CHAPTER I.

BLACKWOOD'S

EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.

No. CCCXLII. APRIL, 1844. VOL. LV.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE PIRATES OF SEGNA.

--A TALE OF VENICE AND THE ADRIATIC. IN TWO PARTS.--PART II.

THE SLAVE-TRADE.

MOSLEM HISTORIES OF SPAIN.

--THE ARABS OF CORDOVA.

TWO NIGHTS IN SOUTHERN MEXICO.

--A FRAGMENT FROM THE JOURNAL OF AN AMERICAN TRAVELLER.

THE BRITISH FLEET.

MARSTON; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A STATESMAN.

--PART X.

THE CHILD'S WARNING.

THE TWO PATRONS.

IRELAND.

THE PIRATES OF SEGNA.

A TALE OF VENICE AND THE ADRIATIC. IN TWO PARTS.

PART II.

CHAPTER I.--THE BATTLE OF THE BRIDGE.

The time occupied by the events detailed in the three preceding

chapters, had been passed by Antonio in a state of self-exile from his

master's studio. Conscious of having disobeyed the earnest injunctions

of Contarini, the weakness of his character withheld him alike from

confessing his fault, and from encountering the penetrating gaze of

the old painter. Neglecting thus his usual occupation, he passed his

days in his gondola, wandering about the canals in the hope of again

meeting with the mysterious being who had made such an impression on

his excitable fancy. Hitherto all his researches had been fruitless;

but although day after day passed without his finding the smallest

trace of her he sought, his repeated disappointments seemed only to

increase the obstinacy with which he continued the search.

The incognita not only engrossed all his waking thoughts, but she

still haunted him in his dreams. Scarcely a night passed that her

wrinkled countenance did not hover round his pillow, now partially

shrouded by the ample veil, then again fully exposed and apparently

exulting in its unearthly ugliness; or else peering at him from behind

the drapery that covered the walls of his apartment. In vain did he

attempt to address the vision, or to follow it as it gradually receded

and finally melted away into distance.

It was from a dream of this description that he was one morning

awakened by his faithful gondolier Jacopo. The sun was shining

brightly through his chamber windows, and he heard an unusual degree

of noise and bustle upon the canal without.

"Up, Signor mio!" cried the gondolier joyously, and with a mixture of

respect and affectionate familiarity in his tone and manner. "Up,

Signor Antonio! You were not wont to oversleep yourself on the day of

the Bridge Fight. All Venice is hastening thither. Quick, quick! or we

shall never be able to make our way through the press of gondolas."

The words of the gondolier reminded Antonio that this was the day

appointed for the celebration of a festival, which for weeks past had

been looked forward to with the greatest impatience and interest, by

Venetians of all ranks, ages, and sexes; a festival which he himself

was in the habit of regularly attending, though on this occasion his

preoccupied thoughts and feelings had made him utterly unconscious

that it was so near at hand.

Although the ancient and bitter hatred of the Guelphs and Ghibellines

had died away, and the factions which divided northern Italy had sunk

into insignificance, nearly a century before this period, the memory

of their feuds was still kept up by their great grandchildren, and

Venice was still severed into two parties or communities, separated

from each other by the grand canal. Those who dwelt on the western or

land side of this boundary were styled the Nicolotti, after the parish

of San Nicolo; while those on the eastern or sea side took the

appellation of Castellani, from the district of Castello. Not only the

inhabitants of the city itself, but those of the suburbs and

neighbouring country, were included in these two denominations; the

people from Mestre and the continent ranging themselves under the

banners of the Nicolotti, while those from the islands were strenuous

Castellani.

The frequent and sanguinary conflicts of the Guelphs and Ghibellines

were now replaced and commemorated by a popular festival, occurring

sometimes once, sometimes oftener in the year; usually in the autumn

or spring. "In order that," says an old chronicler of the time, "the

heat being less great at those seasons, the blood of the combatants

should not become too heated and the fight too dangerous." "Also on

cloudy days," says the same authority, "that the spectators might not

be molested by the sun; and on Sundays or Saints' days, that the

people thereby might not be hindered from their occupations." On these

occasions one of the numerous bridges was selected as the scene of the

mock combat that constituted the chief amusement of the day. The quays

afforded good standing-room to the spectators; and here, under the

inspection of ædiles appointed by the people, the two parties met, and

disputed for supremacy in a battle, in which, however, no more

dangerous weapons than fists were allowed to be brought into play.

It was not the populace alone that divided itself into these two

factions. Accordingly as the palaces of the nobles stood on the one or

the other side of the canal, were their owners Castellani or

Nicolotti, although their partizanship existed but in jest, and only

showed itself in the form of encouragement to their respective

parties; whereas with the lower orders the strife, begun in

good-humour, not unfrequently turned to bitter earnest, and had

dangerous and even fatal results. In the wish, however, to keep up a

warlike spirit in the people, and perhaps still more with a view to

make them forget, in a temporary and boundless license, the strict

subjection in which they were habitually held, the senate was induced

to permit the continuance of a diversion, which from the local

arrangements of Venice, the narrowness of the streets and bridges, and

the depth of the larger canals, was unavoidably dangerous, and almost

invariably attended with loss of life.

Hastily dressing himself, Antonio hurried into his gondola in order to

proceed to the bridge of San Barnaba, opposite to the church of the

same name and to the Foscarini palace, that being the spot appointed

for the combat. The canal of the Giudecca was one black mass of

gondolas, which rendered even a casual glimpse of the water scarcely

obtainable; and it was amidst the cries of the gondoliers and the

noise of boats knocking against each other, that the young painter

passed the Dogana and reached the grand canal. There the crowd became

so dense, that Jacopo, seeing the impossibility of passing, turned

aside in time, and making a circuit, entered the Rio de San Trovaso,

whence, through innumerable narrow canals, he succeeded in reaching

the scene of the approaching conflict.

The combatants were attending mass, and had not yet made their

appearance. Wonderfully great, however, was the concourse of

spectators already assembled. Since sunrise they had been thronging

thither from all sides, eager to secure places which might afford them

a good view of the fight. Every roof, gable, and chimney had its

occupants; not a projection however small, not a wall however lofty

and perilous, but was covered with people, for the most part provided

with baskets of provisions, and evidently determined to sit or stand

out the whole of the spectacle. In the anxiety to obtain good places,

the most extraordinary risks were run, and feats of activity

displayed. Here might be seen individuals clambering up perpendicular

buildings, by the aid of ledges and projections which appeared far too

narrow to afford either grasp or foot-hold; further on, some herculean

gondolier or peasant served as base to a sort of human column,

composed of five or six men, who, scrambling over each other's

shoulders, attained in this manner some seemingly inaccessible

position. The seafaring habits of the Venetian populace, who were

accustomed from boyhood to climb the masts and rigging of vessels, now

stood them in good stead; and notwithstanding all the noise,

confusion, and apparent peril, it was very rarely that an accident

occurred.

Under the red awnings covering the balconies and flat roofs of the

palaces, were seated groups of ladies, whose rich dresses, glittering

with the costliest jewels and embroideries, appeared the more

magnificent from being contrasted with the black attire of the grave

patricians who accompanied them. But perhaps the most striking feature

of this striking scene was to be found in the custom of masking, then

almost universal in Venice, and the origin of which may be traced in

great part to dread of the Inquisition, and of its prying enquiries

into the actions and affairs of individuals. Amidst the sea of faces

that thronged roofs, windows, balconies, streets, and quays, the

minority only were uncovered, and the immense collection of masks, of

every form and colour, had something in it peculiarly fantastic and

unnatural, conveying an impression that the wearers mimicked human

nature rather than belonged to it.

Venice, whose trade and mercantile importance were at this period

greatly on the decline, saw nevertheless, on occasions like the

present, strangers from the most opposite nations of Europe, and even

Asia, mingling peaceably on her canals. Here were Turks in their

bright red caftans and turbans; there Armenians in long black robes;

and Jews, whose habitually greedy and crafty countenances had for the

nonce assumed an expression of eager curiosity and expectation. The

mercantile spirit of the Venetians prevented them from extending to

individuals the quarrels of states; and although the republic was then

at war with Spain, more than one superb hidalgo might be seen, wrapped

in his national gravity as in a mantle, and affecting a total

disregard of the blunt or hostile observations made within his hearing

by sailors of the Venetian navy, or by individuals smarting under the

loss of ships and cargoes captured by Spanish galleys.

Scattered here and there amongst the crowd, Antonio's searching eye

soon remarked a number of men, to whom, accustomed as he was to

analyse the heterogeneous composition of a Venetian mob, he was yet at

a loss to assign any distinct class or country. Their sunburnt and

strongly marked features were partially hidden by the folds of ample

cloaks, in which they kept themselves closely muffled; and it appeared

to Antonio, that in their selection of places they were more anxious

to escape observation than to obtain a good view of the approaching

fight. In the dark patches of shadow thrown by the overhanging

balconies, in the recesses of deep and gloomy portals, or peering out

from the entrance of some narrow and tortuous alley, these men were

grouped, silent, scowling, and alone, and apparently known to none of

the surrounding crowd. But suspicious as were the appearance and

deportment of the persons in question, Antonio's thoughts were too

much engrossed by another and far more interesting subject, to accord

them much attention. He nourished the hope of discovering amongst the

multitude assembled around him, the mysterious being who had taken so

strong a hold on his imagination. Vainly, however, did he scan every

balcony and window and strain his eyes to distinguish the faces of the

more distant of the assembled dames. More than once the flutter of a

white robe, or a momentarily fancied resemblance of figure, made his

heart beat high with expectation, until a second glance destroyed his

hopes; and the turning of a head or drawing aside of a veil disclosed

the blooming features of some youthful beauty, to which, in his then

state of mind, the wrinkled and unearthly visage of the incognita

would have been infinitely preferable.

While the young painter was thus fluctuating between hope and

disappointment, several lads with naked arms, or but slightly

encumbered with clothing, were giving the spectators a foretaste of

the approaching conflict; and, encouraged by the applause which was

liberally vouchsafed them, making violent efforts to drive one another

off the bridge. At times the spirit of partizanship would induce some

of the bystanders to come to the aid of those who seemed likely to be

defeated--an interference that was repressed by the ædiles stationed

at either end of the bridge, who did their utmost to enforce the laws

of this popular tournament. Notwithstanding their efforts, however,

the _mostra_ or duello between two persons, by which the combat should

begin, was often converted into the _frotta_ or mêlée, in which all

pressed forward without order. The first advantage was held to be--for

one of the combatants to draw blood, if it were only a single drop,

from the nose or mouth of his opponent. Loud applause rewarded the

skill and vigour of him who succeeded in throwing his adversary into

the canal; but the clamour became deafening when a champion was found

who maintained his station in the centre of the bridge, without any of

the opposite party venturing to attack him. This feat won the highest

honour that could be obtained; and he who achieved it retired from his

post amid the waving of scarfs and handkerchiefs, and the enthusiastic

cheers of the gratified spectators.

At length the bell of the Campanile announced that mass was over, and

presently, out of two opposite streets that had been purposely kept

clear, the combatants emerged, pressing forward in eager haste towards

the bridge; their arms naked to the shoulders, their breasts protected

by leathern doublets, and their heads by closely fitting caps--their

dress altogether as light as possible, and well adapted to the

struggle in which they were about to engage. The loud hum of the

multitude was hushed on their appearance, and the deepest silence

reigned while the ædiles marshaled them to their respective places, on

which they planted themselves in threatening attitudes, their broad

and muscular chests expanded, their fists clenched, their feet seeming

to grasp the ground on which they stood.

A loud flourish of trumpets gave the signal of the onset, and with

inconceivable impetuosity the two parties threw themselves on each

other. In spite, however, of the fury and violence of the shock,

neither side yielded an inch of ground. The bridge was completely

filled with men from end to end, and from side to side; there was no

parapet or barrier of any kind to prevent the combatants from pushing

one another into the canal; yet so equally balanced was the strength

of the two parties, that after nearly half an hour's struggle very few

men had been thrown from the bridge, and not the smallest advantage

had been obtained either by Castellani or Nicolotti. Those in the

rear, who had as yet done nothing but push the others forward, now

came to the front, and the combat was renewed with fresh vigour, but

for a long time without any result. Again and again were the

combatants changed; but it was past noon before Antonio, whose

thoughts had been gradually diverted from the incognita by the

struggle that was going on, perceived symptoms of weariness amongst

those indefatigable athletes. Here and there a knee was seen to bend,

or a muscular form to sink, under some well-directed blow, or before a

sudden rush of the opposite party. First one, then another of the

combatants was hurled from the bridge into the canal, an immersion

that, dripping with perspiration as they were, not unfrequently caused

death or severe illness. Nevertheless the fury of the fight seemed

rather to increase than diminish. So long as only a man here and there

fell into the water, they were dragged out by their friends; and the

spectators even seemed to feel pity and sympathy for the unfortunates,

as they saw them carried along, some covered with blood, others

paralysed by the sudden cold, with faces pale as death and limbs stiff

and rigid. But as the fury and violence of the combatants augmented,

the bystanders forgot every other feeling in the excitement of the

fight, about the result of which they seemed as anxious as those who

were actively engaged in it. Even women might be seen encouraging

those who were driven back, and urging them once more to the charge;

applauding and cheering them on when they advanced, and assailing

those who hung back with vehement reproaches. The uproar and shouting,

shrieks and yells, exceeded any thing that could be imagined. The

partizans had got completely mixed together; and, instead of the

struggle being confined to the foremost ranks of the contending

parties, the whole bridge was now one coil of raging combatants. Men

fell into the canal by scores, but no one thought of rendering them

any assistance. Their places were immediately filled up, and the fight

lost none of its fury from their absence.

Evening was now approaching, and the combat was more violent than it

had yet been, or than it had for years been known to be, when Antonio

saw the cloaked and mysterious individuals who had already attracted

his attention, emerge from their lurking-places, and disappear in

different directions. Presently he thought he observed some of them on

the bridge mingling with the combatants, whose blind rage prevented

them from noticing the intrusion. Wherever they passed, there did the

fight augment in obstinacy and fury. Suddenly there was a violent rush

upon the bridge, a frightful outcry, and a clash of steel. At the same

moment the blades of several swords and daggers were seen crossed and

glittering upon the bridge, without its being possible for any one to

divine whence the weapons came. The spectators, seized with a panic

fear, fled in every direction, and sprang in crowds from the quays to

seek shelter under the awnings of the gondolas covering the canal. In

vain did the gondoliers resist the intrusion of the fugitives: all

considerations of rank and property were lost sight of in the terror

of the moment, and some of the boats sank under the weight of the

multitudes that poured into them. In their haste to get away, the

gondolas impeded each other, and became wedged together in the canal;

and amidst the screams of the ladies and angry exclamations of the

men, the gondoliers laid down their oars and began to dispute the

precedence with blows. Meanwhile the people on the roofs of the

houses, believing themselves in safety, espoused different sides, and

threw stones and bricks at each other, and at those standing below. In

an incredibly short time houses were entirely unroofed, and a perfect

storm of tiles rained upon the quays and streets. Those who had first

fled, when they attained what appeared a safe distance, halted to look

on, and thus prevented others from getting away. Antonio was amongst

the number whose escape was thus impeded. His gondolier lay at the

bottom of the boat, stunned by a blow from a stone; he himself was

bruised and wounded by the missiles that fell in all directions.

The tumult was at its height when suddenly a sound was heard that had

a truly magical effect upon the rioters, for such they might now be

termed. The alarm-bell of St Mark's rang out its awful peal. In an

instant the yells of defiance were hushed; the arm that was already

drawn back to deal a blow fell harmless by its owner's side, the storm

of missiles ceased, the contending factions parted, and left the

combat undecided. The habit of obedience and the intimation of some

danger to the city, stilled in an instant the rage of party feeling,

and combatants and spectators alike hurried away in the direction of

St Mark's place, the usual point of rendezvous on such occasions.

Jacopo had now recovered his senses, and Antonio's gondola was one of

the first which reached the square in front of the cathedral. Thence

the young painter at once discovered the cause of the alarm. Smoke and

flame were issuing from some buildings on the opposite island of San

Giorgio Maggiore, where the greater part of the merchants' warehouses

were situated. Thither the crowd of gondolas now steered, and Antonio

found himself carried along with the stream. But although the fire was

already beginning to subside before the prompt measures taken to

subdue it, the alarm-bell kept clanging on; and Antonio soon perceived

that there must be some other point of danger to which it was intended

to turn the attention of the people. Gazing about for some indication

of its source, he saw several gondolas hurrying towards the grand

canal, on which most of the palaces of the nobles were situated, and

he ordered Jacopo to steer in the same direction.

On reaching the palazzo of the Malipieri family, a strange scene

presented itself to him. The open space between the side of the palace

and the adjacent church of San Samuele, was crowded with men engaged

in a furious and sanguinary conflict. At one of the windows of the

palace, a tall man in a flowing white robe, with a naked sabre in one

hand and a musquetoon in the other, which, from the smoke still

issuing from its muzzle, had apparently just been discharged, stood

defending himself desperately against a band of fierce and bearded

ruffians, who swarmed up a rope ladder fixed below the window. The

person making so gallant a defence was the Senator Malipiero; the

assailants were Uzcoques from the fortress of Segna.

The arrival of the Proveditore Marcello at Gradiska, and his

subsequent recognition of his jewels at the ball, having destroyed

Strasolda's hopes of obtaining her father's liberation through the

intervention of the archducal counsellors, the high-spirited maiden

resolved to execute a plan she had herself devised, and which,

although in the highest degree rash and hazardous, might still succeed

if favoured by circumstances and conducted with skill and decision.

This was to seize upon the person of a Venetian of note, in order to

exchange him for the Uzcoques then languishing in the dungeons of the

republic.

The Venetians were not yet aware that the much-dreaded woivode

Dansowich was among their prisoners. The time chosen by the Uzcoques

for their expeditions and surprises was usually the night; and this,

added to the custom of mask-wearing, was the cause that the features

of Dansowich were unknown to his captors. Nevertheless the striking

countenance and lofty bearing of the chieftain, and of one or two of

those who were taken prisoners with him, raised suspicions that they

were persons of mark--suspicions which were not dissipated by their

reiterated denial of being any thing more than common Uzcoques. It was

this doubt which saved their lives; for their captors, instead of

hanging them at once at the yard-arm of the galleys, which was the

usual manner of disposing of Segnarese prisoners, took them to Venice,

and placed them at the disposal of the senate. All subsequent threats

and promises proved ineffectual to extort from the pirates an

acknowledgment of superior rank; and the Venetian authorities would

perhaps have ended in believing the account they gave of themselves,

had not the urgent applications made by the Austrian Envoy and the

Capitano of Fiume, for the release of the Uzcoques, given their

suspicions new strength. The object of the Venetians was, if they

could ascertain that there was a chief among the prisoners, to obtain

from him, by torture or otherwise, confessions which might enable them

to prove to the Archduke the encouragement afforded by his counsellors

to the piracies of the Segnarese. They accordingly delayed, by every

possible pretext, giving an answer to the archducal ambassador, doing

their utmost meanwhile to find out the real quality of the prisoners.

This, Strasolda was most anxious that they should not discover; and

her anxiety was scarcely less to prevent the captivity of their leader

from becoming known among the pirates themselves. His daughter's

entreaties, and his own better nature, had frequently caused Dansowich

to check his followers in the atrocities they were too apt to commit.

In consequence of this interference, Strasolda suspected her father to

be more feared than liked by Jurissa Caiduch and some others of the

inferior woivodes or officers; and she apprehended that, if she

confided her plan to them, they would be more likely to thwart than to

aid her in it. The crews of the two boats which had been engaged in

the skirmish with the Venetian galleys when Dansowich was captured,

and the men composing the garrison of the castle on the evening of

that fatal occurrence, were therefore all whose assistance she could

reckon upon. Some of those were her relatives, and the others tried

and trusty adherents. They alone knew of their leader's captivity, his

absence having been accounted for to the mass of Uzcoques dwelling in

the town of Segna, by a pretended journey to Gradiska; and being too

few in number to attack a Venetian galley, the sole plan that seemed

to offer a chance of success to this handful of faithful followers,

was the hazardous one devised by Strasolda. Of this, they did not

hesitate to attempt the execution.

With the utmost cunning and audacity did the Uzcoques enter Venice on

the day appointed for the Battle of the Bridge, singly, and by twos

and threes, variously disguised, and mingled with the country people

and inhabitants of the islands who were hastening to the festival.

Watching their opportunity when the fight was at the fiercest, one

party mixed with the combatants, exciting and urging them on, and

doing all in their power to increase the confusion; others set fire to

the warehouses on the island of San Giorgio, in order to draw the

public attention in that direction; while the third and most numerous

division, favoured by the deepening twilight and the deserted state of

that part of the city, succeeded in fixing a rope ladder to the window

of the Malipieri palace, the chief of which noble house was, as they

had previously ascertained, lying sick in bed in a side-chamber,

attended only by a few domestics.

But there were two things which Strasolda and the Uzcoques had

forgotten to include in their calculations. These were, first, the

slavish obedience of the Venetian populace to the call of their

superiors--an obedience to which they were accustomed to sacrifice

every feeling and passion; secondly, the Argus eyes and omnipresent

vigilance of the Secret Tribunal. Scarcely was the ladder applied,

when the first gush of flame from the warehouses brought a deafening

peal from the alarm-bell; and at the same moment, the masked and armed

familiars of the Venetian police, rising as it seemed out of the very

earth, surrounded the ladder, and a fierce conflict began. Even the

watchfulness and precautions of the Inquisition, however, were to a

certain extent overmatched by Uzcoque cunning and foresight. Had it

not been necessary to ring the alarm bell on account of the fire, the

police, who were far the most numerous, and who each moment received

an accession to their numbers, could scarcely have failed to capture

some of their opponents, and thus have ascertained to a certainty what

the promoters and the object of this audacious attempt really were.

But before they could accomplish this, the small piazza where the

conflict was going on was thronged with the populace, half intoxicated

with the excitement of the scarcely less serious fight they had been

witnessing and sharing in. In the crush and confusion that ensued,

familiars and Uzcoques were separated; and the latter, mingling with

the crowd, and no longer distinguishable from the cloaked and masked

figures that surrounded them, easily succeeded in effecting their

escape.

When Antonio, who was pushed hither and thither by the mob, was able

to extricate himself sufficiently to get another view of the window,

the invalid nobleman, delivered from his assailants, had retired into

his apartment, while the ladder, now deserted by the Uzcoques, had

been cut and thrown down. Desirous of escaping from this scene of

confusion, the young painter was making his way towards the quay,

close to which his gondola was waiting, when his heart suddenly leaped

within him at the sight of a muffled figure that passed near him, and

in which he thought he recognized the mysterious old woman who had of

late occupied so much of his thoughts. She was followed by a number of

the rabble, who pressed upon her with oaths and curses, asserting that

she was one of the party which had attacked the palace of the

Malipieri.

"I saw her holding the ladder," exclaimed one fellow.

"Nay, she was climbing up it herself," cried a second.

"Strike the foul witch dead!" shouted a score of voices.

The old woman's life was in the greatest peril, when a strange and

unaccountable, but at the same time irresistible impulse, moved

Antonio to go to her rescue. He was forcing his way through the crowd

with this intention, when the object of the popular fury turned her

head towards him. Her veil was for a moment partially drawn aside,

affording a glimpse of her features in profile; and Antonio, still the

slave of his diseased imagination, fancied that her yellow shriveled

features had been metamorphosed into a countenance of regular beauty;

such a countenance, in short, as befitted the graceful and symmetrical

form to which it belonged. Confused and bewildered, the naturally weak

and undecided youth stood deliberating and uncertain whether he should

attempt the rescue, which would have been by no means difficult to

accomplish by the display of a little boldness and promptitude. Whilst

he was thus hesitating, there suddenly broke through the crowd a

young man, attired like himself in a black dress, and holding a naked

rapier in his hand. The new comer had probably lost his mask in the

tumult and confusion, for his features were uncovered, and Antonio

saw, to his inexpressible consternation and astonishment, that they

were the exact counterpart of his own. Before he could recover from

this new shock, the stranger, by the aid of his fierce and determined

demeanour, and the rapid play of his weapon, had made his way to the

mysterious old woman, whose back was turned towards him, and seizing

her round the waist he again forced a passage through the throng to

the nearest gondola, which happened to be that of the young painter.

The crowd pressed after him, and Antonio was hurried along with it to

the edge of the quay. But at the very moment that, to avoid being

pushed into the water by the throng, he sprang into one end of his

gondola, he saw the stranger, who had just entered it at the other,

gaze with a look of disgust and dismay on the features of her he had

rescued, and then with a cry of horror, leap into another boat, which

immediately rowed rapidly away. At the same instant Jacopo, by a

strong sweep of the oar, spun the gondola round, and shot into a

narrow canal which soon led them out of sight and sound of the scene

of confusion they had just left.

These various events had succeeded each other so rapidly, that Antonio

could hardly credit his senses when he found himself in this strange

manner the deliverer of the mysterious being who now sat under the

awning of his gondola, her frightful countenance, unveiled in the

struggle and no longer seen through the beautifying prism of the young

artist's imagination, again displaying the yellow and wrinkled skin,

and the deep-set glittering eyes, which now seemed fixed upon him with

an expression of love and gratitude that froze his blood. With a

shuddering sensation he retreated to the stern of the boat, where

Jacopo stood pale and trembling, crossing himself without a moment's

intermission.

"Are you mad, Signore," whispered the gondolier, "to risk your life in

behalf of such a frightful witch? Never did I see you so ready with

your rapier, flashing it in people's eyes as though it had been one of

your painting brushes."

"By Heaven, Jacopo," answered Antonio, "that was not I"--

"The saints protect us!" interrupted the gondolier. "You are assuredly

bewitched, or have lost your senses, Signore. To think of your thus

denying your own noble daring! Do, for the blessed virgin's sake, let

us jump out upon the next landing-place, and leave the gondola to the

sorceress who has bewitched you. Holy mother! she is coming this way!"

A prey to the strangest and most contradictory emotions, Antonio

hastily advanced to meet the mysterious being, whom he could not help

regarding with superstitious awe, though he at the same time felt

himself drawn towards her by a fascination, against which he found it

was in vain to contend. The features of the unknown were again

shrouded carefully in her veil, but her black and brilliant eyes

glittered through it like nebulous stars.

"To the house of the Capitano of Fiume," whispered she to Antonio, and

then retreated, as if anxious to avoid further conversation, into the

interior of the gondola.

In the district of Castello, through which Antonio and his strange

companion were now passing, the canals and quays were deserted, and

not a sound was heard except the distant hum of the multitude

assembled in the quarter of St Mark's. Without exciting suspicion or

attracting observation, they reached the Rialto and the grand canal,

and the gondola stopped at a landing-place opposite the church of San

Moyses.

As the young painter assisted his mysterious charge out of the boat, a

gentle pressure from the warm soft hand which for a moment rested upon

his, quickened every pulse in his frame; and long after the

enigmatical being had disappeared behind the angle of a palace, he

stood gazing, like one entranced, at the spot where he had last seen

her imposing and graceful figure. The approach of Jacopo, still

crossing himself, and calling upon all the saints for protection

against the snares of the evil one, roused the perplexed youth from

his reverie; and, stepping into the gondola, he was soon gliding

rapidly over the canals in the direction of his father's palace.

CHAPTER II.

THE PICTURE.

The gondola of the young painter, gliding rapidly and silently over

the still waters of the canals, was passing a turn leading to the

Giudecca, when it suddenly occurred to Antonio that he would seek his

old master, and, after confessing his disobedience, relate to him the

events of the day, and make him the confidant of his troubles and

perplexities. A word to Jacopo changed the direction of the gondola,

and they entered the grand canal, on which Contarini's dwelling was

situated.

The brief twilight of Italy had passed, and it was now completely

night, dark and starless, which made more startling the sudden

appearance of several blazing torches, borne by masked and hooded

figures attired in black, who struck loud and repeated blows on the

gates of the Palazzo Contarini.

"Antonio Marcello! We seek Antonio Marcello!" exclaimed a deep and

hollow voice.

It would be necessary to be a Venetian, and to have lived in those

days, fully to comprehend the feeling of horror which caused Antonio's

blood to run cold, and the sweat to stand in beads upon his forehead,

when he heard his name uttered by the familiars of the state

Inquisition. Frightful dungeons, masked judges, halls hung with black,

the block and the gleaming axe, the rack and its blood-stained

attendants, the whole grim paraphernalia of the Secret Tribunal,

passed like the scenes of a phantasmagoria before the mental vision of

the young painter. He at once conjectured the cause for which they

were seeking him. He had doubtless been taken for the youth who, by

his energy and promptitude, had rescued the mysterious old woman from

the mob, and who bore so striking and unaccountable resemblance to

himself; and it must be on suspicion of his being connected with the

attack on the Malipieri palace, that the ministers of justice were

hunting him out. Nor did he see how he should he able to convince his

judges of his innocence. The tale he had to tell, although the truth,

was still too marvellous and improbable to obtain credence, and would

be more likely to draw upon him severe punishment, or perhaps the

torture, with the view of inducing him to confess its falsehood.

Bewildered by his terror, Antonio sat trembling, and utterly incapable

of deciding as to the course he should adopt, when the trusty

gondolier again came to his rescue.

"Cospetto! Signor!" he exclaimed, "have you lost your senses, that you

run thus into the very jaws of those devil's messengers? To one like

myself flight would certainly avail little; but, with a Proveditore

for your father, you may arrange matters if you only take time before

you become their prisoner. Quick, then, to the palazzo! Don't you see

old Contarini's head stuck out of his window? He is telling them you

are not there. They have doubtless been to your father's palace, and

will not be likely to return thither at present."

While the faithful fellow's tongue was thus wagging, his arms were not

idle. Intimately acquainted, as became his calling, with the numerous

windings and intricacies of the Venetian canals, he threaded them with

unhesitating confidence; and, favoured by the darkness of the night,

succeeded in getting Antonio unobserved through a back entrance of his

father's palace.

The first impulse of the terrified youth on finding himself thus in at

least temporary security, was to destroy the picture of the mysterious

old woman, which, if found by the agents of the Inquisition, might

bear false but fatal witness against him. With pallid cheek, and still

trembling with alarm, he was hurrying to his chamber to execute his

intention, when he encountered his father, who advanced to meet him,

and, grasping his arm, fixed upon him for some moments his stern and

searching gaze.

"The picture, father!" exclaimed the terror-stricken Antonio. "For the

love of Heaven, stay me not! Let me destroy that fatal picture!"

Regardless of his son's agitation and terror, the Proveditore half

led, half forced him to a seat in a part of the room, when the red

blaze from the larch logs that were crackling on the hearth, lit up

the young man's features.

"What means this, Antonio?" he said; "what has befallen during my

absence at Gradiska? The familiars of the Inquisition have been

seeking you here--you, the last person whose name I should expect to

hear in such mouths. Alarm me it did not; for well I know that you are

too scant of energy and settled purpose to be mixed up in conspiracies

against the state."

Antonio was still too much preoccupied by his terror to understand, or

at any rate to heed, the severity of his father's remark. Collecting

his scattered thoughts, he proceeded to narrate all that had occurred

to him, not only on that day, but since his first meeting with the

incognita near the church of San Moyses, on the very same spot whither

he had conveyed her in his gondola but a short hour ago.

"Let me destroy the painting, father!" he concluded; "it may be found,

and used as testimony against me."

The Proveditore had listened with a smile, that was at once

contemptuous and sorrowful, to his son's narrative, and to the

confession of his weakness and disobedience to the injunctions of his

aged teacher. When he had finished speaking, there was a minute's

silence, broken at last by the elder Marcello.

"I have long been convinced," he said, "that Contarini would never

succeed in making of you a painter fit to rank with those old and

illustrious masters of whom Venice is so justly proud. But I had not

thought so poorly of you, Antonio, as to believe that you would want

courage to defend an object, for the attainment of which you scrupled

not to disobey your venerable instructor. What the kind entreaties and

remonstrances of Contarini could not induce you to abandon, you are

ready to annihilate on the very first symptom of danger. Oh, Venice!"

exclaimed the Proveditore, his fine countenance assuming an expression

of extreme bitterness, as he gazed mournfully at the portraits of his

ancestors, including more than one Doge, which were suspended round

the walls of the apartment--"Venice! thou art indeed degenerate, when

peril so remote can blanch the cheek of thy patrician youth."

He strode twice up and down the hall, then returning to his son, bade

him fetch the picture which he was so desirous of destroying. Antonio,

downcast and abashed by these reproaches, which, however, were

insufficient to awaken nobler aspirations in his weak and irresolute

nature, hurried to his chamber, and presently returned with a roll of

canvass in his hand, which he unfolded and spread before the

Proveditore--then, dreading to encounter his father's ridicule, he

shrunk back out of the firelight. But the effect produced upon

Marcello by the portrait of the old woman, was very different from

that anticipated by his son. Scarcely had he cast his eyes upon the

unearthly visage, when he started back with an exclamation of horror

and astonishment.

"By all the saints, Antonio," cried he in an altered voice, "that is a

fearful portrait! Alas, poor wretch! thou art long since in thy

grave," continued he, addressing the picture, and with looks and tones

strangely at variance with his usually stern and imperturbable

deportment. "The worms have preyed on thee, and thou art as dust and

ashes. Why, then, dost thou rise from the dead to fright me with that

ghastly visage?"

"Is the face known to you, father?" the astonished Antonio ventured to

exclaim.

"Known to me! Ay, too well! That wrinkled skin, that unearthly

complexion, those deep-set eyes glowing like burning coals. Just so

did she glare upon me as she swung from the tree, the blood driven

into her features by the agonizing pressure of the halter. 'Tis the

very look that has haunted me for years, and caused me many bitter

moments of remorse; though, God knows, the deed was lawful and

justifiable, done in the execution of my duty to the republic. And

yet she lives," he continued musingly. "How could she have been saved?

True, she had not been hanging long when we left the place. Some of

her people, doubtless, were concealed hard by, and cut her down ere

life had entirely fled. But, ha! 'tis a clue this to the perpetrators

of to-day's outrage, for she was with them. Uzcoques, then they must

have been! Said you not, Antonio, that she came from the house of the

Capitano when first you saw her, and that to-day you left her there?"

"At her own special desire, father," replied Antonio.

"Then is the chain of evidence almost complete," continued the

Proveditore. "It must have been herself. And now--this attack on the

Malipieri palace. What was its object? A hostage?--Ay, I see it all,

and our prisoner is none other than Dansowich himself. But we must

have proof of that from his own confession; and this portrait may help

to extort it."

Whilst uttering these broken sentences, which were totally

incomprehensible to the bewildered Antonio, the Proveditore had donned

his mantle, and placed his plumed cap upon his head.

"No, Antonio," said he, "we will not destroy this picture, hideous

though it be. It may prove the means of rendering weighty service to

the republic."

And with these words, inexplicable to his son, the Proveditore left

the apartment; and, taking with him the mysterious portrait, hastened

to the prison were the Uzcoque leader was immured.

The pirate chief was a man of large and athletic frame, of strong

feelings, and great intellectual capabilities. His brow was large,

open, and commanding; his countenance, bronzed with long exposure to

the elements, and scarred with wounds, was repulsive, but by no means

ignoble; his hair and beard had long been silvered over by time and

calamity; but his vast bodily strength was unimpaired, and when roused

into furious resentment, his manly chest emitted a volume of sound

that awed every listener. Upon a larger stage, and under circumstances

more favourable to the fair development of his natural powers and

dispositions, the pirate Dansowich would have become one of the most

distinguished and admirable men of his time. Placed by the accident of

birth upon the frontiers of Christian Europe, and cherishing from

early youth a belief that the highest interests of the human race were

involved in the struggle between the Crescent and the Cross, he had

embraced the glorious cause with that enthusiastic and fiery zeal

which raises men into heroes and martyrs. Too soon, however, were

these lofty aspirations checked and blighted by the anti-Christian

policy of trading Venice, the bad faith of Austria towards the Uzcoque

race, and the extortions of her counsellors. Cursing in the bitterness

of his heart, not only Turks, Austrians, and Venetians, but all

mankind, he no longer opposed the piratical tendencies of his

neglected people, and eventually headed many of their marauding

expeditions.

It was nearly midnight when Dansowich was awakened from a deep but

troubled slumber by a grating noise at the door of his dungeon.

Anxiety of mind, and still more, the effect of confinement in an

impure and stifling atmosphere, upon one accustomed to the breezes of

the Adriatic and the free air of the mountains, had impaired his

health, and his sleep was broken by harassing and painful dreams. In

that from which he now awoke, with the sweat of anguish on his brow,

he had fancied himself before the tribunal of the Inquisition. The

rack was shown to him, and they bade him choose between confession and

torture. He then thought he heard his name repeated several times in

tones deep and sepulchral. Starting up in alarm, he saw the door of

his prison open, and give admittance to a man muffled in a black

cloak, who walked up to the foot of his bed of damp straw, and threw

the rays of a dark lantern full into his dazzled eyes.

The traces of recent and strong emotion, visible at that moment on the

pirate's countenance, did not escape the Proveditore, who attributed

them, and rightly, to an artifice he had practised. Previously to

entering the dungeon, he had caused the name of Nicolo Dansowich to

be repeated several times in a deep hollow voice. Aware of the

superstitious credulity of the Uzcoques, the wily Venetian had devised

this stratagem as one likely to produce a startling effect upon the

prisoner, and to forward the end he proposed to obtain by his visit.

He now seated himself upon a wooden bench, the only piece of furniture

in the dungeon, and addressed the captive in a mild and conciliating

tone.

"You should keep better watch over your dreams," said he, "if you wish

our tribunals to remain in ignorance of your secrets."

"My dreams!" repeated the Uzcoque, somewhat startled by the ominous

coincidence between Marcello's words and the visions that had broken

his slumber.

"Ay, friend, your dreams! The jailers are watchful, and little passes

in these prisons without coming to their knowledge. More than once

have they heard you revealing in your sleep that which, during your

waking hours, you so strenuously deny.--'Enough! Enough!' you cried.

'I will confess all. I am Nicolo Dansowich.'"

While Marcello was speaking, the old Uzcoque had had time to collect

his thoughts, and call to mind the numerous snares and devices by

which the Venetian tribunals obtained confessions from their

prisoners. With an intuitive keenness of perception, he in a moment

saw through the Proveditore's stratagem, and resolved to defeat it. A

contemptuous smile played over his features, and, shaking his head

incredulously, he answered the Venetian--

"The watchful jailers you speak of have doubtless been cheering their

vigils with the wine flask," said he. "Their draughts must have been

deep, to make them hear that which was never spoken."

"Subterfuge will avail you nothing," replied Marcello. "Your sleeping

confessions, although you may now wish to retract them, are yet

sufficient grounds for the tribunal to go upon, and the most

excruciating tortures will be used, if needful, to procure their

waking confirmation. Reflect, Dansowich," continued the Proveditore in

a persuasive and gentle tone, "on the position in which you now find

yourself. Your life is forfeited; and, if you persist in your denials,

you will never leave this dungeon but for the rack or scaffold. On the

other hand, the senate respects you as a brave and honourable,

although misguided man, and would gladly see you turn from the error

of your ways. Now is the time to ensure yourself a tranquil and

respected old age. Hearken to the proposals I am empowered to make

you. The Signoria offers you life, freedom, and a captainship in the

island of Candia, on the sole condition, on your part, of disclosing

the intrigues and perfidy of the council at Gradiska, and furnishing

us, as you are assuredly able to do, with documents by which we may

prove to the Archduke the treachery of his ministers. Again, I

say--Reflect! or rather hesitate not, but decide at once between a

prosperous and honourable life, and a death of degradation and

anguish."

Neither the threats nor the temptations held out by the Proveditore

seemed to have the smallest effect upon the Uzcoque.

"You are mistaken," replied he calmly. "I am not Dansowich, nor have I

any knowledge of the intrigues at Gradiska. I could not therefore, if

I wished it, buy my life by the treachery demanded of me; and if the

woivodes of Segna think as I do, they will let themselves be hewn in

pieces before they do the bidding of your senators, or concede aught

to the wishes of false and crafty Venice."

"You are a brave man, Dansowich!" resumed the Proveditore, who saw the

necessity of changing his tactics. "You care little for the dangers

and sufferings of this world. But yet--pause and reflect. Your hair is

silvered by time, and even should you escape your present peril, you

will still, ere many years are past, have to render an account to a

higher tribunal than ours. By an upright course you might atone for

the crimes of your youth and manhood, and become the chosen instrument

of Heaven to deliver your fellow-Christians from a cruel scourge and

sore infliction."

"And who has brought the scourge upon you?" demanded the old man in a

raised voice, measuring the Proveditore with a stern and contemptuous

look. "Is it our fault that, whilst we were striving to keep the Turk

from the door of Christendom, you sought every means of thwarting our

efforts by forming treaties with the infidel? You do well to remind me

that my head is grey. I was still a youth when the name of Uzcoque was

a title of honour as it is now a term of reproach--when my people were

looked upon as heroes, by whose valour the Cross was exalted, and the

Crescent bowed down to the dust. Those were the days when, on the

ruins of Spalatro, we swore to live like eagles, amidst barren cliffs

and naked rocks, the better to harass the heathen--the days when the

power of the Moslem quailed and fled before us. And had not your

sordid Venetian traders stepped in, courting the infidel for love of

gain, the Cross would still be worshipped on all the shores of the

Adriatic, and the Uzcoques would still combat for honour and victory

instead of revenge and plunder. But your hand has ever been against

us. Your long galleys were ever ready to sink our barks or blockade

our coast; and the fate of robbers and murderers awaited our people if

they had the mishap to fall into your hands. You reduced us at last to

despair. Each valiant deed performed against the Turk was recompensed

by you with new persecutions, till at last you converted into deadly

enemies those who would willingly have been your friends and fast

allies. Thank yourselves, then, for the foe you have raised up. Your

own cowardice and greed have engendered the hydra which now preys upon

your heart's blood."

The Proveditore remarked with satisfaction, not unmingled with

surprise, that the old pirate, who had hitherto replied to all

interrogatories with a degree of cold reserve and cunning which had

baffled his examiners, was becoming visibly excited, and losing his

power of self-control. This was favourable to the meditated stratagem

of the Venetian, who now, in pursuance of the scheme he had combined,

gave the conversation another direction.

"I an willing to acknowledge," said he, "that the republic has at

times dealt somewhat hardly with your people. But which is in fact the

worst foe, he who openly attacks you, or he who makes you his tool to

sow discord amongst Christians, and to excite the Turks against

Venice, while under pretence of protection he squeezes from you the

booty obtained at the price of your blood?"

"And who does that?" demanded the Uzcoque.

"Who! Need you ask the question? What do you give for the shelter you

receive from Austria? At what price do you inhabit the town and castle

of Segna?"

"At none that I am aware of," replied Dansowich fiercely. "We dwell

there, in virtue of our compact with the Emperor, as soldiers of the

Archduke, bound to defend the post confided to us against the

aggressions of the infidel. As soldiers we have our pay, as mariners

we have our lawful booty."

"Pay and booty!" repeated the Proveditore scornfully. "Whence comes,

then, your manifest misery and poverty? Whence comes it that you turn

robbers, if in the pay of Austria? No, Dansowich, you will not deceive

us by such flimsy pretexts! Your gains, lawful and unlawful, are

wrested from you by the archducal counsellors, in whose hands you are

mere puppets. 'Twas they who prompted you to tell the Turks that you

were in league with Venice; that the republic encouraged your

misdeeds, and shared the profits of your aggressions on the subjects

of the Porte. They it was who caused the documents to be prepared,

with forged seals and signatures of the illustrious Signoria, which

were to serve as proofs of your lying assertions. Deny this, if you

can."

