the sand, the old 'forker,' seeing the problem to be solved, took the bit
in his teeth and started for Picolata. At the first dash the forker went
ahead. He had laid his course, as they say at sea, and no up-helm or
down-helm had the slightest effect upon him. His mind was made up; no
wavering, no playfulness, no scarishness, no looking to the right or left.
Picolata was the point; 'no two ways' to Picolata; he was on the right
way, and he was the horse to do it in double-quick time. The little grey
had evidently thought it was too hot for any thing in his line; but as
soon as he noticed any thing like game in his companion, his head went
down as usual; and after a little hard running, we brushed by the old
fellow, made the requisite heading, wheeled, passing the forker on the
larboard quarter, and made the circuit, to his great satisfaction. 'Here
we go!' said I, as we passed him again; and this time the grey kept 'head
on' for some miles, till at length I succeeded in stopping him, and looked
back. The forker was coming in a bee-line, T---- bobbing up and down 'with
a short uneasy motion,' endeavoring to make a seat of his jacket which he
had stripped off; and as he came nearer I noticed that he was trying to
look very cool and comfortable. We waited till they came up, but there was
no stopping; the forker went by without winking or noticing the grey in
the slightest manner.
Easing up on the reins till we came abreast, 'How are you now?' said I.
'Oh, this is nothing' said T----, turning round a very little with a
highly-charged expression of face; 'a little rough; yes, a little--little
rough; but you observe my seat, Sir--West Point?' 'O yes,' said I; 'very
fine--and cool, I suspect.' But there was not much chance of intelligible
conversation. T---- kept on talking, but his remarks, meant for the
quarter-master, were so barbarously broken, that I could only guess
occasionally at some exclamations, which for point and emphasis were
highly military. Our rate of travel was not, you observe, from five to
ten, or from eight to twelve miles an hour, but exactly ten. That was the
forker's motion, from which there was no deviation. If he was struck, his
heels went up suddenly and very high, but it was no impediment. He
evidently took the blow as a military order for a rear motion; nothing
more, and no occasion for malice. Now, if any body wishes to know about
the face of the country; how bounded, what products, etc., between
Augustine and Picolata, I am unable to give the slightest information from
any notes taken that morning. My perceptions were all _in medias res_; and
I only remember seeing a wild turkey that we scared up, and an alligator
that made for the water while we were a quarter of a mile distant, and
splashed in in a great fright some time after we had passed him.
In little more than an hour we entered the opening at Fort Searle so
suddenly, that I heard the orderly report, as he marched up to the
commanding officer: 'Two gentlemen from Augustine, Sir.' 'Very well,' said
the officer; and he turned to receive the lieutenant, but T---- was past
all dignities. Stretching himself on a bench he ordered brandy-and-water,
and as that was not quite the thing, added a little cherry bounce, and
finished with old Jamaica, and presently went round a corner with a
tumbler of the latter; but whether for external or internal application, I
am unable to say. Without stopping long enough to get stiff, we mounted
again, and after a few closing flourishes from the little grey entered the
city of Picolata, consisting of one house, and were greeted with the
chattering of ten thousand black-birds all in full chorus. A boat coming
up very opportunely, we took passage in her that night, and next morning
were at Pilatka.
A few miles south of that place, there is a small plantation on the river
that had been deserted and the house burned down by the Indians during the
first winter of the war. Some weeks previous, while at Pilatka, Colonel
---- had politely offered me a sergeant and nine men to visit the place,
but shortly after reaching it they complained of the musquitoes and rode
back to the camp, leaving me with the guide and Gen. W---- to finish the
survey. I now found a young physician who was waiting an escort for Tampa
Bay, and we went out alone; and after studying trails for a long time, and
taking directions by the compass, we came in sight of the hammock when
some miles distant, and entering by a winding road that was arched over so
as to be almost dark as night, we emerged, after a quarter of a mile, in a
little round spot in the wilderness, which for quiet beauty was beyond any
thing I had ever before seen. There were some forty acres in the circle,
and yet it looked not unlike a dollar in a tumbler, so high and dense was
the forest. The magnolias, a hundred feet in air, were in full blossom,
their white tops making an unbroken wreath over the area, while the lower
branches of the live-oaks were loaded with the long moss, hanging like
curtains, motionless in the bright light, and not a single bird on the
tree-tops to break the perfect charm of the place. Beautiful, very
beautiful! but how strangely still! A squirrel chattering, or the rat-tat
of a woodpecker, would have been something; but there was not a single
voice out; not so much as the hum of a musquito, though it was the hottest
of summer days.
