A SCENE IN REAL LIFE. (continued 16)
Reading edition
Hamilton was so unused to hear Wordsworth quoted in any other tone than that of ridicule, or absurd parody, that he was amazed to hear his old tutor, whose taste he revered, not more from habit than experience of its correctness, repeat these lines with the enthusiasm of Catherine herself, and conclude them with a panegyric on their author, as having formed a new school in poetry, and finding
"Books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in ev'ry thing."
* * * * *
"Well, sir, what do you think of our daffodils?" said Mr. Neville, pointing to them exultingly, "are they not enough to inspire a poet?"
"I am not poet enough to answer the question," said Hamilton, "but I remember the eldest of poets says they make very good salads."
"Ah ha!" said Mr. Neville, "I am glad you have not forgotten old Hesiod—but, however, I did not think of getting into Greek when I quoted Wordsworth."
"Nor I of hearing anything like common sense spring out of a quotation from him," said Hamilton. "Not but that all he says may be very fine, but I am of another school—I am a Byronian—he is the only man that is read in Town—those Lakeists that go and make faces at themselves on the waveless waters, and then run home to put their reflections upon paper, are quite outvoted now; even the ladies never think of them."
"No, I suppose not," said Mr. Neville, "any more than they would think of seeing hay-makers in their verandas, or a sheep-shearing in their drawings-rooms. But 'the children of darkness are wiser in their generation than the children of light,' and he who sings of nothing but lawless crimes, and sated vices, does wisely to address his song to the inhabitants of an overgrown and luxurious metropolis."
"Yes, yes; he is sure enough of sympathy, plenty of dancing daffodils there,—only of rather an opposite species. What do you say, Miss Neville, do you like the titled Bard?"
"Quite well enough, as a poet, to wish he had made choice of better subjects. Edward Longcroft says he has in him a fragment of almost every other poet's distinguishing excellence, but unfortunately his own genius is only a fragment itself, and, therefore, he produces nothing but fragments after all."
"Very wise in Mr. Longcroft—I dare say he could prove every thing he says most mathematically; but I fancy he will find the generality of his acquaintance admire diamond sparks more than brick-bats—though one is only a part, and the other a whole."
"Very good! very good!" said Mr. Neville, "but who have we here?" he added, as he looked towards the little gate. "Ah ha! here he is himself—now we can have diamond sparks versus brick-bats, as long as you like, and see who has the better of the argument."
A matter-of-fact-man is well portrayed in the following:
"Henry Barton," said she to herself, "is a good creature, as ever was born; and he has great merit, too, in cultivating his mind so sedulously, surrounded as he is only by the clodpoles his father has brought him up amongst. But, after all, he is such a mere matter-of-fact-man, that one soon tires of him—he tells one an anecdote just as he reads it, and there's an end of it. And then he moralizes, too, in such a common-place way, and wonders how the Romans could degenerate so as to suffer themselves to be conquered by the Goths, and finds out that it was an abominable thing in Henry VIII to cut off his wives' heads, and not much better in Queen Elizabeth to sign Essex's death warrant. There is no play of imagination about him—no whim, no wit—he would as soon think of launching a man of war, as maintaining a paradox."
The subjoined sentiment is beautifully expressed:
"Ah, is there any happiness like that of the affections! from the soul-absorbing influence of individual love, through all the endearing gradations of natural ties, and selected friends, down to the generalized claims of our fellow-creatures: it will ever be found that all our real enjoyments are solid only as the feelings of the heart are connected with them; and long after the traces of external objects may be effaced from the memory, the kindly sentiments and participated feelings, with which they may have been connected, remain indelible in the interior recesses of the breast, which they fill with a sweet indistinctness of recollected enjoyment."
And how much truth in Catherine's criticism of Byron:
"I cannot feel the beauties of any poetry whatsoever," said Catherine, "when I think the poet has no feeling himself—I have admired many passages in Lord Byron's earlier works, even to enthusiasm; but when I came to his most unfeeling mockery of the agonizing sympathies he had raised in his description of a storm, by the odious levity with which he concludes it, I closed the book, and never read another page of his writing. I thought of it ever after as of those monstrosities in painting, of beautiful heads, and cloven feet, and it inspired me with the same disgust."
North American Review, No. LXXXVIII: July 1835.—The last number of this periodical contains several admirable articles. We subjoin a list of its contents:
Art. I. A Tour on the Prairies, by the author of the Sketch Book.—II. The American Almanac for the year 1835.—III. Memoirs of Casanova.—IV. Machiavelli.—V. Life and Character of William Roscoe.—VI. Mrs. Butler's Journal.—VII. Dunlap's History of the Arts.—VIII. Slavery; an Appeal in favor of that Class of Americans called Africans, by Mrs. Child.—IX. Audubon's Biography of Birds.-X. Webster's Speeches.
The first article is a noble eulogy on the genius of Washington Irving, well according with the merits of the writer, and the honest pride which every American feels in the possession of such a luminary in our native literature. Great as has been the praise lavished upon his works, we feel with the reviewer that full justice has not as yet been accorded them—and it is with pleasure we perceive that the world at large is becoming more alive to his merits. The following rapid glance at the various triumphs of his genius, will be read with a general concurrence in its truth:
"Compare him," says the reviewer, "with any of the distinguished writers of his class of this generation, excepting Sir Walter Scott, and with almost any of what are called the English classics of any age. Compare him with Goldsmith, one of the canonized names of the British pantheon of letters, who touched every kind of writing, and adorned every kind that he touched. In one or two departments, it is true, that of poetry and the drama—departments which Mr. Irving has not attempted, and in which much of Goldsmith's merit lies—the comparison partly fails; but place their pretensions, in every other respect, side by side. Who would think of giving the miscellaneous writings of Goldsmith a preference over those of Irving, and who would name his historical compositions with the Life of Columbus? If in the drama and in poetry Goldsmith should seemed to have extended his province greatly beyond that of Irving, the Life of Columbus is a chef d'oeuvre in a department which Goldsmith can scarcely be said to have touched; for the trifles on Grecian and Roman history, which his poverty extorted from him, deserve to enter into comparison with Mr. Irving's great work, about as much as Eutropius deserves to be compared with Livy. Then how much wider Irving's range in that department, common to both the painting of manners and character! From Mr. Irving we have the humors of cotemporary politics and every-day life in America—the traditionary peculiarities of the Dutch founders of New York—the nicest shades of the school of English manners of the last century—the chivalry of the middle ages in Spain—the glittering visions of Moorish romance—a large cycle of sentimental creations, founded on the invariable experience—the pathetic sameness of the human heart—and lastly, the whole unhackneyed freshness of the West—life beyond the border—a camp outside the frontier—a hunt on buffalo ground, beyond which neither white nor Pawnee, man nor muse, can go. This is Mr. Irving's range, and in every part of it he is equally at home. When he writes the history of Columbus, you see him weighing doubtful facts in the scales of a golden criticism. You behold him, laden with the manuscript treasures of well-searched archives, and disposing the heterogeneous materials into a well-digested and instructive narration. Take down another of his volumes, and you find him in the parlor of an English country inn, of a rainy day, and you look out of the window with him upon the dripping, dreary desolation of the back yard. Anon he takes you into the ancestral hall of a baronet of the old school, and instructs you in the family traditions, of which the memorials adorn the walls, and depend from the rafters. Before you are wearied with the curious lore, you are in pursuit of Kidd, the pirate, in the recesses of Long Island; and by the next touch of the enchanter's wand, you are rapt into an enthusiastic reverie of the mystic East, within the crumbling walls of the Alhambra. You sigh to think you were not born six hundred years ago, that you could not have beheld those now deserted halls, as they once blazed in triumph, and rang with the mingled voices of oriental chivalry and song,—when you find yourself once more borne across the Atlantic, whirled into the western wilderness, with a prairie wide as the ocean before you, and a dusky herd of buffaloes, like the crowded convoy of fleeing merchantmen, looming in the horizon, and inviting you to the chase. This is literally nullum fere genus scribendi non tigit nullum quod titigit non ornviit. Whether anything like an equal range is to be found in the works of him on whom the splendid compliment was first bestowed, it is not difficult to say."
The articles on Machiavelli, and on the life of Roscoe, are both excellent in their way. The former has particular attractions, as it is a luminous disquisition on the character and writings of one who for ages was an enigma in the political and intellectual world, whose works, like those of Dante and Faust, have been interpreted by opposing critics in the most conflicting manner, and whose name, error and prejudice handed down from century to century, have rendered synonymous with all that is crafty and corrupt in the art of government.
The notice of Mrs. Butler's work is the best we have seen. The reviewer performs his task with redoubtable good humor. The gentleness with which he calls the lady to account for her literary offences, and the hearty tribute of praise he bestows on the best portions of her work, show that he is determined to
"Be to her faults a little blind, And to her merits very kind."
