seems to have made Nature lais 
 Slave of the Lamp, and he tries to grasp 
 it and fix it indelibly in his memory. 
 
 Looking directly west, straight through 
 the grounds from the centre of the ter- 
 
 race, the eye meets first two oblong ba- 
 sins bordered with twenty-four magnif- 
 icent groups in bronze. From the centre 
 of each basin rise jets of water forming 
 fountains in the shape of a basket : a 
 little beyond is the Basin of Latona, pre- 
 
 senting five circular tables in red mar- 
 ble, rising pyramidally one above the 
 other, and surmounted by Latona im- 
 ploring the vengeance of Jupiter against 
 the Lybians, who had refused to give 
 her water. The prayer is answered, and 
 
 there are the poor Lybians, some half, 
 some wholly, metamorphosed into frogs, 
 fishes, tortoises, seated on the edges of 
 the tables, each mouth a fountain throw- 
 ing water on Latona from every direc- 
 tion. On either side of the pyramid is a 
 
THE TRIANON PALACES. 
 
 147 
 
 column of water thirty feet high, falHng 
 into the basin. Beyond this is a long 
 ribbon of lawn (the Tapis Vert) orna- 
 mented with vases and statues ; then 
 comes the Basin of Apollo, with a mag- 
 nificent fountain of tritons, nereids, dol- 
 phins and sea-monsters ; and then the 
 
 long arm of the Grand Canal, which is 
 in the shape of a cross, each arm about 
 two hundred feet wide. And these are 
 only the principal objects seen in one 
 straight line. Everywhere there are love- 
 ly walks, parterres of flowers, vases, col- 
 onnades, fountains, statues, groves and 
 
 THE PETIT TRIANON. 
 
 beautiful avenues bordered with long 
 lines of evergreen trees forced by the 
 pruning - knife to grow into fantastic 
 shapes. 
 
 The two Trianons are but royal sum- 
 mer-houses in these superb gardens. 
 They are both located on the right of 
 the Grand Canal, and separated only by 
 a few rods of the gardens belonging to 
 the Grand Trianon built by Louis XIV. 
 in 1 67 1 for Madame de Maintenon, who 
 was then nearly forty years of age. The 
 king was three years younger. For 
 nearly eleven years he had been recon- 
 structing the palace of Versailles, en- 
 larging and beautifying the royal parks 
 and gardens, sometimes impressing thir- 
 ty thousand soldiers at once into the 
 work, which cost France a thousand mil- 
 lions of francs at least. The Fountain 
 of Apollo alone cost a million and a half 
 The building of the terraces was a gigan- 
 tic work in itself, while the water for the 
 fountains is all brought from the Seine, 
 some miles distant, and it costs from 
 two to four thousand dollars every time 
 
 the grands eaux are set in motion : this 
 was every day in the time of the Grand 
 Monarch, but at present only the first 
 Sunday afternoon of each month. 
 
 The resplendent court of Versailles, at 
 its zenith in the time of Louis XIV., with 
 its gorgeous costumes, display and cere- 
 mony, failed to wholly satisfy the purely 
 human needs of the king, and the Tri- 
 anon was built as an escape from the 
 onerous fatigues of greatness. Here, in 
 the compan}- of choice favorites, the 
 monarch played that he was only a man, 
 loved and caressed for his own sake like 
 the simplest of his subjects. Louis XV. 
 was also fond of this retreat, and Louis 
 XVI., "with his brusque bonhomie, walk- 
 ed through its gardens frightening the 
 birds with his loud laughter, and mak- 
 ing the flowers tremble under his ele- 
 phantine tread." Marie Antoinette, his 
 queen, is especially associated with the 
 place : she has left everywhere the " in- 
 effable trace of the foot of the rustic god- 
 dess." Whether as the humiliated wife, 
 the triumphant mother or the unpopulai 
 
148 
 
 THE TRIANON PALACES. 
 
 queen, we see her always in imagination 
 the presiding genius of this Eden in the 
 gardens of Versailles, unless indeed this 
 picture is effaced by that of her tragic 
 fate. 
 
 Trianon in the twelfth century was the 
 name of a parish which later was ab- 
 sorbed in the dependencies of Versailles. 
 In 1687 the first Trianon pavilion was 
 destroyed to give place to the new ca- 
 price of Louis XIV. Mansard furnished 
 the designs of the Grand Trianon, such 
 as it exists to-day. Like the first, it is 
 one story in height and in the Italian 
 style, but constructed of the most precious 
 marbles. An open peristyle unites the 
 two lateral portions of the building. The 
 balustrade surrounding the entablature 
 was ornamented with vases filled with 
 flowers, and groups of Cupids bearing 
 the symbols of the chase. Saint-Simon 
 calls the Trianon a "porcelain house for 
 collations," the term being doubtless 
 suggested by the great number of por- 
 celain flower-vases decorating not only 
 the outer -walls, but the stairs, corridors 
 and other portions of the interior. 
 ■ It seems a plausible theory that Louis 
 
 XIV. tore down the first Trianon as a 
 kind of penance for the many sins he 
 had committed there. Certainly he had 
 by this time become a rare devotee to 
 religion, "thanks to the fear of hell and 
 Madame de Maintenon," according to 
 one interpretation. It is certain that as 
 soon as the new Trianon was finished a 
 canon of Notre Dame of Paris was sol- 
 emnly sent by the archbishop of that city 
 to bless the Trianon chapel and celebrate 
 mass there. This was three years after 
 Madame de Maintenon had consum- 
 mated a secret marriage with the king, 
 and so made him an honest man. All 
 the reunions at the Grand Trianon there- 
 after, or at least after 1 700, were models of 
 exemplary conduct ; and while we must 
 sincerely approve the change, we are 
 compelled to imagine the secret reflections 
 of the old beaux and belles of the court 
 when, after ceremoniously paying their 
 court to the king, they were dismissed 
 supperless at nine o'clock. The king, 
 prematurely old, gouty and tottering in 
 his gait, supped no more. He thought 
 only of the salvation of his soul. Ban- 
 ished for ever were the gay feasts, the 
 
 THE queen's SWISS COTTAGE. 
 
 theatrical representations, the music and 
 the fireworks. The only self-indulgence 
 of the king was to dine at the Trianon 
 with Madame de Maintenon, to inhale 
 the odor of the tuberoses and to watch 
 
 the play of the fountains. "Very bour- 
 geois and innocent were these last pleas- 
 ures of the king," says Saint-Simon, who 
 calls those domestic evenings "magnifi- 
 cent," when "the king yawned, Madame 
 
THE TRIANON PALACES. 
 
 149 
 
 de Maintenon yawned, the duchess of 
 Bourgogne yawned, and even the flowers 
 themselves yawned." In 171 5 the king 
 died, being seventy - seven years old. 
 Twenty years before, Madame de Main- 
 tenon, an honorable, intelligent lady, 
 and sincerely devoted to the king, spoke 
 of the trouble she had had to amuse 
 "the least amusable of men;" and no 
 doubt as he grew older and more and 
 more difficult to please, she paid dearly 
 enough for the barren honor of being the 
 legal wife of the Grand Monarque. 
 
 The Trianon gardens suffered a com- 
 plete change in the reign of Louis XV., 
 who, becoming greatly interested in 
 botany, gave to the study and culture of 
 
 flowers and trees what time he could 
 spare from his laborious and sterile secret 
 correspondence — "the frivolous monu- 
 ment of a frivolous reign." He built the 
 Petit Trianon for Madame du Barry in 
 1766. It is a small building, seventy- 
 two feet square, decorated with fluted 
 columns and pilasters. In front was the 
 orangery, consisting of fifty large orange 
 trees in huge boxes standing in a semi- 
 circle. That the king had a real passion 
 for flowers is clearly evident from the 
 way his courtiers took to flatter him on 
 one evening when he was to visit the 
 Petit Trianon : they ornamented the 
 whole front of the orangery with a 
 species of flower new or very rare in 
 
 THE FARM-HOUSE. 
 
 France before that time, arranged in 
 twenty-four letters, each seven and a 
 half feet high. These formed the words, 
 ''Vive le Roi Louis le Bien-Aime ," the 
 whole finely illuminated. The flower 
 was a variety of white chrysanthemum. 
 In the dining-room of the Petit Tria- 
 non, in the parquetry of the floor, may 
 still be seen the traces of that famous 
 trap through which the perfectly served 
 tables rose noiselessly before the pam- 
 pered Louis XV. and his carousing fa- 
 vorites. It was a happy inspiration for 
 banqueters who had good reasons for 
 avoiding the curious eyes and blabbing 
 tongues of valets. From time to time 
 
 many royal visitors have been entertain- 
 ed at the Trianon palaces as a special 
 mark of friendly courtesy, for they were 
 not intended for court display and cere- 
 mony, but simply to escape the ennui of 
 court etiquette. During the last years 
 of Louis XV. he passed several days at 
 the Petit Trianon five or six times every 
 year, and it was there in 1774 that he 
 experienced the first symptoms of the 
 smallpox, of which he died two weeks 
 later at Versailles, abandoned by all the 
 court, by his most petted favorites, and, 
 to crown his humiliation, even by Ma- 
 dame du Barry herself 
 
 In May of the same year Louis XVI. 
 
' ' 
 
 15° 
 
 THE TRIANON PALACES. 
 
 gave the Petit Trianon to Marie Antoi- 
 nette, who was then twenty years old. 
 There are various pretty stories relative 
 to the offering and the acceptance of the 
 
 gift : one is that the king said to his wife, 
 whose rustic and idyllic tastes he had 
 noticed, "You love flowers. Very well, 
 I have a bouquet to offer you. It is 
 
 THE SHEEPFOLD. 
 
 the Petit Trianon." According to De 
 Bachaumont, when the king offered 
 both the Trianons to Marie Antoinette, 
 she replied, smiling, that she would ac- 
 
 cept the Petit Trianon on condition that 
 he would never enter it except when in- 
 vited. This was in harmony with the 
 rebellion of the ladies of the court at 
 
 THE DAIRY. 
 
 that time, who organized suppers and 
 amusements for themselves alone, clos- 
 ing the doors to all male intruders, in re- 
 venge for the constant abandonment of 
 
 their society for the attractions of hunting 
 and other masculine sports. On one of 
 these occasions two of the excluded hus- 
 bands gained entrance by the ruse of 
 
THE TRIANON PALACES. 
 
 151 
 
 transfonning themselves, one into a bear 
 and the other into a tiger, muzzled and 
 held in leash by a third accomplice. 
 
 After some performances as wild beasts, 
 they were simultaneously seized with a 
 fit of ferocity, showed their teeth, rolled 
 
 THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 their eyes, broke their chains, and after 
 greatly terrifying the ladies, who ran 
 away in all directions, they threw off the 
 disguise and with victorious laughter 
 conducted their wives into the supper- 
 room. On the same day the queen, in- 
 stead of forcing her husband to enter 
 her privileged retreat by stratagem, show- 
 ed her gratitude for his gift by inviting 
 him to a charming dinner there. At 
 that dinner, Bachaumont says in his 
 Secret Memoirs, the Petit Trianon was 
 christened Le Petit Vienne. The queen, 
 however, soon found it prudent to deny 
 positively that it had been so named ; 
 for from this moment date the first ru- 
 mors of her lack of patriotism for France 
 — the first mutterings of the thunder that 
 burst over Versailles a few years later. 
 
 Marie Antoinette is an attractive cha- 
 racter in history because of her passion 
 for rustic and simple pleasures, her impa- 
 tience with the forms of court etiquette, 
 her devotion as a mother, her tenderness 
 as a friend, and, at the last, her heroic 
 spirit in facing the scaffold. As a child 
 her education had been of the most care- 
 less kind, and the books of her library 
 bearing her monogram show that her 
 literarv tastes were in keeping with her 
 
 education. Sainte-Beuve believes that 
 she never opened a book of history in 
 her life. No woman could have been 
 less adapted for the queen of a feeble 
 monarch than Marie Antoinette, and 
 especially at a time when the country, 
 bankrupt and on the eve of a revolution, 
 required the decisive statesmanship of a 
 Catharine II. of Russia or of an Eliza- 
 beth of England. While the kingdom 
 was in debt eight hundred million dol- 
 lars, the revenues wholly insufficient to 
 pay the interest on this sum ; while the 
 people murmured savagely, and writers 
 incessantly lampooned the feebleness of 
 their rulers and the extravagance and 
 con-uption of the court, — Marie Antoi- 
 nette, reminding us of nothing so much 
 as a child sleeping among flowers on the 
 brink of a precipice, ruled her miniature 
 court at the Trianon, and gave her whole 
 time and energy to the decoration of a 
 boudoir or to the study of a peasant's 
 part for her own theatre. 
 
 Her beauty has been much celebrated. 
 She was below the medium height ; had 
 large but not very expressive eyes ; a 
 high aquiline nose, of which an eye- 
 witness said, "I can never convince my- 
 self that the queen's nose really belongs 
 
152 
 
 THE TRIANON PALACES. 
 
 to her face ;" a waist rather too plump 
 for ideal grace ; fine, light, ashen hair, 
 rolled above her forehead in a very be- 
 coming style ; an agreeable smile, though 
 her under lip was rather large ; a walk 
 light and graceful ; a complexion of the 
 most dazzling freshness ; and hands and 
 arms of great beauty. Says another 
 witness, "There was always about her, 
 even in negligee, an air of sovereign 
 nobility;" but this smacks of the cour- 
 tier's adulation. A gay little woman, 
 fond above all things of playing soubrette 
 parts on the stage, can hardly have pre- 
 sented a very regal air. 
 
 For ten years after taking possession 
 of the Petit Trianon, Marie Antoinette 
 entered with enthusiasm into the pleas- 
 ures of planting and building — the two 
 hobbies of every proprietor, from the 
 peasant to the king. The passion for 
 "English gardens" was then in full 
 vogue — gardens irregular, fantastic, ro- 
 mantic. The dethronement of those 
 straight perspectives, those solemn quin- 
 cunx plantations, occurred during the 
 same revolution in fashion that toppled 
 down the towering head-dresses, pow- 
 dered wigs and monstrous straw bon- 
 nets ; and with the winding paths, arti- 
 
 ficial waterfalls and grottoes came the 
 small chignons, natural ringlets and sim- 
 ple kerchiefs of white lace. The queen 
 at this time was in the glory of her youth, 
 beauty, and whatever popularity she ever 
 succeeded in winning. At Marly and 
 Choisy, while her Trianon improvements 
 were in progress, she gave herself up to 
 the seductions of every innocent amuse- 
 ment of the time. It was at Marly where 
 she used to drive a gig with a dexterity 
 and coolness that astounded the old 
 courtiers and delighted the new. At 
 Marly also she wore the Russian skating 
 or sleighing costume and made swift 
 courses over the snow. 
 
 In 1 78 1, after eight years of marriage, 
 the birth of the first dauphin occurred. 
 The event was received with rejoicing 
 by the court : to Marie Antoinette it was 
 a triumph. As the mother of the heir to 
 the throne she was invested with new 
 dignity and importance, and, confident 
 of her secure position, she resumed her 
 embellishment of the Trianon gardens 
 with redoubled enthusiasm, though Neck- 
 er, the minister of finance, foresaw the 
 threatening storm and growled over the 
 ever-increasing debt of the nation. The 
 little Swiss hamlet on the borders of the 
 
 THt. MILLEK S HOUSE 
 
 lake was built at this time. It lacked 
 nothing. It had its farm-house, its sheep- 
 fold, its dairy in white marble, its par- 
 
 sonage, its school, a mill with " a wheel 
 that really turned," a guard-house, a 
 miller's house, and even a bailiff's res- 
 
THE TRIANON PALACES. 
 
 153 
 
 idence, besides little barns to hold the 
 harvests — a veritable village of the comic 
 opera. Yet these tiny houses were capa- 
 ble of serving a useful purpose, for after 
 ^785, just before the Revolution, the 
 queen, tired of playing with the hoe and 
 che rake, tired of her miniature harvests 
 
 and vintages, installed a dozen poor 
 families in the cottages as permanent 
 residents. These little houses with thatch- 
 ed roofs and exterior staircases were made 
 to resemble picturesque ruins. A sink- 
 ing support here and there, fissures in 
 the stone walls, moss and ivy everywhere, 
 
 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 produced this effect. The prettiest cot- 
 tage of the hamlet was the queen's. 
 The entrance to this was decorated with 
 rare shrubs in Isoxes and climbing flow- 
 ers. In this was a dining-room and a 
 pretty boudoir. The queen's ladies, while 
 playing the role of peasants with their 
 mistress, had each a cottage. The mill- 
 er was the king, and the schoolmaster 
 monsieur his brother. The farm was 
 not a very profitable investment, for the 
 cows, the hens and pigeons were enter- 
 tained in a style of luxury that made the 
 milk more costly than champagne, and 
 an tgg worth its weight in silver. The 
 flowers that adorned this paradise " would 
 hardly have cost more had their stems 
 been made of gold and their petals of 
 bank-notes." 
 
 During the fine weather Marie An- 
 toinette often spent a whole month at 
 the Trianon in the society of her sister, 
 the amiable Madame Elizabeth, her de- 
 voted friend, the princess de Lamballe, 
 and a few other favorites. Dressed in fine 
 white percales, fichus of delicate gauzes 
 
 and broad - brimmed straw hats, they 
 promenaded the woods and gardens 
 without constraint on account of soiling 
 their dresses, ate fresh eggs at the farm, 
 drank milk at the dairy, fished in the 
 lake, or sat down in umbrageous nooks 
 to spin from rustic distaffs or to em- 
 broider, while their cavaliers read or 
 walked about. The king and princes at 
 such times supped at the Trianon every 
 night, enjoying complete immunity from 
 all useless ceremony. Ladies continued 
 their spinnet- or piano-playing, gentle- 
 men their backgammon, undisturbed by 
 the entrance of the queen. In the Bel- 
 vedere, a charming little pavilion on a 
 hill overlooking all her domain, the 
 queen generally had her breakfast served 
 on an elegant table of gilded bronze. 
 The Belvedere had four doors opening 
 to the four cardinal points ; eight marble 
 sphinxes crouched upon the steps lead- 
 ing to these entrances ; and the little 
 bell-tower crowning the structure was 
 draped with climbing jasmines and cle- 
 matis. On the lake, by which the palace 
 
154 
 
 THE TRIANON PALACES. 
 
 was ordinarily approached, was an ex- 
 quisite gondola decorated with golden 
 fleurs-de-lis and lined with costly silk, 
 while on a fairy island in the lake rose 
 the Temple of Love, a little rotunda of 
 exquisite design and finish. But even 
 to catalogue the objects of a queen's 
 caprices on this domain of a hundred 
 acres would be a task. It was a veri- 
 table Eden, lacking nothing — not even 
 the traditional serpent, which under the 
 form of a figure in red stockings lurked 
 in the illuminated grounds and terrified 
 the queen by his unbidden presence on 
 the night of one of her greatest triumphs. 
 This was the dissolute Cardinal de Ro- 
 han, who through the scandal known in 
 history as "the necklace affair" {I' affaire 
 du collier) did more than any other to 
 precipitate the causes that brought the 
 head of Marie Antoinette to the guillo- 
 tine. 
 
 During the same year the queen's al- 
 lowance for pocket-money must have 
 been generous, for her dramatic expenses 
 alone were over one hundred and fifty 
 thousand francs. This covered her an- 
 nual subscription for boxes at two of the 
 ■ principal theatres of Paris, ten thousand 
 francs, and the cost of the represen- 
 tations at her Trianon theatre, of which 
 one item, that for flesh-colored silk stock- 
 ings, amounted to twelve hundred francs. 
 The Trianon theatre was inaugurated in 
 1780, and on that occasion the queen 
 played Jenny in The Kiftg and the 
 Farmer, and a soubrette role in the sec- 
 ond piece. Grimm gives us an ai^oount 
 of the entertainment, and though he 
 does not definitely praise the queen's 
 acting, he does not hint that it was 
 "royally bad," as some one else has 
 done. The building, capable of accom- 
 modating over six hundi'ed, had three 
 tiers of galleries, and was decorated in 
 white and gold. Two satyrs held back 
 the stage-curtains, and the central me- 
 dallion over the front of the scene, sup- 
 ported by nymphs, presented the portrait 
 of the queen. The seats were covered 
 with blue velvet. 
 
 The Little Trianon and its gardens, 
 fearfully mutilated during the Revolution, 
 were nobly restored by Louis Philippe 
 
 after he had converted Versailles into an 
 historical museum ; and such as they ap- 
 peared in 1837 they still remain. The 
 palace is a white marble building em- 
 bowered in luxuriant foliage. The orange 
 trees in large boxes that decorated the 
 front are no longer seen, but the sinister 
 
 FLAMBEAU OP' MARIE ANTOINEITE. 
 
 head of Medusa still stands guard at the 
 head of the marble steps. In the in- 
 terior you see the monogram M. A. on 
 the gilded staircase and in the decora- 
 tions everywhere. The principal salon 
 suggests a temple of Bacchus — garlands 
 of grapes, baskets of fruit, masks, tam- 
 bourines, guitars and the pipe of Pan. 
 The caryatides supporting the mantel- 
 piece are two goats. Everything is done 
 with exquisite art. The little boudoir 
 preceding the queen's bed-room is orna- 
 mented with delicate arabesques — cor- 
 nucopias, smoking tripods, doves in their 
 nests, and every emblem of fecundity, 
 love and peace. The ceiling decoration 
 of the bed-room is a lovely garland of 
 forget-me-nots. The faded furniture in 
 blue silk, which was there a few years 
 ago, still "exhaled the rare perfume of 
 that queen of taste," if we may believe 
 an enthusiastic tourist. Certainly the 
 room must have been lovely in its day. 
 
THE TRIANON PALACES. 
 
 ^55 
 
 but the bed can hardly be the same as 
 that described by contemporaries, hidden 
 in clouds of delicate white lace looped 
 back with brilliant scarfs fringed with 
 pearls. A clock costing eighty thousand 
 francs once marked the hours for this 
 sybarite queen of the Trianon. 
 
 In 1788 occurred the last "comedy, 
 supper and illumination" at the Trianon. 
 The king always ate like a second Gar- 
 
 gantua, and we may suppose this repast, 
 the menu of which is still preserved, met 
 even his demands. There were four 
 soups, two grand and sixteen minor en- 
 trees — one being a roasted pig — four 
 hors-d'oeuvres, six roasts and eighteen 
 entremets. France at this time was in a 
 deplorable condition, the treasury ex- 
 hausted, public credit abroad destroyed, 
 industry everywhere suspended, the peo- 
 
 CONSOLE OF MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 pie taxed unmercifully, and starving by 
 hundreds or lacking the necessities of 
 life, while the "comedy, supper and illu- 
 mination" continued at the court, the 
 queen spending money enough on each 
 entertainment to save thousands from 
 the hunger that consumed them, and 
 the weak king, apparently unconscious 
 of the coming storm, perspiring over his 
 turning-lathe and anvil, enamored of the 
 high mysteries of lockmaking. 
 
 The Parliament saw the danger that 
 was imminent, and discussed means for 
 raising money. But how was this to be 
 effected ? The nobility and the clergy 
 raised a hue and cry, and demanded the 
 instant dismission of any minister of 
 finance who proposed that they should 
 bear their share of the heavy taxes. 
 
 Turgot, Necker, D'Ormesson and Bri- 
 enne were thus driven from their post 
 in succession. Scandals, calumnies, epi- 
 grams, lampoons filled the air, and yet 
 the "governing class" would not take 
 warning. Revelry continued at Ver- 
 sailles ; and while the masses could not 
 afford soap for their necessary cleanli- 
 ness, royal and princely guests were en- 
 tertained at the Trianon on such a scale 
 that the washing for a single day com- 
 prised four thousand pieces. The igno- 
 rant, long-suffering people naturally con- 
 sidered Marie Antoinette, the foreigner, 
 the Atitrichiemie, as they insultingly 
 called her, the worst adviser of the king 
 and their most bitter enemy. When 
 Necker, recalled to his post, convened 
 the famous National Assembly in May, 
 
156 
 
 THE TRIANON PALACES. 
 
 1789, they saw with indignation the tiers 
 etat, their own representatives, treated 
 with contempt by the nobiUty and clergy, 
 and for every unwise measure supported 
 by the king they held the queen respon- 
 
 sible. And yet no one could be more in- 
 nocent of any real intention to increase 
 the misfortunes of the people than was 
 Marie Antoinette. But such is the cor- 
 rupting, belittling effect of the doctrine 
 
 CLOCK OF MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 of the rights of privileged classes that no 
 one nurtured in it can possibly do justice 
 to those who by labor create the wealth 
 of the world. Our blood curdles with 
 horror at the thought of the blond head 
 of the princesse de Lamballe borne on a 
 
 pike before the prison windows of the 
 fainting queen, and so we are too apt to 
 forget that action and reaction are equal, 
 and to curse the brutal effect instead of 
 the brutalizing cause. 
 
 Under the auspices of the empress 
 
THE TRIANON PALACES. 
 
 157 
 
 Eugenie the Little Trianon was repaired, 
 and in it was exposed a rich collection 
 of historical objects of the eighteenth 
 century — distinctly a Trianon museum. 
 Among the articles loaned by the em- 
 press was a sample book of Marie An- 
 toinette's dresses. Most of them are 
 gauzes and Indian fabrics so fanciful in 
 design, so brilliant and varied in color, 
 so light in texture, that they suggest the 
 wardrobe of a fairy rather than that of 
 a mortal woman. Another object is a 
 curious toilet caprice — a little flat water- 
 bottle, curved to fit the head, designed 
 to keep flowers fresh in the coiffure. 
 "The effect was charming," says the 
 baroness Oberkirch — ^" June on the head 
 in the midst of powdered snow." At 
 one of those fairy Trianon entertain- 
 ments, characterized in the journal of 
 the phlegmatic Louis XVI. as " Comedie, 
 souper et illumination" a grand duchess 
 wore on her head a humming-bird in 
 precious stones which by certain con- 
 cealed springs was made to beat its wings 
 and hover over an open rose.- 
 
 At the time of this writing the public 
 
 attention is specially directed to the 
 Grand Trianon, not as the scene of the 
 petits soupers of a royal court, but as the 
 theatre of a grave and solemn trial of a 
 distinguished military leader, charged 
 with the betrayal of his country. The 
 court is sitting in the long gallery which 
 unites the two wings. This gallery is 
 pierced by seven arcades on the outside, 
 and the roof is supported by double 
 Ionic columns of rose-tinted Languedoc 
 marble. The arcades are closed by large 
 glass doors, through which appear the 
 gardens and the avenue leading to the 
 Little Trianon. At one end of the gal- 
 lery a platform and semicircular tribune 
 have been erected. In the centre is the 
 seat of the due d'Aumale, the president, 
 and on either side of him are the judges. 
 Over the president's seat is a life-sized 
 painting of the Crucifixion. Before the 
 tribune, on one side, is the prosecuting 
 attorney : on the other side, and facing 
 him, sits the prisoner in front of his 
 counsel, wearing the uniform that he 
 wore at Metz, one of the epaulettes be- 
 ing torn by a German ball. 
 
 
JOSEPHINE AND MALMAISON. 
 
 THERE is scarcely to be found in his- 
 tory a life so rich in dramatic inter- 
 est as that of the empress Josephine, for 
 
 its romance commences with the dawn 
 of her existence in the island of Mar- 
 tinique in 1763, and continues unabated 
 
 until 1 8 14, when at the Chateau Mal- 
 maison she breathed her last, clasping 
 in one hand the miniature of Napoleon 
 and in the other the hand of Alexander 
 158 
 
 I. of Russia, her sincere friend and ad- 
 mirer. Especially is she immortal in 
 the hearts of women by the triple appeal 
 of moral excellence, intense suffering and 
 
JOSEPHINE AND MALMAISON. 
 
 159 
 
 heroic submission to her fate. It is the 
 romance of her hfe, more than all other 
 causes, that has thrown a halo around 
 the ugly old pile with its high-pointed 
 pyramidal roofs, its tall chimneys and its 
 general lack of architectural symmetry. 
 Its very name is a malediction^wza/a 
 mansio — though the motive of it is lost 
 in the obscurity of the thirteenth cen- 
 tury. The chateau is near Rueil, some 
 eight miles from Paris. It was purchased 
 in 1798 for sixty thousand francs, partly 
 with the dower of Josephine and partly 
 with the resources of General Bonaparte, 
 whom she married in 1796, being then 
 thirty-three years old and he twenty- 
 seven. The marriage was a fortunate 
 one for him, as his own words testify. 
 "The circumstance of my marriage with 
 Madame de Beauharnais," he says, 
 "placed me on a proper footing with 
 the party necessary to my plan of 
 fusion, one of the first principles of my 
 administration. . . . Without my wife I 
 should never have established any nat- 
 ural relation with that class." Another 
 declaration of his agrees perfectly with 
 this idea : " I win only battles — Josephine 
 wins me all hearts." 
 
 Josephine at the time of her first ac- 
 quaintance with Bonaparte, then a simple 
 general of brigade, was in the flower of 
 her beauty and grace. She had survived 
 the merciless storms of the Revolution, 
 during which she had been torn from 
 the bed of her sleeping children, thrown 
 into prison and sentenced to death : her 
 husband, less fortunate, perished by the 
 guillotine. A part of her confiscated 
 property had been restored to her by the 
 National Convention through the efforts 
 of Tallien, whose celebrated wife had 
 been one of her prison-companions ; 
 and now, in the society of her children, 
 Eugene and Hortense, and surrounded 
 by a few cherished ones whose love had 
 survived the ordeal of misfortune and 
 poverty, Josephine was enjoying a quiet 
 domestic life, made sweeter by the mem- 
 ory of the reverses she had suffered. And 
 these reverses had been terrible, even be- 
 fore the Reign of Terror. Not to men- 
 tion her first misfortune, when as a young 
 girl in Martinique she had been prevented 
 
 frommarryingher first love, a young Eng- 
 lish gentleman of distinguished merit, her 
 loyalty as a wife had been questioned, and 
 her boy, then three years old, taken from 
 her. She suffered dreary months of soli- 
 tude in a convent during the legal suit 
 for divorce instituted by the vicomte de 
 Beauharnais, arid though the decision of 
 the court was in her favor, she was broken- 
 hearted from the injustice visited upon 
 her, and she returned to the island of 
 Martinique with Hortense, leaving Eu- 
 gene behind. Three years after the vi- 
 comte repented of his cruelty, and hum- 
 bly begged his wife to return and reunite 
 their divided household. Josephine's 
 friends tried every means to dissuade 
 her from returning to the dissolute Beau- 
 harnais, but the mother-love triumphed, 
 and she made haste to leave Martinique 
 for the second and last time. 
 
 There are many portraits of Josephine, 
 and perhaps none of them are very true 
 to the original. The various written de- 
 scriptions of her are much more con- 
 sistent with each other. All agree that 
 she possessed rare personal attractions, 
 and especially that in speech and grace 
 of movement she was inimitable. " The 
 first applause of the French people," said 
 Napoleon, "was to my ear as sweet as 
 the voice of Josephine." In singing her 
 voice was tender and melodious, and she 
 played the harp with skill. At St. Hel- 
 ena, Napoleon once said to Dr. O'Meara, 
 "Josephine etait la grace personifiee;" 
 and again, that she was "the most ami- 
 able and the best of women." She was 
 rather above the medium height, her 
 form beautifully moulded, her shoulders 
 of the most dazzling whiteness, and her 
 eyes deep blue, shaded by long dark 
 lashes. Her hair was not very abundant, 
 but soft, easily curling, lustrous, and in 
 color a fine dark brown. As a child she 
 learned with great ease, and during all 
 her life she was passionately fond of 
 reading and of flowers. Flowers were 
 to her not merely an affectation of re- 
 finement, but rather a necessity of her 
 rich, sensuous nature. Wherever she 
 lived, there flowers flourished, surround- 
 ing her with an atmosphere in perfect 
 accord with that exquisite generosity and 
 
i6o 
 
 JOSEPHINE AND MALMAISON. 
 
 tenderness of soul which made her for- 
 get all injuries, listen to every tale of 
 suffering, and refuse no sympathy or aid 
 that was in her power to bestow. Na- 
 poleon accused her of extravagance. 
 "Her squandering was my torture," he 
 
 once said to Las Casas at St. Helena 
 (" Son gaspillage etait mon supplice") ; 
 but as Josephine would not or could not 
 keep regular records of her smaller ex ■ 
 penditures, and as her purse was ever 
 open to beggars of all degrees, it is easy 
 
 to account foi the accusation. Softness 
 of heart was indeed her fault, and no 
 doubt she was often imposed upon ; but 
 when we think of the millions upon mil- 
 lions squandered by Napoleon to obtain 
 that glory which crippled the industries 
 
 of France and deluged her soil with 
 rivers of precious blood for which noth- 
 ing could atone, we are disposed to think 
 that it ill became him to growl over the 
 somewhat extravagant sums disbursed 
 by Josephine in her charities and in sup- 
 
JOSEPHINE AND MALMAISON. 
 
 161 
 
 plying honest employment to those who 
 took care of the parks, gardens and 
 flower-conservatories that were a peace- 
 ful and beneficent culture to thousands. 
 It was a labor of love for Josephine to 
 improve and embellish the buildings and 
 the grounds of Malmaison, and she had 
 full permission to exercise her taste and 
 judgment as she deemed best. On his 
 return from Egypt the First Consul found 
 the whole place rejuvenated and blos- 
 soming "as the rose." The broad, neg- 
 lected esplanade behind the chateau had 
 been decorated with rare shrubs and 
 parterres of flowers. Little streams of 
 water rising in the high and nobly wood- 
 ed hill on the left wound picturesquely 
 through the lawn among the flowers and 
 emptied in laughing cascades into the 
 beautiful lake, which was adorned with 
 statuary and peopled with gay flamingoes 
 and black swans. The park, under the 
 skillful hands selected and directed by 
 Josephine, became the rival of Blenheim 
 and Windsor, and even surpassed them 
 in some respects. Its animals, both wild 
 and tame, were left free to roam where 
 they pleased. Like the Trianon grounds 
 — with which Josephine was familiar 
 through her former visits to Marie An- 
 toinette, who had befriended her at the 
 time of Beauharnais' ill-treatment — Mal- 
 maison had its sheepfold, which still ex- 
 ists on the borders of the pond, its dairy, 
 its inevitable Temple of Love and its 
 Swiss chalet. But as Marie Antoinette's 
 ideas of cottage, peasants and poverty 
 had been acquired solely from the opera, 
 her chalet was hardly more than a toy, 
 like the Noah's ark of babyhood. Jo- 
 sephine's, on the contrary, was the prac- 
 tical work of the woman of the people 
 and of the world. It was the comfort- 
 able, permanent home of a Swiss fam- 
 ily, who took charge of her rare breeds 
 of merinos and Normandy cows, in the 
 midst of a landscape where their Alpine 
 costumes created no discord. Even the 
 artificial grotto in the Malmaison gar- 
 dens at least suggested utility, for it shel- 
 tered a very passable hermit, though a 
 marble one, in the guise of a Capuchin 
 monk — the spoliation of some convent 
 chapel during the Revolution. 
 
 Napoleon on his return from Egypt 
 must have been enchanted by the inex- 
 haustible surprises of rustic pavilions, 
 kiosks, airy bridges, shady arbors, gurg- 
 ling streams, miniature waterfalls and 
 lakes peopled with rare aquatic birds 
 that rose continually before him as if 
 by enchantment, as arm in arm with 
 Josephine, whom he then passionately 
 loved, he sauntered for the first time 
 through the broad avenues or winding 
 odorous paths of these splendid grounds. 
 Everything conspired to render the hour 
 supreme, for whether his expedition had 
 been a blessing or a curse to France, his 
 name was on every tongue, and his ear 
 still retained the music of the pealing 
 bells and the joyful acclamations that 
 had greeted his arrival at Paris. There 
 was not even wanting a lover's quarrel 
 and a very dramatic reconciliation to 
 complete his bliss ; for he had luxuriated 
 in a whole two days' pout, after meeting 
 the loving, exultant joy of Josephine on 
 his return with a freezing look and a curt 
 dismission from his presence. He had 
 listened to the scandal which represented 
 her as having, during his absence, ' ' played 
 the coquette with everybody." This god 
 of the battle-field never appears to such 
 disadvantage as when contrasted with 
 Josephine ; but military glory is at best 
 a terrible school for the manners of men, 
 and this must not be forgotten in judg- 
 ing Napoleon ; nor the fact that even 
 Josephine herself was dazzled by the 
 glamour of his renown, and augmented 
 his natural egoism by subtle flatteries, 
 which indeed, in her case, had the ex- 
 cuse of being dictated by her love for 
 the man, not the hero. 
 
 One form of this flattery was the erec- 
 tion of a beautiful tent as a porch to the 
 rear entrance of the palace. The right 
 and left approaches to this tent were de- 
 fended by drawbridges, at the head of 
 each of which stood a little obelisk in 
 red marble, fourteen feet high and cov- 
 ered with golden hieroglyphics. The 
 cabinet de travail or office of Napoleon 
 was on the first floor, as were also the 
 art-gallery, the drawing-rooms, the bil- 
 liard- and dining-rooms and the council- 
 hall. The last was decorated to resem- 
 
l62 
 
 JOSEPHINE AND MALMAISON 
 
 ble a military tent, and furnished with 
 heroic simphcity. On the second floor 
 were the private apartments of Napo- 
 leon and those of Josephine. There 
 was a little door between these, used 
 only by the occupants ; and later, when 
 Napoleon had made up his mind to 
 divorce Josephine, the sealing up of this 
 
 door was one of the delicate and manly 
 methods he took to prepare her for the 
 sacrifice. 
 
 It was a proud boast of Josephine that 
 she never kept any one waiting half a 
 minute where punctuality depended upon 
 herself. This consideration for the pleas- 
 ure of others, the never-failing mark of 
 
 THE GALLERY AT MALMAISON. 
 
 refined breeding, was signally wanting 
 in Napoleon. When the established 
 hour ibr dining at Malmaison was six 
 o'clock, and though etiquette forbade 
 any one to approach the table before 
 the announcement of the head of the 
 house, he often failed to appear before 
 seven, eight, or even ten o'clock. A 
 chicken or some other article was placed 
 on the spit every fifteen minutes by order 
 of the cook, who knew well the habits of 
 the emperor. The table manners of Na- 
 poleon may have been those of the hero : 
 they were certainly anything but those 
 of the gentleman. He completed the 
 process of cramming — it could scarcely 
 be called eating — in six or seven min- 
 utes, as a rule. Ignoring the use of 
 knives and forks as regarded his own 
 plate, he did not stop there, but "helped 
 himself with his fingers from the dishes 
 nearest him, and dipped his bread in the 
 gravy." Knowing the time necessary for 
 the emperor to dine, the shrewder ones 
 took care to dine in advance. Eugene 
 
 once confessed this at the dinner-table, 
 much to the amusement of the emperor. 
 Josephine always quitted the table with 
 Napoleon, but with her never-failing 
 consideration for the comfort of others 
 she commanded the rest, by a gesture 
 as she rose, to remain. 
 
 No one can excuse Napoleon for that 
 domineering spirit toward Josephine 
 which made him forbid her to receive, 
 when she became empress, her old asso- 
 ciates who he knew were tried and true 
 friends. A letter from Josephine to the 
 duchesse d'Aguillon, a former fellow-cap- 
 tive and a sincere friend, throws some 
 light upon Napoleon's motive. She 
 writes, among other things on the same 
 subject, "The more I think of what my 
 friends did for me, the greater is my 
 sorrow at being unable to do now what 
 my heart dictates. The empress of France 
 is but the first slave in the empire, and 
 cannot pay the debts of Madame de 
 Beauharnais. This constitutes the tor- 
 ture of my life, and will explain why you 
 
JOSEPHINE AND MALMAISON. 
 
 163 
 
 do not occupy a place near me ; why I 
 do not see Madame Tallien ; in fine, why 
 several ladies, formerly our confidential 
 friends, would be strangers to me were 
 not my memory faithful. . . . Desirous 
 of strengthening more and more the 
 Church re-established by himself, . . . 
 Napoleon's intention is to keep at a dis- 
 tance from his court all those who may 
 have profited by the possibility of divorce. 
 This he has promised the pope, and 
 
 hitherto he has kept his word. Hence 
 the cause of his refusal of the favor I 
 asked of having you with me, which has 
 caused me unspeakable regret ; but he is 
 too absolute for me to have even a hope 
 of seeing him retract. . . . Often do I 
 regret that small, dark and dismal cham- 
 ber which we shared together, for there, 
 at least, I could pour out my whole heart, 
 and was sincerely loved in return." 
 Life at Malmaison during the first 
 
 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 years of the marriage of Josephine and 
 Napoleon must have been charming to 
 their guests. No tiresome etiquette ever 
 prevailed in the house of Josephine while 
 she had power to prevent it. There was 
 a general programme for the disposition 
 of the time, but no arbitrary rules that 
 prevented freedom of movement and 
 friendly intercourse. Bourrienne gives 
 us a pleasant account of the games on 
 the lawn, in which the whole company 
 joined with the abandon of children. 
 One of these was the game of "prison- 
 ers," which seems to have been only an 
 improvement of the well-known "tag" 
 of our boys and girls. In these health- 
 giving sports Napoleon, who was a 
 clumsy runner, often measured his in- 
 considerable length on the greensward, 
 when of course his capture was certain, 
 and getting up he delivered himself, 
 laughing heartily, to his victors. Hor- 
 
 tense, afterward queen of Holland, was 
 one of the swiftest runners in the field, 
 and she also excelled all the "talent" of 
 the Malmaison theatre. "Hortense play- 
 ed marvelously, Caroline ( Bonaparte ) 
 passably, Eugene very well. Lauriston 
 was a little heavy, and I dare not assert 
 that I was not the worst of the lot," says 
 the candid Bourrienne ; and he adds 
 that if the playing of the actors was not 
 good, it was not the fault of the training, 
 for Talma himself gave them lessons, 
 making them rehearse sometimes to- 
 gether, sometimes separately. Napoleon 
 delighted in these amateur theatricals, 
 and often importuned Bourrienne in the 
 most caressing manner to take part in 
 them, even when he tried to excuse him- 
 self because of his pressing occupations. 
 "Come, now, Bourrienne," he would 
 say, "you have such a fine memory! 
 You know how much you amuse me : 
 
i64 
 
 JOSEPHINE AND MALMAISON. 
 
 you make me laugh with all my heart. 
 Don't deprive me of this pleasure : you 
 know well I have none too many." Thus 
 appealed to, Bourrienne could only yield 
 and set himself to study his roles. 
 