Why didn't the oaks speak, or the magnolias? If they had, shaken their
white heads, and raising their trailing garments, had all burst out in
some grand anthem, I should only have thought it quite in character; and
if personally addressed, it would have seemed entirely a matter of course.
I should have replied civilly, begged pardon for intruding in so informal
a manner, and backed out as soon as possible; and perhaps the click of a
rifle would have produced the same effect. We rode around the little gem,
and found the charred timbers where the house stood, and a few orange
trees that the Indians had left; but the cool spring was so hid in the
high grass, that we were forced back with parched lips to the flat water
at Pilatka, which place we reached in time for a late dinner; and just as
the evening set in I took passage again for Picolata.
All the boats running on the river were in the government service, and
ours at this time was loaded fore and aft with a company of dragoons,
bound to Black Creek. As we left the dock, another large boat came out in
a pompous manner, and gave us chase; and as the day had been intensely
hot, a large line of clouds rolled over the bluff at the same time,
probably from the gulf _en route_ to the Atlantic, and moving slowly
across the river, gathered their black folds around the pine-tops,
shutting all up, river and forest, every thing but our chimneys, in utter
darkness. And now began a scene which combined little and great in a
manner quite fantastic. Boatmen swearing and yelling to each other as the
boats came near collision, and that infernal scream sounding off through
the pine barrens like some spirit newly damned; horses prancing and
threshing on the bows; men growling at cards, and over head thunder and
lightning leading off the storm in a very brilliant and point-blank
manner; all which was quite rousing and melo-dramatic. While I was
noticing the pilot's manner of steering by flashes, a gentleman came up,
whom I recognised as a resident of St. Augustine; and as he had a horse at
Picolata, we agreed to go over together that night, as the darkness was
rather favorable, and the road being sandy, we could ride rapidly without
being heard.
It was late in the evening when we reached Picolata; and with a good deal
of uproar, men shouting, steam puffing, and half a dozen blacks
gesticulating on shore, we each made a fortunate leap to the dock; and
walking up to the camp in a blaze of pitch-pine, we ordered our horses,
and at eleven o'clock entered the pine woods for St. Augustine. 'I
wouldn't go over to-night,' said the man as he brought up my horse; 'the
rascals have been seen about here within a day or two; for God's sake,
Sir, _don't_ go over to-night!' But this only gave a keener zest to the
ride. I had carried with me every where a double-barrelled gun, but I had
found it an awkward companion, and having been all day in the saddle I
concluded to leave it to be sent over, and mean time trust to my friend's
pistols.
The rain had ceased, and the wind had gone down, but the night was still
so dark that we could only guess at the road by the strip of light over
head, and now and then a flash, which would light up the avenue for a long
distance ahead, and then leave it still darker than before. As we entered
the barren at an easy trot, I was pleased to notice that the darkness or
the storm had tamed my little grey into a very sober humor, and his
companion also was in a very moralizing way. There was no starting at the
lightning, no attempt at running, but with a noiseless tread they stepped
daintily in the sand, pointing their ears hither and yon, and as it seemed
to me, affecting a little scarishness, though what they could hear when
the forest was so breathless, it was difficult to imagine; but every
little while they would both leap some fifteen feet across the road,
(which couldn't be affectation) shiver a little, and then pick their way
carefully as before. We could see nothing, hear nothing; but horses are
keen snuffers, and they might smell when we couldn't; but what was
singular, the vaulting was done from the same side of the road.
We were still keeping up a little small-talk, when some miles in the
forest, both horses, without any jump or start of any kind, stopped
suddenly; and looking ahead, we saw something moving stealthily toward us.