But the review of Mrs. Child's ill-judged appeal on the subject of slavery, has for us a more powerful attraction than any in the number. It is not possible that we should be witnesses of the momentous occurrences of the day, and not feel most sensitively every reference to a topic in the discussion of which all that we love and reverence is involved. The impatient zeal of pretending enthusiasts, who in the pursuit of what to them seems good, disregard the frightful evils which their blind impetuosity may produce, cannot but awaken in those upon whom these evils must fall, a trembling anxiety for the future, and an indignant resentment against the madmen who are blindly jeoparding the peace of the country and the lives of thousands. We cannot trust our feelings upon this subject. We see too clearly the horrors in perspective, which fanaticism is preparing for us, and we humbly hope that the results of its insane excess, may be averted. The reviewer in the North American, thinks and feels correctly on this subject, and we regret that we can only make room for the closing passages of his remarks:
"That we must be rid of slavery at some day, seems to be the decided conviction of almost every honest mind. But when or how this is to be, God only knows. If in a struggle for this end the Union should be dissolved, it needs not the gift of prophecy to foresee that our country will be plunged into that gulf which in the language of another, 'is full of the fire and the blood of civil war, and of the thick darkness of general political disgrace, ignominy, and ruin.'
"There is much error upon this as well as other subjects, to be corrected, before the public can act deliberately or wisely in relation to it. It is too common to associate with the slave-holder the character of the slave-merchant. And we regret to see the abolitionist of the day seizing upon the cruelties and abuses of power by a few slave-owners in regard to their slaves, in order to excite odium against slave-holders as a class. This is alike unreasonable and unjust. Very many of them are deeply solicitous to free the country of this alarming evil, but no feasible means by which this is to be accomplished has yet been offered for their adoption. Such denunciations are no better than the anathemas of fanaticism, and ought to be discountenanced by every well wisher of his country. The subject of slavery is one, in regard to which, more than almost any other, there are clouds and darkness upon the future destinies of these states. It is one upon which all think and feel more or less acutely, and it is moreover one upon which all may be called upon to act. It is, therefore, we repeat, with regret that we see intellects like that of Mrs. Child, and pens like hers, which may be otherwise so agreeably and beneficially employed, diverted from their legitimate spheres of action, and employed in urging on a cause so dangerous to the union, domestic peace, and civil liberty, as the immediate emancipation of the slaves at the South."
American Republication of Foreign Quarterlies.—The London, Edinburg and Westminster Reviews for April, 1835, have been republished by Mr. Foster, in his cheap and valuable series of periodicals. The Edinburg Review contains an article on American Poetry, in the course of which a general glance at the literature of this country is taken; and a more favorable opinion expressed of its achievements than that work has hitherto entertained. This fact is worthy of remark, when it is recollected that the taunting query, "Who reads an American book?" emanated from that journal not many years since. The most attractive articles in the Westminster, are those upon "Lucy Aiken's Court of Charles II," and "Dunlop's Memoirs of Spain." To us, an article in the Quarterly on "Maria, or Slavery in the United States, a picture of American Manners, by Gustave de Beaumont, one of the authors of a work on the Penitentiary System in the United States"1—"The Stranger in America, by F. Leiber," and "New England and her Institutions, by one of her sons," is the most attractive in the April number. The work of M. de Beaumont has not, as we have heard, been translated or republished in this country. His views of our manners and institutions are exhibited in the form of a novel, which the Quarterly declares to possess considerable interest, and to display in parts a large share of the true genius of romance, notwithstanding that the incidents are few and the commentaries copious. The author declares in a preface, that "though his personages are fictitious, every trait of character has been sketched from the life, and that almost every incident in his tale may be depended on as a fact that had fallen under his own observation." The reviewer is somewhat scandalized at the author's avowal of "his belief that the democratic system of government, as now established in America, is the best machinery that ever was invented for developing the political independence and happiness of mankind," and endeavors to show that M. de Beaumont's strictures upon our manners and condition (and he cannot be charged with undue lenity in his censure) are inconsistent with that avowal. The reviewer makes copious extracts from the work, which show that the author is disposed to censure severely the condition of the colored population in this country, without a fair consideration of the circumstances which produced it. But we can scarcely judge of the book from the extracts in the review, which are probably the most unfavorable that could be found, as the reviewer displays a strong desire to draw from the opinions of the French author, support for the assertions of English travellers.
1 "Marie, ou l'Esclavage aux Etas-Unis, Tableau de Moeurs Americaines par Gustave de Beaumont, l'un des Auteurs de l'ouvrage intitulé Du Systeme Pénitentiare aux Etas-Unis."
MY LIFE, by the author of Tales of Waterloo, &c. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1835.
This is the production of a lively and spirited writer. He describes skirmishes, onslaughts and battles, with the familiarity of one who has not seldom taken a part in such actions—traces the Irish character with great fidelity, and best of all, his book abounds in humorous incidents. The contre-pieds between the hero and his cousin, "Jack the Devil," are admirably detailed. Jack is a rare specimen of the Wild Irishman, and we have seldom been more amused than we were with the history of the scrapes in which he involved himself and his cousin. The battle of Waterloo is sketched briefly, but with a graphic pen. The last struggle of that day, when Ney led the Old Guard to the charge, and the description of the "field red with slaughter," after the work of death had concluded, give evidence of the painting of an eye-witness.
BELFORD REGIS, or Sketches of a Country Town, by Miss Mitford. Philadelphia: Carey, Lea & Blanchard. 1835.
Like "Our Village," these are delightful productions, abounding with wholesome satire of folly and prejudice, and displaying in strong relief the humble virtues of retired life. Some of the characters are conceptions of great loveliness, and many of the scenes are wrought with most pathetic effect. The story of Hester is admirable. We have seldom dwelt with more delighted interest over a picture of juvenile virtue and self-devotion.
EDITORIAL REMARKS.
We have but a few words to offer upon the contents of the present number. Generally they must speak for themselves; but in regard to others we may be permitted a passing comment.
No. II of the Dissertation on the characteristic differences between the sexes, sustains the high character of the first number. And although the branch of the subject—Religious Differences—which the author has discussed in the present number, seems to promise little amusement for the general reader, it will be found upon perusal, to have been so ingeniously treated, so beautifully illustrated, that even he who entirely eschews polemics, will be edified and delighted. It was upon this point that we felt the most solicitude for the success of the writer, for there is no part of his subject so difficult to manage, or in which he was so liable to fall below the expectations of his readers. But he has overcome its difficulties, and presents us with a disquisition, entirely free from the narrowness of sectarian views, and deeply grounded in the philosophy of the human mind. His view of the religion of woman is accurate and beautiful,—her proneness to lean on the strength of a more powerful being, her confiding nature, her facility in believing where man cavils and doubts, and the tendency of her religious sentiments to degenerate into superstition, contrasted with the besetting evils of man's religious faith—bigotry and fanaticism—are admirably portrayed. His illustration of this contrast is clear and convincing, whilst his style throughout is easy and attractive. He seems to have drawn the true inspiration from his subject, and is doubtless a believer in the doctrine of the ingenious Biron—
"From woman's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain, and nourish all the world; Else, none at all in aught proves excellent."
Grayson Griffith is a religious story. We approve of the moral, as a matter of course—who will not? But we do not come quite up to the writer's standard of perfection, for we candidly confess we cannot see the germs of perdition in a social game of whist; and while we detest gambling and gamblers, the proscription of amusements innocent in themselves, because some remote analogy may be traced between them and practices at once immoral and every way destructive, seems to us irreconcileable with sound logic or true philosophy. The attempt to trace the vices of men to early habitudes is not always successful, as the power of good or evil impressions over the mind and habits, is essentially modified by the character of each individual. Besides, accident often determines the destinies of men, so far as we can see, in very spite of every previous tendency. We doubt, for instance, whether the fascinations of the faro-table would not have been as great to Grayson if he had never seen a card, as they proved to be, as related in the story. But we are getting into the discussion of a question which requires more time and space than we have to spare.
The "Letter on the United States, by a Young Scotchman," is generally amusing; but some of the passages in it strike us with surprise. He tells us that, "although the Americans are great novel readers, there is too much matter-of-fact about them; they are too calculating and money-making [this from a Scotchman!] to serve the purposes of the novelist. They form but indifferent heroes and heroines of romance, and hence Cooper is obliged to resort to the sea to rake up pirates and smugglers, or to go back to the revolution or the early settlement of his country to find characters and incidents calculated to give verisimilitude and interest to his tales." This seems to us hasty and jejune criticism. Cooper was not, as we know, "obliged" to rake up pirates and smugglers; but as this writer has told us in the ninth number of the Messenger, "He (Cooper) had been for some years an officer in the American Navy, where he acquired a knowledge of all the minutiæ of nautical life, which was of great service to him in the composition of some of his tales. These are justly considered as his best"—and he might have added, are written with power peculiar to Cooper, of whom it may truly be said:
"His march is on the mountain wave His home is on the deep."
And well would it have been for his fame had he never abandoned his proper element. On shore he generally makes as awkward a figure as one of his nautical heroes would do, after a voyage, before he had gotten rid of his "sea legs." We have read Cooper's last, the Monikins, but at too late a period to allow a regular notice of it in this number. En passant, however, we must say that it is an entire failure—vapid, pointless, and inane. It appears to be an attempted satire on mankind, a bungling imitation of Swift's account of the Houynhmins, Mr. Cooper's monkies are a tedious race, and his Yankee captain, "Noah Poke," the principal interlocutor, as the lawyers would term him, is little better. We believe that all who have read this work, will agree, that the sooner its author is "obliged" to take again to salt water, and "rake up pirates and smugglers," the better it will be for his own reputation, and the purses of his booksellers.
