“And of what I believe.”

“And—”

“What more! One would think these requisitions quite sufficient.
I shall try to comply with them — at my leisure.”

“Don't forget to give us a story now and then — a legend —
fact or fabrication — I don't care which. You may wind up a
chapter with a song, and a description with a story.”

“You are indulgent! Well, I will do what I can for you. I
shall report my daily experiences, and something more. My
memory shall have full play, and the events of former progresses
shall be made to illustrate the present. I shall exercise
perfect freedom in what I write — a liberty I hope always to
enjoy — and shall soothe the idle vein, by affording every privilege
to Fancy. Without some such privilege, your traveller's
narrative is apt to become a very monotonous one; and he who
drily reports only what he sees, without enlivening his details
by what he feels, or fancies, or remembers, will be very apt,
however much he may desire to correspond, to find few friends
willing to pay postage on his letters, even at present prices.”

“Good! You have the right notion of the thing. Well!
You go at three? I shall see you off. Adios!”

Sure enough, at the designated hour, my friend waited my
arrival on the quarter-deck of the good steamer Marion, Berry
master. Our hands grasped.

“I am here,” said he.

“I am grateful!”

“Stay! Hear me out! Your words have prevailed. I am
anxious to believe your fiction. I am tired of Newport and
Saratoga — long for novelty — have insured my life for ten
thousand — and now, ho! for the South! I go with you as I
am a living man!”

And we sang together the old chant of the Venetian, done
into English —

CHAPTER II.

“Our separation so abides, and flies,
That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me,
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee.”
[Antony & Cleopatra.]

[figure description] Page 010.[end figure description]

So sudden had been the determination of my friend to accompany
me south, that there was but a single acquaintance to see
him off, and he came late, with a quarter-box of cigars under
his arm, and a bottle of London-Dock black brandy, rolled up
in a blue silk pocket-handkerchief, carried in his hands as gingerly
as if a new-born baby. These were to afford the necessary
consolations against salt-water. My friend and myself,
meanwhile, mounted to the quarter-deck, leaving the gang-way
free to the bustling crowds that come and go, like so many
striving, crossing, and purposeless billows, on all such occasions.
We had not many passengers, at this season of the year, but
they had numerous acquaintances to see them off. We watched
sundry groups, in which we could detect symptoms of suppressed
emotion, not less intelligent and touching because, evidently,
kept down with effort.

Even when we know our own restless nature, eager always
for change, it is yet wonderful that we should leave home —
should tear ourselves away from the living fibres of love which
we leave to bleed behind us, and but slowly to close the wounds
in our own bosoms.

The strongest heart goes with some reluctance, even when it
hurries most. The soul lingers fondly, though the horses grow
restiff in the carriage at the door. We look back with longing
eyes, while the vessel drops down the stream. If we could
endure the shame and self-reproach of manhood, in such a proceeding,
we should, half the time, return if we could.

Truly, this parting is a serious business — even where the
voyager is, like myself, an old one. To the young beginner it

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is a great trial of the strength. To tear oneself away from the
youthful home — the old familiar faces — the well-remembered
haunts and pathways, more precious grown than ever, — when
we are about to leave them, perhaps for ever, — is a necessity
that compels many a struggle in which the heart is very apt to
falter. The very strength of the affections betrays its great
deficiency of strength.

The gathered crowd upon the quay — the eagerness, the
anxiety, and earnest words and looks of all — the undisguised
tears of many — the last broken, tender words of interest — the
subdued speech — the sobs which burst from the bosom in the
last embrace; — what associations, and pangs, and fears, and
losses, do these declare! what misgivings and terrors! True,
the harbor smiles in sweetness; the skies look down in beauty;
the waves roll along, soft, subdued, with a pleasant murmur;
there is not a cloud over the face of heaven — not a voice of
threat in the liquid zephyr that stirs the hair upon your forehead:
but the prescient soul knows the caprice of wind, and
sea, and sky; and the loving heart is always a creature full of
tender apprehensions for the thing it loves. Long seasons of
delicious intercourse are about to terminate; strong affinities,
which can not be broken, are about to be burdened with cruel
apprehensions, and doubts which can not be decided till after
long delay; and the mutual intercourse, which has become the
absolute necessity of the heart, is to be interrupted by a separation
which may be final. The deep waters may roll eternal
barriers between two closely-linked and bonded lives, and neither
shall hear the cry of the other's suffering — neither be permitted
to extend the hand of help, or bring to the dying lips the
cup of consolation.

Such are the thoughts and fears of those who separate daily.
Necessity may excuse the separation; but how is it with those
whose chief motive for wandering is pleasure? In diversity of
prospect, change of scene, and novel associations, they would
escape that ennui which, it seems, is apt to make its way even
into the abode of love. There is some mystery in this seeming
perversity, and, duly examined, it is not without its justification.
The discontent which prompts the desire for change in the
breast of man, is the fruit, no doubt, of a soul-necessity which is

[figure description] Page 012.[end figure description]

not easy to analyze. We owe to this secret prompter some of the
best benefits which the world enjoys; and the temporary sufferings
of the affections — the wounds of separation — are not wholly
without their compensation, even while the wounds are green.

A similitude has somewhere been traced between the effects
of parting and of death. The former has been called a death
in miniature. It certainly very often provokes as fond an exhibition
of grief and privation. But these declare as much for
life as for mortality. There is another side to the picture. The
parting of friends is so far grateful, as it gives us the renewed
evidences of a warm, outgushing, and acutely-sensitive humanity.
We are consoled, through the sorrow, by the love. We see the
grief, but it does not give us pain, as we find its origin in the
most precious developments of the human nature. We weep,
but we feel; and there is hope for the heart so long as it can
feel. There are regrets — but O! how sweet are the sympathies
which harbor in those regrets! The emotions, the passions, —
the more precious interior sentiments, — need occasionally
some pressure, some privation, some pang, in order that
they may be made to show themselves — in order that we may
be assured of our possessions still; — and how warmly do they
crowd and gather above us in the moment when we separate
from our associates! Into what unexpected activity and utterance
do they start and spring, even in the case of those whose
ordinary looks are cold, who, like certain herbs of the forest,
need to be bruised heavily before they will give out the aromatic
sweetness which harbors in their bosoms!

