It is not my intention to record any of the ordinary incidents of a sea
voyage: the subject is too hackneyed and too trite; and besides,
when the topic is seasickness, it is infectious and the description
nauseates. _Hominem pagina nostra sapit_. The proper study of mankind
is man; human nature is what I delight in contemplating; I love to trace
out and delineate the springs of human action.
Mr. Slick and Mr. Hopewell are both studies. The former is a perfect
master of certain chords; He has practised upon them, not for
philosophical, but for mercenary purposes. He knows the depth,
and strength, and tone of vanity, curiosity, pride, envy, avarice,
superstition, nationality, and local and general prejudice. He has
learned the effect of these, not because they contribute to make him
wiser, but because they make him richer; not to enable him to regulate
his conduct in life, but to promote and secure the increase of his
trade.
Mr. Hopewell, on the contrary, has studied the human heart as a
philanthropist, as a man whose business it was to minister to it,
to cultivate and improve it. His views are more sound and more
comprehensive than those of the other’s, and his objects are more noble.
They are both extraordinary men.
They differed, however, materially in their opinion of England and its
institutions. Mr. Slick evidently viewed them with prejudice. Whether
this arose from the supercilious manner of English tourists in America,
or from the ridicule they have thrown upon Republican society, in the
books of travels they have published, after their return to Europe,
I could not discover; but it soon became manifest to me, that Great
Britain did not stand so high in his estimation, as the colonies did.
Mr. Hopewell, on the contrary, from early associations, cherished a
feeling of regard and respect for England; and when his opinion was
asked, he always gave it with great frankness and impartiality. When
there was any thing he could not approve of, it appeared to be a subject
of regret to him; whereas, the other seized upon it at once as a matter
of great exultation. The first sight we had of land naturally called out
their respective opinions.
As we were pacing the deck speculating upon the probable termination of
our voyage, Cape Clear was descried by the look-out on the mast-head.
“Hallo! what’s that? why if it ain’t land ahead, as I’m alive!” said
Mr. Slick. “Well, come this is pleasant too, we have made amost an
everlastin’ short voyage of it, hante we; and I must say I like land
quite as well as sea, in a giniral way, arter all; but, Squire, here is
the first Britisher. That critter that’s a clawin’ up the side of the
vessel like a cat, is the pilot: now do for goodness gracious sake, jist
look at him, and hear him.”
“What port?”
“Liverpool.”
“Keep her up a point.”
“Do you hear that, Squire? that’s English, or what we used to call to
singing school short metre. The critter don’t say a word, even as much
as ‘by your leave’; but jist goes and takes his post, and don’t ask the
name of the vessel, or pass the time o’ day with the Captin. That ain’t
in the bill, it tante paid for that; if it was, he’d off cap, touch
the deck three times with his forehead, and ‘_Slam_’ like a Turk to his
Honour the Skipper.
“There’s plenty of civility here to England if you pay for it: you can
buy as much in five minits, as will make you sick for a week; but if you
don’t pay for it, you not only won’t get it, but you get sarce instead
of it, that is if you are fool enough to stand and have it rubbed in.
They are as cold as Presbyterian charity, and mean enough to put the sun
in eclipse, are the English. They hante set up the brazen image here
to worship, but they’ve got a gold one, and that they do adore and no
mistake; it’s all pay, pay, pay; parquisite, parquisite, parquisite;
extortion, extortion, extortion. There is a whole pack of yelpin’ devils
to your heels here, for everlastinly a cringin’, fawnin’ and coaxin’,
or snarlin’, grumblin’ or bullyin’ you out of your money. There’s the
boatman, and tide-waiter, and porter, and custom-er, and truck man as
soon as you land; and the sarvant-man, and chamber-gall, and boots, and
porter again to the inn. And then on the road, there is trunk-lifter,
and coachman, and guard, and beggar-man, and a critter that opens the
coach door, that they calls a waterman, cause he is infarnal dirty, and
never sees water. They are jist like a snarl o’ snakes, their name is
legion and there ain’t no eend to ‘em.
“The only thing you get for nothin’ here is rain and smoke, the rumatiz,
and scorny airs. If you could buy an Englishman at what he was worth,
and sell him at his own valiation, he would realise as much as a nigger,
and would be worth tradin’ in, that’s a fact; but as it is he ain’t
worth nothin’, there is no market for such critters, no one would buy
him at no price. A Scotchman is wus, for he is prouder and meaner.
Pat ain’t no better nother; he ain’t proud, cause he has a hole in his
breeches and another in his elbow, and he thinks pride won’t patch ‘em,
and he ain’t mean cause he hante got nothin’ to be mean with. Whether it
takes nine tailors to make a man, I can’t jist exactly say, but this
I will say, and take my davy of it too, that it would take three such
goneys as these to make a pattern for one of our rael genu_wine_ free
and enlightened citizens, and then I wouldn’t swap without large boot,
I tell you. Guess I’ll go, and pack up my fixing and have ‘em ready to
land.”