In regard to the poetry of this number, we must content ourselves with drawing attention to the pathetic effusion "on the Deaf, Dumb and Blind Girl."
TO CORRESPONDENTS.
Many favors have been again unavoidably postponed. The communication of Scriblerus exhibits talent, and is written well, but is not adapted to the pages of the Messenger. The writer would doubtless succeed upon other subjects, and we invite him to make the experiment. "A fragment of the thirteenth century," has held us in doubt for some days; but we have finally decided upon its exclusion. We are not better pleased with the poetry of Timandi, than with his prose.
The quantity of rhyme poured in upon us, is indeed a matter of admiration. The effusions which we consign to outer darkness monthly, are past enumeration. Such, for instance, as one containing the following lines, and which purports to be "copyed from a young ladies Album"—
Miss E—— we have oftimes met before And—we may—meet no more What shall I say at parting Many years have run their race Since first I saw your face Around this gay and giddy place Sweet smiles and blushes darting.
SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.
VOL. I.] RICHMOND, AUGUST 1835. [NO. 12.
T. W. WHITE, PRINTER AND PROPRIETOR. FIVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
SKETCHES OF THE HISTORY
And Present Condition of Tripoli, with some accounts of the other Barbary States.
No. VII.
Events of great importance had also occurred in Algiers, by which this ancient stronghold of piracy was stripped of its terrors, and its impotence fully demonstrated.
The resources of this state were even more severely affected by the wars of Europe, than those of Tunis and Tripoli, as it depended less than either of them upon native industry for support. A Pasha of Algiers, who wished to retain his throne and consequently his life, was forced to keep his troops engaged in wars from which they might individually derive profit; to increase their pay at the expense of the public treasury was ineffectual, and he who attempted thus to win their favor was soon despised and overthrown. They required the excitement of contests and plunder, and bread not won at the dagger's point seems to have had no relish with them. In 1805, these desperadoes murdered their Dey Mustapha, only because he was of too peaceable a disposition. Under Achmet his successor, they had a war with Tunis, but it was conducted in a very languid manner, for no plunder could be expected.
The United States continued to pay the enormous annual tribute which had been stipulated in the treaty of 1796, but not punctually. The little respect which was paid to neutral rights at that period by France and England, rendered the transmission of the naval stores composing the tribute difficult and unsafe, and this was the reason always alleged by the American Consul in accounting for the delay; but it was also in a great measure intentional, from the idea on which the other nations tributary to Algiers acted, that by thus remaining always in arrears, the fear of losing the whole sum due, would render the Dey less inclined to make any sudden depredations on their commerce. A strict adherence to engagements voluntarily entered into, would have been perhaps the better, and certainly much the more dignified course, as the Dey would have found it to his interest to conciliate those who paid so regularly.
Whilst the American squadron remained in the Mediterranean, these excuses were listened to without many signs of impatience, but on its departure Achmet raised his tone, and after threatening for some time, he at length in the latter part of 1807 sent out his cruisers with orders to seize American vessels, informing Mr. Lear at the same time, that this was not to be considered as a hostile proceeding, and should not disturb the peace between the two countries.
The Algerine cruisers took three American vessels, of which two were brought into port and condemned; the crew of the third the schooner Mary Anne, rose upon their captors, killed four of them, and having set the remaining four adrift in a boat, carried the vessel safe into Naples. As soon as the Dey received the news of this, he ordered the American Consul instantly to pay sixteen thousand dollars as satisfaction for the lives of his eight subjects. Mr. Lear endeavored to obtain a delay until he could receive the orders of his government; but he was threatened with imprisonment, and a number of ships of war were ready to sail for the purpose of plundering American vessels; he therefore, after a formal protest, paid the sixteen thousand dollars for the Algerines killed, as well as the whole amount of the tribute then due.
Shortly after this occurrence, on the 7th of November, 1808, the Turkish soldiery revolted, and having killed Achmet, placed in his stead Ali the keeper of a small mosque. What were their reasons for such a choice cannot be stated, but the expectations of the Turks seem not to have been fulfilled; for on the 4th of March, 1809, they quietly took their sovereign to the common house of correction, and there strangled him. They then raised to the throne a decrepid old man named Hadji Ali, whose character was much more conformable with their wishes, for he proved to be one of the most energetic, as well as most ferocious tyrants ever known even in Algiers. He determined to revive the old glory of his state, and again to offer to all Christian nations the alternative of war or tribute.
Great Britain and France were at that time the only commercial nations at peace with Algiers and paying no fixed tribute, yet they vied with each other in the richness of their presents, which were made with great regularity on all public occasions. Great Britain too, passively encouraged the piratical propensity of the Algerines, by allowing them to plunder and carry off the miserable inhabitants of the territories which were occupied by her troops and at least nominally under her protection, while France and the countries subject to or in alliance with her, were secure from such depredations. The British did more; for in 1810,—when neutral commerce had been extinguished, and the resources of Algiers were in consequence almost cut off, as neither could tribute be sent nor compensation be obtained for it by piracy—at this conjuncture two large ships and a brig entered the harbor, laden with warlike munitions, the whole sent as a present to the Dey from the government of Great Britain. Seventy thousand dollars were soon after received through the agency of the same government from Spain, in satisfaction for a pretended injury committed by a Spanish vessel.
By the aid of this timely supply, Hadji Ali was enabled to fit out a respectable naval force, which under the command of the Rais Hamida a daring and skilful corsair, sailed for the coast of Portugal, and for some time continued to insult and plunder the vessels of that wretched kingdom; this too, at a period when its fortresses were held by British troops, and its harbors filled with British ships of war.
At the commencement of 1812, it was almost certain that war would soon take place between the United States and Great Britain; in expectation of this, it was important to the latter power to raise up as many enemies as possible to the Americans, and to deprive them of places of refuge for their vessels. It was principally with this object, that an Envoy was sent to the Barbary States; and he was made the bearer of a letter from the Prince Regent to the Dey, containing an offer of alliance, with the obligation on the part of Great Britain to protect Algiers against all its enemies, on condition of the observance of existing treaties between the two nations. The Envoy, Mr. A'Court,1 was a man well calculated for carrying into effect the objects for which he was chosen, and he here first gave proofs of those talents which have since raised him to exalted stations in his country. He soon acquired great influence over the savage Turk; he demonstrated to him the designs and advances of Napoleon towards universal dominion, and made him tremble for the safety of his own Regency. On the other hand, he exhibited the mighty naval power of Great Britain, and endeavored to convince the Dey, that he could only escape the fate of the greater part of the European sovereigns, by seconding her efforts in resisting the insatiable conqueror. The United States were represented as the allies of France, possessing an extensive commerce, but having no naval force to protect it.
1 Now Lord Haytesbury.
These views were confirmed by the assurances of the Jewish merchants, who conducted nearly all the outward trade of Algiers, and who were generally consulted on points of foreign policy. A truce was in consequence obtained for Sicily, the captives from that island being however retained in slavery. A peace was also negotiated between Algiers and Portugal, the latter agreeing to pay a large sum immediately, and a heavy annual tribute in future. However, the Dey could not be led to declare war against the dreaded Emperor of France, although he had no objection to a quarrel with the United States, conceiving that it might be made very profitable, either by depredations on their commerce, or by obtaining an increase of their tribute. He gave the first hint of his intentions to the American Consul, by sending him the Prince Regent's letter, under pretence of requesting a translation of it into Italian, but really for the purpose of inducing him to bid higher for the friendship of Algiers. No notice being taken of this, he became more insolent in his demands and threats.
At length, on the 17th of July, 1812, the ship Alleghany arrived at Algiers, laden with naval and military stores, which were sent to the Dey and Regency by the United States, according to the terms of the treaty of 1796. The Dey at first expressed his entire satisfaction with what was sent, and a part of the cargo was landed; a few days after, the Minister of Marine informed the American Consul, that his master had been much astonished on examining the lists of the articles, to find that several of them were not in such quantities as he had required, and also that some cases containing arms had been landed at Gibraltar, for the Emperor of Morocco; that he considered the latter circumstance as an insult to himself, and he would not, therefore, receive any part of the cargo of the ship. Mr. Lear endeavored to show that the value of the articles sent, was more than equal to the amount due by the United States, and that if this were true, the Dey should not complain if a part of the cargo originally shipped were destined for another purpose.
In reply to this a new demand was made. By the treaty of 1796 the United States engaged to pay, "annually to the Dey the value of twelve thousand Algerine sequins (21,000 dollars) in maritime stores," and payment to this amount had been made for each year since 1796. The Dey now contended that the time should have been counted by the Mahometan calendar which gives only 354 days to the year, and that consequently the United States owed him arrears of tribute for six months, to which the differences between the Mahometan and Christian years since 1796, when added together would amount. Against this novel demand, the Consul remonstrated and protested in vain; he was ordered to pay the whole sum due immediately in cash, the stores offered as tribute not being receivable, otherwise he would be sent in chains to prison, the Americans in Algiers be made slaves, the Alleghany with her cargo be confiscated, and war be declared against the United States. With such a prospect before him, the Consul could only pay the money, which was effected through the agency of the Jewish mercantile house of Bacri. As soon as this was done, the Consul and all the Americans were commanded to quit Algiers immediately; they accordingly embarked in the Alleghany for Gibraltar, where they arrived on the 4th of August.