 In the whole life of Josephine there 
 appears but one act that might lower 
 her in the estimation of posterity, and 
 that is her using her influence to sac- 
 rifice Hortense to the Moloch of ambi- 
 tion. Her admirers have sought to ex- 
 
 cuse this on many grounds ; among 
 these her dislike to General Duroc, Na- 
 poleon's aide-de-camp in Italy and 
 Egypt, who had been the accepted suit- 
 or of Hortense ; her indifference to any 
 distinction except that conferred by Na- 
 poleon ; her desire for a triumph over 
 the Bonaparte family, who always dis- 
 liked her, and persistently sought to 
 lower her in the estimation of Napoleon ; 
 and, finally, distrust of the nature of the 
 
 THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER. 
 
 regard existing between her husband 
 and Hortense. But not all these mo- 
 tives combined can justify her course. 
 Hortense at the time still loved Duroc 
 ardently, and to Louis the union was 
 not less repugnant, for he was at the 
 time passionately devoted to another 
 woman, and never recovered the shock 
 of the breaking of the engagement by 
 the fiat of his all-powerful brother. The 
 grim farce was solemnized by the Church 
 in 1 80 1, and the seven hundred guests 
 that thronged the Tuileries at the bridal 
 fete ignored the tragedy which Louis and 
 Hortense were enacting. The union 
 proved a wretched one, and was dis- 
 solved in 181 5 by the tribunal of the 
 Seine. The late emperor. Napoleon III., 
 was the third and last issue of this un- 
 happy marriage. The court of Holland 
 had not the slightest attraction for Hor- 
 tense, and she sighed continually to re- 
 
 turn to France, where eveiything was 
 more congenial to her nature. She was 
 exceedingly fond of music, and com- 
 posed several pieces, among which is 
 the well-known "Partant pour la Syrie." 
 In character she was gay, impulsive and 
 generous : she was vivacious and bril- 
 liant in convei'sation, beautiful in form, 
 but less so in face, on account of the 
 conformation of her mouth and teeth, 
 which projected too much for ideal beau- 
 ty ; but her eyes were superb, like those 
 of her mother, and her hair was of the 
 finest blond type. 
 
 One of the greatest attractions at Mal- 
 maison was the magnificent collection 
 of tropical and other rai^e plants, gath- 
 ered from all parts of the earth. Not a 
 ship left a foreign port without bearing 
 some botanical treasure to Josephine, 
 who fairly idolized flowers, and seemed 
 to possess a sort of fraternal sympathy 
 
JOSEPHINE AND MALMAISON. 
 
 165 
 
 with them — a mysterious affinity not com- 
 prehended by the rest of the world. A 
 flower was a surer passport to her favor 
 than the most precious gem. All Eu- 
 rope knew of her passion, and strangers 
 took pride in gratifying it. Even war 
 suspended its rigors in favor of a taste 
 so laudable and beneficent, for the prince- 
 regent of England gave orders that all 
 plants expressed to Josephine which fell 
 into the hands of his cruisers should be 
 forwarded to her. 
 
 In the plan of the largest hot-house 
 there presided an inspiration peculiarly 
 her own : this was to unite the attractions 
 of the hot-house to those of the drawing- 
 room ; and in accordance with this idea 
 an elegant room was constructed near 
 the centre of the longer side of the build- 
 ing, and separated from it only by two 
 colunins supporting the entrance. These 
 columns, twelve feet high, were of violet 
 breccia, with gilded bases and capitals. 
 The room was decorated with exquisite 
 taste after classic models. Here Josephine 
 came every day— first, to look after her 
 treasures and to enjoy the delicious sur- 
 prise, known only to flower-cultivators, 
 of seeing some new exotic opening its 
 glowing petals to the light for the first 
 time in its foreign home ; and then to 
 recline with an indolence that is itself a 
 culture in that charming sanctuary where 
 the most graceful forms, the most perfect 
 colors, the most exquisite odors created 
 a symphony of delights. 
 
 Among the flowers introduced into 
 France by Josephine were rare species 
 of the hibiscus, bignonia, phlox, myrtle, 
 geranium, mimosa, cactus and rhododen- 
 dron. One of the finest dahlias still bears 
 the name "Coquette de Rueil," a Camel- 
 lia yaponica owes its name to Josephine, 
 and she is immortalized in the " Souvenir 
 de la Malmaison," one of the finest roses 
 in the world. In the Jardin de la Mal- 
 maison, a costly folio, containing full- 
 sized colored plates of the one hundred 
 and eighty-four exotic plants that blos- 
 somed, nearly all of them, in the Mal- 
 maison hot-houses for the first time, there 
 is the Josephinia imperatricis. This is 
 a lovely bignonia, propagated from seeds 
 brought from New Holland. Josephine, 
 
 who cared for no unshared honor or 
 pleasure, asked her botanist to name a 
 certain new plant after her husband. 
 But here was a dilemma. Both the 
 names of the great man had been already 
 used by other botanists, and so the result 
 was a kind of Greek enigma : Calomr ria, 
 from kalos (good), and meris (part^. 
 
 In the dedication of the book mention- 
 ed, compiled under Josephine's patron- 
 age, the dry old scientist Ventenat, mem- 
 ber of the Institute of France, flatters his 
 patron in that gentle stilted style peculiar 
 to our grandfathers. He ends the dedi- 
 cation thus : " If in the course of this 
 work I have to describe some of those 
 modest and beneficent plants which seem 
 only to live for the purpose of exhaling 
 an influence at once sweet and salutary, 
 I shall find it very difficult, madame, to 
 refrain from comparisons which would 
 hardly escape my readers." 
 
 The gallery of Malmaison contained 
 not only paintings, among which the 
 Dutch and Flemish schools predomi- 
 nated, but antique vases and statues — 
 Greek, Etruscan, Egyptian — and a fine 
 collection of bronzes and exhumed treas- 
 ures of Herculaneum and Pompeii ; and 
 as the Trianon under the last empire was 
 made a distinctive Trianon museum, so 
 under the same patronage Malmaison 
 became a depository of the souvenirs of 
 Josephine and the Bonaparte family. 
 
 The bed -room of Josephine in her 
 time must have been a gem of luxurious 
 taste. It was hung with purple velvet, 
 figured with gold. The centre of the ceil- 
 ing was painted to represent a brilliant 
 summer sky with light, rosy clouds. The 
 embroidery covering the furniture was 
 principally the work of Josephine. The 
 centre of each piece was a medallion en- 
 closing the initial of her name. The del- 
 icate silken bed-curtains, bordered with 
 gold fi'inge, were suspended from a balda- 
 chin in the form of a royal crown, bearing 
 the monogram of the initials "N." and 
 "J." To-day the gold is tarnished, the 
 velvet torn and faded, and the melan- 
 choly ravages of Time are seen upon 
 everything. In the cabinet of the em- 
 peror there is the clock that stood in his 
 room at Longwood, stopped by some 
 
1 66 
 
 JOSEPHINE AND MALMAISON. 
 
 hand at the moment of his death ; in 
 the gallery, the harp that Josephine used 
 to play, its strings now broken, its music 
 hushed for ever. The words of Napoleon, 
 "Triste comme la grandeur," seem sol- 
 emnly reverberating through these de- 
 serted, decaying halls, and the visitor is 
 glad to escape from their depressing at- 
 mosphere into the free sunlight, the sym- 
 bol of progress and eternal youth. 
 
 TOP -^ . #»■-» ■"sa 
 
 The tourist on quitting Malmaison will 
 retain vividly for some time a crowd of 
 souvenirs ; but after a while the most of 
 them will have vanished, and when the 
 name of Napoleon is mentioned there 
 will only return to his memory the Long- 
 wood iron bedstead, some snuff-boxes, a 
 faded military uniform and a rusty sword. 
 With the name of Josephine will appear 
 that stately couch, her nuptial bed and 
 
 Ift N \ 
 
 BED-CHAMBER OF JOSEPHINt. 
 
 her death-bed, and that broken harp. 
 The difference between the souvenirs 
 thus retained suggests the motive of this 
 paper. But it is so difficult to do jus- 
 tice to Napoleon — so easy to over-es- 
 timate a woman like Josephine. She 
 appeals to the heart at every step ; he 
 seldom, except through those eloquent 
 witnesses of his love for her, written 
 often amid the din of battle on a desk 
 improvised by the head of a drum or 
 the pommel of a saddle. 
 
 One really grand speech of his — grand, 
 because almost superhuman in its ego- 
 ism — is preserved by Roederer. It was 
 at Mahnaison after the i8th Brumaire, 
 when the Tribunal imposed upon him 
 the general restoration of popular rights, 
 thus making him, as he thought, the 
 slave of the liberties of the people. "I 
 am a soldier," he cried, "a child of the 
 Revolution, sprung from the bosom of 
 the people. Do they think they can in- 
 
 sult me as if I were only a king?" To 
 Josephine his boundless ambition seemed 
 an ungovernable mania. She could only 
 prophesy his fall, and then calmly sub- 
 mit to destiny, which she always be- 
 lieved, or affected to believe, was fore- 
 told in her case by the old negress at 
 Martinique, who told her she was to be- 
 come greater than a queen and die in 
 a hospital. It seems quite certain that 
 in prison she laughed at her friends who 
 mourned over her coming fate, and re- 
 assured them by declaring that she was 
 yet to be queen of France; and that 
 after she became empress she gradually 
 acquired a kind of superstitious regard 
 for the old woman's prediction. We are 
 told that at Malmaison one bright eve- 
 ning, when the project of divorce was 
 in contemplation, she called the empe- 
 ror's attention to something in the heav- 
 ens, saying, " Remember that it is to 
 my star, not yours, that sovereignty has 
 
JOSEPHINE AND MALMAISON 
 
 167 
 
 been promised. Separate our fates and 
 your star fades." There is no question 
 that she clearly foresaw his fill, though 
 no magic was necessary for that. This 
 appears evident in the letter written 
 the day following that melancholy din- 
 ner, where neither ate or spoke during 
 the whole time. When they left the 
 table he approached her, and taking her 
 hand commenced the prelude to the 
 fatal words of separation. She stopped 
 him when he. ended the words, "My 
 dearest affections must yield to the in- 
 terests of France," fell lifeless upon the 
 floor, and remained three hours insensi- 
 ble. The letter she wrote the next day 
 commenced: "My presentiments are 
 realized. You have pronounced the 
 word which separates us: the rest is 
 only a formality. Such is the reward, 
 I will not say of so many sacrifices (they 
 were sweet, because made for you), but 
 of an attachment unbounded on my 
 part, and of the most solemn oaths on 
 yours. But the state, whose interests 
 you put forward as your motive, will, it 
 is said, indemnify me by justifying you ! 
 These interests, however, upon which you 
 feign to immolate me, are but a pretext : 
 your ill-dissembled ambition, as it has 
 been, so it will ever continue, the guide 
 of your life — a guide which has led you 
 to victories and to a throne, and which 
 now urges you to disasters and to ruin." 
 Eugene warmly espoused his mother's 
 cause, and when the divorce was pro- 
 nounced wished to abdicate the vice- 
 royalty of Italy, but was dissuaded by 
 Napoleon, and also by Josephine her- 
 self. Two years before he had sought 
 to reconcile his mother to the proposed 
 separation, as appears from one of his 
 autograph letters now preserved in the 
 Malmaison museum. It is little known 
 to English readers, if indeed it has ever 
 been translated. The following are some 
 extracts from it : "I have received, my 
 good mother, the letter you sent me by 
 Bataille, and it has given me great 
 pleasure, for it assures me that you are 
 content, that you despise the malice of 
 
 evil tongues, and that the emperor_ con- 
 tinues to treat you well. You have noth- 
 ing to fear from him, because he him- 
 self despises those Avho are base enough 
 to give him bad advice. There is a great 
 deal said about the divorce. I have this 
 from Paris and from Munich ; but I am 
 pleased with your conversation with the 
 emperor if it is such as you have repre- 
 sented it. You should always speak frank- 
 ly to His Majesty : to do otherwise would 
 be to no longer love him. If the em- 
 peror still bothers you about children, 
 tell him that it ill becomes him to re- 
 proach you on such a subject. If he be- 
 lieves that his happiness and that of 
 France depends upon his having chil- 
 dren, there is only one honorable course 
 to follow ; but he ought still to treat you 
 well, and give you a sufficient dower to 
 enable you to live in Italy with your 
 children. The emperor can then marry 
 as his policy or his happiness demands. 
 We should still remain attached to him, 
 and his regard for us would not change, 
 though circumstances would oblige him 
 to separate himself from our family." 
 
 Three months after the divorce Napo- 
 leon led Marie Louise to the throne from 
 which he had forced the loving, faithful 
 Josephine. In four years her fears were 
 realized, and Napoleon saw himself hurled 
 from power and banished from the coun- 
 try. Marie Louise abandoned him on the 
 first alarm, fleeing to Austria with that 
 dearly-purchased child, then three years 
 old, who was to have perpetuated the 
 glory of his name. The contrast be- 
 tween the conduct of Marie Louise and 
 that of Josephine must have touched 
 the heart of the fallen emperor. On 
 hearing of his banishment, Josephine, 
 with characteristic devotedness, would 
 have followed him to the isle of Elba 
 had she been permitted to do so. "Say 
 but the word, and I depart," were almost 
 the last words she ever wrote. She did 
 not live to witness his sudden reappear- 
 ance upon the soil of France: in five 
 Aveeks her generous heart was silent in 
 the sfrave. 
 
CRUMBS FROM THE RHINELAND. 
 
 MAINZ (mAYENCE). 
 
 H 
 
 OW the Germans love their river ! 
 
 very touching. In the train approach- 
 ing Mainz was a red-faced, pursy Frank- 
 furter, a disagreeable man, absorbed in 
 his own comfort, accompanied by a saf- 
 fron-colored wife, without a tooth so far 
 as I could see, whom he never addressed 
 save with a growl. Suddenly, as a shin- 
 ing line appeared in the distance, he 
 started out of his corner with, " Der 
 Rhein ! der Rhein !" his face one open 
 grin, and his helpmate darted forward, 
 echoing, "Der Rhein! ja! ja!" and 
 gazing with actual tears in her black 
 eyes, while she exhibited her toothless 
 1 68 
 
 gums in a smile of perfect satisfaction. 
 Both were lifted in a moment entirely 
 above their vulgar squabbles. 
 
 As for us Americans, what do we ex- 
 pect when we pile our satchels and wraps 
 on the tables of the steamer at Mainz ? 
 We look to be thrilled with a keener, 
 and at the same time a more refined, de- 
 light than ever before, as we remember 
 that for ten centuries the Rhine was link- 
 ed with almost every important European 
 fact or man, and that it flows under the 
 walls of one hundred and fourteen cities 
 famed in modern or mediaeval story. So 
 we keep in a passive state, waiting for 
 the magnetic shock. Or we approach 
 
CRUMBS FROM THE RHINELAND. 
 
 169 
 
 as to a world-recognized ideal of perfec- 
 tion in rivers, under bonds not to fall 
 behind in any way, and then we look 
 up stream and down stream and say, as 
 I heard an intelligent Philadelphian re- 
 mark, " Take away the castles and asso- 
 ciations and things, and I don't call this 
 first-class scenery !" Evidently he felt 
 aggrieved — wanted his money back. 
 
 THE RHEINSTEIN. 
 
 Das goldene Mainz / Songs of the 
 Master-singer and the broken utterance 
 of that type of the modern man of un- 
 rest and self-questioning, Faust, went 
 with me" in Mainz. The newer part of 
 the city is bright and well built, with at- 
 tractive shops and fine Pl'dtze, where are 
 ihe Standbilder o'i On\.&\\t>^\g and Goethe 
 and Schiller. It is thronged and bustling. 
 
 The Rhine brings traffic. Around the 
 Dom is the old Middle -Age city in 
 which the soul revels. Through the 
 crowd that night came a ponderous open 
 carriage, and in it, alone, a stout old 
 lady of seventy, throwing cross and 
 haughty glances on the people as they 
 pressed against the walls to avoid being 
 crushed by her carriage. So looked some 
 mediceval baroness of 
 a dozen quarterings 
 as the canaille in that 
 same street fled right 
 and left from under 
 her horses' hoofs. 
 The scene was per- 
 fect: tall old black 
 stone houses, seven 
 or eight stories high, 
 projecting cornices, 
 rough stone shields, 
 narrow, dark street — 
 nothing save the garb 
 of the people differing 
 from a fouiteenth-cen- 
 tury evening. 
 
 The Dom, with six 
 towers, is a prominent 
 object from the river. 
 These are so nume- 
 rous because there are 
 two choirs, each sur- 
 mounted by a central 
 tower and two smaller 
 ones. There is no 
 front. Very pleasant 
 to wander in is the 
 vast red -stone pile, 
 rich in tombs of arch- 
 bishop-electors, some 
 with their figures of 
 life-size in full canoni- 
 cals, under their hands 
 the much smaller fig- 
 ures of emperors they 
 may have crowned. The series, dating 
 from the eighth century, gives a high idea 
 of the dignity and power of these prel- 
 ates, who had a double jurisdiction, over 
 body and soul. 
 
 Something keeps peculiarly vivid a 
 sight 1 saw that same evening. After 
 half an hour of watching the stars in 
 the heavens and the starry lights twink- 
 
T 
 
 17c 
 
 CRUMBS FROM THE RHINELAND. 
 
 ling on the bridge of boats to Kastel, I 
 sat down to my journal. All was still. 
 I could hear the ripple of the river, when, 
 suddenly glancing over my shoulder, 
 lo ! a great golden three-quarter moon 
 rising over the Rhine ! For the moment 
 I scarcely knew what it was or where 
 I was. A lace curtain drooped over a 
 French window, so as to form a frame 
 for the lovely picture, the moon hanging 
 in a dark-blue heaven, and a yellow- 
 glancing track stretching across the riv- 
 er, while the trees and hills on the op- 
 posite bank grew plainer every moment 
 — beautiful anywhere, even were it 
 any nameless mill - pond quivering be- 
 neath my eye ; but 
 this was the Rhine, e^-^^^^s^^si^s^ 
 the exulting and 
 abounding river. = — _- 
 
 The next morning ^^^^ ;^i- 
 the steamer down to ST"^ ^^^ 
 Cologne gave me my 
 first experience of 
 down being north. 
 Until Bingen is reach- 
 ed the scenery is 
 tame — no ruins, 
 though I watched for 
 them breathlessly. 
 Rheinstein is not a 
 ruin, as it has been 
 restored : it stands on 
 a crag rising almost 
 perpendicularly, and 
 makes a very pretty 
 picture. There is 
 just room for a road 
 between rock and riv- 
 er. It must have been a good stand for 
 business in old times ; that, of course, 
 bemg robbery. The romance about it 
 is our gift as we look up at it, or rather 
 it was bestowed in the thirteenth century 
 by its partial demolition. The league 
 of the burghers against the barons at 
 that time did much to make the Rhine 
 romantic, and the French did the rest 
 afterward. Inside Rheinstein a scion 
 of Prussian royalty has tried to keep up 
 the old feudal state. He has collected 
 furniture from a parcel of other broken- 
 down castles, put stained glass in the 
 windows, hung the hall with armor and 
 
 old pictures, and lets you in to see it all 
 for a few groschen. 
 
 Near here the castles are almost in 
 crowds. Sometimes they look like ex- 
 crescences of the rock, being entirely of 
 the same hue, as if the sternness at its 
 heart had just taken shape and flung 
 abroad its defiance : sometimes the rock 
 itself is of a fortress-like formation, espe- 
 cially on volcanic peaks, so that you can 
 hardly tell where the castle begins. On 
 this volcanic soil grapes flourish best, as 
 it holds the heat. All the most celebrated 
 vineyards are in this neighborhood. 
 
 Two mountains, the Niederwald and 
 Rupertsberg, now rear themselves, and 
 
 BACHARACH. 
 
 soft grandeur takes possession of the 
 Rhine, and all the cliffs continue the ex- 
 ulting chant till, near Coblentz, they re- 
 cede in long wavy outlines to let in more 
 mild and placid influences. The prcci 
 pices which guard the Biirgerloch are 
 slaty and black where the vines do not 
 cover them, but where they do, and an 
 August sun shines on them, as it did 
 that day, no green can be more rejoicing. 
 We landed in a small rowboat at 
 Bacharach, a quaint confusion of bent 
 gables and seamed fronts, still defended 
 by Gothic turrets, three-sided, the one 
 toward the town being left open. Up 
 
CRUMBS FROM THE RHINELAND. 
 
 171 
 
 ihe wild hill the town takes sometimes 
 timid, sometimes audacious little runs ; 
 then it settles itself down in a half-face- 
 tious way on promontories, where it tosses 
 up vanes in the shape of iron letters, and 
 dog -headed water - spouts ; then twists 
 itself to higher levels on Avinding flights 
 of stairs, often with balusters carved in 
 dragons or vegetable forms. On one of 
 these levels is a church in honor of that 
 
 THE PFALZ. 
 
 terrible child, Werner. Go up a flight 
 of a hundred steps, and you come to an 
 earlier one in ruins. Anon, a bold bulge, 
 flanked by towers. Through gateways, 
 arches, Gothic and Roman, you have a 
 glimpse of the foaming Rhine below. 
 
 Of course, Bacharach has a castle on 
 the apex — Slahteck — and about that 
 donjon I overheard the following con- 
 versation : 
 
 " Is yonder castle an entirely satisfac- 
 
 tory one ?" asked the other American of 
 our party. 
 
 "In what respect?" rejoined Herr 
 Topfer. 
 
 " In all respects — view, ivy, arches, 
 cracks in the walls, dungeon, if there be 
 one. I don't mean precisely a represent- 
 ative castle — I don't insist on that — but 
 sufficiently ruiny to be agreeable, and 
 yet not vacantly so, for you know it is 
 our first ruin, and our imagina- 
 tions must not be balked. In 
 short, we ought to begin on a 
 satisfactory one." 
 
 "In that case," said Herr 
 Topfer solemnly, " I would ad- 
 vise you to wait. There will be 
 others." 
 
 "Yes, I see there is a good 
 assortment," replied Miss F. 
 
 This judicious managing of 
 sensation was new to me, but I 
 sailed away, and so not until 
 the next Sunday, at Rolands- 
 eck, did I "do" my first ruin. 
 
 Passing the Pfalz, a square 
 building on a long low island 
 moored like a boat in the river, 
 as massive in its masonry as a 
 Florentine palace, I went to the 
 end of the steamer by myself, 
 and tried to look with the eyes 
 of the imprisoned countess, 
 weary and longing, on the 
 green gleaming tide close to 
 whose bosom she was immured 
 — on the same hills laughing in 
 the same sun. But the experi- 
 ment was vain, as I have always 
 found such. The realities are 
 disturbing or hampering. I did 
 the thing better in my own room 
 that night. 
 At Rolandseck I spent the morning 
 exploring the hills and roaming with 
 surprised and timid feet through the first 
 vineyards I had ever trodden, then up 
 by a winding path to Roland's Tower. 
 A personal association with it, of old 
 date, made me very glad that here be- 
 gan my delvings amid bygone days. 
 Rolandseck was already desolated in 
 the twelfth century, and now much of ito 
 substance lies mingled with the moim- 
 
lyz 
 
 CRUMBS FROM THE RHINELAND. 
 
 tain. Roofs or windows there are none, 
 scarcely walls, except in the one beauti- 
 ful arch that crowns the hill. Love gives 
 it a spirit-freshness. Do not laugh at 
 legends, for they bestow immortality. 
 And can any guide-book repetition ever 
 vulgarize this one ? Answer, ye who 
 with quick responsive pulses yearly float 
 past its luminous cloud, though by no 
 effort can ye imagine a man of this cen- 
 tury building a house on a hill to look 
 down on the abode of his lost love. 
 
 What a Sunday that was ! The day 
 was simply perfect. No 
 American sky could 
 have furnished a more 
 unclouded background 
 for the seven mountains 
 to lean against : the air 
 was bland, and the 
 grassy gorge which led 
 up to the tower was full 
 of surprises in vistas of 
 the Rhine or of the lone- 
 ly country at the back 
 of the hills^vistas wall- 
 ed in by wooded knolls 
 and arabesqued by wild 
 flowers. I was alone, 
 "and my own gladness 
 filled the silence like a 
 speech." 1 sat long at 
 the foot of the arch, 
 hearing at intervals a 
 shrill scream as a black 
 railway -train from Co- 
 logne rushed along be- 
 low me ; and when I 
 came down some scar- 
 let-covered donkeys 
 waiting at the corner of the road added 
 just the bit of rich color courted by the 
 eye, filled all day with the green in the 
 valley and the azure of the sky. 
 
 From this bank one has the finest view 
 of the Drachenfels opposite, particularly 
 through the single arch of Roland's 
 Tower. Near by it is almost too " ruiny ," 
 and the prospect is very distant of the 
 other six mountains piled around, some 
 wrapping their green oak-garments about 
 their shoulders, others bare and ruddy, 
 "flushed in a strange faint silence of pos- 
 session by the sunshine." 
 
 I was glad to be with Germans on this 
 trip, for they gave themselves up to the 
 voice of the Past, or at least came and 
 went easily between that and the rafts 
 of lumber and their dinner spread on 
 deck. A year afterward I made the 
 same voyage with a party of Americans, 
 who employed themselves in gossiping 
 over their last doings at home, and ac- 
 tually went down to dinner in the midst 
 of the finest scenery, declaring they could 
 see well enough out of the portholes ! 
 
 We had made acquaintance with one 
 
 DRACHENFELS. 
 
 of the flock of professors who seemed 
 to haunt me all over Europe, so often 
 did I find the stranger with whom I 
 glided into conversation a professor in 
 some university. This time came the 
 fortunate consequence of a stop at Bonn 
 to see the university in which our friend 
 was professor. 
 
 " Voila Bonn ! cest une petite perle,'' 
 said a French lady. It is a gem of rare 
 lustre and value strung on the Rhme- 
 thread of human habitation, for it is 
 elegantly clean, orderly and tasteful. 
 The older part, to be sure, has dingy 
 
CRUMBS FROM THE RHINE LAND. 
 
 ^73 
 
 gables and discolored friezes of flowers 
 and fruit, but only the pigeons appear 
 to appreciate them. As in Cologne, "a 
 hght of laughing flowers " runs not 
 along the ground, but along the house- 
 tops. On the edge of the roofs a place 
 is arranged for this cornice of color, 
 tossed aloft to make gay the first im- 
 pression for the angels and the sun- 
 beams as they arrive from heaven. 
 
 When King Frederick William III. 
 wished to commemorate the victory of 
 Leipsic which steadied his own and 
 other crowns on the wearers' heads, he 
 
 BONN CATHEDRAL, 
 
 determined to found a university. Bonn 
 had lately been passed over to him with 
 its two electoral palaces, and, having 
 plenty of those articles already, he de- 
 voted both to the purpose. A ci-devant 
 palace, occupying half of one side of the 
 town, fourteen hundred feet long, can 
 take in departments which are generally 
 out-door. We peeped into the lecture- 
 rooms, heard about Schlegel and Nie- 
 buhr, who filled chairs here, and took a 
 hasty glance at the collections and the 
 terrace, with its panorama of varied and 
 
 luxuriant country, and the Siebenge- 
 birge across the river in a new grouping. 
 The unusually lofty spire of the Dom 
 beckoned us next. It is a light, elegant 
 church, round-arched, and, like Cologne 
 Cathedral, defaced by pews in the nave, 
 where, as you enter, you see a bronze 
 statue of the foundress, the empress 
 Helena, life-size, on a high pedestal, 
 kneeling and holding aloft a cross. The 
 effect is almost startling. 
 
 We drove to the other chateau through 
 the fashionable promenade, a chestnut 
 alley a mile long, and were taken into 
 Professor 's apart- 
 ment and introduced 
 to his wife. "Ah, 
 you stay? nichtwahr? 
 you stay the night ?' ' 
 she said. So the pro- 
 fessor said, so he be- 
 seeched, so they both 
 beseeched, and ma- 
 dame put hands on 
 our arms and led us 
 to a bed-room sweet 
 and pretty. The floor 
 was polished like a 
 mirror; snowy nap- 
 kins were pinned on 
 every chair and be- 
 neath every vase and 
 ornament : I believe 
 there were thirty nap- 
 kins in that room. 
 "Ganz fertig," she 
 said — "it is all ready. 
 See ! one for each," 
 pointing to two little 
 fringed white beds. 
 * The good people 
 beset us, they were so hearty, so eager. 
 The professor knew our friend, Herr 
 Topfer — was not that introduction suf- 
 ficient ? We looked at them, we looked 
 in each other's eyes ; then out at the win- 
 dows, which opened on the botanical 
 garden, delicious with color and smell, 
 "If I knew whether we ought!" I said 
 with a lingering gaze at my companion. 
 "Ought? ought?" echoed the pro- 
 fessor. 
 
 " I don't know if it would be right," I 
 explained. 
 
174 
 
 CRUMBS FROM THE RHINELAND. 
 
 " Right ! why not ? If it would make 
 you happy ! If you would like it !" 
 
 I shook my head: "Oh! as for lik- 
 ing—" 
 
 The good Frau stood looking, her 
 hands clasped eagerly. I had heard 
 of Irish hospitality, " Come, and bring 
 all your friends." This was German. 
 
 "If it were possible," I said — "if our 
 friends did not expect us at Koln." 
 
 "That is nothing," interrupted the 
 professor. " There is the telegraph. All 
 right! all right!" 
 
 This last phrase he seemed to think 
 the perfection of colloquial English, for 
 he plumed himself proudly every time 
 he said it. 
 
 " Stay ! stay !" he exclaimed. " I have 
 thought of something;" and he rushed 
 down stairs, and was back again in a 
 second with word that a Geistlicher was 
 going to Koln by the afternoon train, 
 and would take an explanatory note 
 straight to Herr Topfer at the station. 
 "See now!" he said. "All right! all 
 right!" 
 
 I looked at my friend and round at 
 the homelike salon with its pictures and 
 pretty knickknacks — at the honest-faced 
 children as eager as the parents. " Oh ! 
 I do so want to stay !" I exclaimed. 
 
 The note was written. "But," said I, 
 "how will the gentleman know M. Topf- 
 er at the station ? He never saw him." 
 
 "Oh, that is very easy. Herr Topfer, 
 he of course says to station-master, ' I 
 wait for two ladies who come from Bonn 
 in the train ;' and when the train arrives 
 the Geistlicher, he goes to station-master 
 and says, ' I want him who waits for two 
 ladies,' and the station-master says, 
 'There he is, mein Herr!' All right! 
 all right ! Ja wohl !" 
 
 "But — but — perhaps M. Topfer will 
 not speak to the station-master." 
 
 "Gtit ! Then he waits round, and the 
 Geistlicher, he sees him who waits round, 
 and he does not give the note till he 
 knows the name. All right ! all right !" 
 
 And we stayed. We had an evening 
 —I will not speak of it — and the next 
 day they took us to the Holy Cross and 
 'o one of the Seven Mountains on don- 
 keys. The next week saw us gliding 
 
 up stream between the double border 
 of castles on the heights and cities and 
 villages below. It is worth a whole 
 morning of historical reading to note 
 this. One seizes that old life back 
 again — the barons swooping down to 
 enforce tolls, to throw chains across the 
 river, or to rob the traders from Diissel- 
 dorf and St. Gall. Fancy the caravan 
 hurrying along with trembling glances 
 at those peaks with keen-eyed warders, 
 and then the fierce cry from the thicket, 
 "Glory to God, and war to the world !" 
 The barons named themselves Landes- 
 schaden — pests of the country-side. 
 
 We put only one passenger off at 
 Andernach, which is a black-looking 
 place, for black basalt hills rise behind 
 it, and it is built of the same stone, I 
 iiTiagine. Its fourteen towers are turned 
 into mean habitations. The vast, hand- 
 some church is a conspicuous object, 
 and so is the huge round tower at the 
 end of the town, with a slide to lower 
 millstones, which are shipped in immense 
 quantities. On a bare hill in the neigh- 
 borhood they have taken advantage of 
 the black color absorbing heat, as the 
 Chinese paint garden-walls black,, and 
 planted vines in baskets of earth, mak- 
 ing holes in the rock to receive them, so 
 covering a hundred and fifty acres. A 
 funny thing about Andernach is the old 
 custom of a sermon at the mai-ket-cross 
 every St. Bartholomew's Day to vitupe- 
 rate the inhabitants of Linz, the next 
 city, with whom they had a centuries- 
 old tiff. This formal venting of spite 
 seems Rhenish : the people of Basel, 
 farther up the Rhine, gravely put on the 
 clock-tower of their bridge a head which 
 rolled its eyes and put out its tongue 
 every time the clock struck, to deride 
 the people of Klein-Basel opposite. 
 
 It is considered the correct thing to 
 leave the boat at Capellen and ascend 
 Stolzenfels, which was formerly a charm- 
 ing ruin, and is now a charming castle. 
 It was a little present made by the city 
 of Coblentz to the last king of Prussia, 
 who restored it. The slender, lady-like 
 chapel and the principal halls have fine 
 frescoes'and pictures by Holbein, Diirer, 
 Rembrandt, etc. At Stolzenfels, Ehren- 
 
CRUAIBS FROM THE RHINELAND. 
 
 175 
 
 ANDERNACH. 
 
 STOLZENFELS. 
 
 breitstein shows well, 
 but I don't like the 
 Rhenish cliffs crown- 
 ed with modern cita- 
 dels, even if they are 
 the strongest in Eu- 
 rope. More suitable is 
 a moated donjon over 
 which the mosses with 
 tender fingers throw 
 a robe of sweet and 
 fresh honor. Look- 
 ing over to the holy 
 Castle of Marksburg, 
 Herr Topfer develop- 
 ed a plan which I 
 must believe due to 
 the influence of its 
 patron, my Venetian 
 friend, ever helpful 
 to me, for these rug- 
 ged, frowning towers, 
 with walls as stern as 
 Ehrenbreitstein, are dedi- 
 cated to St. Mark. The 
 Rhine became religious at 
 an early period ; witness its 
 monasteries and chapels. 
 This was the plan : that we 
 should leave luggage at Co- 
 blentz, and pick up our re- 
 maining crumbs of pleasure 
 by means of pedestrianism, 
 carriage- and sometimes dil- 
 igence-riding. "Would that 
 please the Fraulein Ameri- 
 kaner?" "Ach!" I gasped 
 in delight, and when we got 
 to Coblentz was cruel in my 
 impatience to a nascent cice- 
 rone of ten in the Castor- 
 kirche, where Charlemagne's 
 grandsons met to divide his 
 vast empire. He reiterated, 
 " La capitale eglise de Co- 
 blence." " Je le sais," I said. 
 Then he promulgated that 
 yonder picture was by Ru- 
 bens. "Je le sais," I said 
 again ; and as he did not go 
 away, I followed remorse- 
 lessly with "Et puis?" But 
 it did not prevent his whine; 
 "Ein gro'," at the door. 
 
176 
 
 CRUMBS FROM THE RHINE LAND. 
 
 Our walking was done chiefly by the 
 Promenaden Pfade. Hard, well kept, 
 generally wide enough for two, they are 
 among the glories of Germany. By 
 them I should like to traverse all Rhine- 
 land, to follow the Aahr, the Zahn, the 
 Bi-ohlbach and many a ravine, rocky or 
 grassy, up to nests of unexpected beauty. 
 Walking here is not ploughing and 
 tramping over rough, sandy 
 roads — not even on the com- 
 mon highway, which extends 
 all along the bank of the river, 
 often lined with fruit trees. At 
 Sinzig are cherries enough for 
 the world. 
 
 We turned the flanks of 
 mountains or boldly crossed 
 them ; we beheld sparkling 
 sweeps of the Rhine from 
 breeze-swept table-lands ; we 
 found hill - locked lakes, no 
 more beautiful than our own 
 New England ones but for the 
 frequent abbey-towns mellow- 
 ing our thought. Describe 
 them ? Rather than these be- 
 sung, bewritten banks I would 
 choose some unchristened New 
 Jersey run, where the cows stop 
 to drink over mosses which 
 keep only their own sweetness, 
 whose reeds as they wave in 
 the wind but whisper their part 
 in the great chant of universal 
 grace and beauty. 
 
 Time was of no value to us 
 save as an instrument of ab- 
 sorption. We turned out the 
 porous side of our natures, de- 
 termined to suck up all sorts 
 of images for future use and 
 pleasure. Diligences took us 
 up occasionally; there were 
 relays of boys at every point 
 to carry our things and guide us when 
 in perplexity ; and we had always Bae- 
 deker. It was our delight to follow only 
 his wonderfully felicitous directions, till 
 we came out at the top of a hill perhaps 
 and looked down through an opening at 
 the desired object, and echoed his "guide 
 quite unnecessary." 
 
 Sometimes we slept at a forester's cot- 
 
 tage, gazing from our beds under the 
 thatch through an unglazed casement at 
 the summer night lying soft and dark on 
 Rhineland, and in the morning ate some 
 sour stuff and black bread, and went on 
 our way through woodlands where, 
 
 as we trod, 
 The dusk was like the Truce of God 
 With worldly woe and care." 
 
 CASTI.E OF MARKSBURG. 
 
 Again, we were in happy little towns. 
 At Hirzenach it was market-day. A mar- 
 ket in the shadow of the old brown church, 
 a stir and a swaying of quilted skirts and 
 hard features and German gutturals over 
 a mellow, luscious swell of fruits and 
 vegetables ; over booths where crockery 
 and shoes and zwiebac/cewQYQ tricked out 
 with good honest hollyhocks and cabbage 
 
CRUMBS FROM THE R2IINELAND. 
 
 177 
 
 roses. We looked on from the dark old 
 porch of the inn, syringa-scented, where 
 
 COBLENTZ, LOOKING TOWARDS EHRENBREITSTEIN, 
 
 above our heads the great sign creaked, 
 a lion or a giant — I forget which. Such 
 abound here, a German echo of the 
 
 OBERWESEL. 
 
 (> usades. In some villages the plaster 
 houses, with dark-red beams describing 
 12 
 
 lozenges on the outside, are mixed with 
 villas having gold-pointed garden-rail- 
 
 ings enclosing statues 
 
 and Grecian temples. 
 Others are entirely 
 rural, peaceful — 1 
 might almost say tor- 
 pid, remembering the 
 profound calm which 
 wrapped them. Vast, 
 noble churches, worth 
 the visit of an anti- 
 quary, often spring up 
 from amid the peaked 
 roofs and gables. 
 
 W e encountered 
 crowds of hamlets un- 
 known to fame, each 
 with its own set of in- 
 terests, its little drama 
 of life. How full the 
 world is, to be sure ! 
 Sometimes the Pro- 
 menaden Pfad le<? 
 through vineyards, 
 which are usually 
 closed at this season, 
 but the vintage was late this year. The 
 emerald Weintrauben were ripe enough 
 to eat, and we took them as they were, 
 
 not those which are 
 
 like gold and picked 
 up with a fork when 
 they drop. We track- 
 ed the sombre gorges 
 back of Oberwesel by 
 slippery stepping- 
 stones. As you come 
 out to Oberwesel ev- 
 erything poses itself. 
 Ansichten and rustic 
 belvederes are fre- 
 quent. God made all 
 Rhineland on purpose 
 to be picturesque in 
 the strictest sense of 
 the term. It is with 
 intention that the cre- 
 ating Hand moulded 
 softly and gently even 
 in the midst of wild and 
 bold sweeps. Who is it 
 who has called the Rhine " a providen- 
 tial river" ? As historical and moral 
 
lyS 
 
 CRUMBS FROM THE RHINE LAND. 
 
 designs are deployed 
 in its two hundred 
 and seventy - seven 
 leagues, from its leap 
 at Schaff hausen, from 
 its vineclad curves 
 amid bastion-like ba- 
 salt — peace and war 
 mingled and opposed 
 — to its reedy, loamy, 
 lazy meanderings in 
 marshes at Leyden, 
 so is it also with the 
 features of beauty and 
 romance. 
 
 One afternoon we 
 found ourselves at St. 
 Goar, which is amidst 
 the finest scenery on 
 the river, where its 
 current is narrowest and deepest. We 
 had come hither by the green vale behind 
 Rheinfels, only wide enough for a stream 
 and path, while from our feet the 
 sides spread in an unbroken green 
 slope at an angle of forty-five de- 
 grees. Through it the peasants 
 troop to their homes of filth and 
 fleas, for they all huddle in vil- 
 lages. By the waterside the wash- 
 erwomen were standing on rafts, 
 pounding the linen with their bare 
 feet. Blue-capped girls were car- 
 rying baskets of just- gathered 
 apples on their heads, meeting 
 others with grass and fallen leaves 
 — a pretty sight as the sunbeams 
 sinking over Rheinfels struck on 
 their erect forms and rosy faces. 
 
 We stayed all night for two rea- 
 sons — one, to hear the Lurlei's 
 voice. The siren sits on the op- 
 posite bank. A man from a little 
 cottage on this side blows a horn 
 and fires a gun, and from a boat 
 crossing the stream the oar-strokes 
 resound with terrible din. The 
 echo is five times repeated won- 
 derfully clear. 
 
 Katzenburg was the other mag- 
 net. This I may call, to use my 
 American friend's expression, a 
 "thoroughly satisfactory" ruin. It 
 has its legend and its ghost ; its 
 
 COTTAGE AT LURLEI. 
 
 tottering walls are properly draped with 
 lichens ; it has flights of steps which 
 land you nowhere, and give a blank 
 
 THE CAT (katzenburg). 
 
CRUMBS FROM THE RHINELAND. 
 
 179 
 
 shock of desolation ; and enough of its 
 passages are choked to leave room for 
 the imagination to fill up. Inside the 
 portal, which has rather odd granite pil- 
 lars, you climb steps overgrown with 
 turf, ivy flapping in your face as you 
 glance through fissures down to the riv- 
 er, where the boats look like insects, till 
 you come to the banqueting-hall. What 
 sound narrows in to you beneath the 
 vaulted roof and lofty columns ? A bar 
 of a jovial hunting-song changed into 
 the most melancholy cadence imagin- 
 able ? No, listen at the tower, which is 
 only a continuation of the great well 
 plunging into the bowels of the moun- 
 tain. Into the well a former Katzen- 
 wellenbogen used to drop those who dis- 
 pleased him, and when he carried off a 
 silver bell from the church in St. Goar- 
 hausen, he being poor and not pious, 
 and the priest came with holy cross to 
 demand it back, he cried, " Ho ! ho ! 
 you want your bell ? You shall have 
 it ;" and he tied it fast to the priest and 
 flung him into the well, filling it up with 
 stones. Falling ill a few days after- 
 ward, his family astrologer heard the 
 tolling of a bell in the depths of the 
 mountain. All knew what it meant. 
 That night he died. Since that, every 
 year, at the hour of his death, tolls the 
 silver bell. 
 
