WANDERINGS IN THE OLD WORLD
AND THE NEW.
1794-1798
Louis Philippe in Sweden.--His incognito.--Journeying northward.--Court
ball of King Gustavus.--Despotism of the Directory.--The duke urged to
join the emigrants.--Letter from the duchess to her son.--Embarkation
for America.--Sufferings of the young princes.--Their destitution.--The
attempt to escape.--Strong affection for each other.--The release of
the captives.--The contrast.--Blending of joy and anxiety.--The long
and stormy voyage.--Visit to Mount Vernon.--The republican
landlord.--Driven from the inn.--Journeying in the wilderness.--Indian
hospitality.--Letter from the Duke of Montpensier.--Hardships of
travel.--Return to Philadelphia.--Crossing the Alleghanies.--Floating
down the river.--Welcome in New Orleans.--Arrogance of the British
Government.--Action of the French Government.--The "right of
search."--Narrow escape.
The peninsula of Scandinavia can be explored at a very slight
expense. The exiled prince, with his companions, travelled in the
most unostentatious manner. He felt quite secure in his wanderings,
as but few of the emigrants had penetrated those distant regions.
From Copenhagen he passed to Elsineur, visiting all objects of
historic interest. Crossing the Sound at Helsinbourg, he entered the
hospitable realms of Sweden. After a brief tarry at Gottenburg, and
ascending Lake Wener, he directed his steps towards Norway, remaining
for a short period at Friedrichsthal, where, in 1718, the half-mad
Charles XII., after perhaps the most stormy life through which a
mortal ever passed, breathed his last.
Proceeding to Christiania, he was received, as an intelligent and
affable traveller, with much distinction, though no one suspected his
rank. Wherever he went the purity of his character impressed itself
upon the community. M. Monod--subsequently a distinguished pastor of
one of the Protestant churches in Paris--was then at Christiania. He
fully appreciated the unusual virtues of his countryman, who, in
every word and action, manifested the spirit of true Christianity.
"M. Monod has repeatedly since been heard to declare," write A.
Laugier and Carpentier, "that the more the virtuous and instructive
life of this traveller was examined, the more exalted and exemplary
it appeared. What must have been his surprise when, subsequently, in
his own country, he recognized in the young Frenchman of Christiania,
so gentle and modest, a prince of the blood standing upon the very
steps of the throne of France!"
For some time the duke remained at Christiania, receiving many kind
attentions. On one occasion he dined with a numerous party at a
banker's in the city. In the evening, at the close of the
entertainment, as the guests were departing, the duke was startled
and alarmed by hearing the son of the banker, in a loud and somewhat
playful tone, call out, "The carriage of the Duke of Orleans." For a
moment he was much embarrassed. But perceiving that neither the
young man nor any of the company turned their eyes to him, he
recovered his self-possession, and calmly inquired of the young man,
"Why do you call for the carriage of the Duke of Orleans? What have
you to do with him?"
"Nothing at all," he replied, with a smile; "but in a journey which
we, not long ago, made to Paris, every evening, as we were coming out
of the opera, we heard the people shouting on all sides, and with the
greatest eagerness, '_La voiture de Monseigneur le Duc d'Orleans! les
gens de son Altesse Royale?_' I was almost stunned by the noise. At
the moment it occurred to me to imitate them, instead of simply
calling for the carriage."[D]
[Footnote D: Vie Anecdotique de Louis Philippe, p. 120.]
Continuing his journey to the north, the prince passed through
Drontheim and Hamersfeldt, which latter place was then the most
northern town in Europe. Some years after, when Louis Philippe had
ascended the throne of France, he sent a clock to the church tower in
Hamersfeldt, in graceful recognition of his hospitable reception
there as a stranger.
[Illustration: NORTH CAPE.]
Continuing along the coast of Norway, he reached the Gulf of
Salten, and visited the world-renowned Maelstrom. Taking an
Icelander, by the name of Holm, as his guide, he entered Lapland.
Thus journeying, he, on the 24th of August, 1795, reached North Cape,
the extreme northern point of Europe, within eighteen degrees of the
North Pole. It is said that no Frenchman had ever before visited
those distant and frigid regions. Here the duke remained for
several weeks, enjoying the hospitality of the simple-hearted
inhabitants--winning their confidence by his affability, and deeply
interested in studying their manners and customs.