And these are the best proofs of life — not death. Humanity
never possesses more keen and precious vitality than while it
suffers. It is not, as in the hour of decay and decline — when
the blood is chilled by apathy — when the tongue is stilled by
palsy — when the exhausted nature gladly foregoes the struggle,
and craves escape from the wearying conflict for existence —
anxious now for the quiet waters only — imploring peace, and
dulled and indifferent in respect to all mortal associations. The
thoughts of the mind, the yearnings of the heart, are all of a
different nature, at the separation of friends and kindred. They
do not part without a hope. The pain of parting is not without
a pleasure. There are sweet sorrows, as well as sad, and this

[figure description] Page 013.[end figure description]

is one of that order. There are many fears, it is true; but these
speak for life, nay hope, rather than for death. Every impulse,
in the hour which separates the voyagers, tells of life — of
vague and grateful anticipations — of renovating experiences —
of predicted and promised enjoyments, which neutralize the
pain of parting, even in the breasts that most warmly love.
Those who remain weep, perhaps, more passionately than those
who go. Yet how sweet is that silent tear in the solitude —
haunted by happy memories — in the little lovely realm of
home! The voyager loses these presences and associations of
home; but, in place of them, he dreams of discoveries to be
made which he shall yet bring home and share with those he
leaves. He will gather new associations to add to the delights
of home; new aspects; treasures for the eye and mind, which
shall make the solitary forget wholly the lonely length of his
absence. Nature has benevolently possessed us with promptings,
such as these, which disarm remorse and apprehension:
else how should enterprise brave the yet pathless waters, or
hope retread the wilderness? Where should genius look for the
accompanying aid of perseverance? where would ambition seek
for encouragement? where would merit find its reward?

It is well to leave our homes for a season. It is wise to go
abroad among strangers. The mind and body, alike, become
debilitated, and lose their common energies as frequently from
the lack of change and new society as from any other cause.
Relaxation, in this way, from the toils of one station, serves to
enlarge the capacities, to make room for thought, to afford time
for the gathering of new materials, and for the exercise of all
the faculties of sense and sentiment. As the farther we go in
the natural, so in the moral world, a like journey in the same
manner yields us a wider horizon. We add to our stock by
attrition with strangers. A tacit trade is carried on between us.
Our modes of thinking, our thoughts themselves, our manners,
habits, aims, and desires — if not exchanged for others — become
intermixed with, or modified by them. They gather from us as
much, in these concerns, and in this way, as we can possibly
derive from them; and thus, by mutual acquaintance with each
other, we overcome foolish prejudices, subjugate ancient enmities,
make new friends and associations, and all this simply by

[figure description] Page 014.[end figure description]

enlarging the sphere of our observation — by overleaping the
boundaries of a narrow education — leaving the ten-mile horizon
in which we were born, and to which our errors are peculiar,
and opening our eyes upon a true picture of the character of
the various man.

Of all tyrants, home ignorance is the worst.

“Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits,”

“Ah! clearly,” concluded my companion, after we had worked
out the meditations together which I have thrown together above
as a sort of essay — “clearly, there is no more moral practice in
the world than is found in vagabondage; yet if you try to prove
its morality, you take from it all its charm. I am for enjoying
the vice as such, without arguing for the necessity of evil —
which I yet admit.—But, look you, we are to have some lady
passengers. That's a graceful creature!”

I soon discovered in the group to which my companion called
my attention, some old acquaintances.

“Ay, indeed; and when you have seen her face, and chatted
with her, you will account her beautiful as graceful. She is a
sweet creature to whom I will introduce you. The family is
one of our oldest, highly-esteemed and wealthy. You want a
wife — she is the woman for you. Win her, and you are a

[figure description] Page 015.[end figure description]

favorite of the gods. She has already refused a dozen. Ten to one,
she is on her way to the very mountain regions to which we go.”

“Good! — I shall be glad to know her. Not that I want a
wife — though, perhaps, I need one.”

The group disappeared in the cabin. Our hour was approaching.
The last bell would soon ring — our fellow-passengers—
fortunately few in number — some forty only — were all
on board. Several of them were known to me, and I promised
myself and my companion good-fellowship. Meanwhile, we
were taking our last look at the neighborhood. The bay and
harbor of New York make a very grateful picture. The amphitheatre
is a fine and noble one, but it is a mistake to insist
upon the grandeur of its scenery. Mr. Cooper, once, in a conversation
with me, even denied that it could be called a beautiful
one. But he was clearly in error. He had measured its
claims by foreign standards, such as the bay of Naples, the adjuncts
of which it lacked. But its beauties are nevertheless
undeniable. The error of its admirers is in talking vaguely of
its sublimity. Grandeur is not the word to apply to any portion
of the Hudson. It is a bold and stately stream, ample,
noble, rich, but with few of the ingredients of sublimity. It impresses
you — is imposing; — your mind is raised in its contemplation,
your fancy enlivened with its picturesqueness — but it
possesses few or none of the qualities which awe or startle. It
has boldness rather than vastness, is commanding rather than
striking, and, if impressive, is quite as frequently cold and unattractive.
To a Southern eye, accustomed to the dense umbrage,
the close coppice, the gigantic forest, the interminable shade,
the wilderness of undergrowth, and the various tints and hues
of leaf and blossom, which crown our woods with variety and
sweetness, the sparseness of northern woods suggests a great
deficiency, which the absence of a lateral foliage, where the
trees do occur, only increases. Mountain scenery, unless wild
and greatly irregular, repels and chills as commonly as it invites
and beguiles. There must be a sufficient variety of forest tint
and shelter, under a clear blue sky, to satisfy the fancy and the
sympathies. That along the Hudson, after the first pleasant
transition from the sea, becomes somewhat monotonous as you
proceed. For the length of the river, the scenery is probably as

[figure description] Page 016.[end figure description]

agreeable and attractive as any in the country, unless, perhaps,
the St. John's, which is quite a wonderful stream — imposing in
spite of the absence of all elevations — and I may add, in certain
respects, the Tselica, or French-Broad, in North Carolina. The
first of these rivers is remarkable for its great openings into noble
lakes, and its noble colonnades of trees; — the last for its furious
rapids, its precipitous and broken heights, that bear upon their
blasted fronts the proofs of the terrible convulsion of storm and
fire, that rent their walls apart and gave passage for the swollen
torrent. These you may study and pursue, mile after mile,
with constant increase of interest. But, along the Hudson, I do
not see that the spectator lingers over it with any profound admiration,
or expectation, the first hour or two of progress being
over. His curiosity seldom lasts beyond West Point. Observe
the crowds wayfaring daily in the steamboats, between New
York and Albany — as they glide below the Palisade, that excellent
wall of trap, almost as regularly built, as if by the hand
of mortal artificer — as they penetrate the Highlands and dart
beneath the frowning masses of Crow Nest, and Anthony's
Nose; — watch them as they approach all these points and places—
all of them distinguished in song and story, in chronicle and
guide-book — and you will perceive but little raised attention —
little of that eager enthusiastic forgetfulness of self, which
speaks the excited fancy, and the struggling imagination. They
will talk to you of beauties, but these do not inflame them; of
sublimities, which never inspire awe; and prospects, over which
they yawn rather than wonder.