The beard and mustache of the old Uzcoque appeared to curl and bristle

with fury at the insulting imputations of the Proveditore. For a

moment he seemed about to fly at his interlocutor; his fingers

clutched and tore the straw upon which he was sitting; and his fetters

clanked as his whole frame shook with rage. After a brief pause, and

by a strong effort, he restrained himself, and replied calmly to the

taunting accusation of the Venetian.

"Why go so far," said he, "to seek for motives that may be found

nearer home? You seem to have forgotten how many times the Archduke

has compelled us to make restitution of booty wrested from Venetian

subjects. You forget, too, that it was in consequence of your

complaints he sent to the cruel Rabbata to control us--Rabbata whom we

slew in our wrath, for we are freemen and brook no tyranny. If we are

poor individually, it is because we yield up our booty into the hands

of our woivodes, to be used for the common good of seven hundred

families. No, Signor! if the republic has to complain of us, let her

remember the provocations received at her hands, the persecutions

which converted a band of heroes into a pirate horde, and which

changed our holy zeal against the enemies of the Cross into

remorseless hatred of all mankind. As to the forged seals and

signatures you talk of, and the deceptions practised on the Turks, if

such there were, they were the self-willed act of our woivodes, and in

no way instigated by Austria."

"Thou liest, Dansowich!" said the Proveditore sternly. "Did you not

proclaim and swear in the public market-place of the Austrian town of

Segna, that you were the friends and allies of Venice? This you would

never have dared to do, but with the approval and connivance of the

archducal government."

The eyes of the pirate sparkled with a strange and significant gleam

as the Proveditore recalled the circumstance to his recollection.

"Know ye not," said he with a grim smile, "whom ye have to thank for

that good office? 'Twas Dansowich himself, who thereby but half

fulfilled his vow of vengeance against the republic. And when did it

occur?" he continued with rising fury. "Was it not shortly after the

day in which that heartless villain, the Proveditore Marcello,

captured the woivode's wife, and hung her, unoffending and

defenceless, unshriven and unabsolved, upon a tree on the Dalmatian

shore?"

The Uzcoque paused, overcome by the bitter memories he was calling up,

and by the fury and hatred they revived in his breast. His eyes were

bloodshot, and the foam stood upon his lips as he concluded. The

Proveditore smiled. The favourable moment he had been waiting had

arrived, the moment when he doubted not that Dansowich would betray

himself. Taking Antonio's drawing from under his cloak, he suddenly

unrolled and held it before the Uzcoque, in such a manner that the

light of the lantern fell full upon the ghastly countenance of the old

woman.

"Behold!" said he. "Does that resemble her you speak of?"

The object of the Proveditore was gained, but he had not well

calculated all the consequences of his stratagem.

"Fiend of hell!" shouted Dansowich in a voice of thunder, while a

sudden light seemed to burst upon him. "'Tis thou who are her

murderer!" And bounding forward with a violence that at once freed him

from his fetters, which fell clattering on the dungeon floor, he

clutched the senator by the throat, and hurled him to the ground

before the astonished Venetian had time to make the slightest

resistance.

"Art thou still in being?" he muttered, while his teeth gnashed and

ground together. "I thought thee long since dead. But, no! 'twas

written thou shouldst die by my hand. Be it done to thee as thou didst

to the wife of my bosom," continued he, while kneeling on the breast

of the Proveditore, and compressing his throat in an iron gripe that

threatened to prove as efficacious and nearly as speedy in its

operation as the bow-string of the Turk. In vain did Marcello struggle

violently to free himself from the crushing pressure of the pirate's

fingers. Although a very powerful man, and in the full vigour of his

strength, the disadvantage at which he had been taken prevented his

being a match for the old Uzcoque, whose sinews were braced by a long

life of hardship. Fortunately, however, for the Venetian, the furious

shout of Dansowich had been overheard by the guards and jailers, who

now rushed into the dungeon, and rescued the half strangled

Proveditore from the grasp of his fierce antagonist.

"Do him no hurt!" exclaimed Marcello, so soon as he was able to speak,

seeing that the guards were disposed to handle the Uzcoque somewhat

roughly; "the secret I have won is well worth the risk. The prisoner

is Dansowich, woivode of Segna."

The fetters which the pirate had snapped with such facility, were,

upon examination, found to be filed more than half through. The

instrument by which this had been effected was sought for and

discovered, and the prisoner, having been doubly manacled, was again

left to the solitude of his cell. After directing all imaginable

vigilance to be used for the safe custody of so important a captive,

the Proveditore re-entered his gondola and was conveyed back to his

palace.

CHAPTER III.

THE PIRATES.

The desperate attempt on the life of the Proveditore, and the evidence

given by him as to the identity of the prisoner, had the result that

may be supposed, and the old Uzcoque was put to the torture. But the

ingenuity of Venetian tormentors was vainly exhausted upon him; the

most unheard of sufferings failed to extort a syllable of confession

from his lips. At last, despairing of obtaining the desired

information by these means, the senate commissioned Marcello, as one

well acquainted with the localities, to make a descent on the

Dalmatian coast, and profiting by the consternation of the Uzcoqes at

the loss of their leader, to endeavour to surprise a small fort

situated at some distance from Segna, and which was the abode of

Dansowich. In the absence of the old pirate it would probably be

carelessly guarded and easily surprised; and it was hoped that

documents would be found there, proving that which the Venetians were

so anxious to establish. Another object of the expedition was to

capture, if possible, the mysterious female who had been lately seen

more than once in Venice, and who had taken so prominent a part in the

attack on the palace of the Malipieri.

Accompanied by his son, whom for various reasons he had resolved to

take with him, Marcello went on board an armed galley, and with a

favouring breeze steered for the Dalmatian coast. He had little doubt

of accomplishing the object of his expedition with ease and safety;

for a Venetian Fleet was already blockading the channel of Segna, and

the archducal city of Fiume, where several of the Uzcoque barks were

undergoing repairs. The blockade had been instituted in consequence of

the outrageous piracies committed by the Uzcoques during the Easter

festival, and was a measure frequently adopted by the republic; which,

although carefully avoiding a war, neglected no other means of

enforcing their applications to the court at Gradiska for an energetic

interference in the proceedings of the pirates. The inconvenience and

interruption to the trade of Fiume occasioned by these blockades,

usually induced the archducal government to institute a pretended

investigation into the conduct of the Uzcoques, or at least to promise

the Venetians some reparation--a mockery of satisfaction with which

the latter, in their then state of decline and weakness, were fain to

content themselves. Reckoning upon the terror inspired by the presence

of the squadron now employed in the blockade, as well as upon its

support, should he require it, the Proveditore made sure of success.

He was doomed, however, to be cruelly disappointed in his sanguine

anticipations.

When the attempt to get possession of the person of a Venetian

nobleman had failed, Strasolda found it impossible to keep her

father's captivity any longer a secret, and was compelled to appeal to

the whole of the Uzcoques to assist her in his deliverance.

Information of the woivode's recognition, and of the tortures he had

suffered, soon reached the ears of the pirates, who were not slow to

perceive that the safety, and even the existence of their tribe, were

now at stake. Although well acquainted with the inflexible character

of Dansowich, they trembled lest the agonies he was made to suffer

should force from him a confession, which would enable the Venetians

to convince the archduke of the criminal collusion between his

counsellors and the Uzcoques. This would be the signal for the

withdrawal of the archducal protection from the pirates, who then,

exposed to the vengeance of all whom they had plundered, must

inevitably succumb in the unequal conflict that would ensue.

The imminence of the peril inspired the Uzcoques with unwonted courage

and energy. Jurissa Caiduch himself, forgetting any cause of dislike

he might have to Dansowich, joined heart and hand in the plans formed

by the pirates for the deliverance of their leader. Every man in

Segna, whether young or old, all who could wield a cimeter or clutch a

knife, hastily armed themselves, and crowded into the fleet of long

light skiffs in which they were wont to make their predatory

excursions. Then breaking furiously through the line of Venetian

ships, stationed between Veglia and the mainland, and which were

totally unprepared for this sudden and daring manoeuvre, they

disappeared amidst the shoals and in the small creeks and inlets of

the Dalmatian islands belonging to the republic, where the ponderous

Venetian galleys would vainly attempt to follow them. Their object was

the same which they had already attempted to carry out in Venice on

the day of the Bridge Fight; namely, to seize upon some Venetian

magistrate or person of importance whom they might exchange for

Dansowich. Under the guidance of Jurissa Caiduch they waylaid and

boarded every vessel that passed up or down the Adriatic, especially

those coming from the Ionian islands, in hope of meeting with a

Venetian of rank. Nor did they pursue their researches upon the water

alone. Not a night passed that one or other of the islands was not

lighted up by the blaze of villages, hamlets, and villas. In the

absence of Dansowich, there was no restraint upon their fury; and

urged on by the bloodthirsty Jurissa, the cruelties they committed

were unprecedented even in their sanguinary annals. Nor were they

without hope that the barbarities they were perpetrating might induce

the Venetians to restore their leader to liberty, in order that he

might, as was well known to be his wont, check the excesses of his

followers.

The outbreak of the pirates had been so sudden and unexpected, that

the Proveditore, who sailed from Venice on the same day on which it

occurred, had received no intelligence of it, and, unconscious of his

peril, steered straight for the islands. One circumstance alone

appeared strange to him, which was, that during the last part of his

voyage he did not meet a single vessel, although the quarter of the

Adriatic through which he was passing was usually crowded with

shipping. But he was far from attributing this extraordinary change to

its real cause.

It was afternoon when Marcello's galley cane in sight of the white

cliffs of Cherso, and shortly afterwards entered the channel, running

between that island and Veglia. The masses of dark clouds in the

western horizon were becoming momentarily more threatening, and

various signs of an approaching storm made the captain of the galley

especially anxious to get, before nightfall, into the nearest harbour,

which was that of Pesca, at the southern extremity of the island of

Veglia. All sail was made upon the galley, and they were running

rapidly down the channel, when a red light suddenly flashed over the

waves in the quarter of the horizon they were approaching, and was

reflected back upon the sky, now darkened with clouds and by the

approach of night. Attracted by this unusual appearance, Antonio

hurried to the high quarterdeck of the galley; and scarcely had he

ascended it, when the fiery glow fell in a flood of rosy light upon

the distant chalk cliffs. Entranced by the picturesque beauty of the

scene, the young painter forgot to enquire the cause of this singular

illumination, when suddenly his attention was caught by a shout from

the man at the helm.

"By Heavens, 'tis a fire!" ejaculated the sailor, who had been

watching the unusual appearance. "All Pesca must be in flames."

He had scarcely uttered the words when the galley rounded a projecting

point of land, and the correctness of the seaman's conjecture was

apparent. A thick cloud of smoke hung like a pall over the unfortunate

town of Pesca. Tongues of flame darted upwards from the dense black

vapour, lighting up sea and land to an immense distance.

Scarcely had Antonio's startled glance been able to take in this

imposing spectacle, when the storm, which had long been impending,

burst forth with tremendous violence; the wind howled furiously

amongst the rigging, and the galley was tossed like a nutshell from

crest to crest of the foaming waves; each moment bringing it into more

dangerous proximity to the rocky shoals of that iron-bound shore. The

light from the burning town showed the Venetians all the dangers of

their situation; and their peril was the more imminent because the

signal usually made for boats to tow large vessels through the rocks

and breakers, was at such a moment not likely to be observed or

attended to by the people of Pesca. Nevertheless the signal was

hoisted; but instead of bringing the assistance so much needed by the

Venetians, it drew upon them an enemy far more formidable than the

elements with which they were already contending. Boats were soon seen

approaching the galley; but as they drew near it was evident they were

not manned by the peaceful fishermen, who usually came out to render

assistance to vessels. They were crowded with wild, fierce-looking

figures, who, on arriving within a short distance of the ship, set up

a savage yell of defiance, and sent a deadly volley of musket-balls

amongst the astounded Venetians. Before the latter had recovered from

their astonishment, the light skiffs of the Uzcoques were within a few

yards of the galley. Another fatally effective volley of musketry; and

then, throwing down their fire-arms, the pirates grasped their sabres

and made violent efforts to board. But each time that they succeeded

in closing, the plunging of the ponderous galley into the trough of

the sea, or the rising of some huge wave, severed them from their

prey, and prevented them from setting foot on the decks of the

Venetian vessel. This delay was made the most of by the officers of

the latter, in making arrangements for defence. The Proveditore

himself, a man of tried and chivalrous courage, and great experience

both in land and sea warfare, lent his personal aid to the

preparations, and in a few pithy and emphatic words strove to

encourage the crew to a gallant resistance. But the soldiers and

mariners who manned the galley had already sustained a heavy loss by

the fire of the Uzcoques, and were moreover alarmed by their near

approach to that perilous shore, as well as disheartened by the

prospect of a contest with greatly superior numbers. Although some few

took to their arms and occupied the posts assigned them by their

officers, the majority seemed more disposed to tell beads and mutter

prayers, than to display the energy and decision which alone could

rescue them from the double peril by which they were menaced. The

pirates, meanwhile, were constantly foiled in their attempts to board

by the fury of the elements, till at last, becoming maddened by

repeated disappointments, they threw off their upper garments, and

fixing their long knives firmly between their teeth, dashed in crowds

into the water. Familiar with that element from childhood, they

skimmed over its surface with the lightness and rapidity of sea-mews,

and swarmed up the sides of the galley. A vigorous defence might yet

have saved the vessel; but the heroic days of Venice were long

past--the race of men who had so long maintained the supremacy of the

republic in all the Italian seas, was now extinct. After a feeble and

irresolute resistance, the Venetians threw down their arms and begged

for quarter; while the Proveditore, disgusted at the cowardice of his

countrymen, indignantly broke his sword, and retreating to the

quarterdeck, there seated himself beside his son, and calmly awaited

his fate.

Foremost among the assailants was Jurissa Caiduch, who sprang upon the

deck of the galley, foaming with rage, and slaughtering all he met on

his passage. The blazing town lighted up the scene, and showed him and

his followers where to strike. In vain did the unfortunate crew

implore quarter. None was given, and the decks of the ship soon

streamed with blood, while each moment the cries of the victims became

fewer and fainter.

Totally forgetting in his blind fury the object of the expedition,

Jurissa stayed not his hand in quest of hostages, but rushed with

uplifted knife on Marcello and his son. The latter shrieked for mercy;

while the Proveditore, unmoved by the imminence of the peril,

preserved his dignity of mien, and fixed his deep stern gaze upon the

pirate. Jurissa paused for an instant, staggered by the look, and awed

by the commanding aspect, of the Venetian. Soon, however, as though

indignant at his own momentary hesitation, he rushed forward with a

furious shout and uplifted blade. The knife was descending, the next

instant it would have entered the heart of Marcello; when an Uzcoque,

recognizing by the light of the conflagration the patrician garb of

the Proveditore, uttered a cry of surprise, and seized the arm of his

bloodthirsty leader.

"Caiduch!" exclaimed the pirate, "would you again blast our purpose?

This man is a Venetian noble. His life may buy that of Dansowich."

"It is the Proveditore Marcello!" cried Antonio, eager to profit by

the momentary respite.

The words of the young painter passed from mouth to mouth, and in a

few seconds the whole of the Uzcoques were acquainted with the

important capture that had been made. For a moment astonishment kept

them tongue-tied, and then a wild shout of exultation conveyed to

their companions on shore the intelligence of some joyful event.

Ropes were now thrown out to the pirate skiffs, the galley was safely

towed into the harbour, and the Proveditore, his son, and the few

Venetian sailors who had escaped the general slaughter, were conducted

to the burning town, amidst the jeers and ill-treatment of their

captors. Exposed to great danger from the falling roofs and timbers of

the blazing houses, they were led through the streets of Pesca, and on

their way had ample opportunity of witnessing the incredible cruelties

exercised by the pirates upon the inhabitants of that ill-fated town.

What made these cruelties appear still more horrible, was the part

taken in them by the Uzcoque women, who, as was the case at that

period with most of the Sclavonian races, were all trained to the use

of arms,[1] and who on this occasion swelled the ranks of the

freebooters. Their ferocity exceeded, if possible, that of the men.

Neither age, sex, nor station afforded any protection against these

furies, who perpetrated barbarities the details of which would exceed

belief.

[1] The reader of German literature will call to mind the

anecdote, in Jean Paul's _Levana_, of a Moldavian woman who in

one day slew seven men with her own hand, and the same evening

was delivered of a child.

The violence of the flames rendering it impossible to remain in the

town, the Uzcoques betook themselves to the castle of a nobleman,

situated on a rising ground a short distance from Pesca. On first

landing, the pirates had broken into this castle and made it their

headquarters. After pillaging every thing of value, they had gratified

their savage love of destruction by breaking and destroying what they

could not well carry away. In the court-yard were collected piles of

furniture, pictures of price, and fragments of rich tapestry, rent by

those ruthless spoilers from the walls of the apartments. With this

costly fuel had the Uzcoques lit fires, at which quarters of oxen and

whole sheep were now roasting.

A shout of triumph burst forth when the news of the Proveditore's

capture was announced to the pirates who had remained at the castle,

and they crowded round the unfortunate prisoners, overwhelming them

with threats and curses. Something like silence being at length

obtained, Jurissa commanded instant preparations to be made for the

banquet appointed to celebrate the success of their expedition. Tables

were arranged in a spacious hall of the castle, and upon them soon

smoked the huge joints of meat that had been roasting at the fires,

placed on the bare boards without dish or plate. Casks of wine that

had been rescued from the flames of the town, or extracted from the

castle cellars, were broached, or the heads knocked in, and the

contents poured into jugs and flagons of every shape and size.

Although the light of the conflagration, glaring red through the tall

Gothic windows, lit up the hall and rendered any further illumination

unnecessary, a number of torches had been fixed round the apartment,

the resinous smoke of which floated in clouds over the heads of the

revelers. Seating themselves upon benches, chairs, and empty casks,

the Uzcoques commenced a ravenous attack upon the coarse but abundant

viands set before them.

The scene was a strange one. The brutal demeanour of the men, their

bearded and savage aspect; the disheveled bloodstained women, mingling

their shrill voices with the hoarse tones of their male companions;

the disordered but often picturesque garb and various weapons of the

pirates; the whole seen by the light of the burning houses--more

resembled an orgie of demons than an assemblage of human beings; and

even the cool and resolute Proveditore felt himself shudder and turn

pale as he contemplated this carnival of horrors, celebrated by

wretches on whose hands the blood of their fellow-men was as yet

hardly dry. Antonio sat supporting himself against the table, seeming

scarcely conscious of what passed around him. Both father and son had

been compelled to take their places at the board, amidst the jeers and

insults of the Uzcoques.

The revel was at its height, when Jurissa suddenly started from his

seat, and struck the table violently with his drinking-cup.

"Hold, Uzcoques!" he exclaimed; "we have forgotten the crowning

ornament of our banquet."

He whispered something to an Uzcoque seated beside him, who left the

room. While the pirates were still asking one another the meaning of

Jurissa's words, the man returned, bearing before him a trencher

covered with a cloth, which he placed at the upper end of the table.

"Behold the last and best dish we can offer to our noble guests!" said

Jurissa; "'twill suit, I doubt not, their dainty palates." And,

tearing off the cloth, he exposed to view the grizzly and distorted

features of a human head.

The shout of savage exultation that burst from the pirates at this

ghastly spectacle, drowned the groan of rage and grief uttered by the

Proveditore, as he recognised in the pale and rigid countenance the

well-known features of his friend Christophoro Veniero. That

unfortunate nobleman, on his return from a voyage to the Levant, had

fallen into the hands of Jurissa, who, before he was aware of the rank

of his prisoner, had barbarously slain him. This had occurred not many

hours before the capture of Marcello; and it was to the murder of

Veniero that the Uzcoque made allusion, when he seized Jurissa's arm

at the moment he was about to stab the Proveditore.

One of the pirates, a man of gigantic stature and hideous aspect, now

rose from his seat, staggering with drunkenness, and forcing open the

jaws of the dead, placed a piece of meat between the teeth. The

wildest laughter and applause greeted this frightful pantomime, which

made the blood of the Proveditore run cold.

"Infernal and bloody villains!" shouted he, unable to restrain his

indignation, and starting to his feet as he spoke. There was a

momentary pause, during which the pirates gazed at the noble Venetian,

seemingly struck dumb with surprise at his temerity. Then, however, a

dozen sinewy arms were extended to seize him, and a dozen daggers

menaced his life. Dignified and immovable, the high-souled senator

offered no resistance, but inwardly ejaculating a short prayer,

awaited the death-stroke. It came not, however. Although some of the

Uzcoques, in their fury and intoxication, would have immolated their

valuable hostage, others, who had drunk less deeply, protested against

the madness of such an act, and rushed forward to protect him. Their

interference was resented, and a violent quarrel ensued. Knives were

drawn, benches overturned, chairs broken up and converted into

weapons; on all sides bare steel was flashing, deep oaths resounding,

and missiles of various kinds flying across the tables. It would be

impossible to say how long this scene of drunken violence would have

lasted, or how long the Proveditore and his son would have remained

unscathed amidst the storm, had not the advent of a fresh actor upon

the scene stilled the tumult in a manner so sudden as to appear almost

miraculous.

The new comer was no other than the ghastly old woman who has been

seen to play such an important part in this history, and who now

entered the banqueting hall with hasty step and impatient gesture.

"Uzcoques!" she exclaimed in a shrill, clear, and emphatic voice, that

rose above the clamour of the brawl; "Uzcoques! what means this savage

uproar? Are you not yet sated with rapine and slaughter, that you thus

fall upon and tear each other? Are ye men, or wolves and tigers? Is

this the way to obtain your leader's deliverance; and will the news of

this day's havoc, think you, better the position of Dansowich?"

The pirates hung their heads in silent confusion at this reproof. None

dared to reply; Jurissa alone grumbled something inaudible.

"Follow me!" continued the singular woman whose words had so

extraordinary an effect on this brutal band. "Follow, every man! and

stop as far as may be, the ruin you have begun."

Obedient to her voice the Uzcoques left the hall, some of them

sullenly and slowly enough, but none venturing to dispute the

injunction laid upon them. The old woman waited till the scene of

tumult and revel was abandoned by all but Marcello and his son, and

then hurrying after the pirates, led the way to the burning town. In a

few minutes the two Venetians beheld, from the castle windows, the

dark forms of the freebooters moving about in the firelight, as they

busied themselves to extinguish the conflagration. Here and there the

white robe of the mysterious old woman was discernible as she flitted

from one group to another, directing their efforts, and urging them to

greater exertions.

"Strange!" said the Proveditore musingly, "that so hideous and

repulsive an old creature should exercise such commanding influence

over these bandits."

He looked round to his son as he spoke; but Antonio, worn out by the

fatigues and agitation of the day, had stretched himself upon a bench

and was already in a deep sleep. The Proveditore gazed at him for a

brief space, with an expression of mingled pity, regret, and paternal

affection upon his countenance.

"As weak of body as infirm of purpose," he murmured. "Alas! that a

name derived from old Roman ancestors should be borne by one so little

qualified to do it honour! Had it pleased Heaven to preserve to me the

child stolen in his infancy by the Moslem, how different would have

been my position! That masculine and noble boy, so full of life and

promise, would have proved a prop to my old age, and an ornament to

his country. But now, alas!"--

He continued for a while to indulge in vain regrets that the course of

events had not been otherwise; then turning to the window, he watched

the efforts made by the pirates to extinguish the flames, until a

dense cloud of smoke that overhung the town was the only sign

remaining of the conflagration.

For some time the Proveditore paced up and down the hall in anxious

thought upon his critical position, and the strange circumstances that

had led to it. In vain did he endeavour to reconcile, with what now

seemed more than ever inexplicable, the vindictive rage of Dansowich

in the dungeon, and the evidence before him that the pirate's wife was

still in existence. It was a riddle which he was unable to solve; and

at last, despairing of success, he abandoned the attempt, and sought

in slumber a temporary oblivion of the perils that surrounded him.

CHAPTER IV.

THE RECOGNITION.

Upon a divan in the splendid armoury of the pacha's palace at

Bosnia-Serai, the young Turk Ibrahim was seated in deep thought, the

day after his return home. On the walls around him were displayed

weapons and military accoutrements of every kind. Damascus sabres

richly inlaid, and many with jeweled hilts, embroidered banners,

golden stirrups, casques of embossed silver, burnished armour and

coats-of-mail, were arranged in picturesque and fanciful devices. As

the young Moslem gazed around him, and beheld these trophies of

victories won by Turkish viziers and pachas in their wars against

Austria and Venice, his martial and fearless spirit rose high, and he

reproached himself with weakness and pusillanimity for having

abandoned the pursuit of her he loved. Bitterly did he now regret his

precipitation in leaving Venice the morning after the Battle of the

Bridge, and while under the influence of the shock he had received, in

beholding the hideous features of an old woman where he had expected

to find the blooming countenance of Strasolda. His love for the

Uzcoque maiden, as he had seen her when his captive, and again in the

cavern on the coast by Segna, returned in full force. He was already

planning a journey to Venice, when he was interrupted in his

meditations by the noise of a horse's hoofs dashing full speed into

the court of the palace. In another minute an attendant summoned him

to the presence of the pacha, and there he heard the news just

received, of the wild outbreak of the Uzcoques. The Martellossi and

other troops were ordered to proceed immediately to the frontier, in

order to protect Turkish Dalmatia from the pirates; and Ibrahim, at

his urgent request, was appointed to a command in the expedition.

With joyful alacrity did the young Turk arm and hurry to horse; and

then, putting himself at the head of a troop of light cavalry, sped

onwards in the direction of the country where he hoped to gain tidings

of Strasolda. Having received strict orders to content himself with

protecting the Turkish frontier, and above all not to infringe on

Archducal territory, Ibrahim, on arriving at the boundary of the

pachalic, left his troop in charge of the second in command, and with

a handful of men entered Venetian Dalmatia, with the intention of

obtaining information concerning the Uzcoques, and more especially

concerning her he loved. He was assisted in his enquiries by the good

understanding existing between Venice and the Porte; and he soon

learned that, after the burning of Pesca, the pirates had suddenly

ceased their excesses and returned to Segna, taking the Proveditore

with them. They had not gone, however, either to the castle or the

town; but fearful lest the Archduke should interfere, and make them

give up their illustrious prisoners, had betaken themselves to the

mountains, in the numerous caverns and lurking-places of which they

were able to conceal their captives. From every mouth did the eager

enquirer hear praises of the female who accompanied the Uzcoques. None

spoke of her but in terms of love and gratitude. As regarded her

appearance accounts were at variance, some representing her as young

and beautiful, while others compassionated her frightful ugliness;

and, more than ever perplexed by this conflicting testimony, Ibrahim

pursued his march and his enquiries, still hoping by perseverance to

arrive at a solution of the enigma.

While the young Turk was thus employed, the Proveditore and his son

were conveyed by their captors from one place of security to another,

passing one night in the depths of some ravine, the next amongst the

crags and clefts of the mountains, but always moving about in the

daytime, and never sleeping twice in the same place. Since the evening

of the revel at Pesca they had not again beheld the mysterious old

woman, although they had more than once heard her clear and silvery

voice near the place allotted to them for confinement and repose. In

certain attentions and comforts, intended as alleviations of their

unpleasant position, female care and thought were also visible; but

all their efforts were vain to obtain a sight of the friendly being

who thus hovered around them.

It was on a beautiful evening some fourteen days after their capture,

that the Proveditore and his son lay upon the bank of the only river

that waters the rocky vicinity of Segna, wearied by a long and rapid

march. There was an unusual degree of bustle observable amongst the

Uzcoques, and numerous messengers had been passing to and from the

castle of Segna, which was at no great distance from the spot where

they had now halted. From the various indications of some

extraordinary occurrence, the two Venetians began to hope that the

crisis of their fate was approaching, and that they should at last

know in what manner their captors meant to dispose of them. Nor were

they wrong in their expectations. Suddenly the mysterious old woman

stood before them, her partially veiled features bearing their wonted

hideous aspect, and her eyes, usually so brilliant, dimmed with tears.

"You are free," said she in an agitated voice to the Proveditore and

his son. "Our people will escort you to Fiume in all safety, and there

you will find galleys of the republic to convey you back to Venice."

At the sight of the old woman's unearthly countenance, Antonio covered

his face with his hands; the Proveditore rose from the ground deeply

moved.

"Singular being!" he exclaimed, "by this mildness and mercy you punish

me more effectually than by the bloodiest revenge you could have taken

for my cruel treatment of you."

"You owe me no thanks," was the reply; "thank rather the holy Virgin,

who sent the youth beside you to be your guardian angel, and who

delivered you into the hands of the Uzcoques at a time when they had

need of a hostage. Surely it was by the special intervention of Heaven

that the murderer of the wife was sent to serve as ransom for the

captive husband. But the atonement has come too late, the noble

Dansowich was basely ensnared into an act of violence, and his life

paid the forfeit of his wrath--he died upon the rack. And now the wily

counsellors at Gradiska compel us to release you."

She paused, interrupted by a flood of tears. After a short silence,

broken only by her sobs, she became more composed, and the Proveditore

again addressed her.

"But what," said he, "could have driven Dansowich to an act of

violence, which he must have known would entail a severe punishment?

Surely his wife's safety and the lapse of years might have enabled him

to forgive, if not to forget, the unsuccessful attempt upon her life."

"His wife's safety!" exclaimed the old woman. "Have the trials and

fatigues of the last few days turned your brain? Alas! too surely was

the rope fixed round her neck; and had you not carried off her remains

how could you have possessed her portrait, and by the devilish

stratagem of showing it to the bereaved husband, have driven him to

the act which cost him his life?"

"Gracious Heaven! what hideous jest is this?" exclaimed Marcello. "Do

I not see you living and standing before me; and think you I could

ever forget your features, or the look you gave me when hanging from

the tree? You were cut down and saved after our departure; and but a

few weeks have elapsed since my son painted your likeness, after

conveying you across the canal in his gondola."

The old woman stood for a few moments as though petrified by what she

had just heard. At last she passed her hand slowly across her face, as

if to convince herself of her identity.

"And she you murdered resembled _me_?" she exclaimed in a trembling

voice. "It was of _me_ that the portrait was taken, and by _him_!" she

continued, pointing to Antonio with a gesture of horror and contempt.

"_My_ picture was it, that was held before Dansowich, and by _you_,

the murderer of his wife? Holy Virgin!" she exclaimed, as the truth

seemed to flash upon her, "how has my faith in thee misled me! I

beheld in this youth one sent by Heaven to aid me; but now I see that

he was prompted by the powers of darkness to steal my portrait, and

thus become the instrument of destruction to the best and noblest of

our race."

"Forgive and spare us!" exclaimed Antonio, conscience-stricken as he

remembered the admonitions of Contarini. "'Tis true, I was the

instrument, but most unwittingly. How could I know so sad an end would

follow?"

"'Tis not my wont to seek revenge," replied the old woman; "nor do I

forget that you saved my life from the fury of the Venetians."

Antonio essayed to speak, but had not courage to correct the error

into which she had been led by his strong resemblance to the gallant

stranger.

"But," she continued, "'tis time you should have full proof that the

features you painted were not those of the wife of Dansowich."

With these words she threw back her veil, unfastened some small hooks

concealed in her abundant tresses, and took off a mask of thin and

untanned lambskin, wrinkled and stained with yellow and purple streaks

by exposure to sun and storm. This mask, closely fitted to features

regular and prominent, and strongly resembling those of her

unfortunate mother, whose large, dark, and very brilliant eyes she had

also inherited, will explain the misconception of the Proveditore as

well as that of Dansowich, who had never seen his daughter in a

disguise worn only at Venice or other places of peril, and while away

from her father and his protection.

While the beautiful but still tearful Uzcoque maid stood thus revealed

before the astonished senator, and his enraptured and speechless son,

the approaching footfall of a horse at full speed was heard, and in an

instant there darted round the angle of a cliff the martial figure of

a Turk, mounted upon a large and powerful steed, of that noble race

bred in the deserts eastward of the Caspian. The tall and graceful

person of the stranger was attired in a close riding-dress of scarlet

cloth, from the open breast of which gleamed a light coat-of-mail. A

twisted turban bound with chains of glittering steel defended and

adorned his head. A crooked cimeter suspended from his belt was his

only weapon. His countenance bore a striking resemblance to that of

Antonio, and had the same sweet and graceful expression about the

mouth and chin; but the more ample and commanding forehead, the well

opened flashing eyes, the more prominent and masculine nose, the

clear, rich, olive complexion and soldierly bearing, proclaimed him to

be of a widely different and higher nature. Riding close up to the

side of Strasolda, he reined in his steed with a force and suddenness

that threw him on his haunches; but speedily recovering his balance,

the noble animal stood pawing the earth and lashing his sides with his

long tail, like some untamed and kingly creature of the desert; his

veins starting out in sharp relief, his broad chest and beautiful

limbs spotted with foam, and his long mane, that would have swept the

ground, streaming like a banner in the sea-breeze.

For a moment the startled Strasolda gazed alternately, and in wild and

mute amazement, at Antonio and the stranger; but all doubt and

hesitation were dispersed in an instant by the well-remembered and

impassioned tones, the martial bearing and Moslem garb of Ibrahim,

whose captive she had been before she saw him in the cavern.

Leaping from his saddle and circling her slender waist with his arm,

he addressed her in those accents of truth and passion which go at

once to the heart--

"Heroic daughter of Dansowich! thou art the bright star of my destiny,

the light of my soul! Thou must be mine! Come, then, to my heart and

home! Gladden with thy love the life of Ibrahim, and he will give thee

truth unfailing and love without end."

Strasolda did not long hesitate. Already prepossessed in favour of the

young and noble-minded Moslem; her allegiance to the Christian powers

and faith weakened by the treachery of Austria; her people degraded

into robbers; a soldier's daughter, and keenly alive to the splendours

of martial gallantry and glory; an orphan, too, and desolate--can it

be wondered at if she surrendered, at once and for ever, to this

generous and impassioned lover all the sympathies of her affectionate

nature? She spoke not; but, as she leaned half-fainting on his arm,

her eloquent looks said that which made Ibrahim's pulses thrill with

grateful rapture. Pressing her fondly to his bosom, he placed her on

the back of his faithful steed, and vaulted into the saddle. Snorting

as the vapour flew from his red nostrils, and neighing with mad

delight, the impatient animal threw out his iron hoofs into the air,

flew round the angle of the cliff, and joined erelong a dozen mounted

spearmen. Then, bending their headlong course towards the far east, in

a few seconds all had disappeared.

During this scene, which passed almost with the speed of thought, the

Proveditore, who was seated on a ledge of the cliff, had gazed

anxiously and wildly at the youthful stranger. He knew him in an

instant, and would have singled him out amidst thousands; but was so

overwhelmed by a rushing tide of strong and heartrending emotions,

that he could neither rise nor speak, and remained, long after the

Turk had disappeared, with out-stretched arms and straining eye-balls.

"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed the bewildered Antonio, half suspecting

the truth, "who was that daring youth?"

After a pause, and in tones broken and inarticulate, his father

answered--"Thy twin brother, Antonio! When a child he was stolen from

me by some Turks in Candia; and those who stole have given him their

own daring and heroic nature, for they are great and rising, while

Venice and her sons are falling and degenerate. Oh Ercole! my dear and

long-lost son--seen but a moment and then lost for ever!" ejaculated

the bereaved father, as, refusing all comfort, he folded his cloak

over his face and wept bitterly.

* * * * *

NOTE.--Shortly after these events, Venice, urged at last beyond all

endurance, took up arms against Austria on account of the protection

afforded by the latter power to the Uzcoques. The pirate vessels were

burned, Segna besieged and taken, the Uzcoques slain or dispersed. The

quarrel between Austria and the republic was put an end to by the

mediation of Spain shortly before the breaking out of the Thirty

Years' War.

"Ces misérables," says a distinguished French writer, speaking of the

Uzcoques, "fûrent bien plus criminels par la faute des puissances, que

par l'instinct de leur propre nature. Les Vénétiens les aigrirent;

l'église Romaine préféra de les persécuter au devoir de les éclaircir;

la maison d'Autriche en fit les instruments de sa politique, et quand

le philosophe examine leur histoire il ne voit pas que les Uscoques

soient les seuls criminels."

* * * * *

THE SLAVE-TRADE.[2]

[2] Fifty Days on board a Slave vessel, in 1843. By the Rev.

PASCOE GRENFELL HILL, Chaplain of H.M.S. Cleopatra.

The extraordinary change which took place in the public mind in the

beginning of the century on the subject of the slave-trade,

unquestionably justified the determination of Government to abolish a

traffic contradictory to every principle of Christianity. It had taken

twenty years to obtain this victory of justice. But we must exonerate

the mind of England from the charge of abetting this guilty traffic in

human misery. The nation had been almost wholly ignorant of its

nature. Of course, that Africans were shipped for the West Indies was

known; that, as slaves, they were liable to the severities of labour,

or the temper of masters, was also known; but in a country like

England, where every man is occupied with the concerns of public or

private life, and where the struggle for competence, if not for

existence, is often of the most trying order, great evils may occur in

the distant dependencies of the crown without receiving general notice

from the nation. It seems to have been one of the singular results of

the war with America, that the calamities of the slave-trade should

have been originally brought to the knowledge of the people. The loss

of our colonies on the mainland, naturally directed public attention

to the increased importance of the West Indian colonies. A large

proportion of our supplies for the war had been drawn from those

islands; they had become the station of powerful fleets during the

latter portion of the war; large garrisons were placed in them; the

intercourse became enlarged from a merely commercial connexion with

our ports, to a governmental connection with the empire; and the whole

machinery of the West Indian social system was brought before the eye

of England.

The result was the exposure of the cruelties which slavery entails,

and the growing resolution to clear the country of the stigma, and the

benevolent desire to relieve a race of beings, who, however differing

in colour and clime from ourselves, were sons of the same common

blood, and objects of the same Divine mercy. The exertions of

Wilberforce, and the intelligent and benevolent men whom he associated

with himself in this great cause, were at last successful; and he

gained for the British the noblest triumph ever gained for a nation

over its own habits, its selfishness, its pride, and its popular

opinion.

But the manner in which this great redemption of national character

was effected, did less honour to the wisdom of the cabinet than to the

benevolence of the people. Fox, probably sincere, but certainly

headlong, rushed into emancipation as he had rushed into every measure

that bore the name of popularity. Impatient of the delay which might

take the honour of this crowning act out of the hands of his

party--and unquestionably, in any shape, it was an honour to any

party--he hurried it forward without securing the concert, or

compelling the acquiescence, of any one of the European kingdoms

engaged in the slave-trade. It is true that England was then at war

with them all; but there was thus only the stronger opportunity of

pronouncing the national resolve, never to tolerate the commerce in

slaves, and never to receive any country into our protection by which

that most infamous of all trades was tolerated. The opportunity was

amply given for establishing the principle, in the necessity which

every kingdom in succession felt for the aid of England, and the

abolition ought to have been the first article of the treaty. But the

occasion was thrown away.

The parliamentary regulations, which had largely provided for the

comfort of the slaves on the passage from Africa, and their protection

in the British colonies, could not be extended to the new and

tremendous traffic which was engaged in by all the commercial states

of Europe and the West. The closing of the British mart of slavery

flooded the African shore with desperate dealers in the flesh and

blood of man; whose only object was profit, and who regarded the

miseries of the African only as they affected his sale. The ships

which, by the British regulations, had been suffered to carry only a

number limited to their accommodation, were now crowded with wretches,

stowed in spaces that scarcely allowed them to breathe. The cheapness

of the living cargo, produced by the withdrawal of the British from

the slave coast, excited the activity, almost the fury, of the trade;

and probably 100,000 miserable beings were thus annually dragged from

their own country, to undergo the labour of brutes, and die the death

of brutes in the Western World.

Another source of evil was added to the original crime. The colonial

possessions of Spain had been broken up into republics, and those were

all slave-dealers. The great colony of Portugal, Brazil, had rushed

into this frightful commerce with the feverish avidity of avarice set

free from all its old restrictions. North America, coquetting with

philanthropy, and nominally abjuring the principle of slavery,

suffered herself to undergo the corruption of the practice for the

temptation of the lucre, and the Atlantic was covered with

slave-ships.

But rash, ill considered, and unfortunate as was the precipitate

measure of Fox, we shall never but rejoice at the abolition of the

slave-trade by our country. If England had stood alone for ever in

that abolition, it would be a national glory. To have cast that

commerce from her at all apparent loss, was the noblest of national

gains; and it may be only when higher knowledge shall be given to man,

of the causes which have protected the empire through the struggles of

war and the trials of peace, that we may know the full virtue of that

most national and magnanimous achievement of charity to man.

It is only in the spirit of this principle that the legislature has

followed up those early exertions, by the purchase of the final

freedom of the slave, by the astonishing donative of twenty millions

sterling, the largest sum ever given for the purposes of humanity. It

is only in the same spirit that our cabinet continues to press upon

the commercial states the right of search, a right which we solicit on

the simple ground of humanity; and which, though it cannot be our duty

to enforce at the hazard of hostility, must never be abandoned where

we can succeed by the representations of reason, justice, and

religion.

The curious and succinct narrative to which we now advert, gives the

experience of a short voyage on board of one of those slave ships. And

the miseries witnessed by its writer, whose detail seems as accurate

as it is simple, more than justify the zeal of our foreign secretary

in labouring to effect the total extinction of this death-dealing

trade.

H.M.S. the Cleopatra, of twenty-six guns, commanded by Captain Wyvill,

arriving at Rio Janeiro in September 1842, the reverend writer took

the opportunity of being transferred from the Malabar, as chaplain. In

the beginning of September the Cleopatra left the Mauritius, to

proceed to the Mozambique Channel, off Madagascar, her appointed

station, to watch the slave-traders. After various cruises along the

coast, and as far as Algoa Bay, they at last captured a slaver.

_April 12._--At daybreak the look-out at the topmast-head perceived a

vessel on the lee quarter, at such a distance as to be scarcely

visible; but her locality being pronounced "very suspicious," the

order was given to bear up for her. The breeze falling, the boats were

ordered out, and in a few minutes the barge and the first gig were

pulling away in the direction of the stranger. So variable, however,

is the weather at this season, that before the boats had rowed a mile

from the ship, a thick haze surrounded the ship, and the chase was

lost sight of. The rain fell in torrents, and the ship was going seven

knots through the water. On the clearing up of the fog, the chase was

again visible. The sun broke forth, and the rakish-looking brigantine

appeared to have carried on all sail during the squall. They could

see, under her sails, the low black hull pitching up and down; and,

approaching within range, one of the forecastle guns was cleared away

for a bow-chaser. The British ensign had been for some time flying at

the peak. It was at length answered by the green and yellow Brazilian

flag. At length, after a variety of dexterous manoeuvres to escape,

and from fifteen to twenty shots fired after her, she shortened sail

and lay to. Dark naked forms passing across the deck, removed any

remaining doubt as to her character, and showed that she had her slave

cargo on board. An officer was sent to take possession, and the

British ensign displaced the Brazilian. The scene on board was a

sufficiently strange one; the deck was crowded with negroes to the

number of 450, in almost riotous confusion, having risen but a little

while before against the crew. The meagre, famished-looking throng,

having broken through all control, had seized every thing for which

they had a fancy in the vessel; some with handfuls of the powdered

roots of the cassava, others with large pieces of pork and beef,

having broken open the casks, and others with fowls, which they had

torn from the coops. Many were busily dipping rags, fastened with bits

of string, into the water-casks to act as sponges, and had got at the

contents of a cask of Brazilian rum, which they greatly enjoyed.

