Increase of the Settlement.—Separation of the States.—Ecclesiastical
Communities.—Concord among Sects.—Houses and Towns.—Penal
Colonies.—Southlanders’ Hospitality.—Mode of receiving
Company.—Feasts.—Animal Food.—Tame Animals.—Surprise at English
Customs.—Carnivorous Propensity.—Lighting the Streets.—City of Bath.
The settlement, on being thus (about five or six years from its
commencement) freed from all external molestation, increased in
prosperity, and extended itself rapidly in several directions inland.
Towards the sea they had no temptation to advance; being separated from
it by an extensive district of great sterility, and of difficult
passage. Inward, the abundance of fertile land, and the numerous lakes
with which our travellers had been struck, and which afforded easy
intercourse even between settlements at a considerable distance, invited
them to overspread the country as fast as their rapidly-increasing
population required. Their numbers seem to have advanced at about the
same rate as those of some of the North-American settlements.
The division into separate states was not, as the travellers found to
their surprise, the result of discord, but had been planned and
commenced by their founder himself. He had, it seems, foreseen, or
fancied that he foresaw, an ultimate necessity for such a separation;
and he judged it best that it should begin even in his own lifetime,
before there was any advantage in it, except that of setting an example
and establishing a precedent for amicable separation. He founded,
accordingly, within forty years from their first settling, a second
perfectly independent community, on the opposite side of the lake, near
which the first had been located. The original settlement still forms
one of the states, and retains the name of Müllersfield, which it
received from the founders: the new one, from its singular beauty of
situation, he called Eutopia (fine place), probably with something of a
covert allusion also to the well-known fabulous Utopia (no place). The
most perfect friendliness and freedom of intercourse continued between
the two states; and, without owning any common authority, they consulted
together, like any two individual neighbours who are on friendly terms,
respecting any matters in which they had a common concern: and the
principles of the procedure having been clearly laid down, and
practically established, the example was afterwards repeatedly followed
as the colonization extended itself; and fresh swarms, as it were,
issued forth, till the number of the separate states amounted to eleven.
A similar principle has been acted on with respect to ecclesiastical
communities. The number of separate churches amounts to no less than
seventeen; though some of these consist chiefly of converted native
tribes, together with the missionaries residing among them. These
churches are, of course, not coextensive with the several states, but on
the footing of the early churches founded by the apostles, who
instituted several distinct ones,—for instance, in the single province
of Macedonia; viz. those of Philippi, Thessalonica, Berœa, &c. They are
all, and have ever been, with a few temporary exceptions, in concord and
communion with each other, but under distinct governments, and differing
in some non-essential customs and institutions. They seem to have made
good a favourite maxim of Müller’s on that subject;—that men are always
most likely to live in friendly agreement in essentials, when they are
not so closely connected as to be obliged to agree in matters
intrinsically indifferent. “Two men,” he used to observe, “who may be
very friendly as neighbours, might quarrel, if they were obliged to live
together, as to the hour at which they should dine,—the keeping of the
windows open or shut, &c.;—in which one party would necessarily be
compelled to give way to the other: whereas they may be very good
friends while each follows his own taste in such matters.”
* * * * *
We shall subjoin such scattered extracts as our space will admit, of
those portions of our travellers’ Journal which illustrate the more
strange and singular particulars of the habits of this interesting
people.
Nearly all their houses—in the towns, all, without exception—are
flat-roofed, like those in the East; whether from a fancy of imitating
the custom they read of in Scripture, or for the convenience of having
an airy unconfined place to walk or sit on. In the towns, there is, as
in those of the East, a thoroughfare for foot-passengers along the tops
of the houses; and, in the larger towns, the streets are crossed
occasionally by light bridges.
The houses in the towns, and all but the meaner sort of cottages in the
newly-settled part of the country, are without any chimneys opening to
the air: the smoke from the fireplaces of one or two, or more, adjoining
houses, passes into a sort of chamber (swept from time to time), from
which it is forced out by machinery into a flue branching off into
pipes, which carry it back to the bottom of each fire; so that it burns
its own smoke. When the visitors were describing to some Eutopians the
European towns, these people remarked that London, for instance, though
so much improved since the times of which they had historical records
from their ancestors, must still have a very smoky atmosphere; and that,
to walk along the streets, shut in by houses on both sides, must be very
unpleasant, for want of open prospect and free circulation of air.