 Farther on is a pretty roofless turret, 
 without stairs — no way to get at it ; a 
 perfect herbarium of wild flowers, and 
 the pigeons fly in and out of their nests 
 under the broken escutcheons, and the 
 spotted moths and the dragon-flies flut- 
 ter from it down over the gorge at the 
 back, which is an uncanny place. Once 
 a bridge crossed it, and one arch remains. 
 The effect of some deed of sadness and 
 horror is felt there, despite the blossoms 
 and the aroma the sun draws out from 
 shining wet leaves and sap - swollen 
 branches, despite the pleasant sound of 
 bees humming among the flowering 
 thorn bushes, the ground-swallows twit- 
 tering in the holly and the noise of wa- 
 ter-mills borne up the glen. 
 
 You peer into dungeons and oubli- 
 ettes, track by torchlight underground 
 passages, light a paper and throw it 
 
 down to see the extent of a dry well where 
 the prisoners were put down at night 
 and drawn up in the morning. There 
 is a similar one at Reufels opposite. 
 
 We returned to Oberwesel by the high- 
 road. It is lonely — no houses: steep, 
 leafy -like slate-rocks rise out of the river, 
 glistening as if always wet, and at their 
 feet the slivers of slate lie like scales of 
 a black monster. All along these are 
 nets for catching salmon. 
 
 Of course there is a garden at Ober- 
 wesel, or it would not be a German vil- 
 lage — a little park, we would call it — ar- 
 ranged in a chestnut wood, showing the 
 picturesque possible without negligence 
 or dirt. I don't know of anything else 
 at Oberwesel. It is a place overpower- 
 ed by its background, though it resists 
 with battlemented walls and a round 
 tower like the Andernach one. 
 
 The last day I was to be left at St. 
 Goar for some convenience of trains, 
 my party pursuing a different route. I 
 landed alone with my maid in a small 
 boat. The landlord of the Lilie, re- 
 membering me very well, asked if I 
 would walk in to table-d' hote just going 
 on. I said yes without thinking, and 
 when I came down found he had delay- 
 ed a course for me, and the three wait- 
 ers were collected, looking impatiently 
 up the stairs. Within were perhaps 
 twenty people, mostly English, with 
 empty plates, silent, all looking at the 
 door awaiting my entrance : they had 
 seen my landing from the steamer. I 
 shivered. But it was as a princess in- 
 cognito, nothing less, that I took my 
 seat. I had seen enough of traveling 
 English to know how to treat them ; so 
 I entirely ignored their presence, placid- 
 ly gazing out of window in the intervals 
 of the courses on long, straggling St. 
 Goarhausen opposite. This had its ef- 
 fect in the increased respect of all 
 glances, except those from a pair of bold 
 black eyes opposite me, whose owner 
 observed to her husband in a loud tone, 
 "One of the people of the country, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " My dear," murmured the gentleman, 
 "take care. The lady may understand 
 English." 
 
i8o 
 
 TRAVELS IN THE AIR. 
 
 "Not likely !" in a tone of infinite dis- 
 dain. 
 
 " Oh ! — ah ! — one can never be too 
 careful. So many of our people go to 
 Paris, don't you know, that the French 
 must pick up a little of our lingo." 
 
 " I don't think her French," remarked 
 the lady, her gaze still broadly fixed on 
 me. She proceeded with some very free 
 and impertinent remarks. 
 
 St. Goar was a holy hermit who lived 
 and preached in a cave a mile below this 
 village just thirteen hundred years ago. 
 Can the tension of his self-control yet 
 brace the air here ? Some such influence 
 it must have been that kept me quiet and 
 
 unruffled. At the conclusion of the 
 meal I wanted some confitures that stood 
 near this lady, and the waiters had all 
 left the room. I looked directly at her, 
 and said in my best English, " Madame, 
 may I trouble you to hand me those 
 bon-bons ?" 
 
 If you could have seen the woman's 
 face ! It turned white, her jaw dropped, 
 and she stared blankly, utterly unable 
 to comply with my request. Her hus- 
 band snatched up the plate and handed 
 it to me with a bow, and I ate my con- 
 fectionery with an innocent air in the 
 midst of a dead silence. 
 
 TRAVELS IN THE AIR. 
 
 TWO PARTS.— I. 
 
 IN the century which has elapsed since 
 the invention of the balloon — a cen- 
 tury fruitful in scientific discoveries and 
 mechanical improvements — no advance 
 has been made toward the solution of the 
 problem of aerial locomotion. During 
 the siege of Paris a regular service of 
 balloons was established by the French 
 government, furnishing the chief means 
 of transport and communication between 
 the capital and provinces. But the fresh 
 experiments to which a stimulus was thus 
 given have been productive of no results, 
 except perhaps that of confirming the 
 belief that the object is one which can 
 never be attained. 
 
 There is, however, one use to which 
 balloons can be applied that rescues 
 them from the character of mere toys. 
 The opportunity they afford of exploring 
 the atmospheric ocean, and of making 
 meteorological observations and experi- 
 ments, was very early perceived, and it 
 is somewhat remarkable that so few of 
 the numerous ascents that have been 
 made in both hemispheres — about thirty- 
 five hundred in all — should have been 
 directed to this purpose. The first as- 
 cent with a scientific object was that 
 
 made by Robertson and Lhoest on the 
 1 8th of July, 1803. They left Hamburg 
 at nine o'clock in the morning, remained 
 five and a half hours in the air, and 
 came down near Hanover, about seven- 
 ty-five miles from the starting-point. 
 Among the experiments made on this 
 journey was an attempt to ascertain the 
 degree of temperature at which water 
 would boil at the height of twenty-three 
 thousand feet ; but by an unaccountable 
 mistake, reminding us of Newton, who 
 put his watch into the hot water and 
 held the egg in his hand, Robertson 
 plunged the thermometer into the fire 
 instead of the water, and so broke it. 
 However, it was found quite possible at 
 this great height to hold one's hand in 
 the boiling water without experiencing 
 the slightest inconvenience. 
 
 A few similar ascents followed, under 
 the auspices of the French Academy and 
 the Academy of Sciences of St. Peters- 
 burg, but, though the results obtained 
 were not unimportant or uninteresting, we 
 have no record of further scientific ex- 
 peditions in balloons from 1804 to 1850. 
 In the latter year Messrs. Barral and 
 Bixio made two ascents for the purpose 
 
TRAVELS IN THE AIR. 
 
 i8i 
 
 of ir'vestigating certain atmospheric 
 phenomena still imperfectly understood. 
 The first occasion was very unfavorable. 
 A heavy rain was falling at the time of 
 departure, the wind was blowing violent- 
 ly, and the balloon was found not to be 
 in perfect order. It rose with extreme 
 rapidity, like an arrow from the bow, and 
 attained a height exceeding thirty thou- 
 sand feet. Becoming rapidly inflated 
 and pressing upon the network, which 
 was far too small, it bulged out at top 
 and bottom, covering the two aeronauts 
 like an immense hood. A rent ensued, 
 
 causing a sudden descent, in which the 
 voyagers, after throwing over their ap- 
 parel, and everything except their scien- 
 tific instruments, barely escaped with 
 their lives. Their second ascent was 
 more fortunate, and the thermometrical 
 observations made on this occasion at- 
 tracted much attention and discussion. 
 
 Two years after this ascent the com- 
 mittee of Kew Observatory resolved that 
 a series of aeronautic exhibitions should 
 be made, with the view of studying the 
 meteorological and physical phenomena 
 which occur in the higher regions of the 
 
 "WE PASSED THROUGH A MAGNIFICENT CUMULUS CLOUD." 
 
 terrestrial atmosphere. The resolution 
 was adopted by the council of the Brit- 
 ish Association, under whose auspices a 
 series of experimental voyages was un- 
 dertaken, which reached the culminating 
 point of interest as well as of altitude in 
 the expeditions made by Mr. Glaisher. 
 From the valuable work published last 
 year by this distinguished aeronaut, un- 
 der the title of Travels in the Air, we 
 extract an account of two ascents made 
 in 1862 from Wolverhampton, the second 
 being one of the most remarkable on 
 record. " 
 
 August 18, 1862. — The weather on this 
 day was favorable : there was but little 
 wind from the N. E. By noon the bal- 
 
 loon was nearly inflated. As it merely 
 swayed in the light wind, the instru- 
 ments were fixed before starting, and at 
 ih. 2m. 38s. the spring-catch was pulled, 
 when for a moment the balloon remained 
 motionless, and then rose slowly and 
 steadily. In about ten minutes we pass- 
 ed into a magnificent cumulus cloud, 
 and emerged from it into a clear space, 
 with a beautiful deep blue sky, dotted 
 with cirri, leaving beneath us an exceed- 
 ingly beautiful mass of cumulus clouds, 
 displaying a variety of magnificent lights 
 and shades. Our direction was toward 
 Birmingham, which came into view about 
 ih. 15m. 
 
 When at the height of nearly 12,000 
 feet, with the tenperature at 38°, or 30° 
 
l82 
 
 TRAVELS IN THE AIR. 
 
 less than on the ground, and the dew- 
 point at 26°, the valve was opened, and 
 we descended to a little above 3000 feet. 
 The view became most glorious : very 
 fine cumulus clouds were situated far 
 below, and plains of clouds were visible 
 to a great distance. Wolverhampton, 
 beneath us, was sharply and well de- 
 fined, appearing like a model. The 
 clouds during this ascent were remark- 
 able for their supreme beauty, present- 
 ing at times mountain scenes of endless 
 variety and grandeur, and fine dome- 
 like clouds dazzled and charmed the eye 
 Avith alternations and brilliant effects of 
 light and shade. The air on descending 
 felt warm. 
 
 We were about midway between Wol- 
 verhampton and a town (Walsall) when 
 the balloon slightly collapsed, causing it 
 to descend a little, and the shouting of 
 people was plainly heard, who expected 
 the balloon would descend. At ih. 48m. 
 sand was discharged, and a very gradual 
 ascent took place, the direction being 
 along the high-road to Birmingham. 
 On looking over the side of the car the 
 shadow of the balloon on the clouds was 
 observed to be surrounded by a kind of 
 corona tinted by prismatic colors, and 
 the rippling of the water on the edges 
 of the canal could be seen very distinct- 
 ly. We discharged sand several times 
 to enable us to rise. The view contin- 
 ued very grand : a great mass of clouds 
 was observed in the east, and a large 
 town lay on our right. The balloon was 
 again full. At 2h. 34m. 20s. and at 2h. 
 45m. thunder was heard from below, 
 but no cloud could be seen. At 2h. 54m. 
 my pulsations were 100, 107 and no 
 successively in one minute. When at 
 the height of 24,000 feet, at 2h. 59m., a 
 consultation took place as to the pru- 
 dence of discharging more ballast, or 
 retaining it so as to ensure a safe de- 
 scent : ultimately it was decided not to 
 ascend, as some clouds whose thickness 
 we could not tell had to be passed 
 through. At 3h. 3m. it was difficult to 
 obtain a deposit of dew on the hygrom- 
 eter, and the working of the aspirator 
 became troublesome. A sound like loud 
 thunder was again heard at 3h. 13m. : 
 
 at 3h. 25m. I began to feel unwell. 
 About 3h. 26m. a most remarkable view 
 presented itself: the sky was of a fine 
 deep blue, dotted with cirri. The earth 
 and its fields, where visible, appeared 
 very beautiful indeed — here, hidden by 
 vast cumuli and plains or seas of cumu- 
 lo-strata, causing the country beneath to 
 be shaded for many hundreds of square 
 miles ; there, without a cloud to obscure 
 the sun's rays. Again, in other places 
 there were detached cumuli, whose sur- 
 faces appeared connected by vast plains 
 of hillocky clouds, and in the interstices 
 the earth was visible, but partly obscured 
 by blue haze or mist. In another place 
 brightly-shining cumuli were observed, 
 and seas of detached clouds which can- 
 not be described. Due north, a beauti- 
 ful cloud, the same we passed through 
 on leaving Wolverhampton, and which 
 had followed us on our way, still reigned 
 in splendor, and might from its grandeur 
 have been called the monarch of clouds. 
 On looking over the top of the car the 
 horizon appeared to be on a level with 
 the eye : the image of the balloon and 
 car, in descending, was very distinctly 
 visible on the clouds. We entered 
 clouds at 3h. 4Sm. and lost sight of the 
 sun, but broke through at 3h. and 50m. 
 and saw the earth. Preparations were 
 made for the descent, which, after we 
 had passed through some mist, took 
 place at Solihull, about seven miles from 
 Birmingham. 
 
 Septe7}iber 5, 1862. — This ascent had 
 been delayed, owing to the unfavorable 
 state of the weather. We left the earth 
 at ih. 3m. p. M. : the temperature of the 
 air was 59°, and that of the dew-point 
 50°. The air at first was misty : at the 
 height of 5000 feet the temperature was 
 41°, dew-point 37°. 9. At ih. 13m. we 
 entered a dense cloud of about 1 100 feet 
 in thickness, where the temperature fell 
 to 36°. 5, the dew-point being the same, 
 thus indicating that the air here was 
 saturated with moisture. At this eleva- 
 tion the report of a gun was heard. 
 Momentarily the clouds became lighter, 
 and on emerging from them at ih. 17m. 
 a flood of strong sunlight burst upon us, 
 with a beautiful blue sky without a cloud, 
 
TRAVELS IN THE AIR. 
 
 183 
 
 and beneath us lay a magnificent sea of 
 clouds, its surface varied with endless 
 hills, hillocks and mountain-chains, and 
 with many snow-white tufts rising from 
 it. I here attempted to take a view with 
 the camera, but we were rising with too 
 great rapidity and revolving too quickly 
 to enable me to succeed. The bright- 
 ness of the clouds, however, was so great 
 that I should have needed but a mo- 
 mentary exposure. Dr. Hill Norris hav- 
 ing kindly furnished me with extremely 
 sensitive dry plates for the purpose. 
 We reached the height of two miles at 
 ih. 22m., where the sky was of a darker 
 blue, and from whence the earth was 
 visible in occasional patches beneath 
 the clouds. The temperature had fallen 
 to the freezing-point, and the dew-point 
 to 26°. The height of three miles was 
 attained at ili. 28m., with a temperature 
 of 18°, and dew-point 13° : from ih. 22m. 
 to ih. 30m. the wet-bulb thermometer 
 read incorrectly, the ice not being prop- 
 erly formed on it. At ih. 34m. Mr. 
 Coxwell was panting for breath ; at ih. 
 38m. the mercury of Daniell's hygrom- 
 eter fell below the limits of the scale. 
 We reached the elevation of four miles 
 at ih. 40m. : the temperature was 8°, the 
 dew-point minus 15°, or 47° below the 
 freezing-point of water. Discharging 
 sand, we in ten minutes attained the 
 altitude of five miles, and the tempera- 
 ture had passed below zero, and then 
 read minus 2°.o. At this point no dew 
 was observed on Regnault's hygrometer 
 when cooled down to minus 30°. Up to 
 this time I had taken observations with 
 comfort, and experienced no difficulty in 
 breathing, whilst Mr. Coxwell, in conse- 
 quence of the exertions he had to make, 
 had breathed with difficulty for some 
 time. Having discharged sand, we as- 
 cended still higher : the aspirator became 
 troublesome to work, and I also found a 
 difficulty in seeing clearly. At ih. 51m. 
 the barometer read lo.Sin. About ih. 
 52m. or later, I read the dry-bulb ther- 
 mometer as minus 5° ; after this I could 
 not see the column of mercury in the 
 wet-bulb thermometer, nor the hands of 
 the watch, nor the fine divisions on any 
 instrument. I asked Mr. Coxwell to 
 
 help me to read the instruments. In 
 consequence, however, of the rotatory 
 motion of the balloon, which had con- 
 tinued without ceasing since leaving the 
 earth, the valve-line had become en- 
 tangled, and he had to leave the car 
 and mount into the ring to readjust it. 
 I then looked at the barometer, and 
 found its reading to be gfin., still de- 
 creasing fast, implying a height exceed- 
 ing 29,000 feet. Shortly after I laid my 
 arm upon the table, possessed of its full 
 vigor, but on being desirous of using it I 
 found it powerless — it must have lost its 
 power momentarily : trying to move the 
 other arm, I found it powerless also. 
 Then I tried to shake myself, and suc- 
 ceeded, but I seemed to have no limbs. 
 In looking at the barometer my head fell 
 over my left shoulder : I struggled and 
 shook my body again, but could not 
 move my arms. Getting my head up- 
 right for an instant only, it fell on my 
 right shoulder : then I fell backward, 
 my back resting against the side of the 
 car and my head on its edge. In this 
 position my eyes were directed to Mr. 
 Coxwell in the ring. When I shook my 
 body I seemed to have full power over 
 the muscles of the back, and consider- 
 ably so over those of the neck, but none 
 over either my arms or my legs. As in 
 the case of the arms, so all muscular 
 power was lost in an instant from my 
 back and neck. I dimly saw Mr. Cox- 
 well, and endeavored to speak, but could 
 not. In an instant intense darkness 
 overcame me, so that the optic nerve 
 lost power suddenly, but I was still con- 
 scious, with as active a brain as at the 
 present moment whilst writing this. I 
 thought I had been seized with asphyxia, 
 and believed I should experience noth- 
 ing more, as death would come unless 
 we speedily descended : other thoughts 
 were entering my mind, when I sudden- 
 ly became unconscious as on going to 
 sleep. I cannot tell anything of the 
 sense of hearing, as no sound reaches 
 the air to break the perfect stillness and 
 silence of the regions between six and 
 seven miles above the earth. My last 
 observation was made at ih. 54m., above 
 29,000 feet. I suppose two or three min- 
 
TRAVELS IN THE AIR. 
 
 MR. GLAISHER INSENSIBLE AT THE HEIGHT OF SEVEN MILES. 
 
TRAVELS IN THE AIR. 
 
 185 
 
 utes to have elapsed between my eyes 
 becoming insensible to seeing fine di- 
 visions and ih. 54m., and then two or 
 three minutes more to have passed till I 
 was insensible, which I think, therefore, 
 took place about ih. 56m. or 57m. 
 
 Whilst powerless I heard the words 
 "temperature" and "observation," and 
 I knew Mr. Coxwell was in the car, 
 speaking to and endeavoring to rouse 
 me ; therefore consciousness and hear- 
 ing had returned. I then heard him 
 speak more emphatically, but 
 could not see, speak or move. 
 I heard him again say, " Do 
 try — now do." Then the in- 
 struments became dimly vis- 
 ible, then Mr. Coxwell, and 
 very shortly I saw clearly. 
 Next I arose in my seat and 
 looked around as though 
 waking from sleep, though 
 not refreshed, and said to Mr. 
 Coxwell, "I have been insen- 
 sible." He said, "You have, 
 and I too, very nearly." I 
 then drew up my legs, which 
 had been extended, and took 
 a pencil in my hand to begin 
 observations. Mr. Coxwell 
 told me that he had lost the 
 use of his hands, which were 
 black, and I poured brandy 
 over them. 
 
 I resumed my observations 
 at 2h. 7m., recording the barometer 
 reading at 1 1.53 inches, and temperature 
 minus 2°. It is probable that three or 
 four minutes passed from the time of my 
 hearing the words "temperature" and 
 "observations," till I began to observe : 
 if so, returning consciousness came at 2h. 
 4m. p. M., and this gives seven minutes 
 for total insensibility. I found the water 
 in the vessel supplying the wet-bulb ther- 
 mometer, which, while conscious, I had, 
 by frequent disturbance, kept from freez- 
 ing, one solid mass of ice. It did not all 
 melt until we had been on the ground 
 some time. Mr. Coxwell told me that 
 while in the ring he felt it piercingly cold, 
 that hoarfrost was all round the neck of 
 the balloon, and that on attempting to 
 leave the ring he found his hands frozen. 
 
 He had, therefore, to place his arms on 
 the ring and drop down. When he 
 saw me he thought for a moment that I 
 had lain back to rest myself, and he 
 spoke to me without eliciting a reply : 
 he then noticed that my legs projected 
 and my arms hung down by my side, 
 and saw that my countenance was 
 serene and placid, without the earnest- 
 ness and anxiety he had observed be- 
 fore going into the ring : then it struck 
 him that I was insensible. He wished 
 
 THE PIGEONS. 
 
 to approach me, but could not ; and 
 when he felt insensibility coming over 
 him too, he became anxious to open the 
 valve. But in consequence of having 
 lost the use of his hands he could not 
 do this : ultimately he succeeded by 
 seizing the cord with his teeth and dip- 
 ping his head two or three times, until 
 the balloon took a decided turn down- 
 ward. 
 
 No inconvenience followed my insen- 
 sibility ; and when we dropped it was in 
 a country where no conveyance of any 
 kind could be obtained, so I had to walk 
 between seven and eight miles. 
 
 During the descent, which was at first 
 very rapid, the wind was easterly. To 
 check the rapidity of the descent, sand 
 was thrown out at 2h. 30m. The wet 
 
i86 
 
 TRAVELS IN THE AIR. 
 
 bulb seemed to be free from ice at this 
 time, but I held the bulb between my 
 thumb and finger, for the purpose of 
 melting any ice remaining on it or the 
 connecting thread. The readings after 
 this appeared correct. The final de- 
 scent took place in the centre of a large 
 grass-field belonging to Mr. Kersall, at 
 Cold Weston, seven miles and a half 
 from Ludlow. 
 
 I have already said that my last ob- 
 servation was made at a height of 
 29,000 feet: at this time (ih. 54m.) we 
 were ascending at the rate of 1000 feet 
 per minute ; and when I resumed ob- 
 servations we were descending at the 
 rate of 2000 feet per minute. . These two 
 positions must be connected, taking into 
 account the interval of time between — 
 viz., thirteen minutes. And on these 
 considerations the balloon must have at- 
 tained the altitude of 36,000 or 37,000 
 feet. Again, a very delicate minimum 
 thermometer read minus ii°.9, and this 
 would give a height of 37,000 feet. Mr. 
 Coxwell, on coming from the ring, no- 
 ticed that the" centre of the aneroid ba- 
 rometer, its blue hand and a rope at- 
 tached to the car were all in the same 
 straight line, and this gave a reading of 
 7 inches, and leads to the same result. 
 Therefore, these independent means all 
 lead to about the same elevation — viz., 
 fully seven miles. 
 
 In this ascent six pigeons were taken 
 up. One was thrown out at the height 
 of three miles, when it extended its wings 
 and dropped like a piece of paper ; the 
 second, at four miles, flew vigorously 
 round and round, apparently taking a 
 dip each time ; a third was thrown out 
 between four and five miles, and it fell 
 downward as a stone. A fourth was 
 thrown out at four miles on descending : 
 
 it flew in a circle, and shortly alighted 
 on the top of the balloon. The two re- 
 maining pigeons were brought down to 
 the ground. One was found to be dead ; 
 and the other, a carrier, was still living, 
 but would not leave the hand when I 
 attempted to throw it off, till, after a 
 quarter of an hour, it began to peck at 
 a piece of ribbon with which its neck 
 was encircled : it was then jerked off the 
 finger, and shortly afterward flew with 
 some vigor toward Wolverhampton. 
 One of the pigeons returned to Wolver- 
 hampton on Sunday, the 7th, and it was 
 the only one I ever heard of. 
 
 In this ascent, on passing out of the 
 clouds, there was an increase of 9°, and 
 then there was no interruption in the 
 decrease of temperature till the height 
 of 1 5,000 feet was reached, when a warm 
 current of air was entered, which con- 
 tinued to 24,000 feet, after which the 
 regular decrease of temperature contin- 
 ued to the highest point reached. On 
 descending, the same current was again 
 met with between 22,000 and 23,000 
 feet. A similar interruption, but to a 
 greater amount, was experienced till the 
 balloon had descended to about the 
 same height in which it was reached on 
 ascending ; after this no further break 
 occurred in the regular increase of tem- 
 perature, the sky being clear till the de- 
 scent was completed. From the gene- 
 ral agreement of the results as observed 
 by Regnault's hygrometer, and those of 
 the dew-point as found by the diy- and 
 wet-bulb thermometers, there can be no 
 doubt that the temperature of the dew- 
 point, at heights exceeding 30,000 feet, 
 must have been as low as minus 50° be- 
 low the zero of Fahrenheit's scale, or 
 82° below the freezing-point of water, 
 implying that the air was very dry. 
 
TRAVELS IN THE AIR. 
 
 CONCLUDING PART. 
 
 ^s — ''^^'^^^^^m 
 
 \ N instinctive tendency to fly, foiled 
 -^^- and baffled by the lack of wings, 
 may be supposed to characterize the pre- 
 destined aeronaut, who watches the first 
 balloon that goes soaring above his head 
 not with the simple curiosity of an ordi- 
 nary spectator, but with a yearning like 
 that of the unfledged bird when it sees 
 its parent rising from the nest. With 
 such a feeling did M. Tissandier, now 
 one of the most distinguished of French 
 aeronauts, witness an ascent of the 
 Giant from the Champs de Mars, and 
 the aspirations thus called into activity 
 never slumbered until he made his own 
 debut in aerostation, of which he has 
 given the following account. 
 
 On the 1 2th of August, 1868, I was at 
 Calais, when I saw the announcement 
 of an ascent (on the occasion of the 
 emperor's fete on the isth) fixed to 
 take place on Sunday, the i6th. This 
 voyage was to be undertaken by an 
 aeronaut, M. J. Duruof, of whom I had 
 never before heard. On the same day 
 some regattas were announced, but they 
 
 had little interest for me. Not so the 
 balloon ascent, which I continued to 
 think about all day. Next morning I 
 made my way early to the Hotel de 
 Dunkerque and inquired for M. Duruof, 
 when I was ushered into the presence of 
 a young man, the captain of the expedi- 
 tion. After a quarter of an hour's con- 
 versation we were the best friends in the 
 world, and he was kind enough to offer 
 me a place in the car of his balloon, and 
 thus enable me to make my first ascent. 
 I was transported with joy on leaving 
 him ; but how great was my stupefaction 
 when I found that my friends heard of 
 this intended ascent with marks of the 
 most profound indifference, and even 
 regretted to see me engaged in such a 
 miserable adventure ! They informed 
 me that Duruof had already attempted 
 to make an ascent at Calais, and thac 
 he had purposely caused his balloon to 
 burst just upon starting ; that he would 
 not start this time either ; and for the 
 first, but not the last, time I perceived 
 that certain people were prejudiced 
 Some members of my family were also 
 
 1S7 
 
TJiAVELS IN THE A IK. 
 
 at Calais, and manifested great uneasi- 
 ness, reminding me of the danger of 
 an ascent on the sea - coast between 
 the EngUsli Channel and the Northern 
 Ocean. "This part of the world," they 
 said, "is particularly fatal to balloons 
 and aeronauts. Pilatre de Rozier lost 
 his life not far from here, and Deschamps 
 was nearly killed on the same coast ; 
 the wind is always violent and uncertain 
 along the shore, and it is pure folly on 
 the part of any one to undertake such 
 an adventure." 
 
 Nevertheless, I held firm to my reso- 
 lution, and passed the 15th in assisting 
 M. Duruof to discover and mend the 
 small holes in the tissue of our balloon. 
 In the next place I ran to the Humane 
 Society's office to get some life-belts and 
 floaters, for I did not forget that our 
 excursion lay over the sea- coast, not far 
 from the "great basin," as my friend 
 expressed it. At nig'ht I dreamt the 
 most extraordinary dreams about bal- 
 loons. I saw one burst just as it was 
 starting, and every one turning to laugh 
 at and ridicule me. In another I found 
 myself soaring rapidly into the air, and 
 a little later precipitated violently into 
 the waves below. In fact, a thousand 
 fantastic images floated in my brain, 
 when I felt myself shaken by a vigorous 
 liand : 
 
 "You must get up, sir: it is half-past 
 five, and you told me to be sure not to 
 let you sleep any longer." 
 
 It was the waiter of the hotel calling 
 me back to reality. I rose hastily, and 
 proceeded to the Place d'Armes. Duru- 
 of and his assistant, Barret, were already 
 there ; the Nepticne lay miserably along 
 the ground, and the rain was falling in 
 torrents. It was a sad, disheartening 
 spectacle, and filled my mind with con- 
 fused ideas, for it might be impossible 
 to inflate the balloon. How could I 
 imagine, indeed, that this muddy tissue 
 lying at our feet would soon carry us up 
 into the clouds ? 
 
 " Do you think," I asked anxiously of 
 Duruof, " that it will be possible to inflate 
 the balloon in such weather as this .''" 
 
 The captain of the Neptune fixed his 
 eyes upon me as he replied : " I see that 
 
 you do not know me. I was unfortunate 
 on this very spot last time — the wind 
 prevented our departure — but I have a 
 revenge to take, and I do not fear the 
 rain : we will make our ascent, whatever 
 may happen." 
 
 By this time the gaspipe 'vas placed 
 in contact with the Neptutie, and what 
 with lifting up the valve, widening out 
 the net and moving the ballast -bags, 
 the head of the balloon began to rise 
 from the ground. The passers-by stop- 
 ped to look on, and soon the smile of 
 incredulity and mockery was replaced 
 by marks of serious attention. At twelve 
 o'clock the rain ceased, and the aerostat 
 stood majestically up in ,the Place 
 d'Armes, in presence of the bust of the 
 due de Guise, which seemed to look 
 down upon the operations with astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 The crowd increased rapidly as Duru- 
 of attached the car to the ropes of the 
 hoop. The soldiers who lent a hand at 
 the ropes were now and then pulled off 
 their feet and suspended like bunches 
 of grapes in the air, so impatient did the 
 balloon seem to soar up above. A small 
 trial balloon was then sent up and its 
 course followed by a thousand eyes. In 
 one bound it flew against the bell-tower 
 of the town-house, then rose again and 
 made directly for the Northern Ocean. 
 
 At four o'clock, Duruof, Barret and 
 myself get into the car. The men at 
 the ropes, in obedience to the orders of 
 the captain, draw us along to the angle 
 of the square which is farthest from the 
 tower of the town-house, and the " excel- 
 lent music" mentioned on the placards 
 begins to make its melodious chords 
 heard. The signal "let go" is given; 
 and here we are, soaring in space amidst 
 the hurrahs of the astonished crowd of 
 spectators. 
 
 In one bound the Neptune rises to the 
 crest of the clouds, which we pass through 
 rapidly : we are already near 4000 feet 
 high, and the sea foams beneath our car. 
 Duruof looks at the compass. "We 
 are making for the coast of England," 
 he exclaims. But our joy at this an- 
 nouncement is of short duration. By 
 noticing more carefully the motion of 
 
TRAVELS IN THE AIR. 
 
 189 
 
 the balloon we find that our direction 
 lies north-east : it is toward the middle 
 of the Northern Ocean that the wind is 
 carrying us. 
 
 I turn again to Duruof. His eyes are 
 animated, and he appears plunged in 
 thought. 
 
 "What are we doing?" he murmurs, 
 with visible emotion, "I said I would 
 follow you anywhere," I replied calmly. 
 "Well, let happen what may, we can- 
 not stop. The Calais people won't say 
 I'm a coward this time!" I could not 
 help thinking of Deschamps, the poor 
 aeronaut of whom I had heard, who was 
 placed in circumstances very similar to 
 ours at Calais itself. To prevent himself 
 soaring away over the sea, he had open- 
 ed the valve of his balloon and fallen 
 heavily on to the shore, when he was 
 nearly killed. 
 
 But the splendid panorama which un- 
 rolls itself before our eyes is sufficient to 
 dispel all sense of danger, and we scarce- 
 ly dream of the rapidity with which we 
 are being carried out to sea. To our left 
 we perceive the town of Calais, like a 
 city in miniature placed upon a lilipu- 
 tian shore ; we distinctly see the jetties 
 of the port, and a crowd of microscopic 
 spectators running along them like a 
 family of ants. At our feet spreads the 
 transparent sea, like a vast field of em- 
 erald brilliantly lit up by the solar rays. 
 The entire scene is separated from us by 
 a legion of fleecy clouds sailing along in 
 a horizontal plane, and apparently form- 
 ed at one side of our horizon to be dis- 
 persed at the other. Looking upward 
 toward the sky, we see other violet-col- 
 ored clouds, which appear to be suspend- 
 ed at a great height in the air, for they 
 are at an immense distance from us, 
 and we are 5900 feet high. The tem- 
 perature is 59°.6 Fahr., and we feel very 
 comfortable in our car, plunged in the 
 undisturbed serenity of cloudland. 
 
 I had scarcely taken my eyes from the 
 clouds wJien we perceived a very unex- 
 pected phenomenon of mirage, which 
 added to our astonishment. We turned 
 to look for the coast of England, but it 
 was hidden by an immense veil of lead- 
 en-colored cloud. Raising our eyes to 
 
 discover where this cloud-wall termin- 
 ated, we perceived above it a greenish 
 layer like that of the surface of the sea, 
 and soon we descried upon it a little 
 black point the size of a walnut-shell. 
 Fixing our eyes upon it intently, this little 
 moving spot turned out to be a ship sail- 
 ing upside down upon an ocean in the 
 sky. In a few moments a steamer niade 
 its appearance : it was the image of the 
 boat from Calais to Dover, and by the 
 aid of my telescope I could distinguish 
 the smoke coming out of the funnel. 
 Then two or three other vessels came 
 upon the scene, and added to the won- 
 ders of this magic sea projected into the 
 air by a fantastic effect of mirage. 
 
 The jetty at Calais is no larger than a 
 lucifer match, but I can still see the 
 crowd of spectators upon it and those 
 upon the shore, and I remember that 1 
 have friends and relatives anxiously 
 watching our course. This causes me 
 to reflect upon the unfortunate direction 
 our balloon is taking. The lighthouse 
 of Gravelines can be faintly distinguish- 
 ed already. Dunkerque is not far dis- 
 tant. As we sail over the immense 
 Northern Ocean I feel that our balloon 
 is a mere grain of sand which the waves 
 would devour in a few instants ! 
 
 But we now cast our eyes toward the 
 lower clouds, and, to our utter astonish- 
 ment, find that they are all moving to- 
 ward Calais. Whilst we, at a height of 
 5249 feet, are sailing toward the north- 
 east, those cumuli which we passed 
 through at the height of 1969 feet are 
 traveling in an opposite direction, toward 
 the south-west. It is therefore evident 
 that if we allow the balloon to sink into 
 this layer of air below it will carry us 
 over Calais again, along with those wel- 
 come clouds which act as guides toward 
 us and point out the way to reach the 
 land. 
 
 "We can continue our excursion ovei 
 the sea," said Duruof: "we can return 
 to shore again whenever we like." 
 
 Thus we allowed ourselves to be car- 
 ried away, without any apprehension, 
 by the higher breeze ; for we knew that 
 nearer the surface of the water the wind 
 was blowing toward the land. We had 
 
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 I 
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 TRAVELS IN THE AIR. 
 
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TRAVELS IN THE AIR. 
 
 191 
 
 left the port about an hour, and had ac- 
 comphshed seven leagues over the sea, 
 when we began to think that our excur- 
 sion had lasted long enough. We ceased 
 to throw out any more ballast, and the 
 balloon soon sank toward the ocean's 
 surface. We passed a second time 
 through the clouds, and came within 
 four hundred yards of the water. It is 
 now five o'clock. We see some boats 
 coming to our rescue, and one of them 
 tacks straight toward us. However, we 
 soon perceive that we shall not require 
 their assistance. The lower breeze wafts 
 us along rapidly above the waves, and Ca- 
 lais gets larger and larger as we approach 
 it : the wind seems to be bringing us 
 back to the spot whence we started. 
 
 In about a quarter of an hour we gain 
 the shore, and the Neptune soars over 
 Calais amidst the enthusiastic applause 
 of the people assembled. Whilst pass- 
 ing over the jetty I looked down at the 
 spectators, and in the crowd I recognized 
 my brother, who sees me also and waves 
 his hand. Is it a strange coincidence 
 or a sympathetic influence that causes 
 my glance to meet his among those of 
 ten thousand others ? The Place d'Armes 
 is again beneath us, but quite deserted, 
 for every one is on the shore. There is 
 the bust of the due de Guise once more, 
 the only figure that does not raise its 
 head toward us. 
 
 The crew of the Neptune cannot con- 
 tain itself for joy. We all shake hands, 
 and congratulate ourselves on having 
 made a trip over the ocean without ex- 
 periencing the slightest effects of sea- 
 sickness. A handful of ballast thrown 
 out causes us to ascend a little, and now 
 we can admire the country which extends 
 below. I notice the guide-rope which 
 hangs from our car. 
 
 "Take care, Duruof," I exclaim : "the 
 end of our rope seemed to touch the 
 ground." 
 
 "Are you mad ?'" he replies : "we are 
 more than 4500 feet above the earth." 
 
 Now, our guide-rope was only 430 feet 
 long, and I fancied I saw the extremity 
 of it touching the ground : my eyes had 
 actually deceived me to the extent of 
 more than 4.000 feet ! This is a com- 
 
 mon error to which those who are not 
 accustomed to see things from a great 
 height in the air are liable. At 5h. 35m. 
 we come nearer to the earth, and our 
 guide-rope runs along a field, overturn- 
 ing some small stacks of hay. A few 
 peasants run toward us, and we ask 
 where we are. "On the road to Bou- 
 logne," they reply. 
 
 One of them endeavors to catch at 
 the rope, but as we do not wish to come 
 down, Duruof tells me to throw out som; 
 ballast. In my inexperience I empty an 
 entire sack, or nearly so, and the con- 
 sequence is that we rise rapidly to a 
 height of 5900 feet, and find ourselves 
 suddenly enveloped in clouds so denso 
 and so opaque that we can no longer 
 see the balloon and can scarcely recog- 
 nize each other. We appear to be buoy- 
 ed up by the thick fog around us, which 
 produces in my mind a series of vague 
 and strange ideas : it seems like a dream. 
 Our view is arrested suddenly by the 
 dense heavy mist in which the Neptune 
 is completely hidden, and our wicker car 
 appears quite still. Reflection alone en- 
 ables us to feel assured that we are some 
 6500 feet above the level of human 
 passions. 
 
 Since early morning, when we had 
 worked hard at the inflation of the bal- 
 loon, nothing had passed our lips. We 
 were now hungry ; so, opening one of 
 the boxes in the car, I took out a bottle 
 of wine and a chicken, which we ate 
 with a good appetite whilst enveloped in 
 the mist. I threw one of the bones 
 overboard, but Duruof remarked that 
 this was an act of imprudence, for no 
 ballast should be thrown out without 
 orders. I believed he was joking, but 
 on consulting the barometer I was bound 
 to admit the fact upon the clearest evi- 
 dence. The bone had certainly caused 
 us to rise from twenty to thirty yards, so 
 delicately is the balloon equipoised in 
 the air. 
 
 The clouds seem to be getting thinner; 
 they still hide the earth from sight : we 
 see the sun disappear below the western 
 horizon, red as a disk of fire, A thou- 
 sand brilliant rays illuminate the sky, and 
 throw our shadow upon the distant val- 
 
192 
 
 TRAVELS IN THE AIR. 
 
 ley of clouds which spread around us. 
 They are formed of immense white 
 heaps, no longer like light vapor, but 
 rather mountains of snow. Dark shades 
 lie among their mysterious ravines, and 
 give an imposing aspect to the vast un- 
 dulations of this fairy world. Where 
 can we be now ? Has the wind carried 
 us on toward the interior or driven us 
 a second time out to sea ? It is seven 
 o'clock. Our companion Barret draws 
 our attention to a kind of vague murmur 
 which he hears below the clouds. A 
 continuous and melodious sound reaches 
 our ears, but it is both menacing and 
 terrible. . , . Can it be the ocean ? 
 
 By allowing a little gas to escape we 
 soon sink through the clouds, and we 
 perceive below, not the earth and green 
 country, but an immense expanse of sea. 
 The sun is about to sink into the waves, 
 which he illumines with a thousand 
 splendid tints, and Night is about to 
 spread her mantle over the dark ocean. 
 . . . How imprudent we have been ! 
 Are we not trying fortune too hard, and 
 soliciting adversity, by coming a second 
 time over the ocean depths from which 
 we have escaped so miraculously just 
 before ? But it is useless to philoso- 
 phize : we must act. . . . The powerful 
 breeze that reigns along the ground car- 
 ries us in toward the shore, and it has 
 already saved us once. Soon we see a 
 cape, which spreads itself out before us 
 like a narrow promontory, and becomes 
 wider as we near it. But will the Nep- 
 tune reach its side, or will it rush past 
 its extreme point and carry us on over 
 the vast ocean ? 
 
 Night is falling fast, the sky is over- 
 cast, and every second of hesitation may 
 now prove dangerous to us. We were 
 all three silent during this solemn mo- 
 ment, and kept our eyes fixed upon the 
 lighthouse which rises on the point of 
 the cape. Suddenly, Duruof allows a 
 cry of joy to escape from his lips ; and 
 this time there can be no doubt whatever 
 tliat the wind is really carrying us upon 
 the coast. The moment of action has 
 arrived, and courage animates our crew. 
 Duruof pulls the valve-rope, and the 
 balloon soon sails nearly upon the sur- 
 
 face of the waves. At the same mo- 
 ment Barret throws the grapnel out, and 
 as soon as we reach the shore I let go 
 the anchor also. It soon strikes in a 
 sandhill, and the Nepttoie rolls over on 
 its side with the rapidity of lightning. 
 A flock of sheep grazing at the summit 
 of the grassy hillock fly off in alarm, 
 whilst the young peasants who are tend- 
 ing them are likewise seized with fright, 
 and tumble one over the other in their 
 terror. 
 
 Fortunately, some men come up to 
 help us, among whom is the brave Mail- 
 lard, the sub-guardian of the Gris-Nej 
 lighthouse, who has already done good 
 service on the coast. He imagines that 
 we have heard of him, and his feet are 
 bleedmg from the effects of his hasty 
 descent along the rocks. He seizes upon 
 the rope which Duruof throws to him, 
 and two fishermen imitate his generous 
 enthusiasm. In spite of this help the 
 Neptune still bounds upward, and is 
 ready, with the stiff breeze that blows, 
 to carry us and the men over the hill 
 into the sea. Duruof perceives the 
 danger, pulls lustily at the valve-rope 
 and brings down the balloon upon our 
 heads as the gas escapes. 
 