Orders were then given by the Dey to his cruisers to take American vessels; but the apprehension of war with Great Britain had caused most of them to leave the Mediterranean, and the only prize made by the Algerines, was a small brig the Edwin of Salem.
Information of these outrageous acts was officially communicated to Congress by President Madison on the 17th of November, 1812; but war had been declared by the United States against Great Britain, and the American flag was not seen in the Mediterranean until 1815, in which year ample satisfaction was obtained for the indignities which it had suffered from Algiers.
In 1814 Hadji Ali was murdered, and his Prime Minister was invested with the sovereign authority; within a fortnight afterwards, the latter underwent the fate of his predecessor, and Omar the Aga or commander of the forces was made Pasha. Napoleon had by this time been overcome, and a congress of European potentates and ministers was assembled at Vienna, engaged in regulating the affairs of that portion of the world, which circumstances had placed under their control. To this congress a memorial was presented by the celebrated Sir Sidney Smith, the object of which was the formation of a naval and military force, by means of contingents furnished and supported by the nations most interested, for the purpose of protecting commerce and abolishing piracy in the Mediterranean. It was declared that the Ottoman Porte would willingly contribute to the attainment of this end, and that Tunis was also disposed to relinquish its unlawful attacks upon the commerce of Christian nations, provided it were sure of protection against the other two states of Barbary.
This romantic proposition seems to have engaged but little the attention of the congress, and a petition of the Knights of Malta for a restoration of their island was equally disregarded. Sir Sidney's plan was impracticable, and the Knights of St. John could never have seriously imagined that Great Britain would give up such a possession as Malta on considerations of doubtful philanthropy; they probably only hoped for some individual indemnification. No question concerning the Barbary States indeed seems to have been debated at the Congress of Vienna; the execution of any plan respecting them, must have depended on the approval of Great Britain, the commerce of which being secure from interruption, she had no interest in the suppression of these pirates.
Attempts had been made on the part of the United States, to obtain the liberation of the crew of the Edwin and of some other Americans who were held captive in Algiers; but Hadji Ali refused to part with them for any sum that would probably be offered, his object being to increase the number of his captives, in order to compel a renewal of the treaty on terms still more favorable to himself than those of the convention of 1796. Omar, who was a much more rational being than Hadji Ali, would probably have acceded to these offers, but they were not again proposed; no sooner were the difficulties between the United States and Great Britain arranged by the Treaty of Ghent, than the former power made preparations to rescue its citizens from slavery by force, and to punish the Algerines for the outrages committed in 1812.
A squadron consisting of three frigates, a sloop, a brig and three schooners, was fitted out and sent under Commodore Stephen Decatur to the Mediterranean, which sea it entered on the 14th of June, 1815. The Dey had already been notified of its approach by a British frigate, which appears to have been despatched for this purpose to Algiers; but the warning was disregarded, for his ships were all sent out, and no measures were taken by him to put the city in a state of defence.
On arriving at Gibraltar, the American Commodore received information that several Algerine ships were in the vicinity, and he immediately sailed in pursuit of them. On the 17th, the frigate Guerriere Decatur's flag ship overtook near Cape de Gatte the Algerine frigate Mazouda, commanded by the famous Rais Hamida; after a short action the Mazouda was taken, Hamida and thirty of his crew being killed. On the 19th an Algerine brig of twenty-two guns was also captured and sent into the port of Carthagena, in Spain; on the 28th the American squadron appeared before Algiers, and proposed to the astounded Dey the terms on which he might obtain peace with the United States.
Confounded at the loss of his ships and the death of his daring Admiral, and dreading that the rest of his cruisers which were out, might fall into the hands of the Americans, Omar at once assented to the terms proposed, and a treaty was signed on the 30th of June, 1815. By its terms all the American prisoners were instantly to be surrendered without ransom, indemnification being made for their injuries and losses, and for all the seizures of American property in 1812; the Americans on their part, surrendering without ransom all their prisoners. No demands for tribute, under any name or form, were ever after to be made by Algiers on the United States; all American citizens taken on board the vessels of any other country, were to be set at liberty and their property to be restored as soon as their citizenship should be proved; vessels of either party were to be protected in the ports, or within cannon shot of the forts of the other, and no enemy's vessel was to be allowed to leave a port of one country in pursuit of a vessel of the other, until twenty-four hours after the sailing of the latter; with many other provisions highly favorable to the United States. The American commander promised to restore to the Dey, the frigate and brig which he had taken, and the frigate was in consequence immediately given up; the brig was for some time detained by the authorities at Carthagena, on the pretence that it had been captured within the jurisdiction of Spain.
The peace being thus made, and the stipulations of the treaty complied with as far as possible, Mr. William Shaler was installed as Consul General of the United States for the Barbary Regencies, and the squadron sailed on the eighth of July for Tunis, where its presence was required by circumstances which it will be necessary to detail.
During the great European war, the armed ships of France and England were in the habit of conducting their prizes into the Barbary ports and there selling them; a number of American vessels were indeed thus disposed of by the French, under the infamous Decrees of Berlin and Milan. The British Government, not content with this species of neutrality, sent Admiral Freemantle with a squadron to Tunis and Tripoli, and thus obtained from each of these powers, an engagement not to suffer any of the belligerents on the other side, to bring British vessels as prizes into its ports. After the declaration of war by the United States against Great Britain, no American armed vessel had ventured to pass the Streights of Gibraltar, until December 1814, when the privateer brig Abællino, from Boston, commanded by W. F. Wyer, entered the Mediterranean and took a number of prizes, some of which were sent into Tunis and Tripoli.
On the arrival of the first of these prizes at Tunis, Mr. Noah, the American Consul, at the request of the master, applied to the Bey for permission to sell her and her cargo. Mahmoud in reply showed him the engagement with Great Britain, which forbade his granting such a license; and the British Consul threatened, in case it were allowed, to send to Sicily for a squadron, in order to avenge this infraction of the treaty with his country. License to sell the vessel was however obtained by Mr. Noah, and she was accordingly disposed of with her cargo, Prince Mustapha the Bey's youngest son, contriving by fraud and by force, to become the purchaser of the greater part of the cargo, at very reduced prices.
Information of this having been conveyed to Admiral Penrose, who commanded the British naval forces on the Sicily Station, he sent a ship of the line and two brigs of war to Tunis, with a letter to the Bey, enjoining him to arrest the sale of the prize, and to forbid admission to others in future. With the latter requisition Mahmoud declared his readiness to comply; and two other prizes having soon after been sent in by Captain Wyer, he permitted the British to take possession of them, although they were at the time actually at anchor under the guns of the Goletta fortress. The vessels were immediately carried to Malta, where they were restored to their original owners, the prize crews being retained as prisoners.2
2 It may be proper here to observe, that although the treaty of peace between the United States and Great Britain, had been signed at Ghent on the 24th December 1814, and ratified at Washington on the 17th of February 1815, yet a space of forty days after the ratification was allowed by the terms of that treaty, during which all prizes taken by either party in the Mediterranean, were to be retained; and hostilities were in fact continued in that sea until the 29th of March.
Mr. Noah protested against these proceedings, as being contrary not only to the general principles of national law, but also expressly to the terms of the tenth article of the treaty between the United States and Tunis, which stipulates that "the vessels of either party if attacked by an enemy under the cannon of the forts of the other party, shall be defended as much as possible;" he at the same time gave notice to the Bey, that he would be required to make indemnification for the prizes which he had thus suffered to be carried off. Mahmoud, who had not had so much experience with regard to the customs and institutions of the Franks as had been acquired by Hamouda, could not comprehend this; he offered to intercede for the restoration of the vessels, and plainly told the Consul that if the captain of the Abællino chose to cut out two British merchant vessels which were then lying in the harbor, no attempt would be made to obstruct him.
Things were in this state on the 20th of July, when the American squadron arrived at Tunis from Algiers. The Bey was instantly required to pay forty-six thousand dollars, at which the two prizes which had been carried off were estimated; he of course refused, endeavored to evade the demand, and finally threatened resistance. But he had by this time been fully informed of what had taken place at Algiers, and the martial appearance and determined bearing of Decatur, who treated with him personally, not a little contributed to intimidate him; under these circumstances he thought it expedient to yield, and paid the money on the 31st, making some remarks on the occasion, which clearly showed that he had been encouraged by the British Consul to persevere in resisting the demand.
