WORCESTER. THE CONNECTICUT RIVER. HARTFORD. NEW HAVEN. TO NEW YORK
LEAVING Boston on the afternoon of Saturday the fifth of February, we
proceeded by another railroad to Worcester: a pretty New England town,
where we had arranged to remain under the hospitable roof of the Governor
of the State, until Monday morning.
These towns and cities of New England (many of which would be villages in
Old England), are as favourable specimens of rural America, as their
people are of rural Americans. The well-trimmed lawns and green meadows
of home are not there; and the grass, compared with our ornamental plots
and pastures, is rank, and rough, and wild: but delicate slopes of land,
gently-swelling hills, wooded valleys, and slender streams, abound.
Every little colony of houses has its church and school-house peeping
from among the white roofs and shady trees; every house is the whitest of
the white; every Venetian blind the greenest of the green; every fine
day’s sky the bluest of the blue. A sharp dry wind and a slight frost
had so hardened the roads when we alighted at Worcester, that their
furrowed tracks were like ridges of granite. There was the usual aspect
of newness on every object, of course. All the buildings looked as if
they had been built and painted that morning, and could be taken down on
Monday with very little trouble. In the keen evening air, every sharp
outline looked a hundred times sharper than ever. The clean cardboard
colonnades had no more perspective than a Chinese bridge on a tea-cup,
and appeared equally well calculated for use. The razor-like edges of
the detached cottages seemed to cut the very wind as it whistled against
them, and to send it smarting on its way with a shriller cry than before.
Those slightly-built wooden dwellings behind which the sun was setting
with a brilliant lustre, could be so looked through and through, that the
idea of any inhabitant being able to hide himself from the public gaze,
or to have any secrets from the public eye, was not entertainable for a
moment. Even where a blazing fire shone through the uncurtained windows
of some distant house, it had the air of being newly lighted, and of
lacking warmth; and instead of awakening thoughts of a snug chamber,
bright with faces that first saw the light round that same hearth, and
ruddy with warm hangings, it came upon one suggestive of the smell of new
mortar and damp walls.
So I thought, at least, that evening. Next morning when the sun was
shining brightly, and the clear church bells were ringing, and sedate
people in their best clothes enlivened the pathway near at hand and
dotted the distant thread of road, there was a pleasant Sabbath
peacefulness on everything, which it was good to feel. It would have
been the better for an old church; better still for some old graves; but
as it was, a wholesome repose and tranquillity pervaded the scene, which
after the restless ocean and the hurried city, had a doubly grateful
influence on the spirits.
We went on next morning, still by railroad, to Springfield. From that
place to Hartford, whither we were bound, is a distance of only
five-and-twenty miles, but at that time of the year the roads were so bad
that the journey would probably have occupied ten or twelve hours.
Fortunately, however, the winter having been unusually mild, the
Connecticut River was ‘open,’ or, in other words, not frozen. The
captain of a small steamboat was going to make his first trip for the
season that day (the second February trip, I believe, within the memory
of man), and only waited for us to go on board. Accordingly, we went on
board, with as little delay as might be. He was as good as his word, and
started directly.
It certainly was not called a small steamboat without reason. I omitted
to ask the question, but I should think it must have been of about half a
pony power. Mr. Paap, the celebrated Dwarf, might have lived and died
happily in the cabin, which was fitted with common sash-windows like an
ordinary dwelling-house. These windows had bright-red curtains, too,
hung on slack strings across the lower panes; so that it looked like the
parlour of a Lilliputian public-house, which had got afloat in a flood or
some other water accident, and was drifting nobody knew where. But even
in this chamber there was a rocking-chair. It would be impossible to get
on anywhere, in America, without a rocking-chair. I am afraid to tell
how many feet short this vessel was, or how many feet narrow: to apply
the words length and width to such measurement would be a contradiction
in terms. But I may state that we all kept the middle of the deck, lest
the boat should unexpectedly tip over; and that the machinery, by some
surprising process of condensation, worked between it and the keel: the
whole forming a warm sandwich, about three feet thick.
