of the Americans had never been more critical than at the
present moment. A paper money, without any certain foundation,
and unmixed with any specie, was both counterfeited by the
enemy, and discredited by their partizans. They feared to
establish taxes, and had still less the power of levying them.
The people, who had risen against the taxation of England,
were astonished at paying still heavier taxes now; and the
government was without any power to enforce them. On the other
side, New-York and Philadelphia were overstocked with gold and
various merchandizes; the threatened penalty of death could
not stop a communication that was but too easy. To refuse
the payment of taxes, to depreciate the paper currency, and
feed the enemy, was a certain method of attaining wealth;
privations and misery were only experienced by good citizens.
Each proclamation of the English was supported by their
seductions, their riches, and the intrigues of the tories.
Whilst a numerous garrison lived sumptuously at New-York,
some hundreds of men, ill-clothed and ill-fed, wandered upon
the shores of the Hudson. The army of Philadelphia, freshly
recruited from Europe, abundantly supplied with everything
they could require, consisted of eighteen thousand men: that
of Valley-Forge was successively reduced to five-thousand men;
and two marches on the fine Lancaster road, (on which road also
was a chain of magazines,) by establishing the English in the
rear of their right flank, would have rendered their position
untenable; from which, however, they had no means of retiring.
The unfortunate soldiers were in want of every thing; they had
neither coats, hats, shirts, nor shoes; their feet and legs
froze till they became black, and it was often necessary to
amputate them. From want of money, they could neither obtain
provisions nor any means of transport; the colonels were often
reduced to two rations, and sometimes even to one. The army
frequently remained whole days without provisions, and the
patient endurance of both soldiers and officers was a miracle
which each moment served to renew. But the sight of their
misery prevented new engagements: it was almost impossible to
levy recruits; it was easy to desert into the interior of the
country. The sacred fire of liberty was not extinguished, it
is true, and the majority of the citizens detested British
tyranny; but the triumph of the north, arid the tranquillity
of the south, had lulled to sleep two-thirds of the continent.
The remaining part was harassed by two armies; and, throughout
this revolution, the greatest difficulty was, that, in order
to conceal misfortunes from the enemy, it was necessary to
conceal them from the nation also; that by awakening the one,
information was likewise given to the other; and that fatal
blows would have been struck upon the weakest points, before
democratic tardiness could have been roused to support them. It
was from this cause that, during the whole war, the real force
of the army was always kept a profound secret; even Congress
was not apprized of it, and the generals were often themselves
deceived. General Washington never placed unlimited confidence
in any person, except in M. de Lafayette; because for him
alone, perhaps, confidence sprung from warm affection. As the
situation grew more critical, discipline became more necessary.
In the course of his nocturnal rounds, in the midst of heavy
snows, M. de Lafayette was obliged to break some negligent
officers. He adopted in every respect the American dress,
habits, and food. He wished to be more simple, frugal, and
austere than the Americans themselves. Brought up in the lap of
luxury, he suddenly changed his whole manner of living, and his
constitution bent itself to privation as well as to fatigue.
He always took the liberty of freely writing his ideas to
congress; or, in imitation of the prudence of the general, he
gave his opinion to some members of a corps or state assembly,
that, being adopted by them, it might be brought forward in the
deliberations of congress.
"In addition to the difficulties which lasted during the
whole of the war, the winter of Valley-Forge recalls others
still more painful. At Yorktown, behind the Susquehanhah,
congress was divided into two factions, which, in spite of
their distinction of south and east, did not the less occasion
a separation between members of the same state. The deputies
substituted their private intrigues for the wishes of the
nation. Several impartial men had retired; several states had
but one representative, and in some cases not even one. Party
spirit was so strong, that three years afterwards congress
still felt the effects of it. Any great event, however, would
awaken their patriotism; and when Burgoyne declared that his
treaty had been broken, means were found to stop the departure
of his troops, which every thing, even the few provisions for
the transports, had foolishly betrayed."
In his letter to his wife, written at this time, Lafayette speaks
of American simplicity of manners, kindness of heart, and love of
country. 'They are all,' says he, brethren of one family. The richest
and the poorest man are completely on a level; and although there
are some immense fortunes in this country, I may challenge any one
to point out the slightest difference in their respective manner
toward each other.' Would that this picture of republican character
were a faithful transcript of the features of our time! We should
be glad, did our limits permit, to collate numerous passages from
his correspondence, to show how dear to the heart of this peer of
the 'nobility of nature,' were those simple habits and manners, from
which we have, as a nation, so widely departed. Thank heaven, he did
not live to behold the great and increasing change.