My companion cocked a pistol and challenged; but we only heard a little
grumbling, and I counted him a dead man; but before we had time to guess
about it, something brushed by, and by a flash of light we saw a glitter
of buttons, and a man on horseback. Whoever or whatever he was, we saw him
but a moment, and he was soon out of hearing. With a remark or two upon
the fool-hardiness of the man, we quickened our pace, and went on at a
dashing rate, abreast and Indian fashion, just as it happened; now one
leading and now the other, according to the wind of our horses; and in
this manner we were passing the most dangerous part of the road, when
there was a sudden whizzing about our ears, and the report of half a dozen
rifles. The little grey reared and plunged and I landed--where, I don't
know; but the next that I remember, I was standing alone in the pine
barren. I had been running for a long time; how far I couldn't tell, being
conscious only of dodging often from one tree to another. On looking about
I remarked that the clouds had opened a little, and that there was nothing
to be seen or heard in any direction. Presently I heard a yell, and
looking around, a strapping Indian, with his rifle drawn to his eye, fired
as I faced him, and the ball parted a lock of my hair in a manner very
embarrassing. I levelled upon the rascal, but missed fire; the rain had
wet the powder in the tube. The fellow took no pains to hide himself, but
was very coolly loading again, and had got his ball ready, when I once
more started off at full speed.
It was a sharp race, and a warm one. After running a mile or more, there
was a small stream to be crossed; and with a few well-balanced steps on a
half-decayed log that lay at the edge of the water, I reached the opposite
bank just as my pursuer stepped on at the other end. Hearing a strange
kind of shock, I turned and saw the big six-footed animal astride the log,
twisting and writhing about in great agony. He had slipped and fallen in
such a manner as to pain him almost beyond endurance. I stood on the bank
and laughed at him; and--shall I confess it?--I tried half a dozen more
caps at the fellow, with a most savage deliberateness; to all which he
paid not the slightest attention; but as his strength came gradually back,
I took to my heels again, and fortunately reached the highway....
The last ten miles of our ride that night were passed over in a very
headlong manner: we stopped only once, as we heard the cry of some hounds
on the south side, and then on again, keeping our horses just within their
speed, till at the worst place on the road, we gave up the reins and let
them go. In less than two hours from Picolata, we snuffed the salt air
again; and reaching the open country, walked our horses leisurely into St.
Augustine.
As we entered the city my companion left me; and as I drew rein on the
square, I noticed that the schooner was still at the dock, and all about
the city was quiet and undisturbed. The storm had gone by, its skirts
hanging on the eastern horizon, and forming a back-ground to the light of
the light-house, while the city and bay were bright in the starlight; and
if stars shine any brighter in the small hours, they were doing their best
then. All looked pleasant and quite at home, even to the sentry at the
corner; and there was nothing, you would say, to make one sad; but as I
turned the corner I drew a breath of such yawning profundity that the old
dog at the Florida House started up and growled impromptu. That dog had
held a stout nigger all night in the yard, not long before; but
fortunately he knew me, and after smelling, to make sure that all was
right, he followed me into an out-house, when I rolled Bob out of a
cradle, and giving a general order in a low voice for a warm bath in the
morning, found my quarters and went to bed.
At sunrise the next morning I was half awake, grasping at the skirts of a
pleasant dream, when Bob came in, blew about the room for awhile, and
cried out 'Massa, did you order um wom bath?' 'No; clear out! Eh? warm
bath? Yes; warm bath, to be sure.' And Bob went out, and came in directly
with two wenches and a warm bath. 'How's the wind Bob?' 'De wind?' 'Yes;
where's the wind' 'Dun know, Sah.' 'Well, go out in the balcony and see
where it comes from.' Bob shouted through the open window, 'De wind come
from de Souf.'
I made but one spring, and the blacks vanished. Going below, I found the
house in commotion. The schooner was to sail at nine o'clock, and the
signal would be the report of a two-pounder which the captain carried on
his quarter-deck. At eight o'clock I had been all over town from the fort
to the powder house; looked in at the church, where were some fifteen or
twenty kneeling, silent and devotional; and was seated at breakfast, when
we heard the captain's gun, an hour before the time. 'My God!' said I, 'I
can't go without seeing Mrs. J---- and kind Mrs. G----; and then there's
the pretty Di. Vernon!' (I had bade them good-by a dozen times.) I rushed
into the street, and seeing half-a-dozen ladies not far off, gave them a
touch-and-go shake; rushed up a wrong street, then back again, and finally
came out on the square and saw the little schooner's sails bellied out
full; passengers waving their handkerchiefs, and the people all around
crying out to me to hurry, or I should lose my chance. But I _didn't_
hurry. The idea of hurry, after we had waited six weeks! That captain too,
had he been asleep all this time, and just awaked? No; I did not hurry,
but walked leisurely across the square, looking over my shoulder
occasionally to see if ---- was any where in sight, for she had promised
to be at the dock; and passing over the long wharf in the same stubborn
way, I stepped on board the schooner with a stiffer upper lip than I ever
remember to have had in that climate. The moment that my feet touched the
deck, the ropes slipped and away flew the schooner; but in all this 'heat,
haste and hunger,' from a half-swallowed breakfast, and consignments of
pacquets and kind wishes that were left behind, the sentiment of my last
look was burnt to a cinder.
