1807. The 12th of January in that year is rendered remarkable by a fatal
accident at Leyden, in Holland. A vessel loaded with gunpowder entered
one of the largest canals in the Rapenburg, a street inhabited chiefly
by the most respectable families, and moored to a tree in front of the
house of professor Rau, of the university. In Holland, almost every
street has a canal in the middle, faced with a brick wall up to the
level of the street, and with lime trees planted on both sides, which
produce a beautiful effect, and form a delightful shade in hot weather.
Vessels of all kinds are frequently moored to these trees, but Leyden
being an inland town, the greater part of those which happened to be in
the Rapenburg were country vessels. Several yachts, belonging to parties
of pleasure from the Hague and other places, were lying close to the
newly arrived vessel, and no person was aware of the destructive cargo
it contained.
A student of the university, who, at about a quarter past four o’clock
in the afternoon, was passing through a street from which there was a
view of the Rapenburg, with the canal and vessels, related the following
particulars to the editor of the _Monthly Magazine_:--
“At that moment, when every thing was perfectly tranquil, and most of
the respectable families were sitting down to dinner in perfect
security, at that instant, I saw the vessel torn from its moorings: a
stream of fire burst from it in all directions, a thick, black cloud
enveloped all the surrounding parts and darkened the heavens, whilst a
burst, louder and more dreadful than the loudest thunder, instantly
followed, and vibrated through the air to a great distance, burying
houses and churches in one common ruin. For some moments horror and
consternation deprived every one of his recollection, but an universal
exclamation followed, of “O God, what is it?” Hundreds of people might
be seen rushing out of their falling houses, and running along the
streets, not knowing what direction to take; many falling down on their
knees in the streets, persuaded that the last day was come; others
supposed they had been struck by lightning, and but few seemed to
conjecture the real cause. In the midst of this awful uncertainty, the
cry of “O God, what is it?” again sounded mournfully through the air,
but it seemed as if none could answer the dreadful question. One
conjecture followed another, but at last, when the black thick cloud
which had enveloped the whole city had cleared away a little, the awful
truth was revealed, and soon all the inhabitants of the city were seen
rushing to the ruins to assist the sufferers. There were five large
schools on the Rapenburg, and all at the time full of children. The
horror of the parents and relations of these youthful victims is not to
be described or even imagined; and though many of them were saved
almost miraculously, yet no one dared to hope to see his child drawn
alive from under a heap of smoking ruins.
“Flames soon broke out from four different parts of the ruins, and
threatened destruction to the remaining part of Leyden. The multitude
seemed as it were animated with one common soul in extricating the
sufferers, and stopping the progress of the flames. None withdrew from
the awful task, and the multitude increased every moment by people
coming from the surrounding country, the explosion having been heard at
the distance of fifty miles. Night set in, the darkness of which, added
to the horrors of falling houses, the smothered smoke, the raging of the
flames, and the roaring of the winds on a tempestuous winter night,
produced a scene neither to be described nor imagined; while the
heart-rending cries of the sufferers, or the lamentations of those whose
friends or children were under the ruins, broke upon the ear at
intervals. Many were so entirely overcome with fear and astonishment,
that they stared about them without taking notice of any thing, while
others seemed full of activity, but incapable of directing their efforts
to any particular object.”
In the middle of the night, Louis Bonaparte, then king of Holland,
arrived from the palace of Loo, having set out as soon as the express
reached him with the dreadful tidings. Louis was much beloved by his
subjects, and his name is still mentioned by them with great respect. On
this occasion his presence was very useful. He encouraged the active and
comforted the sufferers, and did not leave the place till he had
established good order, and promised every assistance in restoring both
public and private losses. He immediately gave a large sum of money to
the city, and granted it many valuable privileges, besides exemption
from imposts and taxes for a number of years.
Some degree of order having been restored, the inhabitants were divided
into classes, not according to their rank, but the way in which they
were employed about the ruins. These classes were distinguished by bands
of different colours tied round their arms. The widely extended ruins
now assumed the appearance of hills and valleys, covered with multitudes
of workmen, producing to the eye an ever-varying scene of different
occupations. The keel of the vessel in which the catastrophe commenced,
was found buried deep in the earth at a considerable distance, together
with the remains of a yacht from the Hague with a party of pleasure,
which lay close to it. The anchor of the powder vessel was found in a
field without the city, and a very heavy piece of lead at the foot of
the mast was thrown into a street at a great distance.
One of the most affecting incidents was the fate of the pupils of the
different schools on the Rapenburg. At the destructive moment, the wife
of the principal of the largest of them was standing at the door with
her child in her arms; she was instantly covered with the falling beams
and bricks, the child was blown to atoms, and she was thrown under a
tree at some distance. Part of the floor of the school-room sunk into
the cellar, and twelve children were killed instantly; the rest,
miserably wounded, shrieked for help, and one was heard to call, “Help
me, help me, I will give my watch to my deliverer.” Fathers and mothers
rushed from all parts of the city to seek their children, but after
digging five hours they found their labour fruitless; and some were even
obliged to leave the spot in dreadful suspense, to attend to other near
relations dug out in other quarters. They at last succeeded, by
incredible efforts, in bringing up some of the children, but in such a
state that many of their parents could not recognise them, and not a few
were committed to the grave without its being known who they were. Many
of these children, both among the dead and those who recovered, bled
profusely, while no wound could be discovered in any part of their
bodies. Others were preserved in a wonderful manner, and without the
least hurt. Forty children were killed. In some houses large companies
were assembled, and in one, a newly married couple, from a distance, had
met a numerous party of their friends. One person who was writing in a
small room, was driven through a window above the door, into the
staircase, and fell to the bottom without receiving much hurt. Many were
preserved by the falling of the beams or rafters in a particular
direction, which protected them, and they remained for many hours, some
for a whole day and night. A remarkable fact of this kind happened,
when the city of Delft was destroyed by an explosion of gunpowder in
1654; a child, a year old, was found two days afterwards sucking an
apple, and sitting under a beam, with just space left for its body. Two
others at a little distance were in their cradles quite safe. At that
time almost the whole of Delft was destroyed.