The letters of Lafayette to General WASHINGTON, contained in the
present volume, were penned in English, with which the marquis
was but imperfectly acquainted, and are presented precisely as
written. He does not, of course, overcome the troublesome idioms;
but the reader will often be struck with the happy combinations of
expressions, and pleasing involutions of sentences; while there is
now and then to be met with a new-coined word, than which nothing
could be more expressive. Such an one is contained in his objections
to a military court-martial, wherein he asks General Washington if it
is 'right forever to _ridiculize_ a man of respectable rank, simply
for drinking two or three gills of rum.' We here segregate this word,
and introduce it to the American reader, with the hope that it will
speedily become nationalized. It is different from, and better than,
'ridiculed.'
The correspondence, contained in the volume under notice, is
brought down to the year 1781. The letters to Madame Lafayette,
while they breathe the tenderest affection, yet burn with that
noble disinterestedness and devotion to the cause of freedom,
which characterized the life of the writer; while his epistles to
General Washington, whether detailing reverses, expressing fears,
or announcing glad tidings, are full of the warmest expressions
of friendship, which time only served to rivet into an attachment
that waxed stronger and stronger until death. Two extracts from
Washington's answers to the letters of his renowned compeer, must
close our notice of this admirable book. The first is from an epistle
written soon after the marquis's first return to France:
"It gave me infinite pleasure to hear from your sovereign,
and of the joy which your safe arrival in France had diffused
among your friends. I had no doubt that this would be the
case; to hear it from yourself, adds pleasure to the account;
and here my dear friend, let me congratulate you on your new,
honorable, and pleasing appointment in the army commanded by
the Count de Vaux, which I shall accompany with an assurance
that none can do it with more warmth of affection, or sincere
joy, than myself. Your forward zeal in the cause of liberty;
your singular attachment to this infant world; your ardent and
persevering efforts, not only in America, but since your return
to France, to serve the United States; your polite attention
to Americans, and your strict and uniform friendship for me,
have ripened the first impressions of esteem and attachment
which I imbibed for you, into such perfect love and gratitude,
as neither time nor absence can impair. This will warrant my
assuring you that, whether in the character of an officer at
the head of a corps of gallant Frenchmen, if circumstances
should require this; whether as a major-general, commanding a
division of the American army; or whether, after our swords and
spears have given place to the plough-share and pruning-hook, I
see you as a private gentleman, a friend and companion, I shall
welcome you with all the warmth of friendship to Columbia's
shores; and, in the latter case, to my rural cottage, where
homely fare and a cordial reception shall be substituted for
delicacies and costly living.
"I have a great pleasure in the visit which the Chevalier de la
Luzerne and Monsieur Marbois did me the honor to make at this
camp; concerning both of whom I have imbibed the most favorable
impressions, and I thank you for the honorable mention you made
of me to them. The chevalier, till he had announced himself
to congress, did not choose to be received in his public
character; if he had, except paying him military honors, it was
not my intention to depart from that plain and simple manner
of living which accords with the real interest and policy of
men struggling under every difficulty for the attainment of the
most inestimable blessing of life, _liberty_. The chevalier
was polite enough to approve my principle, and condescended to
appear pleased with our Spartan living. In a word, he made us
all exceedingly happy by his affability and good humor, while
he remained in camp.
"You are pleased, my dear marquis, to express an earnest
desire of seeing me in France, after the establishment of our
independency, and do me the honor to add, that you are not
singular in your request. Let me entreat you to be persuaded,
that, to meet you any where, after the final accomplishment of
so glorious an event, would contribute to my happiness; and
that to visit a country to whose generous aid we stand so much
indebted, would be an additional pleasure; but remember, my
good friend, that I am unacquainted with your language, that I
am too far advanced in years to acquire a knowledge of it, and
that to converse through the medium of an interpreter, upon
common occasions, especially with the ladies, must appear so
extremely awkward, insipid, and uncouth, that I can scarcely
bear it in idea. I will, therefore, hold myself disengaged for
the present; but when I see you in Virginia, we will talk of
this matter, and fix our plans.