THOUGHTS FROM BULWER.
BY MRS. M. T. W. CHANDLER.
I.
It cannot be that earth was given for our abiding place,
Or that for nought we're darkly doomed the storms of life to face;
It cannot be our being's cast from 'neath the ocean wave
Of vast Eternity, to sink _again_ within its grave.
Else tell me why the aspiring thoughts, the glorious hopes of man,
Which spring up from his 'heart of hearts,' brook not earth's narrow span;
Oh! tell me why unsatisfied forever here they roam,
And seem to claim in higher spheres a refuge and a home.
II.
Why is it that the rainbow and the tints of evening clouds
Dispel the mists in which the world our spirits still enshrouds?
The chord they strike!--oh, tell me not that it can be of earth--
The golden heart-string that they touch is _not_ of mortal birth:
The very buds and blossoms, and the balmy summer air,
Awake within us shadows vague of things more bright and fair;
'Tis almost like _remembrance_--oh! would that I could tell
The meaning of that hidden charm my spirit knows so well!
III.
A simple tone can rouse it; a smile, or even a sigh
Can make the ghost-like shadows flit before my dreaming eye;
'Tis one of life's deep mysteries; in vain we seek to trace
The hidden spell's dark origin that chains our feeble race:
But, oh! may we not fancy, may we not sweetly think,
'Tis between us and another world a dim mysterious link?
May we not hope that secret chord from God to man was given,
To shadow forth within his soul pure images of heaven?
IV.
The very stars which pierce the veil far o'er this world of sin,
And seem to give faint visions of a paradise within,
In all their hallowed loveliness, their vague and mystic lore,
Oh! do they not seem beckoning to a purer, holier shore?
And tell me why the well-loved eyes which here upon us beam
Gleam radiantly o'er our path, then vanish like a dream;
My MOTHER! oh! my Mother! shall they find belief in me,
Who tell me there's no happy land where I shall meet with thee?
V.
I _know_ there is a heaven which is peopled not with shades,
Where the buds and flowers ne'er wither, and the rainbow never fades:
Where the mourners cease from mourning, and in smiles of joy are drest,
Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest:
Oh! there is gladness in the thought; 'tis deep, deep joy to me
To feel that those I love so well I there again shall see;
To know that though around them now my very heart-strings twine,
They'll be forever with me there--forever more be mine!
SONNET: TO THE OLD YEAR.
Good-by, Old Year! we wait to greet the New,
And hope within its circling hours to see
More of content and less of misery.
Yet, haply, all life's toilsome journey through,
No happier scenes than thine will meet our view;
If so, we humbly bow to Heaven's decree,
With hearts, though wounded, still as firm and true
As when we first knelt to the DEITY.
Many will weep, Old Year! while thou dost lay
Thine aged head within the voiceless tomb.
_We_ weep, yet on the clouds of grief doth play
The bow of promise, lighting up their gloom.
Not so with many hearts that crushed and bleeding lie,
Whose only thought of gladness is like thee to die!
_Brooklyn, Dec., 1843._ HANS VON SPIEGEL.
THE MAIL ROBBER.
NUMBER SIX.
LETTER TO THE EDITOR FROM HIS ENGLISH CORRESPONDENT.
Sir: My friends abroad complain that my last letter reached them in small
type, most pernicious to English eyes, and half hidden among the rubbish
of your editorial remarks, literary notices, and chit-chat with your
million butterfly correspondents. Unless I am better served in future, I
shall be compelled to transfer my patronage to the post-office, dangerous
as it is, and liable to the occasional interference of American citizens.
I have conferred with an attorney, who tells me that there is just ground
for an action for breach of trust, in the unfaithful performance of the
duty you have undertaken. It remains with yourself to avert any such
consequence, by attending more strictly in future to the proper conveyance
of my correspondence.