As soon as this business was concluded, Decatur sailed with his whole force for Tripoli, where he arrived on the 10th of August. Into this port the Abællino had carried two prizes; shortly after their entrance, the British armed brig Paulina with another vessel of war entered the harbor, and retook the prizes, the commander of the Paulina at the same time declaring his intention to pursue the Abællino if she should leave the place. This was done immediately under the castle walls, without any attempt at interference on the part of the Pasha. The American Consul, Mr. Jones, instantly requested Yusuf to cause the vessels to be restored, intimating that in case they were not, the Pasha would be compelled to pay for them himself; the Consul also demanded, that measures should be taken, in compliance with the tenth article of the treaty, to retain the British ships of war in the harbor, twenty-four hours after the sailing of the Abællino, which was about to put to sea. To both these demands Yusuf refused to yield assent; the prizes were in consequence sent to Malta, and the Abællino was detained in Tripoli. The American Consul then pulled down his flag, and sent information of the circumstances to the other Mediterranean Consulates, in order that it might be communicated to the commander of the squadron immediately on its arrival.
As soon as Decatur entered the harbor, he required the Pasha to pay twenty-five thousand dollars for the two prizes which he had suffered the British to carry off; it was paid in two days. In recompense for the assistance which had been rendered to the Americans by the king of Naples and the Danish Consul, the commodore also demanded the delivery without ransom, of eight Neapolitans and two Danes, who were held in slavery in Tripoli; they were immediately surrendered and restored to their homes.
Thus, in a great measure, in consequence of the promptitude and energy of the gallant officer who commanded the American squadron, within fifty-four days after its arrival in the Mediterranean, were these three piratical powers completely humbled by a force apparently inadequate to make any impression on the weakest of them. The treaty with Algiers was doubtless extorted by fear, and the Dey had no intention to keep his engagements longer than he was obliged, as facts afterwards showed; but important benefits were obtained at once, in the liberation of the captives and the restoration of the property taken in 1812. The moral effects produced in favor of the United States, not only in Barbary but in Europe, were incalculable; since that period, no Americans have been enslaved in either of those countries, and not a cent of tribute has been paid by the United States to any foreign power.
Scarcely had the Americans quitted Algiers, when a Dutch squadron consisting of four frigates, a sloop and a brig, under the command of an admiral, made its appearance. The object of this display was merely to propose a renewal of the treaty made before the subjugation of the United Netherlands by France, on conditions of annual tribute. Omar however refused to renew the treaty, unless all arrearages of tribute, which were for more than twenty years, were paid; negotiations on these terms was impossible, and the admiral sailed away.
The Barbary cruisers, then undisturbed, renewed their depredations on Sardinia and Naples; the vessels of these defenceless countries were taken, and the inhabitants of the coasts were dragged away in great numbers to the slave markets of Africa. Great Britain alone could put a stop to these outrages; the French navy was disorganized, those of the other European powers were inadequate. But the British government was unwilling to give up the old system with respect to the Mediterranean pirates, and a relation of its proceedings will suffice to show, that they were by no means to be ascribed to a more liberal policy, and that their results were not proportioned to the means employed.3
3 It may not be improper here to quote the observations contained in the London Annual Register, [for 1816, page 97] a work generally remarkable for its temperance and impartiality. "It has long been a topic of reproach which foreigners have brought against the boasted maritime supremacy of England, that the piratical states of Barbary have been suffered to exercise their ferocious ravages upon all the inferior powers navigating the Mediterranean sea, without any attempt on the part of the mistress of the ocean to control them, and reduce them within the limits prescribed by the laws of civilized nations. The spirited exertions of the United States of America in the last year, to enforce redress of the injuries they had sustained from these pirates, were calculated to excite invidious comparisons with respect to this country; and either a feeling of national glory, or some other unexplained motives, at length inspired a resolution in the British government, to engage in earnest in that task which the general expectation seems to assign it."
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
EXTRAORDINARY INDIAN FEATS OF LEGERDEMAIN.
[From the Manuscripts of D. D. Mitchell, Esq.
I have felt some reluctance in narrating the following singular feats, (I had almost said miracles) which I saw performed among the Arickara Indians, not because I considered them unworthy the attention of the curious, but lest I should be accused of sporting with the reader's credulity, or of availing myself too largely of what is supposed by some to be the traveller's privilege. I acknowledge that the performance was altogether above my comprehension, and greatly excited my astonishment.
In civilized life, we know the many expedients to which men resort in order to acquire a subsistence, and are not therefore surprised, that by perseverance and long practice, stimulated by necessity, they should attain great dexterity in the art of deception. To find it, however, carried to such great perfection by wild and untutored savages, who are neither urged by necessity, nor indeed receive the slightest reward for their skill, is certainly very surprising.
In travelling up the Missouri during the summer of 1831, we lost our horses near the Arickara village, which caused our detention for several days. As this nation has committed more outrages upon the whites than any other on the Missouri, and seem to possess all the vices of the savage without a redeeming virtue, we found ourselves very unpleasantly situated near the principal village, without sufficient force to repel an attack if one should be made. After some deliberation, we adopted the advice of an old Canadian hunter, and determined to move our chattels directly into the village, and, whilst we remained, to take up our lodgings with the tribe. We were emboldened to this step, by the assurance of the hunter, that the Arickarees had never been known to kill but one man who had taken refuge within the limits of their town, and that their forbearance originated in the superstitious belief that the ghost of the murdered had haunted their encampment, and had frightened away the buffalo by his nightly screams.
We were received in the village with much more politeness than we expected; a lodge was appropriated to our use, and provisions were brought to us in abundance. After we were completely refreshed, a young man came to our lodge and informed us that a band of bears, (as he expressed it) or medicine men, were making preparations to exhibit their skill, and that if we felt disposed we could witness the ceremony. We were much gratified at the invitation, as we had all heard marvellous stories of the wonderful feats performed by the Indian medicine men or jugglers. We accordingly followed our guide to the medicine lodge, where we found six men dressed in bear skins, and seated in a circle in the middle of the apartment. The spectators were standing around, and so arranged as to give each individual a view of the performers. They civilly made way for our party, and placed us so near the circle that we had ample opportunity of detecting the imposture, if any imposition should be practised. The actors (if I may so call them) were painted in the most grotesque manner imaginable, blending so completely the ludicrous and frightful in their appearance, that the spectator might be said to be somewhat undecided whether to laugh or to shudder. After sitting for some time in a kind of mournful silence, one of the jugglers desired a youth who was near him, to bring some stiff clay from a certain place which he named on the river bank. This we understood, through an old Canadian named Garrow, (well known on the Missouri,) who was present and acted as our interpreter. The young man soon returned with the clay, and each of these human bears immediately commenced the process of moulding a number of little images exactly resembling buffaloes, men and horses, bows, arrows, &c. When they had completed nine of each variety, the miniature buffaloes were all placed together in a line, and the little clay hunters mounted on their horses, and holding their bows and arrows in their hands, were stationed about three feet from them in a parallel line. I must confess that at this part of the ceremony I felt very much inclined to be merry, especially when I observed what appeared to me the ludicrous solemnity with which it was performed. But my ridicule was changed into astonishment, and even into awe, by what speedily followed.
When the buffaloes and horsemen were properly arranged, one of the jugglers thus addressed the little clay men or hunters:
"My children, I know you are hungry; it has been a long time since you have been out hunting. Exert yourselves to-day. Try and kill as many as you can. Here are white people present who will laugh at you if you don't kill. Go! don't you see that the buffalo have already got the scent of you and have started?"
Conceive, if possible, our amazement, when the speaker's last words escaped his lips, at seeing the little images start off at full speed, followed by the Lilliputian horsemen, who with their bows of clay and arrows of straw, actually pierced the sides of the flying buffaloes at the distance of three feet. Several of the little animals soon fell, apparently dead—but two of them ran round the circumference of the circle, (a distance of fifteen or twenty feet,) and before they finally fell, one had three and the other five arrows transfixed in his side. When the buffaloes were all dead, the man who first addressed the hunters spoke to them again, and ordered them to ride into the fire, (a small one having been previously kindled in the centre of the apartment,) and on receiving this cruel order, the gallant horsemen, without exhibiting the least symptoms of fear or reluctance, rode forward at a brisk trot until they had reached the fire. The horses here stopped and drew back, when the Indian cried in an angry tone, "why don't you ride in?" The riders now commenced beating their horses with their bows, and soon succeeded in urging them into the flames, where horses and riders both tumbled down, and for some time lay baking on the coals. The medicine men gathered up the dead buffaloes and laid them also on the fire, and when all were completely dried they were taken out and pounded into dust. After a long speech from one of the party, (of which our interpreter could make nothing,) the dust was carried to the top of the lodge and scattered to the winds.
I paid the strictest attention during the whole ceremony, in order to discover, if possible, the mode by which this extraordinary deception was practised; but all my vigilance was of no avail. The jugglers themselves sat motionless during the performance, and the nearest was not within six feet of the moving figures. I failed altogether to detect the mysterious agency by which inanimate images of clay were to all appearance suddenly endowed with the action, energy and feeling of living beings.
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[From the same.]
REMARKABLE DREAM AND PREDICTION, WITH THEIR FULFILMENT.