However, they exhibited the wildest joy, mingled with the clank of the

iron, as they were knocking off their fetters on every side. From the

moment the first ball had been fired, they had been actively employed

in thus freeing themselves. The crew found but thirty thus shackled in

pairs, but many more pairs of shackles were found below. There could

not be a moment's doubt as to the light in which they viewed their

captors, now become their liberators. They rushed towards them in

crowds, and rubbed their feet and hands caressingly, even rolling

themselves on the deck before them; and, when they saw the crew of the

vessel rather unceremoniously sent over the side into the boat which

was to take them prisoners to the frigate, they set up a long

universal shout of triumph and delight. The actual number of the

negroes now on board, amounted to 447. Of those 180 were men, few,

however, exceeding twenty years of age; 45 women; 213 boys. The name

of the prize was the Progresso, last from Brazil, and bound to Rio

Janeiro. The crew were seventeen; three Spaniards, and the rest

Brazilians. The vessel was of about 140 tons; the length of the

slave-deck, 37 feet; its mean breadth, 21½ feet; its height, 3½

feet--a horrible space to contain between four and five hundred human

beings. How they could even breathe is scarcely conceivable. The

captain and one of the crew were said to have been drowned in the surf

at the embarkation of the negroes. Two Spaniards, and a Portuguese

cook, were sent back into the prize.

As the writer understood Spanish, and as some one was wanting to

interpret between the English crew and those managers of the negroes,

he proposed to go on board with them to their place of destination,

the Cape of Good Hope. The English crew were a lieutenant, three petty

officers, and nine seamen. It had been the captain's first intention

to take a hundred of the negroes on board the frigate, which would

probably have prevented the fearful calamities that followed; but an

unfortunate impression prevailed, that some of them were infected with

the small-pox. In the same evening the Progresso set sail. For the

first few hours all went on well--the breeze was light, the weather

warm, and the negroes were sleeping on the deck; their slender supple

limbs entwined in a surprisingly small compass, resembling in the

moonlight confused piles of arms and legs, rather than distinct human

forms. But about an hour after midnight, the sky began to gather

clouds, a haze overspread the horizon to windward, and a squall

approached. The hands, having to shorten sail, suddenly found the

negroes in the way, and the order was given to send them all below.

There seems to have been some dreadful mismanagement to cause the

horrid scene that followed. Why _all_ the negroes should have been

driven down together; or why, when the vessel was put to rights, they

should not have been allowed to return to the deck; or why, when

driven down, the hatches should have been forced upon them--are

matters which we cannot comprehend; but nothing could be more

unfortunate than the consequence of those rash measures. We state the

event in the words of the narrative:--

"The night being intensely hot and close, 400 wretched beings

crammed into a hold twelve yards in length, seven in breadth,

and only three and a half feet in height, speedily began to

make an effort to re-issue to the open air; being thrust back,

and striving the more to get out, the _after hatch_ was forced

down upon them. Over the other hatchway, in the fore part of

the vessel, a wooden grating was fastened. A scene of agony

followed those most unfortunate measures, unequaled by any

thing that we have heard of since the Black Hole of Calcutta.

To this _sole inlet_ for the air, the suffocating heat of the

hold, and perhaps panic from the strangeness of their

situation, made them press. They crowded to the grating, and,

clinging to it for air, completely barred its entrance. They

strove to force their way through apertures in length fourteen

inches, and barely six inches in breadth, and in some

instances succeeded. The cries, the heat, I may say without

exaggeration, 'the smoke of their torment,' which ascended,

can be compared to nothing earthly. One of the Spaniards gave

warning that the consequence would be many deaths--_manana

habra muchos muertos_."

If this statement with its consequences be true, we cannot conceive

how the conduct of those persons by whom it was brought about can be

passed over without enquiry. There seems to have been nothing in the

shape of _necessity_ for its palliation. There was no storm, the

vessel was in no danger of foundering unless the hatches were fastened

down. That the negroes might have lumbered the deck for the first few

minutes of preparing to meet the squall is probable; but why, when

they were palpably suffocating, they should still have been kept down,

is one of the most unaccountable circumstances we ever remember. We

must hope that while we are nationally incurring an enormous

expenditure to extinguish this most guilty and detestable traffic,

such scenes will be guarded against for ever, by the strictest orders

to the captors of the slave-traders. It would have been infinitely

better for the wretched cargo if they had been carried to their

original destination, and sent to toil in the fields of Brazil.

The Spaniard's prediction was true. Next morning no less than

fifty-four crushed and mangled corpses were lifted up from the slave

deck, and thrown overboard. We shall avoid disgusting our readers with

mentioning the state in which their struggles had left those trampled

and strangled beings. On the survivors being released from their

torrid dungeon, they drank their allowance of water, somewhat more

than half a pint to each, with inconceivable eagerness. A heavy shower

having freshened the air, in the evening most of the negroes went

below of their own accord, the hatchways having been left open to

allow them air. But a short time, however, had elapsed, when they

began tumultuously to reascend; and some of the persons on deck,

fearful of their crowding it too much, repelled them, and they were

trampled back, screaming and writhing in a confused mass. The hatch

was about to be forced down upon them; and had not the lieutenant in

charge left positive orders to the contrary, the catastrophe of last

night would have been re-enacted. On explaining to the Spaniard that

it was desired he should dispose those who came on deck in proper

places, he set himself to the task with great alacrity; and he showed

with much satisfaction how soon and how quietly they might be arranged

out of the way of the ropes, covered with long rugs provided for the

purpose. "To-morrow," said he, "there will be no deaths, except

perhaps among some of those who are sick already." On the next day

there was but one dead, but three were reported dying from the

sufferings of the first night. They now saw the Cleopatra once more,

and the alarm of small-pox having been found groundless, the captain

took on board fifty of the boys.

To our surprise, the provisions on board the slaver were ample for the

negroes, consisting of Monte Video dried beef, small beans, rice, and

cassava flour. The cabin stores were profuse; lockers filled with ale

and porter, barrels of wine, liqueurs of various sorts, cases of

English pickles, raisins, &c. &c.; and its list of medicines amounted

to almost the whole _Materia Medica_. On questioning the Spaniards as

to the probability of extinguishing the slave-trade, their reply was,

that though in the creeks of Brazil it might be difficult, yet it had

grown a desperate adventure. Four vessels had been already taken on

the east coast of Africa this year; but the venture is so lucrative,

that the profits of a fifth which escaped, would probably more than

compensate the loss of the four.

On the east coast negroes are paid for in money or coarse cottons, at

the rate of eighteen dollars for men, and twelve for boys. At Rio

Janeiro their value may be estimated at £52 for men, £41, 10s. for

women, and £31 for boys. Thus, on a cargo of 500, at the mean price

the profit will exceed £19,000--

Cost price of 500, average fifteen

dollars, or £3 5s. each, £1,625

Selling price at Rio Janeiro, average

£41 10s., £20,730

While these enormous profits continue, it must be a matter of extreme

difficulty to suppress the trade, especially while the principals,

captains, and crews, have perfect impunity. At present, all that they

suffer is the loss of their cargo. But if enactments were made, by

which heavy fines and imprisonment were to be inflicted on the

merchants to whom the expedition could be traced, and corporal

punishment and transportation for life for the crews, and for the

captains service as common sailors on board our frigates, we should

soon find the ardour for the traffic diminished.

The voyage was slow from the frequent calms. By the 20th of April they

had advanced only to the tropic, 350 miles. From day to day the sick

among the negroes were dropping off. A large shark followed the ship,

which they conceived might have gorged some of the corpses. He was

caught, but the stomach was empty. When brought on the deck, he

exhibited the usual and remarkable tenacity of life. Though his tail

was chopped, and even his entrails taken out, in neither of which

operations it exhibited any sign of sensation, yet no sooner was a

bucket of salt water poured on it to wash the deck, than it began to

flounder about and bite on all sides.

Symptoms of fever now began to appear on board, and the Portuguese

cook died.

_April 29_.--A storm, the lightning intolerably vivid, flash

succeeding flash with scarcely a sensible intermission; blue, red, and

of a still more dazzling white, which made the eye shrink, lighting up

every object on deck as clearly as at mid-day. All the winds of heaven

seemed let loose, as it blew alternately from every point of the

compass. The screams of distress from the sick and weak in the hold,

were heard through the roar of the tempest. From the rolling and

creaking, one might fancy every thing going asunder. The woman's shed

on deck had been washed down, and the planks which formed its roof

falling in a heap, a woman was found dead under the ruin.

_May 1_.--In this hemisphere, marking the approach of the cold

weather, the naked negroes began to shiver, and their teeth to

chatter.

_May 3_.--Another storm, with severe cold. Seven negroes were found

dead this morning. The wretched beings had begun now to steal water

and brandy from the hold. "None can tell," says the writer, "save he

who has tried, the pangs of thirst which may excite them in that

heated hold, many of them fevered by mortal disease. Their daily

allowance of water is about a half pint in the morning, and the same

quantity in the evening." This passage now became all storms. A heavy

squall came on _May 8_, which continued next day a strong gale. The

first object which met the eye in the morning, was three negroes dead

on the deck.

_May 11_.--Another storm, heavier than any of the preceding ones.

Towards evening the report of the helmsman was the gratifying one,

that the heart of the gale was broke; yet a yellow haze overspread the

setting sun, and it continued to blow as wildly as ever. Squalls

rapidly succeeding each other mingled sea and air in one sheet of

spray, blinding the eyes of the helmsman; waves towering high above

us, tossing up the foam from their crests towards the sky, threatened

to engulf the vessel at every moment. When the squalls, breaking

heavily on the vessel, caused her to heel over, and the negroes to

tumble one against each other in the hold, the shrieks of the

sufferers through the darkness of the night, rising above the noise of

the winds and waves, seemed of all horrors in this unhappy vessel the

saddest. Dysentery now attacked the crew, and the boatswain's mate

died. We pass over the melancholy details of this miserable voyage, in

which disgusts and distresses of every kind seemed to threaten all on

board with death, every day bringing its mortality. At last on Sunday,

May 28th, the welcome sight of Cape Agulhas cheered them at the

distance of ten miles. The weather was now fine, but the mortality

continued, the fatal cases averaging four a-day. On the 1st of June

eight were found dead in the morning; and, when the morning mist had

cleared away, they found themselves within three miles of Simon's Bay.

As soon as the Progresso anchored, the superintendent of the naval

hospital came on board, and the writer descended with him for the last

time to the slave hold. Accustomed as he had been to scenes of

suffering, he was unable to endure a sight, surpassing all he could

have conceived, he said, of human misery, and made a hasty retreat.

The numbers who had died within the fifty days were 163. Even this was

not all; for, on returning to the vessel next day, six corpses were

added to the eight of the preceding day, and the fourteen were piled

on deck for interment on the shore. A hundred of the healthiest

negroes were landed at the pier to proceed in waggons to Cape Town;

but though rescued from a state of extreme misery, the change seemed

to excite anxiety and apprehension. Each of the men had received on

landing a new warm jacket and trousers, and the women had each a new

white blanket in addition to an under dress, and they were placed

snugly in waggons; yet their countenances resembled those of condemned

victims. Of the whole of the original cargo, not far short of one half

had died. To what causes this horrible mortality must be imputed, it

is not our purpose to decide; but that it did not arise from the

original tendency of the negroes to sickness seems evident--the fact

being, that of the fifty who were taken on board the frigate, but one

had died at sea and one on shore. Within a few days the liberated

negroes had acquired a more cheerful look, their first conception

having been that they were to be devoured by the people of the

country, and they were reluctant to eat, fearing that it was intended

to fatten them for the purpose. However, the negroes in the colonies

soon freed them from this apprehension.

We shall be rejoiced if the publicity given to this little but

intelligent pamphlet by our means, may assist in drawing the attention

of the influential classes to the subject. We fully believe that, if

we were to look for the deepest misery that was ever inflicted in this

world, and the greatest mass of it, we should find it in the

slave-trade. It is the misery, not as in civilized life, of scattered

individuals, but of multitudes, and a misery comprehending every

other; sudden separation from every tie of the human heart, parent,

child, spouse, and country; the misery of bodily affliction, disease,

famine, storms, shipwreck, and ultimately slavery, with all its

wretchedness of toil and tyranny for life. We certainly do not think

it our duty to go to war for the object of teaching humanity to other

nations. We must no attempt to heal the calamity of the African by the

greatest of all calamities and crimes--an unnecessary war. But England

has only to persevere sincerely and steadily, however calmly, and she

will, by the blessing of that supreme Disposer of the ways of men, who

desires the happiness of all his creatures, succeed in the extinction

of a traffic which has brought a curse, and brings it at this hour,

and will bring it deeper still, upon every nation which insults the

laws of humanity and the dictates of religion, by dealing in the flesh

and blood of man.

* * * * *

MOSLEM HISTORIES OF SPAIN.[3]--THE ARABS OF CORDOVA.

[3] The History of the Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain. By AHMED

IBN MOHAMMED AL-MAKKARI of Telemsan. Translated and

illustrated with Critical Notes by Pascual de Gayangos, late

Professor of Arabic in the Athenæum of Madrid.--Printed for

the Oriental Translation Fund. 2 vols. 4to. 1840-43.

"The second day was that when Martel broke

The Mussulmen, delivering France opprest,

And in one mighty conflict, from the yoke

Of unbelieving Mecca saved the West."

SOUTHEY.

The Arab domination in Spain is the grand romance of European history.

The splendid but mysterious fabric of Asiatic power and science is

seen for age after age, like the fairy castle of St John, exalted far

above the rugged plain of Frank semi-barbarism--till the spell is at

last broken by the iron prowess of Christian chivalry; and the

glittering edifice vanishes from the land as though it had never been,

leaving, like the fabled structure of the poet, only a wreath of

laurel to bind the brows of the victor. Yet though replete with

gorgeous materials both for history and fiction, and stored not only

with the recondite lore of Asia and Egypt, but with the borrowed

treasures of ancient Greece, (long known to Christendom only by

versions through an Arabic medium,) the language and literature of

this marvellous people, and even their history, except so far as it

related to their never-ceasing warfare with their Christian foes,

remained, up to the middle of the last century, a sealed book to their

Spanish successors. Coming into possession, like the Israelites of

old, "of a land for which they did not labour, of cities which they

built not, of vineyards and olive-yards which they planted not," the

Spaniards not merely contemned, but persecuted with the fiercest

bigotry, all that was left in the peninsula of the genius and learning

of their predecessors. Eighty thousand volumes were publicly burned in

one fatal _auto-da-fé_ at Granada by order of Cardinal Ximenes, in

whom the literature of his own language yet found a munificent patron;

and so meritorious, did the deed appear in the eyes of his

contemporaries, that the number has been magnified to an incredible

amount by his biographers, in their zeal for the renown of their hero!

So complete was the destruction or deportation[4] of the seventy

public libraries, which, a century and a half before the subjugation

of the Moors, were open in different cities of Spain, that the

valuable collection now in the Escurial owes its origin to the

accidental capture, early in the seventeenth century, of three ships

laden with books belonging to Muley Zidan, emperor of Morocco--and

even of this casual prize so little was the value appreciated, that it

was not till more than a hundred years later, and after three-fourths

of the books had been consumed by fire in 1671, that the learned and

diligent Casiri was commissioned to make a catalogue of the remainder.

The result was the well-known _Bibliotheca Arabico-Hispana

Escurialensis_, which appeared in 1760-70; and which, in the words of

the present learned translator, "though hasty and superficial, and

containing frequent unaccountable blunders, must, with all its

imperfections, ever be valuable as affording palpable proof of the

literary cultivation of the Spanish Arabs, and as containing the first

glimpses of historical truth." Up to this time the only authority on

Spanish history purporting to be drawn from Mohammedan sources, was

the work of a Morisco named Miguel de Luna, written by command of the

Inquisition; which was first printed at Granada in 1592, and has

passed through many editions. Its value may be estimated from its

placing the Mohammedan conquest of Spain in the time of Yakub

Al-mansor, the actual date of whose reign was from A.D. 1184 to 1199;

insomuch that Señor de Gayangos suggests, as a possible explanation of

its glaring inaccuracies, that it was the writer's intention to hoax

his employers. Casiri had, however, opened the door for further

researches; and he was followed in the same path by Don Faustino de

Borbon, whose works, valuable rather from the erudition which they

display than from their judgment or critical acumen, have now become

extremely scarce--and next by Don Antonio José Condé, one of the most

zealous and laborious, if not the most accurate, of Spanish

orientalists. His "History of the Domination of the Arabs and Moors in

Spain," has been generally regarded as of high authority, and is in

truth the first work on the subject drawn wholly from Arab sources;

but it receives summary condemnation from Señor de Gayangos, for "the

uncouth arrangement of the materials, the entire want of critical or

explanatory notes, the unaccountable neglect to cite authorities, the

numerous repetitions, blunders, and contradictions." These charges are

certainly not without foundation; but they are in some measure

accounted for by the trouble and penury in which the author's last

years were spent, and the unfinished state in which the work was left

at his death in 1820.

[4] The Almoravide and Almohade princes, who ruled both in

Spain and Africa, often inserted a clause in their treaties

with the Christians for the restoration of the libraries

captured in the towns taken from the Moslems; and Ibn Khaldun

mentions, that Yakob Al-mansor destined a college at Fez for

the reception of the books thus recovered.

An authentic and comprehensive view of the Arab period, as described

by their own writers, was therefore still a desideratum in European

literature, which the publication before us may be considered as the

first step towards supplying. The work of Al-Makkari, which has been

taken as a text-book, is not so much an original history as a

collection of extracts, sometimes abridged, and sometimes transcribed

in full, from more ancient historians; and frequently giving two or

three versions of the same event from different authorities--so that,

though it can claim but little merit as a composition, it is of

extreme value as a repository of fragments of authors in many cases

now lost; and further, as the only "uninterrupted narrative of the

conquests, wars, and settlements of the Spanish Moslems, from their

first invasion of the Peninsula to their final expulsion." In the

arrangement of his materials, the translator has departed

considerably, and with advantage, from the original; giving the

historical books in the form of a continuous narrative, and omitting

several sections relating to matters of little interest--while the

deficiencies and omissions of the author are supplied by an appendix,

containing, in addition to a valuable body of original notes, copious

extracts from numerous unpublished Arabic MSS. relating to Spain,

which afford ample proof of the extent and diligence of his researches

among the Oriental treasures of Paris and London. To those in the

Escurial, however, he was denied access during his labours--an almost

incredible measure of illiberality, which, if he be correct in

ascribing it to his known intention of publishing in England, "ill

suits a country" (as he justly remarks in the preface) "which has

lately seen its archives and monastic libraries reduced to cinders,

and scattered or sold in foreign markets, without the least struggle

to rescue or secure them."

Ahmed Al-Makkari, the author or compiler of the present work, derived

his surname from a village near Telemsan called Makkarah, where his

family had been established since the conquest of Africa by the Arabs.

He was born at Telemsan some time in the latter half of the sixteenth

century, and educated by his uncle, who held the office of Mufti in

that city; but having quitted his native country in 1618 on a

pilgrimage to Mekka, he married and settled in Cairo. During a visit

to Damascus in 1628, he was received with high distinction by Ahmed

Ibn Shahin Effendi, the director of the college of Jakmak in that

city, and a distinguished patron of literature; at whose suggestion

(he tells us) he undertook this work. His original purpose had been

only to write the life of Abu Abdullah Lisanuddin, a celebrated

historian and minister in Granada, better known to Oriental scholars

as Ibnu'l-Khattib; but having completed this, the thought struck him

of adding, as a second part, an historical account of the Moslems of

Spain. He had formerly written an extensive and elaborate work on this

subject, composed (to use his own words) "in such an elevated and

pleasing style, that had it been publicly delivered by the common

crier, it would have made even the stones deaf:--but, alas! the whole

of this we had left in Maghreb (Morocco) with the rest of our

library.... However, we have done our best to make the present work as

useful and complete as possible." It was probably the last literary

undertaking of his life; since he was on the point of quitting Cairo

to fix his residence in Damascus, when he died of a fever in the

second Jomada of A.H. 1041, (Jan. 1632,) leaving a high reputation as

a traditionist and doctor of the Moslem law.

The introductory chapter gives a sketch of the various nations which

inhabited _Andalus_ or Spain before the Arab conquest, prefaced by

extracts from numerous writers eulogistic of a country "whose

excellences" (as Al-Makkari himself declares) "are such and so many

that they cannot easily be contained in a book ... so that one of

their wise men, who knew that the country had been called the bird's

tail, owing to the supposed resemblance of the earth to a bird with

extended wings, remarked that that bird was the peacock, the principal

beauty of which was in the tail." These panegyrics are not in all

cases exactly consistent; for while the famous geographer, Obeydullah

Al-Bekri, "compares his native country to Syria for purity of air and

water, to China for mines and precious stones, &c. &c., and to

Al-Ahwaz (a district in Persia) _for the magnitude of its

snakes_"--the Sheikh Ahmed Al-Razi (better known as the historian

Razis) praises its comparative freedom from wild beasts and reptiles.

The name _Andalus_ is derived by some authors from a great grandson of

Noah so named, who settled there soon after the deluge; but Al-Makkari

rather inclines, with Ibn Khaldun and other writers, to deduce it from

the _Andalosh,_ (Vandals,) "a tribe of barbarians," who appear to be

considered as the earliest inhabitants; but who, having incurred the

divine wrath by their wickedness and idolatry, were all cut off by a

terrible drought, which left the land for a hundred years an

uninhabited desert. A colony then arrived from Africa, under a chief

named Batrikus, eleven generations of whose descendants reigned for

one hundred and fifty-seven years; after which they were all

annihilated by the "barbarians of Rome, who invaded and conquered the

country; and it was after their king Ishban, son of Titus, that

Andalus was called Ishbaniah," (Hispania.) As Ishban is just after

said to have "plundered and demolished Ilia, which is the same as

Al-Kods the illustrious," (Jerusalem,) it is obvious that the name

must be a corruption of Vespasian, who is thus made the son instead of

the father of Titus. We are told that authors differ whether it was on

this occasion, or at the former capture of Jerusalem by Bokht-Nasser,

(Nebuchadnezzar,) at which a king of Spain named Berian was also

present, that the table constructed by the genii for Solomon, and

which Tarik afterwards found at Toledo, was transported to Spain--and

Al-Makkari professes himself, as well he may, unable to reconcile the

different accounts. Fifty-five kings descended from Ishban, whose race

was dispossessed ("about the time of the Messiah, on whom be peace!")

by a people called Bishtilikat, (Visigoths?) under a king called

Talubush, (Ataulphus?) whom Al-Makkari holds to have been the same

people as the "barbarians of Rome," though "there are not wanting

authors who make the Goths and the Bishtilikat only one nation." After

holding possession during the reigns of twenty-seven monarchs, they

were in turn subdued by the Goths, whose royal residence was

"Toleyalah, (Toledo,) though Isbiliah (Seville) continued to be the

abode of the sciences." The Gothic kings are said to have been

thirty-six;--but the only one particularized by name is

"Khoshandinus, (Constantine,) who not only embraced Christianity

himself, but called on his subjects to do the same, and is held by the

Christians as the greatest king they ever had.... Several kings of his

posterity reigned after him, till Andalus was finally subdued by the

Arabs, by whose means God was pleased to make manifest the superiority

of Islam over every other religion."

With the Arab, conquest the authentic history commences; and the

accounts given from the Moslem writers of this memorable event, which

first gave the followers of the Prophet a footing in Europe, differ in

no material point from the eloquent narrative of Gibbon. Al-Makkari,

however, does not fail to inform us, that predictions had been rife

from long past ages, which foretold the invasion and conquest of the

country by a fierce people from Africa; and potent were the spells and

talismans constructed to ward off the danger, "by the _Greek_ kings

who reigned in old times." Several of these are described with due

solemnity; and among them we find the tale of the visit paid by

Roderic[5] to the magic tower at Toledo, which has been rendered

familiar by the pages of Scott and Southey. We shall not here

recapitulate the well-known incidents of the wrongs and revenge of

Count Yllan, or Julian, the first landing of Tarif at Tarifa, the

second expedition sent by Musa under Tarik Ibn Zeyad, and the death or

disappearance of the Gothic king on the fatal day of Guadalete.[6] So

complete was the discomfiture of the Christians, that the kingdom

fell, without a second blow, before the victors of a single field; and

was overrun with such rapidity, that from the inability of the

conquerors to garrison the cities which surrendered, they were

entrusted for the time to the guard of the Jews!--a singular

circumstance, which, when coupled with the statement that many of the

Berbers (of whom the invading army was almost wholly composed) were

recent converts from Judaism,[7] would apparently imply that the

conquest was facilitated by a previous correspondence. The subjugation

of the country was completed by the arrival of Musa himself, who

reduced Seville and the other towns which still held out, and is even

said to have crossed the Pyrenees and sacked Narbonne;[8] but this is

not mentioned by any Christian writer, and is referred by the

translator to his invasion of Catalonia, which the Arabs considered as

part of "the land of the Franks." After the first fury of conquest had

subsided, the Christians who remained in their homes were permitted to

live unmolested, on payment of the capitation-tax; but peculiar

privileges were accorded to the Jews, and the hold of the Moslems on

the country was strengthened by the vast influx of settlers, not only

from Africa, but from Syria and Arabia, who were attracted by the

reports of the riches and fertility of the new province. Nearly all

the tribes of Arabia are enumerated by Al-Makkari as represented in

Spain; and the feuds of the two great divisions, the Beni-Modhar[9] or

race of Adnan, and the Beni-Kahttan or Arabs of Yemen, gave rise to

most of the civil wars which subsequently desolated Andalus.

[5] He is called by the Arabic writers Ludherik--a name

afterwards applied as a general designation to the kings of

Castile.

[6] The translator adduces strong grounds for believing that

the battle was fought, not as usually held, in the plain of

Xeres, on the south bank of the Guadalete, but "nearer the

sea-shore, and not far from the town of Medina-Sidonia."

[7] This is not mentioned by the authors from whom Al-Makkari

has drawn his materials, but is stated by Professor de

Gayangos on the authority of Ibn Khaldun.

[8] A story is here told of Musa's reaching some colossal

ruins, and a monument inscribed with Arabic characters

pointing out that place as the term of his conquests--a legend

which perhaps gave the hint for one of the tales in the

Thousand and One Nights, in which he is sent on an expedition

to the city of Brass on the shores of the Western Ocean.--See

Lane's translation, chap. 21.

[9] Condé, and the writers who have followed him, constantly

speak of the Beni-Modhar as Egyptian--an error owing to the

neglect or omission of the point which in Arabic orthography

distinguishes _Modhar_ from _Missr_, (Egypt.)

The spoil of the vanquished kingdom was immense--the accumulation of

long years of luxury and freedom from foreign invasion in a country

which, both from the fertility of the soil and the abundance of the

precious metals, was then probably the richest in Europe. Whatever

degree of credit we may attach to the famous table of Solomon, "said

by some to be of pure gold, and by others green emerald," and the gems

and ornaments of which are described with full Oriental luxuriance,

every account referring to the booty acquired in the principal cities,

gives ample evidence of the riches and splendour of the Visigoths.

"The plunder found at Toledo[10] was beyond calculation. It was common

for the lowest men in the army to find magnificent gold chains, and

long strings of pearls and rubies. Among other precious objects were

found 170 diadems of the purest red gold, set with every sort of

precious stone; several measures full of emeralds, rubies, and other

gems; and an immense number of gold and silver vases. Such was the

eagerness for plunder, and the ignorance of some, especially the

Berbers, that when two or more of this nation fell upon an article

which they could not conveniently divide, they would cut it in pieces,

whatever the material might be, and share it among them." Some of the

victorious army seized some ships in the eastern ports, and set sail

for their homes with their plunder; but they were speedily overtaken

by a tremendous storm, and all perished in the waves--a manifest

token, we are given to understand, of the Divine vengeance for the

abandonment of the _holy_ warfare under the banners of Islam.

[10] Burkhardt (Travels in Arabia, i. 303) says, that all the

golden ornaments which the Khalif Walid gave to the mosque at

Mekka, "were sent from Toledo in Spain, and carried upon mules

through Africa and Arabia."

Musa was on his march into Galicia to crush the last embers of

national resistance, when his progress was checked by a peremptory

summons from the Khalif, to answer at Damascus the charges forwarded

against him by Tarik, whom he had unjustly disgraced and punished.

Being convicted of falsehood, on the production by Tarik of the

missing foot of the table of Solomon, the merit of finding which had

been claimed by Musa, he was tortured and deprived of his riches; and

the head of his gallant son Abdulaziz, whom he had left in command in

Spain, was shown to him in public by the Khalif Soliman, the successor

of Walid, with the cruel demand if he knew whose it was. "I do," was

the father's reply: "it is the head of one who fasted and prayed; may

the curse of Allah fall on it if he who slew him is a better man than

he!" But though Musa was thus arrested in the last stage of his

conquering career, so complete was the prostration of the Christians,

that the viceroys who succeeded Abdulaziz, overlooking or disregarding

this yet unsubdued corner of Spain, at once poured their forces across

the Pyrenees, seeking new fields of conquest and glory in the

countries of the Franks. But the antagonists whom they here

encountered, unlike the luxurious Goths of Spain, still preserved the

barbarian valour which they had brought from their German forests. And

As-Samh, (the Zama of the Christian writers,) the first Saracen

general who obtained a footing in France, "fell a martyr to the

faith," with nearly his whole army, in a battle with Eudo, Duke of

Aquitaine, before Toulouse, May 10, A.D. 721. But the fiery zeal of

the Moslems was only stimulated by this reverse. In the course of the

ten following years, their dominion was established as far as the

Rhone and Garonne; till, in 732, the torrent of invasion, headed by

the _Wali_ Abdurrahman, burst into the heart of the country; and the

battle, decisive of the destinies of France, and perhaps of Europe,

was fought between Tours and Poitiers, in October of that year,

(Ramadhan, A.H. 114.) Few details are given by the Arab writers of the

seven days' conflict, in which the ranks of the Moslems were shattered

by the iron arm of Charles Martel; "and the army of Abdurrahman was

cut to pieces at a spot called _Balatt-ush-Shohadá_, (the Pavement of

the Martyrs,) he himself being in the number of the slain." Some

confusion here appears, as the same epithet had been applied to the

former battle near Toulouse; but this "disastrous day" of Tours

virtually extinguished the schemes of Arab conquest in France, though

it was not till many years later that they were completely dislodged

from Narbonne, and their other acquisitions between the Garrone and

the Pyrenees.

Meanwhile the Christian remnant, left unmolested in the Asturian and

Galician mountains, gradually recovered courage: and in 717-18, "a

despicable barbarian," (as he is termed by Ibn Hayyan, a writer often

cited by Al-Makkari,) "named Belay, (Pelayo or Pelagius,) rose in

Galicia; and from that moment the Christians began to resist the

Moslems, and to defend their wives and daughters; for till then they

had not shown the least inclination to do so." "Would to God," piously

subjoins Al-Makkari, "that the Moslems had then extinguished at once

the sparkles of a fire destined to consume their whole dominion in

those parts! But they said--'What are thirty barbarians, perched on a

rock? they must inevitably die!'" The spark, which contained the germ

of the future independence of Spain, was thus suffered to remain and

spread, while the swords of the Moslems were occupied in France; and

its growth was further favoured by the anarchy and civil dissensions

which broke out among the conquerors. While the leaders of the

different Arab factions contested, sword in hand, the viceroyalty of

Spain, the Berbers (whose conversion to Islam was apparently yet but

imperfect) rose in furious revolt both in Spain and Africa, and were

only overpowered by a fresh army sent by the Khalif Hisham from Syria.

But the arrival of these reinforcements added new fuel to the old

feuds of the Beni-Modhar, and the Yemenis or Beni-Kahttan; and a

desperate civil war raged till 746, when the Khalif's lieutenant, the

Emir Abu'l-Khattar, who supported the Yemenis, was killed in a pitched

battle fought near Cordova. The leader of the victorious tribe, Yusuf

Al-Fehri,[11] now assumed supreme power, which he exercised nearly ten

years as an independent ruler, without reference to the court of

Damascus. The state of affairs in the East, indeed, left little

leisure to the Umeyyan khalifs to attend to the regulation of a remote

province. Their throne was already tottering before the arms and

intrigues of the Abbasides, whose black banners, under the guidance of

the formidable Abu-Moslem, were even now bearing down from Khorassan

upon Syria. The unpopular cause of the Beni-Umeyyah, who were detested

for the murder of the grandsons of the Prophet under the second of

their line, was lost in a single battle; and the death of Merwan, the

last khalif of the race, was followed by the unsparing proscription of

the whole family. "Every where they were seized and put to death

without mercy; and few escaped the search made by the emissaries of

As-Seffah, (_the bloodshedder_, the surname of the first Abbaside

khalif,) in every province of the empire."

[11] The tribe of Fehr hold a conspicuous place in the Spanish

annals, and one of them was the leader of the last attempt to

shake off the yoke of Castile, after the capture of Granada.

Among the few survivors of the general doom, was a youth named

Abdurrahman Ibn Muawiyah, a grandson of the Khalif Hisham. In his

infancy his granduncle Moslemah, the leader of the first Saracen host

sent against Constantinople, had indicated him, from certain marks, as

the destined restorer of the fallen fortunes of his race; and he was

preserved, by a timely warning from a client of his house, from the

fatal banquet, in which ninety of the Beni-Umeyyah were treacherously

massacred. Yet so hot was the pursuit, that his younger brother was

taken and slain before his eyes, while swimming the Euphrates with him

in their flight. But Abdurrahman, after numberless perils and

adventures, at length reached Africa, which was ruled by the _wali_

or viceroy Abdurrahman Ibn Habib, the father of Yusuf Al-Fehri, who

had been a personal retainer of his family. But he soon found that he

had erred in trusting to the faith of Ibn Habib; and, after narrowly

escaping the search made for him by the emissaries of the governor,

lay concealed for several years, a fugitive and outlaw, among the

tribes of Northern Africa. In this extremity, he at length cast his

eyes on Spain, where the Abbasides had never been recognized, and

where his own clansmen of the Koreysh, with their _maulis_, (freedmen

or clients,) were numerous and powerful. The overtures of the royal

adventurer were eagerly listened to by the Yemenis, who burned to

revenge their late defeat on the Beni-Modhar; and Abdurrahman, landing

at Al-muñecar in the autumn of 755, found himself instantly at the

head of 700 horse, and was speedily joined by the chieftain of the

Yemenis, who admitted him into Seville. During the march the want of a

banner was remarked, "and a long spear was produced, on the point of

which a turban was to be placed; but as it would have been necessary

to incline the head of the spear, which was supposed to be of

extremely bad omen, it was held erect between two olive trees, and a

man, ascending one of them, was enabled to fasten the turban to the

spear without lowering it.... With this same banner did Abdurrahman,

and his son Hisham, vanquish their enemies whenever they met them; and

in such veneration was it held, that whenever the turban by long use

decayed, it was not removed, but a new one placed over it. In this

manner it was preserved till the days of Abdurrahman II.; some say

till the days of his son Mohammed, when the turban on the spear being

decayed, the vizirs of that monarch, seeing nothing under it but a few

rags twisted round the spear, gave orders for their removal, and the

whole was thrown away.... 'From that time,' remarks the judicious

historian Ibn Hayyan, 'the empire of the Beni-Umeyyah began visibly to

decline.'"

Under the auspices of this novel _oriflamme_ the Umeyyan prince and

his followers advanced upon Cordova, whither Yusuf Al-Fehri, who had

been engaged in suppressing an insurrection in the _Thagher_,

(Aragon,) had hastened to oppose them at the head of the Beni-Modhar.

Exchanging for a mule the fiery courser which the jealous whispers of

his adherents had remarked as designed to secure his escape in case of

defeat, Abdurrahman led his troops to the attack; and his victory

established on the throne of Spain a new dynasty of the Beni-Umeyyah,

"who thus regained in the west the supremacy which they had lost in

the east." Those of the fallen family who had escaped the general

massacre, flocked to the court of their fortunate kinsman, "to all of

whom he gave pensions, commands, and governments, by which means his

empire was strengthened;"--and the robes and turbans of the monarch

and the princes were always white, the colour assumed by the house of

Umeyyah, in opposition to the black livery of their rivals. Though

Abdurrahman never assumed the title of commander of the faithful, he

suppressed the _khotbah_ or public prayers in the name of the

Abbasides; and when Al-Ala, the _wali_ of Africa, invaded Spain in

order to re-establish the supremacy of the eastern khalif, the head of

his unsuccessful general, thrown before the tent of Al-mansor at

Mekka, conveyed to him the first tidings of the destruction of the

armament by the "hawk of the Koreysh," as he was wont to term

Abdurrahman. In the elation of triumph from this success, he is even

said to have contemplated marching through Africa to attack Al-mansor

in the east; but this design was frustrated by the continual

rebellions of the Arab tribes, whom all his address and prudence was

unable to keep in order; and "while the Moslems were revolting against

their sovereign, the Christians of Galicia gathered strength, took

possession of the towns and fortresses on the frontier, and expelled

their inhabitants." We find him at length obliged, in order to

maintain his authority, to have recourse to the system, which in the

next century became universal in the east, of entrusting the defence

of his throne and person, not to the native levies of his kingdom, but

to a standing army of purchased slaves or _Mamlukes_. "He began to

cease all communication with the chiefs of the Arabian tribes, whom he

found animated with a strong hatred against him, and to surround

himself with slaves and people entirely devoted to him; for which end

he engaged followers and took clients from every province of his

empire, and sent over to Africa to enlist Berbers. 'Thus,' says Ibn

Hayyan, 'Abdurrahman collected an army of slaves and Berbers,

amounting to upwards of 40,000 men, by means of whom he always

remained victorious, in every contest with the Arabian tribes of

Andalus.'"

The sciences and fine arts, which had been almost banished from Spain

since the conquest, returned in the train of the new dynasty; and

literature was encouraged by the example of Abdurrahman, who was

himself a poet of no mean merit. His affectionate remembrance of his

Syrian home, led him to introduce into his new kingdom the flowers and

fruits of the east;--and the palm-tree, which was the parent of all

those of its kind in Spain, and to which he addressed the well-known

lines, lamenting their common fate as exiles from their fatherland,

was planted by himself in the gardens of the Rissáfah, a country

palace built on the model of one near Damascus, in which the first

years of his life had been spent. In architectural magnificence he

rivaled or surpassed the former princes of his race, the monuments of

whose grandeur still exist in the mosque of the Beni-Umeyyah at

Damascus, and other edifices adorning the cities of Syria. The palaces

and aqueducts which he constructed in Cordova, testified his zeal for

the splendour, as well as his care for the salubrity, of his

capital;--and after expending the sum of 80,000 golden _dinars_ (the

produce of the royal fifth of all spoil taken in war) in the erection

of the stately mosque which bears his name, he bequeathed the

completion of the structure, at his death, A.D. 788, to his younger

son Hisham, whom he nominated as his successor, to the exclusion of

the elder brother Soliman. Al-Makkari devotes an entire chapter to the

wonders of this celebrated temple, which was finished A.D. 794, nine

years after its commencement, and received additions from almost every

successive sovereign of the house of Umeyyah. In its present state, as

the cathedral of Cordova, it still covers more ground than any church

in Christendom; but the inner roof, with its elaborate carving, the

_mihrab_, or shrine, of minute inlaid work of ivory, gems, and

precious woods, and containing a copy of the Koran which had belonged

to the Khalif Othman--the embossed plates of gold and silver which

encrusted the doors, and the apples of the same metals which

surmounted the dome--have long since disappeared; and the thousand

(or, as some say, thirteen hundred) columns of polished marble which

it once boasted, have been grievously reduced in number, to make room

for the shrines and chapels of Christian saints. The unequal length

and proportions of those which remain, their irregular grouping, and

the want of height in the roof which they support, indicate a far

lower grade of architectural taste than that which we find in the

aerial palaces of Granada; but all the Arabic writers who have

described it, concur in considering it one of the wonders of the

world; and it ranked, in the estimation of the Spanish Moslems, as

inferior in point of sanctity to none but the Kaaba, and the mosque of

Omar at Jerusalem.

The mood of the Beni-Umeyyah, who appear in their eastern reign only

as gloomy and execrated tyrants, had been chastened by their

misfortunes; and the virtues of Abdurrahman _Ad-dakhel_ (_the enterer

or conqueror_, as he is generally termed by historians) were emulated

by his descendants. As an illustration of the character of his son

Hisham, it is related by Al-Makkari, that on hearing that the people

of Cordova said, that his only motive in restoring the great bridge

over the Guadalquivir was to pass over it himself when he went out

hunting, he bound himself by a solemn vow never to cross it again as

long as he lived; but the reign of this beneficent prince lasted only

eight years. His immediate successors, Al-hakem I., and Abdurrahman

II., were almost constantly engaged in warfare, either against their

own rebellious relatives and revolted subjects,[12] or against the

Christians of Galicia, who, by the middle of the ninth century, had

advanced their frontier to the Douro and repeatedly repulsed the

armies sent against them from Cordova; but we find no mention in the

writers cited by Al-Makkari, either of the annual tribute of a hundred

virgins, popularly said to have been exacted by the Moslems, or of the

great victory in 846, by which King Ramiro redeemed his country from

this degrading badge of vassalage.[13] So widely extended was the

martial renown of the Umeyyan sovereigns, that in 839 a suppliant

embassy was received by Abdurrahman II. from the Greek Emperor

_Tufilus_, (Theophilus,) then hard pressed by the arms of the Abbaside

khalif Al-mutassem, to solicit his aid against their common enemy;

and, though Abdurrahman declined to embark in this distant and

hazardous enterprise, a friendly intercourse long continued to be kept

up between the courts of Cordova and Constantinople. The military

establishment was fully organized, and placed on a formidable footing.

Besides the troops quartered in the provinces and receiving regular

pay, the _haras_ or royal guard of Mamlukes, whose commander was one

of the principal officers of the court, was augmented to 5000 horse

and 1000 foot, all Christians or foreigners by birth, who occupied

barracks close to the royal palace, and constantly mounted guard at

the gates. The coast was also defended by a powerful fleet of armed

vessels, of which each of the seaports fitted out its proportion,

against the hostile attacks of the Abbaside lieutenauts of Africa, and

the predatory descents of the _Majus_[14] or Northmen; who, after

laying waste with fire and sword the French and English coasts, had

extended their ravages into the southern seas even to the Straits of

Gibraltar. Lisbon and Seville were sacked by them in 844; and their

piratical fleets continued for many years to carry pillage and

bloodshed along the shores of the Peninsula.

[12] It was by a body of exiles under Abu Hafss Omar, the

Apochapsus of the Greeks, (incorrectly called Abu _Caab_ by

Gibbon,) driven from Cordova after one of these insurrections,

that Crete was conquered in 823.

[13] In this battle, according to the veracious Spanish

chroniclers, Santiago first appeared on his white horse in the

mêlée, fighting for the Christians.--See the "Maiden Tribute,"

in Lockhart's _Spanish Ballads_.

[14] _Majus_--Magians or fire worshippers, is the term

invariably applied to these fierce Pagans by the Arabic

historians, apparently by a negative induction from their

being neither Moslems, Jews, nor Christians.