Then, turning directly south, accompanied by several of the natives,
he reached Tornev, on the extreme northern shore of the Gulf of
Bothnia. Thence he traversed the eastern shores of the gulf for many
weary leagues, to Abo, in Finland, where he embarked for the Aland
Islands, and reached Stockholm the latter part of October. Here,
notwithstanding all his endeavors to preserve his incognito, his
curiosity to witness a grand court ball, given in honor of the
birth-day of King Gustavus II., led to his recognition by the French
envoy at that court, though he had adopted the precaution of
entering the highest gallery in the ball-room.
The king, being informed of his presence, immediately dispatched a
messenger to say that his majesty would be happy to see the
duke. The kindest attentions were lavished upon him. From such
attentions he deemed it prudent to escape, and speedily resumed his
wanderings--searching out and carefully examining all objects of
historical interest. Recrossing the Sound, he returned to Hamburg, by
the way of Copenhagen and Lubeck. The Revolution was still running
riot in France. The duke, having exhausted the resources at his
disposal, found himself in truly an embarrassing situation.
The _Directory_ was at that time ruling France with despotic sway.
Ever trembling in fear of a reaction, the Directors would gladly
place beneath the slide of the guillotine any one in whose veins
there ran a drop of royal blood. Fearful of the great influence of
the house of Orleans, even when its property was sequestered, and its
members were in prison or in exile, the greatest efforts had been
made, by means of secret agents, to find out the retreat of Louis
Philippe. At length, by some means, they discovered him in the small
town of Frederichstadt, in Holstein. His two brothers were then in
prison in Marseilles, in hourly danger of being dragged to the
guillotine, upon which their father had perished.
The Directory proposed to the Duchess of Orleans, who was imprisoned
in Paris, and to Louis Philippe, now the head of the family, that if
the duke and his brothers would embark for America, leaving Europe,
the two imprisoned princes should be restored to liberty, and the
sequestrated property of the family should be refunded.
Louis XVIII., also an emigrant, in the bosom of the armies of
Austria, and surrounded by the armed nobility of France, had
previously, through an envoy, urged Louis Philippe to join the
emigrants, in their attempt, by the aid of the sword of foreigners,
to re-establish the throne of France. But the prince was not willing
to bear arms against his native land.
The agents of the Directory, who now approached the prince, presented
him a letter from his mother. Her husband had suffered a cruel death
from the executioner. Her two sons were in hourly peril of the same
fate. Her eldest son and her daughter were in exile, wandering in
poverty, she knew not where. She herself was a captive, cruelly
separated from all her family, exposed to many insults, and liable,
at any hour, to suffer upon the scaffold the same fate which her
queen, Maria Antoinette, and many others of the noblest ladies of
France had already endured.
The affectionate heart of this amiable woman was lacerated with
anguish. She wrote a letter to her son, which was intrusted to the
agents in search of him, imploring him, in the most affecting terms,
to rescue the family, by a voluntary exile to America, from its
dreadful woes and perils. In the letter she wrote:
"May the prospect of relieving the misfortunes of your
distressed mother, of mitigating the sorrows of your family,
and of contributing to restore peace to your unhappy
country, reward your generosity."
The duke, upon the reception of this letter, decided at once to
embark for America. To his mother he wrote: "When my beloved mother
shall have received this letter, her commands will have been
executed, and I shall have sailed for America. I shall embark in the
first vessel destined for the United States. I no longer think that
happiness is lost to me while I have it in my power to alleviate the
sorrows of a cherished mother, whose situation and sufferings have
for a long time rent my heart."[E]
[Footnote E: A. Laugier et Carpentier, p. 132.]
On the 24th of September, 1796, the Duke of Orleans embarked at
Hamburg in an American vessel, "The America," then a regular packet
plying between that port and Philadelphia. Still retaining his
incognito, he represented himself as a Dane, and obtained Danish
passports. He paid thirty-five guineas for his passage, and took with
him his ever-faithful servant Baudoin, for whom he paid seventeen and
a half guineas. A favorable passage of twenty-seven days landed them
at Philadelphia, on the 21st of October, 1796.