In fact, the exaggerations in regard to this river have done
some wrong to its real claims to respect and admiration. The
traveller is taught to expect too much. The scenery does not
grow upon him. The objects change in their positions, from
this hand to that, in height and bulk, but seldom in form, and
as infrequently in relation to one another. The groups bear
still the same family likenesses. The narrow gorge through
which you are passing at one moment, presented you with its
twin likeness but a few minutes before; and the great rock
which towers, sloping gradually up from the river in which it is
moored with steadfast anchorage, is only one of a hundred such,
which lack an individual character. The time has not yet

[figure description] Page 017.[end figure description]

arrived when the commanding physical aspects of the scene shall
possess an appropriate moral attraction; when the temple shall
swell up with its vast range of marble pillars, crowning the eminence
with a classic attraction, and addressing equally the
taste and patriotism; — when groves and gardens, and palaces,
like those of Bagdad, shall appeal to that oriental fancy in the
spectator which is clearly the province of our sky and climate.

At present, these are somewhat repelled by the frequent and
manifest perversities of taste, as it seeks to minister to pretension,
at the expense of fine and imposing situations. The lawn
which spreads away upon the shore, terminating at once with a
West Indian verandah, a Dutch farmhouse, and probably a
Gothic cottage, scarcely persuades you to a second glance; or,
if it does, only to prompt you to quarrel with the painful and
unfruitful labors of the architect in search of the picturesque.
In what is natural, it may be admitted that you find grace and
beauty, but somewhat injured by monotony; in what is done
by art you are annoyed by newness, and a taste still crude and
imperfectly developed.

The bay of New York is much more noble, I am inclined to
think, than the Hudson; but the characteristics of the two are not
unlike. Depth, fullness, clearness — a coup d'æil which satisfies
the glance, and a sufficient variety in the groups and objects to
persuade the eye to wander — these are the constituents of both;
and, in their combination, we find sweetness, grace and nobleness,
but nowhere grandeur or sublimity. Green islets rise on
either hand, the shore lies prettily in sight, freshened with verdure,
and sprinkled by white cottages which you must not examine
in detail, lest you suspect that they may be temples in
disguise. Here are forts and batteries, which are usually said
to frown, but, speaking more to the card, the grin is more frequent
than the frown; and here, emerging through the gorge
of the Narrows, we gaze on pleasant heights and headlands,
which seem the prettiest places in the world for summer dwellings
and retreats. No one will deny the beauty of the scene,
as it is, or will question its future susceptibilities. Let us adopt
the right epithets. In passing out to sea, with the broad level
range of the Atlantic before us, glowing purple in the evening
sunlight, we find it easy to believe, gazing behind us upon the

[figure description] Page 018.[end figure description]

shore, that, for the charm of a pleasing landscape, a quiet home,
a dear retreat for peace and contemplation, no region presents
higher attractions than we find along the shores which lead from
Sandy Hook to the city of Manhatta, and spread away from
that up the valley of the Hudson, till we pass beyond the Catskill
ranges.

“You are like all the rest of the outsiders,” said my companion,
querulously. “It takes a New York eye to see and appreciate
the sublimity of the Hudson.”

“Precisely. That is just what I say. It is the New York
eye only which makes this discovery. But we are off. There
goes the gun! — and farewell, for the present, to our goodly
Gotham. Ah! there is Hoboken! How changed for the worse,
as a picture, from what is was when I first knew it. Twenty
years ago, when I first visited New York, Hoboken was as
favorite a resort with me, of an afternoon, as it was to thousands
of your citizens. Its beautifully sloping lawns were green and
shady. Now! oh! the sins of brick and mortar! There, I first
knew Bryant and Sands, and wandered with them along the
shores, at sunset, or strolled away, up the heights of Weehawken,
declaiming the graceful verses of Halleck upon the scene.
All is altered now! Vale!”

CHAPTER III

“The world's mine oyster,
Which I with sword will open.”

[figure description] Page 019.[end figure description]

Our steamers do not take long in getting out to sea. We
have no such tacking and backing, and sidling and idling, as
afflicted and embarrassed the movements of the ancient packetships,
after they had tripped anchors. On the present occasion,
our vessel went ahead with a will, and though not the fastest of
our steamers, yet with a power of her own, particularly in a
heavy sea, and with lively breezes, which enables her, under
such circumstances to surge ahead with the bravest. We were
soon out of the hook, with our nose set south, a mild setting sun
persuading us onward, holding out rosy wreaths and halos in
the west, which seemed to promise well for the balmy clime to
which our course was bent. The breeze, though fresh, was soft
and warm, and the sea as smooth as the blandishments of a popular
orator. The scene was sufficiently auspicious to bring all
the passengers on deck, where they grouped about together according
to their several affinities. I kept my promise to my
companion, and introduced him to the interesting lady in dovecolored
muslin.

“Miss Burroughs, suffer me to introduce to you my friend,
Mr. Edgar Duyckman of New York.”

The lady bowed graciously — my friend was superlative in
courtesy, and expressed his great delight in making her acquaintance.
She smiled, as she replied —

“Mr. Duyckman seems to forget that he enjoyed this pleasure
on a previous occasion.”

“Indeed! Where, Miss Burroughs?” was the response. Our
Edgar was evidently disquieted. The lady smiled again, the
smallest possible twinkle of the quiz peeping out from the corner
of her eyes.

[figure description] Page 020.[end figure description]

“Both at Newport and Saratoga. But I can hardly complain
that the impression which I made upon his memory was so slight,
remembering how many were the eyes, dazzled like his own, by
the blaze of Miss Everton's beauty.”

Very rich was the suffusion upon Edgar's cheek. He had
been one of the heedless beetles, who had his wings singed in
that beauty's blaze. Common rumor said that he had been
mortified unexpectedly by a rude and single monosyllable, from
that young lady, in reply to a very passionate apostrophe. Poor
fellow, he was quite cut up — cut down, he phrased it — by the
extent of his present companion's knowledge. But she was not
the person to press an ungenerous advantage, and the subject
was soon made to give way to another which left the galled
jade free. He soon recovered his composure, and we got into
a pleasant chat mostly about the world in which we found ourselves;
suffering a “sea change” in thoughts as well as association.
Our fellow-passengers, numbering just enough for good-fellowship
and ease, were mostly veteran seafarers, to whom
salt water brought no afflictions. We were pleasantly enough
occupied for a while, in scanning their visages as they passed,
and discussing their appearances, and supposed objects. Of
course, a fair proportion of the men were bound south for business
purposes. The ladies were but three in number, and, like
my young friend and myself, their aim was for the mountain
country. As yet, any notion of taking this route in midsummer
had not entered into the imagination of summer idlers to conceive.
We were, in a measure, the pioneers in a novel progress.