He now went below, leaving Mr. Hopewell and myself on the deck. All
this tirade of Mr. Slick was uttered in the hearing of the pilot, and
intended rather for his conciliation, than my instruction. The pilot was
immoveable; he let the cause against his country go “by default,” and
left us to our process of “inquiry;” but when Mr. Slick was in the
act of descending to the cabin, he turned and gave him a look of
admeasurement, very similar to that which a grazier gives an ox; a look
which estimates the weight and value of the animal, and I am bound to
admit, that the result of that “sizing or laying” as it is technically
called, was by no means favourable to the Attache”.
Mr. Hopewell had evidently not attended to it; his eye was fixed on
the bold and precipitous shore of Wales, and the lofty summits of the
everlasting hills, that in the distance, aspired to a companionship with
the clouds. I took my seat at a little distance from him and surveyed
the scene with mingled feelings of curiosity and admiration, until a
thick volume of sulphureous smoke from the copper furnaces of Anglesey
intercepted our view.
“Squire,” said he, “it is impossible for us to contemplate this country,
that now lies before us, without strong emotion. It is our fatherland.
I recollect when I was a colonist, as you are, we were in the habit of
applying to it, in common with Englishmen, that endearing appellation
“Home,” and I believe you still continue to do so in the provinces.
Our nursery tales, taught our infant lips to lisp in English, and the
ballads, that first exercised our memories, stored the mind with the
traditions of our forefathers; their literature was our literature,
their religion our religion, their history our history. The battle of
Hastings, the murder of Becket, the signature of Runymede, the execution
at Whitehall; the divines, the poets, the orators, the heroes, the
martyrs, each and all were familiar to us.
“In approaching this country now, after a lapse of many, many years,
and approaching it too for the last time, for mine eyes shall see it no
more, I cannot describe to you the feelings that agitate my heart. I go
to visit the tombs of my ancestors; I go to my home, and my home knoweth
me no more. Great and good, and brave and free are the English; and may
God grant that they may ever continue so!”
“I cordially join in that prayer, Sir,” said I; “you have a country
of your own. The old colonies having ripened into maturity, formed a
distinct and separate family, in the great community of mankind. You are
now a nation of yourselves, and your attachment to England, is of course
subordinate to that of your own country; you view it as the place that
was in days of yore the home of your forefathers; we regard it as the
paternal estate, continuing to call it ‘Home’ as you have just now
observed. We owe it a debt of gratitude that not only cannot be repaid,
but is too great for expression. Their armies protect us within, and
their fleets defend us, and our commerce without. Their government is
not only paternal and indulgent, but is wholly gratuitous. We neither
pay these forces, nor feed them, nor clothe them. We not only raise no
taxes, but are not expected to do so. The blessings of true religion are
diffused among us, by the pious liberality of England, and a collegiate
establishment at Windsor, supported by British friends, has for years
supplied the Church, the Bar and the Legislature with scholars and
gentlemen. Where the national funds have failed, private contribution
has volunteered its aid, and means are never wanting for any useful or
beneficial object.
“Our condition is a most enviable one. The history of the world has no
example to offer of such noble disinterestedness and such liberal rule,
as that exhibited by Great Britain to her colonies. If the policy of the
Colonial Office is not always good (which I fear is too much to say)
it is ever liberal; and if we do not mutually derive all the benefit
we might from the connexion, _we_, at least, reap more solid advantages
than we have a right to expect, and more, I am afraid, than our conduct
always deserves. I hope the Secretary for the Colonies may have the
advantage of making your acquaintance, Sir. Your experience is so great,
you might give him a vast deal of useful information, which he could
obtain from no one else.
“Minister,” said Mr. Slick, who had just mounted the companion-ladder,
“will your honour,” touching his hat, “jist look at your honour’s
plunder, and see it’s all right; remember me, Sir; thank your honour.
This way, Sir; let me help your honour down. Remember me again, Sir.
Thank your honour. Now you may go and break your neck, your honour, as
soon as you please; for I’ve got all out of you I can squeeze, that’s a
fact. That’s English, Squire--that’s English servility, which they call
civility, and English meanness and beggin’, which they call parquisite.
Who was that you wanted to see the Minister, that I heerd you a talkin’
of when I come on deck?”
“The Secretary of the Colonies,” I said.