"The declaration of Spain in favor of France has given
universal joy to every Whig: while the poor Tory droops like
a withering flower under a declining sun. We are anxiously
expecting to hear of great and important events on your side
of the Atlantic; at present, the imagination is left in the
wide field of conjecture; our eyes one moment are turned to an
invasion of England, then of Ireland, Minorca, Gibraltar; in
a word, we hope every thing, but know not what to expect, or
where to fix. The glorious success of Count d'Estaing in the
West Indies, at the same time that it adds dominion to France,
and fresh lustre to her arms, is a source of new and unexpected
misfortune to our _tender and generous parent_, and must serve
to convince her of the folly of quitting the substance in
pursuit of a shadow; and, as there is no experience equal to
that which is bought, I trust she will have a superabundance
of this kind of knowledge, and be convinced, as I hope all the
world and every tyrant in it will be, that the best and only
safe road to honor, glory, and true dignity, is _justice_. * * *
The operations of the enemy this campaign have been confined
to the establishment of works of defence, taking a post at
King's Ferry, and burning the defenceless towns of New-Haven,
Fairfield, and Norwalk, on the Sound, within reach of their
shipping, where little else was, or could be opposed to them,
than the cries of distressed women and helpless children; but
these were offered in vain. Since these notable exploits,
they have never stepped out of their works or beyond their
lines. How a conduct of this kind is to effect the conquest of
America, the wisdom of a North, a Germain, or a Sandwich, can
best decide; it is too deep and refined for the comprehension
of common understandings and the general run of politicians."
* * * * *
"When I look back to the length of this letter, I have not
the courage to give it a careful reading for the purpose of
correction: you must, therefore, receive it with all its
imperfections, accompanied with this assurance, that, though
there may be many inaccuracies in the letter, there is not a
single defect in the friendship of, my dear marquis, yours,"
etc.
In answer to a letter from Lafayette, asking the opinion of the
commander-in-chief in regard to a duel with Lord Carlisle--whom, for
an insult offered, as the marquis conceived, to France, in a letter
to congress, he had challenged--Washington advises him to give up the
idea of so foolish a thing. 'Experience,' says the _Pater Patria_,
'has proved, that _chance_ is often as much concerned in deciding
these matters as _bravery_, and always more than the justice of
the cause. I would not, therefore, have your life, by the remotest
possibility, exposed, when it maybe reserved for so many great
occasions.' Such was the opinion of Washington--a tolerably brave
man, it is generally admitted--of duelling. He had that _moral_
courage, in relation to this gladiatorial practice, which we are glad
to perceive is every year increasing in our country.
We may renew our notice of the present volume, in connection with a
review of its successor, which will doubtless soon be forthcoming. In
the mean time, we commend the first to every true American.
THE LIFE AND SERVICES OF COMMODORE WILLIAM BAINBRIDGE, UNITED
STATES' NAVY. By THOMAS HARRIS, M. D., Surgeon United States'
Navy, and Member of the American Philosophical Society. In one
volume, pp. 254. Philadelphia: CAREY, LEA AND BLANCHARD.
THE late hour at which we receive this valuable addition to
American Biography, must constitute our apology for the brevity
which marks our notice of its contents. The whole is a tribute to a
brave officer, and an honorable and accomplished man, who has been
fortunate in a biographer who enjoyed a close intimacy with him,
who had seen him under all circumstances of disease and health, of
exhilaration and depression, and who had thus the best opportunity
of studying his character. The writer has therefore eminently
succeeded in his purpose of drawing a plain and faithful narrative
of the prominent events of Commodore Bainbridge's life. These are
connected with a history of the partial hostilities with the French
republic, and the various actions with the Barbary powers, under the
command of Commodore Preble, and others, in which he was actively
engaged. Most of the writer's materials are fresh and interesting,
having been mainly obtained from the private journals and extensive
correspondence of Bainbridge, from conversations with him, and those
who have served under him, and from a manuscript biography of a
portion of his life, by General H. A. S. DEARBORN.
We had marked a few characteristic passages from the early history of
Bainbridge, previous to his entering the navy, where his bravery is
more familiar to American readers, but are compelled to omit them. A
spirited mezzo-tint portrait, by SARTAIN, from a painting by GILBERT
STUART, embellishes the volume.
MIDSHIPMEN'S EXPEDIENTS. By the Author of 'Rattlin the Reefer;'
and Other Tales, by Celebrated Writers. In two volumes. pp.