My friend Duyckman, soon becoming interested in the fair
Selina Burroughs, began to bring forth all his resources of reading
and experience. He had an abundant supply of graceful
and grateful resources, and was capable of that pleasant sort of
intellectual trifling which is perhaps the most current of all the
light coin of society. The moment that he could fairly forget
the malapropos reference to the beautiful coquette of Newport,
he became easy, fluent and interesting, and under his lead the
chat became at once lively and interesting, relating particularly
to the scenes about, and the prospect before us. These, as I
have shown, were sufficiently pleasant and promising. The sun
was set, but the shores lay still in sight, a dim edging of coast,

[figure description] Page 021.[end figure description]

a dark stripe of riband along the deep. We were not yet out
of our latitude, and the points of shore, as we passed, could still
be identified and named. It is easy enough for Americans to pass
from the present to antiquity, and, per saltum, to make a hurried
transition to the future. The orator who does not begin at the
flood, or at least with the first voyage of Columbus, scarcely satisfies
the popular requisition on this head. Thus, coming out of
the mouth of the Hudson, it was matter of course that we should
meditate the career of old Hendrick, of that Ilk, the first to penetrate
the noble avenue of stream from which we had just
emerged. It was no disparagement to the ancient mariner, that
my friend dealt with him in a vein not dissimilar to that in which
Irving disposed of the great men of the Dutch dynasty, the Van
Twillers, the Stuyvesants, and other unpronounceable dignitaries.
He passed, by natural transitions, to modern periods.

“Perhaps, the most exciting of recent events is the oyster
war between the Gothamites and Jerseyites. The history of
this amusing struggle for plunder is one that should be put on
record by a becoming muse. It is a fit subject for an epic. I
would recommend it to Bayard Taylor, or Dr. Holmes. The
first essential is to be found in the opposite characteristics of the
rival races. They are sufficiently distinct for contrast — York
and Jersey — as much so as Greek and Trojan. A study of details
would afford us the Achilles and Hector, the Ulysses, Ajax,
and Thersites. Nor should we want for a pious priest or two,
since, in modern times, piety is, by a large number, supposed to
be only a fit training for habits of peculation.”

“It furnishes a frequent mask, at all events.”

“Yes, and was not wanting in this contest. The number of
persons engaged was sufficient to enlist all varieties of character,
and it was a matter of vital interest to one of the parties at least.
The smaller republic was largely interested in the subject of
debate. The courage and enterprise of the Jerseyans had
plucked the rugged oyster from his native abodes, and subjected
him to the usual processes of civilization. They had planted him
in favorite places, and given due attention to his training. The
oyster was grateful, and took his education naturally. He grew
and fatted; and the benevolent Jerseyans watched his growth
and improvement with daily care, looking fondly forward to the

[figure description] Page 022.[end figure description]

time when he should take his place in the gratified presence of
the great and noble of the land. Famously did the oyster grow—
thus considerately protected — until he rose conspicuous in
every estimation among the gastronomes of Gotham. These
looked with equal envy and admiration upon the performances
of their neighbors. Little did Jersey suspect the danger that
awaited her favorites. But cunning and cupidity, and eager
lust, and ravenous appetite, were planning desolation and overthrow
to the hopes of these guardians of the innocent. Evil designs
were plotted — cruel, treacherous, barbarous, like those
which finally routed the poor nuns at midnight from their
Charlestown convent. And great was the shock and the horror
of Jersey when the assault was finally made under cover of
night and darkness.”

“Truly, Mr. Duyckman, you make a lively picture of the
event. Pray go on: I am interested to know the result. What
of the progress of the war? I confess to only a slight knowledge
of the affair.”

“Without the documents, I can not go into particulars. To
collect these would require a life. To depict them properly
would demand a Homer. The war between the cranes and
frogs would alone furnish a just plan for such a history. I
must content myself with a summary. But, were you to have
proper portraits of the fierce Sam Jones, the redoubtable Pete
Pinnock, Ben the Biter, Barney the Diver, Bill the Raker, Ned
the Devourer, and a score or two more, on both sides, who distinguished
themselves in the field during this bivalvular campaign,
you would feel that there are still provinces for the epic
muse, in which she might soar as gloriously as she ever did in
the days of Ilium. Jersey rose to the necessities of the occasion.
We will say nothing about her interest in this event; but
her pride was involved in the security of her virgin beds; and
when, prompted by cupidity, these were invaded, vi et armis,
by the grasping Gothamites, who desired to share the spoils
which their valor had not been sufficient to achieve, it was not
to be wondered at that all Jersey should rise in arms. The
public sentiment was unanimous. From Newark to Absecom,
but a single cry was heard. From Jersey City to Cape May,
the beacons were lighted up. The cry `To arms!' spread and

[figure description] Page 023.[end figure description]

echoed far and wide, from the heights of Weehawken to the
breakers of Barnegat. The feeling of each Jerseyan was that of
the North Carolinian from Tar river, on his way to Texas, when
he heard of Santa Anna's invasion of the single star republic.
They flourished their plover-guns, where the son of the old
North State flourished his rifle, preparing, like him, to assert
their rights, in nubibus. Well might the oyster family become
proud of the excitement occasioned by the contemplated invasion
of their abodes. The banner of lust and avarice, carried
by the Gothamites, was borne forward with sufficient audacity
to show the estimated value of the prize.”

Here our captain put in with a fragment of one of the ballads
made on the occasion: —

“Bravo, captain! you are as good as a chronicler. Let us
have the rest.”

“That is all I recollect of the ballad; but, had I known your
wishes in season, we might have got it all out of the pilot. He
was in the war, and was one of the wounded — taken with the
fine edge of an oyster-shell on the left nostril, where he carries
the proof of his valor to this day in a monstrous scar. The
only further curious fact I know, in the history, is that the
said scar always opens afresh in the `R' months, — the oysterseason.”