Many whose opinions are entitled to profound respect, have believed that man in his primitive or savage state, without the means of cultivating or exercising his reasoning powers, has been occasionally favored by divine or supernatural illumination. Whatever difference of opinion may exist however, in reference to this subject, there can be none as to the facts about to be recorded. In the fall of 1827, an old Mandan chief proclaimed early in the morning, through the village or town of his tribe, the following dream, which he alleged to have had the over night. "The Great Spirit," said he, "appeared to me last night and told me that my feast had given him much satisfaction—that he had concluded to take pity on me, and afford me an opportunity to avenge the death of my son. He told me when the sun had performed about half his journey, that I must start and go down to the little lake, (about ten miles distant)—that there I should find four of my enemies lying asleep, and that amongst them was the one who had slain my son—that I should attack and kill all four, and return safe to the village with their scalps." This dream the old Mandan repeated to William P. Pilton and James Kipp, traders, who were then present, and who are now living and can vouch for the fact. About noon he departed for the lake, and would suffer none to accompany him. In the evening, to the astonishment of every one who had heard the dream, he returned with four scalps and the arms and clothing of four Arickara warriors. This chief was afterwards called "Four Men," in commemoration of this exploit.
But the following extraordinary prophecy, and its subsequent exact fulfilment, came within my personal knowledge. If it does not prove direct supernatural interference, it at least shows that events previously foretold, have come to pass in a manner which no human sagacity can well understand.
In the spring of 1829, about the 14th of March, I was preparing to leave my wintering ground, which was just below the fork of the River Des Moins. A camp, consisting of about fourteen lodges of Menomonies, or Wild Rice Indians, situated a few hundred yards below my house, was also prepared to move down the river immediately on the breaking up of the ice, which was then daily expected. The wife of one of the principal men was very sick, and inasmuch as her illness would delay their departure, they felt much solicitude for her recovery, and requested an old man among them called "The Bears Oil," to call down the Spirit who presides over human life and question him respecting her recovery. The venerable doctor or seer at first seemed reluctant to comply, but on receiving several presents he commenced preparations. The first thing to be done was the erection of a house or lodge for the reception of the Spirit. Four poles of about ten feet in length were planted in the ground, forming a square of about four feet. The whole camp brought out their blankets, which were wrapped around the poles from the bottom to the height of about eight feet. On the ends of the poles was suspended all the finery which the camp could afford, as a greater inducement, I suppose, for the Spirit to descend. When these preparations were completed, the old man raised up the lower edge of the blankets and crawled into the lodge, where he remained entirely concealed from the spectators—not forgetting however to take with him his drum and medicine bag. From the time he entered, he was silent for nearly an hour, when at last he commenced singing in a low voice, accompanying himself on the drum. The words of the song, as well as the conversations which he afterwards carried on with the Great Spirit, were in a language entirely unknown to any except the initiated; and I have observed in all ceremonies of a similar kind, and among all tribes of Indians, the same unintelligible jargon is used. The Great Spirit delayed making his appearance so long, that I began to think the inducements were not sufficient; and being anxious to witness the conclusion of the ceremony, I sent to my house for some tobacco and ammunition as an additional offering. This gave much satisfaction to the Indians, and appeared also to be highly acceptable to the Spirit,—for a violent shaking of the lodge, and the jingling of the hawk bills which were fastened to the end of the pole, announced his arrival.
The old man proceeded immediately to business. In a short time he announced to the wondering crowd which surrounded the lodge, that the woman would die about sunrise on the following morning. He also stated that the cause which would produce her death was a fever in the heart, and this was occasioned by her always being in a bad, angry humor. The object of invoking the Spirit was accomplished in what had been announced; but the priest of the oracles further observed, that the Great Spirit had signified his willingness to answer any one question which might be asked. As the Menomonies were apprehensive of an attack from the Sioux, their fears naturally induced them to ask if any other person belonging to their camp should die or be killed previously to their reaching the Mississippi. The old man soon returned the answer of the Great Spirit, which was, that three of those who were then present would never see the Mississippi again. I was astonished at the old fellow's boldness in thus hazarding his reputation on a prophecy, the fulfilment of which seemed so very improbable. Some of the young men ventured a second question, and inquired the names of the persons who were sentenced to die—but immediately the shaking of the lodge and the jingling of the hawk bills, as before, announced the sudden departure of the Spirit. The old man made his appearance, but was evidently much displeased that the last inquiry was made. His look was sullen and angry, and he maintained a stubborn silence. Finding that nothing more was to be learned, I returned home, and amused myself with what I then supposed a ridiculous superstition.
Early next morning I walked to the Indian camp, in order to ascertain if the sick woman was still living; and before I proceeded far, I met several of her own sex, provided with hoes and axes, going to prepare her grave. They told me that she died precisely at the time that Bears Oil had predicted; and they further informed me that the Indians were preparing to move down the river as soon as the ice had started, not doubting that the other three condemned to death by the prophet were doomed to be killed by the Sioux.
Two days after the woman's death, an Indian ran into my house and told me, that a tree which they had commenced cutting down the evening before, and which had been imprudently left standing cut half way through, had just blown down, and had fallen across one of the lodges, by which a woman and child had been instantly killed. He congratulated himself that, according to the prophecy, only one more person was to die, and earnestly hoped that it might not be himself.
On the 20th of the month the ice broke up, and on the 22d the Indians and traders started in company to descend the Des Moins in boats. For several days we journeyed on without accident or annoyance—and when we at length arrived within ten miles of the Mississippi, several of the men began to teaze and joke the old prophet, asking if he meant to throw himself overboard in order to verify his own prediction. The old man paid no attention to their jests, but sat silently smoking his pipe, and apparently absorbed in deep thought. He was an object of general attention, nor shall I ever forget his appearance. His tall and emaciated form lay stretched at some length on the deck; his hollow sunken eyes were turned upward, and appeared straining in search of some invisible object; and ever and anon long streams of tobacco smoke were blown through his nose, ascending in curling vapors above his head. His imagination appeared to be busied in forming figures out of the smoke, and when a breeze scattered it away, he immediately sent forth another whiff, again to resume his ideal occupation. As we approached the Mississippi, the laugh and jests of the boatmen became more loud and frequent—but he appeared to be entirely insensible to surrounding objects, and I had almost come to the conclusion that the venerable seer was about to fulfil his own prophecy. Just at that moment the man who was steering my boat complained of a violent headach, and begged me to place some other person at the helm, which was accordingly done. He seated himself on deck, but I remarked that his countenance underwent various changes in quick succession. He paused for a moment, and then exclaimed, apparently in great agony, "I am the third person destined never to see the Mississippi, for I am now dying. Oh, my friends, raise me up and let me but behold the river, for it may possibly change my destiny!" I exhorted him to keep up his spirits, and to dismiss such apprehensions from his mind, assuring him that it was impossible for him to die before we reached the Mississippi, for that as soon as we turned the point below we should be in sight of the river. Thinking that some slight indisposition had concurred with the words of the prophet to excite his imagination highly, I stepped to the bow of the boat, and ordered the men to row round the point as quick as possible. I stood on the bow until the point was turned, and the majestic Mississippi lay stretched before us in full view. I immediately called to Baptiste, (the sick man's name,) and told him he might now see the river; but the only answer I received was from one of the men—"He is dead!" "Impossible!" I thought, and ran to the body—but it was too true; the man was a corpse, and his eye now glazed in death had not perceived the perturbed waters of the Father of Floods! I turned to the old sorcerer, whom I now considered as such, and was struck with the calm indifference with which he received the intelligence. "Villain!" I exclaimed, seizing him at the same time, with strong indignation, by the arm, "it was you who killed this man! You have poisoned him, and I will have you drowned for it." The old man replied with great composure, and without the least symptom of fear—"if you believe it was I who raised the wind which blew the tree across the lodge and killed the woman and child, then you may believe that I poisoned this man." I was struck with the justness of the defence, and said nothing more to the prophet.
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For the Southern Literary Messenger.
ON THE DEATH OF JAMES GIBBON CARTER.
O'er the fam'd seat of science and of arms, What dire disaster spreads such wild alarms? What requiem sad is chanted o'er that bier? Why streams the silent, sympathetic tear? Why droop the ensigns of our sister state, As though they mourn'd a fallen nation's fate? In long procession through the crowded hall, With measur'd footsteps and uncover'd pall, Columbia's youthful chivalry appears With crape-clad banners, and with trailing spears; Whilst o'er each head funereal cypress bends, And the sad streamer from each arm descends; They weep the young—the noble—and the brave, Consign'd by "doom" to an untimely grave; Ere manhood stamp'd its image on his brow, Or gave his lips the soldier's gen'rous vow, Snapt was this scion in an evil hour. Nor ling'ring death, nor sickness claim'd their pow'r; But full of life—joy sparkling in his eye— The fell destroyer came, commission'd from on high, And Carter perish'd! Casuists, be still! Was it without his mighty Maker's will? Has not Omnipotence itself the pow'r To bring repentance in the final hour? Oh sad vicissitudes of earthly trust— Hopes—bright as seraph's smile, consign'd to dust! Here would we drop the veil o'er mortal woe, Or give the dark'ning picture brighter glow, But Truth forbids. At duty's call we come To paint the horrors at his distant home. Lo! by the patriot's couch a group appears, Repressing anguish, and restraining tears; Though at the effort nature's self recoils, (For nature claims her tributes and her spoils,) Brief are the hours which now the sick man claims, Nor asks he more, since Zionward he aims: The feeble sands of life are almost spent— Dim is his eye—his locks with silver blent; He, with the Patriarch of eld, may say, "Short, but replete with woe, has been my day." Then spare the agony his heart must know, Ere waning life should sink beneath this blow. But, oh! the Mother's desolated heart! What charm can sooth—or what a balm impart? Her hope—her stay—snatch'd to an early tomb, Involving life itself in tenfold gloom!
