(_For the Mirror._)
Maturin in his fearful romance of _Melmoth_, has well exemplified the
change of character and frequent subversion of intellect occasioned by
untoward circumstances. The human mind, like a woody fibre, when
submitted to the action of a petrifying stream, gradually assimilates
the qualities of its associates. This truth is strikingly verified in
the persons of the men on our blockade stations, for the prevention of
smuggling. They are a numerous race, and inhabit little fortalices on
the coasts of our sea-girt isle, which to an imaginative mind would give
it the appearance of a beleagured citadel. The powerful, but still
ineffective means resorted to by government for the suppression of
illicit traffic, sadly demonstrates the degeneracy of our nature, and
may be seen in full operation on the coast between Margate, Dover, and
Hastings. For this purpose, the stranger on his arrival at Margate, must
take the path leading to the cliff's, eastward of the town, and after
walking a little way with the sea on his left hand, he will pass,
at intervals, certain neat, though gloomy looking cottages, chiefly
remarkable for an odd, military aspect, strongly reminding one of a red
jacket turned up with white. These, perched like the eagle's eyry on the
very edge and summit of those crested heights that "breast the billows
foam," are the _preventive stations_, inhabited by the _dumb_ and
isolated members of the blockade. These men will now be seen for the
rest of the journey, mounted on the jutting crags, straining their weary
eyes over the monotonous expanse of waters which for ever splash beneath
them--a sullen accompaniment to their gloomy avocations.
On a first sight of these men, you are ready to exclaim with Mercutio,
"Oh, flesh! how art thou fishified;" and begin to think that Shakspeare
might have had a living original for his horrid Caliban: for they are
mostly selected from amongst fishermen, on account of their excellent
knowledge of the coast, and most perfectly retain their amphibious
characteristics. The good humoured Dutch looking face is, however,
wanting; they have a savage angularity of feature, the effect of their
antisocial trade; one feels a sort of creeping horror on approaching a
fellow creature, armed at all points, in a lone and solemn place, the
haunts of desperate men, and on whose tongue an embargo is laid to speak
to no one, pacing the surly rocks, his hands on his arms, ready to deal
forth death on the first legal opportunity. Beings such as these an
amiable and delicate mind shudders to contemplate, and always finds it
difficult to conceive; yet, such are the preventive men who line our
coast--melancholy examples of the truth stated at the outset of this
paper. Occasionally, however, the good traveller will, much to his joy,
meet with an exception to this sad rule, in the person of an old
tar, whom necessity has pressed into the service, and who from long
acquaintance with the pleasures of traversing the mighty ocean, feels
little pleasure in staring at it like an inactive land-lubber, a
character which he holds in hearty contempt; besides, to fire at a
fellow Briton is against his nature; thief or no thief it crosses his
grain, and he looks at his pistols and hates himself. His situation is
miserable; he is truly a fish out of water; he loves motion, but is
obliged to stand still; his glory is a social "bit of jaw," but he dares
not speak; he rolls his disconsolate quid over his silent tongue, and is
as wretched as a caged monkey. Poor fellow! how happy would a companion
make you, to whom you could relate your battles, bouts, and courtships;
but mum is the order, and Jack is used to an implicit obeyance of
head-quarter orders. The sight of an outward bound vessel drives him
mad.
On the appearance of a suspicious sail, the blockader, all vigilance,
(Jack excepted) awaits in silence the _running_ of the devoted cargo,
when suddenly discharging one of his pistols, the air in a moment rocks
with a hundred reports, answered successively by his companions. This
arouses those in the cottages off duty; the cliffs instantly teem with
life; all hurry to the beach, by slanting passages cut in the rocks for
that purpose, and a scene of blood and death ensues too horrible for
description. Thus are sent prematurely to their graves, many poor
fellows, who, had brandy been a trifle cheaper, might have lived bright
ornaments of a world they never knew.
After leaving Dover, the scene changes very materially in its appearance;
the regimental cottages have vanished, and in their places are found
strong brick towers, placed at short distances from each other,
containing each a little garrison, over which a lieutenant presides;
from the abundance of these towers, and their proximity to each other,
the men are numerously scattered over the bleak sands, and living more
together, are a social set of creatures, compared with those westward
of Dover. The towers very much resemble the Peel Houses which, "lang
syne," bristled on the Scottish border, and like them, are built to
watch and annoy an enemy from; they are about twenty feet in height,
of a circular form, and have a concealed gallery at top with loopholes,
for observation. The preventive men have a costume peculiar to them:
white trousers, bluejacket, and white hat; a pair of pistols, a cutlass,
and a sort of carbine. A well painted picture of them, when surrounding
their little castles, a fresh breeze stirring the sea into a rage, and
a horizontal sun gilding their rugged features, would fairly rival
Salvator Rosa's brigands in the Abruzzi Mountains.