The curious fact thus stated led to some discussion of the occult
subject of moral and physical affinities, in which we wandered
off to the philosophies of Sir Kenelm Digby and Hahnemann.
From these we concluded that there is a latent truth in the
vulgar proverb which asserts “the hair of the dog to be good
for the bite” — a proverb which we hold to be the true source
of homeopathy. The practical inference from the discussion

[figure description] Page 024.[end figure description]

was that our pilot could do nothing more likely to effect the cure
of his abraded nostril, than to subject his nose to an oyster-scraping
in all the months which contain the irritating letter.
This episode over, our Gothamite continued his narration: —

“The invasion of the oyster-beds of Jersey, thus formidably
led by Jones the Big, was at first a surprise. The Jerseyans
never dreamed of the malice of their neighbors. But they had
been vigilant, and were valiant. The Jersey Blues had enjoyed
a very honorable reputation for valor from the Revolutionary
period, not exceeded, perhaps scarcely equalled, by any of the
neighboring colonies. They had a proper pride in maintaining
this reputation. It was at once a question of life and honor,
and they rushed fearlessly to the rescue. The slaughter of
their innocents had begun, and they were suffered but little time
for preparation. Hastily snatching up what weapons and missiles
they could lay hands upon, they darted forth by land and
sea. For a season, the war consisted of unfruitful skirmishes only,
but the two armies at length drew together. The great cities
of refuge of the oyster were in sight, the prize of valor. The
audacity of the invaders increased with the prospect. Sam Jones
led his followers on with a savage desperation peculiarly his
own. Very fearful had been Sam's experience. He had slept
upon a circle of six feet, on an oyster-bed, with the Atlantic rolling
around him. He had enjoyed a hand-to-hand combat with a
shark, of sixteen feet, in five-fathom water. He had ceased to
know fear, and had learned to snap his fingers at all enemies.
No wonder, led by such a hero, that the Gothamites went into
the fray with a rush and shout that shook the shores, and made
the innocent muscles under water quake to the centre of their
terrified beds. They rushed to the attack with a courage which,
as the moral historians are apt to say, was worthy of a better
cause. The Greeks at Troy, under the conduct of Ajax the
Buffalo, never darted under the hills and towers of Ilium with
more defiant demeanor.”

“I am impatient for the issue,” said the lady. “Pray, how
did the Jerseyans stand the shock?”

“Most gallantly — as if duly inspired by the innocence which
they sought to defend. The Trojans, led by Hector and Troilus,
never showed fiercer powers of resistance than did the serried

[figure description] Page 025.[end figure description]

ranks of Jersey under the terrible concussion. Every man became
a hero, — every hero a tower of strength — a fortress.
Terrible was the encounter. The battle opened with the flight
of missiles from the light troops. Shells skated through the air.
It was in the play of this light artillery that the nose of Bill
Perkins, the pilot, suffered its hurts. Another — one of the
Joneses, a cousin of Sam — had the bridge of his fairly broken.
It has not been held passable since. But the sanguinary passions
of the two parties were not willing that the fight should
long continue at respectful distances. Soon, pike crossed with
pike; oyster-rakes grappled with oyster-rakes; forks, that once
drove unembarrassed through the luscious sides of fat victims
only, now found fierce obstruction, and no fat, from implements
of their own structure and dimensions. The conflict was long
in suspense, and only determined in the fall of the redoubtable
Sam, the monarch of Sandy Hook. He succumbed beneath a
blow inflicted by a young turtle, which, caught up in his desperation
by Ralph Roger, of Tuckahoe, was whirled about as
a stone in a sling, thrice above his head, until it came in contact
with that of Jones. Shell against shell. The crack of one
of them was heard. For a moment, the question was doubtful
which. But, in a jiffy, the gigantic bulk of Jones went over, like
a thousand of brick, shaking the clam-beds for sixty miles along
the shore. An awful groan went up from the assembled Gothamites.
The affair was over. They lost heart in the fall of their
hero, and threw down their arms. Jersey conquered in the
conflict.”

“Oh, I am so rejoiced!” exclaimed Miss Burroughs, her proper
sense of justice naturally sympathizing with the threatened innocents,
assailed at midnight in their unconscious beds.

“And what punishment was inflicted upon the marauders?”

“A very fearful one. Thirty prisoners were taken; many
had fallen in the fight; many more had fled. The missing have
never been ascertained to this day.”

“Well, but the punishment?”

“This was planned with a painful malice. At first, the vindictive
passions of the Jerseyans being uppermost, it was strenuously
urged that the captives should be sacrificed as a due
warning to evil-doers. It was agreed that nothing short of the

[figure description] Page 026.[end figure description]

most extreme penalties would suffice to prevent the repetition
of the offence. The nature of the necessity seemed to justify,
with many, the sanguinary decision. The principle urged was,
that the punishment was to be graduated rather by the facility
of crime than by its turpitude. Thus, horse-stealing is in some
regions rated with murder, simply because, from the nature of
beast and country, it is supposed that horses may be more easily
stolen than men slain. Men are usually assumed to incline to
defend their lives; but it would be an extreme case where a
horse, once bridled and saddled, would offer any resistance to
his own abduction. He would rather facilitate the designs upon
his own innocence by the use of his own legs. The oysters,
more simple, more confiding than the horse even, are still more
at the mercy of the marauder. His crime is, accordingly, in
proportion to the weakness, the good faith, the confiding simplicity
of the creature, whose midnight slumbers he invades.
These arguments were well urged by one of the Jersey oystermen,
who had once filled the station of a chancellor of one of
the supreme courts in one of the states. A passion for Cognac
had lost him his elevation, and, in the caprices of fortune, he
had passed from equity to oysters. The transition, now-a-days,
is hardly one to surprise or startle. He used his old experience,
whenever he could get a chance to practise upon an audience,
and made a monstrous long speech upon this occasion; and
very touching indeed was the picture which he drew of the tender
character, the virgin innocence, the exposed situation, the
helplessness of the oyster — its inabilities for self-defence, and
the virtues which commended it to all persons of proper sympathies
and a genuine humanity — which were of a sort, also, to
provoke the horrid appetites of a class of desperates who perpetually
roamed about, like the evil beasts described in scripture,
seeking only what they might devour. Our ex-chancellor
argued that the oyster was to be protected from invasion; that
prevention was always better than cure; that the punishment
of the criminal was the only proper process of prevention; that
law was only valuable for its effects in terrorem; that the rights
of eminent domain in Jersey, along the whole oyster region invaded,
conferred upon her the right of summary punishment, at
her discretion, as the necessary incident of her sovereignty; and

[figure description] Page 027.[end figure description]

he wound up by an eloquent allusion to the oysters as among
the benefactors of mankind. They suffered themselves to live
and fatten only for our gratification; and the least that could be
done would be to put to death all persons who, without legal
rights, presumed to penetrate their sleeping-places and tear them
from their beds with violence.”