MARCELLA.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
LINES.
When in my life's propitious morn The sun of joy and hope once smiled, Fair Poesy, of Pleasure born, Each fancied sorrow oft beguiled. But when the blast of real woe Withered the brightness of my soul— Bade me to dream of bliss no more, And yet denied the Lethean bowl, Did Poesy, like that bright star That burns upon the brow of night, Scatter misfortune's clouds afar, And with her beauty glad my sight? Ah, no! She flies the wretched breast, To seek the gay and happy throng; In mirth's soft bowers she loves to rest, And speed the flying hours along. Where fountains play, and flowrets bloom, And where no thoughts of care intrude, To beauty's halls the Muse has flown, And left me to my solitude. But lo! a fairer form appears, On heavenly pinions hovering nigh; She bids me dry repining tears, And points me to her native sky. She tells me of repose and peace Which to the pure in heart are given, And bids my sorrowing bosom cease To mourn for those who're blest in heaven. Religion! on thy brow doth glow The rainbow hues of hope and joy; That perfect peace thou canst bestow, Which nothing earthly can destroy.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
STANZAS.
The moon as brightly shines to-night, The scene as lovely ought to be, As when I gazed upon its light And thought sweet Hope was born for me; 'Tis I am changed, and not the hour— Alas! the darkness centres here; No clouds about yon planet lower, I only view it through a tear. Soft, lovely orb! some smiling eye Ev'n now reposes on thy beams, Some maid that never breathed a sigh, Forsakes for thee her tranquil dreams; Methinks I view her buoyant breast, And mark the hopes that tremble there; I also dreamed that I was blest, 'Till waked from slumber by a tear.
F. L. B.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
LIONEL GRANBY.
CHAP. V.
The voice of youth! the air is rife With a dream of glorious things, And our harp is thrilling with the life Of all its shining strings.—Newspaper.
The famed drinking song of Rabelais "Remplio tous verre vuide," the offspring of that wonderful man whose humor electrified an age, and whose sarcasm did as much for religious reformation as the logic of Luther, greeted my ears when I descended at the Raleigh in Williamsburg. Before me was a huge and curiously misshapen edifice, surmounted by a box, which looked more like a coffin than a porch. Over it the frowning head of the immortal patron of tobacco and potatoes ghastly smiled through its gamboge and vermilion, looking like one of those rough portraits, which in the earlier maps of Virginia, are placed amid the terra incognito, where "divers salvages inhabit." The porch was filled with young men, sitting in that peculiar posture, which resembled them to the mortars which grimly flank some armed fort, moving themselves and their legs from the banisters, only to examine a case of pistols, on which an atrabilarious youth was lecturing with great spirit. A few seemed to be absorbed in a newspaper, while more than one was employed in catching the echo of the bacchanial song, and murmuring it back to the festive board. The arrival of Arthur Ludwell and myself, produced a momentary sensation of curiosity and attention, and we had scarcely dismounted from our horses, ere we were frankly invited to join in the festivities of the club. With his accustomed prudence, Arthur declined the dangerous honor, while I, through an utter recklessness of heart, and a burning thirst for excitement, quickly accepted the offer, and was immediately ushered into the "Apollo," a long and dimly lighted room, in which, around a table, were gathered the bloom of boyhood and the bud of adolescence. Wine, adulterated into poison by its union with brandy, and that original sin of southern intemperance mint julap, stood forth the bold heralds of an incipient debauch. A young man of dark complexion and melancholy countenance, acted as the president of the board, occasionally struggling with himself for a bad pun, or joining in the chorus of each mirthful song.
"How has the affair between Leger and Allan terminated?" inquired a faint voice near me.
"Diffugere vives," responded the president, "for they fought this morning at the hay-yard with my pistols. Leger had the advantage of the ground, 'mutat terra vices,' and hit Allan at the third fire. However, his wound is not dangerous; they are now friends. Here's to their health, and to the ball, which in purifying honor, exalts friendship."
I did not comprehend either the logic or morality of this toast—yet I drank it through common civility; and from my desire to be considered as a youth of spirit, I soon reeled in the full grossness of intoxication. The lights were now extinguished, and we sallied forth, fired with the ambition of "putting the town to rights." At the door I met Scipio, who gazing on me for a moment, averted his face and burst into tears. I passed rapidly by him, and with difficulty smothered a curse which my pride aimed at his weakness. Unnoticed by my companions he silently followed me; and it was his hand which raised me from the earth where I had fallen, and his arm which bore me to my room.
I arose the next morning with a shattered frame and an aching heart, nor could my crazed philosophy destroy the blush with which memory every moment bitterly suffused my cheek. But was not drunkenness the attribute of genius! the unerring characteristic of intellect!—for while tradition sighed over the memory of the victims of intemperance, the lustre of genius awoke the pity of sympathy, the pardon of virtue, and the emulation of folly. All the promising young men who have sunk into a drunkard's grave, were full of high and lofty intelligence, and would have realized the proudest hope of fame but for this fatal excess of genius. Strange fatuity! and stranger that its rottenness should excite either our pity or forgiveness!
College life is a little dream of human passion and human infirmity. It is the same eternal track of disappointment, over which folly vaults and ambition staggers—a record of youthful happiness written on a summer's leaf, it glitters for the moment, and fades away beneath the spirit which freshens it into beauty. 'Tis the miniature arena in which human life first disports its vices, its hopes, and its imaginings—and if no other knowledge be acquired, the collegian can look with pride on his acquaintance with the world, its follies and its pleasures, and hug to his bosom that kernel of truth which has been wrested from the hard husk of disappointment. We had numerous debating societies, where the elements of government, the subtleties of law, and the vagaries of taste were nightly discussed. We were either orators or philosophers—the former declaiming in all the pomp of verbosity, the latter deciding in all the solemnity of silence. Newspapers were eagerly read, and many a maiden pen first fleshed itself in these shambles of faction. All write in Virginia for these greedy receptacles of morbid ire and political venom—and he who can sketch the hundredth-told tale, in improved bombast, or provincial dialect, becomes the little great man of the cross-roads, or struts the swelling Junius of the courtyard. Write in jagged orthography—the dictionary is at hand; scuffle through the rules of grammar—the printer has a happy talent of correcting by his own grammar; violate the sense of language and the chastity of style, for this is a trait of towering genius; but write, and write again, until you can gaze with triumph on the tenth number of some masterly Cato—some learned Sidney—or some eloquent Curtius. These compliments are the certain rewards of your labors—for the printer's praise is measured by your fustian, and that of his readers is gained by the length of your numbers.
I found Pilton, a student of reputation and character, which added bitterness to the malignity of my hate. Our meeting was cold, formal and ceremonious; and on my part, I was repulsive almost to direct insult. My hate was fierce, violent and untamed—but still it was open and undisguised, apparently losing its malice in good breeding, and its assassin-like propensity in honor. As usual, his habits of intense application had given him a high rank both in his class and in the esteem of the professors, while his ill-breeding was forgotten in the light which learning threw around him. To all my open attacks, secret insinuations, and malevolent hints, he exposed that affected candor and subtle magnanimity, which neutralized the poison and blunted the edge of my weapons.
There was a ball at the Old Raleigh during the Christmas holydays, to which the city as well as its vicinity sent a numerous representation of those soft, fragile and dove-like females, who, springing like so many Venus' from the bosom of the sea, claim their home only in the tranquil and affectionate hearths of tide-water Virginia. Like the mocking bird, their dwelling place is amid the ripple of the murmuring tide, while their song is the melody which thrills into life the fearful and eternal solitude of the pine forests. When I entered the room, the dance was exultingly triumphant, and each mazy figure was softened into intense interest by that joyousness of mirth which takes its pride of place only from early hearts and youthful hopes. One girl instantly arrested my attention; and the long, deep and ardent gaze which I directed towards her, mantled her cheek with a deep and struggling blush, giving that delicate tint which, like the fabled rose, twines itself around, only to bloom over the pallid countenance of disease. She was pale, attenuated and fragile, with that dewy-like softness which is stolen from the couch of sickness, and that tranquil firmness which shows both a capability of happiness, and a peaceful resignation at the want of it. Her form was full of grace and symmetrical beauty, and her eye, like a glow-worm, lit up the saddened paleness of her face. How wonderful is the contagion of friendship! How curious are the hallowed sympathies of love! Unseen though felt—unknown though experienced, they breathe that pathos of congeniality, which in exciting attachment, confirms constancy, and which ever leaves us to wonder not so much at their commencement as at their continuance. I do not know that my appearance was calculated to impress the heart of the fair girl who trembled under my searching gaze; but her blush truly responded to the passion, poetry and sympathy which my eyes discoursed, and I soon found that the shadowy gloom of my countenance had arrested her kindness and excited her curiosity. I was soon formally introduced, though in the confusion of the moment I did not hear her name; and on her complaint of fatigue, I led her to a retired seat, and in a short time we were fairly launched into that great sea of conversation, the mental difference of the sexes—a subject on which man ever shows his ill-nature, and woman her superiority. I found her mind opening like the flowers of the wilderness in richness, variety and freshness, and her wit leaping and gambolling like an uncaged bird. I poured out all the long-hived treasures of my erudition, disclosed the whole extent of my learning, and disported all the little elegancies and graces of my nature. I could tell her no secret of taste, or display no gem of literature, with which she was not familiar; and looking up in her tranquil and placid face, I took no note of time, or of the whispers of the crowd, which had declared me "a case."