 Our veteran companion, who has help- 
 ed us bravely out of our difficulties, tells 
 us that he saw us far away over the 
 briny deep, like a little black pear above 
 the horizon : he watched us through his 
 telescope, and could not help believing 
 at first that it was a mere child's balloon 
 he saw, but when he noticed our move- 
 ments in the car below he knew he 
 was mistaken, and imagined that, like 
 Blanchard and Green, we had crossed 
 over the Straits of Dover. In spite of 
 our safe arrival, the lion-hearted Mail- 
 lard declared that, although he would 
 not mind risking his life upon a safety 
 raft upon the wide Atlantic Ocean, he 
 would never ascend in a balloon, were 
 it the finest aerostat ever constructed. 
 
 He also told us that on the other side 
 of the hills, a few hundred yards from 
 this mont-aigu where we had landed, 
 rises the tomb of the first aeronaut — that 
 of the illustrious Pilatre de Rozier — who 
 was smashed to pieces on the rocks here 
 
TRA VELS IN THE AIR. 
 
194 
 
 TRAVELS IN THE AIR. 
 
 about a century ago. The next day we 
 visited this celebrated tomb, and I shall 
 never forget the humble stone that marks 
 the spot where this most courageous and 
 learned man met so premature a death, 
 carried away by his enthusiasm for sci- 
 entific research and love of adventure. 
 
 His ambition whetted by this adven- 
 ture, M. de Tissandier now aspired to 
 
 the perilous honor of managing an 
 ascent in person. M. de Fonvielle, a 
 novice like himself and equally enthu- 
 siastic, was anxious to join him, and in 
 February, 1869, the two friends, after 
 many vain attempts, succeeded in 
 procuring a small balloon called the 
 Swallow, and made an ascent which 
 appears from the description to have 
 more than realized their anticipations. 
 
 " THE ' SWALLOW ' BALLOON, WHEN INFLATED, LAV DOWN UPON ITS SIDE." 
 
 The capacity of this httle balloon was 
 only 23,000 cubic feet, and we were not 
 sure that it would carry us both. In 
 order to make certain, every article to 
 be taken with us was carefully weighed 
 and the specific gravity of the gas ascer- 
 tained with accuracy. We were thus 
 convinced that the anchor and the guide- 
 rope were far too heavy, if we wished 
 to take even a moderate allowance of 
 ballast. In this dilemma we hastened 
 to M. Duruof, who supplied us with the 
 smallest anchor that could be had, and 
 we reduced the proportions of our guide- 
 rope to those of a weak cable. We 
 knew that such rigging v/ould not pro- 
 tect us from danger in case of a violent 
 wind, but there was nothing else to be 
 done, the minister having refused us the 
 use of the Imperial \iiW.Q)OXi. 
 
 The next day Chavoutier superintend- 
 ed the inflation most successfully, though 
 
 the wind blew in great gusts. The Swal- 
 low balloon, when inflated, lay down 
 upon its side, and the men who hung on 
 to the car had much difficulty in prevent- 
 ing its escape. When we told them to 
 let go, we glided upward with such ra- 
 pidity that it quite startled the lookers- 
 on. 
 
 It was the first time that Fonvielle and 
 myself had been alone in the car of an 
 aerostat: we might be said, therefore, 
 to be ti-ansformed, at last, into aeronauts 
 properly so called. We were obliged to 
 arrange the ballast so as to keep the car 
 horizontal, and by some accident the 
 guide-rope had got tangled. Having 
 straightened it, we also let out the an- 
 chor, to be ready for our descent. 
 
 We reach an altitude of 3280 feet, and 
 the heat is unbearable : on the ground 
 before starting we had only 55°.4 Fahr., 
 and here the thermometer stands at no 
 
TRAVELS IN THE AIR. 
 
 195 
 
 less than 82°.4 Fahr. The weather is 
 heavy, suffocating, and the perspiration 
 rushes from our foreheads. The balloon 
 revolves constantly — a consequence, no 
 doubt, of the law that no rapid motion 
 of translation can occur without a cor- 
 responding amount of rotation. The 
 sky is clear, and we notice above the 
 
 country over which we are sailing a few 
 fleecy clouds, that blend into the land- 
 scape over which they are suspended. 
 Along the horizon we notice some sil- 
 very groups of cloud which present a 
 marvelous aspect. However, we have 
 no time to observe Nature, for there is 
 something about the balloon which 
 causes us considerable uneasiness. 
 
 The neck is quite flat, and appears 
 to be emptying itself of gas. We are 
 obliged to throw out ballast every mo- 
 ment, and no less than four bags of it 
 have been emptied, one immediately 
 after the other. We started at iih. 
 35m.: it is not yet twelve o'clock, and 
 our resources are already expended. A 
 cracking noise is heard several times 
 over our heads : the balloon revolves 
 abruptly, and sometimes oscillates no 
 less suddenly. There is certainly some- 
 thing extraordinary in the state of the 
 
 atmosphere which we cannot account 
 for at all. At five minutes past twelve 
 the balloon sinks with great rapidity, 
 and we observe that our course lies 
 toward some quarries, ravines and pre- 
 cipices. We seize upon our last bag of 
 ballast, and a gust of wind carries us, 
 in one bound, over a wide plain, at the 
 extremity of which we see a 
 - — _ - considerable extent of forest. 
 "^^ This is the spot to descend 
 ^ upon. The Swallow ap- 
 proaches the ground, and 
 the car comes down with a 
 terrible bump. Tissandier 
 hangs to the valve - rope, 
 and observes that Fonvielle 
 is covered with blood. The 
 hoop of the balloon has 
 struck him upon the head 
 and caused a deep wound. 
 The car had come to the 
 ground like a bullet, but 
 we rose again immediately, 
 and had to undergo several 
 similar concussions. Our 
 anchor fled over the ground 
 and would not take hold of 
 anything : it was like a cork 
 at the. end of a piece of 
 string. We seemed to be 
 the sport of some invisible 
 power, that first raised us into the aii 
 and then bumped us against the earth. 
 
 We were being dragged along by the 
 force of a furious gale. So rapid was 
 our flight that we could not distinguish 
 the various objects which we passed by, 
 and in less than a second we found our- 
 selves thrown on the tops of the trees at 
 the extremity of the plain. We hoped 
 that the branches would split open the 
 balloon and put an end to our furious 
 course. The anchor was broken, and 
 nothing but its ring remained at the end 
 of the rope : our only hope was thus 
 dashed to pieces. 
 
 Holding on to the valve-rope with all 
 his strength, and squatting down at the 
 bottom of the car, Tissandier pulled 
 away lustily, whilst the Swallow jumped 
 about from one ti-ee to the other. The 
 branches of the trees bent beneath the 
 car, the wind whistled in our ears : the 
 
TRAVELS IN THE AIR. 
 
TRAVELS IN THE AIR. 
 
 197 
 
 balloon appeared to have lost some gas, 
 but a sudden gust carried it from the 
 wood again, and down it came with a 
 hard bump upon the open plain beyond. 
 The wind now hollowed the balloon into 
 a kind of cup, or basin, and carried us 
 vigorously across the ploughed land, 
 until finally some men ran up and caught 
 hold of the guide-rope. 
 
 We get out of the car, not without 
 difli;ulty. Tissandier is covered with 
 bruises and more or less stunned. Fon- 
 vielle, besides his wound on the head, 
 has his foot sprained and can scarcely 
 stand. We inquire where we are, and 
 the peasants inform us that we have 
 landed at Neuilly St. Front, which is 
 about forty-eight miles from Paris as the 
 crow flies, and about fifty-one by rail- 
 way. We look at our watches with 
 astonishment. It is only thirty-five min- 
 utes since we left the gasworks in Paris ! 
 We have therefore traveled at the rate 
 of ninety miles per hour ! No balloon 
 ever rushed through the air with such 
 rapidity as this. 
 
 Tissandier emptied the balloon, folded 
 it up and packed it into the car : the 
 whole was safely deposited upon a cart 
 which had been sent for, and we pro- 
 
 ceeded toward the village, escorted by a 
 considerable crowd of country people. 
 The cart loaded with the Swallow head- 
 ed the procession : we followed close 
 behind. Fonvielle could hardly walk; 
 he was obliged to lean on the shoulder 
 of his companion and take the arm of 
 one of the peasants. The crowd got 
 greater as we proceeded. 
 
 At Neuilly St. Front we were received 
 by the mayor, M. Charpentier, with the 
 greatest kindness ; and whilst a medical 
 man examined the extent of Fonvielle's 
 wounds, we gave an account of our 
 rough adventure. We were anxious to 
 see what distance we had been pushed 
 along the ground by the wind, so returr 
 ed with some of our new companions tc 
 the fields. The traces of our bumping 
 and dragging were perfectly visible, and 
 we saw the summits of the trees that had 
 been broken in our furious course. Tht 
 country people said that they saw uf. 
 playing at leap-frog over these oaks some- 
 twenty yards high, and that they wer(; 
 astonished at the rate at which we were 
 going — much quicker than an express 
 train, they said. This must have been the 
 case, for our furious gallop only lasted 
 five minutes. 
 
GLIMPSES OF POLYNESIA. 
 
 NOTHING is more surprising to the 
 average civilized woman than the 
 power of discovering beauty in female 
 savages possessed by almost all mas- 
 culine travelers. Even M. Garnier in 
 his interesting book, Voyage Antour dii 
 Monde, tho'ugh evidently an able man 
 and one of refined taste in most matters, 
 often lauds the beauty he discovers in 
 the savage women of the islands he vis- 
 ited. Judging from the photographs of 
 the natives which he brings us, one would 
 say that the best female forms are those 
 of the young men ! Several of these if 
 divested of head and feet would appear 
 quite passably well formed. Seriously, 
 there is considerable grace of outline in 
 some of their forms, while those of the 
 women are rude and clumsy. Among 
 all the lower animals the male is more 
 beautiful than the female, and is this not 
 the fact with the lower species of the 
 human race ? But whatever may be the 
 personal attractions of these "children 
 of Nature," it must be a rare fortune to 
 travel among them and to study their 
 habits and ideas. Few of them can be 
 tempted to leave their native islands. 
 M. Garnier's party invited one of them 
 — a man who had been to this country 
 and lived here several years — to return 
 with them to Europe. " No, gentlemen," 
 replied the man : "what I have seen of 
 your country and your ways only makes 
 ig8 
 
 my home dearer to me. In your country 
 the sun is cold and capricious. By turns 
 it freezes and burns you. The sea is 
 almost always rough and the skies full 
 of clouds. Plants and trees are dead 
 for many moons in the year, and then 
 there is nothing pleasant for the eyes to 
 look upon. Your people have to strug- 
 gle constantly with cold and heat and 
 hunger, or they would die. Here it is 
 always warm and beautiful, and there is 
 plenty to eat. No, gentlemen, I will nol 
 go to your country." Garnier remarks, 
 " We were rather disgusted to hear this 
 curmudgeon, whose only garment was 
 the fragment of an old red woolen shirt, 
 discourse thus disparagingly of our proud 
 civilization." Another savage of Nene- 
 ma, one of the small islands north of 
 New Caledonia, said: "This land is the 
 finest in the world. There are countless 
 fishes in the sea, and the coral - reefs 
 around us are covered with succulent 
 turtles. Look at the land ! The cocoa- 
 nut trees cover all the island. Do you 
 think a Nenema can be hungry ? Is there 
 any need of his working?" 
 
 One of the most fertile of these islands 
 is Bualabio, near Nenema, covered with 
 forests of huge cocoa palms, but so in- 
 fested with mosquitoes that the natives 
 will not live upon it. Even when a hun- 
 dred rods from the land clouds of these 
 pests attacked the gold-hunting party of 
 
 
GLIMPSES OF POLYNESIA. 
 
 199 
 
 Gamier, and while on the island a native 
 armed with leafy branches had to be 
 stationed beside each explorer. This 
 island, as well as New Caledonia, abounds 
 
 in mollusks of a certain species called 
 trepangs by the Chinese, who are ex- 
 ceedingly fond of them. The trepang- 
 fishery is the most important industry of 
 
 NATIVES OF THE LOYALTY ISLANDS. 
 
 these islands. The trcpang is cylindrical 
 in form, from three to six inches in length, 
 and when cooked in the Chinese fashion 
 has a taste like the tender rind of pork. 
 After quitting these islands, M. Garnier 
 
 revisited the French colony at Honagap, 
 on the eastern coast of New Caledonia, 
 where he found the population augment- 
 ed by a whole frigate-load of poor young 
 orphan girls. These had been brought 
 
GLIMPSES OF POLYNESIA. 
 
 from France to this colony of bachelors 
 by the government, which made "stren- 
 uous efforts," we are told, "to regulate 
 the relations formed between them and 
 the colonists, though this was not an 
 easy task." Such a provision for the 
 fate of poor orphan girls is at least sug- 
 gestive to the moralist. It is important, 
 certainly, that colonial populations should 
 increase ; and doubtless the French are 
 as sagacious as Mark Twain, who dis- 
 covered that woman has no equal as a 
 wet-nurse. The natives are .fast dying 
 out in New Caledonia, and in some 
 tribes all the children born are males. 
 Native women, then, however beautiful 
 and desirable as wives, are "unavail- 
 able." 
 
 Everywhere in these islands, despite 
 the efforts of the missionaries, the indig- 
 enous population is decaying. Mean- 
 while, the European colonists increase 
 and flourish. A colony of Germans and 
 Irish on the west coast of New Caledo- 
 nia is described as specially prosperous. 
 Their fields and gardens are protected 
 from their herds of cattle by fine hedges ; 
 their orchards yield an abundance and 
 a great variety of fruits ; their barnyards 
 are alive with all kinds of domestic 
 fowls, and troops of strong, rosy chil- 
 dren welcome the stranger in French, 
 English, German and Kanaka. It would 
 seem as if Nature refused longer to sus- 
 tain the intellectually inferior races — as 
 if the conditions of vegetation and cli- 
 mate to-day are not adapted to produce 
 the savage, as later ages were not to 
 produce the giant ferns of the Carbon- 
 iferous period. It was in this colony 
 that M. Garnier assisted at a "muster" — 
 that is, a corraling of the herds of cattle. 
 This takes place three or four times a 
 year for marking the cattle and for other 
 purposes. All the cattle-owners take 
 part in this work. Trained dogs and 
 horses assist, and the stock-whip plays 
 an important part. The lash of this 
 whip is about six yards long, large in 
 the middle and tapering at both ends, 
 and is attached to a handle about a foot 
 long. Marvelously expert are the stock- 
 men with this whip. It is their pride to 
 flip off the neck of a bottle placed on 
 
 the ground some six yards distant. Hos- 
 pitality is never lacking among these 
 colonists. After the evening meal, con- 
 sisting principally of corned beef, fresh 
 pork and tea, come the regulation 
 "grog" and pipes, the accordion, songs 
 and stoiues of colonial adventure. 
 
 On one occasion M. Garnier landed 
 on a little island in quest of food, and 
 found young gulls and gulls' eggs innu- 
 merable. Shortly after this glut in the 
 commissariat of the explorers a violent 
 storm held them captive in the ruins of 
 a native hut, where they suffered greatly 
 from hunger. One of the natives of the 
 party made an excursion to a sugar- 
 plantation and I'eturned with a quantity 
 of young canes — very satisfactory food 
 to the natives, but most discouraging to 
 a European, on account of the chewing 
 necessary to extract the sugar. Garnier 
 refused them at first, but on the third 
 day he says he "ground up" two of 
 these canes three feet long and two 
 inches thick, and then, feeling himself 
 starving for every kind of food except 
 sugar-cane, he took his gun and sallied 
 forth, followed by a native and his dog 
 Soulouque, a faithful old friend who fully 
 sympathized with his master in his opin- 
 ion of sugar-cane as a diet. Garnier ask- 
 ed the native if he had not had enough 
 sugar-canes for the present. 
 
 " Yes, captain ; but game is very scarce 
 here. We can go over to Mont d'Or, 
 where there are 7ia?inics." 
 
 " Goats !" cried Garnier. " How came 
 they there ?" 
 
 The native replied that Captain Berard 
 (a French settler lately massacred by the 
 savages) had large herds of nan?iies and 
 boiilniakaos, meaning beeves — that the 
 latter had all been caught, but that the 
 goats escaped into the mountains. The 
 excursion to Mont d'Or was successful. 
 A large goat was captured, and plenty 
 succeeded famine till the storm ended. 
 
 The natives of these South Sea Islands 
 are accused by European settlers of be- 
 ing too lazy to work. Granted that they 
 submit to continued, monotonous labor 
 less willingly than the whites; but let us 
 see what inducements are offered them 
 by the Europeans of New Caledonia. 
 
GLIMPSES OF POLYNESIA. 
 
 201 
 
 They are employed as trepang and other 
 fishers — as sailors, couriers, cocoanut-oil 
 makers, poultry-tenders, wood-choppers, 
 and general laborers. Their food when 
 working for the whites is largely com- 
 
 posed of rice and hard biscuits — food 
 which to them is like pastry to us; and 
 though very fond of it, they cannot long 
 subsist upon it, and soon long for the 
 cooler diet, the fruits, vegetables and 
 
 fish, to Vvhich they are accustomed. The 
 wages of native laborers vary from twelve 
 to twenty-five francs a month ($2.50 to 
 $5). But the amount in francs or dollars 
 is nothing. It is the " purchasing pow- 
 
 er " of the money which should be con- 
 sidered. Here is a table showing how 
 much three dollars, an average month's 
 wages, will purchase of the things most 
 dear to the heart of the native : 
 
GLIMPSES OF POL YNESIA. 
 
 Francs. Centimes. 
 
 Three clay pipes i 50 
 
 One pound of tobacco 4 
 
 One jewsharp o 5° 
 
 One copper ring i 
 
 Two yards blue cotton cloth... 4 
 
 One tomahawlv 4 
 
 Total ij 
 
 Tobacco is the first and most craving 
 passion of these people. A jewsharp is 
 their dehght, and they will go by them- 
 selves and play on one of these wretch- 
 ed instruments hour after hour. A cop- 
 per ring ornaments the finger of the 
 native until he falls in love, and then he 
 gallantly sacrifices it. The piece of blue 
 cotton furnishes a band for the loins. It 
 is the only article of cloth which the 
 means of the poor savage permits him 
 to purchase, and this is a luxury only for 
 full dress. While at work he wears only 
 a band of leaves. After these most cov- 
 eted articles are secured with the month's 
 wages, the laborer does not often retain 
 even ten sous for the slice of white bread 
 which to his palate is a royal delicacy. 
 Moreover, these objects are looked upon 
 by the warriors of his tribe as so many 
 signs of voluntary slavery to the whites, 
 and so he loses caste by hiring out as a 
 laborer. In fine, a man must love labor 
 prodigiously to be willing to work all day 
 in a tropical climate for a sum of money 
 that will barely compass a jewsharp. 
 
 The climate of the Isle of Pines, sit- 
 uated at the southern extremity of New 
 Caledonia, is pronounced by Garnier 
 " the most healthy and agreeable in the 
 world." The temperature is mild and 
 even, the air pure and dry — plentiful 
 showers, but no storms, no marshes, and 
 therefore no mosquitoes. It is a pictu- 
 resque island, in the centre of which rise 
 rocky mountain-peaks resembling spires. 
 Immense pines grow on the level pla- 
 teaus at the base of the mountain. The 
 natives are uncommonly civilized, and 
 are nearly all engaged in raising Eu- 
 ropean vegetables, which find ready sale 
 in Noumea, the chef-lieu of New Cale- 
 donia. This island has some eight hun- 
 dred inhabitants, and is governed by a 
 young queen, the daughter of the last 
 chief. She lives in the small village of 
 
 Ischaa in a long, low thatched cottage 
 surrounded by cocoa palms and a rude 
 fence. Koumie is another island near 
 the Isle of Pines, half depopulated by 
 the terrible diseases brought thither by 
 sandal-wood coasters. The natives are 
 now Christians, have a stone church and a 
 school taught by nuns. They wear cloth- 
 ing, and are far removed from their an- 
 cient anthropophagous state. It would 
 seem, however, as if they still recall the 
 "good old times" with pleasure. One 
 of them said very naively to Garnier, 
 when he asked how they could eat their 
 kind, "Why, it is very good — as good 
 as pig or cow." M. Garnier writes : "I 
 tried to make him comprehend how our 
 nature revolts at the thought of such 
 food. It was quite useless. This chord, 
 like many others, is entirely wanting in 
 the moral nature of these Indians. They 
 cannot be induced to abandon cannibal- 
 ism except by making it a religious senti- 
 ment, analogous to that which causes the 
 Catholic to refrain from meat on Fridays." 
 The accounts of the customs and su- 
 perstitions of the South Sea islanders 
 would make a good-sized library, and 
 yet every traveler brings us something 
 fresh or long forgotten. Garnier tells us 
 that in New Caledonia husband and 
 wife never sleep under the same roof, 
 and that the wife on becoming enceinte 
 retires with her women-friends to a hut 
 interdicted to all men. The infant does 
 not come into the world crying as ours 
 do, and submits with scarcely a grimace 
 to being washed in the sea or the nearest 
 stream. The father taking the infant in 
 his arms by this act recognizes it as his. 
 The child is precocious, plays in the 
 surf at a most tender age, and picks 
 itself up quietly when toppled over by 
 a wave, no one thinking of going to 
 its rescue. It is not weaned until quite 
 late, and at seven or eight years the boy 
 dons the common costume, composed 
 of a leaf fastened on with a string, and 
 begins to use the sling and the javelin, 
 and to follow the men in their fishing 
 excursions. At sixteen the boy's body 
 is well developed, his beard appears, 
 and usually after he has distinguished 
 himself in some exploit he asks his chief 
 
GLIMPSES OF POLYNESIA. 
 
 203 
 
 for the girl that pleases him. The mar- 
 riage ceremony is very simple : a feast 
 more copious than usual, an exchange 
 of presents, and the rite is concluded. 
 The heaven of these savages is a place 
 
 above the earth where food is super- 
 abundant, fishing always successful, and 
 women always young and fair. The priests 
 accept all offerings, and in return prom- 
 ise the favor of some god. If the pre- 
 
 diction fails, the cause is easily explained : 
 some priest of a rival tribe has at the 
 same time asked just the reverse, and 
 gained his point by a more valuable 
 offering. When they become Christians 
 
 they abandon their sorceries or practice 
 them in secret, and the first change ap- 
 parent is the affectation of European 
 dress. One chief is described in a light 
 European costume consisting of a short 
 
204 
 
 GLIMPSES OF POLYNESIA. 
 
 calico jacket, an old stovepipe hat, an 
 umbrella and a double-barreled gun. 
 An umbrella is the pride of the natives, 
 especially of the women ; and upon ob- 
 taining this prize and a bonnet of any 
 
 sort they sally forth to the missionary 
 station, challenging by their proud mien 
 the admiration of the community. 
 
 The last island visited by M. Gamier 
 was Tahiti (Otaheite), and his enthusi- 
 
 asm about this "pearl of the Pacific" 
 is like that of all other visitors. Before 
 the land was signaled, delicious, odorous 
 breezes swept over the ship from that 
 enchanted land, where the sea is always 
 
 tranquil, where summer reigns peren- 
 nially, and where cold and drought and 
 tempest are unknown. A pirogue laden 
 with oranges came out to welcome the 
 ship. The aspect of this island is sub- 
 
GLIMPSES OF POLYNESIA. 
 
 205 
 
 lime. Its mountains, crowned with fan- 
 tastic towers of rock, are the first thing 
 seen, and then the gHstening white falls 
 of Tahiti several hundred feet high. As 
 the ship approaches, beautiful valleys, 
 covered with tropical forests and gar- 
 dens and fields, come into full view. 
 These valleys are very remarkable in 
 form, being a succession of plateaus, one 
 above the other, opening toward the sea, 
 each having its river, which at the end 
 of each plateau falls over a steep semi- 
 circular cliff. Tahiti is the most isolated 
 land on the earth, being over a thousand 
 miles from any mainland. 
 
 The Tahitians have a newspaper in 
 the native language, which, somewhat 
 modified in form, is spoken also by the 
 whites. They can all read and write, 
 are all converted to Christianity, and, 
 alas ! they are fearful drunkards. The 
 stronger the liquor the more precious to 
 the Tahitian. Give him a bottle of bran- 
 dy, or even absinthe, and he will drink 
 the whole at once, and, falling an inert 
 
 mass upon the ground, sleep six or sev- 
 en hours in the sun, and on waking be 
 ready to repeat the experiment. 
 
 Half-breeds are very common in Ta- 
 hiti, for "every white man on landing 
 seeks a native companion." These wo- 
 men are very fond of their white children, 
 and take superior care of them. M. Gar- 
 nier says nothing about the decline of 
 the natives of Tahiti. It ought to be easy 
 to preserve the health in a climate where 
 the temperature the year round is be- 
 tween 60° and 77° Fahrenheit. The pres- 
 ent ruler of Tahiti is Queen Pomare IV., 
 renowned for her beauty in former days. 
 She succeeded her brother in 1828, when 
 she was fourteen years old. In 1870 she 
 is represented as well preserved for her 
 age, her eyes full of fire, her long black 
 hair falling in two braids, and still show- 
 ing traces of the famous beauty of the 
 princess Aimata — a beauty, according 
 to M. Garnier, "worthy to be immortal- 
 ized by the muse of Lord Byron." 
 
AN ESCAPE FROM SIBERIA. 
 
 RUFIN PIOTROWSKI. 
 
 A 
 
 LL the languages of continental Eu- I parting people express the hope of meet- 
 rope have some phrase by which at | ing again. The French an revoir, the 
 206 
 
AN ESCAPE FROM SIBERIA. 
 
 207 
 
 Italian a rivederla. the Spanish hasta 
 viafiaiia, the German Aiif Wiedersehen, 
 — these and similar forms, varied with 
 the occasion, have grown from the need 
 of the heart to cheat separation of its 
 pain. The Poles have an expression of 
 infinitely deeper meaning, which em- 
 bodies all that human nature can utter 
 of grief and despair — "To meet never- 
 more." This is the heart-rending fare- 
 well with which the patriot exiled to Si- 
 beria takes leave of family and friends. 
 
 There is indeed little chance that he 
 wall ever again return to his country and 
 his home. Since Beniowski the Pole 
 made his famous romantic flight from 
 the coal-mines of Kamschatka in the 
 last century, there has been but a single 
 instance of a Siberian exile making good 
 his escape. In our day, M. Rufin Pio- 
 trowski, also a Polish patriot, has had the 
 marvelous good-fortune to succeed in the 
 all but impossible attempt; and he has 
 given his story to his countrymen in a 
 simple, unpretending narrative, which, 
 even in an abridged form, will, we think, 
 be found one of thrilling interest. 
 
 In January, 1843, we find Piotrowski in 
 Paris, a refugee for already twelve years, 
 and on the eve of a secret mission into 
 Poland of which he gives no explanation. 
 By means of an American acquaintance 
 he procured a passport from the British 
 embassy describing him as Joseph Ca- 
 tharo of Malta : he spoke Italian perfect- 
 ly, English indifferently, and was thus 
 well suited to support the character of 
 an Italian-born subject of Queen Victoria. 
 Having crossed France, Germany, Aus- 
 tria and Hungary in safety, he reached 
 his destination, the town of Kamenitz 
 in Podolia, on the Turkish frontier. His 
 ostensible object was to settle there as a 
 teacher of languages, and on the strength 
 of his British passport he obtained the 
 necessary permission from the police be- 
 fore their suspicions had been roused. 
 He also gained admission at once into 
 the society of the place, where, notwith- 
 standing his pretended origin, he was 
 generally known as "the Frenchman," 
 the common nickname for a foreigner 
 in the Polish provinces. He had soon a 
 number of pupils, some of them Poles — 
 
 others, members of the families of Rus- 
 sian resident officials. He frequented the 
 houses of the latter most, in order not to 
 attract attention to his intercourse with 
 his compatriots. He spoke Russian flu- 
 ently, but feigned total ignorance both 
 of that and his own language, and even 
 affected an incapacity for learning them 
 when urged to do so by his scholars. 
 Among the risks to which this exposed 
 him was the temptation of cutting short 
 a difficult explanation in his lessons by 
 a single word, which would have made 
 the whole matter clear. But this, al- 
 though the most frequent and vexatious, 
 was not the severest trial of his incognito. 
 One day, while giving a lesson to two 
 beautiful Polish girls, daughters of a lady 
 who had shown him great kindness, the 
 conversation turned upon Poland: he 
 spoke with an indifference which roused 
 the younger to a vehement outburst on 
 behalf of her country. The elder inter- 
 rupted her sharply in their native lan- 
 guage with, "How can you speak of 
 holy things to a hare-brained French- 
 man ?" At another Polish house, a 
 visitor, hearing that M. Catharo was from 
 Paris, was eager to ask news of his broth- 
 er, who was living there in exile : their 
 host dissuaded him, saying, "You know 
 that inquiries about relations in exile 
 are strictly forbidden. Take care ! one 
 is never safe with a stranger." Their un- 
 fortunate fellow-countryman, who knew 
 the visitor's brother very well, was forced 
 to bend over a book to hide the blood 
 which rushed to his face in the conflict 
 of feeling. He kept so close a guard 
 upon himself that he would never sleep 
 in the room with another person — which 
 it was sometimes difficult to avoid on 
 visits to neighboring country-seats — lest 
 a word spoken in his troubled slumbers 
 should betray him. He passed nine 
 months in familiar relations with all the 
 principal people of the place, his nation- 
 ality and his designs being known to but 
 very few of his countrymen, who kept 
 the secret with rigid fidelity. At length, 
 however, he became aware that he was 
 watched ; the manner of some of his 
 Russian friends grew inquiring and con- 
 strained ; he received private warnings, 
 
AN ESCAPE FROM SIBERIA. 
 
 and perceived that he was dogged by the 
 police. It was not too late for. flight, but 
 he knew that such a course would in- 
 volve all who were in his secret, and 
 perhaps thousands of others, in tribula- 
 tion, and that for their sakes it behooved 
 him to await the 
 terrible day of reck- 
 oning which was 
 inevitably ap- 
 proaching. The 
 only use to which 
 he could turn this 
 time of horrible sus- 
 pense was in con- 
 certing a plan of 
 action with his col- 
 leagues. His final 
 interview with the 
 chief of them took 
 place in a church 
 at the close of the 
 short winter twi- 
 light on the last day 
 of the year. After 
 agreeing on all the 
 points which " they 
 could foresee, they 
 solemnly took leave 
 of each other, and 
 Piotrowski was left 
 alone in the church, 
 where he lingered 
 to pray fervently for 
 strength for the 
 hour that was a t 
 hand. 
 
 The next morn- 
 ing at daybreak he 
 was suddenly 
 shaken by the arm : 
 he composed him- 
 self for the part he 
 was to play, and 
 slowly opened his 
 eyes. His room was 
 filled with Russian 
 officials : he was ar- 
 rested. He protested against the out- 
 rage to a British subject, but his papers 
 were seized, he was carried before the 
 governor of the place, and after a brief 
 examination given into the custody of 
 the police. 
 
 He was examined on several succes- 
 sive days, but persisted in his first story, 
 although aware that his identity was 
 known, and that the information had 
 come from St. Petersburg. His object 
 was to force the authorities to confront 
 
 THE ARREST. 
 
 him with those who had been accused 
 on his account, that they might hear his 
 confession and regulate their own ac- 
 cordingly. One day a number of them 
 were brought together — some his real 
 accomplices, others mere acquaintance 
 
AN ESCAPE FROM SIBERIA. 
 
 209 
 
 After the usual routine of questions and 
 denials, Piotrowski suddenly exclaimed 
 in Polish, as one who can hold out no 
 longer, "Well, then, yes ! I am no Brit- 
 ish subject, but a Pole of the Ukraine. 
 I emigrated after the revolution of 1831 : 
 
 CROSSING THE COURTYARD OF THE PRISON. 
 
 I came back because I could bear a life 
 of exile -no longer, and I only wished to 
 breathe my native air. I came under a 
 false name, for I could not have come in 
 my own. I confided my secret to a few 
 of my countrymen, and asked their aid 
 14 
 
 and advice : I had nothing else to ask 
 or tell them." 
 
 The preliminary interrogatories con- 
 cluded, he was sent for a more rigid ex- 
 amination to the fortress of Kiow. He 
 left Kamenitz early in January at mid- 
 night, under an es- 
 cort of soldiers and 
 police. The town 
 was dark and si- 
 lent as they passed 
 through the desert- 
 ed streets, but he 
 saw lights in the 
 upper windows of 
 several houses 
 whose inmates had 
 been implicated in 
 his accusation. 
 Was it a mute fare- 
 well or the sign of 
 vigils of anguish ? 
 They traveled all 
 night and part of 
 the next day : their 
 first halt was at a 
 c^reat state prison, 
 vhere Piotrowski 
 ras for the first 
 ime shut up in a 
 :ell. He was suf- 
 fering from the ex- 
 ; i t e m e nt through 
 vhich he had been 
 passing, from the 
 urious speed of the 
 ourney, which had 
 l)een also very 
 ough, and from a 
 .light concussion of 
 he brain occasion- 
 jd by one of the 
 terrible jolts of the 
 rude vehicle : a 
 physician saw him 
 and ordered repose. 
 The long, dark, still 
 hours of the night 
 were gradually calming his nerves when 
 he was disturbed by a distant sound, 
 which he soon guessed to be the clank- 
 ing of chains, followed by a chant in 
 which many voices mingled. It was 
 Christmas Eve, old style, as still ob- 
 
AN ESCAPE FROM SIBERIA. 
 
 served in some of the provinces, and the 
 midnight chorus was singing an ancient 
 Christmas hymn which every Polish 
 child knows from the cradle. For twelve 
 years the dear familiar melody had not 
 greeted his ears, and now he heard it 
 sung by his captive fellow-countrymen 
 in a Russian dungeon. 
 
 Two days later they set out again, and 
 now he was chained hand and foot with 
 heavy irons, rusty, and too small for his 
 limbs. The sleigh hurried on day and 
 night with headlong haste : it was upset, 
 everybody was thrown out, the prisoner's 
 chain caught and he was dragged until 
 he lost consciousness. In this state he 
 arrived at Kiow. Here he was thrown 
 into a cell six feet by five, almost dark 
 and disgustingly dirty. The wretched 
 man was soon covered from head to foot 
 with vermin, of which his handcuffs pre- 
 vented his ridding himself. However, 
 in a day or two, after a visit from the 
 commandant, his cell was cleaned. His 
 manacles prevented his walking, or even 
 standing, and the moral effect of being 
 unable to use his hands was a strange 
 apathy such as might precede imbecility. 
 He was interrogated several times, but al- 
 ways adhered to his confession at Kame- 
 nitz; menaces of harsher treatment, even 
 of torture, were tried — means which he 
 knew too well had been resorted to be- 
 fore ; his guards were forbidden to ex- 
 change a word with him, so that his 
 time was passed in solitude, silence and 
 absolute inoccupation. Since Levitoux, 
 another political prisoner, fearful that 
 the tortures to which he was subjected 
 might wring from him confessions which 
 would criminate his friends, had set fire 
 to his straw bed with his night-lamp and 
 burned himself alive, no lights were al- 
 lowed in the cells, so that a great por- 
 tion of the twenty-four hours went by in 
 darkness. After some time he was vis- 
 ited by Prince Bibikoff, the governor- 
 general of that section of the country, 
 one of the men whose names are most 
 associated with the sufferings of Poland : 
 he tried by intimidation and persuasion 
 to induce the prisoner to reveal his proj- 
 ects and the names of his associates. 
 Piotrowski held firm, but the prince on 
 
 withdrawing ordered his chains to be 
 struck off. The relief was ineffable : he 
 could do nothing but stretch his arms to 
 enjoy the sense of their free possession, 
 and he felt his natural energy and inde- 
 pendence of thought return. He had 
 not been able to take off his boots since 
 leaving Kamenitz, and his legs were 
 bruised and sore, but he walked to and 
 fro in his cell all day, enjoying the very 
 pain this gave him as a proof that they 
 were unchained. Several weeks passed 
 without any other incident, when late 
 one night he was surprised by a light in 
 his cell : an aide-de-camp and four sol- 
 diers entered and ordered him to rise and 
 follow them. He thought that he was 
 summoned to his execution. He cross- 
 ed the great courtyard of the prison sup- 
 ported by the soldiers; the snow creak- 
 ed under foot ; the night was very dark, 
 and the sharp fresh air almost took away 
 his breath, yet it was infinitely welcome 
 to him after the heavy atmosphere of his 
 cell, and he inhaled it with keen pleas- 
 ure, thinking that each whiff was almost 
 the last. He was led into a large, faint- 
 ly-lighted room, where officers of vari- 
 ous grades were smoking around a large 
 table. It was only the committee of in- 
 vestigation, for hitherto his examinations 
 had not been strictly in order. , 
 
 This was but the first of a series of 
 sittings which were prolonged through 
 nearly half a year. During this time 
 his treatment improved ; his cell was 
 kept clean ; he had no cause to com- 
 plain of his food ; he was allowed to 
 walk for an hour daily in the corridor, 
 which, though cold and damp, in some 
 degree satisfied his need of exercise. 
 He was always guarded by two senti- 
 nels, to whom he was forbidden to speak. 
 He learned in some way, however, that 
 several of his co-accused were his fel- 
 low-prisoners : they were confined in 
 another part of the fortress, and he but 
 once caught a glimpse of one of them — 
 so changed that he hardly recognized 
 him. His neighbors on the corridor 
 were common criminals. The president 
 of the committee offered him the use of 
 a library, but he only asked for a Bible, 
 "with which," he says, "I was no long- 
 
AN ESCAPE FROM SIBERIA. 
 
 er alone." His greatest suffering arose 
 from the nervous irritability caused by 
 the unremitting watch of the sentinel at 
 his door, which drove him almost fran- 
 tic. The sensation of being spied at ev- 
 ery instant, in every action, of meeting 
 
 this relentless, irresponsive gaze on wak- 
 ing, of encountering it at each minute 
 of the day, was maddening. From day- 
 break he longed for the night, which 
 should deliver him from the sight. 
 Sometimes, beside himself, he would 
 suddenly put his own face close to the 
 
 grating and stare into the tormenting 
 eyes to force them to divert their gazi^ 
 for a moment, laughing like a savage 
 when he succeeded. He was in this 
 feverish condition when called to his 
 last examination. He perceived at once, 
 from the solemnity 
 of all present, that 
 the crisis had come. 
 His sentence was 
 pronounced : death, 
 commuted by Prince 
 Bibikoff's interces- 
 sion to hard labor 
 for life in Siberia. 
 He was degraded 
 from the nobility, to 
 which order, like 
 half the inhabitants 
 of Poland, he be- 
 longed, and con- 
 demned to make 
 the journey in 
 chains. Without be- 
 ing taken back to 
 his cell, he was at 
 once put into irons, 
 the same rusty, gall- 
 ing ones he had worn 
 already, and placed 
 in a kibitka, or trav- 
 eling - carriage, be- 
 tween two armed 
 guards. The gates 
 of the fortress closed 
 behind him, and be- 
 fore him opened the 
 road to Siberia. 
 
 His destination 
 was about two thou- 
 sand miles distant. 
 The incidents of the 
 journey were few and 
 much of the same 
 character. Charity 
 and sympathy were 
 shown him by people 
 of every class. Travelers of distinction, 
 especially ladies, pursued him with offei^s 
 of assistance and money, which he would 
 not accept. The only gifts which he did 
 not refuse were the food and drink brought 
 him by the peasants where they stopped 
 to change horses : wherever there was a 
 
AN ESCAPE EROM SIBERIA. 
 
 halt the good people plied him with tea, 
 brandy and simple dainties, which he 
 gratefully accepted. At one station a 
 man in the uniform of the Russian civil 
 service timidly offered him a parcel wrap- 
 ped in a silk handkerchief, saying, "Ac- 
 cept this from my saint." Piotrowski, 
 repelled by the sight of the uniform, 
 shook his head. The other flushed : 
 "You are a Pole, and do not understand 
 our customs. This is my birthday, and 
 on this day, above all others, I should 
 share what I have with the unfortunate. 
 Pray accept it in the name of my patron 
 saint." He could not resist so Christian 
 an appeal. The parcel contained bread, 
 salt and some money : the last he hand- 
 ed over to the guards, who in any case 
 would not have let him keep it : he broke 
 the bread with its donor. His guards 
 were almost the only persons with whom 
 he had to do who showed themselves in- 
 sensible to his pain and sorrow. They 
 were divided between their fears of not 
 arriving on the day fixed, in which case 
 they would be flogged, and of his dying 
 of fatigue on the route, when they would 
 fare still worse. The apprehension of 
 his suicide beset them : at the ferries or 
 fords which they crossed each of them 
 held him by an arm lest he should drown 
 himself, and all his meat was given to him 
 minced, to be eaten with a spoon, as he 
 was not to be trusted for an instant with 
 a knife. Thus they traveled night and 
 day for three weeks, only stopping to 
 change horses and take their meals ; 
 yet he esteemed himself lucky not to 
 have been sent with a gang of convicts, 
 chained to some atrocious malefactor, or 
 to have been ordered to make the jour- 
 ney on foot, like his countryman, Prince 
 Sanguzsko. At last they reached Omsk, 
 the head-quarters of Prince Gortchakoff, 
 then governor-general of Western Sibe- 
 ria. By some informality in the mode 
 of his transportation, the interpretation 
 of Piotrowski's sentence depended sole- 
 ly on this man : he might be sent to 
 work in one of the government manu- 
 factories, or to the mines, the last, worst 
 dread of a Siberian exile. While await- 
 ing the decision he was in charge of a 
 gay, handsome young officer, who treat- 
 
 ed him with great friendliness, and in 
 the course of their conversation, which 
 turned chiefly on Siberia, showed him a 
 map of the country. The prisoner de- 
 voured it with his eyes, tried to engrave 
 it on his memory, asked innumerable 
 questions about roads and water-courses, 
 and betrayed so much agitation that the 
 young fellow noticed it, and exclaimed, 
 "Ah! don't think of escape. Too many 
 of your countrymen have tried it, and 
 those are fortunate who, tracked on every 
 side, famished, desperate, have been able 
 to put an end to themselves before be- 
 ing retaken, for if they are, then comes 
 the knout and a life of misery beyond 
 words. In Heaven's name, give up that 
 thought!" The commandant of the for- 
 tress paid him a short official visit, and 
 exclaimed repeatedly, " How sad ! how 
 sad ! to come back when you were free 
 in a foreign country !" The chief of po- 
 lice, a hard, dry, vulture-like man, ask- 
 ed why he had dared to return without 
 the czar's permission. " I could not bear 
 my homesickness," replied the prisoner. 
 "O native country !" said the Russian in 
 a softened voice, "how dear thou art!" 
 After various official interviews he was 
 taken to the governor - general's ante- 
 chamber, where he found a number of 
 clerks, most of whom were his exiled 
 compatriots and received him warmly. 
 While he was talking with them a door 
 opened, and Gortchakoff stood on the 
 threshold : he fixed his eyes on the pris- 
 oner for some moments, and withdrew 
 without a word. An hour of intense 
 anxiety followed, and then an officer 
 appeared, who announced that he was 
 consigned to the distilleries of Ekaterin- 
 inski-Zavod, some two hundred miles 
 farther north. 
 