* * * * *
It was with much difficulty that these people were brought to understand
the nature of the colony from which their visitors came; not that they
were in general dull of apprehension, but they could scarcely satisfy
themselves that they had rightly understood the accounts given them. To
people a new settlement with convicted criminals,—to form a new nation
of the scum and refuse of mankind,—appeared to them so preposterous,
that for some time they could not help supposing they must have
misunderstood their informants. “To bring together a number of
villains,” they said, “to a country where good character is not the
rule, but the exception, allowing them free intercourse with each other
must be the most effectual mode of hardening and confirming them in
wickedness, and entailing the same character on successive generations:”
and though it was explained to them that one great object of the plan
was to reform the criminals, the accounts which truth constrained their
visitors to give of the actual state of morals in the colony did not
seem to satisfy them. They had wondered at first, they said, that such a
scheme should have been originally thought of, and now they wondered
still more that it should be persevered in.
* * * * *
The travellers were entertained with the kindest and most liberal
hospitality, according to the notions of the Southlanders (such is the
general name by which the inhabitants of all the states distinguish
themselves from their European ancestors and other Europeans); but their
hospitality differs considerably from ours. When residing as guests with
any family, they partook of the family meals; but when invited to a
party, as they frequently were, to meet the principal gentry of the
neighbourhood,—who were anxious both to show attention to the strangers
and to gratify their own curiosity,—it was found that there is no such
thing in this country as what we call a dinner-party; that is, the
company did not sit down together to a regular meal, but partook of
refreshments something more of the character of an English luncheon,
which was provided in all the superior houses in a separate room. The
guests dropped into this eating-room irregularly, and seating themselves
in small promiscuous parties at small tables set out there, were served
by the attendants with the various dishes provided. They stayed as long
as they pleased; conversed occasionally with their neighbours, as we do
at an irregular luncheon, and returned to the “company-room” (as it is
called), without ceremony, whenever they chose. No refreshments were
brought into this last, except such as correspond to what we have at
evening parties,—such as cakes, lemonade, wine and water, ices (in those
districts which are near the mountains), dried or fresh fruits, &c.:
this they consider as what they call the most “honourable”—what we
should call “stylish”—mode of receiving company.
When our habits were described to them, they expressed their wonder that
a civilized people should _make feasts as the savages do_. “The
half-reclaimed native tribes,” they said, “invite their friends whom
they wish to honour to a solemn feast, at which, having provided a large
quantity of their best provisions and liquor, and exerted what skill
they have in cookery, the guests all seat themselves, with sundry
formalities, round the food that is dressed, and regale themselves
altogether; but with the Southlanders such an arrangement as this is
only adopted as a convenience, when there is a large number of persons
to be fed in the least troublesome way.” They accordingly promised,
laughingly, to take their visitors to something like an English
dinner-party; and the party to which they invited them (it was during
the season of hay harvest) consisted of about two dozen mowers, with
several of their wives and children, seated round a long table, with the
master at the head of it, and supping on an ample supply of substantial
food, served up in five or six huge dishes.
The cookery among the higher classes is for the most part plain and
simple, and the few who have refined much upon the luxuries of the table
are exposed to something of the same sort of contemptuous ridicule that
the being called a dandy incurs among us. But a circumstance which early
attracted the attention of the visitors was, that they found the animal
food to consist (besides eggs, cheese, and various preparations of milk)
entirely of fish and game. The pork, which they often met with, they
found to be always the flesh of the wild swine: these were derived from
those brought over by the first settlers, who turned them all loose into
the woods; and the chase of the wild-boar is eagerly pursued by many of
the gentry. Wild cattle are also met with in some parts, descended from
such as had accidentally strayed; and the flesh of these is eaten, as
well as that of the kangaroo, emu, and other indigenous animals: but the
visitors one day, in the course of conversation in the eating-room,
expressed their surprise at having never seen any mutton served up,
though sheep were not uncommon. The Southlanders had never heard the
word mutton; but, when it was explained to them that it meant the flesh
of the sheep, they replied, “That they kept their sheep very carefully
for their wool, and that there were no wild sheep in the country: but
when it was explained to them that we kept both sheep and oxen chiefly
for the purpose of feeding on their flesh, they were both astonished and
disgusted that we should have retained such a _barbarian_ custom (for
they regard themselves as many degrees more civilized than their
European ancestors) as that of killing and eating domestic animals.”