It rained all day as I once thought it never did rain anywhere, but in
the Highlands of Scotland. The river was full of floating blocks of ice,
which were constantly crunching and cracking under us; and the depth of
water, in the course we took to avoid the larger masses, carried down the
middle of the river by the current, did not exceed a few inches.
Nevertheless, we moved onward, dexterously; and being well wrapped up,
bade defiance to the weather, and enjoyed the journey. The Connecticut
River is a fine stream; and the banks in summer-time are, I have no
doubt, beautiful; at all events, I was told so by a young lady in the
cabin; and she should be a judge of beauty, if the possession of a
quality include the appreciation of it, for a more beautiful creature I
never looked upon.
After two hours and a half of this odd travelling (including a stoppage
at a small town, where we were saluted by a gun considerably bigger than
our own chimney), we reached Hartford, and straightway repaired to an
extremely comfortable hotel: except, as usual, in the article of
bedrooms, which, in almost every place we visited, were very conducive to
early rising.
We tarried here, four days. The town is beautifully situated in a basin
of green hills; the soil is rich, well-wooded, and carefully improved.
It is the seat of the local legislature of Connecticut, which sage body
enacted, in bygone times, the renowned code of ‘Blue Laws,’ in virtue
whereof, among other enlightened provisions, any citizen who could be
proved to have kissed his wife on Sunday, was punishable, I believe, with
the stocks. Too much of the old Puritan spirit exists in these parts to
the present hour; but its influence has not tended, that I know, to make
the people less hard in their bargains, or more equal in their dealings.
As I never heard of its working that effect anywhere else, I infer that
it never will, here. Indeed, I am accustomed, with reference to great
professions and severe faces, to judge of the goods of the other world
pretty much as I judge of the goods of this; and whenever I see a dealer
in such commodities with too great a display of them in his window, I
doubt the quality of the article within.
In Hartford stands the famous oak in which the charter of King Charles
was hidden. It is now inclosed in a gentleman’s garden. In the State
House is the charter itself. I found the courts of law here, just the
same as at Boston; the public institutions almost as good. The Insane
Asylum is admirably conducted, and so is the Institution for the Deaf and
Dumb.
I very much questioned within myself, as I walked through the Insane
Asylum, whether I should have known the attendants from the patients, but
for the few words which passed between the former, and the Doctor, in
reference to the persons under their charge. Of course I limit this
remark merely to their looks; for the conversation of the mad people was
mad enough.
There was one little, prim old lady, of very smiling and good-humoured
appearance, who came sidling up to me from the end of a long passage, and
with a curtsey of inexpressible condescension, propounded this
unaccountable inquiry:
‘Does Pontefract still flourish, sir, upon the soil of England?’
‘He does, ma’am,’ I rejoined.
‘When you last saw him, sir, he was—’
‘Well, ma’am,’ said I, ‘extremely well. He begged me to present his
compliments. I never saw him looking better.’
At this, the old lady was very much delighted. After glancing at me for
a moment, as if to be quite sure that I was serious in my respectful air,
she sidled back some paces; sidled forward again; made a sudden skip (at
which I precipitately retreated a step or two); and said:
‘_I_ am an antediluvian, sir.’
I thought the best thing to say was, that I had suspected as much from
the first. Therefore I said so.
‘It is an extremely proud and pleasant thing, sir, to be an
antediluvian,’ said the old lady.
‘I should think it was, ma’am,’ I rejoined.
The old lady kissed her hand, gave another skip, smirked and sidled down
the gallery in a most extraordinary manner, and ambled gracefully into
her own bed-chamber.
In another part of the building, there was a male patient in bed; very
much flushed and heated.
‘Well,’ said he, starting up, and pulling off his night-cap: ‘It’s all
settled at last. I have arranged it with Queen Victoria.’
‘Arranged what?’ asked the Doctor.
‘Why, that business,’ passing his hand wearily across his forehead,
‘about the siege of New York.’
‘Oh!’ said I, like a man suddenly enlightened. For he looked at me for
an answer.
‘Yes. Every house without a signal will be fired upon by the British
troops. No harm will be done to the others. No harm at all. Those that
want to be safe, must hoist flags. That’s all they’ll have to do. They
must hoist flags.’