The simplicity which the first Abdurrahman had uniformly preserved in

his dress and habits of life, was soon exchanged by his successors for

royal magnificence, rivaling that of the Abbaside court at Bagdad. It

was Abdurrahman II. who, in a love quarrel with a beautiful inmate of

his harem, caused the door of her chamber to be blocked up with bags

of silver coin, to be removed on her relenting--"and she threw herself

on her knees and kissed his feet; but," naïvely adds the Arab

historian, "the money she kept, and no portion of it ever returned to

the treasury." The same prince testified his esteem for the fine arts,

by riding forth in state from his capital, to welcome the arrival of

Zaryab, a far-famed musician, whom the jealousy of a rival had driven

from Bagdad, and who founded in Spain a famous school of music; and in

his convivial habits, and the freedom which he allowed to the

companions of his festive hours, his character accords with that

assigned in the _Thousand and One Nights_, though not in the page of

history, to Haroon-Al-Rasheed. He died in 852, leaving the crown to

his son Mohammed, whose reign, as well as those of his two sons

Almundhir and Abdullah, who filled the throne in succession, is but

briefly noticed by Al-Makkari, though Señor de Gayangos has supplied

some valuable additional matter in his notes. The never-ceasing

contest with the Christians was waged year by year; and the Princes

of Oviedo, though often defeated in the plain and driven back into

their mountains, when the forces of Andalus were gathered against

them; yet surely, though slowly, gained ground against the provincial

_walis_ or viceroys. At the death of "Ordhun Ibn Adefunsh," (Ordoño

I.) in 866, their territory extended from the Atlantic and the Bay of

Biscay to Salamanca; and the Moslem power was diverted by the rising

strength of Navarre, where the Basques had shaken off the divided

allegiance paid alternately to the court of Cordova and the

Carlovingian rulers of France, and conferred on Garcia-Ramirez, in

857, an independent regal title. But these distant hostilities, as

yet, little affected the tranquillity of the seat of government, which

was more nearly interested in the frequent revolts of the provinces

under its rule,[15] and particularly by the rebellion of the

_Muwallads_, (or descendants of Christian converts to Islam;) which,

though the information extant respecting it is somewhat scanty, would

appear to have been little less than a struggle between the two races

for the dominion of Spain. One of the Muwallad chiefs, named Omar Ibn

Hafssun,[16] maintained for years a sort of semi-independence in the

Alpuxarras. Al-mundhir fell in a skirmish against him in 888, only two

years after his accession; and the insurrection, after continuing

through the whole reign of Abdullah, was only finally suppressed under

Abdurrahman III.

[15] No fewer than twenty-seven insurgent leaders, in the

reign of Abdullah alone, are enumerated in the translator's

notes from Ibn Hayyan.

[16] The epithet of _kelb_, "dog," frequently applied to this

leader, has led Condé into the strange error of creating for

him a son, whom he calls _Kalib_ Ibun Hafssun. The term

_Muwallad_ is said to be the origin of _mulatto_.

The system of government under these princes, appears to have remained

in nearly the same form as it had been fixed by Abdurrahman I. The

monarch nominated, during his lifetime, one of his sons as his

successor; and the _wali-al-ahd_, or crown-prince, thus selected,

received the oaths of allegiance of the dignitaries of the state, and

was admitted to a share in the administration--a wise regulation,

which prevented the recurrence of the civil wars arising from the

ambition of princes of the blood, which had distracted the reigns of

Al-hakem I. and Abdurrahman II. The council of the sovereign was

composed of the _vizirs_ or ministers of the different departments,

the _katibs_ or secretaries, and the chiefs of the law; the _walis_ of

the six great provinces into which Abdurrahman I. divided his

empire,[17] as well as the municipal chiefs of the principal cities

were also summoned on emergencies:--while the prime minister, or

highest officer of the state, in whom, as in the Turkish

_Vizir-Azem_,[18] the supreme direction of both civil and military

affairs was vested, was designated the _Hajib_ or chamberlain. Of the

four orthodox[19] sects of the Soonis, the one which predominated in

Spain, as it does to the present day in Barbary and Africa, was that

of Malik Ibn Ans, whose doctrines were introduced in the reign of

Al-hakem I., by doctors who had received instruction from the lips of

the Imam Malik himself at Mekka; and was formally established by that

prince throughout his dominions. The judicial offices were filled, as

in other Moslem countries, by Kadis, whose decisions were regulated by

the precepts of the Koran: but we find no mention (even before the

assumption of the titles of Imam and Khalif by Abdurrahman III.) of

any supreme ecclesiastical chief like the Sheikh-al-Islam or Mufti of

the Ottomans;--though there were chief justices analogous to the

Turkish Kadileskers, who bore the title of _Kadi-'l-jamah_.

[17] We do not find this division mentioned by the authors

cited by Al-Makkari; but it is stated by Condé, and appears to

have prevailed as long as the kingdom retained its unity. The

six provincial capitals were Saragossa, Toledo, Merida,

Valencia, Murcia, and Granada. Shortly before the arrival of

Abdurrahman, Yusuf Al-Fehri had organized _five_ great

governments, one of which comprised Narbonne and the

Trans-Pyrenean conquests.

[18] Under the Arab dynasties of the east, the _vizir_ was

exclusively an officer _of the pen_: and Makrizi expressly

mentions that Bedr-al-Jemali, who became vizir to the Fatimite

khalif Al-Mostanssor in 1074, was the first in whom _the sword

and the pen_ were united.

[19] See Sale's Koran. Preliminary Discourse. Sect. 8.

The royal revenue was derived from a variety of sources. The principal

were, a land-tax amounting to one-tenth of the produce of the soil and

the mines, the capitation-tax paid by the Jews and Christians, and the

fifth of the spoil taken from the enemy--an enormously productive item

in a time of constant warfare--besides a duty of two and a half per

cent on all exports and imports. These were the legitimate dues of the

crown, sanctioned by the Koran; but the splendid court maintained by

the later sovereigns of Cordova, their lavish expenditure in building,

and their large military and naval establishments, often compelled

them to have recourse to irregular methods of raising money, by forced

loans and by duties laid on different articles of food, in direct

violation of the Moslem law. The amount raised by all these means

varied greatly at different periods. Under Abdurrahman II., the whole

direct revenue is said not to have exceeded 1,000,000 of gold

_din[=a]rs_:--but the royal fifths, and other extraordinary sources of

income, appear not to have been included in this estimate:--and a

century later, under the third and greatest prince of that name, we

are told, on the authority of the biographer Ibn Khallekan, that "the

revenues of Andalus amounted to 5,480,000 gold _din[=a]rs_, collected

from taxes," (it is elsewhere said from the _land_-tax:) besides

765,000 derived from markets--exclusive also of the royal fifth of the

spoil, and the capitation-tax levied on Christians and Jews living in

the Moslem dominions, the amount of which is said to have equaled all

the rest. An annual sum of equal amount, reckoning the _din[=a]r_ at

ten shillings, had never in the history of the world been raised in a

territory of the same extent, and probably equaled the united incomes

of all the Christian princes in Europe--if we except the revenue of

the Greek Emperor, it certainly far exceeded them. "Of this vast

income," Ibn Khallekan continues, "one-third was appropriated to the

payment of the army, another third was deposited in the royal coffers

to cover the expenses of the household, and the remainder was spent

yearly in the construction of Az-zahra and such other buildings as

were erected under his reign." This tripartite allotment of the

revenue is alluded to under several reigns: the expenses of

administration and the salaries of the civil functionaries were

included under the second head; and the third portion was, in ordinary

case, reserved "to repel invasions and meet emergencies."

The prince under whom the vast revenue thus stated is said to have

been collected, ascended the throne on the death of his grandfather

Abdullah, in the 300th year of the Hejra, and the 912th of the

Christian era:--and his reign, of more than fifty lunar years, saw the

power and splendour of the Umeyyan dynasty attain its zenith. For some

years after his accession, he headed his armies in person against the

Christians and the partizans of Ibn Hafssun, who still continued in

arms: but the severe defeat which he received in 939 at Simaneas, near

Zamora, (called by Moslem writers the battle of Al-handik,) from

Ramiro II. of Leon, disgusted him with active warfare; and he deputed

the command of his armies to his generals and the princes of the

blood, who, in annual campaigns, so effectually kept the Christians

within their limits, that little territorial acquisition was made by

them during his reign; while the voluntary adhesion of the Berber

tribes, after the overthrow of the Edrisite dynasty in 941 by the arms

of the Fatimite khalifs, gave him almost unresisted possession of

great part of Fez and Morocco. The defeat of Al-handik, and the

treason and execution in 950, of his elder son Abdullah, (whom

disappointment at being postponed to his younger brother in the

succession, had led to conspire against his father's life,) were

almost the only clouds which dimmed the continual sunshine of his

prosperity--and his grandeur was enhanced in the eyes of his subjects,

by the assumption of the highest prerogatives of Islam. Hitherto the

princes of his line had contented themselves with the style of _Amirs

of the Moslems,_ and _Beni-Kholaifah_ or "sons of the Khalifs;" but in

929, "seeing the state of weakness and degradation to which the

khalifate of the Beni-Abbas at Bagdad had been reduced," he no longer

hesitated to adopt the titles of Imam and Khalif, with the appellation

of An-nasir Ledinillah, (defender of the religion of God,) under which

he is generally mentioned by historians.

The writers from whom Al-Makkari has drawn his materials, exhaust

their powers of language in panegyrics on the unrivaled magnificence

of the court of Abdurrahman; which was thronged both by men of letters

whom the distracted state of the East had driven thither for refuge,

and by ambassadors, not only from the princes of Islam, but from "Hoto

the king of the Alaman," (Otho the Great of Germany,) the king of

France, and numerous other Christian potentates. The reception of

these missions was usually signalized by a gorgeous display of the

pomp of the court--and the ceremonial on the arrival in 949 of the

envoys of Constantine VII. of Constantinople, is described at length

from Ibn Hayyan. "The vaulted hall in his palace of Az-zahra, which he

had fixed upon as the place where he would receive their credentials,

was beautifully decorated, and a throne glittering with gold and

sparkling with gems raised in the midst. To the right of the throne

stood five of the khalif's sons, to the left three others, one being

absent from illness. Next to them were the vizirs, each at his post on

the right or left of the throne. Then came the hajibs or chamberlains,

the sons of the vizirs, the freed slaves of the khalif, and the wakils

or officers of his household. The court of the palace had been strewn

with the richest carpets; and silken awnings of the most gorgeous

description had every where been thrown over the doors and arches.

Presently the ambassadors entered the hall, and were struck with awe

at the magnificence displayed, and the power of the Sultan before whom

they stood. They advanced a few steps, and presented the letter of

their master, Constantine son of Leo, Lord of Constantinah the Great,

(Constantinople.) It was written on sky-blue paper, and the characters

were of gold. Within the letter was an enclosure, the ground of which

was also sky-blue like the first, but the characters were of silver:

it was likewise written in Greek, and contained a list of the presents

which the Lord of Constantinah sent to the Khalif. On the letter was a

seal of gold of the weight of four mithkals, on one side of which was

a likeness of the Messiah, and on the other those of the King

Constantine and his son. The letter was enclosed in a bag of silver

cloth, over which was a case of gold, with a portrait of King

Constantine admirably executed on stained glass. All this was enclosed

in a case covered with cloth of silk and gold tissue. On the first

line of the _Inwan_ or introduction was written, 'Constantine and

Romanin, (Romanus,) believers in the Messiah, kings of the Greeks;'

and in the next, 'To the great and exalted in dignity and power, as he

most deserves, the noble in descent, Abdurrahman the khalif, who rules

over the Arabs of Andalus: may God preserve his life!'" The conclusion

of this splendid ceremony was, however, less imposing than the

commencement; for a learned _Faquih_, who had been appointed to

harangue the envoys in a set speech, was so overawed by the grandeur

around him, that "his tongue clove to his mouth, he could not

aticulate a single word, and fell senseless to the ground" Nor did his

successor, "who was reputed to be a prince in rhetoric, and an ocean

of language," fare much better; for though he began fluently, "all of

a sudden he stopped for want of a word which did not occur to him, and

thus put an end to his peroration." In this awkward dilemma, the

reputation of the Andalusian rhetoricians was saved by Mundhir Ibn

Said, who not only poured forth a torrent of impromptu eloquence, but

delivered a long ex-tempore poem, "which to this day stands

unequalled; and Abdurrahman was so pleased, that he appointed him

preacher and Imam to the great mosque; and some time after, the office

of Kadi-'l-jamah, or supreme judge, being vacant, he named him to that

high post, and made him besides reader of the Khoran to the mosque of

Az-zahra."

The palace of Az-zahra, where the eyes of the Greeks were dazzled by

this costly pageant, is one of the familiar names of the romance of

Spanish history:--it is known to all the world how Abdurrahman, to

gratify the capricious fancy of a beautiful and beloved mistress,

expended millions, and tasked the labour of thousands, in erecting on

the plain beyond Cordova a fairy palace and city which might bear her

name and be her own. And like a fairy fabric did Az-zahra vanish; for

so utterly was it destroyed, during the wars and civil tumults

attending the fall of the race which raised it, that at the present

day not a stone can be found, not a vestige even of the foundations

traced, to show where it once stood; and all that we know of this

"wondrous freak of magnificence" is drawn from the glowing accounts of

contemporary writers, who saw it during the brief period of its glory.

It is principally from Ibn Hayyan that Al-Makkari has copied the

details of this marvellous structure, with its "15,000 doors, counting

each flap or fold as one," all covered either with plates of iron, or

sheets of polished brass; and its 4000 columns, great and small, 140

of which were presented by the Emperor of Constantinople, and 1013,

mostly of green and rose-coloured marble, were brought from various

parts of Africa. Among the principal ornaments were two fountains

brought from Constantinople, "the larger of gilt bronze, beautifully

carved with basso-relieve representing human figures,"--the smaller

surrounded by twelve figures, made of red gold in the arsenal of

Cordova: they were all ornamented with jewels, and the water poured

out of their mouths. The famous fountain of quicksilver, which could

be set in motion at pleasure, was placed in the _Kasr-al-Kholaifa_, or

hall of the khalifs, "the roof and walls of which were of gold, and

solid but transparent blocks of marble of various colours: on each

side were eight doors fixed on arches of ivory and ebony, ornamented

with gold and precious stones, and resting on pillars of variegated

marble and transparent crystal:--and in the centre was fixed the

unique pearl presented to An-nassir by the Greek Emperor." The mosque

and baths attached to the palace were on a corresponding scale of

magnificence: and the number of inmates, male and female, is said to

have been not less than 20,000. The expenses of the establishment must

have consumed the revenues of a kingdom, if we are to believe the

statement, that 12,000 loaves of bread were daily allowed to feed the

fish in the ponds! "But all this and more is recorded by orators and

poets who have exhausted the mines of eloquence in the description,"

--says Al-Makkari, who, after enlarging upon "the running streams, the

luxuriant gardens, the stately buildings for the accommodation of the

guards and high functionaries--the throngs of soldiers, pages,

eunuchs, and slaves, attired in robes of silk and brocade, moving to

and fro through its broad streets--and the crowds of judges, katibs,

theologians, and poets, walking with becoming gravity through the

spacious halls and ample courts of the palace,"--concludes with a

burst of pious enthusiasm. "Praise be to God who allowed those

contemptible creatures (mankind) to build such palaces, and to inhabit

them as a recompense in this world, that the faithful might be

stimulated to the path of virtue, by reflecting that the pleasures

enjoyed by their owners were still very far from giving even a remote

idea of those reserved for the true believers in paradise!"

"Abdurrahman," as Al-Makkari sums up his character, "has been

described as the mildest and most enlightened of sovereigns. His

meekness, generosity, and love of justice, became proverbial: none of

his ancestors surpased him in courage, zeal for religion, and other

virtues which constitute an able and beloved monarch. He was fond of

science, and the patron of the learned, with whom he loved to

converse.... We should never finish, were we to transcribe the

innumerable anecdotes respecting him which are scattered like loose

pearls over the writings of the Andalusian poets and historians,"--but

as the "pearls" selected possess but little novelty in the

illustration of the kingly virtues which they commemorate, we prefer

to quote once more the oft-repeated legacy to posterity, in which this

"Soliman of the West," as he was called by his contemporaries,

confessed that, like his eastern prototype, he had found all his

grandeur "but vanity and vexation of spirit."--"After his death a

paper was found in his on handwriting, in which were noted those days

he had spent in happiness and without any cause of sorrow, and they

were found to amount to fourteen. O, man of understanding! consider

and observe the small portion of happiness the world affords, even in

the most enviable position! The khalif An-nasir, whose prosperity in

mundane affairs became proverbial, had only fourteen days of

undisturbed enjoyment during a reign of fifty years, seven months, and

three days. Praise be given to him, the Lord of eternal glory and

everlasting empire! There is no God but he!"

In the fulness of years and glory, Abdurrahman died of a paralytic

stroke at Az-zahra, on the second or third of Ramadhan, A.H. 350,

(Oct. 961,) and was succeeded, according to his previous nomination,

by his son Al-hakem II., who assumed on this occasion the title of

Al-mustanser-billah, (one who implores God's assistance.) This prince

has been characterized, by one of the ablest of recent historians,[20]

as "one of those rare beings, who have employed the awful engine of

despotism in promoting the happiness and intelligence of his species;"

and who rivaled, "in his elegant tastes, appetite for knowledge, and

munificent patronage, the best of the Medici:"--nor is this high

praise undeserved. Though he more than once headed his armies in

person, with success, against the Christians and Northmen, and

maintained on public occasions the state and magnificence which had

been introduced by his father, the toils of war and the pomp of

royalty were alike alien to his inclinations, which had been directed

from his earliest years to pursuits of literature and science. The

library which he amassed is said by some writers to have amounted to

the almost incredible number of 400,000 volumes: and such was his

ardour in the collection of books, that even in Persia and other

remote regions, the munificence which he exercised through agents

employed for the purpose, secured him copies of forthcoming works even

before their appearance in their own country. "He made Andalus a great

market for the literary productions of every clime ... so that rich

men in Cordova, however illiterate they might be, rewarded writers and

poets with the greatest munificence, and spared neither trouble nor

expense in forming libraries." Nor were these treasures of literature

idly accumulated, at least by Al-hakem himself; for so vast and

various was his reading, that there was scarcely one of his books (as

we are assured by the historian Ibn'ul-Abbar) which was not enriched

with remarks and annotations from his pen. "In the knowledge

especially of history, biography, and genealogy, he was surpassed by

no living author of his days: and he wrote a voluminous history of

Andalus, in which was displayed such sound criticism, that whatever he

related, as borrowed from more ancient sources, might be implicitly

relied upon."

[20] Prescott's Ferdinand and Isabella, i. 351.

The reign of Al-hakem was the Augustan age of Andalusian literature;

and besides the numerous learned men whom the fame of his father's and

his own liberality, with the security of their rule, had attracted to

Spain from other regions of Islam, we find in the pages of Al-Makkari

an extensive list of native authors, principally in the departments of

poetry, history, and philology, who are said to be "a few only of the

most eminent who flourished during this reign"--but none of their

names, however noted in their own day, are known in modern Europe.

Nor was the gentler sex, as is usually the case in the lands of Islam,

excluded from the general taste for letters; and one of our author's

chapters is almost entirely filled with a catalogue of the poetesses

who adorned Andalus at this and other periods of its history. One of

these, Mariam or Mary, the daughter of Abu-Yakub Al-ansari, who rose

into celebrity in the latter years of Al-hakem, appears to have been

one of the earliest _bas-bleus_ on record. Independent of her poetical

talents, she gave lectures at her residence at Seville "in rhetoric

and literature; which, united to her piety, virtue, and amiable

disposition, gained her the affection of her sex, and procured her

many pupils: she lived to old age, and died after the 400th year of

the Hejra," (A.D. 1010.) The favourite study of the Moslems, the

divinity and law of the Koran, was cultivated with especial zeal under

a monarch who was himself a rigid observer of its ordinances; and

various anecdotes are related by Al-Makkari of the extraordinary

deference paid by Al-hakem to the eminent theologians who frequented

his court. The Khalif himself "attended public worship every Friday,

and distributed alms to the poor; he laid out large sums in the

construction of mosques, hospitals, and colleges for youth;[21] and

being himself very strict in the observance of his religious duties,

he enforced the precepts of the _Sunnah_ (tradition) throughout his

dominions." With this view, severe edicts were directed against the

use of wine, which had become prevalent among the Andalusian Moslems;

and Al-hakem was with difficulty restrained, by representations of the

ruin which would be thus brought on the cultivators, from ordering the

destruction of all the vines in his dominions. But the reign of this

excellent and enlightened prince lasted only fifteen years; and at his

death, (Sept. 976,) which was caused by the same malady that had

proved fatal to his father, the glory of the house of Umeyyah expired.

[21] Eighty free schools are said by other authorities to have

existed or been founded during this reign in Cordova; the

number of dwelling-houses in which at the same time, great and

small, is stated at 200,000.

The evils of a minority had never yet been experienced in the

succession of the Umeyyan princes, all of whom had ascended the throne

at a mature age, and with some experience of administration from their

previous recognition as heir. But Hisham II., (surnamed

Al-muyyed-billah, the assisted by God,) the only son of Al-hakem, was

but nine years old at the time of his father's decease; and for some

time the government was directed in his name by the Hajib, Jafar

Al-Mushafi; but the influence of the queen-mother erelong succeeded in

displacing this faithful minister, in favour of Mohammed Ibn Abu Amir,

who then held the post of _sahib-ush-shortah_, or captain of the

guard. This remarkable personage (better known in history by his

surname of Al-mansur) was the son of a religious devotee, and his

condition in early life was so humble, that he supported himself as a

public letter-writer in the streets of Cordova; but an accident having

introduced him into the palace, he so skilfully wound his way among

the intigues of the court, as to attain the highest place next the

throne. But even this dignity was far from satisfying his ambition.

Under various pretexts he destroyed or drove into exile, within a few

years, all the princes of the blood, and others whose influence or

station might have endangered the success of his projects, and

concentrated in his own hands all the powers of the state; while the

khalif, secluded from public view within his palace, was as completely

a puppet in the hands of his all-powerful minister, as the khalifs of

Bagdad at the same period in those of the _Emirs-al-Omrah_. Secure of

the support of the soldiery, whose affections he had gained by his

liberality, Al-mansur so little affected to disguise his assumption of

supremacy, that he ordered his own name to be struck on the coin, and

repeated in the public prayers, along with that of Hisham, thus

arrogating to himself a share in the two most inalienable prerogatives

of sovereignty. His robes were made of a peculiar fashion and stuff

appropriated to royalty; he received embassies seated on the throne,

and declared peace and war in his own name. To such utter helplessness

was the khalif reduced,[22] that he was unable even to oppose the

removal of the royal treasure fiom Cordova to a fortified palace which

Al-mansur had built for his residence, not far from Az-zahra, and had

named, as if in mockery, Az-zahirah;--and the Hajib was at one time

obliged to quiet the murmurs of the populace, who doubted whether

their sovereign was still in existence, by leading him in procession

through the streets of the capital; "and the eyes of the people

feasted on what had been so long concealed from them."

[22] Some historians even speak of this period as the "dynasty

of the Amirites," from Al-mansur's father, Abn Amir.

But this daring usurpation was in part redeemed by qualities in the

usurper worthy of a king. Though the bigotry of Al-masur led him to

order the destruction of those volumes in the library of Al-hakem

which treated of philosophy and the abstruse sciences, on the ground

that such studies tended to irreligion, he was yet liberal to the

learned men who visited his court at Az-zahirah, where he resided in

royal splendour during the intervals of his campaigns; and he endeared

hinself to the people, by his generosity, his rigid justice, and the

strict control which he enforced over his subordinate officers. But it

was on his fervent zeal for the cause of Islam, and his martial

exploits against the Christians, (whence his surname of _Al-mansur_,

or _the Victorious_, was derived,) that his fame and popularity

chiefly rested. The martial spirit of the Spanish Moslems appears,

from various anecdotes related by Al-Makkari, to have suffered great

deterioration from the progress of luxury and decay of discipline; but

the armies led by Al-mansur were mainly recruited from the fiery

tribes of Barbary, and strengthened by numerous Christian slaves or

Mamlukes, trained to serve their captors in arms against their own

countrymen. With forces thus constituted, did Al-mansur, in whom once

more shone forth the spirit of the Arab conquerors of past times,

invade the Christian territories in each spring and autumn for

twenty-six successive years, carrying the Moslem arms in triumph even

to the shores of the "Green Sea," (Atlantic Ocean,) and into regions

which Tarik and Musa had never reached. Astorga and Leon, in spite of

the efforts of Bermudo II. to save his capital, were taken and razed

to the ground in 983. Barcelona only escaped the same fate in the

following year by submission and tribute; but the crowning glory of

Al-mansur's achievements in the _al-jahid_ or holy war, was the

capture, in 997, Santiago, the shrine and sepulchre of the patron

saint of Spain. "No Moslem general had ever penetrated as far as that

city, which is in an inaccessible position in the most remote part of

Galicia, and is a sanctuary regarded by the Christians with veneration

equal to that which the Moslems entertain for the Kaaba,"--but

Al-mansur, supplied with provisions from a fleet which accompanied his

march along the coast of Portugal, forced his way through the Galician

defiles, and occupied the holy city without opposition--all the

inhabitants having fled, according to Ibn Hayyan, with the exception

of an old monk who tended the tomb. The city and cathedral were

leveled with the ground; the shrine alone was left untouched in the

midst of the ruins, from the belief of the Moslems that St James was

the brother of the Messiah--and the church-bells were conveyed on the

shoulders of the captives to Cordova, where they were suspended as

lamps in the great mosque, to commemorate the triumph of Islam in the

principal seat of Christian worship and pilgrimage.

Such was the depression produced among the Christians by these

repeated disasters, that, if we may believe Al-Makkari, "one of

Al-mansur's soldiers having left his banner fixed in the earth on a

mountain before a Christian town, the garrison dared not come out for

several days after the retreat of the Moslem army, not knowing what

troops might be behind it." The pressing sense of common danger, at

length extinguished ("for the first time perhaps," as Conde remarks)

the feuds of the Christian princes; and in the spring of 1002 the

united forces of the Count of Castile, Sancho the Great of Navarre,

and the King of Leon, confronted the Moslem host at Kalat-an-nosor,[23]

(the Castle of the Eagles,) on the frontiers of Old Castile. The

mighty conflict which ensued is very briefly dismissed by

Al-Makkari--"Al-mansur attacked and defeated them with great

loss"--but a far different account is given by the Christian

chroniclers, who represent the Moslems as only saved from a total

overthrow by the approach of night. It seems, in truth, to have been

nearly a drawn battle, with immense carnage on both sides; but the

advantage was decidedly with the Christians, who retained possession

of the field; while Al-mansur, weakened by the loss of great numbers

of his best men and officers, abandoned his camp, and retreated the

next day across the Douro. In all his fifty-two campaigns he is said

never before to have been defeated; and the chagrin occasioned by this

severe reverse, joined to a malady under which he was previously

suffering, ended his life shortly after[24] at Medinah-Selim,

(Medinaceli.) He was buried by his sons in the same place; the dust

which had adhered to his garments in his campaigns against the

Christians, and which had been carefully preserved for the purpose,

being placed in the tomb with the corpse--a practice not unusual at

the funeral of a celebrated warrior. "This enlightened and

never-vanquished Hajib"--says Al-Makkali, with whom Al-mansur is a

favourite hero--"used continually to ask God to permit him to die in

his service and in war against the infidels, and thus his desire was

granted;... and after his death, the Mohammedan empire in Andalus

began to show visible signs of decay."

[23] The precise locality of this famous battle is not very

clearly ascertained; but Condé places it betveen Soria and

Medinaceli.

[24] The battle is placed by the Christian writers in 998; but

the death of Al-mansur, which both Christians and Moslems

agree in stating to have taken place within a very short time,

is said by the latter to have been A.M. 392, A.D. 1002.

Al-mansur had a worthy successor in his son Abdul-malek, who at once

received the appointment of Hajib from the passive Khalif:--but on his

death in 1008, the post was assumed by his brother Abdurrahman,

popularly known as Shanjul, a Berber word signifying _madman_--a

surname which he had earned by his habits of low vice and

intemperance. Scarcely had he entered upon office, when, not contented

with exercising sovereign authority, like his father and brother,

under an appearance of delegation from the Khalif, he persuaded or

compelled the feeble Hisham, who had no male issue, to appoint him

_Wali-al-ahd,_ or heir-presumptive--the deed of nomination is given at

length by Al-Makkari, and is a curious specimen of a state-paper. But

this transfer was viewed with deep indignation by the people of

Cordova, who were warmly attached to the line of their ancient

princes; and their discontent being fomented by the members of the

Umeyyan family, they rose in furious revolt during the absence of the

Hajib on the Galician frontiers, deposed Hisham, and raised to the

throne Mohammed-Al-muhdi, a great-grandson of Abdurrahman III.

Abdurrahman, returning in haste to quell the insurrection, found

himself deserted by his army, and was put to death with most of his

family and principal adherents; and the power of the Amirites vanished

in a day like the remembrance of dream. But the sceptre which had thus

been struck from their grasp, found no other hand strong enough to

seize it; and from the first deposition of Hisham II. in 1009, to the

final dissolution of the monarchy on the abdication of Hisham III. in

1031, the whole of Moslem Spain presented a frightful scene of

anarchy and civil war. Besides the imbecile Hisham, who was at least

once released and restored to the throne, and was personated by more

than one pretender, the royal title was assumed, within twenty years

by not fewer than six princes of the house of Umeyyah, and by three of

a rival race--a branch of the Edrisites called Beni-Hammud, who

endeavoured in the general confusion to assert their claims as

descendants of the Khalif Ali. The aid of the Christians was called in

by more than one faction; and Cordova was stormed and sacked after a

long siege in 1013, by the African troops who followed the standard of

Soliman Ab-muhdi, one of the Umeyyan competitors. The palaces of

Az-zahra and Az-zahirah were utterly destroyed; the remains of Hakem's

library, with the treasures amassed by former sovereigns, were either

plundered or dispersed; nor did the ancient capital of Audalus, no

more the seat of the Khalifate, ever recover its former grandeur. The

provincial _walis_, many of whom owed their appointments to the Hajibs

of the house of Amir, and were disaffected to the Beni-Umeyyah, every

where threw off their allegiance and assumed independence, till only

the districts in its immediate vicinity remained attached to Cordova,

which was still considered the seat of the Mohammedan empire. The last

Umeyyan prince who ruled there was a grandson of the great

Abdurrahman, named Hisham Al-Mutadd; whom the inhabitants, after

expelling the troops of the Beni-Hammud in 1027, invited to ascend the

throne of his ancestors. "He was a mild and enlightened prince and

possessed many brilliant qualities; but notwithstanding this, the

volatile and degenerate citizens of Cordova grew discontented with

him, and he was deposed by the army in 422, (A.D. 1031.) He left the

capital and retired to Lerida, where he died in 428, (A.D. 1036.) He

was the last member of that illustrious dynasty which had ruled over

Andalus and a great portion of Africa for two hundred and eighty-four

years, counting from the accession of Abdurrahman I., surnamed

Ab-dakhel, in 138, (A.D. 756.) There is no God but God! He is the

Almighty!"

The fall of the Umeyyan khalifate closes the first of the two

brilliant periods which illustrate the Arab history of Spain. The

uninterrupted hereditary succession for ten generations, and the long

average duration of the reign of each monarch, from the arrival in

Spain of Abdurrahman I. in 756, to the death or disappearance of

Hisham II. in 1009, are without a parallel it any other Moslem

dynasty, with the single exception of the Ottoman line; and though, on

pursuing the comparison, the Umeyyan princes cannot vie with the

last-named race in extent of conquest and splendour of martial

achievement, they far surpass not only the Ottomans, but almost every

sovereign family in the annals of Islam, in the cultivation of kingly

virtues and arts of peace, and the refinement and love of literature,

which they introduced and fostered in their dominions. During the

greater part of their rule, the court of Cordova was the most polished

and enlightened in Europe removed equally from the martial rudeness of

those of the Frank monarchs, and the punctilious attention to forms

and jealous etiquette, within which the Grcek emperors studiously

intrenched themselves. The useful arts, and in particular the science

of agriculture, necessary for the support of a dense population, were

cultivated to an extent of which no other country afforded an example;

and the commerce which filled the ports of Spain, from all parts of

Europe and the East, was the natural result of the industry of her

people. In how great a degree the personal character of the Umeyyan

sovereigns contributed to this state of political and social

prosperity, is best proved by the rapid disruption and fall of the

monarchy, when it passed into the feeble hands of Hisham II., and by

the history of the two following centuries of anarchy, civil war, and

foreign domination. But the sun of Andalusian glory, which had

attained its meridian splendour under the Khalifs of Cordova, once

more emerged before the close of its course from the clouds and

darkness which surrounded it;--and its setting rays shone, with

concentrated lustre, over the kingdom of GRANADA.

* * * * *

TWO NIGHTS IN SOUTHERN MEXICO.

A FRAGMENT FROM THE JOURNAL OF AN AMERICAN TRAVELLER.

"A capital place this for our bivouac!" cried I, swinging myself off

my mule, and stretching my arms and legs, which were stiffened by a

long ride.

It _was_ a fairish place, to all appearances--a snug ravine, well

shaded by mahogany-trees, the ground covered with the luxuriant

vegetation of that tropical region, a little stream bubbling and

leaping and dashing down one of the high rocks that flanked the

hollow, and rippling away through the tall fern towards the rear of

the spot where we had halted, at the distance of a hundred yards from

which the ground was low and shelving.

"A capital place this for our bivouac!"

My companion nodded. As to our lazy Mexican _arrieros_ and servants,

they said nothing, but began making arrangements for passing the

night. Curse the fellows! If they had seen us preparing to lie down in

a swamp, cheek by jowl with an alligator, I believe they would not

have offered a word of remonstrance. Those Mexican half-breeds, half

Indian half Spaniard, with sometimes a dash of the Negro, are

themselves so little pervious to the dangers and evils of their soil

and climate, that they never seem to remember that Yankee flesh and

blood may be rather more susceptible; that niguas[25] and musquittoes,

and _vomito prieto_, as they call their infernal fever, are no trifles

to encounter; without mentioning the snakes, and scorpions, and

alligators, and other creatures of the kind, which infest their

strange, wild, unnatural, and yet beautiful country.

[25] The nigua is a small but very dangerous insect which

fixes itself in the feet, bores holes in the skin, and lays

its eggs there. These, if not extracted, (which extraction by

the by is a most painful operation) cause first an intolerable

itching, and subsequently sores and ulcers of a sufficiently

serious nature to entail the loss of the feet.

I had come to Mexico in company with Jonathan Rowley, a youth of

Virginian raising, six and twenty years of age, six feet two in his

stockings, with the limbs of a Hercules and shoulders like the side of

a house. It was towards the close of 1824; and the recent emancipation

of Mexico from the Spanish yoke, and its self-formation into a

republic, had given it a new and strong interest to us Americans. We

had been told much, too, of the beauty of the country--but in this we

were at first rather disappointed; and we reached the capital without

having seen any thing, except some parts of the province of Vera Cruz,

that could justify the extravagant encomiums we had heard bestowed in

the States upon the splendid scenery of Mexico. We had not, however,

to go far southward from the chief city, before the character of the

country altered, and became such as to satisfy our most sanguine

expectations. Forests of palms, of oranges, citrons, and bananas,

filled the valleys: the marshes and low grounds were crowded with

mahogany-trees, and with immense fern plants, in height equal to

trees. All nature was on a gigantic scale--the mountains of an

enormous height, the face of the country seamed and split by

_barrancas_ or ravines, hundreds, ay, thousands of feet deep, and

filled with the most abundant and varied vegetation. The sky, too, was

of the deep glowing blue of the tropics, the sort of blue which seems

varnished or clouded with gold. But this ardent climate and teeming

soil are not without their disadvantages. Vermin and reptiles of all

kinds, and the deadly fever of these latitudes, render the low lands

uninhabitable for eight months out of the twelve. At the same time

there are large districts which are comparatively free from these

plagues--perfect gardens of Eden, of such extreme beauty that the mere

act of living and breathing amongst their enchanting scenes, becomes a

positive and real enjoyment. The heart seems to leap with delight, and

the soul to be elevated, by the contemplation of those regions of

fairy-like magnificence.

The most celebrated among these favoured provinces is the valley of

Oaxaca, in which two mountainous districts, the Mistecca and

Tzapoteca, bear off the palm of beauty. It was through this immense

valley, nearly three hundred leagues in length, and surrounded by the

highest mountains in Mexico, that we were now journeying. The kind

attention of our chargé-d'affaires at the Mexican capital, had

procured us every possible facility in travelling through a country,

of which the soil was at that time rarely trodden by any but native

feet. We had numerous letters to the alcaldes and authorities of the

towns and villages which are sparingly sprinkled over the southern

provinces of Mexico; we were to have escorts when necessary; every

assistance, protection, and facility, were to be afforded us. But as

neither the authorities nor his excellency, Uncle Sam's envoy, could

make inns and houses where none existed, it followed that we were

often obliged to sleep _à la belle étoile_, with the sky for a

covering. And a right splendid roof it was to our bedchamber, that

tropical sky, with its constellations, all new to us northerns, and

every star magnified by the effect of the atmosphere to an incredible

size. Mars and Saturn, Venus and Jupiter, had all disappeared; the

great and little Bear were still to be seen; in the far distance the

ship Argo and the glowing Centaur; and, beautiful above all, the

glorious sign of Christianity the colossal Southern Cross, in all its

brightness and sublimity, glittering in silvery magnificence out of

its setting of dark blue crystal.

We were travelling with a state and a degree of luxury that would have

excited the contempt of our backwoodsmen; but in a strange country we

thought it best to do as the natives did; and accordingly, instead of

mounting our horses and setting forth alone, with our rifles slung

over our shoulders, and a few handfuls of parched corn and dried flesh

in our hunting pouches, we journeyed Mexican fashion, with a whole

string of mules, a _topith_ or guide, a couple of _arrieros_ or

muleteers, a cook, and one or two other attendants. While the latter

were slinging our hammocks to the lowermost branches of a tree--for in

that part of Mexico it is not very safe to sleep upon the ground, on

account of the snakes and vermin--our _cocinero_ lit a fire against

the rock, and in a very few minutes an iguana which we had shot that

day was spitted and roasting before it. It looked strange to see this

hideous creature, in shape between a lizard and a dragon, twisting and

turning in the light of the fire; and its disgusting appearance might

have taken away some people's appetites; but we knew by experience

that there is no better eating than a roasted iguana. We made a hearty

meal off this one, concluding it with a pull at the rum flask, and

then clambered into our hammocks; the Mexicans stretched themselves on

the ground with their heads upon the saddles of the mules, and both

masters and men were soon asleep.

It was somewhere about midnight when I was awakened by an

indescribable sensation of oppression from the surrounding atmosphere.

The air seemed to be no longer air, but some poisonous exhalation that

had suddenly arisen and enveloped us. From the rear of the ravine in

which we lay, billows of dark mephitic mist were rolling forward,

surrounding us with their baleful influence. It was the _vomito

prieto_, the fever itself, embodied in the shape of a fog. At the same

moment, and while I was gasping for breath, a sort of cloud seemed to

settle upon me, and a thousand stings, like redhot needles, were run

into my hands, face, neck--into every part of my limbs and body that

was not triply guarded by clothing. I instinctively stretched forth my

hands and closed them, clutching by the action hundreds of enormous

musquittoes, whose droning, singing noise how almost deafened me. The

air was literally filled by a dense swarm of these insects; and the

agony caused by their repeated and venomous stings was indescribable.

It was a perfect plague of Egypt.

Rowley, whose hammock was slung some ten yards from mine, soon gave

tongue: I heard him kicking and plunging, spluttering and swearing,

with a vigour and energy that would have been ludicrous under any

other circumstances; but matters were just then too serious for a

laugh. With the torture, for such it was, of the musquitto bites, and

the effect of the insidious and poisonous vapours that were each

moment thickening around me, I was already in a high state of fever,

alternately glowing with heat and shivering with cold, my tongue

parched, my eyelids throbbing, my brain seemingly on fire.

There was a heavy thump upon the ground. It was Rowley jumping out of

his hammock. "Damnation" roared he, "Where are we? On the earth, or

under the earth?--We must be--we are--in their Mexican purgatory. We

are, or there's no snakes in Virginny. Hallo, arrieros! Pablo!

Matteo!"

At that moment a scream--but a scream of such terror and anguish as I

never heard before or since--a scream as of women in their hour of

agony and extreme peril, sounded within a few paces of us. I sprang

out of my hammock; and as I did so, two white and graceful female

figures darted or rather flew by me, shrieking--and oh! in what

heart-rending tones--for "_Socorro! Socorro! Por Dios_! Help! Help!"

Close upon the heels of the fugitives, bounding and leaping along with

enormous strides and springs, came three or four dark objects which

resembled nothing earthly. The human form they certainly possessed;

but so hideous and horrible, so unnatural and spectre-like was their

aspect, that their sudden encounter in that gloomy ravine, and in the

almost darkness that surrounded us, might well have shaken the

strongest nerves. We stood for a second, Rowley and myself, paralysed

with astonishment at these strange appearances; but another piercing

scream restored to us our presence of mind. One of the women had

either tripped or fallen from fatigue, and she lay a white heap, upon

the ground. The drapery of the other was in the clutch of one of the

spectres, or devils, or whatever they were, when Rowley, with a cry of

horror, rushed forward and struck a furious blow at the monster with

his _machetto_. At the same time, and almost without knowing how, I

found myself engaged with another of the creatures. But the contest

was no equal one. In vain did we stab and strike with our machettos;

our antagonists were covered and defended with a hard bristly hide,

which our knives, although keen and pointed, had great difficulty in

penetrating; and on the other hand we found ourselves clutched in long

sinewy arms, terminating in hands and fingers, of which the nails were

as sharp and strong as an eagle's talons. I felt these horrible claws

strike into my shoulders as the creature seized me, and, drawing me

towards him, pressed me as in the hug of a bear; while his hideous

half man half brute visage was grinning and snarling at me, and his

long keen white teeth were snapping and gnashing within six inches of

my face.

"God of heaven! This is horrible! Rowley! Help me!"

But Rowley, in spite of his gigantic strength, was powerless as an

infant in the grasp of these terrible opponents. He was within a few

paces of me, struggling with two of them, and making superhuman

efforts to regain possession of his knife, which had dropped or been

wrenched from his hand. And all this time, where were our arrieros?

Were they attacked likewise? Why didn't they come and help us? All

this time!--pshaw! it was no time: it all passed in the space of a few

seconds, in the circumference of a few yards, and in the feeble

glimmering light of the stars, and of the smouldering embers of our

fire, which was at some distance from us.

"Ha! That has told!" A stab, dealt with all the energy of despair, had

entered my antagonist's side. But I was like to pay dearly for it.

Uttering a deafening yell of pain and fury, the monster clasped me

closer to his foul and loathsome body; his sharp claws, dug deeper

into my back, seemed to tear up my flesh: the agony was

insupportable--my eyes began to swim, and my senses to leave me. Just

then--Crack! crack! Two--four--a dozen musket and pistol shots,

followed by such a chorus of yellings and howlings and unearthly

laughter! The creature that held me seemed startled--relaxed his grasp

slightly. At that moment a dark arm was passed before my face, there

was a blinding flash, a yell, and I fell to the ground released from

the clutch of my opponent. I remember nothing more. Overcome by pain,

fatigue, terror, and the noxious vapors of that vile ravine, my senses

abandoned me, and I swooned away.