Leyden is as large a city, but not so populous, as Rotterdam, the second
city in Holland. Upwards of two hundred houses were overthrown on this
occasion, besides churches and public buildings; the Stadt, or
town-house, was among the latter.
_One hundred and fifty-one_ dead bodies were taken from the ruins,
besides many that died after. Upwards of _two thousand_ were wounded
more or less dangerously. It is remarkable that none of the students of
the university were either killed or wounded, though they all lodge in
different parts of the city, or wherever they please. Contributions were
immediately began, and large sums raised. The king of Holland gave
30,000 gilders, and the queen 10,000; a very large sum was collected in
London.
Leyden suffered dreadfully by siege in 1573, and by the plague in 1624
and 1635, in which year 15,000 of the inhabitants were carried off
within six months. In 1415 a convent was burnt, and most of the nuns
perished in the flames. An explosion of gunpowder, in 1481, destroyed
the council-chamber when full of people, and killed most of the
magistrates.
The misfortunes of this city have become proverbial, and its very name
has given rise to a pun. “_Leyden_” is “_Lijden_;” _Leyden_, the name of
the city, and _Lijden_, (to suffer,) have the same pronunciation in the
Dutch language.
* * * * *
The chirp of the crickets from the kitchen chimney breaks the silence of
still evenings in the winter. They come from the crevices, when the
house is quiet, to the warm hearth, and utter their shrill monotonous
notes, to the discomfiture of the nervous, and the pleasure of those who
have sound minds in sound bodies. This insect and the grasshopper are
agreeably coupled in a pleasing sonnet. The “summoning brass” it speaks
of, our country readers well know, as an allusion to the sounds usually
produced from some kitchen utensil of metal to assist in swarming the
bees:--
_To the Grasshopper and the Cricket._
Green little vaulter in the sunny grass,
Catching your heart up at the feel of June,
Sole voice that’s heard amidst the lazy noon,
When ev’n the bees lag at the summoning brass;
And you, warm little housekeeper, who class
With those who think the candles come too soon,
Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune
Nick the glad silent moments as they pass;
Oh, sweet and tiny cousins, that belong,
One to the fields, the other to the hearth,
Both have your sunshine; both, though small, are strong
At your clear hearts; and both were sent on earth
To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song,--
In doors and out, summer and winter, Mirth.
_L. Hunt._
~January 13.~
CAMBRIDGE LENT TERM _begins_.
_St. Veronica of Milan._ _St. Kentigern._
_St. Hilary._
The festival of St. Hilary is not, at this time, observed by the Romish
church until to-morrow, but it stands in old calendars, and in Randle
Holmes’s Heraldry, on this day, whereon it is also placed in the English
calendar. Butler says, he was born at Poictiers, became bishop of that
city, was a commentator on Scripture, an orator, a poet, wrote against
the Arians, was banished for his orthodoxy, but returned to his see,
worked miracles, and died on the 13th of January, 368. Ribadeneira says,
that in a certain island, uninhabitable by reason of venemous serpents,
they fled from his holiness; that he put up a stake as a boundary,
commanding them not to pass it, and they obeyed; that he raised a dead
child to life, prayed his daughter to death, and did other astonishing
things; especially after his decease, when two merchants, at their own
cost and by way of venture, offered an image at his shrine, but as one
begrudged the cost of his share, St. Hilary caused the image to divide
from top to bottom, while being offered, keeping the one half, and
rejecting the niggard’s moiety. The Golden Legend says, that St. Hilary
also obtained his wife’s death by his prayers; and that pope Leo, who
was an Arian, said to him, “Thou art Hilary the cock, and not the son of
a hen;” whereat Hilary said, “I am no cock, but a bishop in France;”
then said the pope, “Thou art Hilary _Gallus_ (signifying a cock) and I
am Leo, judge of the papal see;” whereupon Hilary replied, “If thou be
Leo, thou art not (a lion) of the tribe of Juda.” After this railing the
pope died, and Hilary was comforted.
_St. Veronica._
She was a nun, with a desire to live always on bread and water, died in
1497, and was canonized, after her claim to sanctity was established to
the satisfaction of his holiness pope Leo X.
_St. Kentigern._
He was bishop of Glasgow, with jurisdiction in Wales, and, according to
Butler, “favoured with a wonderful gift of miracles.” Bishop Patrick, in
his “Devotions of the Romish Church,” says, “St. Kentigern had a
singular way of kindling fire, which _I_ could never have hit upon.”
Being in haste to light candles for vigils, and some, who bore a spite
to him, having put out all the fire in the monastery, he snatched the
green bough of an hazel, blessed it, blew upon it, the bough produced a
great flame, and he lighted his candles: “whence we may conjecture,”
says Patrick, “that tinder-boxes are of a later invention than St.
Kentigern’s days.”