“I begin to tremble for the captives,” quoth the lady.

“Well you may. The ex-chancellor had gone into the action
only after certain free potations, and he was eloquent in
the extreme. The situation of the prisoners became a very
perilous one. They were permitted to hearken to the keen debate
respecting their crimes and probable fate. Roped in boats,
or along the shores, they waited in fear and trembling for their
doom. Fortunately, the counsels of humanity prevailed. The
Jerseyans, satisfied with having asserted their rights, and pleased
with victory, were prepared to be magnanimous. They spared
the lives of the offenders, but did not suffer them to depart
wholly without punishment. It may be said, that, considering
the appetites of the Manhattanese, they adopted the severest
of all possible punishments. With their captives fast tethered
in sight, they prepared to indulge in a feast of oysters in which
the Manhattanese were not allowed to share.

“They provided an ample supply, and dressed them in all possible
modes by which to tempt the desires of the epicure. The
captives inhaled the pleasant fumes of the fried; they beheld
the precious liquid which embraced the portly dimensions of the
stewed; they inhaled the odors of choice claret as it amalgamated
with other select virtues of the stew, and they gloated over the
deliciously-brown aspects of a large platter of oyster-fritters.
Oysters on all sides, in all shapes, in every style of dressing,
rewarded the victors for their toils, while the conquered, permitted
to behold, were denied altogether to enjoy. The meat being
extracted, the odorous shells were placed before them, and they
were bidden to eat. `You claimed a share in our beds,' was the
scornful speech of the conquerors, — `your share is before you.
Fall to and welcome.' Violent groans of anguish and mortification
burst from the bosoms of the prisoners at this indignity.
Sam Jones, with a broken sconce, roared his rage aloud with
the breath of a wounded buffalo. But there was no redress —

[figure description] Page 028.[end figure description]

no remedy. After a twenty-four hours' captivity, the offenders
were permitted to go free, with an injunction to `sin no more'
in the way of oysters. It needed no such injunction with many
of the party. The terrors which the poor fellows had undergone
probably cured them of their tastes, if not their cupidity, and
we may fancy them going off, mournfully singing —

This, in little, is the history of the war, which, as I have said,
deserves to be chronicled for the future in Homeric verse.

Here one of our fellow-passengers put in: —

“The history of the wars between the tribes of Gotham and
Jersey, which you have given, has its parallels in other states.
I was on a visit to what is called in Virginia, `The Eastern
Shore,' where they give you just such a narrative, and where
the oyster-beds are similarly harassed by irresponsible marauding
parties, most of whom are Pennsylvanians. The commerce
of this region is chiefly in oysters. In all the bays you behold
at anchor a suspicious sort of vessel — looking for all the world
like the low, long, black-looking craft of the Spanish flibustier.
From some of the stories told of these vessels, they are really not
a whit better than they should be; and their pursuits are held
to be almost as illegitimate as those of the ancient buccaneers
of Nassau and New Providence. They wage an insatiate war
upon one class, the most inoffensive of all the natives of the
Eastern Shore. Their most innocent name is `pungo' — a sort
of schooner, hailing mostly from Manhattan and Massachusetts.
They prey upon the Virginia oyster banks, ostensibly under the
forms of law. By contract, they procure the ordinary `raccoon
oyster' — the meanest of the tribe — an innocent in a perfect
state of nature — totally uneducated, at a shilling (York) per
bushel. These are carried off in large quantities to the bays
and harbors of Pennsylvania, New York, and places farther
east, and placed in nurseries, where good heed is taken to their
ease, growth, and physical development, until they are fitted to
take their places at table, to the satisfaction of appreciative
guests. For the better oysters, taken from deep water, and
worthy of the immediate attention of the public, the `pungos'
pay three shillings. In the cities farther north they are retailed

[figure description] Page 029.[end figure description]

at this rate by the dozen — that number being a standard allowance,
for an able-bodied alderman, of moderate stomach — an
Apicius, not an Heliogabalus. This is the only legalized method
of robbing the Virginia waters of their natives. By this process
the poorer sort of people are employed to gather the oyster, and
are thus compensated for their labor — nothing being allowed for
the value of the `innocent' victim. As it is thus made a business
for a certain portion of the residents, the practice is tolerated,
if not encouraged; though it threatens to destroy, in the
end, the resources of the region in respect to this commodity.
The clam is appropriated in the same manner, to say nothing of
large varieties of fish.

“But there are trespassers who pursue another practice; who
seize with the strong hand — who make formidable descents, at
unreasonable hours and seasons, and rend and carry off immense
quantities, without leaving the usual toll. To these forays, the
sensibilities and the patriotism of the people are always keenly
alive; and fearful issues, tooth and nail, are sometimes the consequence.

“On one occasion, not long ago, the Virginians of that region
got an inkling of a formidable invasion by the Pennsylvanians.
The `bale fires' were lighted accordingly; — the horn was blown,
and a general gathering took place of all within striking distance.
The `Old Dominion' is not easily roused, being huge of
form, indolent, and easily pacified by appeals to her magnitude
and greatness. You may take many liberties with her, so long
as you do not ruffle her self-esteem — nay, you may absolutely
meddle with her pocketbook if you will do the thing adroitly
and without disturbing her siesta; — but beware how you carry
off her oysters without paying the customary toll. She can't
stand that.

“On this occasion, whig and democrat, forgetting old snarls,
came forth with a hearty will. They stood shoulder to shoulder,
and the same horn summoned equally both parties to the conflict.
It was a common cause, and they promptly agreed to go
together to the death for their rights in oysters. As in the case of
the combatants of Gotham and Jersey, each side had its famous
captains — its Ajaxes and Hectors. But the Pennsylvanians
suffered from a falling of the heart before they came to blows.

[figure description] Page 030.[end figure description]

Whether it was that their conscientiousness was too active or
their courage too dormant, they submitted before they came to
blows; and the whole foraging party — `the entire swine' —
an entire tribe of that peaceable sachem, Penn — in a body,
every mother's son of them — eighty or ninety in number —
were driven into an extemporary logpen at the muzzle of the
musket. Around this our angry Virginians kept vigilant watch.
The Quaker that raised head above the battlements, though
but to peep out at the evening sunset, was warned backward with
a tap of spear or shilelah. They were held thus trembling for
two or three days in durance vile, until they had paid heavy
ransom. It required some fifteen hundred dollars, cash, before
the foragers were released. This was a famous haul for our
guid folk of the Eastern Shore. For some time it had the effect
of keeping off trespassers. But when was cupidity ever quieted
short of having its throat of greed cut at the carotid? The
practice has been resumed, and our Eastern Shore Virginians
are again beginning to growl and to show their teeth. When I
was there last, they were brushing up their guns, and newly
priming. They promise us a new demonstration shortly, both
parties, whig and democratic, preparing to unite their forces to
prevent their innocent young shellfish from being torn away
from their beds at midnight.”