When consciousness returned, I found myself lying upon some blankets,

under a sort of arbour of foliage and flowers. It was broad day; the

sun shone brightly, the blossoms smelled sweet, the gay-plumaged

hummingbirds were darting and shooting about in the sunbeams like so

many animated fragments of a prism. A Mexican Indian, standing beside

my couch, and whose face was unknown to me, held out a cocoa-nutshell

containing some liquid, which I eagerly seized, and drank off the

contents. The draught (it was a mixture of citron juice and water)

revived me greatly; and raising myself on my elbow, although with much

pain and difficulty, I looked around, and beheld a scene of bustle and

life which to me was quite unintelligible. Upon the shelving hillside

on which I was lying, a sort of encampment was established. A number

of mules and horses were wandering about at liberty, or fastened to

trees and bushes, and eating the forage that had been collected and

laid before them. Some were provided with handsome and commodious

saddles, while others had pack-saddles, intended apparently for the

conveyance of numerous sacks, cases, and wallets, that were scattered

about on the ground. Several muskets and rifles were leaning here and

there against the trees; and a dozen or fifteen men were occupied in

various ways--some filling up saddle-bags or fastening luggage on the

mules, others lying on the ground smoking, one party surrounding a

fire at which cooking was going on. At a short distance from my bed

was another similarly composed couch, occupied by a man muffled up in

blankets, and having his back turned towards me, so that I was unable

to obtain a view of his features.

"What is all this? Where am I? Where is Rowley--our guide--where are

they all?"

"_Non entiendo_," answered my brown-visaged Ganymede, shaking his

head, and with a good-humoured smile.

"_Adonde estamos?_"

"_In el valle de Chihuatan, in el gran valle de Oaxaca y Guatimala;

diez leguas de Tarifa_. In the valley of Chihuatan; ten leagues from

Tarifa."

The figure lying on the bed near me now made a movement, and turned

round. What could it be? Its face was like a lump of raw flesh

streaked and stained with blood. No features were distinguishable.

"Who are you? What are you?" cried I.

"Rowley," it answered: "Rowley I was, at least, if those devils

haven't changed me."

"Then changed you they have," cried I, with a wild laugh. "Good God!

have they scalped him alive, or what? That is not Rowley."

The Mexican, who had gone to give some drink to the creature claiming

to be Rowley, now opened a valise that lay on the ground a short

distance off, and took out a small looking-glass, which he brought and

held before my face. It was then only that I began to call to mind all

that had occurred, and understood how it was that the mask of human

flesh lying near me might indeed be Rowley. He was, if any thing, less

altered than myself. My eyes were almost closed; my lips, nose, and

whole face swollen to an immense size, and perfectly unrecognisable. I

involuntarily recoiled in dismay and disgust at my own appearance. The

horrible night passed in the ravine, the foul and suffocating vapours,

the furious attack of the musquittoes--the bites of which, and the

consequent fever and inflammation, had thus disfigured us--all

recurred to our memory. But the women, the fight with the

monsters--beasts--Indians--whatever they were, that was still

incomprehensible. It was no dream: my back and shoulders were still

smarting from the wounds that had been inflicted on them by the claws

of those creatures, and I now felt that various parts of my limbs and

body were swathed in wet bandages. I was mustering my Spanish to ask

the Mexican who still stood by me for an explanation of all this, when

I suddenly became aware of a great bustle in the encampment, and saw

every body crowding to meet a number of persons who just then emerged

from the high fern, and amongst whom I recognized our arrieros and

servants. The new-comers were grouped around something which they

seemed to be dragging along the ground; several women--for the most

part young and graceful creatures, their slender supple forms muffled

in the flowing picturesque _reboxos_ and _frazadas_--preceded the

party, looking back occasionally with an expression of mingled horror

and triumph; all with rosaries in their hands, the beads of which ran

rapidly through their fingers, while they occasionally kissed the

cross, or made the sign on their breasts or in the air.

"_Un Zambo muerto! Un Zambo Muerto!_" shouted they as they drew near.

"_Han matado un Zambo!_ They have killed a Zambo!" repeated my

attendant in a tone of exultation.

The party came close up to where Rowley and I were lying; the women

stood aside, jumping and laughing, and crossing themselves, and crying

out "_Un Zambo! Un Zambo Muerto!_" the group opened, and we saw, lying

dead upon the ground, one of our horrible antagonists of the preceding

night.

"Good God, what is that?" cried Rowley and I, with one breath. "_Un

demonio!_ a devil!"

"_Perdonen vos, Senores--Un Zambo mono--muy terribles los Zambos._

Terrible monkeys these Zambos."

"Monkeys!" cried I.

"Monkeys!" repeated poor Rowley, raising himself up into a sitting

posture by the help of his hands. "Monkeys--apes--by Jove! We've been

fighting with monkeys, and it's they who have mauled us in this way.

Well, Jonathan Rowley, think of your coming from old Virginny to

Mexico to be whipped by a monkey. It's gone goose with _your_

character. You can never show your face in the States again. Whipped

by an ape!--an ape, with a tail and a hairy--O Lord! Whipped by a

monkey!"

And the ludicrousness of the notion overcoming his mortification, and

the pain of his wounds and bites, he sank back upon the bed of

blankets and banana leaves, laughing as well as his swollen face and

sausage-looking lips would allow him.

It was as much as I could do to persuade myself, that the carcass

lying before me had never been inhabited by a human soul. It was

humiliating to behold the close affinity between this huge ape and our

own species. Had it not been for the tail, I could have fancied I saw

the dead body of some prairie hunter dressed in skins. It was exactly

like a powerful, well-grown man; and even the expression of the face

had more of bad human passions than of animal instinct. The feet and

thighs were those of a muscular man: the legs rather too curved and

calfless, though I have seen Negroes who had scarcely better ones; the

tendons of the hands stood out like whipcords; the nails were as long

as a tiger's claws. No wonder that we had been overmatched in our

struggle with the brutes. No man could have withstood them. The arms

of this one were like packets of cordage, all muscle, nerve, and

sinew; and the hands were clasped together with such force, that the

efforts of eight or ten Mexicans and Indians were insufficient to

disunite them.

Whatever remained to be cleared up in our night's adventures was now

soon explained. Our guide, through ignorance or thoughtlessness, had

allowed us to take up our bivouac within a very unsafe distance of one

of the most pestiferous swamps in the whole province. Shortly after we

had fallen asleep, a party of Mexican travellers had arrived, and

established themselves within a few hundred yards of us, but on a

rising ground, where they avoided the mephitic vapours and the

musquittoes which had so tortured Rowley and myself. In the night two

of the women, having ventured a short distance from the encampment,

were surprised by the zambos, or huge man-apes, common in some parts

of Southern Mexico; and finding themselves cut off from their

friends, had fled they knew not whither, fortunately for them taking

the direction of our bivouac. Their screams, our shouts, and the

yellings and diabolical laughter of the zambos, had brought the

Mexicans to our assistance. The monkeys showed no fight after the

first volley; several of then must have been wounded, but only the one

now lying before us had remained upon the field.

The Mexicans we had fallen amongst were on the Tzapoteca, principally

cochineal gatherers, and kinder-hearted people there could not well

be. They seemed to think they never could do enough for us; the women

especially, and more particularly the two whom we had endeavoured to

rescue from the power of the apes. These latter certainly had cause to

be grateful. It made us shudder to think of their fate had they not

met with us. It was the delay caused by our attacking the brutes that

had given the Mexicans time to come up.

Every attention was shown to us. We were fanned with palm leaves,

refreshed with cooling drinks, our wounds carefully dressed and

bandaged, our heated, irritated, musquitto-bitten limbs and faces

washed with balsam and the juice of herbs: more tender and careful

nurses it would be impossible to find. We soon began to feel better,

and were able to sit up and look about us; carefully avoiding,

however, to look at each other, for we could not get reconciled to the

horrible appearance of our swollen, bloody, and disgusting features.

From our position on the rising ground, we had a full view over the

frightful swamp at the entrance of which all our misfortunes had

happened. There it lay, steaming like a great kettle; endless mists

rising from it, out of which appeared here and there the crown of some

mighty tree towering above the banks of vapour. To the left, cliffs

and crags were to be seen which had the appearance of being baseless,

and of swimming on the top of the mist. The vultures and carrion-birds

circled screaming above the huge caldron, or perched on the tops of

the tall palms, which looked like enormous umbrellas, or like the

roofs of Chinese summer-houses. Out of the swamp itself proceeded the

yellings, snarlings, and growlings of the alligators, bull-frogs, and

myriads of unclean beasts that it harboured.

The air was unusually sultry and oppressive: from time to time the

rolling of distant thunder was audible. We could hear the Mexicans

consulting amongst themselves as to the propriety of continuing their

journey, to which our suffering state seemed to be the chief obstacle.

From what we could collect of their discourse, they were unwilling to

leave us in this dangerous district, and in our helpless condition,

with a guide and attendants who were either untrustworthy or totally

incompetent to lead us aright. Yet there seemed to be some pressing

necessity for continuing the march; and presently some of the older

Mexicans, who appeared to have the direction of the caravan, came up

to us and enquired how we felt, and if we thought we were able to

travel; adding, that from the signs on the earth and in the air, they

feared a storm, and that the nearest habitation or shelter was at many

leagues' distance. Thanks to the remedies that had been applied, our

sufferings were much diminished. We felt weak and hungry, and telling

the Mexicans we should be ready to proceed in half an hour, we desired

our servants to get us something to eat. But our new friends

forestalled them, and brought us a large piece of iguana, with roasted

bananas, and cocoa-nutshell cups full of coffee, to all of which

Rowley and I applied ourselves with much gusto. Meanwhile our

muleteers and the Tzapotecans were busy packing their beasts and

making ready for the start.

We had not eaten a dozen mouthfuls when we say a man running down the

hill with a branch in each hand. As soon as he appeared, a number of

the Mexicans left their occupations and hurried to meet him.

"_Siete horas!_" shouted the man. "Seven hours, and no more!"

"No more than seven hours!" echoed the Tzapotecans, in tones of the

wildest terror and alarm. "_La Santissima nos guarde!_ It will take

more than ten to reach the village."

"What's all that about?" said I with my mouth full, to Rowley.

"Don't know--some of their Indian tricks, I suppose."

"_Que es esto_?" asked I carelessly. "What's the matter?"

"_Que es esto_!" repeated an old Tzapotecan, with long grey hair

curling from under his _sombrero_, and a withered but finely marked

countenance. "_Las aguas! El ouracan!_ In seven hours the deluge and

the hurricane!"

"_Vamos, por la Santissima!_ For the blessed Virgin's sake let us be

gone!" cried a dozen of the Mexicans, pushing two green boughs into

our very faces.

"What are those branches?"

"From the tempest-tree--the prophet of the storm," was the reply.

And Tzapotecans and women, arrieros and servants, ran about in the

utmost terror and confusion, with cries of "_Vamos, paso redoblado_!

Off with us, or we are all lost, man and beast," and saddling,

packing, and scrambling on their mules. And before Rowley and I knew

where we were, they tore us away from our iguana and coffee, and

hoisted and pushed us into our saddles. Such a scene of bustle and

desperate hurry I never beheld. The place where the encampment had

been was alive with men and women, horses and mules, shouting,

shrieking and talking, neighing and kicking; but with all the

confusion there was little time lost, and in less than three minutes

from the first alarm being given, we were scampering away over stock

and stone, in a long, wild, irregular sort of train.

The rapidity and excitement of our ride seemed to have the effect of

calming our various sufferings, or of making us forget them; and we

soon thought no more of the fever, or of stings or musquitto bites. It

was a ride for life or death, and our horses stepped out as if they

knew how much depended on their exertions.

In the hurry and confusion we had been mounted on horses instead of

our our own mules; and splendid animals they were. I doubt if our

Virginians could beat them, and that is saying a great deal. There was

no effort or straining in their movements; it seemed mere play to them

to surmount the numerous difficulties we encountered on our road. Over

mountain and valley, swamp and barranca, always the same steady

surefootedness--crawling like cats over the soft places, gliding like

snakes up the steep rocky ascents, and stretching out with prodigious

energy when the ground was favourable; yet with such easy action that

we scarcely felt the motion. We should have sat in the roomy Spanish

saddles as comfortably as in arm-chairs, had it not been for the

numerous obstacles in our path, which was strewed with fallen trees

and masses of rock. We were obliged to be perpetually stooping and

bowing our heads to avoid the creeping plants that swung and twined

and twisted across the track, intermingled often with huge thorns as

long as a man's arm. These latter stuck out from the trees on which

they grew like so many brown bayonets; and a man who had run up

against one of them, would have been transfixed by it as surely as

though it had been of steel. We pushed on, however, in Indian file,

following the two guides, who kept at the head of the party, and

making our way through places where a wild-cat would have difficulty

in passing; through thickets of mangroves, mimosas, and tall fern, and

cactuses with their thorny leaves full twenty feet long; the path

turning and winding all the while. Now and then a momentary

improvement in the nature of the ground enabled us to catch a glimpse

of the whole column of march. We were struck by its picturesque

appearance, the guides in front acting as pioneers, and looking out on

all sides as cautiously and anxiously as though they had been soldiers

expecting an ambuscade; the graceful forms of the women bowing and

bending over their horses' manes, and often leaving fragments of their

mantillas and rebozas on the branches and thorns of the labyrinth

through which we were struggling. But it was no time to indulge in

contemplation of the picturesque, and of this we were constantly made

aware by the anxious vociferations of the Mexicans. "_Vamos! Por Dios,

vamos!_" cried they, if the slightest symptom of flagging became

visible in the movements of any one of the party; and at the words,

our horses, as though gifted with understanding, pushed forward with

renewed vigour and alacrity.

On we went--up hill and down, in the depths of the valley and over the

soft fetid swamp. That valley of Oaxaca has just as much right to be

called a valley as our Alleghanies would have to be called bottoms. In

the States we should call it a chain of mountains. Out of it rise at

every step hills a good two thousand feet above the level of the

valley, and four or five thousand above that of the sea; but these are

lost sight of, and become flat ground by the force of comparison; that

is, when compared with the gigantic mountains that surround the valley

on all sides like a frame. And what a splendid frame they do compose,

those colossal mountains, in their rich variety of form and colouring!

here shining out like molten gold, there changing to a dark bronze;

covered lower down with various shades of green, and with the crimson

and purple, and violet and bright yellow, and azure and dazzling

white, of the millions of paulinias and convolvoluses and other

flowering plants, from amongst which rise the stately palm-trees, full

a hundred feet high, their majestic green turbans towering like

sultans' heads above the luxuriance of the surrounding flower and

vegetable world. Then the mahogany-trees, the chicozapotes, and again

in the barrancas the candelabra-like cactuses, and higher up the

knotted and majestic live oak. An incessant change of plants, trees,

and climate. We had been five hours in the saddle, and had already

changed our climate three times; passed from the temperate zone, the

_tierra templada_, into the torrid heat of the _tierra muy caliente_.

It was in the latter temperature that we found ourselves at the

expiration of the above-named time, dripping with perspiration,

roasting and stewing in the heat. We were surrounded by a new world of

plants and animals. The borax and mangroves and fern were here as

lofty as forest-trees, whilst the trees themselves shot up like church

steeples. In the thickets around us were numbers of black tigers--we

saw dozens of those cowardly sneaking beasts--iguanas full three feet

long, squirrels double the size of any we had ever seen, and panthers,

and wild pigs, and jackals, and apes and monkeys of every tribe and

description, who threatened and grinned and chattered at us from the

branches of the trees. But what is that yonder to the right, that

stands out so white against the dark blue sky and the bronze-coloured

rocks? A town--Quidricovi, d'ye call it?

We had now ridden a good five or six leagues, and begun to think we

had escaped the _aguas_ or deluge, of which the prospect had so

terrified our friends the Tzapotecans. Rowley calculated, as he went

puffing and grumbling along, that it wouldn't do any harm to let our

beasts draw breath for a minute or two. The scrambling and constant

change of pace rendered necessary by the nature of the road, or rather

track, that we followed, was certainly dreadfully fatiguing both to

man and beast. As for conversation it was out of the question. We had

plenty to do to avoid getting our necks broken, or our teeth knocked

out, as we struggled along, up and down barrancas, through marshes and

thickets, over rocks and fallen trees, and through mimosas and bushes

laced and twined together with thorns and creeping plants--all of

which would have been beautiful in a picture, but was most infernally

unpoetical in reality.

"_Vamos! Por la Santissima Madre, vamos!_" yelled our guides, and the

cry was taken up by the Mexicans, in a shrill wild tone that jarred

strangely upon our ears, and made the horses start and strain forward.

Hurra! on we go, through thorns and bushes, which scratch and flog us,

and tear our clothes to rags. We shall be naked if this lasts long. It

is a regular race. In front the two guides, stooping, nodding, bowing,

crouching down, first to one side, then to the other, like a couple of

mandarins or Indian idols--behind them a Tzapotecan in his picturesque

capa, then the women, then more Tzapotecans. There is little thought

about precedence or ceremony; and Rowley and I, having been in the

least hurry to start, find ourselves bringing up the rear of the whole

column.

"_Vamos! Por la Santissima! Las aguas, las aguas!_" is again yelled by

twenty voices. Hang the fools! Can't they be quiet with their eternal

_vamos_? We can have barely two leagues more to go to reach the

_rancho_, or village, they were talking of, and appearances are not as

yet very alarming. It is getting rather thick to be sure; but that's

nothing, only the exhalations from the swamp, for we are again

approaching one of those cursed swamps, and can hear the music of the

alligators and bullfrogs. There they are, the beauties; a couple of

them are taking a peep at us, sticking their elegant heads and long

delicate snouts out of the slime and mud. The neighbourhood is none of

the best; but luckily the path is firm and good, carefully made,

evidently by Indian hands. None but Indians could live and labour and

travel habitually, in such a pestilential atmosphere. Thank God! we

are out of it at last. Again on firm forest ground, amidst the

magnificent monotony of the eternal palms and mahogany-trees. But--see

there!

A new and surpassingly beautiful landscape burst suddenly upon our

view, seeming to dance in the transparent atmosphere. On either side

mountains, those on the left in deep shadow, those on the right

standing forth like colossal figures of light, in a beauty and

splendour that seemed really supernatural, every tree, every branch

shining in its own vivid and glorious colouring. There lay the valley

in its tropical luxuriance and beauty, one sheet of bloom and blossom

up to the topmost crown of the palm-trees, that shot up, some of them,

a hundred and fifty and a hundred and eighty feet high. Thousands and

millions of convolvoluses, paulinias, bignonias, dendrobiums, climbing

from the fern to the tree trunks, from the trunks to the branches and

summits of the trees, and thence again falling gracefully down, and

catching and clinging to the mangroves and blocks of granite. It burst

upon us like a scene of enchantment, as we emerged from the darkness

of the forest into the dazzling light and colouring of that glorious

valley.

"_Misericordia, misericordia! Audi nos peccadores! Misericordia, las

aquas!_" suddenly screamed and exclaimed the Mexicans in various

intonations of terror and despair. We looked around us. What can be

the matter? We see nothing. Nothing, except that from just behind

those two mountains, which project like mighty promontories into the

valley, a cloud is beginning to rise. "What is it? What is wrong?" A

dozen voices answered us--

"_Por la Santa Virgen_, for the holy Virgin's sake, on, on! _No hay

tiempo para hablar_. We have still two leagues to go, and in one hour

comes the flood."

And they recommenced their howling, yelling chorus of "_Misericordia!

Audi nos peccadores!_" and "_Santissima Virgen_, and _Todos santos y

angeles!_"

"Are the fellows mad?" shouted Rowley, "What if the water does come?

It won't swallow you. A ducking more or less is no such great matter.

You are not made of sugar or salt. Many's the drenching I've had in

the States, and none the worse for it. Yet our rains are no child's

play neither."

On looking round us, however, we were involuntarily struck with the

sudden change in the appearance of the heavens. The usual golden black

blue colour of the sky was gone, and had been replaced by a dull

gloomy grey. The quality of the air appeared also to have changed; it

was neither very warm nor very cold, but it had lost its lightness and

elasticity, and seemed to oppress and weigh us down. Presently we saw

the dark cloud rise gradually from behind the hills, completely

clearing their summits, and then sweeping along until it hung over the

valley, in form and appearance like some monstrous night-moth, resting

the tips of its enormous wings on the mountains on either side. To our

right we still saw the roofs and walls of Quidricovi, apparently at a

very short distance.

"Why not go to Quidricovi?" shouted I to the guides, "we cannot be far

off."

"More than five leagues," answered the men, shaking their heads and

looking up anxiously at the huge moth, which was still creeping and

crawling on, each moment darker and more threatening. It was like

some frightful monster, or the fabled Kraken, working itself along by

its claws, which were struck deep into the mountain-wall on either

side of its line of progress, and casting its hideous shadow over hill

and dale, forest and valley, clothing them in gloom and darkness. To

our right hand and behind us, the mountains were still of a glowing

golden red, lighted up by the sun, but to the left and in our front

all was black and dark. With the same glance we beheld the deepest

gloom and the brightest day, meeting each other but not mingling. It

was a strange and ominous sight.

Ominous enough; and the brute creation seem to feel it so as well as

ourselves. The chattering parrots, the hopping, gibbering, quarrelsome

apes, all the birds and beasts, scream and cry and flutter and spring

about, as though seeking a refuge from some impending danger. Even our

horses begin to tremble and groan--refuse to go on, start and snort.

The whole animal world is in commotion, as if seized with an

overwhelming panic. The forest is teeming with inhabitants. Whence

come they, all these living things? On every side is heard the howling

and snarling of beasts, the frightened cries and chirpings of birds.

The vultures and turkey-buzzards, that a few minutes before were

circling high in the air, are now screaming amidst the branches of the

mahogany-trees; every creature that has life is running, scampering,

flying--apes and tigers, birds and creeping things.

"_Vamos, por la Santissima!_ On! or we are all lost."

And we ride, we rush along--neither masses of rock, nor fallen trees,

nor thorns and brambles, check our wild career. Over every thing we

go, leaping, scrambling, plunging, riding like desperate men, flying

from a danger of which the nature is not clearly defined, but which we

feel to be great and imminent. It is a frightful terror-striking foe,

that huge night-moth, which comes ever nearer, growing each moment

bigger and blacker. Looking behind us, we catch one last glimpse of

the red and bloodshot sun, which the next instant disappears behind

the edge of the mighty cloud.

Still we push on. Hosts of tigers, and monkeys both large and small,

and squirrels and jackals, come close up to us as if seeking shelter,

and then finding none, retreat howling into the forest. There is not a

breath of air stirring, yet all nature--plants and trees, men and

beasts--seem to quiver and tremble with apprehension. Our horses pant

and groan as they bound along with dilated nostrils and glaring eyes,

trembling in every limb, sweating at every pore, half wild with

terror; giving springs and leaps that more resemble those of a hunted

tiger than of a horse.

The prayer and exclamations of the terrified Mexicans, continued

without intermission, whispered and shrieked and groaned in every

variety of intonation. The earthy hue of intense terror was upon every

countenance. For some moments a death-like stillness, an unnatural

calm, reigned around us: it was as though the elements were holding in

their breath, and collecting their energies for some mighty outbreak.

Then came a low indistinct moaning sound, that seemed to issue from

the bowels of the earth. The warning was significant.

"Halt! stop" shouted we to the guides. "Stop! and let us seek shelter

from the storm."

"On! for God's sake, on! or we are lost," was the reply.

Thank Heaven! the path is getting wider--we come to a descent--they

are leading us out of the forest. If the storm had come on while we

were among the trees, we might be crushed to death by the falling

branches. We are close to a barranca.

"_Alerto! Alerto!_" shrieked the Mexicans. "_Madre de Dios! Dios!

Dios!"_

And well might they call to God for help in that awful moment. The

gigantic night-moth gaped and shot forth tongues of fire--a ghastly

white flame, that contrasted strangely and horribly with the dense

black cloud from which it issued. There was a peal of thunder that

seemed to shake the earth, then a pause during which nothing was heard

but the panting of our horses as they dashed across the barranca, and

began straining up the steep side of a knoll or hillock. The cloud

again opened: for a second every thing was lighted up. Another thunder

clap, and then, as though the gates of its prison had been suddenly

burst open, the tempest came forth in its might and fury, breaking,

crushing, and sweeping away all that opposed it. The trees of the

forest staggered and tottered for a moment, as if making an effort to

bear up against the storm; but it was in vain: the next instant, with

a report like that of ten thousand cannon, whole acres of mighty trees

were snapped off, their branches shivered, their roots torn up; it was

no longer a forest but a chaos; an ocean of boughs and tree-trunks,

that were tossed about like the waves of the sea, or thrown into the

air like straws. The atmosphere was darkened with dust, and leaves,

and branches.

"God be merciful to us! Rowley! where are ye?--No answer. What is

become of them all?"

A second blast more furious than the first. Can the mountains resist

it? will they stand? By the Almighty! they do not. The earth trembles;

the hillock, on the leeside of which we are, rocks and shakes; and the

air grows thick and suffocating--full of dust and saltpetre and

sulphur. We are like to choke. All around is dark as night. We can see

nothing, hear nothing but the howling of the hurricane, and the

thunder and rattle of falling trees and shivered branches.

Suddenly the hurricane ceases, and all is hushed; but so suddenly that

the charge is startling and unnatural. No sound is audible save the

creaking and moaning of the trees with which the ground is cumbered.

It is like a sudden pause in a battle, when the roar of the cannon and

clang of charging squadrons cease, and nought is heard but the

groaning of the wounded, the agonized sobs and gasps of the dying.

The report of a pistol is heard; then another, a third, hundreds,

thousands of them. It is the flood, _las aguas_; the shots are drops

of rain; but such drops! each as big as a hen's egg. They strike with

the force of enormous hailstones--stunning and blinding us. The next

moment there is no distinction of drops, the windows of heaven are

opened; it is no longer rain nor flood, but a sea, a cataract, a

Niagara. The hillock on which I am standing, undermined by the waters,

gives way and crumbles under me; in ten seconds' time I find myself in

the barranca, which is converted into a river, off my horse, which is

gone I know not whither. The only person I see near me is Rowley, also

dismounted and struggling against the stream, which is already up to

our waists, and sweeps along with it huge branches and entire trees,

that threaten each moment to carry us away with them, or to crush us

against the rocks. We avoid these dangers, God knows how, make violent

efforts to stem the torrent and gain the side of the barranca;

although, even should we succeed, it is so steep that we can scarcely

hope to climb it without assistance. And whence is that assistance to

come? Of the Mexicans we see or hear nothing. They are doubtless all

drowned or dashed to pieces. They were higher up on the hillock than

we were, must consequently have been swept down with more force, and

were probably carried away by the torrent. Nor can we hope for a

better fate. Wearied by our ride, weakened by the fever and sufferings

of the preceding night, we are in no condition to strive much longer

with the furious elements. For one step that we gain, we lose two. The

waters rise; already they are nearly up to our armpits. It is in vain

to resist any longer. Our fate is sealed.

"Rowley, all is over--let us die like men. God have mercy on our

souls!"

Rowley was a few paces higher up the barranca. He made me no answer,

but looked at me with a calm, cold, and yet somewhat regretful smile

upon his countenance. Then all at once he ceased the efforts he was

making to resist the stream and gain the bank, folded his arms on his

breast and gave a look up and around him as though to bid farewell to

the world he was about to leave. The current was sweeping him rapidly

down towards me, when suddenly a wild hurra burst from his lips, and

he recommenced his struggles against the waters, striving violently to

retain a footing on the slippery, uneven bed of the stream.

"_Tenga! Tenga!_" screamed a dozen voices, that seemed to proceed from

spirits of the air; and at the same moment something whistled about my

ears and struck me a smart blow across the face. With the instinct of

a drowning man, I clutched the _lasso_ that had been thrown to me.

Rowley was at my elbow and seized it also. It was immediately drawn

tight, and by its aid we gained the bank, and began ascending the side

of the barranca, composed of rugged, declivitous rocks, affording but

scanty foot-hold. God grant the lasso may prove tough! The strain on

it is fearful. Rowley is a good fifteen stone, and I am no feather;

and in some parts of our perilous ascent the rocks are almost as

perpendicular and smooth as a wall of masonry, and we are obliged to

cling with our whole weight to the lasso, which seems to stretch, and

crack, and grow visibly thinner. Nothing but a strip of twisted

cow-hide between us and a frightful agonizing death on the sharp rocks

and in the foaming waters below. But the lasso holds good, and now the

chief peril is past: we get some sort of footing--a point of rock, or

a tree-root to clutch at. Another strain up this rugged slope of

granite, another pull at the lasso; a leap, a last violent effort,

and--_Viva_!--we are seized under the arms, dragged up, held upon our

feet for a moment, and then--we sink exhausted to the ground in the

midst of the Tzapotecans, mules, arrieros, guides, and women, who are

sheltered from the storm in a sort of natural cavern. At the moment at

which the hillock had given way under Rowley and myself, who were a

short distance in rear of the party, the Mexicans had succeeded in

attaining firm footing on a broad rocky ledge, a shelf of the

precipice that flanked the barranca. Upon this ledge, which gradually

widened into a platform, they found themselves in safety under some

projecting crags that sheltered them completely from the tempest.

Thence they looked down upon the barranca, where they descried Rowley

and myself struggling for our lives in the roaring torrent; and

thence, by knotting several lassos together, they were able to give us

the opportune aid which had rescued us from our desperate situation.

But whether this aid had come soon enough to save our lives was still

a question, or at least for some time appeared to be so. The life

seemed driven out of our bodies by all we had gone through: we were

unable to move a finger, and lay helpless and motionless, with only a

glimmering indistinct perception, not amounting to consciousness, of

what was going on around us. Fatigue, the fever, the immersion in cold

water when reeking with perspiration, the sufferings of all kinds we

had endured in the course of the last twenty hours, had completely

exhausted and broken us down.

The storm did not last long in its violence, but swept onwards,

leaving a broad track of desolation behind it. The Mexicans

recommenced their journey, with the exception of four or five who

remained with us and our arrieros and servants. The village to which

we were proceeding was not above a league off; but even that short

distance Rowley and myself were in no condition to accomplish. The

kind-hearted Tzapotecans made us swallow cordials, stripped off our

drenched and tattered garments, and wrapped us in an abundance of

blankets. We fell into a deep sleep, which lasted all that evening and

the greater part of the night, and so much refreshed us that about an

hour before daybreak we were able to resume our march--at a slow pace,

it is true, and suffering grievously in every part of our bruised and

wounded limbs and bodies, at each jolt or rough motion of the mules on

which we were clinging, rather than sitting.

Our path lay over hill and dale, perpetually rising and falling. We

soon got out of the district or zone that had been swept by the

preceding day's hurricane, and after nearly an hour's ride, we paused

on the crest of a steep descent, at the foot of which, as our guides

informed us, lay the land of promise, the long looked-for _rancho_.

While the muleteers were seeing to the girths of their beasts, and

giving the due equilibrium to the baggage, before commencing the

downward march, Rowley and I sat upon our mules, wrapped in large

Mexican _capas_, gazing at the morning-star as it sank down and grew

gradually paler and fainter. Suddenly the eastern sky began to

brighten, and a brilliant beam appeared in the west, a point of light

no bigger than a star--but yet not a star; it was of a far rosier hue.

The next moment a second sparkling spot appeared, near to the first,

which now swelled out into a sort of fiery tongue, that seemed to lick

round the silvery summit of the snow-clad mountain. As we gazed,

five--ten--twenty hill tops were tinged with the same rose-coloured

glow; in another moment they became like fiery banners spread out

against the heavens, while sparkling tongues and rays of golden light

flashed and flamed round them, springing like meteors from one

mountain summit to another, lighting them up like a succession of

beacons. Scarcely five minutes had elapsed since the distant pinnacles

of the mountains had appeared to us as huge phantom-like figures of a

silvery white, dimly marked out upon a dark star-spangled ground; now

the whole immense chain blazed like volcanoes covered with glowing

lava, rising out of the darkness that still lingered on their flanks

and bases, visible and wonderful witnesses to the omnipotence of _him_

who said, "Let there be light, and there was light."

Above, all was broad day, flaming sunlight; below, all black night.

Here and there streams of light burst through clefts and openings in

the mountains, and then ensued an extraordinary kind of conflict. The

shades of darkness seemed to live and move, to struggle against the

bright beams that fell amongst them and broke their masses, forcing

them down the wooded heights, tearing them asunder and dispersing them

like tissues of cobwebs; so that successively, and as if by a stroke

of enchantment, there appeared, first the deep indigo blue of the

tamarinds and chicozapotes, then the bright green of the sugar-canes,

lower down the darker green of the nopal-trees, lower still the white

and green and gold and bright yellow of the orange and citron groves,

and lowest of all, the stately fan-palms, and date-palms, and bananas;

all glittering with millions of dewdrops, that covered them like a

ganze veil embroidered with diamonds and rubies. And still in the very

next valley all was utter darkness.

We sat silent and motionless, gazing at this scene of enchantment.

Presently the sun rose higher, and a flood of light illumined the

whole valley, which lay some few hundred feet below us--a perfect

garden, such as no northern imagination could picture forth; a garden

of sugar-canes, cotton, and nopal-trees, intermixed with thickets of

pomegranate and strawberry-trees, and groves of orange, fig, and

lemon, giants of their kind, shooting up to a far greater height than

the oak attains in the States--every tree a perfect hothouse, a

pyramid of flowers, covered with bloom and blossom to its topmost

spray. All was light, and freshness, and beauty; every object seemed

to dance and rejoice in the clear elastic golden atmosphere. It was an

earthly paradise, fresh from the hand of its Creator, and at first we

could discover no sign of man or his works. Presently, however, we

discerned the village lying almost at our feet, the small stone houses

overgrown with flowers and embedded in trees; so that scarcely a

square foot of roof or wall was to be seen. Even the church was

concealed in a garland of orange-trees, and had lianas and

star-flowered creepers climbing over and dangling on it, up as high as

the slender cross that surmounted its square white tower. As we gazed,

the first sign of life appeared in the village. A puff of blue smoke

rose curling and spiral from a chimney, and the matin bell rang out

its summons to prayer. Our Mexicans fell on their knees and crossed

themselves, repeating their Ave-marias. We involuntarily took off our

hats, and whispered a thanksgiving to the God who had been with us in

the hour of peril, and was now so visible to us in his works.

The Mexicans rose from their knees.

"_Vamos! Senores,_" said one of them, laying his hand on the bridle of

my mule. "To the _rancho_, to breakfast."

We rode slowly down into the valley.

* * * * *

THE BRITISH FLEET[26].

[26] Memoirs of Admiral Earl St Vincent. By T.S. TUCKER. 2 vols.

Were the question proposed to us, What is the most extraordinary,

complete, and effective instance of skill, contrivance, science, and

power, ever combined by man? we should unhesitatingly answer, an

English line-of-battle ship. Take the model of a 120 gun ship--large

as it may be for a floating body, its space is not great. For example,

it is not half the ordinary size of a nobleman's mansion; yet that

ship carries a thousand men with convenience, and lodges them day and

night, with sufficient room for the necessary distinctions of

obedience and command--has separate apartments for the admiral and the

captain, for the different ranks of officers, and even for the

different ranks of seamen--separate portions below decks for the

sleeping of the crew, the dining of the officers, and the receptacle

for the sick and wounded. Those thousand men are to be fed three times

a-day, and provisions for four months are to be stowed. One hundred

and twenty cannon, some of them of the heaviest metal, are to be

carried; and room is to be found for all the weight of shot and

quantities of powder, with other missiles, rockets, and signal fires,

necessary for service. Besides this, room is to be provided for the

stowage of fresh rigging, sails, ropes, cables, and yards, to replace

those lost by accident, battle, or wear and tear. Besides this, too,

there is to be a provision for the hospital. So far for the mere

necessaries of the ship. Then we are to regard the science; for

nothing can be more essential than the skill and the instruments of

the navigator, as nothing can be more fatal than a scientific error, a

false calculation, or a remission of vigilance. We shall do no more

than allude to the habits of command essential to keep a thousand of

these rough and daring spirits in order, and that, too, an order of

the most implicit, steady, and active kind; nor to their knowledge of

tactics, and conduct in battle. The true definition of the

line-of-battle ship being, a floating regiment of artillery in a

barrack, which, at the beat of a drum, may be turned into a field of

battle, or, at the command of government, may be sent flying on the

wings of the wind round the world. We think that we have thus

established our proposition. If not, let any thing else be shown which

exhibits the same quantity of power _packed_ within the same space;

and that power, too, increasing daily by new contrivances of stowage

and building, by new models of guns, and new inventions in machinery.

England is at this moment building two hundred steam-ships, with guns

of a calibre to which all the past were trifling, with room for a

regiment of land troops besides their crews, and with the known power

of defying wind and wave, and throwing an army in full equipment for

the field, within a few days, on any coast of Europe.

It is remarkable that the use of the navy, as a great branch of the

military power of England, had been scarcely contemplated until the

last century. Though the sea-coast of England, the largest of any

European state, and the national habits of an insular country, might

have pointed out this direction for the national energies from the

earliest period, yet England was a kingdom for five hundred years

before she seems to have thought of the use of ships as an instrument

of public power. In the long war with France during the fourteenth and

fifteenth centuries, the ships were almost wholly mercantile; and,

when employed in wars, were chiefly employed as transports to throw

our troops on the French soil. It was the reign of Elizabeth, that

true birth of the progress of England, that first developed the powers

of an armed navy. The Spanish invasion forced the country to meet the

Armada by means like its own; and the triumph, though won by a higher

agency, and due to the winds and waves, or rather to the Supreme

Providence which watched over the land of Protestantism, awoke the

nation to the true faculty of defence; and from that period alone

could the burden of the fine national song be realized, and Britain

was to "rule the main." The expeditions against the Spanish West

Indies, and the new ardour of discovery in regions where brilliant

fable lent its aid to rational curiosity, carried on the process of

naval power. The war against Holland, under Charles II., though

disastrous and impolitic, showed at least that the fleet of England

was the true arm of its strength; and the humiliation of the only

rival of her commerce at once taught her where the sinews of war lay,

and by what means the foundations of naval empire were to be laid. But

it was not until the close of the last century that the truth came

before the nation in its full form. The American war--a war of

skirmishes--had its direct effect, perhaps its providential purpose,

in compelling England to prepare for the tremendous collision which

was so soon to follow, and which was to be the final security of the

Continent itself. It was then, for the first time, that the nation was

driven to the use of a navy on a great scale. The war, lying on the

western shore of an ocean, made the use of naval armaments necessary

to every operation. The treacherous hostility of the French cabinet,

and the unfortunate subserviency of Spain to that treachery, made

corresponding energy on the part of England a matter of public demand;

and when France and Spain sent out fleets of a magnitude till then

unknown, England was urged to follow their example. The defeats of the

combined navies excited the nation to still more vigorous efforts; and

the war closed with so full a demonstration of the matchless

importance of a great navy to England, that the public feeling was

fixed on giving it the largest contribution of the national

confidence.

The time was at hand when the trial was to involve every interest of

England and mankind. The first grand struggle of revolutionary France

with England was to be on the seas; and the generation of naval

officers who had been reared in the American war, then rising into

vigour, trained by its experience, and stimulated by its example,

gallantly maintained the honour of their country. A succession of

sanguinary battles followed, each on the largest scale, and each

closing in British victory; until the republic, in despair, abandoned

the fatal element, and tied her fortunes in the easier conflicts of

the land. The accession of Napoleon renewed the struggle for naval

supremacy, until one vast blow extinguished his hopes and his navy at

Trafalgar. Peace now exists, and long may it exist! but France is

rapidly renewing her navy, taking every opportunity of exercising its

strength, and especially patronising the policy of founding those

colonies which it idly imagines to be the source of British opulence.

But whether the wisdom of Louis Philippe limits the protection of

French trade to the benefits which commerce may confer on his vast

kingdom, or looks forward to the support which a mercantile navy may

give to a warlike one, we must not sleep on our posts. The life of any

individual is brief on a national scale; and his successor, whether

regent or republican, may be as hot-headed, rash, and ambitious, as

this great monarch has shown himself rational, prudent, and peaceful.

We must prepare for all chances; and our true preparation must be, a

fleet that may defy all.

It is a remarkable instance of the slowness with which science

advances, that almost the whole scientific portion of seamanship has

grown up since the middle of the seventeenth century, though America

had been reached in 1492, and India in 1496; and thus the world had

been nearly rounded before what would now be regarded as the ordinary

knowledge of a navigator had been acquired. England has the honour of

making the first advances. It was an Englishman, Norwood, who made the

first measurement of a degree between London and York, and fixed it at

122,399 English yards. The attention of the world thus once awakened,

Huygens and Cassini applied themselves to ascertain the figure of the

earth. The first experiments of the French _savans_ were in

contradiction to Newton's theory of the flattening of the poles; but

the controversy was the means of exciting new interest. The eyes of

the scientific world were turned more intently on the subject. New

experiments were made, which corrected the old; and finally, on the

measurement of the arc in Peru, and in the north, truth and Newton

triumphed, and the equatorial diameter was found to exceed the polar

by a two hundred and fourth part of the whole. This was perhaps the

finest problem ever solved by science; the most perplexing in its

early state--exhibiting for a while the strongest contradiction of

experiment and theory, occupying in a greater degree the attention of

philosophers than any before or since, and finally established with a

certainty which every subsequent observation has only tended to

confirm. And this triumph belonged to an Englishman.

The investigation by measurements has since been largely adopted. In

1787, joint commissions were issued by England and France to connect

the Greenwich and Parisian observations. Arcs of the meridian have

since been measured across the whole breadth of France and Spain, and

also near the Arctic circle, and in the Indian peninsula.

In navigation, the grand point for the sailor is to ascertain his

latitude and longitude; in other words, to know where he is. The

discovery of the latitude is easily effected by the quadrant, but the

longitude is the difficulty. Any means which ascertained the hour at

Greenwich, at the instant of making a celestial observation in any

other part, would answer the difficulty; for the difference in

quarters of an hour would give the difference of the degrees. But

clocks could not be used on shipboard, and the best watches failed to

keep the time. In the reign of Anne, Parliament offered a reward of L.

5000, perhaps not far from the value of twice the sum in the present

day, for a watch within a certain degree of accuracy. Harrison, a

watchmaker, sent in a watch which came within the limits, losing but

two minutes in a voyage to the West Indies; yet even this was an error

of thirty miles.

But, though chronometers have since been considerably improved, there

are difficulties in their preservation in good order which have made

it expedient to apply to other means; and the lunar tables of Mayer of

Gottingen, formed in 1755, and subsequently improved by Dr Maskelyne

and others, have brought the error within seven miles and a half.

Improvements of a very important order have also taken place in the

mariner's compass; the variation of the needle has been reduced to

rules, and some anomalies arising from the metallic attraction of the

ship itself, have been corrected by Professor Barlow's experiments.

The use of the marine barometer and thermometer have also largely

assisted to give notice of tempests; and some ingenious theories have

been lately formed, which, promising to give a knowledge of the origin

and nature of tempests, are obviously not unlikely to assist the

navigator in stemming their violence, or escaping them altogether.

The construction of ships for both the merchant and the public service

has undergone striking improvements within this century. Round sterns,

for the defence of a vessel engaged with several opponents at once;

compartments in the hold, for security against leaks; iron tanks for

water, containing twice the quantity, and keeping it free from the

impurities of casks; a better general stowage; provisions prepared so

as to remain almost fresh during an East Indian voyage; every means of

preserving health, suggested by science, and succeeding to the most

remarkable degree; a more intelligent system of shipbuilding, and a

constant series of experiments on the shape, stowage, and sailing of

ships, are among the beneficial changes of later times. But the one

great change--steam--will probably swallow up all the rest, and form a

new era in shipbuilding, in navigation, in the power and nature of a

navy, and in the comfort, safety, and protection of the crews in

actual engagement. The use of steam is still so palpably in its

infancy, yet that infancy is so gigantic, that it is equally difficult

to say what it may yet become, and to limit its progress. It will have

the one obvious advantage to mankind in general, of making the

question of war turn more than ever on the financial and mechanical

resources of a people; and thus increasing the necessity for

commercial opulence and intellectual exertion. It may expose nations

more to each other's attacks; but it will render hostility more

dreaded, because more dangerous. On the whole, like the use of

gunpowder, which made a Tartar war impossible, and which rapidly

tended to civilize Europe, steam appears to be intended as a further

step in the same high process, in which force is to be put down by

intelligence, and success, even in war, is to depend on the industry

of peace; thus, in fact, providing a perpetual restriction on the

belligerent propensities of nations, and urging the uncivilized, by

necessity, to own the superiority, and follow the example of the

civilized, by knowledge, habit, and principle.