We have not space here to describe the cruel sufferings of the two
younger brothers of Louis Philippe during their captivity. The elder
of the two, the Duke of Montpensier, was but seventeen years of age;
the younger, Count Beaujolais, was but thirteen. The brothers were
confined separately, in dark, fetid dungeons, and were not allowed
any communication with each other. The health of Beaujolais soon
began to suffer, and it was evident that he must die unless he could
have fresh air. The Duke of Montpensier writes, in his touching
autobiography:
"My brother Beaujolais was consequently permitted to spend
two or three hours each day in the open air, and was then
remanded to his dungeon. His cell being above mine, he was
obliged to pass my door on his way out, and he never failed
to call out, 'Good-day, Montpensier; how are you?' It is
impossible to describe the effect his gentle voice had upon
me, or the distress I felt when a day passed without my
hearing it; for he was sometimes actually forbidden to utter
these words, and was always hurried by so quickly that he had
scarce time to hear my answer. Once, however, that he was
permitted to remain until my dinner was brought, he kept so
close to the heels of the basket-bearer that, in spite of the
administrators, who tried to hold him back, he darted into my
cell and embraced me. It was six weeks since I had seen
him--six wretched weeks. The moment was precious, but how
short! He was torn from me forthwith, with threats of being
no more allowed to go out should the same scene be repeated.
I myself was not afterwards permitted, when my cell door was
opened, to go near enough to catch the breeze which passed up
the narrow staircase."
The princes were not allowed to see the public journals, or to
receive from their friends any letters which had not been previously
examined by their jailers. They were left in entire ignorance of
their father's execution until some time after his head had fallen.
When the awful tidings were conveyed to them, both of the young
princes, weakened by imprisonment and misery, fainted away. The
hatred with which they were pursued is evinced by the epithet of
_wolves' cubs_, which was ever applied to them in the clubs of the
Jacobins. Eight francs a day were allowed for their support. Their
mother had sent to them, for their immediate necessities, twelve
thousand francs ($2400); but the magistrates had seized the whole
sum. As the weary months rolled on, there were variations in the
treatment of the illustrious prisoners--it sometimes being more and
sometimes less brutal, but ever marked with almost savage ferocity.
After the fall of Robespierre, a decree was passed--
"That the imprisoned members of the Orleans family should
have the outer walls of the fort as the limits of their
captivity, the privilege of ranging about within those
bounds, and in future they were not to be locked up in their
cells."
The mother of the princes, the Duchess of Orleans, who had been in
close surveillance in the palace of the Luxembourg, in Paris, also
experienced very considerable alleviation in the severity of her
treatment. From various quarters the captives at length obtained
funds, so that their pecuniary wants were supplied. On the 18th of
November, 1795, the princes made a desperate but unavailing effort to
escape. The breaking of a rope by which Montpensier was endeavoring
to let himself down, outside of the walls, precipitated him from a
great height to the ground, very seriously breaking one of his legs.
He was recaptured, and suffered terribly from mental and bodily
anguish. His brother, Beaujolais, having effected his escape,
learning of the misfortune which had befallen his brother, returned,
with true brotherly love, to voluntary captivity, that he might do
something to cheer the sufferer.
Upon the return of Beaujolais, the commandant of the prison said,
exultingly, to the Duke of Montpensier, who was writhing upon a bed
of bodily suffering and of mental anguish:
"Your young brother is again my prisoner in the fortress, and burns
with anxiety to see you. You are henceforth to be confined
separately, and will no longer have an opportunity to communicate
with each other."
The two brothers were allowed one short interview. "Ah, brother,"
said Beaujolais, "I fear we shall derive no benefit from what I have
done, for we are to be confined separately. But without you it was
impossible for me to enjoy liberty."
For forty days Montpensier was confined to his bed. It was a year and
a half before he entirely recovered the use of his broken limb. Thus
three years of almost unmitigated wretchedness passed away. There
were many massacres in the prison; and often it seemed that
miraculous interposition alone had saved them from a bloody death.
Gradually the horrors of the Reign of Terror seemed to subside. The
captive princes were allowed to occupy a room together, and that a
comfortably furnished apartment in the fort, overlooking the sea. It
was under these circumstances that the mother consented to their
banishment to America, as the condition of their liberation. The
Directory, however, would not open their prison doors until it had
received official intelligence of the embarkation of Louis Philippe.
Immediately upon being satisfied that the Duke of Orleans had sailed
from Hamburg, the authorities prepared to release the princes from
their captivity, and to send them also to the New World. When all
things were ready, General Willot, a humane man, who had arrived at
Marseilles with extensive powers, informed them that the hour for
their release had come.