 Ekaterininski - Zavod is a miserable 
 village of a couple of hundred small 
 houses on the river Irtish, in the midst 
 of a wide plain. Its inhabitants are all 
 in some way connected with the govern- 
 ment distillery : they are the descend- 
 ants of criminals formerly transported. 
 Piotrowski, after a short interview with 
 the inspector of the works, was entered 
 on the list of convicts and sent to the 
 gfuard-house. " He is to work with his 
 
AN ESCAPE FROM SIBERIA. 
 
 feet in irons," added the inspector. This 
 unusual severity was in consequence of 
 a memorandum in Prince Gortchakoff's 
 own writing appended to the prisoner's 
 papers: "Piotrowski must be watched 
 with especial care." The injunction was 
 
 CHARITY TO THE EXILE. 
 
 unprecedented, and impressed the direc- 
 tor with the prisoner's importance. Be- 
 fore being taken to his work he was sur- 
 rounded by his fellow-countrymen, young 
 men of talent and promise, who were 
 there, like himself, for political reasons. 
 Their emotion was extreme : thev talked 
 
 rapidly and eagerly, exhorting him to 
 patience and silence, and to do nothing 
 to incur corporal punishment, which was 
 the mode of keeping the workmen in 
 order, so that in time he might be pro- 
 moted, like themselves, from hard labor 
 to office-work. At 
 the guard-house he 
 found a crowd of 
 soldiers, among 
 whom were many 
 Poles, incorporated 
 into the standing 
 army of Siberia for 
 having taken up 
 arms for their coun- 
 try. This is one of 
 the mildest punish- 
 ments for that of- 
 fence. They seized 
 every pretext for 
 speaking to him, to 
 ask what was going 
 on in Poland, and 
 whether there were 
 any hopes for her. 
 Overcome by fa- 
 tigue and misery, 
 he sat down upon 
 a bench, where he 
 remained sunk in 
 the gloomiest 
 thoughts until ac- 
 costed by a man 
 of repulsive aspect, 
 branded on the 
 face — the Russian 
 practice with crim- 
 inals of the worst 
 sort — who said ab- 
 ruptly, "Get up and 
 go to work." It was 
 the overseer, him- 
 self a former con- 
 vict. "O my God!" 
 exclaims Pio- 
 trowski, "Thou 
 alone didst hear the bitter cry of my soul 
 when this outcast first spoke to me as my 
 master." 
 
 Before going to work his irons were 
 struck off, thanks to the instant entrea- 
 ties of his compatriots : he was then giv- 
 en a' broom and shovel and set to clear 
 
214 
 
 AN ESCAPE FROM SIBERIA. 
 
 rubbish and filth off the roof of a large 
 unfinished building. On one side was 
 a convict of the lowest order, with whom 
 he worked — on the other, the soldier who 
 mounted guard over them. To avoid 
 the indignity of chastisement or reproof — 
 indeed, to escape no- 
 tice altogether — he 
 bent his whole force 
 to his task, without 
 raising his head, or 
 even his eyes, but 
 the iron entered into 
 his soul and he wept. 
 The order of his 
 days knew no varia- 
 tion. Rising at sun- 
 rise, the convicts 
 worked until eight 
 o'clock, when they 
 breakfasted, t h e n 
 until their dinner 
 at noon, and again 
 from one o '.clock 
 until dark. His 
 tasks were fetching 
 wood and water, 
 splitting and piling 
 logs, and scavenger- 
 work of all sorts : it 
 was all out of doors 
 and in every ex- 
 treme of the Siberian 
 climate. His com- 
 panions were all ruf- 
 fians of a desperate 
 caste : burglary, 
 highway robbery, 
 rape, murder in ev- 
 ery degree, were 
 common cases. One 
 instance will suffice, 
 and it is not the 
 worst : it was that 
 of a young man, 
 clerk of a wine-mer- 
 chant in St. Peters- 
 burg. He had a mistress whom he 
 loved, but suspected of infidelity ; he 
 took her and another girl into the coun- 
 try for a holiday, and as they wallced to- 
 gether in the fields fired a pistol at his 
 sweetheart's head : it only wounded her ; 
 the friend rushed away shrieking for 
 
 help; the victim fell on her knees and 
 cried, "Forgive me!" but he plunged a 
 knife up to the hilt in her breast, and she 
 fell dead at his feet. He gave himself 
 up to justice, received the knout and 
 was transported for life. 
 
 -"--^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 A RUSSIAN OTllKLI.O. 
 
 The daily contact with ignorant, brutisli 
 men, made worse than brutes by a life 
 of hideous crime, was the worst feature 
 in his wretched existence. He had de- 
 termined never to submit to blows, should 
 the forfeit be his own life or another's, 
 and the incessant apprcliension kept his 
 
AN ESCAPE FROM SIBERIA. 
 
 215 
 
 mind in a state of frightful tension : it 
 also nerved him to physical exertions 
 beyond his strength, and to a moral re- 
 straint of which he had not deemed him- 
 self capable in the way of endurance 
 and self-command. But in the end he 
 was the gainer. After the first year he 
 was taken into the office of the establish- 
 ment, and received a salary of ten francs 
 a month. He was also allowed to leave 
 the barracks where he had been herd- 
 ed with the convicts, and to lodge with 
 two fellow-countrymen in a little house 
 which they built for themselves, and 
 which they shared with the soldiers who 
 guarded them. It was a privilege grant- 
 ed to the most exemplary of the con- 
 victs to lodge with one or other of the 
 private inhabitants of the village ; but 
 besides their own expenses they had to 
 pay those of the soldier detailed to watch 
 them. In the course of the winter they 
 were comforted by the visit of a Polish 
 priest. A certain number are permitted 
 to travel through Siberia yearly, stopping 
 wherever there are Polish prisoners to 
 administer the sacraments and consola- 
 tions of their Church to them : there is 
 no hardship which these heroic men will 
 not encounter in performing their thrice 
 holy mission. Piotrowski, who, like all 
 Poles, was an ingrained Roman Catholic, 
 after passing through phases of doubt 
 and disbelief had returned to a fervent 
 orthodoxy : this spiritual succor was most 
 precious to himself and his bi'other-exiles. 
 One idea, however, was never absent 
 from his mind — that of escape. At the 
 moment of receiving his sentence at 
 Kiow he had resolved to be free, and 
 his resolution had not faltered. He had 
 neglected no means of acquiring infor- 
 mation about Siberia and the adjacent 
 countries. For this he had listened to 
 the revolting confidences of the malefac- 
 tors at the barracks — for this he heard 
 with unflagging attention, yet with no 
 sign of interest, the long stories of the 
 traders- who came to the distillery from 
 all parts of the empire to sell grain or 
 buy spirits. The office in which he pass- 
 ed his time from eight in the morning 
 until ten or eleven at night was their 
 rendezvous, and by a concentration of 
 
 his mental powers he acquired a thorough 
 and accurate knowledge of the country 
 from the Frozen Ocean to the frontiers 
 of Persia and China, and of all its man- 
 ners and customs. The prisoner who 
 meditates escape, he says, is absorbed in 
 an infinitude of details and calculations, 
 of which it is only possible to give the 
 final result. Slowly and painfully, little 
 by little, he accumulated the indispen- 
 sable articles — disguise, money, food, a 
 weapon, passports. The last were the 
 most essential and the most difficult : 
 two were required, both upon paper with 
 the government stamp — one a simple 
 pass for short distances and absences, 
 useless beyond a certain limit and date ; 
 the other, the plakatny, or real pass- 
 port, a document of vital importance. 
 He was able to abstract the paper from 
 the office, and a counterfeiter in the 
 community forged the formula and sig- 
 natures. His appearance he had grad- 
 ually changed by allowing his hair and 
 beard to grow, and he had studied the 
 tone of thought and peculiar phraseology 
 of the born Siberian, that he might the 
 better pass for a native. More than six 
 months went by in preparations : then 
 he made two false starts. He had placed 
 much hope on a little boat, which was 
 often forgotten at evening, moored in 
 the Irtish. One dark night he quietly 
 loosed it and began to row away : sud- 
 denly the moon broke through the clouds, 
 and at the same instant the voices of the 
 inspector and some of his subordinates 
 were heard on the banks. Piotrowski 
 was fortunate enough to get back unper- 
 ceived. On the second attempt a dense 
 fog rose and shut him in : he could not 
 see a yard before him. All night long 
 he pushed the boat hither and thither, 
 trying at least to regain the shore ; at 
 daybreak the vapor began to disperse, 
 but it was too late to go on ; he again 
 had the good luck to land undiscovered. 
 Five routes were open to him — all long, 
 and each beset with its own perils. He 
 decided to go northward, recross the 
 Uralian Mountains, and make his way to 
 Archangel, nearly a thousand miles off, 
 where, among the hundreds of foreign 
 ships constantly in the docks, he trusted 
 
2l6 
 
 AN ESCAPE FROM SIBERIA. 
 
 to find one which would bring him to 
 America. Nobody knew his secret : he 
 had vowed to perish rather than ever 
 again involve others in his fate. He 
 reckoned on getting over the first dan- 
 ger of pursuit by mingling with the 
 crowds of people 
 then traveling from 
 every quarter to the 
 annual fair at Irbite 
 at the foot of the 
 Urals. 
 
 Finally, in Feb- 
 ruary, 1846, he set 
 out on foot. His 
 costume consisted 
 of three shirts — a 
 colored one upper- 
 most, worn, Rus- 
 sian fashion, out- 
 side his trousers, 
 which were of 
 heavy cloth, like 
 his waistcoat — and 
 a small sheepskin 
 burnous, heavy 
 high boots, a bright 
 woolen sash, a red 
 cap with a fur bor- 
 der — the dress of a 
 well-to-do peasant 
 or commercial trav- 
 eler. In a small 
 bag he carried a 
 change of clothing 
 and his provisions : 
 his money and 
 passports were hid- 
 den about his per- 
 son ; he was armed 
 with a dagger and 
 a bludgeon. He 
 had scarcely cross- 
 ed the frozen Irtish 
 when the sound of 
 a sleigh behind 
 him brought his 
 heart to his mouth : 
 
 he held his ground and was hailed by a 
 peasant, who wanted to drive a bargain 
 with him for a lift. After a little politic 
 chaffering he got in, and was carried to 
 a village about eight miles off at a gal- 
 lop. There the peasant set him down, 
 
 and, knocking at the first house, he ask- 
 ed for horses to the fair at Irbite. More 
 bargaining, but they were soon on the 
 road. Erelong, however, it began to 
 snow ; the track disappeared, the driver 
 lost his way ; they wandered about for 
 
 VAIN ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE. 
 
 some time, and were forced to stop all 
 night in a forest — a night of agony. 
 They were not twelve miles from Ekater- 
 ininski-Zavod : every minute the fugitive 
 fancied he heard the bells of the pur- 
 suing kibitkas ; he had a horrible sus- 
 
AN ESCAPE FROM SIBERIA. 
 
 217 
 
 picion, too, that his driver was delaying 
 purposely to betray him, as had befallen 
 a fellow-countryman in similar circum- 
 stances. But at daybreak they found the 
 road, and by nightfall, having changed 
 horses once or twice and traveled like 
 the wind, he was well on his way. At a 
 fresh relay he was forced to go into a 
 tavern to make change to pay his driver : 
 as he stood among the tipsy crowd he 
 was hustled and his pocket-book snatch- 
 ed from his hand. He could not dis- 
 cover the thief nor recover the purse : he 
 durst not appeal to the police, and had 
 to let it go. In it, besides a quarter of 
 his little hoard of money, there was a 
 memorandum of every town and village 
 on his way to Archangel, and his pla- 
 katny. In this desperate strait — for the 
 last loss seemed to cut off hope — he had 
 one paramount motive for going on : re- 
 turn was impossible. Once having left 
 Ekaterininski-Zavod, his fate was sealed 
 if retaken : he must go forward. For- 
 ward he went, falling in with troops of 
 travelers bound to the fair. On the third 
 evening of his flight, notwithstanding the 
 time lost, he was at the gates of Irbite, 
 over six hundred miles from his prison. 
 "Halt and show your passport!" cried 
 the sentinel. He was fumbling for the 
 local pass with a sinking heart when the 
 soldier whispered, " Twenty kopecks and 
 go ahead." He passed in. The loss of 
 his money and the unavoidable expenses 
 had reduced his resources so much that 
 he found it necessary to continue the 
 journey on foot. He slept at Irbite, but 
 was up early, and passed out of an op- 
 posite gate unchallenged. 
 
 Now began a long and weary tramp. 
 The winter of 1846 was one of unparal- 
 leled rigor in Siberia. The snow fell in 
 enormous masses, which buried the roads 
 deep out of sight and crushed solidly- 
 built houses under it''^ weight. Every dif- 
 ficulty of an ordinary journey on foot was 
 increased tenfold. Piotrowski's clothes 
 encumbered him excessively, yet he dared 
 not take any of them off. His habit was 
 to avoid passing through villages as much 
 as possible, but, if forced to do so to in- 
 quire his way, only to stop at the last 
 house. When he was hungry he drew a 
 
 bit of frozen bread from his wallet and 
 ate it as he went along : to quench his 
 thirst he often had no resource but melt- 
 ing the snow in his mouth, which rather 
 tends to increase the desire for water. 
 At night he went into the depths of the 
 forest, dug a hole under the snow, and 
 creeping in slept there as best he might. 
 At the first experiment his feet were 
 frozen : he succeeded in curing them, 
 though not without great pain. Some- 
 times he plunged up to the waist or neck 
 in the drifts, and expected at the next 
 step to be buried alive. One night, hav- 
 ing tasted to the full those two tortures, 
 cold and hunger — of which, as he says, 
 we complain so frequently without know- 
 ing what they mean — he ventured to ask 
 for shelter at a little hut near a hamlet 
 where there were only two women. They 
 gave him warm food : he dried his drench- 
 ed clothes, and stretched himself out to 
 sleep on the bench near the kitchen stove. 
 He was roused by voices, then shaken 
 roughly and asked for his passport : there 
 were three men in the room. With 
 amazing presence of mind he demand- 
 ed by what right they asked for his pass- 
 port : were any of them officials ? No, 
 but they insisted on knowing who he was 
 and where he was going, and seeing his 
 pass. He told them the same story that 
 he had told the women, and finally ex- 
 hibited the local pass, which was now 
 quite worthless, and would not have de- 
 ceived a government functionary for a 
 moment : they were satisfied with the sight 
 . of the stamp. They excused themselves, 
 saying that the women had taken fright 
 and given the alarm, thinking that, as 
 sometimes happened, they were house- 
 ing an escaped convict. This adventure 
 taught him a severe lesson of prudence. 
 He often passed fifteen or twenty nights 
 under the snow in the forest, without 
 seeking food or shelter, hearing the 
 wolves howl at a distance. In this sav- 
 age mode of life he lost the count of 
 time : he was already far in the Ural 
 Mountains before he again ventured to 
 sleep beneath a roof. As he was starting 
 the next morning his hosts said, in an- 
 swer to his inquiries as to the road, "A 
 little farther on you will find a guard- 
 
2l8 
 
 AN ESCAPE FROM SIBERIA. 
 
 house, where they will look at your pa- 
 pers and give you precise directions." 
 Again how narrow an escape ! He turn- 
 ed from the road and crossed hills and 
 gorges, often up to the chin in snow, and 
 made an immense curve before taking 
 up his march again. 
 One moonlight 
 night, in the dead 
 silence of the ice- 
 bound winter, h e 
 stood on the ridge 
 of the mountain- 
 chain and began to 
 descend its eastern 
 slope. Still on and 
 on, the way more 
 dangerous than be- 
 fore, for now there 
 were large towns 
 upon his route, 
 which he could on- 
 ly avoid by going 
 greatly out of his 
 way. One night in 
 the woods he com- 
 pletely lost his'bear- 
 ings ; a tempest of 
 wind and snow lit- 
 erally whirled him 
 around ; his stock 
 of bread was ex- 
 hausted, and he fell 
 upon the earth pow- 
 erless ; there was a 
 buzzing in his ears, 
 a confusion in his 
 ideas; his senses 
 forsook him, and 
 but for spasms of 
 cramp in his stom- 
 ach he had no con- 
 sciousness left. 
 Torpor was settling 
 upon him when a 
 loud voice recalled 
 him to himself: it 
 
 was a trapper, who lived hard by, going 
 home with his booty. He poured some 
 brandy down the dying man's throat, 
 and when this had somewhat revived 
 him gave him food from his store. After 
 some delay the stranger urged Piotrowski 
 to get up and walk, which he did with 
 
 the utmost difficulty : leaning upon this 
 Samaritan of the steppes, he contrived 
 to reach the highway, where a small 
 roadside inn was in sight. There his 
 companion left him, and he staggered 
 forward with unspeakable joy toward the 
 
 
 A SAMARITAN Ol- 
 
 warmth and shelter. He would have 
 gone in if he had known the guards 
 were there on the lookout for him, for 
 his case was now desperate. He only 
 got as far as the threshold, and there 
 fell forward and rolled under a bench. 
 He asked for hot soup, but could not 
 
AN ESCAPE FROM SIBERIA. 
 
 219 
 
 swallow, and after a few minutes fell 
 into a swoon -like sleep which lasted 
 twenty - four hours. Restored by nour- 
 ishment, rest and dry clothes, he set forth 
 again at once. 
 
 During the first part of his journey he 
 had passed as a commercial traveler ; 
 after leaving Irbite he was a workman 
 seeking employment in the government 
 establishments ; but now he assumed the 
 character of a pilgrim to the convent of 
 Solovetsk on a holy island in the White. 
 Sea, near Archangel. For each change 
 of part he had to change his manners, 
 mode of speech, his whole personality, 
 and always be probable and consistent 
 in his account of himself. It was mid- 
 April : he had been journeying on foot 
 for two months. Easter was approach- 
 ing, when these pious journeys were fre- 
 quent, and not far from Veliki-Oustiog 
 he fell in with several bands of men and 
 women — bohomolets, as they are call- 
 ed — on their way to Solovetsk. There 
 were more than two thousand in the 
 town waiting for the frozen Dwina to 
 open, that they might proceed by water 
 to Archangel. It being Holy Week, 
 Piotrowski was forced to conform to the 
 innumerable observances of the Greek 
 ritual — prayers, canticles, genuflexions, 
 prostrations, crossings and bowings, as 
 manifold as in his own, but different. 
 His inner consciousness suffered from 
 this hypocrisy, but it was necessary to 
 his part. They were detained at Veliki- 
 Oustiog a mortal month, during which 
 these acts of devotion went on with al- 
 most unabated zeal among the boholo- 
 inets. At length the river was free, and 
 they set out. Their vessel was a huge 
 hulk which looked like a floating barn : 
 it was manned by twenty or thirty row- 
 ers, and to replenish his purse a little the 
 fugitive took an oar. The agent who had 
 charge of the expedition required their 
 passports : among the number the ir- 
 regularity of Piotrowski 's escaped notice. 
 The prayers and prostrations went on 
 during the voyage, which lasted a fort- 
 night. One morning the early sunshine 
 glittered on the gilded domes of Arch- 
 angel : the vessel soon touched the shore, 
 and his passport was returned to him 
 
 uninspected, with the small sum he had 
 earned by rowing. 
 
 He had reached his goal ; a thousand 
 miles of deadly suffering and danger lay 
 behind him ; he was on the shores of the 
 White Sea, with vessels of every nation 
 lying at anchor ready to bear him away 
 to freedom. Yet he was careful not to 
 commit himself by any imprudence or in- 
 consistency. He went with the pilgrims 
 to their vast crowded lodging-house, and 
 for several days joined in their visits to 
 the different churches of Archangel ; but 
 when they embarked again for the holy 
 island he stayed behind under the pre- 
 text of fatigue, but really to go unob 
 served to the harbor. There lay the 
 ships from every part of the world, with 
 their flags floating from the masts. Alas ! 
 alas ! on every wharf a Russian sentinel 
 mounted guard day and night, challeng- 
 ing every one who passed, and on the 
 deck of each ship there was another. 
 In vain he risked the consequences of 
 dropping his character of an ignorant 
 Siberian peasant so far as to speak to a 
 group of sailors, first in French and then 
 in German ; they understood neither : 
 the idlers on the quays began to gather 
 round in idle curiosity, and he had to 
 desist. In vain, despite^ the icy coldness 
 of the water, he tried swimming in the 
 bay to approach some vessel for the 
 chance of getting speech of the captain 
 or crew unseen by the sentinel. In vain 
 he resorted to every device which des- 
 peration could suggest. After three days 
 ■ he was forced to look the terrible truth 
 in the face : there was no escape possible 
 from Archangel. 
 
 Baffled and hopeless, he turned his 
 back on the town, not knowing when: to 
 go. To retrace his steps would be mad- 
 ness. He followed the shore of the 
 White Sea to Onega, a natural direcuon 
 for pilgrims returning from Solovetsk 
 to take. His lonely way lay through a 
 land of swamp and sand, with a sparse 
 growth of stunted pines; the midnight 
 sun streamed across the silent stretches ; 
 the huge waves of the White Sea, lashed 
 by a long storm, plunged foaming upon 
 the desolate beach. Days and nights 
 of walking brought him to Onega : there 
 
AN ESCAPE FROM SIBERIA. 
 
 was no way of getting to sea from there, 
 and after a short halt he resumed his 
 journey southward along the banks of 
 the river Onega, hardly knowing whither 
 or wherefore he went. The hardships of 
 his existence at midsummer were fewer 
 than at midwinter, 
 but the dangers 
 were greater : the 
 absence of a definite 
 goal, of a distinct 
 hope which had 
 supported him be- 
 fore, unnerved him 
 physically. He had 
 reached the point 
 when he dreaded 
 fatigue more than 
 risk. In spite of 
 his familiarity with 
 the minutiae of Rus- 
 sian customs, he 
 was nearly betray- 
 ed one day by his 
 ignorance of tolok- 
 no, a national dish. 
 On another occa- 
 sion he stopped at 
 the cabin of a poor 
 old man to ask his 
 way: the gray- 
 beard made him 
 come in, and after 
 some conversation 
 began to confide his 
 religious grievances 
 to him, which turn- 
 ed upon the perse- 
 cutions to which a 
 sect of religionists 
 is exposed in Rus- 
 sia for adhering to 
 certain peculiarities 
 in the forms of wor- 
 ship. Happily, Pio- 
 tr o w ski was well 
 versed in these sub- 
 jects. The poor 
 
 old man, after dwelling long and tear- 
 fully on the woes of his fellow-believers, 
 looked cautiously in every direction, 
 locked the door, and after exacting an 
 oath of secresy drew from a hiding-place 
 a little antique brass figure of Byzantme 
 
 origin, representing our Saviour in the 
 act of benediction with two fingers only 
 raised, according to the form cherished 
 by the dissenters. 
 
 Following his purposeless march for 
 hundreds of miles, the fugitive reached 
 
 lUE BENEDICTION WITH TWO FINGERS. 
 
 Vytegra, wliere the river issues from the 
 Lake of Onega. There, on the wharf, 
 a peasant asked him whither he was 
 bound : he replied that he was a pilgrim 
 on his way from Solovetsk to the shrines 
 of Novgorod and Kiow. The peasant 
 
AN ESCAPE FROM SIBERIA. 
 
 said he was going to St. Petersburg, and 
 would give him a passage for his ser- 
 vice if he would take an oar. The bar- 
 gain was struck, and that night they 
 started on their voyage to the capital of 
 Poland's arch-enemy, the head-quarters 
 
 CROSSING THE FRUNTIK 
 
 of politics, the source whence his own ar- 
 rest had emanated. He had no design : 
 he was going at hazard. The voyage 
 was long : they followed the Lake of 
 Onega, the Lake of Ladoga and the riv- 
 er Neva. Sometimes poor people got a 
 
 lift in the boat : toward the end of the 
 voyage they took aboard a number of 
 women-servants returning to their situa- 
 tions in town from a visit to their coun- 
 try homes. Among them was an elderly 
 woman going to see her daughter, who 
 was a washervvo- 
 man at St. Peters- 
 burg. Piotrowski 
 showed her some 
 small kindnesses, 
 which won her fer- 
 vent gratitude. As 
 they landed in the 
 great capital, which 
 seemed the very 
 focus of his dan- 
 gers, and he stood 
 on the wharf whol- 
 ly at a loss what 
 should be his next 
 step, the poor wo- 
 man came up with 
 her daughter and 
 offered to show him 
 cheap lodgings. 
 He followed them, 
 carrying his pro- 
 tectress's trunk. 
 The lodgings were 
 cheap and miser- 
 able, and the wo- 
 man of the house 
 demanded his pass- 
 port. He handed 
 it to her with a 
 thrill of anxiety, 
 and carelessly an- 
 nounced his inten- 
 tion of reporting 
 himself at the po- 
 lice - office accord- 
 ing to rule. She 
 glanced at the pa- 
 per, which she 
 could not read, and 
 saw the official 
 stamp: she was 
 satisfied, and began to dissuade him 
 from going to the police. It then ap- 
 peared that the law required her to ac- 
 company him as her lodger; that a 
 great deal of her time would be lost in 
 the delays and formalities of the office, 
 
222 
 
 AN ESCAPE FROM SIBERIA. 
 
 which, being a working -woman, she 
 could ill afford ; and as he was merely 
 passing through the city and had his 
 passport, there could be no harm in 
 staying away. The next day, while 
 wandering about the streets seeking a 
 mode of escape, the pilot of a steam- 
 packet to Riga asked him if he would 
 like to sail with them the next day, and 
 named a very moderate fare. His heart 
 leapt up, but the next instant the man 
 asked to see his passport : he took it out 
 trembling, but the sailor, without scru- 
 tiny, cried, "Good! Be off with you, 
 and come back to-morrow morning at 
 seven o'clock." The next morning at 
 seven he was on board, and the boat 
 was under way. 
 
 From Riga he had to make his way 
 on foot across Courland and Lithuania 
 to the Prussian frontier. He now made 
 a change in his disguise, and gave him- 
 self out as a dealer in hogs' bristles. In 
 Lithuania he found himself once more 
 on his beloved native soil, and the long- 
 ing to speak his own language, to make 
 himself known to a fellow-countryman, 
 was almost irresistible ; but he sternly 
 quelled such a yearning. As he neared 
 the frontier he had the utmost difficulty 
 in ascertaining where and how it was 
 guarded, and what he should have to 
 encounter in passing. At length he 
 learned enough for his purpose : there 
 were no guards on the Prussian side. 
 Reaching a rampart of the fortifications, 
 he waited until the moment when the 
 two sentinels on duty were back to back 
 on their beats, and jumped down into the 
 first of the three ditches which protected 
 the boundary. Clambering and jumping, 
 he reached the edge of the third : shots 
 were fired in several directions ; he had 
 been seen. He slid into the third ditch, 
 scrambled up the opposite side, sprang 
 down once more, rushed on until out 
 of sight of the soldiers, and fell pant- 
 ing in a httle wood. There he lay for 
 hours without stirring, as he knew the 
 Russian guards sometimes violated the 
 boundary in pursuit of fugitives. But 
 there was no pursuit, and he at last took 
 heart. Then he began a final transfor- 
 mation. He had lately bought a razor, 
 
 a pocket-mirror and some soap, and with 
 these, by the aid of a slight rain which 
 was falling, he succeeded with much dif- 
 ficulty in shaving himself and changing 
 his clothes to a costume he had provided 
 expressly for Prussia. When night had 
 closed he set forth once more, lighter of 
 heart than for many long years, though 
 well aware that by international agree- 
 ment he was not yet out of danger. He 
 pushed on toward the grand duchy of 
 Posen, where he hoped to find assistance 
 from his fellow-countrymen, who, being 
 under Prussian rule, would not be com- 
 promised by aiding him. He passed 
 through Memel and Tilsit, and reached 
 Konigsberg without let or hindrance — 
 over two hundred miles on Prussian 
 soil in addition to all the rest. There 
 he found a steamboat to sail the next 
 day in the direction which he wished to 
 follow. He had slept only in the open 
 fields, and meant to do so on this night 
 and re-enter the town betimes in the 
 morning. Meanwhile he sat down on a 
 heap of stones in the street, and, over- 
 come by fatigue, fell into a profound 
 sleep. He was awakened by the patrol : 
 his first confused words excited suspicion, 
 and he was arrested and carried to the 
 station-house. After all his perils, his 
 escapes, his adventures, his disguises, to 
 be taken by a Prussian watchman ! The 
 next morning he was examined by the 
 police : he declared himself a French 
 artisan on his way home from Russia, 
 but as having lost his passport. The story 
 imposed upon nobody, and he perceived 
 that he was supposed to be a malefactor 
 of some dangerous sort : his real case 
 was not suspected. A month's incarcera- 
 tion followed, and then a new interroga- 
 tion, in which he was informed that all 
 his statements had been found to be 
 false, and that he was an object of the 
 gravest suspicion. He demanded a pri- 
 vate interview with one of the higher 
 functionaries and a M. Fleury, a natural- 
 ized Frenchman in some way connected 
 with the police-courts. To them he told 
 his whole story. After the first moment's 
 stupefaction the Prussian cried, " But, un- 
 happy man, we must send you back : the 
 treaty compels it. My God! my God! 
 
AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 223 
 
 why did you come here ?" — "There is no 
 help for us," said M. Fleury, "but in 
 Heaven's name write to Count Eulen- 
 berg, on whom all depends : he is a 
 man whom everybody loves. What a 
 misfortune !" 
 
 He was taken back to prison. He 
 wrote ; he received a kind but vague re- 
 ply ; delays followed, and investigations 
 into the truth of his story ; his anguish 
 of mind was reaching a climax in which 
 he felt that his dagger would be his best 
 friend after all. A citizen of the place, 
 a M. Kamke, a total stranger, offered 
 to go bail for him : his story had got 
 abroad and excited the deepest sympathy. 
 The bail was not effected without dif- 
 ficulty : ultimately, he was declared free, 
 however, but the chief of police inti- 
 mated that he had better remain in 
 
 Konigsberg for the present. Anxious to 
 show his gratitude to his benefactors, 
 fearful, too, of being suspected, he tar- 
 ried for a week, which he passed in the 
 family of the generous M. Kamke. At 
 the end of that time he was again sum- 
 moned to the police-court, where two 
 officials whom he already knew told him 
 sadly that the order to send him back to 
 Russia had come from Berlin : they could 
 but give him time to escape at his own 
 risk, and pray God for his safety. He 
 went back to his friend M. Kamke : a 
 plan was organized at once, and by the 
 morrow he was on the way to Dantzic. 
 Well provided with money and letters 
 by the good souls at Konigsberg, he 
 crossed Germany safely, and on the 22d 
 of September, 1846, found himself safe 
 in Paris. 
 
 AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 TWO PARTS.— I. 
 
 AUSTRALIA is still the world's latest 
 wonder — a land whose very exist- 
 ence was but a few years ago ignored by 
 geographers, but which they now acknow- 
 ledge as a fifth continent ; a land of mar- 
 vels that courts and repays the investi- 
 gation of the curious by its wild scenery, 
 its strange aboriginal inhabitants, its birds 
 and beasts unlike all others, its rich flo- 
 ral treasures, its mines of inexhaustible 
 wealth, its meadows and plains of di- 
 mensions so vast as to defy for centuries 
 to come a general cultivation ; a land 
 that has in less than half a century ex- 
 perienced a growth and expansion un- 
 precedented in the history of nations. 
 Yet is the civilization an imported one, 
 not indigenous, and to be traced only 
 here and there in the colonies, having 
 as yet scarcely touched the interior of 
 the island or its aboriginal inhabitants. 
 These are, in our own day, hardly less 
 untamed and untamable than when vis- 
 
 ited by the great adventurer William 
 Dampier in the latter part of the seven- 
 teenth century, now almost two hundred 
 years ago. So little regard was paid to 
 the reports of Dampier that nearly an- 
 other century elapsed without further ef- 
 forts at the exploration of Australia, till 
 in 1770 Cook, in his first voyage around 
 the world, visited this great island, fur- 
 nishing to his country the first accurate 
 information of its climate, soil and pro- 
 ductions. Yet his marvelous accounts, 
 though exciting at first a sort of nine 
 days' wonder, failed to awaken any per- 
 manent interest, and soon Australia was 
 again forgotten. But when England, in 
 consequence of the loss of her valuable 
 American colonies, to which she had 
 been accustomed to transport her worst 
 offenders, began to look around for a 
 substitute, the eyes of the government 
 were for the first time turned toward 
 Australia. In May, 1787, the first ship- 
 
224 
 
 AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 load of convicts was sent out, and in 
 the following January the foundation of 
 Sydney, the future capital of the penal 
 settlement, was laid. Little, however, 
 was done in the way of exploring the 
 country until the discovery of gold with- 
 in its borders. Then, indeed, the world 
 woke up, and long -forgotten, neglected 
 Australia came to be reck- 
 oned a point of interest, at 
 least to fortune-hunters. 
 
 Seen in the distance, the 
 view of this great island is 
 scarcely attractive. Its 
 abrupt shores wear a som- 
 bre hue, and the traveler, 
 ere he sets foot on the soil, 
 detects a sort of savage air 
 that seems to reign tri- 
 umphant over the demi- 
 civilization that has been 
 the growth of only a score 
 or two of years. Tiny 
 native huts, looking as 
 though the architect had 
 studied how small, uncouth 
 and inconvenient a human 
 dwelling could possibly be 
 made, contrast strangely 
 with the tasteful white cot- 
 tages surrounded by flow- 
 er-gardens and wreathed 
 with vines, or the elegant 
 mansions of stone and 
 slate, that form the homes 
 of foreign residents ; na- 
 tives in filthy garb, or no 
 garb at all, prowl about 
 the dwellings or worm their 
 devious way among the 
 costly equipages of Eu- 
 ropeans; orchards and 
 vineyards are planted un- 
 der the very shadow of for- 
 ests where roam in all their 
 savage freedom herds of wild cattle and 
 their wilder masters ; and out from the 
 rocks and boulders of the most rugged 
 spots rise clusters of the graceful umbrella 
 palm, with a foliage, fern-like and feath- 
 ery, of the loveliest emerald, and a cone 
 expanding like a lady's fan. The odor of 
 English cowslips mingles with the spicy 
 aroma of tropical fruits, and the perpetual 
 
 snow of lofty peaks is reflected on fields 
 of golden maize and on meadows that 
 gleam and glitter in the bright sunlight 
 as if paved with emeralds. It is contrast, 
 not similitude, that attracts the eye, nov- 
 elty more than beauty, and quaintness 
 rather than such gorgeous sights as one 
 meets everywhere within the tropics. 
 
 ABORIGINES OF THE EASTERN COAST. 
 
 The harbors are very marvels of com- 
 modiousness, that of Port Jackson, the 
 entrance to Sydney, being fifteen miles 
 long. It is landlocked on both sides 
 without a shoal or rock to mar its per 
 fectness, and broad enough to afford safe 
 anchorage to all the navies of the world. 
 Here ride at anchor vessels of almost 
 every nation, their gay pennons flaunt- 
 
AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 225 
 
 ing in the breeze, while worming their 
 way in and out among the shipping may- 
 be seen multitudes of native boats made 
 of bark, quaint as frail, and looking for 
 
 KING TATAMBO. 
 
 all the world like a shoal of soldiers' 
 cocked hats. A man on land carries his 
 tiny craft on his shoulders with less dif- 
 ficulty, apparently, than the boat carries 
 him on the water. Rowing one seems 
 about as difficult an operation as bal- 
 ancing one's self on a straw would be ; 
 but it has an especial point of merit — 
 it never sink, only purls, and an Aus- 
 tralian takes a good ducking as noncha- 
 lantly as he smokes his pipe. The na- 
 tives usually paddle in companies of 
 three, and when one of the triad is purl- 
 ed the other two come to the rescue. 
 One on each side taking a hand of their 
 unlucky comrade, and reseating him, 
 they move on rapidly as before, cutting 
 the blue water with their slender paddles 
 and enlivening the scene by occasional 
 songs. The presence of numerous sharks 
 in these waters is the chief drawback to 
 the pleasures of boating, and many an 
 ill-fated oarsman pays the forfeit of life 
 or limb for his temerity in venturing out 
 too far. The nose of the shark is his 
 most vulnerable part; and the natives, 
 15 
 
 who eat this sea-monster as wiUingly as 
 he eats them, often inflict a fatal wound 
 by slinging a huge stone at his nose and 
 battering it to a jelly as he rises out of 
 the water. The flesh is eaten raw by 
 the aborigines in their wild state, but the 
 more civilized "burn it," as they say, 
 "like white men;" that is, they cut off 
 huge lumps of the flesh, lay them before 
 a fire to roast, gnaw off the surface as 
 fast as it burns, and put down the re- 
 mainder to toast again until the appetite 
 is glutted. 
 
 These islanders were all cannibals 
 when first discovered by Europeans, in- 
 tellectually inferior to other savages, 
 ignorant of agricultural and mechanical 
 arts, going entirely naked, and living 
 more like brutes than human beings. 
 Slowly and mutinously have their bar- 
 barous customs been relinquished, even 
 by those brought into occasional contact 
 with foreigners, while those in the inte- 
 rior are savage as the monsters that 
 prowl about them in dens and holes of 
 the earth. Even such as mingle most 
 freely with the colonists can seldom be 
 prevailed on to practice permanently the 
 arts of civilized life, usually preferring 
 their original habits and pursuits to the 
 restraints of society. They readily ad- 
 mit the superiority of foreigners, but 
 
 DAUGHTER OF KING TATAMBO. 
 
 cling tenaciously to their forest homes 
 and rude lives of unfettered freedom. 
 In character they are cruel and vindic- 
 tive, improvident and thievish; and they 
 
226 
 
 AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 seem almost devoid of gallantry in the 
 treatment of their women, wooing their 
 wives with blows, and often inflicting 
 death upon women and children for the 
 slightest offences. Yet they have some 
 ideas of a Supreme Being and a future 
 state, they practice a sort of religious 
 
 worship, and they bury or burn their 
 dead. They call their chiefs be-a-na, or 
 "father," but unless compelled by fear 
 to obedience they treat them with little 
 respect or affection. Their language has 
 a musical sound, but the vocabulary is 
 scanty ; and thus far the origin of these 
 
 NEGRO WAR-DANCE, OR CORROBORI. 
 
 people and their language remains a 
 matter of doubt, though in many par- 
 ticulars they bear a decided resemblance 
 to the negroes of Guinea. In regard to 
 dress their habits are certainly primitive. 
 A single ratskin often forms the entire 
 wardrobe of a native chief, and a toma- 
 hawk with a brace of spears pointed with 
 ironwood or flint his adornments. Opos- 
 sum-skins tied together form a sort of 
 cloak used as a protection against the 
 cold, but if on the chase the wearer finds 
 his upper garment oppressively warm, 
 he tosses it away, and trusts to finding 
 or stealing another when he needs it. 
 Their dwellings are wretched little huts, 
 or rather sheds, composed of bark or 
 dried leaves, and so low-pitched that 
 one must crawl on his knees to enter 
 them. They are ill-ventilated and filthy 
 in the extreme, utterly devoid of furni- 
 ture and household implements, and 
 without any means of securing either 
 privacy or warmth — places where we 
 should deem it impossible to dwell con- 
 tent. Yet the native Australian seems 
 always merry, and he would not exchange 
 
 his filthy hovel for the palace of a prince. 
 Unpretending as that of his subjects was 
 the royal abode of the venerable King 
 Tatambo, an old man, whom the count 
 de Beauvoir describes as having a " skin 
 black and shiny as liquorice, with snow- 
 white hair and beard," his only garment 
 being a fur cloak that was cast aside 
 during the dance at which the count was 
 present. He gives, in connection with 
 the king's portrait, that of "the youngest 
 and most beautiful of His Majesty's 
 daughters," which may serve as a type 
 of the female beauty of Australia. 
 
 The Australians are extremely fond 
 of dancing, especially their corrobori or 
 war-dance, performed always with bodies 
 perfectly nude, while they brandish a 
 spear in one hand and a flaming brand 
 in the other. The night is invariably 
 selected for the performance of the cor- 
 robori, and the effect upon unaccustomed 
 eyes is startling in the extreme. The 
 agile movements of the lean forms, black 
 as night, reflected by the radiance of 
 their gleaming torches, the yells and 
 frantic gestures, together with the fierce 
 
AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 227 
 
 onsets of the combatants with spear and 
 tomahawk, present a spectacle of weird 
 interest, quite in keeping with the wild 
 scenery of the defiles and ravines where 
 the corrobori is usually celebrated. 
 