Even while he was speaking he seemed, I thought, to have some faint idea
that his talk was incoherent. Directly he had said these words, he lay
down again; gave a kind of a groan; and covered his hot head with the
blankets.
There was another: a young man, whose madness was love and music. After
playing on the accordion a march he had composed, he was very anxious
that I should walk into his chamber, which I immediately did.
By way of being very knowing, and humouring him to the top of his bent, I
went to the window, which commanded a beautiful prospect, and remarked,
with an address upon which I greatly plumed myself:
‘What a delicious country you have about these lodgings of yours!’
‘Poh!’ said he, moving his fingers carelessly over the notes of his
instrument: ‘_Well enough for such an Institution as this_!’
I don’t think I was ever so taken aback in all my life.
‘I come here just for a whim,’ he said coolly. ‘That’s all.’
‘Oh! That’s all!’ said I.
‘Yes. That’s all. The Doctor’s a smart man. He quite enters into it.
It’s a joke of mine. I like it for a time. You needn’t mention it, but
I think I shall go out next Tuesday!’
I assured him that I would consider our interview perfectly confidential;
and rejoined the Doctor. As we were passing through a gallery on our way
out, a well-dressed lady, of quiet and composed manners, came up, and
proffering a slip of paper and a pen, begged that I would oblige her with
an autograph, I complied, and we parted.
‘I think I remember having had a few interviews like that, with ladies
out of doors. I hope _she_ is not mad?’
‘Yes.’
‘On what subject? Autographs?’
‘No. She hears voices in the air.’
‘Well!’ thought I, ‘it would be well if we could shut up a few false
prophets of these later times, who have professed to do the same; and I
should like to try the experiment on a Mormonist or two to begin with.’
In this place, there is the best jail for untried offenders in the world.
There is also a very well-ordered State prison, arranged upon the same
plan as that at Boston, except that here, there is always a sentry on the
wall with a loaded gun. It contained at that time about two hundred
prisoners. A spot was shown me in the sleeping ward, where a watchman
was murdered some years since in the dead of night, in a desperate
attempt to escape, made by a prisoner who had broken from his cell. A
woman, too, was pointed out to me, who, for the murder of her husband,
had been a close prisoner for sixteen years.
‘Do you think,’ I asked of my conductor, ‘that after so very long an
imprisonment, she has any thought or hope of ever regaining her liberty?’
‘Oh dear yes,’ he answered. ‘To be sure she has.’
‘She has no chance of obtaining it, I suppose?’
‘Well, I don’t know:’ which, by-the-bye, is a national answer. ‘Her
friends mistrust her.’
‘What have _they_ to do with it?’ I naturally inquired.
‘Well, they won’t petition.’
‘But if they did, they couldn’t get her out, I suppose?’
‘Well, not the first time, perhaps, nor yet the second, but tiring and
wearying for a few years might do it.’
‘Does that ever do it?’
‘Why yes, that’ll do it sometimes. Political friends’ll do it sometimes.
It’s pretty often done, one way or another.’
I shall always entertain a very pleasant and grateful recollection of
Hartford. It is a lovely place, and I had many friends there, whom I can
never remember with indifference. We left it with no little regret on
the evening of Friday the 11th, and travelled that night by railroad to
New Haven. Upon the way, the guard and I were formally introduced to
each other (as we usually were on such occasions), and exchanged a
variety of small-talk. We reached New Haven at about eight o’clock,
after a journey of three hours, and put up for the night at the best inn.
New Haven, known also as the City of Elms, is a fine town. Many of its
streets (as its _alias_ sufficiently imports) are planted with rows of
grand old elm-trees; and the same natural ornaments surround Yale
College, an establishment of considerable eminence and reputation. The
various departments of this Institution are erected in a kind of park or
common in the middle of the town, where they are dimly visible among the
shadowing trees. The effect is very like that of an old cathedral yard
in England; and when their branches are in full leaf, must be extremely
picturesque. Even in the winter time, these groups of well-grown trees,
clustering among the busy streets and houses of a thriving city, have a
very quaint appearance: seeming to bring about a kind of compromise
between town and country; as if each had met the other half-way, and
shaken hands upon it; which is at once novel and pleasant.