"The prisoners at first could scarcely credit their senses. They
looked steadfastly at each other; then, throwing themselves into each
other's arms, they began to cry, laugh, leap about the room, and for
several minutes continued to manifest a temporary derangement."
It would still be a few days before the vessel would sail.
Jacobinical fury was such in Marseilles that it was not safe for the
princes to appear in public, lest they should be torn in pieces by
the mob. They were therefore removed to the house of the American
consul, Mr. Cathalan, who had manifested almost a brotherly interest
in their welfare.
"It is impossible to describe," writes the Duke Montpensier,
in his autobiography, "the sensations I experienced in
crossing the draw-bridge, and contrasting the present moment
with the frightful occasions on which I had passed it before;
the first time, on my entrance into that dismal fortress,
where I had been immured for nearly three years of my life;
and the second, on my unfortunate attempt to escape from it
and recover my liberty. The gratifying reflection that I now
trod on it for the last time could with difficulty impress
itself upon my mind; and I could not avoid fancying that the
whole was a sleeping vision, the illusion of which I was
every moment apprehensive of seeing dissipated. On our exit
from the fort, we were received by a strong detachment of
grenadiers, who conducted us to the sloop."
Being thus placed under the protection of the stars and stripes, the
soldiers of the Directory left them, and they repaired immediately
from the vessel to the house of the American consul, where several
friends had assembled to greet them.
"Here," continues M. Montpensier in his journal, "we passed
very agreeably the few days that remained before the
departure of the vessel for America. We were, indeed, true
birds of the night--only venturing out after dusk; but our
days passed happily enough. Still, we were too near that
abode of misery, the fort, which we never ceased to think of
without anguish. And so apprehensive were we of a sudden
change in the sentiments of the existing Government, or an
actual revolution in the Government itself, that our anxiety
to depart was almost insupportable. At last we were informed
that the vessel would sail the following day. The effect of
this joyous news was the total loss of our rest during the
night. Seven o'clock in the morning of the 5th of November,
1796, found us awake and in transports of delight at being
permitted to take wings and fly to some land of toleration
and liberty, since our own had ceased to be such.
"The citizens of Marseilles, being informed of our intended
departure, assembled in crowds to see us embark. The ramparts
of the fort were lined, the windows filled. Almost all
congratulated us upon the recovery of our liberty. Some
envied us our lot; while a few, undoubtedly, wished that the
sea might ingulf us where its depth was greatest, and rid
France of two members of the proscribed and hated race. The
anchor was raised, and the sails were set. A favorable breeze
springing up, we soon lost sight of that country in which we
had been victims of a persecution so relentless, but for
whose prosperity and happiness we never ceased to offer up
our prayers to heaven."
The voyage was long and stormy. It was not until after the expiration
of _ninety-two_ days that the vessel, the "Jupiter," reached
Philadelphia, in February, 1797. Here, with inexpressible emotions of
joy, they found their brother awaiting their arrival. They took up
their residence in a humble house in Walnut Street, between Fourth
and Fifth streets, adjoining the church; from which they soon removed
to a house which they rented from the Spanish consul, in Sixth
Street.
Philadelphia was then the seat of the Federal Government. The
incognito of the princes was removed, and they were received with
marked respect and attentions. They were present when Washington
delivered his Farewell Address to Congress, and also witnessed the
inauguration of President Adams. The funds of the princes, though
not large, enabled them to meet their frugal expenses. In the
early summer the three princes--accompanied by the faithful
servant Baudoin, who had accompanied Louis Philippe in all his
wanderings--set out on horseback to visit Baltimore and other
Southern cities. The present City of Washington did not then exist.
They, however, visited Georgetown, where they were hospitably
entertained by Mr. Law.
Passing through Alexandria, they took the road to Mount Vernon, where
they had been invited to pass a few days with perhaps the most
illustrious man of modern ages. Washington, with whom they had become
acquainted in Philadelphia, and who had invited them to his house,
received them with the greatest kindness. The modest, gentlemanly,
heroic character of these remarkable young men deeply impressed him.
He furnished them with letters of introduction, and drew up an
itinerary of their journey, south and west, directing their attention
to especial objects of interest.