It is not to be forgotten, even in this general and brief view of the

values of the British fleet, that it has, within these few years,

assumed a new character as an instrument of war. The Syrian campaign,

the shortest, and, beyond all comparison, the most brilliant on

record, if we are to estimate military distinction, not only by the

gallantry of the conflict, but by the results of the victory--this

campaign, which at once finished the war in Syria, gave peace to

Turkey, reduced Egypt to obedience, rescued the sultan from Russian

influence, and Egypt from French; or rather rescued all Europe from

the collision of England, France, and Russia; and even, by the

evidence of our naval capabilities, taught American faction the wisdom

of avoiding hostilities--this grand operation was effected by a small

portion of the British navy, well commanded, directed to the right

point, and acting with national energy. The three hours' cannonade of

Acre, the most effective achievement in the annals of war, exhibited a

new use of a ship's broadside; for, though ships' guns had often

battered forts before, it was the first instance of a _fleet_ employed

in attack, and fully overpowering all opposition. The attack on

Algiers was the only exploit of a similar kind; but its success was

limited, and the result was so far disastrous, that it at once fixed

the eye of France on the invasion of Algiers, and disabled and

disheartened the native government from vigorous resistance. The

victory of the fleet at Acre will also have the effect of changing the

whole system of defence in fortresses and cities exposed to the sea.

But a still further advance in the employment of fleets as an

instrument of hostilities, has since occurred in the Chinese

war--their simultaneous operation with troops. In former assaults of

fortresses, the troops and ships attacked the same line of defence,

and the consequence was the waste of force. From the moment when the

troops approached the land, the fire of the ships necessarily ceased,

and the fleet then remained spectators of the assault. But in this

war, while the troops attacked on the land side, the fleet ran up to

the sea batteries, and both attacks went on together--of course

dividing the attention of the enemy, thus having a double chance of

success, and employing both arms of the service in full energy. This

masterly combination the Duke of Wellington, the highest military

authority in Europe, pronounced to be a new principle in war; and even

this is, perhaps, only the beginning of a system of combination which

will lead to new victories, if war should ever unhappily return.

We now revert to the history of a naval hero.

John Jervis, the second son of Swynfen Jervis, Esq., was born on the

20th of January 1735. He was descended, on both the paternal and

maternal side, from families which had figured in the olden times of

England. The family of Jervis possessed estates in Staffordshire as

far back as the reign of Edward III. The family of Swynfen was also

long established in Worcestershire. John Swynfen was a public

character during the troubled times of Charles I. and Cromwell, and

until a late period in the reign of Charles II. He had been originally

a strong Parliamentarian; but, thinking that the party went too far,

he was turned out of parliament for tardiness by the Protector. But

his original politics adhered to him still; for, even after the

restoration, he was joined with Hampden, the grandson of the

celebrated patriot, in drawing up the Bill of Exclusion. Among his

ancestors by the mother's side was Sir John Turton, a judge in the

Court of King's Bench, married to a daughter of the brave Colonel

Samuel Moore, who made the memorable defence of Hopton Castle in the

Civil War.

But no man less regarded ancestry than the subject of the present

pages, who, in writing with reference to his pedigree, observed, in

his usual frank and straightforward language--"They were all highly

respectable; but, _et genus et proavos_, nearly all the Latin I now

recollect, always struck my ear as the sound maxim for officers and

statesmen."

His first school was at Burton-upon-Trent, where a slight incident

seemed to designate his future politics and fortitude. In 1745, when

the Pretender marched into the heart of the kingdom, without being

joined by his friends or opposed by his enemies, as Gibbon

antithetically observed, all the boys at the school, excepting young

Jervis and Dick Meux, (afterwards the eminent brewer,) wore plaid

ribands sent to them from home, and they pelted their two

constitutional playmates, calling them Whigs.

His father designed young Jervis for the law; but, in 1747, removing

to Greenwich on being appointed Counsel to the Admiralty and Auditor

to the Hospital, naval sights were too near not to prove a strong

temptation to the mind of an animated and vigorous boy. His parents

were still strongly for the adoption of his father's profession; but

there was another authority on the subject, the family coachman, one

Pinkhorne, who, saying that it was a shame to go into a profession

where all were rogues, determined the future hero; and, before the

year was over, he ran away, to commence life as a sailor. He was

reclaimed, however, by his family, and was regularly entered in the

navy, in January 1748, on board the Gloucester, fifty guns, Commodore

Townshend--twenty pounds being all that was given to him by his father

for his equipment. The Gloucester sailed for the West Indies; and

thus, at the age of thirteen, young Jervis began the world. It appears

that the rigid economy of his father, combined with the singular good

sense of this mere child, urged him to every means of acquiring the

knowledge of his profession. The monotonous life of a guard-ship

already seemed to him a waste of time, while the expenses on shore

must have been ruinous to his slender finances. He therefore

volunteered into whatever ship was going to sea. He thus writes to his

sister from on board the Sphinx, 1753:--"There are many entertainments

and public assemblies here, but they are rather above my sphere, many

inconveniences and expenses attending them; so that my chief employ,

when from my duty, is reading, studying navigation, and perusing my

own letters, of which I have almost enough to make an octavo volume."

At length, however, his twenty pounds were exhausted; and, at the end

of three years, he drew for twenty pounds more. It is vexatious to say

that his bill was dishonoured; and he never received another shilling

from any one. It is scarcely possible to conceive that so harsh a

measure could have been the result of intention; but it subjected this

extraordinary boy to the severest privations. To take up the

dishonoured bill, he was obliged to effect his discharge from one ship

into another, so as to obtain his pay tickets, which he sold at forty

per cent discount. His remaining six years on the station were spent

in the exercise of a severe economy, and the endurance even of severe

suffering. He was compelled to sell all his bedding, and sleep on the

bare deck. He had no other resource than, generally, to make and mend,

and always to wash, his own clothes. He never afforded himself any

fresh meat; and even the fruit and vegetables, which are so necessary

and so cheap, he could obtain only by barter from the negroes, for the

small share of provisions which he could subduct from his own

allowance. True as all this doubtless is, it reflects more severely on

the captain and officers of his own ship, than even upon his parents.

The latter, on the other side of the Atlantic, might have no knowledge

of his difficulties; but that those who saw his sufferings from day to

day could have allowed them to continue, argues a degree of negligence

and inhumanity, of which we hope that no present instance occurs in

our navy, and which at any period would appear incomprehensible. In

1754, young Jervis returned to England, and passed his examination for

lieutenant with great credit.

The commencement of the war with France was, like the commencement of

English wars in general, disastrous. We seldom make due preparation.

Fleets inferior to the enemy in equipment and number, are sent out on

the emergency; detachments of troops are sent where armies should have

gone; and thus victory itself is without effect. Thus for a year or

two we continue blundering if not beaten, and angry with our generals

and admirals for failing to do impossibilities. At last the nation

becomes fairly roused; the success of the enemy makes exertion

necessary; their insolence inflames the popular indignation; a great

effort is made; a triumph is obtained, and a peace follows, which

might have been accomplished half a dozen years before, at a tenth

part of the expense in blood and treasure which it cost to consummate

the war. Our troops under Braddock, a brave fool, were beaten by the

French and Indians in America. Our Mediterranean fleet was baffled

under the unfortunate command of Byng. Minorca was taken before our

eyes, and the naval and military stars of England seem to have gone

down together. Yet this era of national dishonour and public disgust

was followed by the three years of Chatham's administration, a period

of triumph that equaled the campaigns of Marlborough at the

commencement of the century, and was scarcely eclipsed even by the

splendours that followed its close.

The skill and talent of young Jervis had already given him distinction

among the rising officers of the feet. He had become a favourite with

Admiral Saunders, was taken with him from ship to ship; and when the

admiral was recalled from the Mediterranean to take the command of the

naval force destined to co-operate in the attack on Quebec, by the

heroic and lamented General Wolfe, young Jervis was selected to be

first lieutenant of the Prince, which bore the admiral's flag. On the

passage out, the general and his aide-de-camp, Captain, afterwards the

well-known Colonel Barré, were guests on board the Prince, and of

course Jervis had the advantage of their intelligent society. In

February 1759, the fleet sailed from England, and in June proceeded

from Louisburg to the St Lawrence. Lieutenant Jervis was now appointed

to the command of the Porcupine sloop; and on the general requesting a

naval force to escort his transports past Quebec, the Porcupine was

ordered by the admiral to lead. The service was one of extreme

difficulty; for the attempt to sound the channel the day before had

failed, though it was made by the master of the fleet, Cook,

afterwards the celebrated navigator. The winds suddenly falling calm,

prevented the Porcupine from reaching her station. A heavy fire was

instantly opened upon her from every gun that could be brought to

bear, and the army were in terror of her being destroyed, for the

general was on board. But Jervis's skill was equal to his gallantry;

he hoisted out his boats, cheered his men through the fire, and

brought his ship to her station.

A little incident occurred on the night before the memorable

engagement, which even at this distance of time is of painful

interest, but which shows the confidence reposed in the young naval

officer by the hero of Quebec. After the orders for the assault next

day were given, Wolfe requested a private interview with him; and

saying that he had the strongest presentiment of falling on the field,

yet that he should fall in victory, he took from his bosom the

miniature of a young lady to whom he was attached, gave it to Jervis,

desiring that, if the foreboding came to pass, he should return it to

her on his arrival in England. Wolfe's gallant fate and brilliant

victory are known: the picture was delivered to Miss Lowther.

After the capture of Quebec, Jervis was dispatched to England; and was

appointed to the Scorpion, to carry out important despatches to

General Amherst. On this occasion, he gave an instance of that

remarkable promptitude which characterised him throughout his whole

career. The Scorpion was in such a crazy state that she had nearly

foundered between Spithead and Plymouth. On reaching the latter port,

and representing at once the condition of the vessel and the

importance of the despatches, the port-admiral instantly ordered him

to proceed to sea in the Albany, a sloop in the Sound. But the Albany

had been a long time in commission; her people claimed arrears of pay;

and by no means relishing a voyage across the Atlantic in such

weather, they absolutely refused to heave the anchor. Their young

commander first tried remonstrance, but in vain; he then took a more

effectual means--he ordered his boat's crew, whom he had brought from

the Scorpion, to take their hatchets and cut the cables, and then go

aloft to loosen the foresail. Perceiving the kind of man with whom

they had to do, the crew submitted, and the Albany instantly proceeded

to sea: the ringleaders were punished; and the service was performed.

The Albany made New York in twenty-four days.

In October 1761, Commander Jervis was made Post, into the Gosport of

60 guns. Among his midshipmen was the afterwards Admiral Lord Keith.

In 1762, peace was made. The Gosport was paid off next year, and

Captain Jervis did not serve again until 1769, when he commanded the

Alarm of 32 guns for the next three years.

A striking incident occurred during the cruise of this vessel in the

Mediterranean, exhibiting not only the spirit of her captain, but the

historic recollections by which that spirit was sustained. One Sunday

afternoon, the day after her arrival at Genoa, two Turkish slaves, in

enjoyment of the holiday's rest from labour, sauntered from their

galley near the mole. Seeing the Alarm's boat, they jumped into her,

wrapped themselves in the British colours, and exclaimed, "We are

free!" The Genoese officer on duty, however, ordered them to be

dragged out, which was done, though one of them tore away in his

struggle a piece of the boat's pendant. On the circumstance reaching

the captain's ears he was indignant, and demanded instant reparation.

To use his own language:--"I required," said he, "of the Doge and

Senate, that both the slaves should be brought on board, with the part

of the torn pendant which the slave carried off with him; the officer

of the guard punished; and an apology made on the quarterdeck of the

Alarm, under the king's colours, for the outrage offered to the

British nation."

On the following Tuesday this was complied with in all the

particulars; but, unhappily, the government at home did not exhibit

the spirit of their gallant officer abroad; and in a letter which he

addressed to his brother he says:--"_I had an opportunity of carrying

the British flag, in relation to two Turkish slaves, as high as Blake

had ever done_, for which I am publicly censured; though I hope we

have too much virtue left, for me not to be justified in private."

The result, however, of this transaction was, that for many years

afterwards, in the Barbary states, if a slave could but touch the

British colours, which all our men-of-war's boats carry in foreign

ports, he could of right demand his release. This, however, was

counteracted as far as possible by the renewed vigilance of the Moors,

who kept all their slaves out of sight while a British flag flew in

the harbour. The allusion to the famous Blake shows with what studies

the young officer fed his mind, and in how high a spirit he was

prepared to adopt them.

Another instance of his skill and intrepidity soon followed. In March

1770, the frigate, after a tempestuous cruise, came to anchor at

Marseilles. An equinoctial gale came on, and after two days of

desperate exertion, and throwing many of the guns overboard, the

frigate was driven from her anchors, stranded on a reef of rocks, and

the crew in such peril that they were saved only by the most

extraordinary exertions, and the assistance of the people on shore.

The port officer, M. de Peltier, exhibited great kindness and

activity, and the ship was rapidly repaired, but with such an exact

economy, that its complete refit, with the expense of the crew for

three months, amounted only to £1415.

The first act of this excellent son was to write to his father:--"Do

not be alarmed, my dear sir, at the newspaper accounts which you will

hear of the Alarm. The interposition of Divine Providence has

miraculously preserved her. The same Providence will, I hope, give

long life to my dear father, mother, and brother."

In July he wrote to his sister from Mahon, after the repairs of the

vessel:--"The Alarm is the completest thing I ever saw on the water,

insomuch that I forgot she was the other day, in the opinion of most

beholders, her own officers and crew not excepted, a miserable sunken

wreck. Such is the reward of perseverance. Happily for my reputation,

my health at that period happened to be equal to the task, or I had

been lost for ever, instead of receiving continual marks of public and

private approbation of my conduct; but this is _entre nous_. I never

speak or write on the subject except to those I most love. You will

easily believe Barrington to be one; his goodness to me is romantic."

It is gratifying to state, that the English Admiralty, on the young

captain's warm representation of the French superintendent, M. de

Peltier's hospitality and kindness, sent a handsome piece of plate in

public acknowledgment to that officer; and, as if to make the

compliment perfect in all its parts, as it arrived before the frigate

had left the station, the captain had the indulgence of presenting it

in person; thus making, as his letter to his father mentioned, "the

family of Pleville de Peltier happy beyond description."

The frigate was soon after paid off, and as there was no probability

of his being speedily employed, he applied himself to gain every

species of knowledge connected with his profession. We strongly doubt

whether the example of this rising officer is not even more important

when we regard him in peace than in the activity and daring of war.

There is no want of courage and conduct in the British fleet; but life

on shore offers too many temptations to indolence, to be always turned

to the use of which it is capable. Captain Jervis, on the contrary,

appears always to have regarded life on shore preparatory to life

afloat, and to be constantly employed in laying up knowledge for those

emergencies which so often occur in the bold and perilous life of the

sailor. There is often something like a predictive spirit in the early

career of great men, which urges them to make provision for greatness;

and remote as is the condition of a captain of a smart frigate from

the commander of fleets, yet the captain of the Alarm, though the

least ostentatious of men, seems always to have had a glance towards

the highest duties of the British admiral. "Time," says Franklin, "is

the stuff that life is made of;" and as France is the antagonist with

which the power of England naturally expects to struggle, his first

object was to acquire all possible knowledge of the naval means of

France. The primary step was to acquire a knowledge of the language.

Accordingly, he went to France, and placed himself in a _pension_.

There he applied himself so closely to the study of the language, that

his health became out of order, and his family requested him to

return. But this he declined, and in his answer said that he had

adopted this pursuit on the best view a military man in his situation

could form. "For it will always," said he, "be useful to have a

general idea of this prevalent language, and a knowledge of the

country with which we have so long contended, and which must ever be

our rival in arms and commerce."

Having accomplished his object of acquiring sufficient fluency in

speaking French, his next excursion was to St Petersburg. He and

Captain Barrington went in a merchant vessel, and reached Cronstadt.

While at sea, Captain Jervis kept a regular log. During the voyage,

all the headlands are described, all the soundings noted, and every

opportunity to test and correct the charts adopted. As an example, he

remarks on the castle of Cronenburg, which guards the entrance into

the Sound, that it may be overlooked by a line-of-battle ship, which

may anchor in good ground as near the beach as she pleases. He remarks

the two channels leading to Copenhagen, puts all the lighthouses down

on his own chart, and lays down all the approaches to St Petersburg

accurately; "because," said he, "I find all the charts are incorrect,

and it may be useful." And he actually did find it useful; for when he

was at the head of the Admiralty, this knowledge enabled him, while

his colleagues hesitated, to give his orders confidently to Sir

Charles Pole, in command of the Baltic fleet. His sojourn at St

Petersburg was but brief; but it was at a time of remarkable

excitement. The Empress Catharine was at the height of her splendour,

a legislator and a conqueror, and surrounded by a court exhibiting all

the daring and dashing characters of her vast empire. His description

of this celebrated woman's character on one public occasion, shows the

exactness with which he observed every thing:--"When she entered the

cathedral, Catharine mingled her salutations to the saints and the

people, showing at once her compliance with religious ceremonials, and

her attentions to her servants and the foreign ambassadors. But she

showed no devotion, in which she was not singular, old people and

Cossack officers excepted. During the sermon she took occasion to

smile and nod to those whom she meant to gratify; and surely no

sovereign ever possessed the power of pleasing all within her eye to

the degree she did. She was dressed in the Guards' uniform, which was

a scarlet pelisse, and a green silk robe lapelled from top to bottom.

Her hair was combed neatly, and boxed _en militaire_, with a small

cap, and an ornament of diamonds in front; a blue riband, and the

order of St Andrew on her right shoulder."

He speaks of the empress excelling in that inclination of the body

which the Russian ladies substitute for the curtsy, and which he

justly regards as very becoming, the empress adding dignity and grace.

He describes Orloff as an herculean figure, finely proportioned, with

a cheerful eye, and, for a Russian, a good complexion: Potemkin as

having stature and shoulders, but being ill limbed and of a most

forbidding countenance. His examination of the Russian dockyards,

naval armament, and general style of shipbuilding, was most exact; and

he records in his notes his having seen, in the naval arsenals of

Norway, sheds to cover ships on the stocks--an important arrangement,

which was afterwards claimed as an invention at home.

After inspecting the harbours of Sweden and Norway, the travellers

returned by Holland, where they made similar investigations. In the

following year they renewed their tour of inspection, and traversed

the western parts of France. And this active pursuit of knowledge was

carried on without any pecuniary assistance beyond his half-pay. He

had hitherto made no prize-money. "To be sure," he said in after days,

"we sometimes did fare rather roughly; but what signifies that now? my

object was attained."

His character was now high, but it is to be presumed that he had some

powerful interest; for on his return he was appointed to two

line-of-battle ships in succession, the Kent, 74, and the Foudroyant,

84, a French prize, and reckoned the finest two-decker in the navy.

From this period a new scene opened before him, and his career became

a part of the naval history of England. In 1778 he joined the Channel

fleet, and his ship was placed by the celebrated Keppel as one of his

seconds in the order of battle, and immediately astern of the

admiral's ship, the Victory, on the 27th of July, in the drawn battle

off Ushant with the French fleet commanded by D'Orvilliers. The people

of England are not content with drawn battles, and the result of this

action produced a general uproar. Keppel threw the blame on the

tardiness of Sir Hugh Palliser, the second in command. Palliser

retorted, and the result was a court-martial on the commander of the

fleet; which, however, ended in a triumphant acquittal. It was not

generally known that Keppel's defence, which was admired as a model of

intelligence, and even of eloquence, was drawn up by Captain Jervis.

The transaction, though so long passed away, is not yet beyond

discussion; and there is still some interest in knowing the opinion of

so powerful a mind on the general subject. It was thus given in a

private letter to his friend Jackson:--"I do not agree that we were

outwitted. The French, I am convinced, never would have fought us if

they had not been surprised into it by a sudden flow of wind; and when

they formed their inimitable line after our brush, it was merely to

cover their intention of flight."

He then gives one of those comprehensive maxims which already show

the experienced "admiral:"--"I have often told you that two fleets of

equal force can never produce decisive events, unless they are equally

determined to fight it out, or the commander-in-chief of one of them

misconducts his line." We have then an instance of that manly feeling

which is one of the truest characteristics of greatness, and yet which

has been deficient in some very remarkable men.

"I perceive," says he, "it is the fashion of people to puff

themselves. For my part, I forbade my officers to write by the frigate

that carried the despatches. I did not write a syllable myself, except

touching my health; nor shall I, but to state the intrepidity of the

officers and people under my command, (through the most infernal fire

I ever saw or heard,) to Lord Sandwich," (first lord of the

Admiralty.) But one cannot feel the merit of this self-denial without

a glance at his actual hazards and services during the battle.

"In justice to the Foudroyant," he thus ends his letter, "I must

observe to you, that though she received the fire of seventeen sail,

and had the Bretagne, Ville de Paris, and a seventy-four on her at the

same time, and appeared more disabled in her masts and rigging than

any other ship, she was the first in the line of battle, and truly

fitter for business, in essentials, (because her people were cool,)

than when she began. _Keep this to yourself_, unless you hear too much

said in praise of others.

"J.J."

The national wrath was poured on Sir Hugh Palliser, Keppel's second in

command, whose tardiness in obeying signals was charged as the cause

of the French escape; so strong had already become the national

assurance that a British fleet could go forth only to victory. But the

succession of courts-martial cleared up nothing except the characters

of the two admirals. Palliser was enabled to show that his ship had

suffered so much from the enemy's fire as to be at least (plausibly)

unfit for close action, and the whole dispute on land closed, like the

naval conflict, in a drawn battle. Jervis was the chief witness for

Keppel, as serving next his ship; and his testimony was of the highest

order to the gallantry, skill, and perseverance of the admiral. But

Palliser was acknowledged to be brave; and it is evident from Jervis's

personal opinion, that when it was once the object of the enemy's

commander to get away, it was next to impossible to have prevented his

escape.

But these were trying times for the British navy: it was scarcely

acquainted with its own strength; the nation, disgusted with the

nature of the American war, refused its sympathy; without that

sympathy ministers could do nothing effectual, and never can do any

thing effectual. The character of the cabinet was feebleness, the

spirit of the metropolis was faction; the king, though one of the best

of men, was singularly unpopular; and the war became a system of

feeble defence against arrogant and increasing hostilities. France,

powerful as she was, became more powerful by the national

exultation--the frenzied rejoicing in the success of American

revolt--and the revived hope of European supremacy in a nation which

had been broken down since the days of Marlborough; a crush which had

been felt in every sinew of France for a hundred angry years. Spain,

always strong, but unable to use her strength, had now given it in to

the training of discipline; and the combined fleets presented a

display of force, which, in the haughty language of the Tuileries, was

formed to sweep the seas.

The threat was put in rapid and unexpected execution. The combined

fleet moved up the Channel; and to the surprise, the sorrow, and the

indignation of England, the British fleet, under Sir Charles Hardy,

was seen making, what could only be called "a dignified retreat." The

Foudroyant, on that melancholy occasion, had been astern of the

Victory, the admiral's ship. If Jervis had been admiral, he would have

tried the fate of battle--and he would have done right. No result of a

battle could have been so painful to the national feelings, or so

injurious in its effects on the feelings of Europe, as that retreat.

If the whole British fleet on that occasion had perished, its

gallantry would have only raised a new spirit of worth and power in

the nation; and England has resources that, when once fully called

into exertion, are absolutely unconquerable. But that was a dishonour;

and even now we can echo the feelings of the brave and high-minded

young officer, who was condemned to share in the disgrace. He writes

to his sister, as if to relieve the fulness of his heart at the

moment--"I am in the most humbled state of mind I ever experienced,

from the retreat we have made before the combined fleets all

_yesterday_ and _this morning_." The Admiralty ultimately gave the

retreating admiral an official certificate of good behaviour, "their

high approbation of Sir Charles Hardy's wise and prudent conduct;" but

"gallant and bold conduct" would have been a better testimonial. The

truth seems to be, that the Admiralty, blamable themselves in sending

him to sea with an inadequate force, and scarcely expecting to escape

if they had suffered him to lie under the charge, were glad to avail

themselves of his personal character as a man of known bravery; and

thus quash a process which must finally have brought them before the

tribunal. But let naval officers remember, that the officer who fights

is the officer of the nation. Nelson's maxim is unanswerable--"The

captain cannot be mistaken who lays his ship alongside the enemy."

This, too, was a period of cabinet revolutions. No favouritism can

sustain a ministry which has become disgustful to the nation. Lord

North, though ingenious, dexterous, and long enough in possession of

power to have filled all its offices with his dependents, was driven

from the premiership with such a storm of national contempt, that he

could scarcely be sheltered by the curtains of the throne. Lord

Rockingham, a dull minister, was transformed into a brilliant one by

his contrast with the national weariness of Lord North; and it fell to

the lot of Captain Jervis to give the country the first omen of

returning victory. France had already combined Holland in her

alliance, and the French minister, already made insolent by his

triumph in the Channel, had determined on a blow in a quarter where

English interests were most vulnerable, and where the assault was

least expected. A squadron of French line-of-battle ships, convoying a

fleet of transports, were prepared for an expedition to the East

Indies.

The preparations for the combined movement were on an immense scale.

The fleets of France, Spain, and Holland were again to sweep the

Channel; and while the attention of the British fleets was thus

engrossed, the Eastern expedition was to sail from Brest. The

Admiralty, in order to counteract, or at least delay, this formidable

movement, immediately dispatched Admiral Barrington, with twelve sail

of the line, to cruise in the bay of Biscay. On the 18th of April the

French expedition sailed, and on the 20th, when Admiral Barrington had

reached a few leagues beyond Ushant, the Artois frigate signaled a

hostile fleet, but could not discover their flag or numbers. The

signal being made for a general chase, the Foudroyant, Jervis's ship,

soon left the rest of the fleet behind; and before night she had so

much gained upon the enemy as to ascertain that they were six French

ships of war, with eighteen sail of convoy. The whole of the British

fleet, being several leagues astern, was now lost sight of, and did

not come up till the following day. In the mean time Jervis was left

alone. At ten at night, the French ships of war separating, Jervis,

selecting the largest for pursuit, prepared to attack: at twelve, he

had approached near enough to see that the chase was a ship of the

line. The Foudroyant's superior manoeuvring enabled her to commence

the engagement by a raking fire. Its effect was so powerful, that the

enemy was thrown into extreme disorder, and was carried by boarding,

after an action of only three quarters of an hour. The prize was the

Pégase, seventy-four. The loss of life on board the enemy was great;

but by an extraordinary piece of good fortune, on board the Foudroyant

not a man was killed, Captain Jervis and five seamen being the only

wounded.

To the gallantry which produced this striking success, the young

officer added extreme delicacy with respect to his prisoners. He would

not allow the first boat to be sent on board the prize, until he had

given written orders for the particular preservation of every thing

in the shape of property belonging to the French officers, adding at

the bottom of his memorandum,--"For though I have the highest opinion

of my officers, we must not be suspected of designs to plunder."

The result of the action was, that sixteen transports out of twenty

were taken, according to the letter of young Ricketts, the captain's

nephew. It must be owned, that brave as the French are, their admiral

made but a bad figure in this business: why the sight of one vessel

should have been sufficient to disperse a fleet of six men-of-war, and

of course ruin an expedition which must thus be left without convoy,

is not easily to be accounted for; or why, when the admiral saw that

his pursuer was but a single ship, he should not have turned upon him

and crushed him, it is equally difficult to say. It only shows that

his court wanted common sense as much as he wanted discretion. The

expedition was destroyed, and the Foudroyant had the whole honour of

the victory.

An action between single ships of this force is rare at any period,

and nothing could be nearer a match in point of equipment then the two

ships. The Foudroyant had the larger tonnage, and carried three more

guns on her broadside; but the Pégase threw a greater weight of shot,

had a more numerous crew, and a large proportion of soldiers on board.

The English ship, however, had the incomparable advantage of a crew

which had sailed together for six years, and been disciplined by such

an officer as Jervis.

The ministry and the king were equally rejoiced at this return of the

naval distinctions of the country, and the immediate consequence was,

the conferring of a baronetcy and the order of the Bath upon the

gallant officer. Congratulations of all kinds were poured upon him by

the ministry, his admiral, and his brother officers. The admiral

writes, in speaking of the squadron's cruise, "but the Pégase is every

thing, and does the highest honour to Jervis."

Another instance of his decision, and, as in all probability will be

thought, of the clearness of his judgment, was shortly after given in

the memorable relief of Gibraltar. As it was likely that the combined

fleets of France and Spain would oppose the passage of the British,

Lord Howe, at an early period, called the flag-officers and captains

on board the Victory, and proposed to them the question--Whether,

considering the superiority of the enemy's numbers, it might not be

advisable to fight the battle at night, when British discipline might

counterbalance the numerical superiority? All the officers junior to

Jervis gave their opinion for the night attack, but he dissented.

"Expressing his regret that he must offer an opinion, not only

contrary to that of his brother officers, but also, as he feared, to

that of his commander-in-chief, he was convinced that battle in the

day would be greatly preferable. In the first place, because it would

give an opportunity for the display of his lordship's tactics, and

afford the means of taking prompt advantage of any mistake of the

enemy, change of the wind, or any other favourable circumstance; while

in the mêlée of a battle at night, there must always be greater risk

of separation, and of ships receiving the fire of their friends as

well as their foes." It is obvious to every comprehension, that a

night action must preclude all manoeuvring, and prevent the greater

skill of the tactician from having any advantage over the blunderer

who turns his ships into mere batteries. The only officer who

coincided with Jervis was Admiral Barrington, who gave as an

additional and a just argument for the attack by day, that it would

give an opportunity of ascertaining the conduct of the respective

captains in action. On those opinions Lord Howe made no comment; but

it is presumed that he ultimately agreed with them, from his conduct

in the celebrated action of the 1st of June 1794, when he had the

enemy's fleet directly to leeward of him from the night before.

In the relief of Gibraltar, the Foudroyant had the honour to be the

ship which was dispatched from the fleet to escort the victuallers

into the harbour, which was accomplished amid the acclamations of the

garrison. It had been expected that Lord Howe would have attacked the

combined fleets, and the nation of course looked forward to a victory;

but they were disappointed. The fact is, that Lord Howe, though a

brave man, and what is generally regarded as a good officer, was of a

different class of mind from the Jervises and Nelsons. He did his

duty, but he did no more. The men who were yet to give a character to

the navy did more than their duty, suffered no opportunity of

distinction to escape them, relied on the invincibility of British

prowess when it was boldly directed, and by that reliance rendered it

invincible.

There was a kindness and generosity of nature in this future

"thunderbolt of war," which shows how compatible the gentler feelings

are with the gallant daring, and comprehensive talent of the great

commander. Having happened to receive the Duc de Chabelais on board

his ship when at Cadiz, the politeness of his reception caused the

Sardinian prince to exhibit his gratitude in some handsome presents to

the officers. One of Jervis's letters mentions, that the prince had

given to each of the lieutenants a handsome gold box; to the

lieutenant of marines and five of the midshipmen gold watches; and to

the other officers and ship's company, a princely sum of money.

"I pride myself," he adds, "exceedingly in the presents being so

diffused; on all former occasions they have centred in the captain."

In another letter he says,--"I was twenty-four hours in the bay of

Marseilles about a fortnight ago, just time to receive the warm

embraces of a man to whose bravery and friendship I had some months

before been indebted for my reputation, the preservation of the people

under my command, and of the Alarm. You would have felt infinite

pleasure at the scene of our interview." In a letter to the

under-secretary of the Admiralty, he says,--"My dear Jackson, you must

allow me to interest your humanity in favour of poor Spicer, who,

overwhelmed with dropsy, asthma, and a large family, and with nothing

but his pay to support him under those afflictions, is appointed to

the ---- under a mean man, and very likely to go to the East Indies.

The letter which he writes to the Board, desiring to be excused from

his appointment, is dictated by me."

He then mentions a contingency, "in which case I shall write for

Spicer to be first lieutenant of the Foudroyant, with intention to

nurse him, and keep him clear of all expense." Shortly after the

Foudroyant was paid off, Sir John Jervis was united to a lady to whom

he had long been attached, the daughter of Sir Thomas Parker, Chief

Baron of the Exchequer. Every man in England, as he rises into

distinction, necessarily becomes a politician. It was the misfortune

of Sir John Jervis, and it was his only misfortune, that he was a

politician before he had risen into distinction. Having had the ill

luck to profess himself a Whig, at a period when he could scarcely

have known the nature of the connexion, he unhappily adhered to it

long after Whiggism had ceased to possess either public utility or

national respect. But his Whiggism was unconscious Toryism after all:

it was what even his biographer is forced to call it, Whig Royalism,

or pretty nearly what Blake's Republicanism was--a determination to

raise his country to the highest eminence to which his talents and

bravery could contribute, without regarding by whom the government was

administered. At the general election of 1784, he sat for Yarmouth.

In 1787, Sir John Jervis was promoted to the rank of rear-admiral. At

the general election in 1790, he was returned for Wycombe, and shared

in parliament the successive defeats of his party; until, in 1793, he

was called to a nobler field, in which, unembarrassed by party, and

undegraded by Whiggism, his talents took their natural direction in

the cause of his country. It is now scarcely necessary to remark upon

the narrow system of enterprise with which England began the great

revolutionary war; nor can it now be doubted that, if the energies of

the country had been directed to meet the enemy in Europe, measureless

misfortunes might have been averted. If the succession of fleets and

armies which were wasted upon the conquest of the French West Indies,

had been employed in the protection of the feebler European states,

there can be no question that the progress of the French armies would

have been signally retarded, if invasion had not been thrown back

over the French frontier. For instance, it would have been utterly

impossible for Napoleon, in 1796, to have marched triumphantly

throughout Italy with the British fleet covering the coast, commanding

all the harbours, and ready to throw in troops in aid of the

insurrections in his rear.

But it was the policy of the time to pacify the merchants, whose

bugbear was a negro insurrection in the West Indies; and whether the

genius or the fears of Pitt gave way to the impression, the

consequence was equally lamentable--the mighty power of England was

wasted on the capture of sugar islands, which we did not want, which

we could not cultivate, and which cost the lives, by disease and

climate, of ten times the number of gallant men who might have saved

Europe. At the close of 1793, a grand expedition against the French

Caribbee islands was resolved upon by the British cabinet; and it is a

remarkable instance of both the reputation of Sir John Jervis and the

impartiality of the great minister, that a Whig member of parliament

should have been chosen to command the naval part of the expedition.

The expedition consisted of twenty-two ships of war and six thousand

troops, the troops divided into three brigades, of which one was

commanded by the late Duke of Kent. Sir John Jervis hoisted his flag

as vice-admiral of the blue on the 3d of October.

A ludicrous circumstance occurred in the instance of a favourite

officer, Mr Bayntun, who had applied for permission to join Sir John.

Bayntun received in answer the following decisive note: "Sir, your

having thought fit to take to yourself a wife, you are to look for no

further attention from your humble servant, J. JERVIS." It happened

that Bayntun was a bachelor, and he instantly wrote an exculpatory

letter, denying that he had been guilty of so formidable a charge. The

mistake arose from a misdirection in two notes which the admiral had

written on the same subject. He had left them to Lady Jervis to

direct, and she had addressed them to the wrong persons. The

consequence, however, was, that Bayntun received the appointment, and

the married man the refusal. This inveteracy against married officers

seems strange in one who had committed the same crime himself; yet he

constantly persisted in calling officers who married moon-struck, and

appears at all times to have regarded matrimony in the service as

little short of personal ruin.

On the passage out, a curious circumstance occurred to the Zebra

frigate, under command of the gallant Robert Faulknor. The Zebra,

which had been separated from the rest of the squadron, saw one

evening a ship on the horizon. All sail was made in chase, and the

ship was discovered to be a twenty-eight gun frigate. All contrivances

were adopted to induce her to show her colours, but without success.

At length Faulknor, impatient of delay, and disregarding the disparity

of force, closed upon her, and jumped on board at the head of his men.

To his astonishment he found that she was a Dutch frigate, quietly

pursuing her way; and as Holland was at peace with England, equally

unexpecting and unprepared for an attack. This instance of apathy

night have procured her a broadside; but luckily the affair finished

with the shaking of hands.

On the 5th of February the expedition reached Martinique. On the 18th

of March Fort Lewis was stormed, General Rochambeau capitulated, and

Martinique was taken, St Lucie followed, the Saintes next fell, and

the final conquest was Guadaloupe. Thus in three months the capture of

the French islands was complete.

But an enemy more formidable than the sword was now to be encountered.

The yellow fever began its ravages. The troops perished in such

numbers, that the regiments were reduced to skeletons; and just at the

moment when the disease was at its height, Victor Hughes was

dispatched from France with an expedition. The islands fell one by one

into his hands, and the campaign was utterly thrown away.

The romantic portion of the European campaigns now began. The French

Directory, unpopular at home, wearied by the sanguinary successes of

the Vendéan insurrection, and baffled in their invasion of Germany,

were in a condition of the greatest perplexity, when a new wonder of

war taught France again to conquer. Napoleon Bonaparte, since so

memorable, but then known only as commanding a company of artillery at

Toulon, and repelling the armed mob in Paris, was appointed to command

the army on the Italian frontier. Even now, with all our knowledge of

his genius, and the splendid experience of his successes, his sudden

elevation, his daring offer of command, his plan of the Italian

campaign, and his almost instantaneous victories, are legitimate

matter of astonishment. In him we have the instance of a young man of

twenty-six, who had never seen a campaign, who had never commanded a

brigade, nor even a regiment, undertaking the command of an army,

proposing the invasion of a country of eighteen millions, garrisoned

by the army of one of the greatest military powers of Europe, which

had nearly 300,000 soldiers in the field, and which was in the most

intimate alliance with all the sovereigns of Italy. Yet, extravagant

as all those conceptions seem, and improbable as those results

certainly were, two campaigns saw every project realized--Italy

conquered, the Tyrol, the great southern barrier of Austria,

overpassed, and peace signed within a hundred miles of Vienna. The

invasion of Italy first awoke the British ministry to the true

direction of the vast naval powers of England. To save Italy if

possible, was the primary object; the next was to prevent the

superiority of the French fleet in the Mediterranean. A powerful fleet

had been prepared in Toulon, for the purpose of aiding the French army

in its invasion, and finally taking possession of all the ports and

islands, until it should have realized the project of Louis XIV., of

turning the Mediterranean into a French lake. It was determined to

keep up a powerful British fleet to oppose this project, and Sir John

Jervis was appointed to the command. Nothing could be a higher

testimony to the opinion entertained of his talents, as his connexion

with the Whigs was undisguised. But Pitt's feeling for the public

service overcame all personal predilections, and this great officer

was sent to take the command of the most extensive and important

station to which a British admiral could be appointed. Lord Hood had

previously declined it, on the singular plea of inadequacy of force;

and Sir Charles Hotham having solicited his recall in consequence of

declining health, the gallant Jervis was sent forth to establish the

renown of his country and his own.

The fleet was a noble command. It consisted on the whole of about

twenty-five sail of the line, two of them of a hundred guns, and five

of ninety-eight; thirty-six frigates, and fifteen or sixteen sloops

and other armed vessels.

Among the officers of the fleet were almost all the names which

subsequently obtained distinction in the great naval victories--

Troubridge, Hallowell, Hood, Collingwood, &c., and first of the first,

that star of the British seaman, Nelson. It is remarkable, and only a

just tribute to the new admiral, that he, almost from his earliest

intercourse with those gallant men, marked their merits, although

hitherto they had found no opportunities of acquiring distinction--all

were to come. Nelson, in writing to his wife, speaking of the

admiral's notice of him, says, "Sir John Jervis was a perfect stranger

to me, therefore I feel the more flattered." The admiral, in writing

to the secretary of the Admiralty, says--"I am afraid of being thought

a puffer, like many of my brethren, or I should before have dealt out

to the Board the merits of Captain Troubridge, which are very

uncommon."

The French fleet, of fifteen sail of the line, lay in Toulon, ready to

convoy an army to plunge upon the Roman states. Sir John Jervis

instantly proceeded to block up Toulon, keeping what is called the

in-shore squadron looking into the harbour's mouth, while the main

body cruised outside. The admiral at once employed Nelson on the

brilliant service for which he was fitted, and sent him with a flying

squadron of a ship of the line, three frigates, and two sloops, to

scour the coast of Italy. The duties of the Mediterranean fleet,

powerful as the armament was, were immense. Independently of the

blockade of Toulon, and the necessity of continually watching the

enemy's fleet, which might be brought out by the same wind which blew

off the British, the admiral had the responsibility of protecting the

Mediterranean convoys, of sustaining the British interests in the

neutral courts, of assisting the allies on shore, of overawing the

Barbary powers, which were then peculiarly restless and insolent, and

of upholding the general supremacy of England, from Smyrna to

Gibraltar.

The French campaign opened on the 9th of April 1797, and the Austrians

were beaten on the following day at Montenotte, and in a campaign of a

month Bonaparte reached Milan. The success of the enemy increased to

an extraordinary degree the difficulties of the British admiral. The

repairs of the fleet, the provisioning, and every other circumstance

connected with the land, lay under increased impediments; but they

were all gradually overcome by the vigilance and intelligence of the

admiral.

A curious and characteristic circumstance occurred, soon after his

taking the command. Nelson had captured a vessel carrying 152 Austrian

grenadiers, who had been made prisoners by the French, and actually

sold by their captors to the Spaniards, for the purpose of enlisting

them in the Spanish army. His letter to Jackson, the secretary of

legation at Turin, on this subject, spiritedly expresses his

feelings:--

"SIR,--From a Swiss dealer in human flesh, the demand made

upon me to deliver up 152 Austrian grenadiers, serving on

board his Majesty's fleet under my command, is natural enough,

but that a Spaniard, who is a noble creature, should join in

such a demand, I must confess astonishes me; and I can only

account for it by the Chevalier Caamano being ignorant that

the persons in question were made prisoners of war in the last

war with General Beaulieu, and are not deserters, and that

they were most basely sold by the French commissaries to the

vile crimps who recruit for the foreign regiments in the

service of Spain. It is high time a stop should be put to this

abominable traffic, a million times more disgraceful than the

African slave-trade."

But other dangers now menaced the British supremacy in the

Mediterranean. The victories of Bonaparte had terrified all the

Italian states into neutrality or absolute submission; and the success

of the Directory, and perhaps their bribes, influenced the miserably

corrupt and feeble Spanish ministry, to make common cause with the

conquering republic. Spain at last became openly hostile. This was a

tremendous increase of hazards, because Spain had fifty-seven sail of

the line, and a crowd of frigates. The difficulty of blockading Toulon

was now increased by the failure of provisions. On the night of the 2d

of November, the admiral sent for the master of the Victory, and told

him that he now had not the least hope of being reinforced, and had

made up his mind to push down to Gibraltar with all possible dispatch.

The passage became a stormy one, and it was with considerable

difficulty that the fleet reached Gibraltar. Some of the transports

were lost, a ship of the line went down, and several of the fleet were

disabled.