“Oh for goodness sake don’t send that crittur to him,” said he, “or
minister will have to pay him for his visit, more, p’raps, than he
can afford. John Russell, that had the ribbons afore him, appointed a
settler as a member of Legislative Council to Prince Edward’s Island,
a berth that has no pay, that takes a feller three months a year from
home, and has a horrid sight to do; and what do you think he did? Now
jist guess. You give it up, do you? Well, you might as well, for if you
was five Yankees biled down to one, you wouldn’t guess it. ‘Remember
Secretary’s clerk,’ says he, a touchin’ of his hat, ‘give him a little
tip of thirty pound sterling, your honour.’ Well, colonist had a drop of
Yankee blood in him, which was about one third molasses, and, of course,
one third more of a man than they commonly is, and so he jist ups and
says, ‘I’ll see you and your clerk to Jericho beyond Jordan fust. The
office ain’t worth the fee. Take it and sell it to some one else that
has more money nor wit.’ He did, upon my soul.”
“No, don’t send State-Secretary to Minister, send him to me at eleven
o’clock to-night, for I shall be the toploftiest feller about that time
you’ve seen this while past, I tell you. Stop till I touch land once
more, that’s all; the way I’ll stretch my legs ain’t no matter.”
He then uttered the negro ejaculation “chah!--chah!” and putting his
arms a-kimbo, danced in a most extraordinary style to the music of a
song, which he gave with great expression:
“Oh hab you nebber heerd ob de battle ob Orleens,
Where de dandy Yankee lads gave de Britishers de beans;
Oh de Louisiana boys dey did it pretty slick,
When dey cotch ole Packenham and rode him up a creek.
Wee my zippy dooden dooden dooden, dooden dooden dey,
Wee my zippy dooden dooden dooden, dooden dooden dey.
“Oh yes, send Secretary to me at eleven or twelve to-night, I’ll be in
tune then, jist about up to concart pitch. I’ll smoke with him, or drink
with him, or swap stories with him, or wrastle with him, or make a fool
of him, or lick him, or any thing he likes; and when I’ve done, I’ll
rise up, tweak the fore-top-knot of my head by the nose, bow pretty, and
say ‘Remember me, your honour? Don’t forget the tip?’ Lord, how I long
to walk into some o’ these chaps, and give ‘em the beans! and I will
yet afore I’m many days older, hang me if I don’t. I shall bust, I do
expect; and if I do, them that ain’t drownded will be scalded, I know.
Chah!--chah!
“Oh de British name is Bull, and de French name is Frog,
And noisy critters too, when a braggin’ on a log,--
But I is an alligator, a floatin’ down stream.
And I’ll chaw both the bullies up, as I would an ice-cream:
Wee my zippy dooden dooden dooden, dooden dooden dee,
Wee my zippy dooden dooden dooden, dooden dooden dee.
“Yes, I’ve been pent up in that drawer-like lookin’ berth, till I’ve
growed like a pine-tree with its branches off--straight up and down. My
legs is like a pair of compasses that’s got wet; they are rusty on the
hinges, and won’t work. I’ll play leapfrog up the street, over every
feller’s head, till I get to the Liners’ Hotel; I hope I may be shot if
I don’t. Jube, you villain, stand still there on the deck, and hold up
stiff, you nigger. Warny once--warny twice--warny three times; now I
come.”
And he ran forward, and putting a hand on each shoulder, jumped over
him.
“Turn round agin, you young sucking Satan, you; and don’t give one mite
or morsel, or you might ‘break massa’s precious neck,’ p’raps. Warny
once--warny twice--warny three times.”
And he repeated the feat again.
“That’s the way I’ll shin it up street, with a hop, skip and a jump.
Won’t I make Old Bull stare, when he finds his head under my coat tails,
and me jist makin’ a lever of him? He’ll think he has run foul of a
snag, _I_ know. Lord, I’ll shack right over their heads, as they do over
a colonist; only when they do, they never say warny wunst, cuss ‘em,
they arn’t civil enough for that. They arn’t paid for it--there is no
parquisite to be got by it. Won’t I tuck in the Champaine to-night,
that’s all, till I get the steam up right, and make the paddles work?
Won’t I have a lark of the rael Kentuck breed? Won’t I trip up a
policeman’s heels, thunder the knockers of the street doors, and ring
the bells and leave no card? Won’t I have a shy at a lamp, and then off
hot foot to the hotel? Won’t I say, ‘Waiter, how dare you do that?’
“‘What, Sir?’
“‘Tread on my foot.’
“‘I didn’t, Sir.’
“‘You did, Sir. Take that!’ knock him down like wink, and help him up on
his feet agin with a kick on his western eend. Kiss the barmaid, about
the quickest and wickedest she ever heerd tell of, and then off to bed
as sober as a judge. ‘Chambermaid, bring a pan of coals and air my bed.’
‘Yes, Sir.’ Foller close at her heels, jist put a hand on each short
rib, tickle her till she spills the red hot coals all over the floor,
and begins to cry over ‘em to put ‘em out, whip the candle out of her
hand, leave her to her lamentations, and then off to roost in no time.
And when I get there, won’t I strike out all abroad--take up the room of
three men with their clothes on--lay all over and over the bed, and feel
once more I am a free man and a ‘_Gentleman at large_.’”