In those early days, and through that wild, almost uncultivated
country, travelling was attended with not a little difficulty and
with some danger. Mounted on horseback, with all their baggage in
saddle-bags, the princes took leave of their honored host, and rode,
by the way of Leesburg and Harper's Ferry, to Winchester, where they
were entertained in the celebrated inn of Mr. Bush. An American has
in the following terms described the character and appearance of this
celebrated landlord:
"I have him in my mind's eye as he was then, portly, ruddy,
though advanced in life, with a large, broad-brimmed hat, and
with his full clothes of the olden time, looking the very
patriarch of his establishment. He had two houses--one for
his family, and the other for his guests; and there was no
resting-place in all that rich valley more frequented by
travellers than his. It was a model of neatness and comfort,
and the excellent man who built it up, and who continued it
more from the desire of employment than from the love of
gain, seemed to consider the relations subsisting between the
traveller and himself as a favor to the former rather than to
the latter."
Mr. Bush had been in Manheim, which Louis Philippe had recently
visited, and he could speak German. This created quite an intimacy
between guest and host, and led to a long conversation. The journey
had been rough, the exposure great, and the youngest brother,
unaccustomed to such fatigue, was greatly exhausted. The Duke of
Orleans, who watched over his brother with parental tenderness, out
of regard to his prostration, asked the privilege, so common in
Europe, of having their dinner served to them in their own room. The
pride of the republican inn-keeper was touched.
"Such a request," writes G. N. Wright, "had never been heard
in the fair and fertile vale of Shenandoah, or, at all
events, within the limits of Bush's Winchester Hotel. It
infringed his rules; it wounded his professional pride; it
assailed his very honor. The recollection of Manheim, and the
pleasant days he had passed there--the agreeable opportunity
of living over those hours again in the conversation of the
Duke of Orleans--the gentle conduct of the three young
strangers--were all, in a moment of extravagant folly,
passion, and intractableness, forgotten, flung to the winds,
when, with a scornful air, he addressed Louis Philippe:
"'Since you are too good to eat at the same table with my
guests, you are too good to eat in my house. I desire,
therefore, that you leave it instantly.'"[F]
[Footnote F: Life and Times of Louis Philippe, by Rev. G. N. Wright,
p. 21.]
In vain did the Duke of Orleans endeavor to explain and convince his
irate host that he intended no disrespect. The weary travellers were
compelled immediately to leave, and to seek hospitality elsewhere.
Continuing their journey through a variety of adventures, some
amusing and some painful, they passed through Staunton, Abington, and
Knoxville, and reached Nashville, in Tennessee. After a short tarry
here, they continued their ride through Louisville, Lexington,
Maysville, Chilicothe, Lancaster, Zanesville, Wheeling, to Pittsburg,
in Pennsylvania. Their accommodations in these vast wilds were often
of the humblest kind. The three brothers often slept on the floor,
wrapped in their cloaks, in some wretched hut, with their feet
towards the blazing fire, while their landlord and his wife occupied
the only bed in the only room.
At Pittsburg the travellers rested for several days. From that place
the princes directed their steps to Buffalo, skirting, for some
distance, the shores of Lake Erie. At Cattaraugus they were the
guests, for one night, of the Seneca Indians. They felt some anxiety
in reference to their baggage, the loss of which, in those distant
regions, would have been a serious calamity. The chief, perceiving
their solicitude, said that he would be personally responsible for
every article which might be committed to his care, but for nothing
else. After a little reflection, the duke placed in his hands
saddles, bridles, blankets, clothes, and money--every thing, except a
beautiful dog, which he did not think of including in the inventory.
All were restored in the morning, excepting that the dog was missing.
"If the dog," said the chief, "had been intrusted to my care, it
would have been waiting your departure." With some difficulty the
favorite animal was reclaimed.
At Buffalo the travellers crossed the head of the Niagara River, and,
passing down the Canadian shore, visited the world-renowned falls. On
their way, they passed a night in the huts of the Chippewa Indians.
The following extracts, written by the Duke of Montpensier to his
sister, throw much light upon the character of these excellent young
men. It was dated August 14, 1797:
"I hope you have received the letters which we wrote to you
from Pittsburg about two months ago. We were then in the
midst of a long journey, which we have terminated only
fifteen days since. It occupied us four months. We
journeyed during all that time a thousand leagues, and
always upon the same horses, except the last hundred
leagues, which we performed partly by water, partly on foot,
partly on hired horses, and partly by stage, or the public
conveyance.