 The complexion of the Australians is 
 black or very dark brown, their hair 
 
 A GOLD-MINE. 
 
 straight, and their features of the negro 
 type. They are of medium stature, but 
 generally thin, though well-formed, ath- 
 letic and agile. They are eager in the 
 pursuit of gain, and this characteristic, 
 combined with their wonderful powers 
 of endurance both of hunger and fa- 
 
 tigue, renders them patient ana successful 
 miners, while all other causes combined 
 have tended less to the development and 
 improvement of the Australian than has 
 the discovery of gold within his borders. 
 This discovery, that has so changed the 
 aspect of everything in Australia, was 
 the result of a mere 
 accident that a think- 
 ing mind knew how 
 to turn to advantage. 
 An adventurer from 
 California, whose 
 dreams by day and 
 by night were all of 
 the land of gold he 
 had so recently left, 
 while searching in 
 company with anoth- 
 er for a new pastur- 
 age-ground for their 
 sheep, came one day 
 upon a range of low 
 hills so like the " Gold- 
 en Range " of Cali- 
 fornia as to bring back 
 all his old preposses- 
 sions in favor of min- 
 ing. Stopping to ex- 
 amine, he found the 
 hills composed of 
 granite, mica and 
 quartz, the natural 
 home of gold, and 
 his experience as a 
 miner led to the con- 
 viction that though 
 the main body of the 
 gold might have been 
 already washed out 
 among the surround- 
 ing clay, yet enough 
 remained to repay a 
 careful search and to 
 indicate the existence, 
 somewhere in the im- 
 mediate vicinity, of a 
 mine of untold wealth. Several days 
 were spent in unprofitable search : then 
 more favorable indications led the shep- 
 herds to dispose of their flocks and set out 
 in good earnest to dig for gold. A couple 
 of spades, a trowel and a calabash were 
 their only tools, but our adventurer was 
 
228 
 
 AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 a knowing man, and " knowledge is pow- 
 er." His practiced eye knew just where 
 the precious metals would be most likely 
 to exist if at all in that locality — that in 
 
 the old beds of rivers now dried up gold 
 would more naturally be found than in 
 younger streams, and especially that 
 where round pebbles indicated a strong 
 
 KANGAROO HUNT. 
 
 eddy ten times as much gold might be 
 expected as in the level pa ts. Gravel 
 and shingle were cleared away without 
 examination, then a bed of gray clay, 
 as too porous to hold gold ; but when a 
 
 stratum of pipeclay was reached the 
 diggers knew that not an ounce of gold 
 would be found beneath, and their search 
 was confined to a little streak of brown- 
 ish clay, about an inch in thickness, just 
 
 CATTLE-HUNTING. 
 
 above the pipeclay. Every particle of 
 this was carefully washed, and after hours 
 of patient labor the toilers were reward- 
 ed by about a thimbleful of the shining 
 
 dust they were so eagerly seeking. From 
 this small beginning on the loth of June, 
 1851, have grown the wonderful mining 
 operations of Australia ; and in less than 
 
AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 229 
 
 1 month after the little incident related 
 above twenty thousand diggers — in a 
 year increased to one hundred and fifty 
 thousand — were busy in the inexhaust- 
 ible mines of that far-off land ; and so 
 came those rugged, barren lands, hither- 
 to scarcely broken even by savages, to 
 
 COMPANIONS Ol'- THE HUNT. 
 
 be peopled by men from every civilized 
 land. , 
 
 Ballarat, the centre of one of the chief 
 mining districts, is connected now by 
 railway with Melbourne, so that in the 
 interval of only four hours one passes 
 from the commercial metropolis to the 
 
 "City of Gold." Over the fertile belt 
 of cultivated lands that surrounds Mel- 
 bourne, through rugged rocks and bar- 
 ren sands, runs this road, on which one 
 meets crowds of pedestrians, many of 
 them barefoot, the sole capital of each a 
 tent and a pickaxe. Nearing the mines, 
 the aspect of every- 
 thing is changed : 
 whole forests of trees 
 demolished as if by 
 a thunderbolt; rivers 
 turned out of their 
 natural bed; fertile 
 meadows laid waste ; 
 gaping chasms and 
 frightful depths here 
 and there, in which 
 are men toiling half 
 naked, begrimed with 
 mud, and fierce, reck- 
 less, cadaverous faces 
 that tell of hardships 
 and strife and sin in 
 the eager pursuit of 
 riches. Ballarat was 
 at first only a mining- 
 c a m p of immense 
 size, and its environs 
 are still occupied by 
 tents, where transient 
 visitors find very 
 passable accommo- 
 dations. But the city 
 proper, now some six- 
 teen years old, with 
 a population already 
 of thiity thousand, is 
 an e.xact transcript 
 of Melbourne, with 
 beautiful dwellings, 
 and broad streets 
 thronged with car- 
 riages by day and 
 lighted with gas by 
 night. It boasts al- 
 ready its clubs and 
 theatres, its banks and libraries and 
 reading-rooms, where the successful 
 miner may invest his earnings, cultivate 
 his intellect and seek recreation for his 
 leisure hours. 
 
 There are over two thousand mining 
 districts in Australia, of which one of the 
 
23° 
 
 AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 richest is "Black Hill Mine," but why 
 called "Black Hill" it would be difficult 
 to say, as its beautiful glistening sands 
 are far nearer white than black. Next 
 to gold, the most valuable ore is mer- 
 cury, immense quantities of which are 
 shipped annually to England from these 
 
 mines. Iron-ore is found in nearly ev- 
 ery part of the island, much of it so rich 
 as to produce nearly three-fourths of its 
 weight of metal. Topazes of rare beau- 
 ty are frequently obtained, and coal is 
 both good and abundant. In addition 
 to these the island possesses an almost 
 
 inexhaustible store of granite, slate and 
 freestone, well adapted to building pur- 
 poses. Sometimes gold is found diffused 
 with wonderful regularity within a few 
 inches of the surface, and so abundant 
 that a single cradleful will yield an ounce 
 of pure gold-dust, the miners readily 
 realizing two or three thousand dollars 
 
 per diem. As the grass is torn up, flecks 
 of bright gold are found clinging to the 
 roots, and the clay as it is turned over 
 glitters with the precious dust. Again, 
 the digger has to search for his treasure 
 deep in the bowels of the earth, or among 
 flinty rocks, or far down beneath a riv- 
 er's bed, and, it may be, spend weeks 
 
AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 231 
 
 or months without realizing a bawbee. 
 Nothing else is so uncertain as to results 
 as the search for gold, and few voca- 
 tions are at once so fascinating and so 
 cruelly exacting in regard to health, ease, 
 and even life. 
 
 Among the mines, and amid barren, 
 rugged scenery in Australia, one is often 
 surprised by glimpses of rare beauty — 
 flowers of wondrous brilliancy, odorless 
 though they be ; a gigantic tree twined 
 about by a delicate creeper of exquisite 
 loveliness; or one of those magnificent 
 Australian lakes that show nothing at 
 first but the greenest grass, tall and lux- 
 uriant as under the equator ; then, as he 
 attempts to ride through the grass, he 
 suddenly finds his horse's feet growing 
 moist and the spongy vegetation getting 
 fuller and fuller of water, till he discov- 
 ers that he has entered a lake so wide 
 and deep that his only safety lies in a 
 quick retreat. This phenomenon is re- 
 peated on a small scale all through the 
 jungle-lands, little tufts of grass here and 
 there, known readily by their brighter 
 green, furnishing water enough to meet 
 the wants of a thirsty animal. A cala- 
 bash full of pure, sweet water may be ex- 
 pressed from one of these tiny clumps 
 of grassy sponge, as many a weary trav- 
 eler has attested while roaming over ster- 
 ile regions destitute alike of wells and 
 springs. 
 
 But of surprises there is no end in Aus- 
 tralia. Flowers fascinating to the eye 
 have no smell, but uncouth - looking 
 shrubs and bushes often fill the air with 
 their delicate aroma ; crows look like 
 magpies, and dogs like jackals ; four- 
 footed animals hop about on two feet ; 
 rivers seem to turn their backs on the 
 sea and run inland; swans are black, 
 and eagles white ; some of the parrots 
 have webbed feet ; and birds laugh and 
 chatter like human beings, while never 
 a song, or even a chirrup, can be heard 
 from their nests and perches. So an 
 English lark or nightingale is at a pre- 
 mium ; and many a rough miner, with 
 his shaggy beard and uncouth ways, his 
 oaths and lawlessness and crimes, has 
 been known to walk on Sunday even- 
 ings to a little English cottage twelve 
 
 miles out of the settlement just to hear 
 the sweet song of a pet lark. 
 
 The variety of vegetable productions 
 is so great that above five thousand 
 species, more than half of which are 
 peculiar to the country, have been de- 
 scribed and classed. Among the most 
 remarkable is the species of Eucalyp- 
 tus, or gum tree, that forms some of 
 the largest timber yet discovered, having 
 been seen of the height of one hundred 
 and fifty feet, and thirty to forty in girth 
 near the root. The leafless acacias are 
 also found here, as well as the Nepenthes 
 distillatoria and the Cephalottcs follic- 
 ularis, two remarkable varieties of the 
 monkey-cup or pitcher-plant; while many 
 very beautiful ferns and flowering vines 
 adorn the coasts and lave their graceful 
 fringes in the blue ocean waves. The 
 timber of the country is of gigantic size, 
 and with other varieties may be found 
 cedar, rosewood, tulip and mahogany. 
 
 But the most wonderful products of 
 Australia belong to the animal kingdom, 
 among them the kangaroo, the woinbat, 
 and that strange anomaly of the animal 
 creation, the Ornithojynchus, or "duck- 
 billed quadruped." Emus, eagles, par- 
 rots, white swans and overgrown peli- 
 cans of many varieties, enrich the or- 
 nithological kingdom, while among in- 
 sects and reptiles are found some less 
 desirable specimens, such as tarantulas. 
 The natives of the island hold the old 
 tradition of the ancients, that one bitten 
 by a tarantula will dance himself to death. 
 The plumage of Australian birds is varied 
 and brilliant, and the natives make pretty 
 fans by arranging the feathers in assort- 
 ed colors ; while a sort of head-dress 
 worn by both men and women on the 
 occasion of their marriage, and composed 
 entirely of feathers made into many- 
 tinted flowers, is a very gorgeous affair 
 Among the varieties of birds peculiar to 
 the island are the "lyre-bird" and that 
 known as the "satin-bower," so called 
 from its glossy plumage, which is green 
 while the bird is young and jet black at 
 maturity. Before building their nests 
 these birds gather a large quantity of 
 twigs, weaving them into a sort of bower, 
 which they tastefully decorate with bones, 
 
232 
 
 AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 feathers, leaves and such other adorn- 
 ments as they are able to collect. Here 
 in this arena the courting is done, the 
 male bird chasing his mate up and down, 
 bowing his pretty head and playing the 
 agreeable generally, while she indulges 
 in all manner of airs and graces, pretends 
 
 to be very coy, and acts the coquette to 
 perfection. But her lover's devotion con- 
 quers at last, , and in due time the fair 
 flirt surrenders, yields up her liberty and 
 settles down as a dutiful wife and loving 
 mother, bringing up a family of sons 
 and daughters, and no doubt duly in- 
 
 structing them in the part they in their 
 turn are to take in life's drama. The 
 black swans are not prettier than white 
 ones, but they are rarer, and when both 
 are floating together over the smooth 
 surface of those lovely Australian lakes 
 they present a picture of which one never 
 wearies, see it as often as one may. 
 
 The count de Beauvoir, in describing 
 a hunt of several days, speaks with en- 
 thusiasm of the flocks of wild-turkeys 
 and blue cranes, but bewails his ill-suc- 
 cess in running down the huge emus 
 that stalked before the hunters faster 
 than their horses could gallop. He de- 
 scribes also a knngaroo-hunt, and a single 
 
AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 233 
 
 combat with an old kangaroo, grizzled and 
 gray, that in a hand-to-hand fight for a 
 long time parried all the hunter's efforts 
 to take him, either living or dead. He 
 was brought down at last by a revolver, 
 and his skin was carried off as a trophy 
 of victory. The cattle-hunt was even 
 more exciting, in the wild flight of four 
 
 \ 
 
 LIBRARY OF MELBOURNE. 
 
 or five thousand terrified beeves, rushing 
 pell-mell through the tall grass or over 
 sandy plains, stopping occasionally to 
 hide their terrified faces from the dangers 
 that beset them, but one occasionally 
 succumbing to the trusty weapons of the 
 count and his comrades. The hunters" 
 were certainly not encumbered with su- 
 perfluous garments, several of the boys 
 being clothed only in a pair of boots, 
 and none with more than a single gar- 
 ment. The immense droves of cattle 
 and sheep herded together in Australia 
 cannot fail to awaken the surprise of the 
 visitor on his first arrival in the country, 
 an Australian herdsman reckoning his 
 flocks by hundreds, and even a thousand 
 or two heads of cattle owned by one 
 man being no unusual occurrence. In- 
 deed, everything seems on a mammoth 
 scale in Australia — forests of timber trees 
 that outlive generation after generation 
 of men, and yet have no thought of dy- 
 ing ; ferns like those near Hobart Town, 
 
 that lift their graceful fringes high over 
 men's heads or serve as shade trees to 
 their dwellings ; gigantic emus flying like 
 the fabled Mazeppa over plains the ex- 
 tent of which the eye cannot measure ; 
 and those fathomless mines of inexhaust- 
 ible wealth that seem to promise gold 
 enough for all the world for the centuries 
 yet unborn. 
 
 Aristocracy is a 
 queer thing in Aus- 
 tralia. Many of those 
 now claiming "re- 
 spectability" and 
 holding themselves 
 aloof from the mem- 
 bers of the settlements 
 did not have their 
 expenses paid out by 
 government, because 
 they were born on the 
 island — not convicts, 
 but only the offspring 
 of those who were. 
 In the race for wealth 
 educated and refined 
 gentlemen are gen- 
 erally outstripped by 
 those who with less 
 mind have greater 
 physical strength, more practical know- 
 ledge of the world and more tact in over- 
 coming difficulties ; so that one meets 
 wealthy miners who cannot write their 
 own names, and learned bootblacks and 
 cooks who have taken their degrees in 
 mathematics and the languages. One 
 millionaire who had a fancy to be thought 
 literary sent regular contributions to the 
 English magazines, every line of which 
 was written by his footman, to whom he 
 paid an enormous salary, not so much 
 for writing as for keeping his secret, and 
 it was years before it leaked out. In the 
 struggle for position the man of gold 
 gains the day, and not unfrequently brute 
 force or unscrupulous trickery is called 
 in to keep that which wealth has pur- 
 chased. 
 
 Melbourne is the commercial metrop- 
 olis of Australia, as Sydney is the capital 
 of the penal colony, and though both 
 are large, well-built and thriving cities, 
 they are strikingly in contrast with each 
 
234 
 
 AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 other. One is the scion of a lordly 
 house, "to the manner born " — the other, 
 the parvemc of yesterday, whose gold 
 makes his position. Melbourne is to all 
 intents a European city, with its boule- 
 vards and regular streets, whole blocks 
 of costly stores and princely dwellings. 
 
 and environed by elegant villas and 
 country-seats adorned with gardens, vine- 
 yards and choice shrubbery. It has its 
 English and Chinese quarters, the latter 
 as essentially Chinese as if built in the 
 Celestials' own land, and brought over, 
 mandarin buttons, tiny teapots, opium- 
 
 pipes and all, in one of their own junks. 
 The Enghsh quarter contains, besides the 
 government buildings, several schools, 
 hospitals, churches and benevolent in- 
 stitutions, the public library, a polytechnic 
 hall, a national museum, theatres and 
 opera-houses, all built in a style alike 
 elegant and substantial. The library 
 
 only ten years after it was opened num- 
 bered 41,000 volumes, and has since been 
 largely increased. Science rather than 
 literature, and practical utility more than 
 entertainment, have been kept in the 
 ascendency in the management of this 
 institution. The hall is open for daily 
 lectures, and some valuable telescopes 
 
AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 235 
 
 and other apparatus belong to the insti- 
 tution. The cabinet of natural history 
 contains many rare specimens that serve 
 to elucidate the ancient and modern his- 
 tory of the country, especially in regard 
 to some of the animals and vegetables 
 indigenous to the island. The museum 
 is built on a commanding eminence, and 
 from its spacious windows one sees clear- 
 ly to the opposite side of Hobson's Bay. 
 The city is not built on the sea-coast, 
 but two or three miles from the shore, 
 its port being Sandridge, with which it 
 is connected by railway. Vessels of all 
 nations crowd the harbor, and the streets 
 are as full of busy life and gay frivolity 
 as those of Havre or Marseilles. The 
 
 drives in the environs of the city are re- 
 plete with picturesque beauty — meadows 
 dotted with many - tinted flowers and 
 magnificent forest trees, about which are 
 festooned flowering vines and creepers. 
 Their thick branches are the resort of 
 cockatoos, parrots and paroquets in bril- 
 liant plumage, and perhaps most beau- 
 tiful of all, because most rare, sparrows, 
 not clothed, like ours, in sombre gray, 
 but rejoicing in vestments of green and 
 gold. But brilliancy of plumage is the 
 solitary charm of these feathered beau- 
 ties, for their voices are harsh and their 
 song a very burlesque on the name of 
 music. 
 
 AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 CONCLUDING PART. 
 
 FOREST OF COCKATOOS. 
 
 PEOPLE who go to Australia expect- 
 ing every other man they meet to 
 be a convict, and every convict a ruffian 
 in felon's garb, will assuredly find them- 
 selves mistaken. And if contemplating 
 a residence in Sydney or Melbourne they 
 need not anticipate the necessity of liv- 
 
 ing in a tent or a shanty, nor yet of ac- 
 cepting the society of convicts or negroes 
 as the only alternative to a life of solitude. 
 Neither will it be necessary to go armed 
 with revolvers by day, nor to place plate 
 and jewels under guard at night. Sydney, 
 the capital of the penal colony, is a quiet, 
 
236 
 
 AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 orderly city, abounding in villas and gar- 
 dens, churches and schools, and about its 
 well-lighted streets ride and walk well- 
 dressed and well-bred people, whose vis- 
 ages betray neither the ruffian nor the 
 
 cannibal. Some of them may be con- 
 victs or "ticket-of-leave-men," but this a 
 stranger would need to be told, as they 
 dress like others, their equipages are 
 quite as stylish, and many of them not 
 
 only amass more property, but are really 
 more honest, than some of those never 
 sentenced, because they know that the 
 continuance of their freedom depends 
 on their reputation. 
 
 The city, built on the south side of a 
 
 beautiful lake, is perfectly unique in de- 
 sign, being composed of five broad prom- 
 ontories, looking like the five fingers of 
 a hand slightly expanded. All the im- 
 portant streets run from east to west, 
 and each terminates in a distinct harbor, 
 
AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 237 
 
 while clearly visible from the upper por- 
 tion of the street is a grand moving pan- 
 orama of vessels of every description, 
 with masts, sails and colors that seem 
 peering out from every interstice between 
 the houses. Each day witnesses the ar- 
 rival and departure of eight or ten steam- 
 ers, ferry-boats leave every half hour all 
 the principal landings for the various 
 sections of the city, and the wharves are 
 lined with the shipping of every nation, 
 many of the vessels ranging from fifteen 
 hundred to two thousand tons burden. 
 On a huge rock in Watson's Bay stands 
 the lighthouse at the entrance of Port 
 Jackson. The sea lashes the black rock 
 with ceaseless fury, the light from the 
 summit rendering even the base visible 
 at a great distance. The light is 350 
 feet above the level of the sea, yet it was 
 almost under its very rays that the good 
 ship Dunbar came to grief. Missing the 
 passage, she was engulfed in the raging 
 sea, and her three hundred and ninety 
 passengers perished in full view of the 
 homes they were seeking. 
 
 Orange and almond trees, with other 
 tropical plants, loaded with blossoms and 
 fruit, beautify the lowlands, while in more 
 elevated localities are found the fruits and 
 foliage of the temperate zone, very many 
 of them exotics brought by the settlers 
 from their English homes. Down to the 
 very water's edge extends the verdure 
 of tree and shrub, overshadowing to the 
 right Fort Jackson, and to the left Mid-- 
 die Harbor. The Government House 
 commands the bay with the imposing 
 mien of a fortress, and the magnificent 
 reception-rooms are worthy of a sover- 
 eign's court. The garden surrounding 
 it occupies a beautiful promontory, its 
 borders washed by the sea, the walks 
 shaded by trees imported from Europe, 
 and the whole parterre redolent with 
 tropical beauty and fragrance. On the 
 promenades are frequently assembled at 
 evening two or three hundred ladies and 
 gentlemen in full dress,' while military 
 bands discourse sweet music for the en- 
 tertainment of the brilliant throng. 
 
 Ballarat may be called the city of 
 gold; Melbourne, of clubs, democracy 
 and thriving commerce ; Hobart Town 
 
 takes the premium for hospitality and 
 picturesque beauty ; but Sydney bears 
 the impress of genuine English aristoc- 
 racy, in combination with a sort of Creole 
 piquancy singularly in contrast with Eng- 
 lish exclusiveness, yet giving a wonder- 
 ful charm to the society of this city of 
 high life, so full of gayety, brilliancy and 
 luxury. Who would recognize in the 
 Sydney of to-day, with its four hundred 
 thousand inhabitants, its churches, the- 
 atres and libraries, the outgrowth of the 
 penal colony of Botany Bay, planted only 
 eighty-seven years ago on savage shores ? 
 It was in May, 1787, that the first colony 
 left England for Botany Bay, a squadron 
 of eleven vessels, carrying eleven hun- 
 dred and eighteen colonists to make a 
 lodgment on an unknown shore inhabit- 
 ed by savages. Of these eleven hun- 
 dred and eighteen, there were six hun- 
 dred male and two hundred and fifty 
 female convicts, the remaining portion 
 being composed of officers and soldiers to 
 take charge of the new penal settlement, 
 under the command of Governor Phil- 
 lip. From so unpromising a beginning 
 has grown the present rich and flourish- 
 ing settlement, and in lieu of the few 
 temporary shanties erected by the first 
 colonists there stands a magnificent city 
 of more than ordinarily fine architecture, 
 with banks and hospitals, schools and 
 churches — ainong the latter a superb 
 cathedral — all displaying the proverb- 
 ial prodigality of labor and expense for 
 which the English are noted in the erec- 
 tion and adornment of their public edi- 
 fices. Among the educational establish- 
 ments are the English University, with a 
 public hall like that of Westminster ; St. 
 John's College (Catholic) ; and national 
 primary and high schools, where are 
 educated about thirty-four thousand pu- 
 pils at an annual expense to the govern- 
 ment of more than three hundred thou- 
 sand dollars. From the parent colony 
 have sprung others, while the poverty 
 and corruption that were the distinguish- 
 ing features of the original element have 
 been gradually lost in the more recent 
 importations of honest and respectable 
 citizens. 
 
 Apart from the wealth and gayety of 
 
238 
 
 AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 Sydney, there is much in its various 
 grades of society to interest the average 
 tourist. The " ticket-of-leave men" — 
 that is, convicts who, having served out 
 a portion of their term and been favor- 
 
 ably reported for good conduct, are per- 
 mitted to go at large and begin life 
 anew — form a distinct class, and exert 
 a widespread influence by their wealth, 
 benevolence and commercial enterprise. 
 
 Very many of the better class are talent- 
 ed and well educated, with the manners 
 and appearance of gentlemen ; and in 
 some cases there has been perhaps but 
 the single crime for which they suffered 
 expatriation and disgrace. Such as these, 
 
 as a rule, conduct themselves with pro- 
 priety from the moment of being sen- 
 tenced ; never murmur at their work or 
 discipHne, be it ever so hard ; and prob- 
 ably after a single year of hardship are 
 favorably reported, and permitted to seek 
 
AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 239 
 
 or make homes for themselves. Many 
 of them own bank shares and real estate, 
 and some become immensely rich, either 
 by ability or chance good-fortune. The 
 property is their own, but the owners are 
 always watched by those in power, and 
 are liable at any moment to be ordered 
 back to their old positions. These "re- 
 manded men" are treated with the great- 
 est severity, and few have sufficient pow- 
 
 er of endurance to live out even a short 
 term with its increase of rigor and hard- 
 ship. Yet to the energy and enterprise 
 of the liberated felons is probably due, 
 more than to any other cause, that in- 
 crease of prosperity which has long since 
 rendered these colonies not only self- 
 supporting, but a source of revenue to 
 the Crown. 
 
 Another and the most dangerous class 
 
 CANNIBAL FIRES. 
 
 of convicts are those known as "bush- 
 rangers." They are desperate fellows, 
 composed of the very lowest scum of 
 England, have ordinarily been sentenced 
 for life, and, having no hope of pardon 
 or desire for amendment, they escape as 
 soon as possible, often by the murder of 
 one or more of their guards, and take 
 refuge in the wilds of the interior. Some 
 of these bushrangers are associated to- 
 gether in large hordes, but others roam 
 solitary for months before they will ven- 
 ture to trust their lives in the hands of 
 other desperadoes like themselves. There 
 are hundreds of these lawless men prowl- 
 ing like wild beasts for their prey in the 
 vicinity of every thoroughfare between 
 the cities and the mines, robbing and 
 murdering defenceless passengers, plun- 
 dering the mails, and constantly exact- 
 ing the best of their flocks and herds 
 from the stockmen and shepherds, who 
 
 in their isolated positions dai-e not refuse 
 their demands. So desperate is the cha- 
 racter of these outlaws that they are sel- 
 dom taken, though thousands of pounds 
 are occasionally offered for the head of 
 some noted ringleader. They may be 
 killed in skirmishes, but will not suffer 
 themselves to be taken alive. A man 
 calling himself " Black Darnley" ranged 
 the woods for years, committing all sorts 
 of crimes, but at length met a violent 
 death at the hands of another convict, 
 whose daughter he had outraged. 
 
 A curious memento of the first theatre 
 opened in Sydney and the first perform- 
 ance within its walls has come down to 
 us from the year 1796, about eight years 
 after the establishment of the penal col- 
 ony. It was opened by permission of 
 the governor : all the actors were con- 
 victs who won the privilege by good be- 
 havior, and the price of admission was 
 
240 
 
 AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 one shilling, payable in silver, flour, meat 
 or wine. The prologue, written by a ci- 
 devant pickpocket of London, illustrates 
 the character of the times in those early 
 days of the colony : 
 
 From distant climes, o'er widespread seas, we come. 
 
 Though not with much eclat or beat of drum. 
 
 True patriots all ; for be it understood, 
 
 We left our country for our country's good : 
 
 No private views disgraced our generous zeal ; 
 
 What urged our travels was our country's weal ; 
 
 And none will doubt but that our emigration 
 
 Has proved most useful to the British nation. 
 
 But, you inquire, what could our breasts inflame 
 
 With this new passion for theatric fame? 
 
 What in the practice of our former days 
 
 Could shape our talents to exhibit plays ? 
 
 Your patience, sirs : some observations made, 
 
 You'll grant us equal to the scenic trade. 
 
 He who to midnight ladders is no stranger 
 
 You'll own will make an admirable Ranger, 
 
 And sure in Filch I shall be quite at home : 
 
 Some true-bred Falstaff we may hope to start. 
 
 The scene to vary, we shall try in time 
 
 To treat you with a little pantomime. 
 
 Here light and easy Columbines are found. 
 
 And well-tried Harlequins with us abound. 
 
 From durance vile our precious selves to keep. 
 
 We often had recourse to the flying leap, 
 
 To a black face have sometimes owed escape, 
 
 And Hounslow Heath has proved the worth of crape. 
 
 But how, you ask, can we e'er hope to soar 
 
 Above these scenes, and rise to tragic lore ? 
 
 Too oft, alas ! we've forced the unwilling tear. 
 
 And petrified the heart with real fear. 
 
 Macbeth a harvest of applause will reap. 
 
 For some of us, I fear, have murdered sleep. 
 
 His lady, too, with grace will sleep and talk : 
 
 Our females have been used at night to walk. 
 
 Grant us your favor, put us to the test : 
 
 To gain your smiles we'll do our very best, 
 
 And without dread of future Turnkey Lockets, 
 
 Thus, in an honest way, st\\\ ^ick your pockets ! 
 
 It was by the coral-bound Straits of 
 Torres, reckoned by navigators the most 
 difficult in the world, that the English 
 government determined a few years ago 
 to send an envoy to open communication 
 between the Australian colony and the 
 Dutch possessions of Java and Sumatra. 
 The Hero was the vessel selected for this 
 perilous mission — a voyage of twelve hun- 
 dred miles through seas studded thickly 
 with reefs and islands of coral, many of 
 which lay just beneath the surface of the 
 waves — hidden pitfalls of death whose 
 yawning jaws threatened instant destruc- 
 tion to the unwary voyager. The splen- 
 did steamer Cowarra had been wrecked 
 on these reefs only a few months before, 
 but a single one of her two hundred and 
 seventy-five passengers escaping a wa- 
 tery grave. Her tall masts, still stand- 
 
 ing bolt upright amid the coral-reefs, 
 presented a gaunt spectacle, plainly vis- 
 ible from the Hero's decks as she thread- 
 ed her way among the shoaly waters, 
 while a similar though less tragical warn- 
 ing was the disaster that had overtaken 
 two other vessels, the Astrolabe and the 
 Zelee, which by a sudden ebb of the 
 tide were thrown high and dry upon the 
 sands, and remained in this frightful con- 
 dition for eight days before the returning 
 waters drifted them off. But the Hero 
 was a staunch craft — an iron blockade- 
 runner, built at Glasgow during our late 
 war. She was of twelve hundred tons 
 burden, manned by forty-two men, and 
 had already weathered storms and dan- 
 gers enough to earn a right to the name 
 she bore. Right nobly she fulfilled her 
 dangerous mission, threading her way 
 with difficulty among whole fields of 
 coral, that sometimes almost enclosed 
 her low hull as between two walls ; again 
 seeming upon the very verge of the break- 
 ers or ready to be engulfed in their whirl- 
 ing eddies, but emerging at last into the 
 open channel, a monument of the skill 
 and watchfulness of her officers. Many 
 of these for days together never left the 
 deck, and the lead was cast three or four 
 times an hour during the whole passage 
 of these dangerous seas. Such is the 
 history of navigation in coral seas, but 
 if full of danger, they are equally replete 
 with picturesque beauty. In the coral 
 isle, with its blue lagoon, its circling reef 
 and smiling vegetation, there is a won- 
 drous fascination ; while in the long reefs, 
 with the ocean driving furiously upon 
 them, only to be driven pitilessly back, 
 all wreathed in white foam and diamond 
 spray, there is enough of the sublime to 
 transfix the most careless observer. The 
 barrier reef that skirts the north-east coast 
 of the Australian continent is the grand- 
 est coral formation in the world, stretch- 
 ing for a distance of a thousand miles, 
 with a varying breadth of from two hun- 
 dred yards to a mile. The maximum 
 distance from the shore is seventy miles, 
 but it rarely exceeds twenty-five or thirty. 
 Between this and the mainland lies a 
 sheltered channel, safe, for the most part, 
 when reached ; but there are few open 
 
AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 241 
 
 passages from the ocean, and the shoals 
 of imperfectly-formed coral that lie con- 
 cealed just below the surface render the 
 most watchful care necessary to a safe 
 passage. The fires of the cannibals, 
 
 visible on every peak all along the coast, 
 shed their ruddy light over the blue wa- 
 ters, illumining here and there some lofty 
 crest, and adding a weird beauty to the 
 enchanting scene. 
 
 MONUMENT TO BURKE AND WILLS. 
 
 "America has no monuments," say 
 our Transatlantic cousins, "because it is 
 but two hundred years old." Well, Aus- 
 tralia, with little more than three-quarters 
 of a hundred, has already its monument 
 16 
 
 — a beautiful bronze monument erected 
 to the memory of the explorers Burke 
 and Wills on a lofty pedestal of elegant 
 workmanship, and occupying a com- 
 manding eminence in the city of Mel- 
 
242 
 
 AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 BAS-RELIEF^: RETURN TO COOPER'S CREEK. 
 
 bourne. The figures, two in number, 
 are of more than hfe size, one rising 
 above the other — the chief, with noble 
 form and dignified air, fraternally sup- 
 porting his younger confrere. The ped- 
 estal shows three bas-reliefs of exquisite 
 design — one the return to Cooper's Creek, 
 where the torn garments and emaciated 
 limbs tell with sad emphasis the woeful 
 tale of hardship and toil through which 
 the heroic explorei's had been passing ; 
 another exhibiting the subsequent death 
 of Burke ; and the third the finding 
 of the remains. Burke and Wills, to 
 whom belongs the honor of being the 
 first explorers that crossed the entire 
 continent of Australia, extending their 
 researches from the Australian to the 
 Pacific Ocean, set out on the 20th of 
 August, i860, with a party of fifteen 
 
 hardy pioneers upon their perilous mis- 
 sion. Burke was in the prime of life, a 
 man of iron frame, dauntless courage 
 and an enthusiasm that knew neither 
 difficulty nor danger. Wills, who be- 
 longed to a family that had already given 
 one of its members to Sir John Franklin's 
 fatal expedition, to find a martyr's grave 
 among the eternal icebergs of the north, 
 was somewhat younger, and perhaps 
 less enthusiastic, but was endowed with 
 a rare discretion and far-seeing sagacity 
 that peculiarly fitted him to be the friend 
 and counselor of the enthusiastic Burke 
 in such an undertaking. All Melbourne 
 was in excitement : the government gave 
 fifty thousand dollars, various individuals 
 ten thousand, to aid the enterprise ; and 
 every heart was aglow with aspirations 
 for their success as the little band of he- 
 
 BAS-RELIEF: DEAl'H OK BURKE. 
 
AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 243 
 
 roes waved their adieus and turned their 
 faces outward to seek paths hitherto un- 
 trodden by the white man's foot. Be- 
 sides horses, twenty -seven camels had 
 been imported from India for the express 
 use of the explorers and for the trans- 
 portation of tents, baggage, equipments, 
 and fifteen months' supply of provis- 
 ions, with vessels for carrying such sup- 
 plies of water as the character of the 
 country over which they were passing 
 should require them to take with them. 
 Their plan of march divided itself into 
 three stages, of which Cooper's Creek 
 was the middle one, and about the cen- 
 tre of the Australian continent. At first 
 their progress was slow, encumbered as 
 they were by excess of baggage and 
 
 equipments : then discontents arose in 
 the little band, and Burke, too ardent 
 and impulsive for a leader, was first 
 grieved, and then angered, at what he 
 deemed a want of spirit among some of 
 his men. On the 19th of October, at Me- 
 nindie, he left a portion of the troop un- 
 der the command of Lieutenant Wright,, 
 with orders after a short rest to rejoin 
 him at Cooper's Creek. It was the end 
 of January before Wright set out for the 
 point indicated. Meanwhile, as month 
 followed month, bringing to Melbourne 
 no news of Burke's party, the worst fears 
 were awakened concerning its fate, and 
 an expedition was fitted out to search 
 for the lost heroes. To young Howitt 
 was given the command, and it was his 
 
 bas-relief: finding of burke. 
 
 fortune to unveil the sad mystery that 
 had enveloped their fate. On the 29th 
 of June, 1 86 1, crossing the river Loddon, 
 Howitt encountered a portion of Burke's 
 company under the lead of Brahe, the 
 fourth lieutenant. Four of his men had 
 died of scurvy, and the rest of his little 
 band seemed utterly dispirited. Howitt 
 learned that in two months Burke had 
 crossed the entire route, sometimes des- 
 ert, sometimes prairie, between Menindie 
 and Cooper's Creek, and had reached the 
 borders of the Gulf of Carpentaria, on 
 the extreme north of the continent ; also, 
 that he was there in January, enduring 
 the fiercest heat of summer, and men 
 and beasts alike languishing for water, 
 and nearly out of provisions. It was all 
 
 in vain that he deplored the tardiness of 
 Wright, and hoped, as he neared Coop- 
 er's Creek, for the coming of those who 
 alone had the means of life for his little 
 squad of famished men. Equally in vain 
 that Wills with three camels reconnoitred 
 the ground for scores of miles, hoping to 
 find water. Not an oasis, not a rivulet, 
 was to be found, and without a single 
 drop of water to quench their parched lips 
 they set out on another long and dreary 
 march. Desiring to secure the utmost 
 speed, Burke had left Brahe on the i6th 
 of December with the sick and most of 
 his provisions at Cooper's Creek, to re- 
 main three months at least, and longer if 
 they were able, while he, with Wills, Grey 
 and King, and six camels, pushed brave- 
 
244 
 
 AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 ly on, determined not to halt till the Pa- 
 cific was reached. Battling with the ter- 
 rible heat, sometimes for days together 
 without water, and again obtaining a sup- 
 ply when they had almost perished for 
 want of it, having occasional fierce con- 
 
 flicts with the natives, and more deadly 
 encounters with poisonous serpents, but 
 with an energy and courage that knew 
 no such word as failure, the indomitable 
 quartette went bravely on. The wished- 
 for goal was reached, and the heroes, ju- 
 
 VAI,I,EY OF LAUNi 
 
 bilant, though worn and weary, then re- 
 turned once more to Cooper's Creek, to 
 find the post deserted by Brahe, and 
 Wright not arrived, while neither water 
 nor provisions remained to supply their 
 need. All this Howitt learned after his 
 arrival at the rendezvous, where he ob- 
 served cut in the bark of a tree the word 
 "Dig," and on throwing up the earth 
 found an iron casket deposited by Brahe, 
 giving the date of his departure and rea- 
 sons for withdrawal before the appointed 
 time. Of far deeper interest were papers 
 written by Burke, announcing that he 
 had reached the Pacific coast, and re- 
 traced his steps as far as Cooper's Creek 
 — that for two months the little party had 
 advanced rapidly, making constantly new 
 discoveries of fertile lands, widespread 
 prairies, gushing streams and well-water- 
 ed valleys. Occasionally they had found 
 
 DIEMEN S L.\ND. 
 
 lagoons of salt water, hills of red sand, 
 trees of beautiful foliage, and mounds in- 
 dicating the presence at some unknown 
 period of the aboriginal inhabitants. They 
 had discovered a range of high moun- 
 tains in the north, and called them the 
 Standish Mountains, while at their foot 
 lay outspread a scene so lovely, of ver- 
 dant groves and fertile meadows, of well- 
 watered plains and heavy forest trees, 
 that they christened it the Land of Prom- 
 ise. Then they reached again more ster- 
 ile lands, parched and dry, without a riv- 
 ulet or an oasis. They suffered for water 
 and food grew scarce, but, sure of relief 
 at Cooper's Creek, they pushed bravely 
 on, and reached the rendezvous to lean, 
 that the men who could have saved them 
 had passed on but seven hours before ! 
 
 After having accomplished so much, 
 so bravely battled with heat and hunger. 
 
AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 =45 
 
 serpents and cannibals, to perish at last 
 of starvation, seemed a fate too terrible ; 
 and we cannot wonder that the little 
 band fought their destiny to the last. 
 Little scraps of the journal of Burke and 
 his friends tell the sad tale of the last few 
 weeks of agony. On March 6th, Burke 
 seemed near dying from having eaten a 
 bit of a large serpent that he had cook- 
 
 ed. On the 30th they killed one of their 
 camels, and on April loth they killed 
 "Billy," Burke's favorite riding -horse. 
 On the nth they were forced to halt on 
 account of the condition of Grey, who was 
 no longer able to proceed. On the 21st 
 they reached an oasis — a little squad of hu- 
 man skeletons, scarcely more than alive. 
 Far and wide their longing eyes gazed 
 
 COURSE OF THE TAMAR, VAN DIEMEN'S LAND. 
 
 in search of succor : they called aloud 
 with all their little remaining strength, 
 but the oasis was deserted, and the echo 
 of their own sad voices was all the reply 
 that reached the despairing men. Then, 
 at their rendezvous, finding the word 
 " Dig " on the tree where Hovvitt found 
 it at a later day, they opened the soil, 
 and so learned the departure of Brahe on 
 that very morning. How terribly tanta- 
 lizing, after their exhausting march and 
 still more exhausting return, after hav- 
 ing killed and eaten all "-heir camels but 
 two, and all their horses, after making dis- 
 coveries that unlocked to the world the 
 vast interior of this hitherto unknown 
 continent, to find that they were just too 
 late to be saved ! Despair and death 
 
 seemed staring them in the face : their 
 long overtaxed powers of endurance fail- 
 ed them utterly, and the gaunt spectre 
 of famine that had been journeying with 
 the brave men for weeks threatened now 
 to enfold them in its terrible embrace. 
 Should they yield without another strug- 
 gle ? Burke suddenly remembered Mount 
 Despair, a cattle-station about one hun- 
 dred and fifty leagues away, and with 
 his indomitable resolution persuaded his 
 companions to start for it, depositing first 
 in the little iron casket the journal of his 
 discoveries and the date of his departure. 
 As if to add the last finishing stroke of 
 agony to the sad story, Burke and his 
 companions had hardly turned their faces 
 westward ere Brahe and Wright, who 
 
246 
 
 AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 had met at the passage of the Loddon, 
 and were now overwhelmed with re- 
 morse at their careless neglect of their 
 leader's orders, determined to revisit 
 Cooper's Creek, and see if any tidings 
 were to be gained of the missing party. 
 
 GORGE OF IHE TAMAR, VAN DIEMEN'S LAND. 
 
 Thoughtless as imprudent, they did, not 
 examine the casket, but supposing it had 
 remained undisturbed where they left it, 
 they turned their faces southward to the 
 Darling, utterly unsuspicious of the re- 
 cent visit of Burke and his unfortunate 
 comrades. 
 
 Within two days after the trio bes^an 
 
 their dreary march to Mount Despair 
 both their camels fell from exhaustion, 
 but still the poor weary travelers pressed 
 onward, continuing their search till the 
 24th of May. Discovering no eminence 
 above the horizon, they then gave up in 
 despair and began to 
 retrace their steps, 
 leaving on a tree the 
 date of departure. In 
 one more day's march 
 they would have 
 reached the summit 
 and been saved ! 
 
 On the 20th of June 
 it was evident that 
 young Wills could 
 not long survive, and 
 on the 29th are dated 
 his last words, a let- 
 ter to his father full 
 of tenderness and 
 resignation: "My 
 death here within a 
 few hours is certain, 
 but my soul is calm." 
 Still, almost in the 
 last agony he made 
 another effort to es- 
 cape his fatal destiny, 
 and set forth to re- 
 connoitre the ground 
 once more if per- 
 chance succor might 
 be found. Alone, 
 with none to close 
 his eyes, he fell 
 asleep, and Howitt 
 after long search 
 found the skeleton 
 body stretched upon 
 the sands, the natives 
 having compassion- 
 ately covered it with 
 boughs and leaves. 
 Burke's last words 
 are dated on the 28th, one day earlier 
 than those of Wills: "We have gained 
 the shores of the ocean, but we have 
 been aband — " The last word is un- 
 finished, as if his pen had refused to 
 make the cruel record. Burke's wasted 
 remains too were found, covered with 
 leaves and boughs. By his side lay his 
 
AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 247 
 
 revolver, and the record of his great ex- 
 ploits was in the little casket at the foot 
 of the tree. King survived, and was 
 found by Howitt, naked, famished and 
 unable to speak or walk ; but after long 
 
 recruiting he was able to relate the de- 
 tails of suffering of those last few months, 
 unknown to all the world save himself. 
 Howitt reverently wrapped the precious 
 remains in the union jack, and, leaving 
 
 them.»n their lonely grave, retraced his 
 steps to Melbourne with the precious 
 casket of papers, the last legacy of the 
 dead heroes. On the 6th of the follow- 
 ing December, Howitt again visited the 
 desolate spot, charged with the melan- 
 
 choly mission of bringing back the re- 
 mains for interment in Melbourne. The 
 chaste and elegant monument that marks 
 the spot where the heroes sleep is a far 
 less enduring memorial than exists in 
 the wonderful development and unpre- 
 
AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES. 
 
 cedented prosperity which mark the col- 
 ony as the fruit of the labors, sufferings 
 and death of these martyred heroes. 
 