“And loving oysters as I do, I am free to say they could not
peril their lives in a more noble cause. Stamped paper and tea
were nothing to it.”

CHAPTER IV.

“With song and story make the long way short.”

[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]

The sea never fails to furnish noble studies to those who, by
frequent travel, have succeeded in overcoming its annoyances.
But the number is few who feel reconciled to calm thought and
patient meditation while roaming, at large and lone, on its wilderness
of bosom. Those only who have completely undergone
that sea change, of which Shakspere tells us in the “Tempest,”
can yield themselves fairly up to the fancies which it inspires and
the subliming thought which it awakens. Unhappily, to the
greater number of those the subject has lost all its freshness.
When we have so frequently boxed the compass, that we can


“Lay hands upon old ocean's mane,
And play familiar with his hoary locks,”
he forfeits all his mysteries.

It is surprising to note how little there is really visible in the
great deeps to those who go down frequently upon the waters.
To such eyes they even lose their vastness, their vagueness, the
immensity which baffles vision, and fills the mind with its most
impressive ideas of eternity. Your “Old Salt” is a notorious
skeptic. He wears his forefinger perpetually upon the side of
his nose. He is not to be amused with fancies and chimeras.
He has outgrown wholly his sense of wonder, and his thought
of the sea is somewhat allied with the contemptuous, as was that
of the Mississippian for the brown bear whom he had whipped
in single combat. As for marvels and mysteries in the creature—
beauties of splendor or grandeur — these wholly elude his
thoughts and eyes. If he appreciates the sea at all, it is solely
because of its sharpening effect upon his appetite!

Most of those wayfarers whom you meet often upon the route
belong to this order. You will find them at all times peering
into the larder. In their sleep, they dream of it, and you will

[figure description] Page 032.[end figure description]

hear broken speeches from their lips which show their memories
still busy with yesterday's feast, or their anticipations preparing
for that of the morrow. The steward and cook aboard-ship are
the first persons whose acquaintance they make. These they
bribe with shillings and civilities. You will scarcely open your
eyes in the morning, ere you will see these “hail fellows” with
toast and tankard in their clutches; a bowl of coffee and a cracker
is the initial appetizer, with possibly a tass of brandy in the
purple beverage, as a lacer. Then you see them hanging about
the breakfast table, where they take care to plant themselves
in the near neighborhood of certain of the choicest dishes. All
their little arrangements are made before you get to the table,
and there will be a clever accumulation of good things about the
plates of these veterans, in the shape of roll and egg, etc., which
would seem destined to remind the proprietor, in the language
of warning which was spoken daily (though with a far different
object) to the monarch of the Medes and Persians —“Remember,
thou art mortal.”

This is a fact which our veterans of the high seas never forget.
They carry within them a sufficient monitor which ever cries,
like the daughter of the horse-leech, “Give! Give!” They
have no qualms of conscience or of bowels; and it seems to do
them rare good to behold the qualms of others. It would seem
that they rejoiced in these exhibitions, simply as they are, assured
by these, that the larder is destined to no premature invasion
on the part of the sufferers.

I have often looked upon this class of travellers — not with
envy, Heaven forefend! — though it would have rejoiced me frequently,
at sea, to have possessed some of their immunities —
that rare insensibility, for example, in the regions of diaphragm
and abdomen, which, if unexercised for appetite, might at least
suffer other sensibilities to be free for exercise.

But it has provoked my wonder, if not my admiration, that
inflexible stolidity of nature, which enables the mere mortal so
entirely to obtain the ascendency over the spiritual man. Our
gourmand sees no ocean waste around him — follows no tumbling
billows with his eye — watches not, with straining eagerness,
where the clouds and the waters descend and rise, as it were in
an embrace of passion. Sunrise only tells him of his coffee and

[figure description] Page 033.[end figure description]

cracker, noon of lunch, sunset of tea, and the rarely sublimed
fires of the moonlight, gleaming from a thousand waves, suggest
only a period of repose, in which digestion goes on without any
consciousness of that great engine which he has all day been
packing with fuel. Tell him of porpoise and shark, and his
prayer is that they may be taken. He has no scruples to try a
steak from the ribs of the shark, though it may have swallowed
his own grandmother. Of the porpoise he has heard as the seahog,
and the idea of a roast of it, is quite sufficient to justify the
painstaking with which he urges upon the foremast man to take
his place at the prow, in waiting, with his harpoon. Nay, let a
school of dolphins be seen beneath the bows, darting along with
graceful and playful sweep, in gold and purple, glancing through
the billows, like so many rainbows of the deep, he thinks
of them only as a fry — an apology for whiting and cavalli, of
which he sighs with the tenderest recollections, and for which
he is always anxious to find a substitute. I have already observed
that we have two or three specimens of this genus now
on board the Marion.

“I don't know,” said our fair companion, “but that steam
has robbed the sea very equally of its charms and terrors.”

“Ah! we have now no long voyages. Your coastwise travelling
seldom takes you from sight of land, and you scarcely
step from the pier head in one city, before you begin to look out
for the lighthouse of another. Even when crossing the great
pond, you move now so rapidly, and in such mighty vessels, that
you carry a small city with you — a community adequate to all
your social wants — and are thus made comparatively indifferent
to your absolute whereabouts.”

“Well, there is something pleasant,” said one, “to be able to
fling yourself into your berth in one city only to awaken in another.
I confess that it takes away all motive to thought and
survey. Few persons care to look abroad and about in such
short periods. There is little to amuse or interest, traversing
the ship's decks for a night, in the face of smoke and steam,
jostling with strange people wrapped in cloaks, whom you do not
care to know, as it is not probable that you are ever to meet
again when you part to-morrow. You must be long and lonely
on the seas, before the seas will become grateful in your sight

[figure description] Page 034.[end figure description]

and reveal their wonders. Steam has removed this necessity
and thus taken away all the wonders of the deep. You now see
no mysteries in the surging billows — hear no spiritual voices
from the shrouds. The spell has been taken from the waters —
the trident is broken in the hands of the great Triton. Steam, a
mightier magic, has puffed away, as by a breath, a whole world
of unsubstantial, but very beautiful fable. The ocean is now as
patient as the wild horse under the lasso — subdued to the will
of a rider who was never known to spare whip or spur.”