"We have seen many Indians, and we remained even many days
in their country. They are, in general, the best people in
the world, except when they are intoxicated or inflamed by
passion. They received us with great kindness; and our being
Frenchmen contributed not a little to this reception, for
they are very fond of our nation. The most interesting
object we visited, after the Indian villages, was certainly
the Cataract of Niagara, which I wrote you word from
Pittsburg that we were going to see. It is the most
astonishing and majestic spectacle I have ever witnessed. I
have made a sketch of it, from which I intend to make a
water-color drawing, which our dear little sister shall
certainly see at our beloved mother's home.
"To give you an idea of the agreeable manner in which they
travel in this country, I must tell you, dear sister, that
we passed fourteen nights in the woods, devoured by all
kinds of insects, often wet to the bone, without being able
to dry ourselves, and our only food being pork, a little
salt beef, and maize bread. Independently of this adventure,
we were forty or fifty nights in miserable huts, where we
were obliged to lie upon a floor made of rough timber, and
to endure all the taunts and murmuring of the inhabitants,
who often turned us out of doors, often refused us
admission, and whose hospitality was always defective. I
should never recommend a similar journey to any friend of
mine; yet we are far from repenting what we have done, since
we have all three brought back excellent health and more
experience.
"Adieu, beloved and cherished sister--so tenderly loved.
Receive the embraces of three brothers, whose thoughts are
constantly with you."
As the travellers were proceeding from Buffalo to Canandaigua, over a
country so rude that they suffered more than on any other part of
their journey, they met Mr. Alexander Baring, afterwards Lord
Ashburton, whose acquaintance they had made in Philadelphia. Mr.
Baring was on a tour to Niagara, from which the princes were
returning. His patience was quite exhausted by the hardships he was
enduring on the way; and he expressed the doubt whether the sight of
Niagara could repay one for such excessive toil and privation. His
experience must, indeed, have been different from that of the modern
tourist, who glides smoothly along in the palace-cars. Arriving at
Geneva, they took a boat and sailed up Seneca Lake to its head;
whence they crossed over to Tioga Point, on the Susquehanna. The last
twenty-five miles of this trip they accomplished on foot, each one
carrying his baggage. Passing through the country, in almost a direct
line, by the way of Wilkesbarre, they returned to Philadelphia.
Soon after their return the yellow-fever broke out in Philadelphia
with great malignity, in July, 1797. The princes had expended on
their long journey all their funds, and were impatiently awaiting
remittances from Europe. They were thus unable to withdraw from the
pestilence, from which all who had the means precipitately fled. It
was not until September that their mother succeeded in transmitting
to them a remittance.
With these fresh resources they commenced a journey to the Eastern
States, passing through the States of New York, Connecticut, Rhode
Island, and Massachusetts, to Boston; and it is said that they
extended their travels to Hallowell, in the District of Maine, to
call upon the Vaughans, an illustrious family from England, then
residing there.
Louisiana at that time belonged to Spain. The exiles decided to cross
the country to the Ohio, descend the river to New Orleans, and thence
to proceed to Havana, on the island of Cuba, by some Spanish vessel.
Returning to Philadelphia, they set out, on the 10th of December,
1797, to cross the Alleghanies. Upon those heights and gorges winter
had already set in, and the cold was very severe. Just before
leaving, they learned that the Directory had passed a decree
banishing every member of the Bourbon family from France, including
their mother, who was a Bourbon only by marriage, and that their
mother had taken refuge in Spain. At that time Spain was in alliance
with France, and the British Government was consequently at war
against it.
At Pittsburg they found the Alleghany still open, but the Monongahela
was frozen over. They purchased a small keel-boat, which they found
lying upon the ice, and with considerable difficulty transported it
to a point where they could launch it in the open water, though the
stream was encumbered with vast masses of floating ice. Then the
three brothers, with but three attendants, embarked to float down the
Ohio and the Mississippi, through an almost unbroken wilderness of
nearly two thousand miles, to New Orleans. When they arrived at
Wheeling, Virginia, where there was a small settlement, they found
their way hedged up by solid ice, which filled the stream, from shore
to shore. They drew their boat upon the land, to wait for an opening
through this effectual barricade. Louis Philippe, with characteristic
energy, impatient of delay, ascended an eminence, and, carefully
surveying the windings of the river, found that the obstruction of
ice occupied only about three miles, beyond which the stream was
clear.