 A pretty romance is associated with 
 the discovery and naming of Van Die- 
 men's Land. A young man, Tasman 
 by name, who had been scornfully re- 
 jected by a Dutch nabob as the suitor 
 of his daughter, resolved to prove him- 
 self worthy of the lady of his heart. So, 
 while his inamorata was cruelly impris- 
 oned in the palace of her sire at Bata- 
 via, young Tasman, instead of wasting 
 time in regrets, set forth on a voyage of 
 adventure, seeking to win by prowess 
 what gallantry had failed to effect. On 
 his first voyage he so far circumnavigated 
 the island as to be convinced of its insu- 
 lar character, but really saw little of the 
 land. In subsequent voyages he made 
 extensive explorations, calhng not only 
 the mainland, but all the little islets he 
 discovered, by the several names and 
 synonyms of Mademoiselle Van Diemen, 
 his beloved. When at length he was 
 able to lay before the Dutch government 
 the charts of "his voyages and a digest 
 of his discoveries in the beautiful land 
 where he had already planted the stand- 
 ard of Holland, the cruel sire relented 
 and consented to receive as a son-in-law 
 the successful adventurer. Tasman, it 
 seems, never very fully explored the wa- 
 ters that surrounded his domain, and the 
 honor was reserved to two young men, 
 Flinders and Bass, of discovering in 1797 
 the deep, wide strait of two hundred and 
 seventy miles in width that bears the 
 name of Bass. The scenery of Van Die- 
 men's Land is full of picturesque beauty 
 — a sort of miniature Switzerland, with 
 snow - clad peaks, rocks and ravines, 
 foaming cataracts and multitudinous lit- 
 tle lakes with their circling belt of green 
 and dancing rivulets bordered with flow- 
 ers. The Valley of Launceston is a very 
 Arcadia of pastoral repose, while the Ta- 
 mar — which in its whole course is rather 
 a succession of beautiful lakes than an 
 ordinary river — with its narrow defiles, 
 basaltic rocks and sparkling cataracts, 
 
 picturesque rocks that cut off one lake 
 and suddenly reveal another, is a very 
 miracle of beauty, dancing, frothing, 
 foaming, like some playful sprite pos- 
 sessed with the very spirit of mischief 
 
 Hobart Town, the capital of Tasmania, 
 is a quiet, hospitable little town, but a very 
 hotbed of aristocracy — the single spot on 
 the Australian continent where English 
 exclusiveness can, after the gay seasons 
 of the large cities, retire to aristocratic ' 
 country-seats, to nurse and revivify its 
 pride of birth, without fear of coming in 
 contact with anything parvenu or plebe- 
 ian. The town is prettily laid out, with 
 a genuine Gothic chateau for its govern- 
 ment palace, and elegant private resi- 
 dences. It seems tame and deserted 
 when visited from Sydney or Melbourne, 
 but offers just the rest and refreshment 
 one needs after a season of exhausting 
 labor in the mines of Ballarat. 
 
 The rapid growth of the Australian 
 colonies, their remoteness from the moth- 
 er country, and the vastness of the ter- 
 ritory over which they are spread, nat- 
 urally suggest the question whether they 
 are destined to remain in a condition 
 of dependence or are likely to follow 
 the example of their Amei-ican proto- 
 types. On this point the opinion of the 
 count of Beauvoir is entitled to consid- 
 eration, as that of an impartial as well 
 as intelligent observer. He had expect- 
 ed, he tells us, in visiting the country, to 
 find it preparing for its speedy emanci- 
 pation ; but he left it with the conviction 
 that, far from desiring a severance of the 
 connection, the colonists would regard it 
 as a blow to their material interests — the 
 one event, in fact, capable of arresting 
 their unparalleled progress. It can only 
 occur as the result of a European war in 
 which the power of England shall be so 
 crippled as to disable her from protect- 
 ing these distant possessions, casting 
 upon them the whole burden of self- 
 defence, and forcing them to assume the 
 responsibilities of national existence. 
 
I&j^^^o^^p^ffij^^ 
 
 3 
 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ^S 
 
 
 W; 
 
 TWO WEEKS IN THE CARLIST COUNTRY. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 WE reached Bayonne shortly before 
 midnight on the second day after 
 leaving Paris, and were detained there 
 the whole of the next day by the absence 
 of the Carlist agent from whom we were 
 
 to receive our passports, he being then 
 engaged in looking after the transport 
 of a mule-train with arms and ammuni- 
 tion across the French frontier — a com- 
 mon incident at that time, notwithstand- 
 249 
 
25° 
 
 TWO WEEKS IN THE CARLIST COUNTRY. 
 
 ing the fact that France had recognized 
 the Spanish repubhc. When we suc- 
 ceeded in finding the agent we met with 
 every civihty, and our passports were 
 forthcoming ahxiost immediately. They 
 were curiosities in their way, and deserve 
 a few words en passmit. The coat-of- 
 arms which surmounted the printed mat- 
 ter was as large as the top of a liqueur- 
 glass, and the design was a most compli- 
 cated one. It consisted of a huge crown, 
 Maltese crosses, castles, lions, armor, 
 floral wreaths, stars and stripes, billiard 
 balls, and something that would have 
 passed muster for a spread eagle, an 
 "expiring frog," or a snipe on a piece 
 of toast. There was no signature to the 
 
 THE RUBRICA. 
 
 document, but in one corner was a ru- 
 brica, an intricate flourish not unlike an 
 Oriental sign-manual. The Spaniards 
 have a custom of affixing these rubricas 
 to their signatures, and in many cases — 
 more especially with high military author- 
 ities — the rubrica alone is used. Subse- 
 quent experience proved to us that this 
 sign-manual was more efficacious than a 
 signature would have been, as many Car- 
 lists whom we met — in several instances 
 commissioned officers — could not read. 
 
 Bayonne is at present much more 
 Spanish than French. It is almost a 
 frontier town, and has been adopted as 
 a place of refuge by numerous Spanish 
 families, who are prevented from resid- 
 ing in their native country in conse- 
 quence of the civil war. In nine cases 
 out of ten the language heard spoken in 
 the streets is Spanish. 
 
 We learned that since the Carlists had 
 threatened an attack upon the town of 
 
 Irun the terminus of the railway run- 
 ning from France to Spain had been at 
 the pretty little village of Hendaye, sit- 
 uated immediately on the French bank 
 of the river Bidassoa, which is here the 
 line of demarcation between the two 
 countries. We reached this village on 
 the afternoon of the fourth day after 
 leaving Paris, and as we wished to learn 
 something of the country we intended 
 visiting before entering it, we resolved to 
 pass the night at the little fonda (inn). 
 On alighting from the cars our attention 
 was arrested by indications that"grim- 
 visaged war" was ravaging the country. 
 The depot stood within a hundred yards 
 of the railroad bridge which crosses the 
 Bidassoa. The cars no longer passed 
 the frontier, however, and the grass 
 and weeds were growing up between 
 the rusty rails, whilst a dozen locomo- 
 tives were lying idle on a siding. At 
 the Spanish end the bridge was forti- 
 fied with huge blocks of granite, and 
 a republican sentry was slowly pacing 
 up and down in front of a little guard- 
 house. 
 
 A few minutes' walk took us to the 
 summit of the hill at the foot of which 
 the depot is situated, and then a mag- 
 nificent view lay extended before us. 
 From the Bay of Biscay on our right to 
 our extreme left stretched a crescent- 
 shaped mountain -wall comprising the 
 Guadaloupe, Arala and Basses Pyrenean 
 ranges, the Three Crowns towering high 
 above the other mountains, and present- 
 ing a further contrast in the absence of 
 verdure on its summit. It was one of 
 those lovely autumn evenings so com- 
 mon in the south of Europe and so rare 
 in other regions. During the whole day 
 not a cloud had been visible, and the 
 sky was of that pure cerulean tint which 
 is noticeable in the waters of the Medi- 
 terranean at certain seasons of the year. 
 The sun was sinking behind the lower 
 hills in the centre of the picture, and as 
 we watched it slowly disappear in the 
 sea of purple glory that illumined the 
 horizon it seemed as if a thousand rain- 
 bows had united to form a curtain, be- 
 hind the folds of which the king of day 
 retired. At our feet wound the Bidassoa, 
 
TiVO WEEKS IN THE CAR LIST COUNTRY. 
 
 251 
 
 pursuing its serpentine course toward the 
 sea. Near the mouth of the river was the 
 town of Fontarabia, with its ruined cas- 
 tle, its massive stone church, and its pret- 
 ty little casino, which was then closed. 
 
 the owner, M. Dupressoir, no longei 
 caring to contribute to the coffers of the 
 military commandant of the town, who 
 had of late become too extortionate. 
 Immediately in front of us was' the little 
 
 town of Irun, soon to be converted into 
 ruins by the Carlist artillery. On a low 
 hill to the left stood the monastery of St. 
 Marcial, occupied by the Carlists, who 
 from this point of observation, as well as 
 from the surrounding hills, kept a strict 
 
 watch over the movements of the repub- 
 licans in Irun and Fontarabia. 
 
 Suddenly, whilst contemplating — I 
 may almost say inhaling — the beauties 
 of the scene, we were startled by the 
 boom of a cannon, which awakened a 
 
252 
 
 TWO WEEKS IN THE CARLIST COUNTRY. 
 
 hundred echoes in the surrounding hills, 
 as if a salvo of artillery had been dis- 
 charged instead of the one solitary shell 
 which had been fired by the republicans 
 in Fort Mendivil at the monastery. The 
 
 missile, falling short, exploded harmless- 
 ly in the brushwood at the foot of the 
 hill. Several more shells were fired, but 
 with a similar result. Our landlord in- 
 formed us in the evening that during the 
 
 I 1 
 
 I I 
 
 ivAu 
 
 'i 
 
 1 J||i''lMi# 
 
 lv\ 
 
 AW 
 
 ' T I I i 
 
 :!i:!.i:|i'illll'|M!i:: 
 
 course of more than a year the republi- 
 cans had been trying to hit the monas- 
 teiy, and had not once succeeded. Many 
 of the shells fell short, but occasionally 
 one would pass over the building. The 
 conclusion was irresistible that the house 
 
 was protected from injury by its patron 
 saint, and the garrison were prepared to 
 affirm that on several occasions it had 
 disappeared beneath the ground when a 
 shot was fired, and reappeared as soon 
 as the danger was over. 
 
TWO WEEKS IN THE CARLIST COUNTRY. 
 
 253 
 
 Our host and his family were thor- 
 oughly Carlist in their sympathies, and 
 gave us much useful information. They 
 advised us to take but little money with 
 us, as the discriminations of the Carlist 
 soldiers between meiim and 
 tuum are not very clear. As 
 neither of us, unfortunately, 
 could speak much Span- 
 ish, we hired a little Basque 
 lad at Hendaye to act as in- 
 terpreter. He spoke French 
 tolerably well, and was thor- 
 oughly au fait in Spanish 
 and Basque. 
 
 Early the following morn- 
 ing, with knapsacks on our 
 shoulders, we started off on 
 foot. Our intention was to 
 make the best of our way to 
 Estella, the Carlist capital, 
 which is in Navarre. The 
 disturbances in the coun- 
 try had interrupted the reg- 
 ular transit of the diligences 
 between the principal towns, 
 but occasionally one would 
 still undertake the journey 
 from Vera — which was to 
 be our resting-place for the 
 night ^ — to Elizonda, some 
 thirty miles in the interior. 
 We decided to take our 
 chances about getting places 
 in this coach, and to walk 
 or hire mules if there were no other way 
 of reaching Estella. 
 
 Half an hour's brisk walking along 
 the bank of the Bidassoa brought us to 
 the village of Behobie (Spanish, Beyho- 
 ba), half of which is in France, and the 
 other half in Spain, being connected by 
 a bridge across the river, which at this 
 point is only a few yards in width, and 
 very shallow. T'le Spanish portion of 
 the village had been the scene of an at- 
 tack by the Carlists a day or two before. 
 It was the advanced post of the republi- 
 cans in Guipuzcoa, and was garrisoned 
 by a mere handful of Migtieletes, who 
 had fortified themselves in the custom- 
 house, and had strengthened their posi- 
 tion by erecting stone walls around the 
 village. The Carlists attacked the place 
 
 in a very novel manner — advancing un- 
 der cover of a wagon which they pushed 
 in front of them, and which was loaded 
 with all kinds of combustible materials. 
 The republicans intercepted the advance 
 
 DOOR OF A CHURCH IN IRUN AFTER THE BOMBARDMENT. 
 
 of this machine by cutting a deep trench 
 in the road. The Carlists were repulsed, 
 and the government troops then set fire 
 to every house in the village except the 
 custom-house, which they fortified strong- 
 ly and armed with a small howitzer. 
 When we arrived the village was a mass 
 of smoking ruins, and its late inhabitants 
 were actively engaged in erecting wood- 
 en shanties on the French territory, where 
 they had taken refuge in large numbers. 
 A posse of soldiers on the roof of the 
 custom-house kept up a dropping fire at 
 some Carlists who occupied two or three 
 farm-houses half a mile lower down the 
 river; but both parties being ensconced 
 behind stone walls, this desultory firing 
 appeared to be without effect. 
 
 The line of wooden huts extended half 
 
254 
 
 T]VO WEEKS IN THE CAR LIST COUNTRY. 
 
 CARLIST OUTPOST AT LA PUNCHA. 
 
 a mile along the river-bank — some sixty 
 or a hundred families having been ren- 
 dered homeless by the conflagration — in 
 the direction- of La Puncha, a Carlist out- 
 post guarding the main road from Irun, 
 through Behobie, to Vera. A ferry-boat 
 was plying between the two banks. We 
 entered it, and a few strokes of the oars 
 took us over into Spain. On landing we 
 were iminediately surrounded by about 
 a dozen Carlist soldiers, the leader of 
 whom asked us for our passports. The 
 soldiers were dressed in old uniforms of 
 the garde mobile, but wore the Carlist 
 borna, a flat, round cap, not unlike a 
 Highlander's bonnet. In the centre of 
 this cap was a round brass button, bear- 
 ing the words Voluntarios de Dios, Pa- 
 tria y Rey ("Volunteers of God, Country 
 and King"), and the capital letter C, with 
 the figure 7 through it. 
 
 Hearing that a considerable body of 
 soldiers were encamped about halfway 
 up the mountain-range, at the northern 
 end of which is the hill of St. Marcial, 
 we left the main road and followed one 
 which the Carlists were constructing for 
 the passage of their artillery. For three 
 miles up a steep mountain this road had 
 been marked out, and numbers of Na- 
 varrese and Guipuzcoan troops were en- 
 
 gaged in its completion. About half- 
 way up the mountain we came upon the 
 encampment of the fourth battalion of 
 Navarrese, who were busy preparing their 
 midday meal. Several large wood-fires 
 were burning round a group of what were 
 once farm-houses, but had now been has- 
 tily converted into sleeping-quarters for 
 the men and stables for the officers' 
 horses. The site of the camp had been 
 well selected beneath a canopy of birch, 
 beech and elm trees. While the fine 
 weather lasted it must have been more 
 comfortable sleeping on a blanket in the 
 open air than in the buildings, which, 
 unless exceptions to the general rule in 
 Spain, were doubtless swarming with 
 vermin. 
 
 These Navarrese soldiers were smart- 
 looking fellows, with broad shoulders, 
 brawny limbs and bronzed faces : most 
 of them were between the ages of twenty 
 and thirty. We afterward learned that 
 this battalion is the flower of the Na- 
 varrese troops. Their uniform was of 
 a somewhat nondescript character, for 
 they were not all dressed alike. In 
 some instances a man had nothing about 
 him to mark him as a soldier of Don 
 Carlos except his borna and chappa. 
 Others had uniform trousers and a blue 
 
TIVO WEEKS IN THE CAR LIST COUNTRY. 
 
 255 
 
 or white French blouse, while others, 
 again, wore the uniform coat of the 
 garde mobile and the wide red panta- 
 loons of the Fi'ench soldier of the line. 
 Many of them, however, had managed 
 to provide themselves with a full 
 uniform suit of gray, decorated 
 with brass buttons — manufac- 
 tured in Paris, by the way — • 
 bearing the insignia of Don Car 
 los. In all cases they wore a lit 
 tie red cloth heart or cross fas 
 tened to the left breast of the 
 coat, which is believed, in spite 
 of the constant proofs to the con 
 trary, to afford protection to the 
 wearer. 
 
 They all seemed in excellent 
 humor, singing, laughing and 
 talking while busily engaged in 
 cleaning their arms, attending to 
 the culinary department or rub 
 bing down the horses of several 
 officers who had just returned 
 from St. Marcial. Nearly every 
 man was smoking a little cigar 
 ette made of coarse Spanish to 
 bacco twisted up in a piece of 
 husk pulled from corn (maize) 
 a large heap of which lay near 
 one of the houses. Their ra 
 tions consisted of one pound of 
 meat, three pounds of bread or 
 maize, and a quart of wine per 
 day. 
 
 As soon as we reached the en- 
 campment our attention was call- 
 ed to the cure, who is quite as important 
 a person in the eyes of the soldiers as their 
 commanding officer. On noticing three 
 strangers approaching, he at once left a 
 group of soldiers to whom be was talking, 
 and advanced toward us with a hearty 
 "'Buenos dias, sefiores !" We returned 
 his salutation, and managed between the 
 three of us to scrape up enough Spanish 
 to ask the worthy divine if he under- 
 stood French. To our surprise, he re- 
 plied in that language, which he spoke 
 with ease and fluency. We told him 
 our object in visiting the north of Spain. 
 He confessed he could not understand 
 why we should run the risks of traveling 
 in the country while it was in such a 
 
 disturbed state, but assured us that we 
 should nieet with hospitality wherever 
 we went amongst the Carlists. He talk- 
 ed volubly about the cause and the ra- 
 pidity with which it was gaining ground, 
 
 CARLIST SENTINEL. 
 
 assuring us that its complete success was 
 only a question of time. 
 
 In making the tour of the encamp- 
 ment we passed a group of soldiers seat- 
 ed round a tin platter of smoking hot 
 mutton, savoring strongly of the national 
 vegetable, garlic. One of them, with the 
 politeness which is characteristic of the 
 Spaniard, said, " Gtisten ustedes comer?" 
 ("Will Your Graces be pleased to dine ?"). 
 The "three Graces" thus politely ad- 
 dressed declined the offer, but did not 
 refuse a drink of wine from the pig-skin 
 flask which the soldier held toward them. 
 It is not an easy matter to drink out of 
 these flasks. They are formed like a 
 large pear-shaped bottle, a small wood- 
 
256 
 
 TWO WEEKS IN THE CARL 1ST COUNTRY. 
 
 en or horn stopper being fixed to the 
 neck. This stopper is so constructed 
 that it can be unscrewed when the flask 
 is to be replenished. There is a smaller 
 stopper inside the large one, and in it is 
 
 ^-^^^i^:^ 2^ 
 
 CARLIST VIVANDIERE. 
 
 a little orifice about as large as the bore 
 in the stem of a tobacco-pipe. Holding 
 the pig-skin at arm's length, the drinker 
 squeezes it until a stream of wine runs 
 out and falls into his open mouth. Of 
 course we tried to follow the national 
 custom in drinking, but met with indif- 
 ferent success, for before we could get 
 the proper range of the little jet of wine 
 between the bottle's mouth and our own 
 we spilled about a wineglassful of the 
 liquor on our shirt fronts, much to our 
 discomfiture and to the amusement of 
 the padre and the soldiers. 
 
 Bidding adieu to our friends, we start- 
 ed off to complete the ascent of the 
 mountain-road to St. Marcial, which was 
 
 reached after about an hour's climbing. 
 Pedro proved to be as active as a kitten, 
 and pushed up the steep path ahead of 
 us at a pace which tried the strength of 
 our lungs to keep up with him. Several 
 times we endeavored to curb his 
 haste, but he seemed so accus- 
 tomed to walking quickly that, 
 although he slowed down for a 
 minute or two when called upon 
 to do so, he soon forgot the com- 
 mand and returned to his for- 
 mer gait. At last we hit upon an 
 expedient which turned out to be 
 a "happy thought" as far as we 
 were concerned, but which came 
 rather hard on poor Pedro. It 
 was none other than to strap 
 one of our knapsacks upon the 
 lad's shoulders, giving him at 
 the same a hint that there were 
 two more behind if one did not 
 have the desired effect. It did, 
 however, and, the lesson once 
 learned, Pedro never forgot it. 
 
 We found the monastery occu- 
 pied as sleeping-quarters by the 
 soldiers engaged in constructing 
 a battery a little to the rear of St. 
 Marcial. The seats had been 
 removed from the interior of the 
 building, and the stone floor was 
 thickly strewn with fern, but the 
 pictures of saints, etc. over the 
 altar were still in their places. 
 From this point we looked down 
 upon the republican towns of 
 Irun and Fontarabia, and through a 
 field-glass watched the operations of the 
 government troops at Forts Parque and 
 Mendivil. It had taken us three hours 
 to climb the mountain, but the descent 
 was a much easier matter, and in an 
 hour after leaving the monastery we 
 again reached the high-road to Vera at 
 a little village called La Stadilla. About 
 halfway between this place and Ander- 
 lasse the Bidassoa ceases to mark the 
 frontier between France and Spain, the 
 river after that point being entirely 
 Spanish, and the boundary being mark- 
 ed by a line of stones which runs off in a 
 north-easterly direction across the moun- 
 tains on the eastern side of the gorge 
 
 
TWO WEEKS IN THE CAR LIST COUNTRY. 
 
 through which the river flows toward the 
 sea. 
 
 At Anderlasse, which was taken by the 
 Carhsts under Santa Cruz in July, 1873, 
 we spent some time examining the traces 
 of what must have been a very severe 
 fight. Nothing was left of the houses 
 but bare walls, which were covered with 
 bullet-marks. The Carlist force was far 
 superior to that of the government troops, 
 and after a short but decisive engage- 
 ment the place was taken, the houses 
 burned, an iron bridge which here cross- 
 ed the Bidassoa blown up, and some 
 fifteen or twenty of the garrison made 
 prisoners. A few hours after their cap- 
 ture these men were led out on to the 
 main road and were shot down in cold 
 blood. Several Englishmen connected 
 with the iron-mines close by were wit- 
 nesses of the outrage, and one of these 
 gentlemen told us the story, adding that 
 Santa Cruz threatened to serve them in 
 the same manner if they interfered. It 
 is but fair to the Carlists to state that 
 Santa Cruz was acting on his own re- 
 sponsibility, without recognition by Don 
 
 Carlos, who shortly afterward sent an 
 armed force under Gen. Valdespenas to 
 attack the cure's head-quarters at Vera. 
 Valdespenas captured him, and he was 
 banished from the country. 
 
 A short distance farther on we came 
 to a house with an English flag floating 
 from the roof. On inquiry we found that 
 the house was the property of an Eng- 
 lish mining company, which, in spite 
 of the difficulties thrown in the way by 
 the war, still carried on its operations. 
 After the bridge at Anderlasse was blown 
 up a ferry was established here. The 
 mining company's boats were requisi- 
 tioned, and a charge for ferriage was 
 made, half of the proceeds going to the 
 Carlists. A number of soldiers were now 
 building a pontoon bridge with these 
 boats, the owners receiving a promissory 
 note of His Majesty Carlos VII., payable 
 at Madrid at the expiration of a year. 
 Crossing the bridge, we followed the 
 high-road running along the opposite 
 side of the river, and a walk of five 
 miles brought us to Vera, our destination 
 for the night. 
 
 ^^ ^^ittkj-y^^^ \ \<y.//r JV straeff^ I 
 
 BRIDGE AT ANDERLASSE. 
 
 Between Anderlasse and Vera the I a babbling mountain-brook, while right 
 scenery is very picturesque. On one and left rise lofty mountains, covered 
 side is the Bidassoa, now little more than I with box, heather and brilliant wild 
 17 
 
258 
 
 TWO WEEKS IN THE CAR LIST CO UNTIDY. 
 
 flowers, interspersed with huge craggy 
 rocks and moss-grown boulders. As we 
 neared Vera the aspect of the scenery- 
 changed somewhat : the mountains were 
 not so high, and were covered with birch, 
 beech and chestnut trees, the latter load- 
 ed with fruit, that, falling to the ground 
 in showers when the breeze shook the 
 branches, was affording a luxuriant re- 
 past to droves of half-wild pigs which 
 were quarreling noisily over their feast. 
 
 W e found a little fonda at Vera, where 
 we were accommodated with a couple of 
 rooms, and furnished with dinner con- 
 sisting of a bread soup, an ancient chick- 
 
 en and some minced meat, all highly 
 flavored with garlic. The wine was pal- 
 atable, but we should have starved had 
 it not been for Pedro, who managed to 
 procure us a dozen eggs, which we boil- 
 ed, as had they been cooked in any other 
 way garlic would certainly have been 
 added to the dish. We determined in 
 future to superintend personally the cook- 
 ing of our meals, and see that the odious 
 vegetable was omitted. This we could 
 do without much inconvenience, as, after 
 leaving Vera, we found nothing but little 
 posadas (small roadside inns), where the 
 best room was reserved for the mules or 
 
 ARMS AND AMMUNITION FACTORY AT VERA. 
 
 cattle, which always occupied the ground 
 floor, the kitchen and sitting-room being 
 combined in one, and a bedroom not un- 
 frequently included. There were a good 
 many soldiers at Vera, who had come 
 up toward the frontier to participate in 
 the attack upon Irun. On the outskirts 
 of the town is a large arms and ammu- 
 nition factory, which was turning out a 
 number of Vavasseur shells daily. 
 
 We learned that a coach would start 
 the next morning for Elizondo, en route 
 to Estella, and lost no time in engaging 
 places. At daybreak we found ourselves, 
 in company with a couple of Carlist sol- 
 diers and a civilian, in one of the most 
 
 uncomfortable conveyances in which it 
 had ever been our lot to travel, resem- 
 bling a hearse with the body of a four- 
 wheel cab on the top of it. We had to 
 sleep three in a bed at Elizondo, and 
 that bed was the floor, but our blankets 
 spread on a heap of fern made a very 
 comfortable mattress, and a sprinkling of 
 "vermin-destroyer" kept away intruders 
 which would otherwise have mustered in 
 strong force. 
 
 The diligencia did not go farther than 
 this village, an uninteresting place, and 
 the next morning we hired mules, and 
 did not once regret the loss of the lum- 
 bering conveyance which had brought 
 
riVO WEEKS IN THE CARLIST COUNTRY. 
 
 259 
 
 us from Vera. It took us three days to 
 get from Elizondo to Estella, each day's 
 proceedings being the counterpart of the 
 day before, except when we had to make 
 a detour across the mountains to avoid 
 Pampeluna, in the possession of the re- 
 pubhcans, but held in strict siege by the 
 Carhsts. We crossed a mountain-ridge 
 within four or five miles of the republican 
 town, and, as at St. Marcial, distinctly 
 saw the government troops on the ram- 
 parts. Unlike Irun, Pampeluna is strong- 
 ly fortified, and the Carlists know that 
 they will have a hard task to effect its 
 capture. The country through which we 
 passed was very rugged and mountain- 
 ous, but every available plot of land was 
 cultivated, and wheat, corn, turnips, gar- 
 lic and other crops seemed to thrive lux- 
 uriantly. The people appeared to care 
 but little for the disturbances caused by 
 the civil war, and were loud in their 
 praises of " el rey." 
 
 Ample opportunity was afforded us to 
 observe the manner of cooking adopted 
 by the Spaniards, for we had to eat, 
 drink, and sometimes sleep, in the same 
 room as that in which the cook followed 
 her avocations in the little posadas at 
 which we passed the nights. In all of 
 these hostelries the duties of the culi- 
 
 nary department were performed by an 
 old, shriveled-up woman, each one be- 
 ing the fac simile of the other. The 
 rest of the family invariably addressed 
 her as tia (aunt), though " great-grand- 
 mother" would sometimes have seemed 
 more appropriate. Somewhere toward 
 the close of the last century these an- 
 cient dames may have indulged in the 
 luxury of a bath, but it did not look as if 
 their old parchment faces had come in 
 contact with aqua pura since that period. 
 Our meals consisted of three or four 
 dishes made of various kinds of meat 
 or fowl. Each of these dishes was cook- 
 ed in an earthenware jar placed close 
 against the edge of a huge wood fire, 
 and left to itself until the simmering and 
 sputtering indicated that the contents 
 were ready for the table. These jars 
 were covered with a network of strong 
 wire to prevent them from cracking and 
 falling to pieces. The whole of the 
 cooking utensils were primitive in the 
 extreme. 
 
 We reached Estella on the afternoon 
 of the fifth day after leaving Hendaye, 
 and engaged a couple of rooms in a 
 posada which almost aspired to the rank 
 of a fonda. The stables, however, were 
 on the ground floor, as usual, for the 
 
 COOKING UTENSILS. 
 
26o 
 
 TWO WEEKS IN THE CAR LIST COUNTRY. 
 
 Spanish landlord takes much better care 
 of his beast than of his guest. We had 
 now crossed the Carlist country from 
 the extreme northern point to the south- 
 ern extremity, and if we went any far- 
 ther in the same direction we should 
 
 CHURCH IN ESTELLA. 
 
 encounter the troops of the republican 
 general Moniones, who was stopping the 
 advance of the Carlists across the Ebro. 
 An attack had been threatened upon 
 Estella almost daily for three months 
 past, but had not come off up to the 
 time of our arrival. We decided to re- 
 
 main there for two or three days before 
 commencing our return journey through 
 Alava and Guipuzcoa. 
 
 The day after we reached Estella was 
 dedicated to one of the numerous saints 
 in the Spanish calendar, consequently it 
 was a fete-day, and everybody 
 was dressed in holiday attire. 
 The occasion appeared to be 
 more than an ordinary one, as 
 a regular fair was going on, 
 booths having been erected in 
 the plaza, where the whole of 
 the inhabitants who could leave 
 their household duties collected 
 to make purchases or join in 
 the dancing. The women were 
 gayly decked out in colored 
 bkirts of silk or cotton, every 
 shade of the rainbow being rep- 
 resented. Short jackets formed 
 the upper portion of their cos- 
 tume, and their hair was braid- 
 ed in heavy masses with bright 
 ribbons in which little steel or 
 jet ornaments were coquettish- 
 ly displayed. Nearly all had 
 the common white canvas shoes 
 of the country, tied with blue, 
 pink or variegated strings. 
 Some of them wore the pictu- 
 resque Spanish mantilla, but 
 the majority were without this 
 becoming head-dress. We 
 were somewhat disappointed at 
 the appearance of the Spanish 
 women, who, though well form- 
 ed, pretty and shapely, are, al- 
 most without exception, un- 
 healthily sallow, their complex- 
 ions in some instances being ren- 
 dered still more unprepossess- 
 ing by the excessive use of paint 
 and powder. 
 
 Scarcely a civilian was to be 
 seen, for the whole of the male 
 population except the priests 
 appeared in the uniform of the Carlist 
 army. Groups of officers were standing 
 about in the large public square, smok- 
 ing cigarettes, exchanging words of badi- 
 nage with the dancers, and sometimes 
 taking part in the amusement them- 
 selves. The uniform of the Carlist officers 
 
TWO WEEKS IN THE CAR LIST COUNTRY. 
 
 261 
 
 is a very becoming one, consisting of a 
 dark tunic over red trousers. This tunic 
 is profusely decorated with plated but- 
 tons, and is well set off by the Carlist 
 borna and chappa, to which is added a 
 long silver tassel hanging down on one 
 side. 
 
 The assortment of articles for sale in 
 the booths was a very miscellaneous one. 
 Here could be purchased knives, forks, 
 hats, caps, pins, needles, boots, shoes, 
 handkerchiefs, watches, dolls, soap, can- 
 dles, cakes, pens, pencils, Carlist postage- 
 stamps, photographs, blankets, dresses, 
 uniforms, toys, bonbons, razors, whips, 
 walking-sticks, pipes, cigars, stockings, 
 hair-pads, imitation jewelry, pills, buttons, 
 shirts, and so on, ad infinitum. In many 
 of the booths the articles were not for 
 sale, but were drawn for upon the lottery 
 principle. Tickets bearing the names 
 of the articles were put into a bag, to- 
 gether with a large number of blanks. 
 A peseta (twenty cents) was charged for 
 each chance, and roars of laughter fol- 
 lowed if a man drew some article of 
 female attire, or a woman became the 
 fortunate possessor of something which 
 would be of no use to her except as a 
 present to a male friend. 
 
 After visiting the booths and taking 
 our chances amongst the rest in a draw, 
 which resulted in two blanks and a 
 packet of bonbons, we turned our at- 
 tention to the dancers. Two kinds of 
 dances were going on, the jota and the 
 bolero, each having its particular votaries, 
 and each group of dancers being sur- 
 rounded by an admiring crowd of spec- 
 tators. The music consisted of a fiddle, 
 flute and guitar. The moment the air 
 struck up the dancers rushed helter- 
 skelter into the centre of the ring of 
 spectators, and paired off opposite each 
 other. Apparently, no choice of partners 
 was made before the dance commenced, 
 and each performer took for a vis-a-vis 
 the one who happened to be opposite to 
 him or her. Frequently the man rushed 
 forward as if he were about to embrace 
 his fair vis-a-vis, and then as suddenly 
 retired, turning his back upon his part- 
 ner as she darted away to the right or 
 left The dancers kept time to the mu- 
 
 CARLIST POSTAGE- 
 STAMP. 
 
 sic by snapping their fingers with arms 
 raised over their heads. 
 
 A more melancholy air than that to 
 which the jota is danced cannot be im- 
 agined, and the performers, as might be 
 expected under such 
 circumstances, appear- 
 ed to be uninspired by 
 the strains to which 
 they were keeping time, 
 their countenances be- 
 ing as grave as if they 
 were attending a fune- 
 ral. Not a smile was to 
 be seen, no word was 
 spoken, and they went through the dance 
 as if it were a severe task imposed upon 
 them, instead of an amusement of their 
 own seeking. The moment the music 
 ceased, however, laughing and conver- 
 sation recommenced, and " all went mer- 
 ry as a marriage bell" until the next set. 
 
 At one end of the plaza was a high wall 
 with a pavement in front. Here a num- 
 ber of soldiers were playing at pelotte, a. 
 game not unlike tennis, the hand being, 
 however, used instead of a bat. The 
 ball was thrown forcibly on the ground, 
 and as it rebounded was driven against 
 the wall. Two sides are chosen, a mem- 
 ber from each striking the ball alter- 
 nately. On its return to terra firma it 
 was again forced against the wall until 
 one side missed, when their adversaries 
 scored a point. Many of the players 
 were very expert at this game, some of 
 them driving the ball back to the wall 
 with their feet when it did not bound 
 sufficiently high or was missed by the 
 hand. 
 
 It was at Estella that we first encoun- 
 tered some of the members of the Car- 
 list cavalry troop which had recently 
 been raised. They were mounted on 
 very woebegone horses, some even 
 riding upon mules. The inhabitants of 
 the Carlist country are thorough moun- 
 taineers, and can climb the hills like 
 chamois, but on horseback they are out 
 of place. One of our chief amusements 
 during our stay in the Carlist capital was 
 to watch the gayly-attired women who 
 came to draw water at a little fountain 
 immediately opposite our window. This 
 
262 
 
 T^VO WEEKS IN THE CAR LIST COUNTRY. 
 
 fountain was a rendezvous for the female 
 portion of the community. Some of these 
 Spanish Rebekahs would remain there for 
 
 RIVER BETWEEN TOLOSA AND BERASTEQUI 
 
 half an hour chatting with their friends. 
 There were many republican prisoners 
 in Estella. They were frequently march- 
 ed out in twos and threes to this little 
 fountain, their duty being to draw and 
 carry water for the troops. From their 
 appearance they were not discontented 
 with their lot, and chatted away inces- 
 santly with their guard, who placed but lit- 
 tle restraint on their movements. Guards 
 and prisoners were usually smoking cigar- 
 ettes, and frequently an interchange of 
 papillos would be made between them. 
 Complete enthusiasm for the cause of 
 Don Carlos existed amongst the popula- 
 
 tion. "The king," as he was everywhere 
 called, was frequently to be seen walking 
 or riding through the streets, attended by 
 a brilliant staff of offi- 
 cers. He was always 
 greeted with shouts 
 of "Viva el Rey ! Vi- 
 va Carlos Septimo !" 
 and it was difficult 
 for him to make his 
 way through the 
 crowd of people who 
 were trying to kiss 
 his hand. 
 
 Although "el rey" 
 has what may be call- 
 ed a commanding fig- 
 ure, being about six 
 feet four inches in 
 height, he appears 
 somewhat ungainly 
 on foot, and is seen to 
 much better advan- 
 tage when mounted. 
 He is a great favor- 
 ite with his troops, 
 who believe that he, 
 and he alone, can ac- 
 complish the end they 
 have in view — a mo- 
 narchical govern- 
 ment with the exercise 
 of their fueros or na- 
 tional rights, which, 
 especially in the 
 Basque provinces, 
 give the different dis- 
 tricts the power of 
 local self-government 
 to a certain extent, more especially in 
 regard to trade, taxes, and the support 
 of their clergy. Another and very im- 
 portant right which these fueros secure 
 is the freedom from the qicinta, or con- 
 scription — the cofttribucion de sangre 
 (blood- tax), as the Spaniards call it. 
 Each district raises its own militia, who 
 cannot be compelled to serve outside of 
 its limits; and a very striking sign of the 
 readiness of the Basques to fight for 
 Don Carlos is given in the fact of their 
 having frequently left their native prov- 
 inces and fought for the Carlist cause in 
 any part of the north of Spain or Na- 
 
TIVO WEEKS IN THE CAR LIST COUNTRY. 
 
 263 
 
 varre where.their services may have been 
 required. 
 
 We remained three days in Estella, and 
 then started off across the mountains for 
 Villa Franca, which place we reached on 
 the morning of the second day after 
 leaving the Carlist capital. The coun- 
 try through which we passed was moun- 
 tainous in the extreme, but wherever the 
 slopes were not covered with apple or- 
 chards or clumps of walnut or chestnut 
 trees the land had been made use of 
 for agricultural purposes, the patches of 
 cultivated ground in many places reach- 
 ing upward for six or eight hundred 
 feet. 
 
 Tolosa is a very strong position for 
 the Carlists. It is a large and well-for- 
 tified town, situated in a nest of hills on 
 which are several batteries bristling with 
 guns. We here heard that the bom- 
 bardment of Irun had commenced, and 
 that the republican general Loma had 
 landed large reinforcements of troops at 
 St. Sebastian, about twelve miles away, 
 and not much more than half that dis- 
 tance from Irun. An important ba,ttle 
 was momentarily expected, and we de- 
 cided to push on at once to Berastequi, 
 en route for Vera and the frontier, as to 
 be caught between the lines would have 
 been a serious matter. 
 
 Berastequi is seven miles from Tolosa, 
 and a couple of hours' walk over a level 
 camina real (royal road) took us there 
 in time for a midday meal. From this 
 point we had about twenty miles to 
 traverse over range after range of moun- 
 tains before reaching Vera. Pedro knew 
 the mountain - path thoroughly, he as- 
 sured us, and we therefore elected to 
 travel on foot, and to dispense with the 
 services of a local guide. Leaving Be- 
 rastequi, we turned abruptly to the left, 
 and commenced ascending the face of 
 a steep cliff by a zigzag path covered with 
 fragments of rock, which rendered walk- 
 ing a somewhat difficult, not to say pain- 
 ful, task. The first four miles wound up 
 the side of a steep mountain, on reaching 
 the summit of which a magnificent pan- 
 orama lay stretched out on all sides of 
 us. Far as the eye could reach nothing 
 could be seen but mountain-range be- 
 
 yond mountain-range. Even the blue 
 horizon in the distance appeared undu- 
 lating and irregular, as if for many miles 
 in every direction the whole country con- 
 sisted of hills and dales. This was in- 
 deed the case, and from the point of ob- 
 servation which we occupied we could 
 well believe that the government troops 
 will have almost insurmountable obstacles 
 to overcome before they can drive the 
 Carlists out of their strongholds. The 
 mountains were covered with timber and 
 an undergrowth of box laurel and ar- 
 butus, which appeared to flourish luxuri- 
 antly. Here and there a mottled patch 
 of red and white, with a church-spire 
 glistening in the sun, pointed out to us 
 where a little village was situated. These 
 villages were for the most part in the 
 valleys, in which every level patch of 
 ground was planted with maize, wheat 
 or some other cereal. 
 
 We slept at Artecuza that night, and 
 reached Vera the next afternoon. Here 
 we learned that the Carlists had raised 
 the siege of Irun, and the troops had 
 gone over the mountains toward St. 
 Sebastian to oppose the advance of the 
 republican forces under General Loma. 
 The result of this movement is a matter 
 of history, and as this sketch does not 
 propose to deal with the military opera- 
 tions of the Carlists, it will suffice to say 
 that the Carlists were repulsed and driven 
 from their positions at St. Marcial and 
 round Irun, the whole of the farm-houses, 
 etc. in that part of Guipuzcoa being 
 burned by the republicans. At sundown 
 the same evening we crossed the frontier- 
 line at La Staoula, and later on reached 
 the little fonda at Hendaye. 
 
 In the interior of the country through 
 which we had passed, if it had not been 
 for the presence of groups of soldiers 
 wearing the Carlist uniform, it would 
 have been difficult to realize that a civil 
 war was raging there. Cultivation went 
 on as usual, and the soil is so fertile that 
 although the troops may sometimes be 
 kept waiting for their pay, there does not 
 seem much chance of their running short 
 of provisions. The men, instead of find- 
 ing the war irksome to them, appeared 
 to prefer their military duties to remain- 
 
264 
 
 QUAINT CRAFT. 
 
 ing at home and attending to agricultural 
 labors. It must be remembered that the 
 Carlist soldiers are volunteers for the 
 most part, and when it has been neces- 
 sary to make a conscription care has 
 been taken to select men who would be 
 least missed at home. Another reason 
 why the agricultural productions of the 
 country have not decreased since the 
 war is found in the fact that the women 
 do much of the field-labor. The food 
 of the inhabitants is simple enough : 
 meat is cheap, and their little farms yield 
 them three, and sometimes four, crops 
 in the year. Wine is their principal 
 
 beverage, and, taking all things into 
 consideration, these hardy mountaineers 
 can live comfortably on about a real and 
 a half or two reals per day (seven and a 
 half to ten cents). 
 