After a night’s rest, we rose early, and in good time went down to the
wharf, and on board the packet New York _for_ New York. This was the
first American steamboat of any size that I had seen; and certainly to an
English eye it was infinitely less like a steamboat than a huge floating
bath. I could hardly persuade myself, indeed, but that the bathing
establishment off Westminster Bridge, which I left a baby, had suddenly
grown to an enormous size; run away from home; and set up in foreign
parts as a steamer. Being in America, too, which our vagabonds do so
particularly favour, it seemed the more probable.
The great difference in appearance between these packets and ours, is,
that there is so much of them out of the water: the main-deck being
enclosed on all sides, and filled with casks and goods, like any second
or third floor in a stack of warehouses; and the promenade or
hurricane-deck being a-top of that again. A part of the machinery is
always above this deck; where the connecting-rod, in a strong and lofty
frame, is seen working away like an iron top-sawyer. There is seldom any
mast or tackle: nothing aloft but two tall black chimneys. The man at
the helm is shut up in a little house in the fore part of the boat (the
wheel being connected with the rudder by iron chains, working the whole
length of the deck); and the passengers, unless the weather be very fine
indeed, usually congregate below. Directly you have left the wharf, all
the life, and stir, and bustle of a packet cease. You wonder for a long
time how she goes on, for there seems to be nobody in charge of her; and
when another of these dull machines comes splashing by, you feel quite
indignant with it, as a sullen cumbrous, ungraceful, unshiplike
leviathan: quite forgetting that the vessel you are on board of, is its
very counterpart.
There is always a clerk’s office on the lower deck, where you pay your
fare; a ladies’ cabin; baggage and stowage rooms; engineer’s room; and in
short a great variety of perplexities which render the discovery of the
gentlemen’s cabin, a matter of some difficulty. It often occupies the
whole length of the boat (as it did in this case), and has three or four
tiers of berths on each side. When I first descended into the cabin of
the New York, it looked, in my unaccustomed eyes, about as long as the
Burlington Arcade.
The Sound which has to be crossed on this passage, is not always a very
safe or pleasant navigation, and has been the scene of some unfortunate
accidents. It was a wet morning, and very misty, and we soon lost sight
of land. The day was calm, however, and brightened towards noon. After
exhausting (with good help from a friend) the larder, and the stock of
bottled beer, I lay down to sleep; being very much tired with the
fatigues of yesterday. But I woke from my nap in time to hurry up, and
see Hell Gate, the Hog’s Back, the Frying Pan, and other notorious
localities, attractive to all readers of famous Diedrich Knickerbocker’s
History. We were now in a narrow channel, with sloping banks on either
side, besprinkled with pleasant villas, and made refreshing to the sight
by turf and trees. Soon we shot in quick succession, past a light-house;
a madhouse (how the lunatics flung up their caps and roared in sympathy
with the headlong engine and the driving tide!); a jail; and other
buildings: and so emerged into a noble bay, whose waters sparkled in the
now cloudless sunshine like Nature’s eyes turned up to Heaven.
Then there lay stretched out before us, to the right, confused heaps of
buildings, with here and there a spire or steeple, looking down upon the
herd below; and here and there, again, a cloud of lazy smoke; and in the
foreground a forest of ships’ masts, cheery with flapping sails and
waving flags. Crossing from among them to the opposite shore, were steam
ferry-boats laden with people, coaches, horses, waggons, baskets, boxes:
crossed and recrossed by other ferry-boats: all travelling to and fro:
and never idle. Stately among these restless Insects, were two or three
large ships, moving with slow majestic pace, as creatures of a prouder
kind, disdainful of their puny journeys, and making for the broad sea.
Beyond, were shining heights, and islands in the glancing river, and a
distance scarcely less blue and bright than the sky it seemed to meet.
The city’s hum and buzz, the clinking of capstans, the ringing of bells,
the barking of dogs, the clattering of wheels, tingled in the listening
ear. All of which life and stir, coming across the stirring water,
caught new life and animation from its free companionship; and,
sympathising with its buoyant spirits, glistened as it seemed in sport
upon its surface, and hemmed the vessel round, and plashed the water high
about her sides, and, floating her gallantly into the dock, flew off
again to welcome other comers, and speed before them to the busy port.