The result of the French successes and the Austrian misfortunes, was

an order for the fleet to leave the Mediterranean, and take up its

station at the Tagus. The vivid spirit of Nelson was especially

indignant at this change of scene. In one of his letters he says--"We

are preparing to leave the Mediterranean, a measure which I cannot

approve. They at home do not know what this fleet is capable of

performing--any thing, and every thing. Of all the fleets I ever saw,

I never saw one, in point of officers and men, equal to Sir John

Jervis's, who is a commander able to lead them to glory." The

admiral's merits were recognized by the government in a still more

permanent manner; for, by a despatch from the Admiralty in February

1797, it was announced that the king had raised him to the dignity of

the peerage.

The prospect now darkened round every quarter of the horizon. The

power of Austria had given way; Spain and Holland were combined

against our naval supremacy; Italy was lost; a French expedition

threatened Ireland; there was a strong probability of the invasion of

Portugal; and the junction of the French and Spanish fleets might

endanger not merely the Tagus fleet, but expose the Channel fleet to

an encounter with numbers so superior, as to leave the British shores

open to invasion. The domestic difficulties, too, had their share.

The necessity of suspending cash payments at the Bank had, if not

thrown a damp upon the nation, at least given so formidable a ground

for the fallacies and bitterness of the Opposition, as deeply to

embarrass even the fortitude of the great minister. We can now see how

slightly all these hazards eventually affected the real power of

England; and we now feel how fully adequate the strength of this

extraordinary and inexhaustible country was to resist all obstacles

and turn the trial into triumph. But faction was busy, party predicted

ruin, public men used every art to dispirit the nation and inflame the

populace; and the result was, a state of public anxiety of which no

former war had given the example.

It is incontestable that the list of the British navy at this period

of the war exhibited some of the noblest specimens of English

character--brave, intelligent, and indefatigable men, ready for any

service, and equal for all; with all the intrepidity of heroes,

possessing the highest science of their profession, and exhibiting at

once that lion-heartedness, and that knowledge, which gave the British

navy the command of the ocean. And yet, if we were to assign the

highest place where all were high, we should probably assign it to

Lord St Vincent as an admiral. Nelson certainly, as an executive

officer, defies all competition; his three battles, Copenhagen,

Aboukir, and Trafalgar, each of them a title to eminent distinction,

place him as a conqueror at the head of all. But an admiral has other

duties than those of the line of battle; and for a great naval

administrator, first disciplining a fleet, then supplying it with all

the means of victory, and finally leading it to victory--Lord St

Vincent was perhaps the most complete example on record of all the

combined qualities that make the British admiral. His profound

tactics, his stern but salutary exactness of command, his incomparable

judgment, and his cool and unhesitating intrepidity, form one of the

very noblest models of high command. All those qualities were now to

be called into full exertion.

The continental campaign had left Europe at the mercy of France.

England was now the only enemy, and she was to be assailed, in the

first instance, by a naval war. To prevent the junction of the Spanish

and French fleets, the Tagus was the station fixed upon by Lord St

Vincent. Ill luck seemed to frown upon the fleet. The Bombay Castle, a

seventy-four, was lost going in; the St George, a ninety, grounded in

coming out, and was obliged to be docked; still the admiral determined

to keep the sea, though his fleet was reduced to eight sail of the

line. The day before he left the Tagus, information was received that

the enemy's fleets had both left the Mediterranean. The French had

gone to Brest, the Spanish first to Toulon, then to Carthagena, and

was now proceeding to join the French at Brest. A reinforcement of six

sail of the line now fortunately joined the fleet off the Tagus; but

at the same time information was received that the Spanish fleet of

twenty-seven sail of the line, with fourteen frigates, had passed

Cadiz, and could not be far distant. To prevent the junction of this

immense force with the powerful fleet already prepared for a start in

Brest, was of the utmost national importance; for, combined, they must

sweep the Channel. The admiral instantly formed his plan, and sailed

for Cape St Vincent.

The details of the magnificent encounter which followed, are among the

best portions of the volumes. They are strikingly given, and will

attract the notice, as they might form the model, of the future

historian of this glorious period of our annals. We can now give only

an outline.

On the announcement of the Spanish advance, the first object was to

gain exact intelligence, and ships were stationed in all quarters on

the look-out. But on the 13th Captain Foote, in the Niger frigate,

joined, with the intelligence that he had kept sight of the enemy for

three days. The admiral was now to have a new reinforcement, not in

ships but in heroes; the Minerva frigate, bearing Nelson's broad

pendant, from the Mediterranean, arrived, and Nelson shifted his

pendant into the Captain. The Lively frigate, with Lord Garlies, also

arrived from Corsica. The signal was made, "To keep close order, and

prepare for battle." On that day, Lord Garlies, Sir Gilbert Elliot,

and Captain Hallowell, with some other officers, dined on board the

Victory. At breaking up, the toast was drunk, "Victory over the Dons,

in the battle from which they cannot escape to-morrow!"

The "gentlemen of England who live at home at ease," can probably have

but little conception of the price which men in high command pay for

glory. No language can describe the anxieties which have often

exercised the minds of those bold and prominent characters, of whom we

now know little but of their laurels. The solemn responsibilities of

their condition, the consciousness that a false step might be ruin,

the feeling that the eye of their country was fixed upon them, the

hope of renown, the dread of tarnishing all their past distinctions,

must pass powerfully and painfully through the mind of men fitted for

the struggles by which greatness is to be alone achieved.

"It is believed that Sir John Jervis did not go to bed that night, but

sat up writing. It is certain that he executed his will." In the

course of the first and second watches, the enemy's signal-guns were

distinctly heard; and, as he noticed them sounding more and more

audibly, Sir John made more earnest enquiries as to the compact order

and situation of his own ships, as well as they could be made out in

the darkness. Long before break of day, he walked the deck in more

than even his usual silence. When the grey of the morning of the 14th

enabled him to discern his fleet, his first remarks were high

approbation of his captains, for "their admirably close order, and

that he wished they were now well up with the enemy; for," added he

thoughtfully, "a victory is very essential to England at this moment."

Now came on the day of decision. The morning was foggy; but as the

mist cleared up, the Lively, and then the Niger, signaled "a strange

fleet." The Bonne Citoyenne was next ordered to reconnoitre. Soon

after, the Culloden's guns announced the enemy. At twenty minutes past

ten the signal was made to six of the ships--"to chase." Sir John

still walked the quarterdeck, and, as the enemy's numbers were

counted, they were duly reported to him by the captain of the fleet.

"There are eight sail of the line, Sir John."

"Very well, sir."

"There are twenty sail of the line, Sir John."

"Very well, sir."

"There are twenty-five sail of the line, Sir John."

"Very well, sir."

"There are twenty-seven sail of the line, Sir John." This was

accompanied by some remark on the great disparity of the two forces.

Sir John's gallant answer now was:--

"Enough, sir--no more of that: the die is cast, and if there are fifty

sail, I will go through them."

At forty minutes past ten the signal was made to form line of battle

ahead and astern of the Victory, and to steer S.S.W. The fog was now

cleared off, and the British fleet were seen admirably formed in the

closest order; while the Spaniards were stretching in two straggling

bodies across the horizon, leaving an open space between. The

opportunity of dividing their fleet struck the admiral at once, and at

half-past eleven the signal was made to pass through the enemy's line,

and engage them to leeward. At twelve o'clock, as the Culloden was

reaching close up to the enemy, the British fleet hoisted their

colours, and the Culloden opened her fire. An extraordinary incident,

even in those colossal battles, occurred to this fine ship. The course

of the Culloden brought her directly on board one of the enemy's

three-deckers. The first lieutenant, Griffiths, reported to her

captain, Troubridge, that a collision was inevitable. "Can't help it,

Griffiths--let the weakest fend off," was the hero's reply. The

Culloden, still pushing on, fired two of her double-shotted broadsides

into the Spaniard with such tremendous effect, that the three-decker

went about, and the guns of her other side not being even cast loose,

she did not fire a single shot, while the Culloden passed triumphantly

through. Scarcely had she broken the enemy's line, than the

commander-in-chief signaled the order to tack in succession.

Troubridge's manoeuvre was so dashingly performed, that the admiral

could not restrain his delight and admiration.

"Look, Jackson," he rapturously exclaimed, "look at Troubridge there!

He tacks his ship to battle as if the eyes of all England were upon

him; and would to God they were, for then they would see him to be

what I know him."

The leeward division of the enemy, perceiving the fatal consequences

of their disunited order of sailing, now endeavoured to retrieve the

day, and to break through the British line. A vice-admiral, in a

three-decker, led them, and was reaching up to the Victory just as she

had come up to tack in her station. The vice-admiral stood on with

great apparent determination till within pistol-shot, but there he

stopped; and when the Victory could bring her guns to bear upon him,

she thundered in two of her broadsides, sweeping the Spaniard's decks,

and so terrified him, that when his sails filled, he ran clear out of

the battle altogether. The Victory then tacked into her station, and

the conflict raged with desperate fury. At this period of the battle,

the Spanish commander-in-chief bore up with nine sail of the line to

run round the British, and rejoin his leeward division. This was a

formidable manoeuvre; but no sooner was it commenced, than his eye

caught it "whose greatest wish it ever was to be the first to find,

and foremost to fight, his enemy." Nelson, instead of waiting till his

turn to tack should bring him into action, took it upon himself to

depart from the prescribed mode of attack, and ordered his ship to be

immediately wore. This masterly manoeuvre was completely successful,

at once arresting the Spanish commander-in-chief, and carrying Nelson

and Collingwood into the van and brunt of the battle. He now attacked

the four-decker, the Santissima Trinidada, also engaged by the

Culloden. The Captain's fore-topmast being now shot away, Nelson put

his helm down, and let her come to the wind, that he might board the

San Nicolas; Captain, afterwards Sir Edward Berry, then a passenger

with Nelson, jumping into her mizen-chains, was the first in the

enemy's ship; Nelson leading his boarders, and a party of the 69th

regiment, immediately followed, and the colours were hauled down.

While he was on the deck of the San Nicolas, the San Josef, disabled,

fell on board. Nelson instantly seized the opportunity of boarding her

from his prize; followed by Captain Berry, and Lieutenant Pierson of

the 69th, he led the boarders, and jumped into the San Josef's

main-chains. He was then informed that the ship had surrendered. Four

line-of-battle ships had now been taken, and the Santissima Trinidada

had also struck; but she subsequently made her escape, for now the

Spanish leeward division, fourteen sail, having re-formed their line,

bore down to support their commander-in-chief: to receive them, Sir

John Jervis was obliged to form a line of battle on the starboard

tack--the enemy immediately retired. Thus, at five in the evening,

concluded the most brilliant battle that had ever till then been

fought at sea.

Captain Calder was immediately sent off with the despatch, and arrived

in London on the 3d of March. A battle gained over such a numerical

superiority, for it was much more than two to one, when we take into

our estimate the immense size of the enemy's ships, and their weight

of metal, there being one four-decker of 130 guns, and six

three-deckers of 112, of which two were taken; and further, the more

interesting circumstance, that this great victory was gained on our

part with only the loss of 73 killed and 227 wounded, the public

feeling of exultation was unbounded; and when the minister on that

very evening proposed that the vote of thanks should be taken on the

following Monday, the House would hear of no delay, but insisted on

recording its gratitude at the moment. The House of Peers gave a

similar vote on the 8th; and the Commons and the Crown immediately

proposed to settle upon the admiral a pension of three thousand

a-year. A member of the House of Commons, on moving for an address to

the Crown to confer some signal mark of favour on the admiral, was

instantly replied to by the sonorous eloquence of the minister--"Can

it be supposed," said he, "that the Crown can require to be prompted

to pay the just tribute of approbation and honour to those who have

eminently distinguished themselves by public services? On the part of

his Majesty's ministers, I can safely affirm, that before the last

splendid instance of the conduct of the gallant admiral, we have not

been remiss in watching the uniform tenor of his professional career.

We have witnessed the whole of his proceedings--such instances of

perseverance, of diligence, and of exertion in the public service, as,

though less brilliant and dazzling than the last exploit, are only

less meritorious as they are put in competition with a single day,

which has produced such incalculable benefit to the British empire."

The result was an earldom. The first lord of the Admiralty, Lord

Spencer, having already written to Sir John the royal pleasure to

promote him to a peerage, and the letter not having reached him

previously to the battle, he thus had notice of the two steps in the

peerage nearly at once.

Popular honours now flowed in upon him: London voted its freedom in a

gold box, with swords to the admirals of the fleet and Nelson;

vice-admirals Parker and Thompson were created baronets; Nelson

received the red riband; the chief cities and towns of England and

Ireland sent their freedoms and presents; and the king gave all the

admirals and captains a gold medal.

We must now be brief in our observations on the services of this most

distinguished person. We have next a narrative of the suppression of

the memorable mutiny of 1798, whose purpose it was to have suffered

the enemy's fleet to leave their harbours, to revolutionize the

Mediterranean fleet, and, after putting the admirals and captains to

death, proceed to every folly and frenzy that could be committed by

men conscious of power, and equally conscious that forgiveness was

impossible. The fleet under Lord St Vincent was on the point of

corruption, when it was restored to discipline by the singular

firmness of the admiral, who, by exhibiting his determination to

punish all insubordination, extinguished this most alarming

disaffection, and saved the naval name of the country.

On the resignation of Mr Pitt in 1801, and the appointment of Mr

Addington as first lord of the treasury, a letter was written from the

new minister to Lord St Vincent, offering him the appointment of first

lord of the Admiralty. Having obtained an interview with the king, and

explained the general tone of his political feelings, the king told

him he very much wished to see him at the Admiralty, and to place the

navy entirely in his hands. This was perhaps the only appointment of

that singularly feeble administration which met with universal

approval. There could be no question of the intelligence, high

principle, or public services of the great admiral. Mr Addington came

into power under circumstances which would have tried the talents of a

man of first-rate ability. The war had exhausted the patience, though

not the power, of the nation. All our allies had failed. The severity

of the taxes was doubly felt, when the war had necessarily turned into

a blockade on the Continent. We had thus all the exhaustion of

hostilities without the excitement of triumph; and, to increase public

anxieties, the failure of the harvest threatened a comparative famine.

Wheat, which on an average of the preceding ten years had been 54s. a

quarter, was now at 110s., then rose to 139s., and even reached as

high as 180s. At one period the quartern loaf had risen to 1s. 10-1/2d.

The popular cry now arose for peace. France, which with all her

victories had been taught the precariousness of war, by the loss of

Egypt and the capture of her army, was now also eager for peace.

England had but two allies, Portugal and Turkey. At length the peace

was made, and Lord St Vincent's attention was then drawn to an object

which he had long in view, the reformation of the dockyards. This was

indeed the Augean stable, and unexampled clamour arose from the

multitude who had indolently fattened for years on the easy plunder of

the public stores. However, the reform went on: perquisites were

abolished, privileges taken away; and, rough as the operation was,

nothing could be more salutary than its effect. The acuteness of the

gallant old man at the head of the Admiralty could not be evaded, his

vigour could not be defied, and his public spirit gave him an

influence with the country, which enabled him to outlive faction and

put down calumny. Yet this was evidently the most painful, and, to a

certain extent, the most unsuccessful portion of his long career.

Nominally a Whig, but practically a Tory--for his loyalty was

unimpeachable and his honour without a stain--Lord St Vincent found

himself in the condition of a man who presses reform on those with

whom hitherto it has been only a watchword, and expects faction to act

up to its professions.

The Addington treaty was soon discovered to be nothing more than a

truce. Napoleon lived only in war; hostilities were essential to the

government which he had formed for France; and his theory of

government, false as it was, and his passion for excitement, whatever

might be its price, made even the two years of peace so irksome to

him, that he actually adopted a gross and foolish insult to the

British ambassador as the means of compelling us to renew the

conflict. The first result was, the return of Pitt to power; the next,

the total ruin of the French navy at Trafalgar; the next, the bloody

and ruinous war with Russia, expressly for the ruin of England through

the ruin of her commerce; and finally the crash of Waterloo, which

extinguished his diadem and his dominion together--a series of events,

occurring within little more than ten years, of a more stupendous

order than had hitherto affected the fate of any individual, or

influenced the destinies of an European kingdom.

With the ministry of Mr Addington, Lord St Vincent retired from public

life. He was now old, and the hardships of long service had partially

exhausted his original vigour of frame. He retired to his seat,

Rochetts in Essex, and there led the delightful life of a man who had

gained opulence and distinction by pre-eminent services, and whose old

age was surrounded by love, honour, and troops of friends. He appeared

from time to time in the House of Lords, where, however, he spoke but

seldom, but where he always spoke with dignity and effect.

In the month of March 1823, Lord St Vincent was seized with a general

feeling of infirmity which portended his speedy dissolution. He had a

violent and convulsive cough; yet his intellects were strongly turned

upon public events, and he expressed an anxiety to know all that could

be known of events in France, which was then disturbed; of the Spanish

revolution, which then threatened to involve Europe; and even of the

affairs of Greece. In the course of the evening of the 13th, while his

physician and family were round him, his strength suddenly gave way,

and at half past eight he died, at the age of eighty-eight, and was

buried at Stone in Staffordshire. He was succeeded in the peerage by

his nephew, who, however, inherits only the viscounty.

In our general notice of Lord St Vincent's career, we have adverted as

little as possible to the opinions which his biographer had introduced

from his own view of public affairs. We have no wish to make a peevish

return to the writer of a work which has given us both information and

pleasure. But it is necessary to caution Mr Tucker against giving

trite and trifling opinions on subjects of which he evidently knows so

little as of the Romish question, or the state of Ireland. Nothing is

easier than to be at once solemn and superficial on such topics; and

when a writer of this order flings his epithets of "bigoted, harsh,

and impolitic," and the other stock phrases of party organs, he only

enfeebles our respect for his authority in the immediate matters of

his work, and rather lowers our respect for his faculties in all. The

question of Popery in Ireland, is not a question of religion but of

faction. Religious controversy on Romish doctrines has long ceased to

exist. Romanism has no grounds on which a controversy can be

sustained. It cannot appeal to the Scriptures, which it shuts up; and

it will no longer be suffered to appeal to its mere childish pretence

of infallibility. Its only ground in Ireland is party; and the present

unhappy condition to which it has reduced Ireland, exhibits the

natural consequences of indulgence to Popery, and the only means by

which its spirit can be rendered consistent with the order of society.

* * * * *

MARSTON; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A STATESMAN.

PART X.

"Have I not in my time heard lions roar?

Have I not heard the sea, puft up with wind,

Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat?

Have I not heard great ordnance in the field,

And Heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?

Have I not in the pitched battle heard

Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets clang?"

SHAKSPEARE.

On reaching the prison, I gave up all for lost; sullenly resigned

myself to what now seemed the will of fate; and without a word, except

in answer to the interrogatory of my name and country, followed the

two horrid-looking ruffians who performed the office of turnkeys. St

Lazare had been a monastery, and its massiveness, grimness, and

confusion of buildings, with its extreme silence at that late hour,

gave me the strongest impression of a huge catacomb above ground. The

door of a cell was opened for me after traversing a long succession of

cloisters; and on a little wooden trestle, and wrapt in my cloak, I

attempted to sleep. But if sleep has not much to boast of in Paris at

any time, what was it then? I had scarcely closed my eyes when I was

roused by a rapid succession of musket-shots, fired at the opposite

side of the cloister, the light of torches flashing through the long

avenues, and the shouts of men and women in wrath, terror, and agony.

I threw myself off my uneasy bed, and climbing up by my prison bars,

endeavoured to ascertain the cause of the mêlée. But the imperfect

light served little more than to show a general mustering of the

national guard in the court, and a huge and heavy building, into which

they were discharging random shots whenever a head appeared at its

casements. A loud huzza followed whenever one of those shots appeared

to take effect, and a laugh equally loud ran through the ranks when

the bullet wasted its effect on the massive mullions or stained glass

of the windows. A tall figure on horseback, whom I afterwards learned

to be Henriot, the commandant of the national guard, galloped up and

down the court with the air of a general-in-chief manoeuvring an army.

I think that he actually had provided himself with a truncheon to meet

all the emergencies of supreme command. While this sanguinary, and yet

mocking representation of warfare was going on, M. le Commandant was

in full eloquence and prodigious gesticulation. "A la gloire, mes

enfans!" was his constant cry. "Fight, _mes braves!_ the honour of

France demands it: the eyes of Europe--of the world--are turned upon

you. _Vive la Republique!_" And all this accompanied with waving his

hat, and spurring his horse into foam and fury. But fortune is a jade

after all; and the hero of the tricolored scarf was destined to have

his laurels a little shorn, even on this narrow field. While his

charger was caracoling over the cloisters, and his veterans from the

cellars and counters of Paris were popping off their muskets at the

unfortunates who started up against the old casement, I heard a sudden

rush and run; a low postern of the cloister had been flung back, and

the prisoners within the building had made a sally on their

tormentors. A massacre at the Bicêtre, in which six thousand had

perished, had warned these unhappy people that neither the prison

wall, nor night, was to be security against the rage of the

bloodhounds with whom murder seemed to have grown into a pastime; and

after having seen several of their number shot down within their

dungeon, they determined to attack them, and, if they must die, at

least die in manly defence. Their rush was perfectly successful; it

had the effect of a complete surprise; and though their only weapons

were fragments of their firewood--for all fire-arms and knives had

been taken from them immediately on their entrance into the

prison--they routed the heroes of the guard at the first charge. Even

the gallant commander himself only shared the chance of his

"camarades:" a flourish or two of his sabre, and an adjuration of

"liberty," had no other effect than to insure a heavier shower of

blows, and I had the gratification of seeing the braggadocio go down

from his saddle in the midst of a group, who certainly had no

veneration for the majesty of the truncheon. The victory was achieved;

but, like many another victory, it produced no results: the gates of

the St Lazare were too strongly guarded to be forced by an unarmed

crowd, and I saw the prisoners successively and gloomily return to the

only roof, melancholy as that was, which now could shelter them.

The morning brought my case before the authorities of this den. Half a

dozen coarse and filthy uniformed men, and some of them evidently

sufferers in the tumult of the night, for their heads were bound up

and their arms bandaged--a matter which, if it did not improve their

appearance, gave me every reason to expect increased brutishness in

their tempers--formed the tribunal. The hall in which they had

established their court had once been the kitchen of the convent; and,

though all signs of hospitality had vanished, its rude and wild

construction, its stone floor and vaulted roof, and even its yawning

and dark recesses for the different operations which, in other days,

had made it a scene of busy cheerfulness, now gave it a look of

dreariness in the extreme. I could have easily imagined it to be a

chamber of the Inquisition. But men in my circumstances have not much

time for the work of fancy; and I was instantly called on for my name,

and business in France. I had heard enough of popular justice to

believe, that I had now arrived within sight of the last struggle, and

I resolved to give these ruffians no triumph over the Englishman.

"Citizen, who are you?" Was the first interrogatory.

"I am no citizen, no Frenchman, and no republican," was my answer. My

judges stared at each other.

"You are a prisoner. How came you here?"

"You are judges; how came you there?"

"You are charged with crimes against the Republic."

"In my country no man is expected to criminate himself."

"But you are a traitor: can you deny that?"

"I am no traitor to my king; can you say as much for yourselves?" They

now began to cast furious glances at me.

"You are insolent: what brought you into the territory of France?"

"The same thing which placed you on that bench--force."

"Are you mad?"

"No--are you?"

"Do you not know that we can send you to the"--

"If you do, I shall only go before _you_."

This put an end to my interrogatory at once. I had accidentally

touched upon the nerve which quivered in every bosom of these fellows.

There was a singular presentiment among even the boldest of the

Revolutionists, that the new order of things would not last, and that,

when the change came, it would be a bloody one. Life had become

sufficiently precarious already among the possessors of power; and the

least intimation of death was actually formidable to a race of

villains whose hands were hourly imbued in slaughter. I had been

hitherto placed in scarcely more than surveillance. An order for my

confinement as a "Brigand Anglais," was made out by the indignant

"commission," and I was transferred from my narrow and lonely cell

into the huge crowded building in the opposite cloister, which had

been the scene of the attack on the previous night. I could, with

Cato, "smile on the drawn dagger and defy its point." I walked out

with the air of a Cato.

This change, intended for my infinite degradation until the guillotine

should have dispatched its business in arrear, I found much to my

advantage. The man who expects nothing, cannot be hurt by

disappointment; and when I was conducted from my solitary cell into

the midst of four or five hundred prisoners, I felt the human feelings

kindle in me, which had been chilled between my four stone walls.

The prisoners with whom I was now to take my chance, were of all

ranks, professions, and degrees of crime. The true crime in the eyes

of the republic being, to be rich. Yet there the culprit had some hope

of being suffered to live, at least while daily examinations, with the

hourly perspective of the axe, could make him contribute to the purses

of the tribunal. Those who happened to be poor, were found guilty of

_incivisme_ at once, and were daily drafted off to the Place de Grève,

from which they never returned. But some of the prisoners were from La

Vendée, peasants mixed with nobles; who, though no formal shape of

resistance to the republic was yet declared, had exhibited enough of

that gallant contempt of the new tyranny, which afterwards

immortalized the name, to render them obnoxious to the ruffians at its

head. It was this sturdy portion which had made the dash on the night

of the riot, and their daring had the effect, at least, of saving

their fellow-prisoners in future from being made marks, to teach the

national guard the art of shooting. Even their sentries kept a

respectful distance; and M. Henriot, wisely mindful of his

flagellation, flourished his staff of command no more within our

cloister. We were, in fact, left almost wholly to ourselves. Yet, if a

philosopher desired to take a lesson in human nature, this was the

spot of earth for the study. We had it in every shape and shade. We

had it in the wits and blockheads, the courtiers and the clowns, the

opulent and the ruined, the brave and the pusillanimous--and all under

the strangest pressure of those feelings which rouse the nature of man

to its most undisguised display. Death was before every eye. Where was

the use of wearing a mask, when the wearer was so soon to part with

his head? Pretence gradually vanished, and a general spirit of

boldness, frankness, and something, if not exactly of dignity, at

least of manliness, superseded the customary cringing of society under

a despotism. In all but the name, we were better republicans than the

tribe who shouted in the streets, or robbed in the tribunals.

I made the remark one day to the Marquis de Cassini, a philosopher and

pupil of the great Buffon. "The reason is," said he, "that men differ

chiefly by circumstances, as they differ chiefly by their clothes.

Throw off their dress, whether embroidery or rags, and you will find

the same number of ribs in them all."

"But my chief surprise is, to find in this prison more mutual

kindness, and, in every sense, more generosity of sentiment, than one

generally expects to meet in the world."

"Helvetius would tell you that all this was self-interest," was my

pale-visaged and contemplative friend's reply. "But I always regarded

M. Helvetius in the light of a well-trained baboon, who thought, when

men stared at his tricks, they were admiring his talents. The truth

is, that self-interest is the mere creature of society, and is the

most active in the basest society. It is the combined cowardice and

cruelty of men struggling for existence; the savageness of the forest,

where men cannot gather acorns enough to share with their fellows; the

effort for life, where there is but one plank in a storm, and where,

if you are to cling at all, it must be by drowning the weaker party.

But here," and he cast his eyes calmly round the crowd, "as there is

not the slightest possibility that any one of us will escape, we have

the better opportunity of showing our original _bienséance_. All the

struggling on earth will not save us from the guillotine; and

therefore we resolve to accommodate each other for the rest of our

journey."

I agreed with him on the philosophy of the case, and in return he

introduced me to some of the Vendéan nobles, who had hitherto

exhibited their general scorn of Parisian contact by confining

themselves to the circle of their followers. I was received with the

distinction due to my introducer, and was invited to join their supper

that night. The prison had once been the chapel of the convent; and

though the desecration had taken place a hundred years before, and the

revolutionary spoil had spared but little of the remaining ornaments,

the original massiveness of the building, and the nobleness of the

architecture, had withstood the assaults of both time and plunder. The

roofs of the aisles could not be reached except by flame, and the

monuments of the ancient priors and prelates, when they had once been

stripped of their crosses, were too solid for the passing fury of the

mob. And thus, in the midst of emblems of mortality, and the

recollections of old solemnity, were set some hundreds of people, who

knew as little of each other as if they had met in a caravansery, and

who, perhaps, expected to part as soon. The scene was curious, but by

no means uncheerful. The national spirit is inextinguishable; and,

however my countrymen may bear up against the extremes of ill-fortune,

no man meets its beginnings with so easy an air as the man of France.

Our supper was laid out in one of the side chapels; and, coarse and

scanty as it was, I seldom recollect an evening which I passed with a

lighter sense of the burden of a prisoner's time. I found the Vendéan

nobles a manlier race than their more courtly countrymen. Yet they had

courtliness of their own; but it was more the manner of our own

country gentlemen of the last century, than the polish of Versailles.

Their habits of living on their domains, of country sports, of

intercourse with their peasantry, and of the general simplicity of

country life, had drawn a strong line of distinction between them and

the dukes and marquises of the royal saloons. Like all Frenchmen of

the day, they conversed largely upon the politics of France; but there

was a striking reserve in their style. The existing royal family were

but little mentioned, or mentioned only with a certain kind of sacred

respect. Their misfortunes prohibited the slightest severity of

language. Yet still it was not difficult to see, that those

straightforward and honest lords of the soil, who were yet to prove

themselves the true chevaliers of France, could feel as acutely, and

express as strongly, the injuries inflicted by the absurdities and

vices of the successive administrations of their reign, as if they had

figured in the clubs of the capital. But the profligacies of the

preceding monarch, and the tribe of fools and knaves whom those

profligacies as naturally gathered round him as the plague propagates

its own contagion, met with no mercy. And, though they were spoken of

with the gravity which became the character and rank of the speakers,

they were denounced with a sternness which seemed beyond the morals or

the mind of their country. Louis XV., Du Barri, and the whole long

succession of corrupting and corrupted cabinets, which had at length

rendered the monarchy odious, were denounced in terms worthy of

gallant men; who, though resolved to sink or swim with the throne,

experienced all the bitterness of generous indignation at the crimes

which had raised the storm.

We had our songs too, and some of them were as contemptuous as ever

came from the pen of Parisian satire. Among my recollections of the

night was one of those songs, of which the _refrain_ was--

"Le Bien-Aimé--_de l'Almanac_."

A burlesque on the title--Le Bien-Aimé, &c., which the court calendar,

and the court calendar _alone_, had annually given to the late king. I

can offer only a paraphrase.

"Louis Quinze, our burning shame,

Hear our song, 'old well-beloved,'

What if courts and camps are tame,

Pension'd beggars laced and gloved,

France's love grows rather slack,

Idol of--the Almanac.

"Let your flatterers hang or drown,

We are of another school,

Truth no more shall be put down,

We can call a fool a fool,

Fearless of Bastile or rack,

Titus of--the Almanac.

"Louis, trample on your serfs,

We'll be trampled on no more,

Revel in your _parc aux cerfs_,[27]

Eat and drink--'twill soon be o'er.

France will steer another tack,

Solon of--the Almanac!

"Hear your praises from your pages,

Hear them from your liveried lords,

Let your valets earn their wages,

Liars, living on their words;

We'll soon give them nuts to crack,

Cæsar of--the Almanac!

"When a dotard fills the throne,

Fit for nothing but a nurse,

When a nation's general groan,

Yields to nothing but its curse;

What are armies at thy back,

Henri of--the Almanac?

"When the truth is bought and sold,

When the wrongs of man are spurn'd,

Then the crown's last knell is toll'd,

Then, old Time, thy glass has turn'd,

And comes flying from thy pack

To nations a _new_ Almanac!

"Mistress, minister, Bourbon,

Rule by bayonets, bribes, and spies,

Charlatans in church and throne,

France is opening all her eyes--

Down go minion, king, and quack,

We'll have _our_ new Almanac!"

[27] A scene of peculiar infamy near Paris.

When I returned to the place where my mattress was flung, the crowd

had already sunk to rest, and there was a general silence throughout

the building. The few lights which our jailers supplied to us, had

become fewer; and, except for the heavy sound of the doubled sentries'

tread outside, I might have imagined myself in a vast cemetery. The

agitation of the day, followed by the somewhat unsuitable gayety of

the evening, had thrown me into such a state of mental and bodily

fatigue, that I had scarcely laid my side on my bed, untempting as it

was, when I dropped into a heavy slumber. The ingenuity of our

tormentors, however, prohibited our knowing any thing in the shape of

indulgence; and in realisation of the dramatist's renowned _mot_,

"traitors never sleep," the prison door was suddenly flung open--a

drum rattled through the aisle--the whole body of the prisoners were

ordered to stand forth and answer to their names; this ceremony

concluding with the march of the whole night-guard into the chapel,

and their being ordered to load with ball-cartridge, to give us the

sufficient knowledge of what any attempt to escape would bring upon us

in future. This refinement in cruelty we owed to the _escapade_ of the

night before.

At length, after a variety of insulting queries, even this scene was

over. The guard marched out, the roll of their drum passed away among

the cloisters; we went shivering to our beds--threw ourselves down

dressed as we were, and tried to forget France and our jailers.

But a French night in those times was like no other, and I had yet to

witness a scene such as I believe could not have existed in any other

country of the globe.

After some period of feverish sleep I was awakened by a strange

murmur, which, mixing with my dreams, had given me the comfortless

idea of hearing the roar of the multitude at some of the horrid

displays of the guillotine; and as I half opened my unwilling eyes,

still heavy with sleep, I saw a long procession of figures, in flowing

mantles and draperies, moving down the huge hall. A semicircle of beds

filled the extremity of the chapel, which had been vacated by a draft

of unfortunate beings, carried off during the day to that dreadful

tribunal, whose sole employment seemed to be the supply of the axe,

and from which no one was ever expected to return. While my eyes, with

a strange and almost superstitious anxiety--such is the influence of

time and place--followed this extraordinary train, I saw it take

possession of the range of beds; each new possessor sitting wrapt in

his pale vesture, and perfectly motionless. I can scarcely describe

the singular sensations with which I continued to gaze on the

spectacle. My eyes sometimes closed, and I almost conceived that the

whole was a dream; but the forms were too distinct for this

conjecture, and the question with me now became, "are they flesh and

blood?" I had not sunk so far into reverie as to imagine that they

were the actual spectres of the unhappy tenants of those beds on the

night before, all of whom were now, doubtless, in the grave; but the

silence, the distance, the dimness perplexed me, and I left the

question to be settled by the event. At a gesture from the central

figure they all stood up--and a man loaded with fetters was brought

forward in front of their line. I now found that a trial was going on:

the group were the judges, the man was the presumed criminal; there

was an accuser, there was an advocate--in short, all the general

process of a trial was passing before my view. Curiosity would

naturally have made me spring from my bed and approach this

extraordinary spectacle; but I am not ashamed now to acknowledge, that

I felt a nervelessness and inability to speak or move, which for the

time wholly awed me. All that I could discover was, that the accused

was charged with _incivisme_, and that, defying the court and

disdaining the charge, he was pronounced guilty--the whole circle,

standing up as the sentence was pronounced, and with a solemn waving

of their arms and murmur of their voices, assenting to the act of the

judge. The victim was then seized on, swept away into the darkness,

and after a brief pause I heard a shriek and a crash; the sentence had

been fulfilled--all was over. The court now covered their heads with

their mantles, as if in sorrow for this formidable necessity.

But how shall I speak of the closing scene? However it surprised and

absorbed me in that moment of nervous excitement, I can allude to it

now only as characteristic of a time when every mind in France was

half lunatic. I saw a figure enveloped in star-coloured light emerge

from the darkness, slowly ascend, in a vesture floating round it like

the robes which Raphael or Guido gives to the beings of another

sphere, and, accompanied by a burst of harmony as it rose, ascend to

the roof, where it suddenly disappeared. All was instantly the silence

and the darkness of the grave.

Daylight brought back my senses, and I was convinced that the

pantomimic spirit of the people, however unaccountably it might

disregard proprieties, had been busy with the scene. I should now

certainly have abandoned the supernatural portion of the conjecture

altogether; but on mentioning it to Cassini, he let me into the

solution at once.

"Have you never observed," said he, "the passion of all people for

walking on the edge of a precipice, climbing a church tower, looking

down from a battlement, or doing any one thing which gives them the

nearest possible chance of breaking their necks?--then you can

comprehend the performance of last night. There we are, like fowls in

a coop: every day sees some of us taken out; and the amusement of the

remaining fowls is to imagine how the heads of the others were taken

from their bodies." The prisoners were practising a trial.

I gave an involuntary look of surprise at this species of amusement,

and remarked something on the violation of common feeling--to say

nothing of the almost profaneness which it involved.

"As to the feeling," said Cassini, with that shrug which no shoulders

but those of a Frenchman can ever give, "it is a matter of taste; and

perhaps we have no right to dictate in such matters to persons who

would think a week a long lease of life, and who, instead of seven

days, may not have so many hours. As to the profanation, if your

English scruples made you sensitive on such points, I can assure you

that you might have seen some things much more calculated to excite

your sensibilities. The display last night was simply the trial of a

royalist; and as we are all more or less angry with republicanism at

this moment, and with some small reason too, the royalist, though he

was condemned, as every body now is, was suffered to have his

apotheosis. But _I_ have seen exhibitions in which the republican was

the criminal, and the scene that followed was really startling even to

my rather callous conceptions. Sometimes we even had one of the

colossal ruffians who are now lording it over France. I have seen St

Just, Couthon, Caier, Danton, nay Robespierre himself; arraigned

before our midnight tribunal; for this amusement is the only one which

we can enjoy without fear of interruption from our jailers. Thus we

enjoy it with the greater gusto, and revenge ourselves for the

tribulations of the day by trying our tormentors at night."

"I am satisfied with the reason, although I am not yet quite

reconciled to the performance. Who were the actors?"

"You are now nearer the truth than you suspected. We have men of every

trade here, and, among the rest, we have actors enough to stock the

_Comédie Française_. If you remain long enough among us, you will see

some of the best farces of the best time played uncommonly well by our

fellow _détenus_. But in the interim--for our stage is permitted by

the municipality to open in the St Lazare only four times a month--a

piece of cruelty which we all regard as intolerable--our actors

refresh their faculties with all kinds of displays. You acknowledge

that the scene last night was well got up; and if you should see the

trial of some of our 'Grands Democrats,' be assured that your

admiration will not be attracted by showy vesture, blue lights, or the

harmonies of the old asthmatic organ in yonder gallery; our pattern

will be taken from the last scene of 'Il Don Giovanni.' You will have

no pasteboard figure suspended from the roof, and wafted upward in

starlight or moonlight. But if you wish to see the exhibition, I am

concerned to tell you that you must wait, for to-night all our

_artistes_ are busy. In what, do you conceive?"

I professed my inability to fathom "the infinite resources of the

native mind, where amusement was the question."

"Well then--not to keep you in suspense--we are to have a masquerade."

The fact was even so. France having grown tired of all things that had

been, grew tired of weeks, and Decades were the law of the land. The

year was divided into packs of ten days each, and she began the great

game of time by shuffling and cutting her cards anew. The change was

not marked by any peculiar good fortune; for it was laughed at, as

every thing in France was except an order for deportation to the

colonies, or a march to the scaffold. The populace, fully admitting

the right of government to deal with kings and priests as it pleased,

regarded the interference with their pleasures as a breach of compact;

and the result was, that the populace had their Dimanche as well as

their Decadi, and that the grand experiment for wiping out the Sunday,

issued in giving them two holidays instead of one.

It was still early in the day when some bustle in the porch of the

prison turned all eyes towards it, and a new detachment of prisoners

was brought in. I shall say nothing of the scenes of wretchedness

which followed; the wild terrors of women on finding themselves in

this melancholy place, which looked, and was, scarcely more than a

vestibule to the tomb; the deep distress of parents, with their

children clinging round them, and the general despair--a despair which

was but too well founded. Yet the tumult of their settling and

distribution among the various quarters of the chapel had scarcely

subsided when another scene was at hand. The commissary of the

district came in, with a list of the prisoners who were summoned

before the tribunal. Our prison population was like the waters of a

bath, as one stream flowed in another flowed out; the level was

constantly sustained. With an instinctive pang I heard my name

pronounced among those unhappy objects of sanguinary rule. Cassini

approached me with a smile, which he evidently put on to conceal his

emotion.

"This is quick work, M. Marston," said he, taking my hand. "As the

ruffian in the school fable says, 'Hodie tibi, cras nihi'--twelve

hours will probably make all the difference between us."

I took off the little locket coutaining my last remembrance of

Clotilde, and put it into his hands, requesting him, if he survived,

to transmit it to his incomparable countrywoman, with an assurance

that I remembered her in an hour when all else was forgotten.

"I shall perform the part of your legatee," said he, "till to-morrow;

then I will find some other depositary. Here you must know that

heirship is rapid, and that the will is executed before the ink is

dry." He turned away to hide a tear. "I have not known you long, sir,"

said he; "but in this place we must be expeditious in every thing. You

are too young to die. If you are sacrificed, I am convinced that you

will die like a gentleman and a man of honour. And yet I have some

feeling, some presentiment, nay almost a consciousness, that you will

not be cut off, at least until you are as weary of the world as I am."

I endeavoured to put on a face of resignation, if not of cheerfulness,

and said, "That though my country might revenge my death, my being

engaged in its service would only make my condemnation inevitable. But

I was prepared."

"At all events, my young friend," said he, "if you escape from this

pandemonium of France, take this paper, and vindicate the memory of

Cassini."

He gave me a memoir, which I could not help receiving with a smile,

from the brevity of the period during which the trust was likely to

hold. The gendarme now came up to demand my attendance. I shook hands

with the marquis, who at that moment was certainly no philosopher, and

followed the train.

We were about fifty in number; and after being placed in open

artillery waggons, the procession moved rapidly through the suburb,

until we reached one of those dilapidated and hideous-looking

buildings which were then to be found startling the stranger's eye

with the recollections of the St Bartholomew and the Fronde.

A crowd, assembled round the door of one of these melancholy shades,

and the bayonets of a company of the national guard glittering above

their heads, at length indicated the place of our destination. The

crowd shouted, and called us "aristocrats, thirsting for the blood of

the good citizens." The line of the guard opened, and we were rapidly

passed through several halls, the very dwelling of decay, until we

reached a large court, where the prisoners remained while the judges

were occupied in deciding on the fate of the train which the morning

had already provided. I say nothing of the insults which were

intended, if not to add new bitterness to death, to indulge the

wretched men and women who could find an existence in attending on the

offices of the tribunal, with opportunities of triumphing over those

born to better things. While we remained in the court exposed to the

weather, which was now cold and gusty, shouts were heard at intervals,

which, as the turnkeys informed us, arose from the spectators of the

executions--death, in these fearful days, immediately following

sentence. Yet, to the last the ludicrous often mingled with the

melancholy. While I was taking my place in the file according to the

order of our summons, and was next in rotation for trial, a smart and

overdressed young man stepped out of his place in the rank, and

drawing from his bosom a pamphlet in manuscript, presented it to me,

with the special entreaty that, "in case I survived, I should take

care of its propagation throughout Europe." My answer naturally was,

"That my fate was fully as precarious as that of the rest, and that

thus I had no hope of being able to give his pamphlet to mankind."

"_Mais_, monsieur," that phrase which means so many inexpressible

things--"But, sir, you must observe, that by putting my pamphlet into

your charge, it has a double chance. You may read it as a part of your

defence; it is a treatise on the government of France, which settles

all the disputed questions, reconciles republicanism with monarchy,

and shows how a revolution may be made to purify all things without

overthrowing any. Thus my sentiments will become public at once, the

world will be enlightened, and, though _you_ may perish, France will

be saved."

Nothing could be more convincing; yet I continued stubborn. He

persisted. I suggested the "possibility of my not being suffered to

make any defence whatever, but of being swept away at once; in this

case endangering the total loss of his conceptions to the world;" but

I had to deal with a man of resources.