Towards the conclusion of the ball, a gentleman taking advantage of a pause in our conversation, addressed her by the name of Miss Pilton. Good God! how that word rang and tingled through the deepest recesses of my heart, and how quickly did my hate leap up to it as a fortuitous gift for its demoniac revenge.
"Are you the sister," I inquired, "of Mr. Henry Pilton, now at William and Mary?"
"I am his only sister," was her reply. "You certainly know him, and if you do not, you must seek his acquaintance. I will tell him that I am about to make you my friend, and he will love you for my sake."
"I do know him," I answered; "he is studious and intelligent, and possesses the esteem and confidence of all the professors."
She rewarded this constrained, though frank avowal, with a smile—and in the rapture of her joy, she betrayed all that confidence which her brother's pride had deposited in her bosom, and told with enthusiasm the little history of his ambition, his fears, and his hopes. He boldly anticipated every honor within the compass of society; and that proud determination to be great, which invigorated his youthful ambition, added a deeper hue of malignity to the venom of my hate.
"He hardly gives me time," she said, "to love him; for gazing like the eagle on the sun, he never looks down on the insipid dulness of earth. I do not admire students, Mr. Granby; they are cold and selfish, and though they gain our flattery, they rarely win our hearts."
I construed this remark, though made at the expense of her brother, as a compliment to myself, and soon gained her smiles, by many sarcasms which I levelled at pedants, scholars and students. Without professing flattery, I pleased her by a ready acquiescence of sentiment and opinion; and anticipating her pride of sex and her tenderness of heart, I lauded in the richest language of quotation, woman's love, and woman's constancy. The artlessness of her character, and the simplicity of her nature, could not hide from my vanity the favorable impression I had made on her heart. I looked on my victim with some emotions of pity, and paused for a moment under the goading sting of conscience; yet the fiend-like passion which rioted on my life, told me that the ruin of her peace, and the destruction of her happiness, would be the proudest victory which my hate could achieve.
Leaving her for a few moments, I looked around at the mirthful throng which filled the room, and sauntered to the bar, which was a point where conversation converged its focus. About a table prodigally ornamented with decanters and glasses, were collected numerous groups of young men, who were all talking at the same time on beauty, horseracing, politics and duelling. Here and there a solitary tobacco chewer might be seen, stealing to some fire place or window, and enjoying in mute rapture, the filth, excitement and grossness of his depraved appetite. Two or three youthful legislators from the adjoining counties, were flaunting their maiden honors in the broad light of political vanity—while four elderly gentlemen, in embroidered waistcoats and fair-top boots, were eloquently deprecating the onward march of democracy, which made the legislature a mob of demagogues, and the ball room a collection of fine clothes and vulgarity. This was my uncle's favorite theme, and from the folly of such croaking aristocracy, common sense and not education had delivered me. An aged negro, the "harmonious Phillips" of the country, dressed in the ample costume of the old school, with a powdered head, a large knob of watch seals, and a silver ship in his bosom, controlled with fierce tyranny his partners of the bow, fife and triangle. Bowing almost to the floor, he would ever and anon cry out in a magisterial tone, cross over—forward—turn your partners—done, and catching the inspiration of catgut and rosin, his ivory teeth were displayed like the keys of a piano-forte, while his broad face fairly laughed itself into ecstasy.
At the conclusion of the ball, I became the solitary escort of Miss Pilton. The moon was shining coldly and brightly over the world; and when I was about to leave my fair charge, looking up she exclaimed, "How beautiful!—how melancholy!—it makes me almost a poetess. What a contrast to the busy crowd we have just left; oh! that human life was as cloudless, and human love as pure!"
There was no affectation in this rhapsody—no girlish sentiment in the display; for nature called forth the gushing softness of her heart, and I quickly took advantage of this moment of philosophic romance.—Where is the lover who has not found the moon his silent yet most impassioned advocate, and who, when gazing on its mellow light, has not caught that saddened sympathy which brightens every dark spot in the horizon of the heart.
"Yes," I replied, "it is the same cloud-wrapt sphere which has always looked down on the little drama of human folly, unmoved amid the desolations of death and the fall of empires, forever whispering love, and exalting the best affections of our nature. Marriages must be made in heaven—and this pale messenger, in expanding the heart, almost persuades me that it is commissioned to teach love and awaken affection."
Ere she could reply, I placed a leaf of evergreen in her hand, and uttered enough of love to call a burning blush to her cheek. I lingered for a few moments at the door, and on leaving the scene, I turned around to gaze on the being who was thus insensibly falling into the toils of my duplicity. I saw her place in her bosom the treacherous emblem which I had given her; and as the silvery light of the moon trembled over her marbled brow and placid countenance, I almost believed that its rays had claimed that spot, as the only tranquil home in the wide world on which they might kiss themselves into slumber.
THETA.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
LETTERS FROM A SISTER.
LETTER SEVENTEENTH.
The Garden of Plants—The Camel Leopard—The Library, Museum, and Cabinet of Anatomy—Manufactory of Gobelin Tapestry.
PARIS, ——.
My dear Sister:—
I do not wonder that you are surprised at my not having yet described to you the "Royal Garden of Plants." The fact is, we have been thrice disappointed in our arrangements to go there, but at last have accomplished our project, and devoted both Tuesday and Wednesday to the investigation of this famed spot, and we have seen nothing in Paris that has interested us more. It is of great extent, and affords the visiter as much information as amusement. It was founded by Jean de Brosses, the physician of Louis XIII, and much improved by the exertions of Buffon the naturalist. It contains various enclosures, some of which are appropriated to botany, and display every plant, flower and shrub, native and foreign, that can be made to grow there. Each is labelled, and bears its botanical name; and there are spacious hot-houses for such as require shelter and extreme care. We remarked here some fine specimens of the bread tree and sugar cane. Other enclosures are filled with all sorts of culinary vegetables. There are besides, nurseries of fruit trees and samples of different kinds of fences, hedges and ditches, and of various soils and manures. The enclosures are separated by wide gravel walks,
"Bounded by trees, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made."
In the centre of the garden is an artificial hill, crowned with a temple, from which you enjoy a view of the city, and may aid your sight with a spy glass, by paying a trifle to a man who owns it and generally sits there, for the purpose of hiring it, and indicating to strangers the names of the public edifices visible in the perspective. On the way to the temple, you pass under a huge and towering cedar of Lebanon, which De Jussieu the botanist planted more than eighty years ago. This superb tree was considerably injured during the revolution; and had it not been for the remonstrances and influence of Humboldt the traveller, the whole garden would probably be now in a ruinous condition—for when the allies were in Paris, it was owing to his exertions that the Prussians were prevented encamping there.
The menagerie exhibits the greatest variety of animals. The ferocious are kept in iron cages; those that are gentle, in enclosures and habitations suitable to their propensities and natures, and embellished with such trees and shrubs as are found in their native climes. Goats for instance, are furnished with artificial acclivities for climbing, and bears with dens and rugged posts. The populace often throw biscuits and fruit to the bears, in order to witness their endeavors to catch them; but this is dangerous diversion, for in doing this, a boy was not sufficiently alert in his movements, and ere he withdrew his arm, had it severely lacerated by the eager animal. On another occasion, a careless nurse, while amusing herself in a similar manner, let a child fall in, which was instantly devoured! Among the gentlest and most curious of the quadrupeds, is the giraff, or camel leopard, which was brought from Africa about two years ago, and threw all Paris into commotion. Thousands visited him daily, and belts, reticules, gloves, kerchiefs, and even cakes and blanc mangés were decorated with his image. It is said that he possesses both sagacity and sensibility, to prove which the following anecdote is related of him. As his keepers were bringing him to Paris, they were joined by a man on horseback, who continued to bear them company for several miles, until he came to another road. The giraff, which had manifested great delight when the traveller first appeared, then evinced deep distress, and even shed tears! Upon inquiry, it was found that the traveller's horse and the giraff were from the same part of Africa, and probably old acquaintances. This is a marvellous story, I must confess; nevertheless, many persons believe it. I will now tell you another less incredible, and which shews to what perfection the flower makers here carry their art. The giraff is very fond of rose leaves; and not long since, seeing a bunch of artificial roses in a lady's bonnet, and thinking them natural, he seized hold of them, and pulled with such force, that he soon had possession of hat and all. It must have been a ludicrous scene. He is so delicate, that strict attention is obliged to be paid to his food and lodging. The first consists of delicate vegetables, and the heat of the last is regulated by a thermometer; and his African attendant sleeps near to guard him and supply his wants. Leaving the quadrupeds, we proceeded to look at the birds, which are also admirably arranged. The water fowls have their pools and lakes—the ostrich its sands, and so on.