During the last week I have received a note from the gentleman who stole
the letters. This I enclose to you; and as I do not know where to address
him, I will simply reply to him, through the Magazine, that although I
have the highest respect for his talents, I would see him several miles on
his way to the devil, before I would comply with his polite request.
Truly yours, etc.,
---- ----.
THE MAIL ROBBER'S NOTE.
My Dear Friend: You will be surprised that I have found out your address,
and indeed it required some sagacity. But now that I have, you will pardon
me for broaching a matter in which we are mutually concerned. You must be
aware how horribly I have been used by the Editor of the KNICKERBOCKER,
and all through the share I have unfortunately had in your troublesome
correspondence. He still persists in refusing to pay me a proper
remuneration for my services, for which hitherto, I am sorry to say, I
have received only insult and vexation. I have been advised by my lawyer
to institute a suit at law against the miscreant, and matters are now in
progress toward that desirable result.
In the mean time I have thought proper to apply to your sense of justice
for a partial compensation of the trouble you have caused me. My character
has been assailed, my tranquillity disturbed, and my valuable time taken
up, without a penny of remuneration. Now, Sir, if you think fit to
transmit to the address of 'M. R.,' through the post-office, a hundred
dollars ($100), I will overlook what is past, and resign solely to
yourself what interest I possess in your epistolary intercourse through
the pages of that infamous Magazine. With sentiments of esteem,
Yours, as before,
M. R.
'So shaken as we are, so wan with care,' we begin to wish that we had
never undertaken the publication of these letters. Between two impending
law-suits how shall we muster courage to keep on the even tenor of our
way? Even our staunch friend, the anonymous Public, torments us with
frequent accusatory epistles, charging us with dulness, impiety, and
irreverence for American institutions. All these we must lay on the back
of our Englishman, whose compatriots we confess are apt to assume a
latitude of style hardly tolerated among us. In the mean time, gentle
Public, respected Cockney, and worthy Mail-Robber, we cry you mercy all
round!
ED. KNICKERBOCKER.
LETTER SIXTH.
TO CHARLES KEMBLE, ESQUIRE, LONDON.
Good Cassio, Charles, Mercutio, Benedick,
(Of all your names I scarce know which to pick,)
Colossal relic of the nobler time
When great JOHN PHILIP trod the scene sublime;
Ay, true Colossus, for like that which strode
From shore to shore, while seas beneath him flowed,
You seem to stand between two generations,
High o'er the tide of Time and its mutations;
Be not alarmed; this comes not from a dun,
Nor any scheming, transatlantic BUNN,
Tempting with golden hopes your waning years,
Like 'certain stars shot madly from their spheres,'
Like MATHEWS or old DOWTON, to expose
The shank all shrunken from its youthful hose;
So boldly read, howe'er it make you sigh,
Nor manager nor creditor am I;
Yet in some sort you are indeed my debtor,
And owe me for my pains at least a letter.
Not long ago, conversing at the Club
Which Londoners with 'GARRICK'S' title dub,
We both confessed, and each with equal grief,
That poor Melpomene was past relief;
So many symptoms of her dotage shows
This nineteenth century of steam and prose.
Nor in herself, said you, entirely lies
Th' incurable complaint whereof she dies;
'Tis not alone that play-wrights are too poor
For gods or men or columns to endure;[4]
Nor that all players in a mould are cast,
Every new Roscius aping still the last;
Nor yet that Taste's too delicate excess
Demands perfection and despises less;
But mere indifference, that worst disease,
From bard and actor take all power to please.
How strive to please? when all their friends that were,
To empty benches empty sounds prefer;
And seek, like bees attracted by a gong,
The fairy-land of tip-toe and of song;
Whether a voice of more than earthly strain
Be newly sent by Danube or the Seine,
Or some aërial, thistle-downy thing
Float from La Scala on a zephyr's wing.
Say, might a SIDDONS, conjured from the tomb,
Again the scene of her renown illume?
Could her high art, (ay, even at half price,)
The crowd from 'La Sonnambula' entice?
No; dance and song, the Drama's deadly plagues,
RUBINI'S notes, and ELLSLER'S heav'nly legs,
Would nightly still bring amateurs in flocks,
To watch the bravos of the royal box.
[4] By the word 'columnæ,' Horace (though BENTLEY knew it not)
evidently meant the columns of the Roman newspapers.