It was urged (and they freely admitted it) that the loss of life is no
greater to a tame than to a wild animal: “That is true,” they said, “as
far as the _animal_ is concerned; but it makes a great difference to
_our_ feelings. A tame animal is a sort of friend, a member of the
family: it seems a sort of treacherous breach of hospitality to kill in
cold blood a creature which you have reared and fed from its birth, and
then devour its flesh.” They expressed still more surprise (for they are
keen sportsmen) at learning that some Europeans were vehement in their
censures of hunting, fowling, and fishing, as cruel; and yet fed without
scruple on beef and mutton. “We declare war,” they said, laughing,
“perhaps an unjust war, against wild animals, and kill them as enemies;
but you assassinate your friends.”—“We urged,” says the journalist, “the
necessity of keeping within bounds the numbers of our domestic animals;
and expressed our apprehension that the Southlanders would in time find
themselves quite overstocked with sheep, oxen, and fowls.” They replied
at the moment, merely, “that no such apprehension had ever occurred to
them.”
But, on returning to what we should call the drawing-room, we soon found
that much interest was excited by the accounts of what appeared to this
most singular people our strange custom. We were surrounded by ladies,
who inquired, with an amusing mixture of good-humoured ridicule, wonder,
and horror, into all the particulars respecting mutton; and one lady
surprised us by asking, among other things, what kind of flesh was that
of horses, dogs, and cats, and by what name we called it. When informed
that, though we kept these animals, we never thought of eating them, she
replied, “Why, I had understood that you ate the _flesh of domestic
animals_, and that you found it _necessary_ to do so, for fear of their
_overstocking you with their numbers_! How comes it that you are not
overrun with horses, dogs, and cats?” To say the truth, we were rather
dumbfounded by this question; having, in fact, assigned as a reason what
we had been accustomed to hear and repeat without any examination into
its soundness. We could only allege that, in all these points, we
conformed to what had always been the practice of our ancestors and
theirs, and of almost all other nations: in this we were borne out by
the testimony of those of the company who were well read in antiquities.
Several of these people, indeed, are good scholars, and well acquainted
with the history (as far as was known three hundred years ago) of other
nations, besides their own. They adverted to the descriptions of Homer’s
heroes: one of them would, when about to entertain his friends, have a
sheep brought into his tent, cut its throat with his own royal hands,
and then, with a skilful hand,—which the poet never fails to
celebrate,—cut it up into slices and broil them on skewers over a
charcoal fire. They remembered, also, the accounts given of some
East-Indian tribes, who, when their relatives are grown old and infirm,
kill them, to save them from lingering decay, and hold a pious and
solemn feast on their flesh. But as these customs had worn away in the
early progress of civilization, they wondered that a still further
refinement had not, among us, confined the carnivorous propensity of man
to wild animals exclusively, and led us, as it had them, to regard with
disgust the eating of (as they expressed it) one of the family, whose
eggs, milk, labour, or wool had long ministered to our comforts.
* * * * *
The description of our cities in their present condition, as contrasted
with that of the sixteenth century, and of our whole mode of life, was
exceedingly interesting to these people; but nothing did they admire
more than our description of the gas-lights. In the midst, however, of
their enquiries and admiration, one sly-looking old gentleman observed,
“that if we would honour him with a visit in his city of Bath (capital
of a state of the same name), he would excite even our admiration by the
spectacle of an illumination still more splendid.” In our visit there,
where we were most kindly received, our host walked through the streets
with us, showing us the principal buildings, and introduced us into the
Senate-house, where the public business was going on.
On our return to his house, he asked us (this was about seven o’clock in
the morning) what we thought of the lighting of the streets. We
answered, that we observed neither any lighting of them, nor need of it,
as it was a bright sunshine. “And is not this,” said he, “as good a
light as your gas? We have not,” he added, “gone so far as you in arts;
but we have the advantage of you in availing ourselves of the gifts of
nature; for, as you must have observed, we are all alert and about our
business at day-break; while you, by your own account, allow three or
four hours of daylight in the spring and summer to be utterly wasted,
while you are abed; and then go about your business at night, like owls
and bats, but without their advantage of being able to see in the dark;
so that you are forced to light yourselves with gas. It was,” said he,
“a very ingenious contrivance you were telling us of t’other day, by
which you distil fresh water from the sea; but pray do you, when there
are plenty of fresh springs, let all the water run to waste, that you
may have the triumph of distilling from the brine?”
We endeavoured to explain to him the causes of our late hours; but we
were astounded when he had made us compute the saving in oil, and gas,
and tallow, which might be effected by a general resolution to _use
daylight as far as it would go_.
The city at which this conversation took place is named from its
celebrated warm baths, supplied by springs issuing from a mountain in
the vicinity; one of the greatest curiosities in the country, both from
the natural phenomena it exhibits (being evidently an extinct volcano),
from which it received its name of Mount Peril, and from the
extraordinary tradition of the superstitious ordeal formerly connected
with it.