 Of course we had many little incon- 
 veniences to put up with in our trip 
 through the Carlist country, but we re- 
 membered that the discomforts, what- 
 ever they were, were self-imposed, and 
 we therefore rarely had recourse to grum- 
 bling, which was a strange feature in the 
 case, considering that one of our party 
 was an Englishman. 
 
 QUAINT CRAFT. 
 
 FLYING PRAHU. 
 
 PEOPLE who live in and about any 
 American seaport have not to travel 
 far to see the most beautiful, stanch and 
 swift yachts in the world. The scientific 
 marine architects and skilled workmen 
 of America have the finest raw material 
 at hand for carpentry, shipbuilding, rig- 
 ging, sailmaking or naval stores, and 
 their masterpieces are unapproached by 
 the best efforts of other countries. There 
 are, however, fast sailers in other waters, 
 often among vessels of very rude con- 
 
 struction, and from them hints may be 
 picked up, leading, possibly, to material 
 improvements in the speed of our witch- 
 ing walkers of the waves. 
 
 Commodore Anson, in his narrative 
 of the famous voyage of the Centurion 
 round the world, expatiates with mingled 
 wonder and admiration on the flying 
 praJnis of the Ladrone Islands, which 
 he fell in with while lying in wait for the 
 great Spanish treasure-galleon from Aca- 
 pulco in Mexico to Manila in the Philip- 
 
QUAINT CRAFT. 
 
 265 
 
 pine Islands. Lineal descendants of 
 these surprising vessels have continued 
 ever since, with pirates on board, to vex 
 the passing- trader at every available op- 
 portunity, and leave her a wreck, rifled, 
 scuttled, with crew discreetly silenced by 
 the insinuating kris or softly suffocated 
 with sulphurous smoke-balls. These ex- 
 ceedingly rapid cruisers usually carry 
 one enormous triangular sail, are steer- 
 ed from either of the ends, which are 
 alike, and are rounded on but one side, 
 which is always kept to windward. A 
 second smaller canoe or outrigger is at- 
 tached to the weather side by a bamboo 
 framework, by way of balance. They 
 have no keel, and the lee side is flat, 
 keeping the craft up to the wind, on the 
 same principle as the leeboard of a 
 Dutch galliot or the centreboard with 
 the working of which we are familiar. 
 They sail in the very teeth of the wind, 
 and the amiable natives rarely deign to 
 reduce their spread of canvas, or rath- 
 er mat, for it is of this primitive fabric 
 the sail is made. If the wind is fresh 
 and the outrigger begins to skip about 
 over the combers, betraying symptoms 
 of a capsize, the whole crew, except the 
 steersman, jump out on the lively float 
 and continue to crack on. These pra- 
 
 hus absolutely fly through the water, 
 and are so light, being patched together 
 in some rickety fashion without a nail in 
 them, and having nothing beyond coir 
 
 ARAB DHOW. 
 
 yarn as fastenings, that the faintest cats- 
 paw will drive them along. 
 
 The little canoes of Ceylon, which 
 buzz like mosquitoes round each visiting 
 steamer, and are as fragile in appearance 
 as those slender but subtly-stinging tor- 
 mentors, are of similar construction to 
 the prahus, but have no flat lee side. 
 
 SPANISH FELUCCA. 
 
 XEEECQUE. 
 
 They have a keel instead, and, though 
 fast, do not hold nearly so good a wind, 
 and ai^e altogether a long way behind 
 the others. Their sails, too, are usually 
 
 square, and a great deal smaller in pro- 
 portion. The great double canoes of 
 Polynesia are cousins-german to these 
 flyers, and we have adopted the idea to 
 
266 
 
 QUAINT CRAFT. 
 
 some considerable extent. The famous 
 Nonpareil life -raft, which crossed the 
 Atlantic under sail, was perhaps an im- 
 provement on the South Sea Island con- 
 
 DAHABIEH OF THE NILE. 
 
 cerns. The safety of the raft is pretty- 
 generally conceded, and the subject was 
 so much agitated at the time of the dis- 
 aster, early last year, to the White Star 
 steamship Atlantic, that considerable im- 
 petus has since been given to the man- 
 ufacture. The United States navy has 
 taken up the notion very kindly, and 
 few of our war-vessels now go to sea un- 
 equipped with one at least of these use- 
 ful, easily -stowed and economical life- 
 saving appliances. 
 
 We have from our earliest infancy 
 been familiar with the grotesque junks 
 of the Flowery Land, with the oblique 
 Celestial eye, never winking, painted on 
 either side of the bruise-water stem, as 
 delineated on ancient domestic crockery ; 
 and in these latter days we are scarcely 
 less acquainted with the kindred absurd- 
 ities navigated by our Japanese neigh- 
 bors. The fans that cool our summer 
 brows are largely adorned with masterly 
 cartoons of the tycoon's yachts and the 
 fishing-boats that purvey scaly provender 
 for the two-sworded yaconins. The lor- 
 cha, a strange but thoroughly practical 
 compound of modern Western ideas and 
 Eastern traditions, now found very ex- 
 tensively in Chinese waters, is not so well 
 known. The cut of the sails is an im- 
 
 provement upon that of American fore- 
 and-aft vessels. All the world knows 
 the supreme efficacy of our plan of cut- 
 ting sails, so that they may sit as flat as 
 a board. The lorcha carries considerably 
 stififer sails yet. They are made lug shape, 
 of cotton canvas, not of mats, like those 
 of the junks, but after the country fashion 
 are slatted like Venetian blinds, having 
 bamboo battens all the way from luff to 
 foot, with rings on the mast. Now we 
 know the effect of lacing a sail to a boon, 
 and of vangs to draw in the peak and 
 hold every zephyr. Fancy a sail with 
 laced boom all the way. The sheets, 
 too, are multiplied, so as to have a sheet 
 or vang to each of several of the lower 
 battens, with obvious utility. These lor- 
 chas sail like the wind, and succeed ad 
 mirably as smugglers in defying the war- 
 junks, and even the new war-steamers, 
 of the Celestial Empire. The last Chi- 
 nese war had its origin in some compli- 
 cation of the mandarins, notably Com- 
 missioner Yeh of Canton, with a lorcha 
 carrying the British flag. The hull, by 
 the way — and this is an important point 
 — is commonly that of an American 
 schooner, which is merely transmogri- 
 fied as to rig. The sails are instantly 
 brailed up, or rather roll themselves up 
 into the topping-lifts, when required to 
 be furled or reefed to any extent, by 
 merely letting go the halliards, very 
 much in the style of a window-shade — an 
 advantage readily recognized, and recom- 
 mending itself especially in squally weath- 
 er or broken water. The lorchas gen- 
 erally have but two masts, stepped per- 
 pendicularly, or perhaps with a slight 
 forward rake of the foremast, and a cor- 
 responding rake astern of the mainmast. 
 One sail is always hoisted to starboard, 
 and the other to port, which, it must be 
 allowed, looks peculiar and not very 
 pretty. With these two huge sails one 
 man can easily manage a lorcha of quite 
 extensive tonnage, but there is nothing to 
 prevent the bending of an enormous bal- 
 loon jib, topsails and any number of stud- 
 ding-sails. The rig is certainly very far 
 from being as beautiful as that of our 
 schooners, but a lorcha yacht would 
 rather astonish the best of our pleasure 
 
QUAINT CRAFT. 
 
 26"] 
 
 squadrons, and there are very few crack 
 yachts, rigged in familiar fashion, to 
 which she could not show a clean pair 
 of heels in a match. 
 
 The lateen rig, known to Solomon and 
 the Phoenician merchants of Tyre and 
 Tarshish, to the heroes who fought at 
 Salamis and in the Punic wars, and the 
 cowards who fled with Cleopatra to Mark 
 Antony's undoing, continues to this day 
 around the old scenes of the voyages 
 and battles of those ancient warriors and 
 traders. The Arab dhows and bugga- 
 las which cruisers chase on the eastern 
 coast of Africa for the delivery of their 
 cargoes of Somali slaves, are so rigged. 
 
 So are the rice and cotton-bearing dhonies 
 of the Coromandel coast of India and 
 the xebecques, tartanes, feluccas, daha- 
 biehs and scampavias of Barbary, Malta, 
 Italy, the Biscayan provinces of Spain, 
 Greece, Egypt and the Levant. A huge 
 tapering yard, fished and spliced from 
 its ungainly foot, to which the tack is 
 made fast, to the slender fishing-rod tip 
 away up aloft, is slung on each short 
 mast, of which there may be one, two or 
 more. They sail well, and the one sail, 
 in the place of two or three in modern 
 rigging, holds wind in a most econom- 
 ical way. Their great disadvantage is 
 that they require a very large crew, and 
 
 ■CHANNEL LUGGER. 
 
 are consequently only adapted for use 
 where labor is very cheap, or in a war- 
 vessel, which must have a large crew to 
 work the guns, furnish prize crews, boat 
 detachments, etc. or, as in the case of 
 the galleys of the Knights of Malta, 
 the Venetians and Turks, and the hardly 
 obsolete guardacostas and chassemarees 
 of the French at Toulon and the Span- 
 iards at all their home-ports, in which 
 convicts or slaves were employed where 
 humane people in these days use steam. 
 The sails are reefed and furled from the 
 yard precisely as in a square-rigged ves- 
 sel, and the yard is in just the same way 
 provided with brails, clewlines and jack- 
 stays for Jack up aloft. In tacking the 
 huge yard has to be brought behind the 
 mast and shifted as the vessel is thrown 
 
 YARMOUTH YAWL. 
 
 up in the wind, the tack, usually a short 
 chain, working on a traveler, and, if on 
 a wind, hauled taut by a tackle. Of 
 course, the liability to be taken aback is 
 by no means slight, especially in the 
 Mediterranean, where it is such a favor- 
 ite, the chosen "stamping-ground" of 
 the white squall and the sirocco. Why it 
 should so maintain its hold is inexplicable, 
 except on the assumption that where a 
 large crew can be cheaply provided it is 
 better suited to the main strength and 
 stupidity of the ignorant sailors of the 
 great inland sea than the more compli- 
 cated suit of sails we prefer. They have 
 but one or two sails, as a rule, to look 
 after against the dozen or more we sport 
 on occasion. Lateen -rigged vessels ate 
 certainly most picturesque. The scene 
 
268 
 
 .QUAINT CRAFT. 
 
 at dawn in Bombay, where hundreds of 
 them, laden v/ith the fragrant coffee of 
 Mocha and costly spices from Yemen the 
 
 Blest, wing and wing, like great sea-fowl, 
 dash in with surprising velocity before the 
 fresh monsoon, conned with wild emu- 
 
 DANDY-RIG. 
 
 ISLE OF WIGHT WHERRY. 
 
 lation by Arab serangs or captains ab- 
 solutely dancing with excitement in all 
 their bravery of richly-embroidered vel- 
 vet jackets and snowy robes, is i-eally 
 very pretty. These Arab boats, which 
 are the most antique in construction of 
 all lateen-rigged craft, are "grab-built," 
 with great beam and long overhanging 
 prow and lofty stern. It was a long 
 time before the lateen was discarded in 
 Western Europe, The adventurous ves- 
 sels of Columbus and the Conquistadores 
 were lateen-rigged, and till almost with- 
 in a century and a half the spanker in 
 the largest men-of-war was a lateen sail. 
 To-day, in Central and South America, 
 at the Cape de Verde Islands, at Ma- 
 deira, Goa and Zanzibar, the Spaniards 
 and Portuguese and their descendants 
 are very partial to the lateen rig. It is 
 to be found on nearly all the smaller 
 bongoes of Honduras, Nicaragua and 
 Costa Rica, though the larger ones are 
 more frequently rigged as "jackass 
 schooners," with no booms and ridic- 
 ulous little staysails, all the masts being 
 shipped several feet more forward than 
 with us. 
 
 Round the northern French and south- 
 ern English coasts a modification of the 
 felucca, the lugger, with two or three 
 masts, is very commonly met with. 
 
 Some luggers are very large, and with 
 their square topsails and jibs at a dis- 
 tance quite give one the idea of a full- 
 rigged ship. They also require a great 
 many men, and are liable, like square- 
 rigged and lateen vessels, to be taken 
 aback. When tacking the lugs have to 
 be dipped — that is, the sails are lowered 
 entirely, the yards shifted before the 
 mast, not behind, as in the lateen rig, 
 and the sails hoisted again, the tacks re- 
 maining fast. In running before the 
 wind, as gybing is out of the question, it 
 can easily be seen what care is needed 
 in the steering, and how, for all this 
 hoisting and shifting, half a dozen men 
 at least are required to do what in our 
 schooners the sails, shifting on travelers, 
 do for themselves. It is a handy rig, 
 though, where men are plenty. Every- 
 thing can be stowed away and the masts 
 taken out, if necessary, in no time. The 
 lugger is accordingly quite a favorite with 
 the fishermen and pilots of the English 
 Channel, as in the old days of the per- 
 petual wars between the French and 
 English it used to be with the smugglers, 
 who found another advantage in being 
 able on a sudden to unclothe themselves, 
 or rather their ships, and make them- 
 selves next door to invisible to pursuers. 
 The French luggers are easily distin- 
 
QUAINT CRAFT. 
 
 269 
 
 guishable by their gigantic blocks and 
 cumbrous rigging. The standing lug is' 
 adopted in most of the navies of the 
 world for the larger boats. This does 
 not need to be dipped, a small fraction 
 of the yard protruding forward of the 
 mast, and it is worked in all respects as 
 a fore-and-aft sail. 
 
 The Yarmouth yawl is a prevailing 
 type farther north, especially on the 
 coasts of Norfolk and Suffolk in Eng- 
 land. It is usually a two-masted boat, 
 with a lug and jib on the foremast, and 
 a fore-and-aft jigger, generally stepped 
 as far aft as possible. This is a very 
 useful arrangement in bad weather or for 
 cruising gently after fish, or for pilots 
 looking out for ships. These vessels 
 dodge along snugly under jib and jigger 
 in almost any weather. 
 • A very fashionable rig among English 
 yachtsmen is the dandy -rig, which is 
 merely an adaptation of the Yarmouth 
 yawl to the national cutter. Most peo- 
 ple know what that is — something like a 
 sloop, with a shorter mast and loftier 
 topmast, a squarer mainsail, small stay- 
 sail from the stern, and an enormous jib 
 on a sliding boom, with wonderful ex- 
 panses of light racing canvas in the 
 shape of balloon and club topsails, bal- 
 loon jibs and jibheaded spinnakers fi^om 
 
 the topmast-head, sheeted to .booms 
 stretching widely over the rail. The 
 dandy-rig — which is also, however, quite 
 frequently tei'med a yawl — is a length- 
 ened cutter, with a snigger or jigger, the 
 mast, however, not being stepped at the 
 very counter, as in the yawl, but allow- 
 ing a boom for the sail with the sheet at 
 the taffrail. The little City of Ragusa, 
 which three years ago crossed the At- 
 lantic from Liverpool, was rigged in this 
 way, and Mr. MacGregor, the canoe en- 
 thusiast, sailed all round the British Isles 
 in a little vessel so rigged, which was 
 barely large enough to hold him. The 
 advantage of being able to reduce or 
 make sail quickly recommends this rig 
 to people who prefer to sail in Mr. Mac- 
 Gregor's unsocial fashion, or who do not 
 care to incur the expense of a large crew ; 
 besides, the yawl in sailing free is rank- 
 ed with a schooner, and is decidedly bet- 
 ter for beating to windward, though not 
 quite equal to a sloop or a cutter, which 
 sails closer to the wind than any two- 
 masted vessel except a lorcha. 
 
 A more humble but admirable variety 
 of the dandy-rig is peculiar to the Isle 
 of Wight and the neighboring port of 
 Portsmouth. It is like a whale-boat, 
 sharp at both ends, clinker built, and is 
 rigged with small jib, a large spritsail, 
 
 EEKMUDA KIG. 
 
 STANDING LIU 
 
 which it is hardly necessary to describe, 
 a fore-and-aft sail, with the leach sup- 
 ported by a light diagonal pole, instead 
 
 of having a gaff — a handy but not very 
 elegant rig — and a jigger, also with a 
 sprit: the jigger mast is stepped, as in 
 
270 
 
 QUAINT CRAFT. 
 
 the dandy-rig, in the stern-sheets, and 
 not just over the rudder-head, as in the 
 yawl proper. This is a wonderful sea- 
 boat : it is very light and sails capitally. 
 Some of the larger ones are decked, and 
 stand out to sea as boldly as our pilot- 
 boats in the most abominable weather. 
 
 In the West Indies are some singular- 
 ly graceful an d quite effective rigs. There 
 is the 'Mudian, of "the still vexed Ber- 
 moothes," with lofty, slender spar, crack- 
 ing and bending like a coach-whip, its 
 little jib on a boom pivoting on the stern, 
 like a little bowsprit, and a shoulder-of- 
 mutton mainsail, with a triangle of wood. 
 
 often gilt and elaborately carved, at the 
 head, by which to hoist it, to catch the 
 breeze and keep the sail from fouling 
 the mast. Nothing but a lorcha can sail 
 closer to the wind. A little bit of a thing, 
 twenty feet long, has been known to beat, 
 in a match dead to windward, an un- 
 usually fast-sailing bark, which, of course, 
 with every stitch of canvas drawing, 
 reached three to her one, but could not 
 lay up anything like as close to the wind. 
 The do7y is similar, but with a short 
 mast raking well aft, stepped one-third 
 of the length of the boat from the bow. 
 It carries a somewhat larger jib in pro- 
 
 HONDURAS CREER. 
 
 portion than the 'Mudian. The equilat- 
 eral triangular mainsail is hoisted with 
 an up-and-down yard like the familiar 
 yard gaff-topsail of our schooners, and 
 has a light boom. From having but one 
 main halliard, running through a sheave- 
 hole in the masthead, it is very easy to 
 manage, and can get under way or have 
 all sail dowsed in a twinkling, and mast 
 and all stowed away in the bottom of the 
 boat if necessary. 
 
 The Caribs have a sort of yawl mod- 
 ification of the dory, with a smaller main- 
 sail, the mast stepped more forward, and 
 a tolerably large jigger. They are won- 
 derfully fond of racing, and challenge 
 every boat they come across ; the whole 
 crew perching themselves on one gun- 
 wale, sticking their toes under the other 
 and leaning back at the lurches till their 
 
 MOSQUITO DORY. 
 
 woolly heads touch the water, laughing 
 and shouting with glee. Making lively 
 ballast of themselves in this way, it takes 
 pretty smart seamanship to make them 
 "take water" in dory-sailing. The Mos- 
 quito Indians, who have magnificent 
 surf-canoes, with mediym clipper bows 
 and sterns, are better boatmen than sail- 
 ors, and discard the boom for the main- 
 sail, which they keep small, like that 
 affected by the Caribs, and they also 
 dispense with the jigger of these latter. 
 The dory is usually a dug-out from some 
 gigantic log of mahogany, cedar or to- 
 brus (the latter a durable, hard wood 
 not known to commerce, with a dingy, 
 purple grain). The creer, a much larger 
 craft, is a two-masted amalgamation of 
 the dory and the 'Mudian. It carries 
 jib, balloon flying jib, square sail, main- 
 
QUAINT CRAFT. 
 
 271 
 
 staysail, lug foresail, with yard and brails, 
 and 'Mudian mainsail. Some of these 
 can "everlastingly make the foam fly." 
 
 The sliding gunter — which, by the 
 way, seems thoroughly naturalized by 
 
 the Canoe Club — is a very handy sail 
 and a great favorite in Bombay, as it 
 was, till its dissolution, of the old East 
 India Company's navy. It is like the 
 'Mudian, only, instead of a long mast, it 
 
 BELIZE DORY. 
 
 CARIB DORY. 
 
 has a short one with a sliding topmast, 
 to which the sail is bent. This is set and 
 lowered easily, but can have no boom, 
 unless with a too complicated system of 
 rings and outhaul, and when lowered 
 has to be brailed up against the stumpy 
 mast, which is not as good in squally 
 weather as the dory sail — which comes 
 down altogether in the boat and leaves 
 the mast bare — and at any time presents 
 a very slovenly appearance. 
 
 The balsas of Peru, immense rafts of 
 light Cottonwood, are chiefly remarkable 
 for the curious plan of hoisting the sail 
 on shears or tripod of massive spars, and 
 for their steering arrangements of drop- 
 ping keels at either end. 
 
 It would take a volume to do more 
 than indicate the many odd varieties of 
 sailing-gear from which our yachtsmen 
 might glean useful hints. It is by no 
 means improbable that some "dark 
 horse" has been laying his head together 
 with Captain Bunsby and plotting a per- 
 fect astonisher in the way of yachts. It 
 is indeed whispered that a mysterious 
 craft, like nothing else on the waters of 
 the earth, will be produced next season 
 — a lorcha - rigged double canoe, each 
 canoe of the prahu form, but with the 
 convex sides turned inward, which is 
 something entirely novel. 
 
THE GOLDEN EAGLE AND HIS EYRIE. 
 
 0^ THE WAY lO THfc, WOOD Dl II T 
 
 A SOMEWHAT tedious journey of 
 thirty hours from Paris brought me 
 one fine afternoon in the early part of 
 July to Kutstein, an ancient fortress form- 
 ing the frontier-town of the North Tyrol, 
 toward Bavaria. While occupied in pass- 
 ing my portmanteau through the pry- 
 ing and unutterably dirty hands of the 
 custom-house officials I was accosted by 
 a man dressed in the garb of a Tyrolese 
 mountaineer — short leathern breeches 
 reaching to the knee, gray stockings, 
 heavy hobnailed shoes, a nondescript 
 species of jacket of the roughest frieze, 
 and a battered hat adorned with two or 
 three feathers of the capercailzie and a 
 plume of the royal eagle. Old Hansel 
 was one of the gamekeepers on a large 
 imperial preserve close by, with whom 
 some years previously I had on more 
 than one occasion shared a hard couch 
 under the stunted pines when inoppor- 
 tune night overtook us near the glaciers 
 while in hot pursuit of the chamois. 
 This unexpected meeting proved a 
 272 
 
 source of the liveliest interest to me, in- 
 asmuch as this old veteran of the moun- 
 tains was on the point of starting on an 
 expedition of a somewhat remarkable 
 character. A pair of golden eagles, it 
 appeared, had made a neighboring val- 
 ley the scene of their frequent ravages 
 and depredations among the cattle and 
 game, and Hansel was about to organize 
 an expedition to search for, and if pos- 
 sible despoil, the eyrie. Of late years 
 these birds have become very rare. 
 Switzerland is nearly, if not quite, clear- 
 ed of them, while the Tyrol, affording 
 greater solitude and a larger stock of 
 game, can boast of eight or at the most 
 ten couples. They are, as is well known, 
 the largest and most powerful of all the 
 birds of prey inhabiting Europe, mea- 
 suring from eight to eight and a half 
 feet in the span, and possessing terrible 
 strength of beak, talons and wings. A 
 full-grown golden eagle can easily carry 
 off a young chamois, a full-grown roe 
 or a sheep, none of them weighing less 
 
THE GOLDEN EAGLE AND HIS EYRIE. 
 
 273 
 
 than thirty pounds; and well - attested 
 cases have occurred of young children 
 being thus abstracted. In the fall of 1873 
 a boy nearly eight years of age was car- 
 ried away by one of these birds from the 
 
 very door of his parents' cottage, situated 
 not far from the celebrated Konigsee, 
 near Salzburg. 
 
 The breeding-season falls in the month 
 of June, and in the course of the first 
 
 OUR ARRIVAL AT THE DRIFT-KEEPER'S COTTAGE. 
 
 fortnight of the succeeding month the 
 young offspring take wing and com- 
 mence their raids in quest of pillage 
 on their own account. The eyrie or nest 
 is an object of the greatest care with the 
 parent birds, the site being chosen with 
 a view to the greatest possible security, 
 generally in some crevice on the face of 
 a perpendicular precipice several hun- 
 dred feet in height. It is built of dry 
 sticks of wood coated on the inside with 
 moss. Hansel informed me of a sur- 
 mise that the eyrie of this pair would 
 be discovered in the face of the terribly 
 steep " Falknerwand ;" and although I 
 had once before been engaged in a sim- 
 ilar exploit, I could not resist the temp- 
 18 
 
 tation to join in this expedition, and de- 
 spatched on the spot a telegram to the 
 friend who was awaiting my arrival in 
 Ampezzo in order to make some ascents 
 in the Dolomites, announcing a deten- 
 tion of some days. This done, we re-en- 
 tered the cars and proceeded a few sta- 
 tions farther down the line to quaint old 
 Rattenberg, a small town on the banks 
 of the swift Inn. Not an hour from this 
 place the scantily- inhabited Branden- 
 berg valley opens on the broad and sun- 
 ny Innthal. The former is merely a 
 mountain-gorge. Far up in its recesses 
 stands a small cottage belonging to the 
 keeper of a wood - drift, and in close 
 proximity to this solitary habitation is a 
 
274 
 
 THE GOLDEN EAGLE AND HIS EYRIE. 
 
 second very wild and wellnigh inacces- 
 sible ravine, the scene of the coming 
 adventure. 
 
 Having passed the night in the modest 
 little inn at Rattenberg, Hansel and I set 
 off next morning long before sunrise on 
 our eight hours' tramp to the wood-drift 
 
 by a path which was in most places of 
 just sufficient breadth to allow of one 
 person passing at a time. Few of my 
 fellow-travelers of the day before would 
 have recognized me in the costume I had 
 donned for the occasion — an old and 
 much-patched coat, short leathern trou- 
 
 INTERIOR OF TOMERL'S COTTAGE. 
 
 sers, as worn and torn as the poorest 
 woodcutter's, and a ten-seasoned hat 
 which had been originally green, then 
 brown, and had now become gray. My 
 face and knees were still bronzed from 
 the exposure attendant on a long course 
 of Alpine climbing the year before. 
 
 The keeper of the wood-drift was an 
 old acquaintance of mine, whose quali- 
 ties as a keen sportsman had shone forth 
 when four or five years previously I had 
 quartered myself for a month in his se- 
 cluded neighborhood, spending the day, 
 and frequently also the night, on the 
 peaks and passes surrounding his cot- 
 tage. To the buxom Moidel, his pretty 
 young wife, I was also no stranger, and 
 her smile and blush assured me that she 
 still remembered the time when, reigning 
 supreme over her father's cattle on a 
 neighboring alp, she had administered to 
 
 the wants of the young sportsman seek- 
 ing a night's lodging in the lonesome 
 chalet. Many a meny evening had I 
 spent in the low, oak-paneled "gene- 
 ral room" of Tomerl's cottage when he 
 was still a gay young bachelor, and no 
 change had since been made in the as- 
 pect of the apartment. In one corner 
 stood the huge pile of pottery used for 
 heating the room, and round it were still 
 fixed the rows of wooden laths by means 
 of which I had so frequently dried my 
 soaking apparel. Running the whole 
 length of the room was a broad bench, 
 in front of which were placed two strong 
 tables ; and at one of these were seated, 
 at our entrance, two woodcutters, who 
 had heard of the intended expedition and 
 come to offer their help. They inform- 
 ed us that four more men engaged in 
 wood-felling in a forest an hour or so 
 
THE GOLDEN EAGLE AND HIS EYRIE. 
 
 275 
 
 distant would also be delighted to join 
 us, as they did at the close of their day's 
 work. 
 
 The evening was spent in discussing 
 the details of the approaching exploit and 
 getting our various arrangements and 
 implements in order. At nine o'clock, 
 leaving Tomerl and his wife their accus- 
 tomed bed on the top of the stove, the 
 rest of us retired to our common bed- 
 room, the hayloft. We were up again 
 by three, and an hour later were all 
 ready to start. Tomerl led the way, 
 but. stopped ere we lost sight of the cot- 
 tage to shout a last "jodler" to his wife, 
 who returned the greeting with a clear, 
 bell - like voice, though her heart was 
 doubtless beating fast under her smart- 
 ly-laced bodice. 
 
 Three hours later we had reached the 
 gorge, and after some difficult scram- 
 bling and wading through turbulent tor- 
 rents we arrived at the base of the Falk- 
 nerwand, which rises perpendicularly 
 upward of nine hundred feet — an alti- 
 tude diminished in appearance by the 
 tenfold greater height of the surrounding 
 mountains. Finding, after a few minutes' 
 close observation, that nothing could be 
 done from the base of the cliff, we pro- 
 ceeded to scale it by a circuitous route 
 up a practicable but nevertheless terribly 
 steep incline. Safely arrived at the top, 
 we threw down our burdens and began 
 to reconnoitre the terrain, which we did 
 ventre a terre, bending over the cliff as 
 far as we dared. Great was our dismay 
 to perceive that some eighty or ninety 
 feet below us a narrow rocky ledge, which 
 had escaped our notice when looking up 
 from the foot of the cliff, projected shelf- 
 wise from the face of the precipice, shut- 
 ting out all view of a crevice which we 
 had descried from the bottom, and which, 
 as we anticipated, contained the eyrie. 
 
 After consulting some time, we decided 
 to lower ourselves down to this rock- 
 band, and make it the base of our further 
 movements, instead of operating, as we 
 had intended, from the crest of the cliff, 
 where everything but for this obstacle 
 would have been tenfold easier. Post- 
 ing one of the men at the top of the 
 cliff to lower the heavy rope, three hun- 
 
 dred feet in length, by means of a cord, 
 we descended to the ledge, which was 
 nowhere more than three feet in width, 
 and in several places scarcely over a foot 
 and a half. Standing in a single row 
 on this miniature platform, we had to 
 manipulate the rope with a yawning gulf 
 some eight hundred feet in depth beside 
 us, and nothing to lay hold of for support 
 but the smooth face of the rock. 
 
 We began operations by driving a 
 strong iron hook into the solid rock, at 
 a point some two or three feet above the 
 ledge. Through this hook the rope was 
 passed, one end pendent over the cliff; 
 and to obviate the peril of its being fray- 
 ed and speedily severed by the sharp 
 outer edge of our platform, we rigged up 
 a block of wood with some iron stays 
 to serve as an immovable pulley. These 
 preparations completed, the men were 
 assigned to their respective positions. 
 Hansel and Tomerl, two renowned shots, 
 were to lie at full length, rifle in hand, 
 one at each end of the row, to act as my 
 guardian angels if I were surprised and 
 attacked by the old eagles while engaged 
 in the work of spoliation. The remain- 
 ing woodcutters, with the exception of 
 the one who had been left on the top of 
 the cliff, were placed in file along the 
 ledge to lower and raise the plank which 
 was to serve as my seat, and to which the 
 rope was securely fastened after being 
 passed through an iron ring attached to 
 my stout leathern girdle. A signal-line was 
 to hang at my side, and a hunting-knife, 
 a revolver, a strong canvas bag to hold 
 the booty, and an ashen pole iron-shod 
 at one end and provided with a strong 
 iron boathook at the other, completed 
 my equipment, each article of which had 
 undergone the strictest scrutiny before its 
 adoption. 
 
 Taking the pole from the hands of 
 Hansel, I let myself glide over the edge 
 of the cliff, and the next moment hung 
 in empty space. After being lowered 
 about eighty feet, I found myself on a 
 level with the crevice before mentioned, 
 and gave the preconcerted signal for ar- 
 resting my downward progress. Owing, 
 however, to a beetling crag or boulder 
 which overhung the recess, I was still at 
 
TT^f 
 
 276 
 
 THE GOLDEN EAGLE AND HIS EYRIE. 
 
 a distance of ten or twelve feet horizon- 
 tally from the goal. Fixing the boat- 
 hook into a convenient indentation of 
 the rock, I gradually pulled myself in 
 till I reached the face of the wall. Then 
 
 leaving the plank, I crawled up an in- 
 clined slab of rock which led to the ac- 
 tual crevice, until I was stopped by a bar- 
 rier of dry sticks about two feet in height. 
 Raising myself on my knees, I peered 
 
 "FIXING THi, BOA r HOOK IMO AN INDLNIAIION, I PULLED MYSELF IN." 
 
 
 into the oval -shaped eyrie, and saw 
 perched up at the farther side two splen- 
 did young golden eagles. 
 
 It is a very rare occurrence to find two 
 young eagles in one eyrie. These, though 
 only four or five weeks old, were formi- 
 dable birds, measuring considerably over 
 six feet in the span, and displaying beaks 
 
 and talons of imposing size. It took some 
 time to capture and pinion these power- 
 ful and refractory ornithological speci- 
 mens, whose loud, discordant screams 
 caused me several times to glance invol- 
 untarily over my shoulder at the strip of 
 horizon visible, to assure myself that the 
 old eagles were not swooping down to 
 
THE GOLDEN EAGLE AND HIS EYRIE. 
 
 277 
 
 the rescue, I was in the more haste to 
 leave the eyrie that the stench which em- 
 anated from the remains of numerous 
 victims strewn in and about it was some- 
 thing terrific. These rehcs, which I had 
 the curiosity to count, consisted of a half- 
 devoured carcass of a chamois, three 
 pairs of chamois' horns and the corre- 
 sponding bones of the animals, the skel- 
 eton of a goat picked clean, the remains 
 
 of an Alpine hare, and the head and 
 neck of a fawn. 
 
 The canvas bag being too small to 
 contain both the eaglets, I was obliged to 
 hang one of them to my belt, after tying 
 my handkerchief round his beak. The 
 game secured, I crept cautiously down 
 the slab to the plank, and fixing the hook 
 of my pole in the indentation of which I 
 had made use in drawing myself in, I gave 
 
 ^wojA^s^:^--'^-^!^'^'^ 
 
 ENTERING THE EYKIE. 
 
 the preconcerted two jerks with the sig- 
 nal-line. Now occurred the first of a 
 series of accidents which came near re- 
 sulting fatally to the whole party. Con- 
 trary to my strict injunctions, the men 
 hauling the rope gave a sudden and vio- 
 lent pull, wrenching the pole from my 
 grasp, and communicating to the plank 
 a motion like that of a pendulum, which 
 sent me flying out into space, with the 
 immediate prospect of being dashed by 
 
 the retrograde swing against the solid 
 wall of rock. Happily, I preserved my 
 presence of mind, and grasped instantly 
 the only chance of escape. Tilting my- 
 self back as far as the rope and the ring 
 on my belt allowed, and stretching out 
 my legs horizontally, I awaited the con- 
 tact. Haifa second later came a heavy 
 blow on the soles of my feet, the pain of 
 which ran through my whole frame like 
 the shock of a galvanic battery. Had il 
 
278 
 
 THE GOLDEN EAGLE AND HIS EYRIE. 
 
 been my head, the reader would prob- 
 ably never have been troubled with any 
 account of my sensations. As it was, 
 my feet, though protected by immensely 
 heavy iron-shod shoes, received a con- 
 cussion the effects of which continued to 
 be felt for weeks. 
 
 Almost at the moment of this incident 
 I had noticed a dark object shooting past 
 me, at so close a proximity that I dis- 
 tinctly heard the whistling sound as it 
 cleft the air. Supposing it to be a stone, 
 I gave it no further thought, and my at- 
 tention was presently occupied by a 
 sharp gash which the young eagle at 
 my belt managed to inflict on my left 
 thigh. It was not until I had stopped 
 the haemorrhage by strewing some grains 
 of powder into the wound that I per- 
 ceived with surprise that I was still sta- 
 tionary, instead of ascending, as in due 
 course I ought to have been. The boul- 
 der of rock projecting a few feet over 
 my head prevented any view of the 
 ledge, and my shouts inquiring the cause 
 of the delay received indistinct answers, 
 the words "patience" and "wait" being 
 the only intelligible ones. These might 
 have had a consoling influence but for 
 the fact that a thunderstorm — an occur- 
 rence of great frequency in the begin- 
 ning of summer in the High Alps — was 
 fast approaching, and my position was 
 one that exposed me to its full fury with- 
 out any possibility of escape. Ere long 
 it burst over my head, drenching me to 
 the skin in the first five minutes, while 
 the lightning played about me in every 
 direction, and terrific claps of thunder 
 followed each other at intervals of scarce- 
 ly a few seconds. What heightened the 
 danger as well as the absurdity of my 
 situation was the chance that one or 
 both of the old eagles might return at 
 any moment, under circumstances that 
 must render a struggle, if any ensued, a 
 most unequal one. Supposing my guards 
 to be still at their post, the distance of 
 the ledge was such as to make a shot at 
 a flying bird, large as it might be, any- 
 thing but a sure one ; and the tactics of 
 the golden eagle when defending its 
 home do not allow of any second at- 
 tempt. A speck is seen on the horizon. 
 
 and the next moment the powerful bird 
 is down with one fell swoop : a flap with 
 its strong wing and the unhappy victim 
 is stunned, and immediately ripped open 
 from the chest to his hip, while his skull 
 is cleft or fractured by a single blow 
 of the tremendous beak. Instances are, 
 however, known in which the cool and 
 self-possessed "pendant " has shot or cut 
 down his foe at the very instant of the 
 encounter. Happily, my own powers 
 were not put to so severe a test : the old 
 birds were that day far off, circling prob- 
 ably in majestic swoops over some dis- 
 tant valley or gorge. 
 
 I was forced, however, to be constant- 
 ly on the alert, and my impatience and 
 perplexity may be imagined as hours 
 elapsed and there were still no signs of 
 my approaching deliverance. The storm 
 had long since passed over, and dark- 
 ness was settling down when I again felt 
 a pull at the rope, and continued my 
 ascent, begun nearly four hours before. 
 It was of the utmost importance that 
 the whole party should regain the top of 
 the cliff before night had fairly set in. 
 I therefore deferred, on my arrival at 
 the ledge, all questions and rebukes till 
 we had gained a place of safety. The 
 heavy rope, fastened to the cord, was 
 hauled up by the man on the top, and 
 after it had been secured to a tree-stump 
 we swarmed up without loss of time. We 
 had still before us a somewhat perilous 
 scramble in the darkness down the steep 
 incline, but the exhaustion we had un- 
 dergone made it necessary that we should 
 first recruit our strength by means of the 
 food and bottle of " Schnapps " with which 
 we were fortunately provided. While we 
 were thus engaged I received from my 
 companions an account of the causes 
 of the perilous delay. 
 
 On receiving my signal they had begun 
 to haul, but after the first pull had felt a 
 sudden jerk, and perceived that the block, 
 supposed to have been securely fastened 
 at the edge of the platform, was gone. 
 They imagined at first that it had struck 
 and killed me, but my shouts soon ap- 
 prised them of ray safety. Fearing to 
 continue the process of hauling lest the 
 rope should be cut by the sharp-edged 
 
THE GOLDEN EAGLE AND HIS EYRIE. 
 
 279 
 
 stones, they informed the man on the 
 cliff of the mishap, and despatched him 
 to procure a second block. He accord- 
 ingly ran down the slope to the bottom 
 of the mountain, cut a young pine tree, 
 shaped a block, and was in the act of car- 
 rying it up when the storm burst forth, 
 and the lightning, playing around him in 
 vivid flashes, cleft and splintered a rock 
 weighing hundreds of tons that had stood 
 within thirty paces of him. He received 
 no injury except being thrown on the 
 ground and partially stunned by the ter- 
 rible concussion, but it was not till after a 
 considerable time that he was able to rise 
 and continue his ascent. Had he been 
 killed, our situation would have been a 
 most precarious one. There would have 
 been no possibility of regaining the cliff 
 without help, and as our party comprised 
 all the working force of the neighbor- 
 hood, and Tomerl's cottage was the only 
 dwelling within fifteen or twenty miles, 
 our chances of rescue would have been 
 extremely slight. 
 
 We reached the bottom of the moun- 
 tain as the upper part was beginning to 
 be lit by the rays of a full moon, and a 
 three hours' tramp brought us without 
 further mishap to the cottage. Moidel, 
 forewai'ned of our return by a series of 
 "jodlers," a sound which may challenge 
 competition as a joyful acclaim, had pre- 
 pared an ample supper ; and when To- 
 merl produced his well-tuned "zither," a 
 species of guitar producing simple but 
 soft and highly musical strains, the mirth 
 was at its height. Then followed songs 
 eulogistic of the life of the chamois-stalk- 
 er, who, "with his gun in his hand, a 
 chamois on his back and a girl in his 
 heart," has no cause to envy a king. A 
 dance called the " Schuhblatteln," in 
 which the art consists in touching the 
 soles of one's shoes with the palm of the 
 hand, finished our evening's amusement, 
 and we retired, rather worn out, just as 
 day was breaking. 
 
 After four hours' sleep we rose refresh- 
 ed and eager to examine our two cap- 
 tives. Attached to Tomerl's cottage was 
 a diminutive barn, from which we re- 
 moved the door, and nailing strong laths 
 across the aperture, managed to impro- 
 
 vise a large and roomy cage. A couple 
 of rabbits furnished a luxurious break- 
 fast, which was devoured with extraor- 
 dinary voracity. The hen-bird, as is the 
 case with all birds of prey, was consid- 
 erably larger and stronger than her bro- 
 ther, though the latter had the finer head 
 and eyes. 
 
 A week after their capture they were 
 "feathered" for the first time. This pro- 
 cess consists in pulling out the long down- 
 like plumes situated on the under side of 
 the strong tail-feathers. These plumes, 
 which, if taken from a full-grown eagle, 
 frequently measure seven or eight inches 
 in length, are highly prized by the Tyrol- 
 ese peasants, but still more by the in- 
 habitants of the neighboring Bavarian 
 Highlands, who do not hesitate to ex- 
 pend a month's wages in the purchase 
 of two or three with which to adorn their 
 hats or those of their buxom sweethearts. 
 The value of a crop of plumes varies 
 somewhat. Generally, however, an eagle 
 yields about forty florins' (^16) worth of 
 feathers per annum. 
 
 Six weeks after this incident I again 
 wended my steps into the secluded Bran- 
 denburg valley, and found the eagles 
 thriving and much grown. Being curious 
 to see if their confinement had subdued 
 their wild and ferocious spirit, I removed 
 one of the laths and entered the barn. 
 An angry hiss, similar to that of a snake, 
 warned me of danger, but too late to 
 save my hands some severe scratches. 
 With one bound and a flap of their gi- 
 gantic wings they were on me, and had 
 it not been for Tomerl, who was stand- 
 ing just behind me armed with a stout 
 cudgel, I should have paid dearly for my 
 incautious visit. 
 
 I know of no instance where human 
 skill has subdued in the slightest degree 
 the haughty spirit of the free-born golden 
 eagle. An untamable ferocity is the pre- 
 dominating characteristic of this noble 
 bird, more than of any other animal. 
 Circling majestically among the fleeting 
 clouds, he reigns lord paramount over 
 his vast domain, avoiding the sight and 
 resenting the approach of man. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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