376. Philadelphia: CAREY, LEA AND BLANCHARD.
HOW large a portion, reader, of these two volumes, do you suppose the
'_work_' which gives them their title consumes? 'Marry, tell us that,
and unyoke.' Thirty-two pages, all told! 'Midshipmen's Expedients,'
quotha? Whosoever shall disburse the _quid pro quo_, in the belief
that he is to read a new work, in two volumes, by the author of
'Rattlin, the Reefer,' (a clever, rattling sort of book enough, and
popular withal,) will be inclined to give these volumes another and
more appropriate title, namely, '_Booksellers' Expedients_.' The
'other tales,' again, as in the case of Boz's 'Tuggs at Ramsgate,'
are out of all proportion; since they predominate in number by just
eighteen! They are well enough, in their way, as English magazine
papers; but they are not 'Midshipmen's Expedients,' as any purchaser
would be led to suppose. 'On the contrary, quite the reverse,' as
the annexed list of contents will show. The first volume has 'Sandie
Sandeman, the Piper,' 'The Old Farm-House, 'Mrs. Smith at Home,
or More Smiths,' 'The Landlord of Royston,' 'The Irish,' 'Lord
Lieutenant and His Double,' and 'John Smith.' The second volume
contains, 'The Guerilla,' by KNOWLES, 'One Witness,' a law story,
DOUGLAS JERROLD'S 'Preacher Parrot, or The Trials of Truth,' 'The Man
with many Namesakes,' 'The Pleasure Party,' and 'The Rival Colors.'
The two volumes are of that _scrappy_ cast, so much desiderated by
steam-boat travellers, and such as are troubled with _ennui_, a
disease peculiarly incident to those who have nothing to do.
EDITORS' TABLE.
POCAHONTAS--A TRAGEDY.--There are certain dreamers, who flatter
themselves that they are philanthropists, yet cannot believe that the
recitation of a moral essay or dramatic poem, or a representation
of a historical fact, by a combination of ingenious individuals,
can be an evil. They think that a living, moving, and speaking
picture of an event will impress it more indelibly on the mind,
than the historian's page can possibly do. They imagine that moral
truths, conveyed by fable, apologue, or parable, and the characters
introduced by the teacher presented to the eye, and acting, speaking,
looking the thoughts, expressions, and combined movements of the
story, must be more delightful and impressive, than any other mode
of instruction; in short, that a good play, represented by good
performers, to an enlightened, judicious, and virtuous audience, is
one of the most effective methods of conveying instruction that the
wit of man has devised.[7]
The question then presents itself, 'Why are theatres avoided and
reprobated by very many of the wise and good?' Is it not because
they are prostituted to the pleasures of the foolish and wicked? And
why are they thus prostituted? Is it not because their directors
have nothing in view but pecuniary emolument? Garrick said, 'Those
who live to please, must please to live.' Every wretch that allures
to vice, by meretricious display, may say the same, and think he
is excused. But is there no better mode of living? Is there no way
by which a theatre can be supported, but by enticing within it the
votaries of folly, vice, and guilt?
Where a king or despot rules, he can open a theatre at the expense
of the state, and exclude from its walls much that contaminates the
seats of similar establishments in great cities generally. This
has been done. We would ask, then, why a combination of private
individuals, in a republic, moderately rich, prudently liberal,
loving instruction in its most delightful and impressive form,
wishing to inspire their children with the desire for knowledge,
by making its lessons pleasure, and, by imbuing them with taste,
guarding them against the allurements of sensuality--why, we would
ask, may not such a combination establish a theatre, as well as a
lyceum or athenæum?
Performers should be chosen for their moral characters as well as
their talents; auditors admitted only of known respectability; a
committee of directors, elected from the proprietors, and the pieces
to be represented, decided upon by them.
Such a theatre would not be shunned by the 'good and the wise.' No
parent would fear to lead his child to such a school; and the pieces
represented might be as attractive as 'Mother Goose,' 'Tom and
Jerry,' or any other modern effort of genius.
The directors of such an institution might find that it would not
be costly to the proprietors. Emolument must not be sought. Authors
might be encouraged to compose dramatic works, such as would be
appropriate for a theatre so conducted; and the committee would, in
the mean time, find many prepared to begin with.
The tragedy, whose name appears at the head of this article, is one
that would honor the choice of such a committee. It is the production
of a man of genius, learning, taste, and morality. It adheres to
historical truth, and exhibits, in an instructive light, the vices
and virtues of both savage and civilized society. We might select
many passages, and even scenes, with commendation; but shall only ask
the attention of the reader to the following beautiful illustration
of the power of letters, and the admiration excited in the minds of
the aborigines by written communication.