Watching their opportunity, they forced their way through some miles
of broken ice, and continued their adventurous voyage. An American
military courier, less energetic, was detained three weeks by the
obstructions which the French party thus speedily overcame. At
Marietta, Ohio, they found another small village. Here they landed to
lay in supplies; and they spent some time in examining those Indian
mounds so profusely scattered there--interesting memorials of an
extinct race.
Continuing their voyage amidst the masses of ice which still
encumbered these northern waters, they one day, through the
negligence of their helmsman, ran against a branch of a tree, termed
a _snag_, and stove in their bows. The boat was immediately unloaded,
drawn upon the shore, and in twenty-four hours was so repaired as to
enable them to continue their journey. As they entered more southern
latitudes the floating ice disappeared, and the voyage became more
pleasant, as they rapidly floated down the tortuous stream, by
forests and headlands, and every variety of wild, sublime, and
beautiful scenery, until they reached New Orleans, on the 17th of
February, 1798.
Here they met with a very friendly welcome, not only from the
colonists generally, but from the Spanish governor, Don Gayoso. They
were detained in New Orleans five weeks, awaiting the arrival of the
corvette which was engaged in conveying passengers and light freight
from that port to Havana. Impatient of the delay, as the packet did
not arrive, they embarked in an American vessel. England was then
truly mistress of the seas. She made and executed her own laws,
regardless of all expostulations from other nations.
As the American vessel was crossing the Gulf of Mexico, she was
encountered by an English frigate, which, by firing several guns,
brought her to, and immediately boarded her. The British Government
had adopted the very extraordinary principle that an English ship
might stop a ship, of whatever nationality, on the seas, board her,
summon her passengers and crew upon the deck, and impress, to serve
as British seamen, any of those passengers or crew whom the officers
of the frigate might pronounce to be British subjects. From their
decision there was no appeal.
"The princes," says the Rev. G. N. Wright, "had an
opportunity of witnessing one of those violations of
international law which not only marked but degraded the
maritime history of that period, by the gross sacrifice of
public law and private liberty. This was the seizure and
impressment of men employed on board neutral vessels, and
compelling them to enter the navy of a foreign country. The
crew, being mustered on the deck, Captain Cochrane selected
the ablest hands from among them--taking them on a service
in which they not only had no interest, but with which some
of them were actually at variance, and might, therefore, be
compelled to fight against their own country.
"It is not the least strange, of all the strange events which
have occurred in those days of change, that a young man, a
passenger on board an American ship, and who was brought by
circumstances in contact with the practical operation of the
iniquitous claim which Great Britain set up--of taking out of
vessels sailing under the American flag any person they
pleased--should have been called upon subsequently, when upon
the throne of France, by the English Government to disavow
the forcible abduction of a seaman from an English ship."
Many years after this, when Louis Philippe was king of the French, a
French frigate, from a squadron blockading Vera Cruz, boarded an
English packet-ship, and took out of her a Mexican pilot. All England
resounded with a burst of indignation. Both Houses of Parliament
passed a decree that such an act was a gross outrage upon the British
flag, which demanded immediate apology from the French Government.
"The pilot," said Lord Lyndhurst, "had come on board, under the
protection of the British flag. But in this instance it was no
protection. A more grave and serious outrage was never committed
against our country."
"Any man," said Lord Brougham, "on board a British merchantman is as
much under the protection of the British flag as if he were on board
the queen's ship. The gravemen of the charge is _that a man has been
taken from an English ship_."
Louis Philippe, who deemed it essential to the stability of his
throne to maintain friendly relations with the British Government,
humbly disavowed the act in the name of his country, while he
considerately forbore from taunting the British Government with its
own opposite and arbitrary course, or from congratulating it upon the
happy change of principles which it had so suddenly experienced.
Captain Cochrane, learning that the Duke of Orleans, with his
brothers, the Duke of Montpensier and Count Beaujolais, were on board
the small and uncomfortable American vessel, politely invited them to
continue the remainder of their voyage in the enjoyment of the
superior accommodations of his large and commodious ship. The deck of
the frigate towered far above that of the humble American
merchantman. A rope was lowered to assist the travellers in their
ascent. The Duke of Orleans slipped his hold and fell into the sea.
Being an excellent swimmer, he swam around to the stern of the ship,
where a boat was lowered, which rescued him from his unwelcome bath.
On the 31st of March, 1798, the British frigate landed them safely in
Havana.