"No," said the author and philanthropist; "for that event I have

provided. I have a second copy folded on my breast, which I shall read

when I am called on for trial. Then those immortal truths shall not be

left to accident; I shall have two chances for celebrity; the labour

of my life shall be known; nor shall the name of Jean Jacques

Pelletier go to the tomb without the renown due to a philosopher."

But further deprecation on my part was cut short by the appearance of

two of the guard, by whom I was marched to the presence of the

tribunal. The day had now waned, and two or three lamps showed my

weary eye the judges, whose decision was to make the difference to me

between life and death, within the next half hour. Their appearance

was the reverse of one likely to reconcile the unfortunate to the

severity of the law. They were seven or eight sitting on a raised

platform, with a long table in their front, covered with papers, with

what seemed to be the property taken from the condemned at the

moment--watches, purses, and trinkets; and among those piles, very

visibly the fragments of a dinner--plates and soups, with several

bottles of cognac and wine. Justice was so indefatigable in France,

that its ministers were forced to mingle all the functions of public

and private life together; and to be intoxicated in the act of passing

sentence of death was no uncommon event.

The judges of those sectional tribunals were generally ruffians of the

lowest description, who, having made themselves notorious by violence

and Jacobinism, had driven away the usual magistracy, and, under the

pretext of administering justice, were actually driving a gainful

trade in robbery of every kind. The old costume of the courts of law

was of course abjured; and the new civic costume, which was obviously

constructed on the principle of leaving the lands free for butchery,

and preserving the garments free from any chance of being disfigured

by the blood of the victim--for they were the perfection of savage

squalidness--was displayed _à la rigueur_ on the bench. A short coat

without sleeves, the shirt sleeves tucked up as for instant execution,

the neck open, no collar, fierce mustaches, a head of clotted hair,

sometimes a red nightcap stuck on one side, and sometimes a red

handkerchief tied round it as a temporary "bonnet de nuit"--for the

judges frequently, in drunkenness or fatigue, threw themselves on the

bench or the floor, and slept--exhibited the regenerated aspect of

Themis in the capital of the polished world.

My name was now called. I shall not say with what a throb of heart I

heard it. But at the moment when I was stepping forward, I felt my

skirt pulled by one of the guard behind me. I looked, and recognized

through all his beard, and the hair that in profusion covered his

physiognomy, my police friend, who seemed to possess the faculty of

being every where--a matter, however, rendered easier to him by his

being in the employ of the government--and who simply whispered the

words--"Be firm, and acknowledge nothing." Slight as the hint was, it

had come in good time; for I had grown desperate from the sight of the

perpetual casualties round me, and, like Cassini's idea of the man

walking on the edge of the precipice, had felt some inclination to

jump off, and take my chance. But now contempt and defiance took the

place of despair; and instead of openly declaring my purposes and

performances, my mind was made up to leave them to find out what they

could.

On my being marched up to the foot of the platform between two

frightful-looking ruffians, whose coats and trousers seemed to have

been dyed in gore, to show that they were worthy of the murders of

September, and who, to make "assurance doubly sure," wore on their

sword-belts the word "September," painted in broad characters, I

remained for a while unquestioned, until they turned over a pile of

names which they had flung on the table before them. At last their

perplexity was relieved by one of the clerks, who pronounced my name.

I was then interrogated in nearly the same style as before the

committee of my first captors. I gave them short answers.

"Who are you?" asked the principal distributor of rabble justice. The

others stooped forward, pens in hand, to record my conviction.

My answer was--

"I am a man." (Murmurs on the platform.)

"Whence come you?"

"From your prison."

"You are not a Frenchman?"

"No, thank Heaven!" (Murmurs again.)

"Beware, sir, of insolence to the tribunal. We can send you instantly

to punishment."

"I know it. Why then try me at all?"

"Because, prisoner, we desire to hear the truth first."

"First or last, can you bear to hear it?" (Angry looks, but more

attention.)

"We have no time to waste--the business of the Republic must be done.

Are you a citizen?"

"I am; a citizen of the world."

"You must not equivocate with justice. Where did you live before you

were arrested?"

"On the globe." (A half-suppressed laugh among the crowd in the back

ground.)

"What profession?"

"None."

"On what then do you live, have lived, or expect to live?"

"To-day on nothing, for your guards have given me nothing. Yesterday,

I lived on what I could get. To-morrow, it depends on circumstances

whether I shall want any thing." (A low murmur of applause among the

bystanders, who now gathered closer to the front.)

"Prisoner," said the chief, swilling a glass of cognac to strengthen

the solemnity of his jurisprudence, "the Republic must not be trifled

with. You are arraigned of _incivisme_. Of what country are you a

subject?"

"Of France, while I remain on her territory."

"Have you fought for France?"

"I have; for her laws, her liberty, her property, and her honour."

(Bravo! from the crowd.)

"Yet you are not a Republican?"

"No; no more than you are."

This produced confusion on the bench. The hit was contemptuously

accidental; but it was a home-thrust at the chief, who had former been

a domestic in the Tuileries, and was still strongly suspected of being

a spy of the Bourbons. The crowd who knew his story, who are always

delighted with a blow at power, burst into a general roar. But a

little spruce fellow on the bench, who had already exhibited a desire

to take his share in the interrogatory, now thrust his head over the

table, and said in his most searching tone--

"To come to the point--Prisoner, how do you live? What are your means?

All honest men must have visible means. That is _my_ question." (All

eyes were now turned on me.)

I was now growing angry; and, pointing to the pile of purses and

watches on the table--

"No man," said I, "needs ask what are your visible means, when they

see that pile before you. Yet I doubt if that proves you to be an

honest man. That is _my_ answer."

The little inquisitor looked furious, and glanced towards the chief

for protection; but his intrusion had provoked wrath in that quarter,

and his glance was returned with a rigid smile.

"Prisoner," said the head of the tribunal, "though the question was

put improperly, it was itself a proper one. How do you live?"

"By my abilities."

"That is a very doubtful support in those times."

"I do not recommend you, or any of those around you, to make the

experiment," was my indignant answer.

The bystanders gave a general laugh, in which even the guard joined.

To get the laugh against one, is the most unpardonable of all injuries

in France, and this answer roused up the whole tribunal. They scarcely

gave themselves the trouble of a moment's consultation. A few nods and

whispers settled the whole affair; and the chief, standing up and

drawing his sabre from its sheath--then the significant custom of

those places of butchery, pronounced the fatal words, "Guilty of

_incivisme_. Let the criminal be conducted _à la Force_," the

well-known phrase for immediate execution.

The door was opened from which none ever came back. Two torches were

seen glaring down the passage, and I was seized by the grim escort who

were to lead me to the axe.

The affectation of cowardice is as childish as the affectation of

courage; but I felt a sensation at that moment which took me by

surprise. I had been perfectly assured of my sentence from the first

glance at the judges. If ever there was a spot on earth which deserved

Dante's motto of Erebus--

"Voi qui entrate, lasciate agui speranza"--

it was the revolutionary tribunal. Despair was written all over it in

characters impossible to be mistaken. I had fixed my resolution to go

through the whole scene, if not with heroism, at least with that

decent firmness which becomes a man; yet the sound of the words which

consigned me to the scaffold struck me with a general chill. Momentary

as the period was, the question passed through my mind, are those

paralysed limbs the same which bore me so well through the hazards of

the campaign? Why am I to feel the fluttering of heart now, more than

when I was facing sabres and cannon-shot? Why am I thus frigid and

feeble, when I so lately fought and marched, and defied alike fatigue

and wounds? But I felt in this chamber of death an inconceivable

exhaustion, which had never approached me in the havoc of the field.

My feet refused to move, my lips to breathe; all objects swam round,

and sick to death and fainting, I thrust out my hand to save me from

falling, and thus gave the last triumph to my murderers.

At this decisive moment I found my hand caught by a powerful grasp,

and a strong voice exclaiming, "Messieurs, I demand the delay of this

sentence. The criminal before you is of higher importance to the state

than the wretches whom justice daily compels you to sacrifice. His

crime is of a deeper dye. I exhibit the mandate of the Government to

arrest the act of the tribunal, and order him to be reserved until he

reveals the whole of the frightful plots which endanger the Republic."

He then advanced to the platform; and, taking a paper from his bosom,

displayed to the court and the crowd the order for my being remanded

to prison, signed by the triumvirate, whose word was law in France.

Some confusion followed on the bench, and some bustle among the

spectators; but the document was undeniable, and my sentence was

suspended. I am not sure that the people within much regretted the

delay, however those who had been lingering outside might feel

themselves ill-used by a pause in the executions, which had now become

a popular amusement; for the crowd instantly pushed forward to witness

another trial of sarcasm between me and my judges; but this the new

authority sternly forbade.

"The prisoner," said he, in a dictatorial tone, "is now in my charge.

He is a prisoner of state--an Englishman--an agent of the monster

Pitt"--(he paused, and was answered with a general shudder;) "and,

above all, has actually been in arms with the fiend Brunswick, (a

general groan,) and with those worse than fiends, those parricides,

those emigrant nobles, who have come to burn our harvests, slay our

wives and children, and destroy the proudest monument of human wisdom,

the grandest triumph of human success, and the most illustrious

monument of the age of regeneration--the Republic of France." Loud

acclamations followed this popular rhetoric; and the panegyrist,

firmly grasping me by the arm, walked with me rapidly out of court.

All made way for him, and, before another word could be uttered by the

astounded bench, we were in one of the covered carriages reserved for

prisoners of the higher rank, and on our way, at full gallop, through

the intricate streets of Paris.

All this was done with such hurried action, that I had scarcely time

to know what my own emotions were; but the relief from immediate

death, or rather from those depressing and overwhelming sensations

which perhaps make its worst bitterness, was something, and hope

dawned in me once more. Still, it was wholly in vain that I attempted

to make my man of mystery utter a word. Nothing could extort a

syllable from him, and he was evidently unwilling that I should even

see his face, imperfect as the chance was among the few lamps which

Paris then exhibited to enlighten the dismal darkness of her

thoroughfares. Yet the idea that my rescue was not without a purpose

predominated; and I was beginning even to imagine that I already felt

the fresh air of the fields, and that our journey would terminate

outside the walls of Paris, when the carriage came to a full stop,

and, by the light of a torch streaming on the wind in front, I saw the

gate of the St Lazare. All was now over--resistance or escape was

equally beyond me. The carriage was surrounded by the guard, who

ordered me to descend; their officer received the rescript for my safe

custody, and I had nothing before me but the dungeon. But at the

moment when my foot was on the step of the vehicle, my companion

stooped forward, and uttered in my ear, with a pressure of my hand,

the word "Mordecai." I was hurried onward, and the carriage drove

away.

My surprise was excessive. This talismanic word changes the current

of my thoughts at once. It had so often and so powerfully operated in

my favour, that I could scarcely doubt its effect once more; yet

before me were the stern realities of confinement. What spell was

equal to those stonewalls, what dexterity of man or friendship, or

even the stronger love of woman, could make my dungeon free, or my

chains vanish into "thin air?" Still there had been a interposition,

and to that interposition, whether for future good or ill, it

certainly was due that I was not already mounting the scaffold, or

flung, headless trunk, into the miserable and nameless grave.

As I passed again through the cloisters, my ears were caught with the

sound of music and dancing. The contrast was sufficiently strong to

the scene from which I had just returned; yet this was the land of

contrasts. To my look of surprise, the turnkey who attended me

answered "Perhaps you have forgotten that this is Decadi, and on this

night we always have our masquerade. If you have not got a dress, I

shall supply you; my wife is a _fripier_ in the Antoine; she supplies

all the civic fêtes with costumes, and you may have any dress you

like, from a grand signor with his turban, down to a _colporteur_ with

his pack, or a watchman with his nightcap."

My mind was still too unsettled to enjoy masquerading, notwithstanding

the temptation of the turnkey's wardrobe; and I felt all that absence

of accommodation to circumstances, that want of plasticity, that

failure of grasping at every hair's-breadth of enjoyment, which is

declared by foreigners to form the prodigious deficiency of John Bull.

If I could have taken refuge, for that night at least, in the saddest

cell of the old convent, or in the deepest dungeon of the new prison,

I should have gone to either with indulgence. I longed to lay down my

aching brains upon my pillow, and forget the fever of the time. But

prisoners have no choice; and the turnkey, after repeating his

recommendations that I should not commit an act of such profound

offence as to appear in the assembly without a domino, if I should

take nothing else from the store of the most popular _marchande_ in

Paris, the wife of his bosom, at last, with a shake of his head and a

bending of his heavy brows at my want of taste, unlocked the gate, and

thrust me into the midst of my old quarters, the chapel.

There a new scene indeed awaited me. The place which I had left filled

with trembling clusters of people, whole families clinging to each

other in terror, loud or mute, but all in the deepest dread of their

next summons, I found in a state of the most extravagant

festivity--the chapel lighted up from floor to root--bouquets planted

wherever it was possible to fix an artificial flower--gaudy wreaths

depending from the galleries--and all the genius of this country of

extremes lavished on attempts at decoration. Rude as the materials

were, they produced at first sight a remarkably striking effect. More

striking still was the spectacle of the whole multitude in every

grotesque dress of the world, dancing away as if life was but one

festival.

As I stood aloof for a while, wholly dazzled by the glare, the

movement, and the multitude, I was recognised by some of my "old"

acquaintance--the acquaintance of twenty-four hours--but here time,

like every thing else, had changed its meaning, and a new influx had

recruited the hall. Cassini and some others came forward and welcomed

me, like one who had returned from the tomb--the news of the day was

given and exchanged--a bottle of champagne was prescribed as the true

medicine for my lowness of pulse--and I gradually gave myself up to

the spirit of the hour.

As I wandered through the crowd, a mask dressed as a sylph bent its

head over my shoulder, and I heard the words, "Why are you not in a

domino?" I made some careless answer. "Go and get one immediately,"

was the reply. "Take this card, fasten it on your robe, and meet me

here again." The mask put a card marked with a large rose into my

hand, and was gone waltzing away among the crowd. I still lingered,

leaning against one of the pillars of the aisle. The mask again

approached me. "Monsieur Anglais," was the whisper, "you do not know

your friends. Go and furnish yourself with a domino. It is essential

to your safety." "Who are my friends, and why do you give me this

advice?" was my enquiry. The mask lightly tripped round me, laid its

ungloved hand on mine, as if in the mere sport of the dance; and I saw

that it was the hand of a female from its whiteness and delicacy. I

was now more perplexed than ever. As the form floated round me with

the lightness of a zephyr, it whispered the word "Mordecai," and flew

off into an eddy of the moving multitude. I now obeyed the command;

went to the little shrine where the turnkey's wife had opened her

_friperie_, and equipped myself with the dress appointed; and, with

the card fixed upon my bosom, returned to take my station beside the

pillar. But no sylph came again; no form rivaled the zephyr before me.

I listened for that soft, low voice; but listened in vain. Yet what

was all this but the common sport of a masquerade?

However, an object soon drew the general attention so strongly, as to

put an end to private curiosity for the time. This was a mask in the

uniform of a national guard, but so outrageously fine that his

_entrée_ excited an universal burst of laughter. But when, after a few

displays of what was apparently all but intoxication, he began a

detail of his own exploits, it was evident that the whole was a daring

caricature; and as nothing could be less popular among us than the

heroes of the shops, the Colonels Calicot, and Mustaches _au

comptoir_, all his burlesque told incomparably. The old officers among

us, the Vendéans, and all the ladies--for the sex are aristocrats

under every government and in every region of the globe--were

especially delighted. "Alexandre Jules Cæsar," colonel of the "brave

battalion of the Marais," was evidently worth a dozen field-marshals

in his own opinion; and his contempt for Vendôme, Marlborough, and

Frederick le Grand, was only less piquant than the perfect imitation

and keen burlesque of Santerre, Henriot, and our municipal warriors.

At length when his plaudits and popularity were at their height, he

proposed a general toast to the "young heroism," of the capital, and

prefaced it by a song, in great repute in the old French service.

"AVANCEZ, BRAVE GUERRIERS."

"Shoulder arms--brave regiment!

Hark, the bugle sounds 'advance.'

Pile the baggage--strike the tent;

France demands you--fight for France.

If the hero gets a ball,

His accounts are closed--that's all!

"Who'd stay wasting time at home,

Made for women to despise;

When, where'er we choose to roam,

All the world before us lies,

Following our bugle's call,

Life one holiday--that's all!

"When the soldier's coin is spent,

He has but to fight for more;

He pays neither tax nor rent,

He's but where he was before.

If he conquer, if he fall--

_Fortune de la guerre_--that's all!

"Let the pedant waste his oil,

With the soldier all is sport;

Let your blockheads make a coil

In the cloister or the court;

Let them fatten in their stall,

We can fatten too--that's all!

"What care we for fortune's frown,

All that comes is for the best;

What's the noble's bed of down

To the soldier's evening rest

On the heath or in the hall,

All alike to him--that's all!

"When the morn is on the sky,

Hark the gay _reveillé_ rings!

Glory lights the soldier's eye,

To the gory breach he springs,

Plants his colours on the wall

Wins and wears the _croix_--that's all!"

The dashing style in which this hereditary song of the French camp was

given by "Colonel Alexandre Jules Cæsar" of the "brave battalion of

the Marais," his capitally awkward imitation of the soldier of the old

_régime_, and his superb affectation of military nonchalance, were so

admirable, that his song excited actual raptures of applause. His

performance was encored, and he was surrounded by a group of nymphs

and graces, among whom his towering figure looked like a grenadier of

Brobdignag in the circle of a Liliputian light company. He carried on

the farce for a while with great adroitness and animation; but at

length he put the circle of tinsel and tiffany aside, and rushing up

to me, insisted on making me a recruit for the "brave battalion of the

Marais." But I had no desire to play a part in this pantomime, and

tried to disengage myself. One word again made me a captive: that word

was now "Lafontaine;" and at the same moment I saw the sylph bounding

to my side. What was I to think of this extraordinary combination? All

was as strange as a midsummer night's dream. The "colonel," as if

fatigued, leaned against the pillar, and slightly removing his mask, I

saw, with sudden rejoicing, the features of that gallant young friend,

whom I had almost despaired of ever seeing again. "Wait in this spot

until I return," was all that I heard, before he and the sylph had

waltzed away far down the hall.

I waited for some time in growing anxiety; but the pleasantry of the

night went on as vividly as ever, and some clever _tableaux vivants_

had varied the quadrilles. While the dancers gave way to a

well-performed picture of Hector and Andromache from the _Iliad_, and

the hero was in the act of taking the plumed helmet from his brow,

with a grace which enchanted our whole female population, an old

Savoyard and his daughter came up, one playing the little hand-organ

of their country, and the other dancing to her tamborine. This was

pretty, but my impatience was ill disposed to look or listen; when I

was awakened by a laugh, and the old man's mask being again half

turned aside, I again saw my friend: the man moved slowly through the

crowd, and I followed. We gradually twined our way through the

labyrinth of pillars, leaving the festivity further and further

behind, until he came to a low door, at which the Savoyard tapped, and

a watchword being given, the cell was opened. There our robes and

masks were laid aside; we found peasant dresses, for which we

exchanged them; and following a muffled figure who carried a lantern,

we began our movements again through the recesses of the endless

building. At length we came to a stop, and our guide lifting up a

ponderous stone which covered the entrance to a deep and dark

staircase, we began to descend. I now for the first time heard the

cheerful voice of Lafontaine at my side. "I doubt," said he, "whether

a hundred years ago any one of us would have ventured on a night march

of this kind; for, be it known to you, that we are now in the vaults

of the convent, and shall have to go through a whole regiment of monks

and abbots in full parade." I observed that, "if we were to meet them

at all, they would be less likely to impede our progress dead than

alive;" but I still advised Lafontaine to allude as little as he could

to the subject, lest it might have the effect of alarming our fair

companion. "There is no fear of that," said he, "for little Julie is

in love with M. le Comte, our gallant guide; and a girl of eighteen

desperately in love, is afraid of nothing. You Englishmen are not

remarkable for superstition; and as for me and my compatriots, we have

lost our reverence for monks in any shape since the taking of the

Bastile."

We now went on drearily and wearily through a range of catacombs,

stopping from time to time to ascertain whether we were pursued; and

occasionally not a little startled by the sudden burst of sound that

came from the revelry above, through the ventilators of these enormous

vaults. But the Count had well prepared his measures, had evidently

traced his way before, and led us on without hinderance, until we

approached a species of sallyport, which, once opened, would have let

us out into the suburb. Here misfortune first met us; none of the keys

which the Count had brought with him would fit the lock. It was now

concluded by our alarmed party, either that the design of escape had

been discovered, or that the lock had been changed since the day

before. Here was an insurmountable difficulty. To break down the gate,

or break through it, was palpably impossible, for it was strongly

plated with iron, and would have resisted every thing but a

six-pounder. What was to be done? To remain where we were was

starvation and death; to return, would be heart-breaking; yet escape

was clearly out of the question. The Count was furious, as he tried in

vain to shake the solid obstacle; Lafontaine was in despair. I,

rather more quietly, took it for granted that the guillotine would

settle all our troubles in the course of the next day; and the pretty

Julie, in a deluge of tears, charging herself with having undone us

all, hung upon the neck of her cavalier, and pledged herself, by all

the hopes and fears of passion, to die along with him. While the

lovers were exchanging their last vows, Lafontaine, in all the

vexation of his soul, was explaining to me the matchless excellence of

the plot, which had been thus defeated in the very moment of promised

success.

"You perhaps remember," said he, "the letter which the father of

Mariamne, that dearest girl whom I shall now never see again in this

world, gave you for one of his nation in Paris. On the night when I

last saw you, I had found it lying on your table; and in the confusion

of the moment, when I thought you killed, and rushed into the street

to gain some tidings of you, I took charge of the letter, to assist me

in the enquiry. Unlucky as usual, I fell into the hands of a rabble

returning from the plunder of the palace, was fired on, was wounded,

and carried to the St Lazare. The governor was a man of honour and a

royalist, and he took care of me during a dangerous illness and a slow

recovery. But to give me liberty was out of his power. I had lost

sight of the world so long, that the world lost sight of me, and I

remained, forgetting and forgotten; until, within these two days--when

I received a note from the head of the family to whom your letter was

directed, informing me that you had been arrested and sent to the very

prison in which I was--my recollection of the world suddenly revived,

and I determined to save you if possible. I had grown familiar with

the proceedings of that tribunal of demons, the Revolutionary

committee; and as I had no doubt of your condemnation, through the

mere love of bloodshed, I concerted with my Jewish friend the plan of

having you claimed as a British agent, who had the means of making

important disclosures to the government. If this succeeded, your life

was saved for the day, and your escape was prepared for the night.

This weeping girl is the daughter of the late governor, who has

engaged in our plot to save the life of her affianced husband; and

now, within an hour of daylight, when escape will be impossible, all

our plans are thrown away--we are brought to a dead stand by the want

of one miserable key, and shall have nothing more to do than to make

up our minds to die with what composure we can."

Having finished his story, the narrator wrapt up his head in his

cloak, and laid himself down like one determined never to rise again.

The Count and his Julie were so engaged in recapitulating their

sorrows, sitting side by side on a tombstone, like a pair of

monumental figures, that they had neither ear nor eye for any thing

else; but my English nature was made of sterner stuff, and thinking

that at the last I could but die, I took the lantern and set sturdily

to work to examine the gate. It was soon evident that it could be

neither undermined nor broken down by any strength of ours; but it was

also evident that the lock was the old one which had closed it perhaps

for the last century, and that the right key was the only thing

wanting. Leaving Lafontaine in his despair lying at the foot of the

monument, on which the lovers sat murmuring like a pair of turtle

doves, I determined to make a thorough search for the missing key, and

made my way back through all the windings of the catacomb, tracing the

ground step by step. Still no key was to be found. At last I reached

the cell where we had changed our dresses, and examined table, floor,

and chair. Still nothing was to be found; but, unluckily, the light of

the lantern glancing through the loop-hole of the cell, caught the eye

of the sentinel on the outside, and he challenged. The sound made me

start; and I took up one of the robes to cover the light. Something

hard struck my hand. It was in the gown of the Savoyard's daughter. I

felt its pockets, and, to my infinite astonishment and delight,

produced the key. The pretty Julie, who had procured it, had forgotten

every thing in the rapture of meeting her lover, and had left it

behind her when she threw off her masquerading costume.

I now hastened back with the rapid step becoming the bearer of good

tidings, and revived the group of despair. The key was applied to the

lock, but it refused to move, and we had another pang of

disappointment. Lafontaine uttered a groan, and Julie poured another

gush of tears upon her companion's shoulder. I made the experiment

again; the rust of the lock was now found to have been our only

hinderance; and with a strong turn the bolt flew back, and the door

was open.

We had all been so much exhausted by agitation, and the dreary

traverse of the catacomb, that the first gush of fresh air conveyed a

sensation almost of new life. The passage had probably been formed in

the period when every large building in Paris was a species of

fortress; and we had still a portcullis to pass. When we first pushed

against it, we felt another momentary pang; but age had made it an

unfaithful guardian, and a few stout attacks on its decayed bars gave

us free way. We were now under the open sky; but, to our

consternation, a new and still more formidable difficulty presented

itself. The moat was still to be passed. To attempt the drawbridge was

hopeless; for we could hear the sentinel pacing up and down its

creaking planks. The moment was critical; for a streak of grey light

in the far east showed that the day was at hand. After resolving all

imaginable plans, and abandoning them all as fruitless; determining,

at all events, never to return, and yet without the slightest prospect

of escape, except in the bottom of that sullen pool which lay at our

feet--the thought occurred to me, that in my return through the vault

I had stumbled over the planks which covered a vault lately dug for a

prisoner. Communicating my idea to Lafontaine, we returned to the

spot, loaded ourselves with the planks, and fortunately found them of

the length that would reach across the narrowest part of the fosse.

Our little bridge was made without delay, and Lafontaine led the way,

followed by the count and Julie, I waiting to see them safe across,

before I added my weight to the frail structure. But I was not yet

fated to escape. The sentinel, whose vigilance I had startled by my

lantern in the cell, had given the alarm; and, as I was setting my

foot on the plank, a discharge of fire-arms came from the battlement

above. I felt that I was struck, and a stunning sensation seized me. I

made an attempt to spring forward, but suddenly found myself unable to

move. The patrol from the drawbridge now surrounded me, and in this

helpless state, bleeding, and as I thought dying, I was hurried back

into the St Lazare.

After a fortnight's suffering in the hospital of the prison, which

alone probably saved me from the guillotine, then almost the natural

death of all the suspected, I was enabled to get on my feet again. I

found the prison as full as ever, but nearly all its inmates had been

changed except the Vendéans, whom the crooked policy of the time kept

alive, partly to avoid raising the whole province in revolt, partly as

hostages for their countrymen.

On my recovery, I had expected to be put down once more in the list

for trial; but it reached even the prison, that the government were in

a state of alarm for themselves, which prevented them from indulging

their friends in the streets with the national amusement. The chance

of mounting the scaffold themselves had put the guillotine out of

fashion; and two or three minor attempts at the seizure of the Jacobin

sceptre by the partisans of the Girondists and Cordeliers, had been

put down with such difficulty, that even the Jacobin Club had begun to

protest against bloodshed, through the prospect of a speedy

retaliation. Thus we were suffered to linger on. But, "disguise

thyself as thou wilt, still, slavery, thou art a bitter draught," and

the suspense was heart-sickening. At length, however, a bustle outside

the walls, the firing of alarm guns, and the hurrying of the national

guard through the streets, told us that some new measure of atrocity

was at hand, and we too soon learned the cause.

The army under Dumourier had been attacked by the Austrians under

Clairfait, and had been defeated with heavy loss; despatches had been

received from their favourite general, in all the rage of failure,

declaring that the sole cause of the disaster was information

conveyed from the capital to the Austrian headquarters, and demanding

a strict enquiry into the intrigues which had thus tarnished the

colours of the Republic. No intelligence could have been more

formidable to a government, which lived from day to day on the breath

of popularity; and, to turn the wrath of the rabble from themselves,

an order was given to examine the prisons, and send the delinquents to

immediate execution. It may be easily believed that the briefest

enquiry was enough for vengeance, and the prisoners of St Lazare were

the first to furnish the spectacle. A train of carts rattled over the

pavement of our cloisters, and we were ordered to mount them without

delay. The guard was so strong as to preclude all hope of resistance;

and with all the pomp of a military pageant, drums beating, trumpets

sounding, and bands playing _Ça Ira_ and the _Marseillaise_, we left

our dreary dwelling, which habit had now almost turned into a home,

and moved through the principal streets of the capital, for the

express purposes of popular display, in the centre of a large body of

horse and foot, and an incalculable multitude of spectators, until in

the distance we saw the instrument of death.

* * * * *

THE CHILD'S WARNING.

There's blood upon the lady's cheek,

There's brightness in her eye:

Who says the sentence is gone forth

That that fair thing must die?

Must die before the flowering lime,

Out yonder, sheds its leaf--

Can this thing be, O human flower!

Thy blossoming so brief?

Nay, nay, 'tis but a passing cloud,

Thou didst but droop awhile;

There's life, long years, and love and joy,

Whole ages, in that smile--

In the gay call that to thy knee

Brings quick that loving child,

Who looks up in those laughing eyes

With his large eyes so mild.

Yet, thou art doom'd--art dying; all

The coming hour foresee,

But, in love's cowardice, withhold

The warning word from thee.

God keep thee and be merciful!

His strength is with the weak;

Through babes and sucklings, the Most High

Hath oft vouchsafed to speak--

And speaketh now--"Oh, mother dear!"

Murmurs the little child;

And there is trouble in its eyes,

Those large blue eyes so mild--

"Oh, mother dear! they say that soon,

When here I seek for thee,

I shall not find thee--nor out there,

Under the old oak-tree;

"Nor up stairs in the nursery,

Nor any where, they say.

Where wilt thou go to, mother dear?

Oh, do not go away!"

Then was long silence--a deep hush--

And then the child's low sob.

_Her_ quivering eyelids close--one hand

Keeps down the heart's quick throb.

And the lips move, though sound is none,

That inward voice is prayer.

And hark! "Thy will, O Lord, be done!"

And tears are trickling there,

Down that pale cheek, on that young head--

And round her neck he clings;

And child and mother murmur out

Unutterable things.

_He_ half unconscious--_she_ deep-struck

With sudden, solemn truth,

That number'd are her days on earth,

Her shroud prepared in youth--

That all in life her heart holds dear,

God calls her to resign.

She hears--feels--trembles--but looks up,

And sighs, "Thy will be mine!"

C.

* * * * *

THE TWO PATRONS.

CHAPTER I.

The front door of a large house in Harley Street stood hospitably

open, and leaning against the plaster pillars (which were of a very

miscellaneous architecture) were two individuals, who appeared as if

they had been set there expressly to invite the passengers to walk in.

Beyond the red door that intersected the passage, was seen the

coloured-glass entrance to a conservatory on the first landing of the

drawing-room stairs; and a multitude of statues lined each side of the

lobby, like soldiers at a procession, but which the inventive skill of

the proprietor had converted to nearly as much use as ornament; for a

plaster Apollo, in addition to watching the "arrow's deathful flight,"

had been appointed custodier of a Taglioni and a Mackintosh, which he

wore with easy negligence over his head--a distracted Niobe, in the

same manner, had undertaken the charge of a grey silk hat and a green

umbrella. The Gladiator wore a lady's bonnet; the Farnese Hercules

looked like an old-fashioned watchman, and sported a dreadnought coat.

A glaring red paper gave a rich appearance to the hall; the stair

carpet also added its contribution to the rubicundity of the scene,

which was brought to a _ne plus ultra_ by the nether habiliments of

the two gentlemen who, as already stated, did the honours of the door.

A more pleasing sight than two footmen refreshing themselves on the

top of the front stairs with a view of the opposite houses, and

gratifying the anxious public at the same time with a view of

themselves, it is difficult to imagine. They always look so diffident

and respectful, that involuntarily our interest in them becomes almost

too lively for words. We think with disdain on miserable soldiers and

hungry mechanics, and half-starved paupers and whole-starved

labourers; and turn, with feelings of a very different kind, to the

contemplation of virtue rewarded, and modesty well fed, in the persons

of the two meditative gentlemen whose appearance at the front door in

Harley Street has given rise to these reflections. The elder of them,

who kept the post of honour on the right hand side, just opposite the

bell-handle, and whose superiority over the other was marked by much

larger legs, a more prominent blue waistcoat, and a slight covering of

powder over his auburn locks, looked for some time at his companion,

while an expression of ill-disguised contempt turned up to still more

dignified altitude the point of his nose. At last, as if by an effort,

he broke forth in speech.

"Snipe," he said--and seeing that Mr Snipe's ears were open, he

continued--"I can't tell how it is, but I saw, when first I came, you

had never been in a reg'lar fambly--never."

"We was always more reg'larer at Miss Hendy's nor here--bed every

night at ten o'clock, and up in the morning at five."

"You'll never get up to cribbage--you're so confounded slow," replied

the senior; "you'll have to stick to dominoes, which is only fit for

babbies. Did ye think I meant Miss Hendy's, or low people of that

kind, when I spoke of a reg'lar fambly?--I meant that you had never

seen life. Did you ever change plates for a marquis, Snipe?"

"Never heared of one. Is he in a great way of business?"

"A marquis is a reg'lar nob, you know; and gives reg'lar good wages

when you gets 'em paid. A man can't be a gentleman as lives with

vulgar people--old Pitskiver is a genuine snob."

"He's a rich gentleman," returned Mr Snipe.

"But he's low--uncommon low"--said the other--"reg'lar boiled mutton

and turnips."

"And a wery good dish too," observed Mr Snipe, whose intellect, being

strictly limited to dominoes, was not quite equal to the metaphorical.

"By mutton and turnips, I means--he may be rich; but he ain't genteel,

Snipe. Look at our Sophiar's shoulders."

Mr Snipe looked up towards his senior with a puzzled expression, as if

he waited for information--"What has Miss Sophiar's shoulders to do

with boiled mutton and turnips?"

"Nothing won't do but to be at it from the very beginning," said the

superior, with a toss of his powdered head; "fight after it as much as

ever they like, wear the best of gownds, and go to the fustest of

boarding-schools--though they plays ever so well on the piando, and

talks Italian like a reg'lar Frenchman--nothing won't do--_there's_

the boiled mutton and turnips--shocking wulgarity! Look again, I say,

at our Sophiar's shoulders, and see how her head's set on. Spinks's

Charlotte is a very different affair--and there she is at the winder

over the way. That's quite the roast fowl and blamange," he continued,

looking at a very beautiful girl who appeared at the window of one of

the opposite houses--"a pretty blowen as ever I see, and uncommon fond

of Spinks."

"I see nothing like a fowl about the young lady," replied the prosaic

Mr Snipe; "and Spinks is a horrid liar."

"But can't you judge for yourself, Snipe? That girl opposite found two

footmen and a butler all waiting to receive her, with a French

governess and a lady's maid, the moment she got out of the cradle; and

I say again she's nothing but roast fowl and blamange, or perhaps a

breast slice of pheasant, for she's uncommon genteel. How different

from our boiled veals, and parsley and butters! I shall give warning

if we don't change soon."

"She's a beautiful young lady," said Mr Snipe; "but I thinks not half

so plump and jolly as our Miss Emily or Sophia."

"Plump! do you think you've got a sporting license, and are on the

look-out for a partridge? No; I tell you all the Pitskivers is low,

and old Pits is the worst of the lot."

"I used always to hear him called a great man at Miss Hendy's,"

replied Snipe; "no end of money, and a reg'lar tip-topper. I really

expected to see the queen very often drop in to supper."

"And meet all the tag-rag we have here! What would the queen care for

all them portrait-painters, and poets, and engineers, and writing

vagabonds, as old Pits is eternally feeding? The queen knows a mighty

sight better, and wouldn't ax any body to her table as had done

nothing but write books or paint picters. No; old Pits is the boy for

patronizing them there fellers; but mark ye, Snipe, he takes the wrong

chaps. If a man is to demean himself by axing a riff-raff of authors

to his house, let it be the big 'uns; I should not care to give a bit

of dinner to Dickens or Bulwer myself."

With this condescending confession of his interest in literature, the

gentleman in the shining garments looked down the street, as if he

expected some public approval of his praiseworthy sentiments.

Being disappointed in this natural expectation, he resolved to revenge

himself by severe observations on the passers-by; but the severity was

partly lost on the slow-minded Mr Snipe--being clothed in the peculiar

phraseology of his senior, in which it appeared that some particular

dish was placed as the representative of the individual attacked. Not

that Mr Daggles--for such was the philosophical footman's name--saw

any resemblance between his master, Mr Pitskiver, and a dish of boiled

mutton and turnips, or between the beautiful young lady opposite and

the breast of a pheasant; but that, to his finely constituted mind,

those dishes shadowed forth the relative degrees in aristocracy which

Mr Pitskiver and the young lady occupied. He had probably established

some one super-eminent article of food as a high "ideal" to which to

refer all other kinds of edibles--perhaps an ortolan pie; and the

further removed from this imaginary point of perfection any dish

appeared, the more vulgar and commonplace it became; and taking it for

granted, that as far as human gradations are concerned, the loftiest

aristocracy corresponded with the ortolan pie, it is evident that Mr

Daggles's mode of assigning rank and precedence was founded on

strictly philosophical principles; as much so, perhaps, as the labours

of Debrett.

"Now, look at this old covey--twig his shorts and long gaiters: he's

some old Suffolk squire, has grown too fat for harriers, and goes out

with the greyhounds twice a-week--a truly respectable member of

society"--continued Mr Daggles with a sneer, when the subject of his

lecture had passed on--"reg'lar boiled beef and greens."

"He ain't so fat as our Mr Pitskiver," replied Snipe; "I thinks I

never see no gentleman with so broad a back; except p'raps a prize

ox."

"You should get a set of harrows to clean his Chesterfield with,

instead of a brush--it's more like a field than a coat," said Daggles.

"But look here--here comes a ticket!"

The ticket alluded to was a well-made young man, with a very healthy

complexion, long glossy black curls hanging down his cheek, a

remarkably long-backed surtout, and a small silk hat resting on the

very top of his umbrageous head. As he drew near, he slackened his

pace--passed the house slowly, looking up to the drawing-room window,

evidently in hopes of seeing some object more attractive than the vast

hydrangia which rose majestically out of a large flowerpot, and

darkened all the lower panes. Before he had proceeded ten yards, and

just when Mr Daggles had fixed in his own mind on the particular

effort of culinary skill suggested by his appearance, the ticket

turned quickly round and darted up the steps. Snipe stepped forward in

some alarm.

"Your master's not at home," said the Ticket; "but the ladies"--

"Is all out in the featon, sir."

"Will you be good enough--I see I may trust you--to give this note to

Miss Sophia? I shall take an opportunity of showing my gratitude very

soon. Will you give it?"

"Yes, sir, in course."

"Secretly? And, be assured, I shall not forget you." So saying, the

Ticket walked hurriedly away, and Snipe stood with the note still in

his hand, and looked dubiously at his companion.

Mr Daggle's eyes were fixed on the retreating figure of the Ticket;

and, after a careful observation of every part of his dress, from the

silk hat to the Wellingtons, he shook his head in a desponding manner,

and merely said--"Tripe!"

"What's to be done with this here letter?" enquired Snipe.

"Open and read it of course. By dad! I don't think you _are_ up to

dominoes; you must go back to skittles. He's evidently enclosed the

sovereign in the note; for he never could have been fool enough to

think that two gentlemen like us are to give tick for such a sum to a

stranger."

"What sum?" enquired Snipe.

"Why, the sovereign he was to pay for delivering the letter. If you

don't like to read it yourself, give it to the old snob--Pitskiver

will give you a tip."

"But the gentleman said he would show his gratitude"--

"He should have showed his tin fust. There ain't no use of denying it,

Snipe; this is a wery low establishment, and I shall cut it as soon as

I can. What right has a dowdy like our Sophia to be getting billydoos

from fellers as ought to be ashamed of theirselves for getting off

their three-legged stools at this time of the day? Give the note to

old Pits--and here, I think, he is."

Mr Pitskiver--or old Pits, as he was irreverently called by his

domestic--came rapidly up the street. He was a little man, between

fifty and sixty years of age, with an exceedingly stout body and very

thin legs. He was very red in the face, and very short in the neck. A

bright blue coat, lively-coloured waistcoat, and light-green silk

handkerchief fastened with two sparkling pins, united to each other by

a gold chain, check trowsers, and polished French leather boots,

composed his attire. He wore an eyeglass though he was not

short-sighted, and a beautifully inlaid riding-whip though he never

rode. His white muslin pocket-handkerchief hung very prominently out

of the breast pocket of his coat, and his hat was set a little on one

side of his head, and rested with a coquettish air on the top of the

left whisker. What with his prodigious width, and the flourishing of

his whip, and the imposing dignity of his appearance altogether, he

seemed to fill the street. Several humble pedestrians stepped off the

pavement on to the dirty causeway to give him room. Daggles drew up,

Snipe slunk back to hold the door, and Mr Pitskiver retired from the

eyes of men, and entered his own hall, followed by his retainers.

"If you please, sir," said Snipe, "I have a letter for Miss Sophiar."

"Then don't you think you had better give it her?" replied Mr

Pitskiver.

"A gentleman, sir, gave it to me."

"I'll give it you, too," said the master of the mansion, shaking the

whip over the astonished Snipe. "What are you bothering me with the

ladies' notes for? Any thing for me, Daggles?"

"A few parcels, sir--books, and a couple of pictures."

"No statue? My friend Bristles has deceived me. It was to have been

finished to-day. If he gives the first view to the Whalleys, I'll

never speak to him again. Nothing else? Then have the phaeton at the

door at half past five. I dine at Miss Hendy's, at Hammersmith."

While Mr Pitskiver stepped up stairs, Snipe was going over in his own

mind the different grammatical meanings of the words, "I'll give it

you." And concluding at last that, in the mouth of his master, it

meant nothing but a horsewhipping, he resolved, with the magnanimity

of many other virtuous characters who find treachery unproductive, to

be true to Miss Sophia, and give her the mysterious note with the

greatest possible secrecy.

"Now, donkey," said Daggles, aiding his benevolent advice with a kick

that made it nearly superfluous, "get down them kitchen stairs and

learn pitch-and-toss, for you haven't brains enough for any thing

else--and recollect, you owes me a sovereign; half from master for

telling, and half from the long-backed Ticket for keeping mum. You can

keep the other to yourself; for the job was well worth a sovereign

a-piece."

A knock at the door interrupted the colloquy, and Snipe once more

emerged from the lower regions, and admitted the two fair daughters of

his master.

They were stout, bustling, rosy-cheeked girls, two or three and twenty

years of age, superbly dressed in flashy silks, and bedizened with

ribands like a triumphal arch.

"Miss," said Snipe, "I've got a summut for you." And he looked as

knowing as it was possible for a student of pitch-and-toss to do.

"For me? What is it? Make haste, Thomas."

"A gentleman has been here, and left you this," replied the Mercury,

holding out the note. "He said something about giving me a guinea; but

I wasn't to let any body see."

"It is his hand--I know it!" cried Miss Sophia, and hurried up stairs

to her own room.

"You donkey!" growled Mr Daggles, who had overheard Snipe's

proceedings; "you've done me out of another ten shillings. Blowed if I

don't put you under the pump! She would have given you a guinea for

the letter by way of postage. But it all comes of living with red

herrings and gooses' eggs." And so saying Mr Daggles resumed his usual

seat in the dining-room, and went on with the perusal of the _Morning

Post_.