_Rolfe._ Look here! (_Writes._
Take that to Captain Smith, and ask him what
It says.
_Nom._ What says it, Sachem Smith?
_Smith._ What's this?
_Nom._ Rolfe's speaking leaf. What say's't?
_Smith._ (_Reads._) 'Nomony loves.'
_Nom._ Nomony! Give it me! Nomony! I?
(_Turning it round, and examining
it in all directions._
It cannot be. Where are my legs, my arms,
My body? This like me! Look, Pocahontas!
_Poc._ 'Tis very strange.
_Nom._ (_To_ ROLFE.) You told him what it was.
_Rolfe._ Indeed I did not.
_Nom._ Let me see't again.
Nomony! Ah! Rolfe, let me shut you out,
While Sachem Smith speaks to the leaf again,
Then see if you can tell us what it says. (_Shuts him out._
Speak to it, father Smith.
_Smith._ What shall it say?
_Nom._ Oh, any thing. Say--Pocahontas loves not.
_Smith._ Loves not? (_Writes._)
_Nom._ Ay, that will tease him. Say it.
Now, brother Rolfe, come in. What says the leaf? (_Giving it._
_Rolfe._ Ah! cruel leaf! Speaks it the truth? She loves not?
(_Looking at_ POCAHONTAS.
_Nom._ Who?
_Rolfe._ (_To_ POCAHONTAS.) Thou lov'st not?
_Nom._ Let me see't!
_Rolfe._ (_To_ POCAHONTAS.) Thou said'st so! Thou!
_Nom._ No, no; content thee: it was I who bid it
Say that. Rolfe, can a red man make it speak?
_Rolfe._ Any one can. You, or your sister.
_Nom._ Can I?
I'd give my bow, of yellow orange wood--
The best in all our settlement--to know
That medicine!
_Poc._ I think I understand it.
_Nom._ Well?
_Poc._ It is possible, to put a sign,
A mark of something that you both have seen,
And both can understand.
_Rolfe._ But we can put
A mark for that which we have never seen.
_Nom._ Indeed! Oh, show me that! Rolfe, turn your back,
And don't look round.
_Poc._ Now, sister, 'tis my turn.
(_Whispers_ SMITH, _who writes_.
Give it to _Rolfe_. (_To_ NOMONY.)
_Rolfe._ (_Reads._) 'Paspaho.'
_Nom._ Thou hast seen him?
_Rolfe._ Never.
_Nom._ (_Looking at the paper._) And that's Paspaho!
(_To_ ROLFE.) Is he tall or short?
_Rolfe._ Nay, you put writing to an unfair test;
I cannot tell.
_Nom._ Not tell! How can the leaf
Name whom it never saw, yet know not whether
He's tall or short?
_Rolfe._ Smith did not tell it that.
_Nom._ Tell it, good Sachem _Smith_. (SMITH _writes_.
(_To_ ROLFE.) Now see, an if it knows. You smile! What is't?
_Rolfe._ (_Reads._) 'Paspaho's a young warrior, tall and brave.'
_Nom._ (_Kisses the paper._) Dear leaf, I love you!
_Rolfe._ I will teach you how
To write, an if you will.
_Nom._ To write! What's that?
_Rolfe._ To speak on such a leaf.
_Nom._ Oh joy! I'm ready.
_Rolfe._ I cannot teach you in an hour--a day;
We must have many days.
_Nom._ Must we? I'm sorry.
But we shall soon return.
_Rolfe._ I'll bless the art
Of writing, while I live!
_Nom._ And when I've learnt it,
If I have something that I fain would say,
And yet not wish to speak it, then I'll make
The leaf speak for me.
_Poc._ Ay, and think, dear sister,
How sweet, when one is absent far from those
One loves, to send a speaking leaf like this,
And bid it say, we live and love them still!
_Rolfe._ In many lands, beyond the Great Salt Lake,
These speaking messengers are daily sent,
Folded and fastened, so that he who bears them
Knows not their contents. Thus, far distant tribes
Speak to each other.
_Poc._ Strange!
_Rolfe._ The deeds of warriors
Are noted down upon these speaking leaves;
Which never die, nor spoil by being kept:
And thus their children and their children's children
Hear what has happened thousand snows before.
* * * * *