“The worst feature in this improved navigation is its unsocial
influence. It deprives you of all motive to break down those
idle little barriers of convention which are apt to fetter the very
best minds, and cause a forfeiture of some of their sweetest humanities.
You seek to know none of the virtues of your companions,
and certainly never care to put in exercise your own.
One ceases to be amiable in a short voyage. A long one, on
the contrary, brings out all that is meritorious as well in yourself
as your shipmate. A sense of mutual dependence is vastly
promotive of good fellowship.—Then you see something of one
another, and hear something of the world. People show what
they are, and tell you what they have seen; and intimacies,
thus formed, have ripened into friendships, which no after events
have been able to rupture. Commend me to the ancient slow-and-easy
packet ships that left you time for all these things; —
that went between Charleston and New York, and never felt
any impatience to get to the end of their journey; — that took
every advantage afforded by a calm to nap drowsily on the bosom
of the broad element in which they loved to float; — and
rocked lazily upon the great billows, as if coquetting with the
breezes rather than using them for progress.”

“There was leisure then for study and philosophy and poetry;
nay, love-making was then an easy and agreeable employment,
to such as had the stomach for it. It will not be easy for me
to forget my thousand experiences of the tender passion on such
voyages — by moonlight and starlight — `with one sweet spirit
for my minister,' gazing together on the great mirror-like ocean,
or up into the persuasive heavens, till we drank in floods of tenderness,
from a myriad of loving eyes.”

“Ah!” cried Duyckman archly, “one is reminded of Moore—

[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]

“By the way, why should we not have some tales of wandering
youth to-night — and why not some songs too. Miss
Burroughs, it has not escaped my very curious eye that there is
a guitar among your luggage. May I hope that you will suffer
me to bring it you?”

The lady hesitated. I interposed:—

“Oh! surely; we must not suffer such a night of beauty, such
a sea of calm, such a mild delicious evening, to pass unemployed,
and in the only appropriate fashion. We are a little world to
ourselves — pilgrims to one Canterbury, and we may well borrow
a leaf from Boccacio and a lesson from Chaucer. You will
sing for us, and we shall strive to requite you, each after his
own fashion. Here are several whom I know to be capable of
pleasant contribution in the way of song and story, and my
friend Duyckman can hardly refuse to follow your example, as
he suggests it. In your ear, I may whisper that he is full of romances,
and has a whole budget of legends wrought out of Proven
çal and Troubadour history.”

“Fie! Fie! Honor bright.”

The lady now gracefully consented.

“The temptation is too great to be resisted. My scruples
yield to your persuasions. Will you order the guitar?”

It was brought. We had the music, but not alone. To the
great delight of all parties, the fair charmer gave us her lyrics
woven in with an historical narrative — a romance in itself,
which, in a brief and pleasant introduction, she mentioned that
she had gathered herself from the lips of the celebrated General—
of Venezuela, who was only last year in the country. I
must deliver the story, as nearly as possible as it came from the
lady's lips, not forgetting to mention that, in the lyrical portions,
the guitar contributed the accompaniment, and the effect of
the pieces, thus delivered, was singularly dramatic and effective.

Our circle contracted about the fair raconteur, silence followed,
and raised attention, and she began.

[figure description] Page 036.[end figure description]

CHAPTER I.

Whenever the several nations of the earth which have
achieved their deliverance from misrule and tyranny, shall point,
as they each may, to the fair women who have taken active part
in the cause of liberty, and by their smiles and services have
contributed in no measured degree to the great objects of national
defence and deliverance, it will be with a becoming and
just pride only that the Colombians shall point to their virgin
martyr, commonly known among them as La Pola, the Maid of
Bogota. With the history of their struggle for freedom her
story will always be intimately associated; her tragical fate,
due solely to the cause of her country, being linked with all the
touching interest of the most romantic adventure. Her spirit
seemed to be woven of the finest materials. She was gentle,
exquisitively sensitive, and capable of the most true and tender
attachments. Her mind was one of rarest endowments, touched
to the finest issues of eloquence, and gifted with all the powers
of the improvisatrice; while her courage and patriotism seem to
have been cast in those heroic moulds of antiquity from which
came the Cornelias and Deborahs of famous memory. Well
had it been for her country had the glorious model which she
bestowed upon her people been held in becoming homage by
the race with which her destiny was cast — a race masculine
only in exterior, and wanting wholly in that necessary strength
of soul which, rising to the due appreciation of the blessings of
national freedom, is equally prepared to make, for its attainment,
every necessary sacrifice of self. And yet our heroine was but
a child in years — a lovely, tender, feeble creature, scarcely
fifteen years of age. But the soul grows rapidly to maturity in
some countries, and, in the case of women, it is always great in
its youth, if greatness is ever destined to be its possession.

Doña Apolinaria Zalabariata — better known by the name
of La Pola — was a young girl, the daughter of a good family
of Bogota, who was distinguished at an early period, as well for
her great gifts of beauty as of intellect. She was but a child

[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]

when Bolivar first commenced his struggles with the Spanish
authorities, with the ostensible object of freeing his country from
their oppressive tyrannies. It is not within our province to discuss
the merits of his pretensions as a deliverer, or his courage
and military skill as a hero. The judgment of the world and
of time has fairly set at rest those specious and hypocritical
claims, which, for a season, presumed to place him on the pedestal
with our Washington. We now know that he was not only
a very selfish, but a very ordinary man — not ordinary, perhaps,
in the sense of intellect, for that would be impossible in the case
of one who was so long able to maintain his eminent position,
and to succeed in his capricious progresses, in spite of inferior
means, and a singular deficiency of the heroic faculty. But his
ambition was the vulgar ambition, and, if possible, something
still inferior. It contemplated his personal wants alone; it
lacked all the elevation of purpose which is the great essential
of patriotism, and was wholly wanting in that magnanimity of
soul which delights in the sacrifice of self, whenever such sacrifice
promises the safety of the single great purpose which it
professes to accomplish.

But we are not now to consider Bolivar, the deliverer, as one
whose place in the pantheon has already been determined by
the unerring judgment of posterity. We are to behold him only
with those eyes in which he was seen by the devoted followers
to whom he brought, or appeared to bring, the deliverance for
which they yearned. It is with the eyes of the passionate
young girl, La Pola, the beautiful and gifted child, whose dream
of country perpetually craved the republican condition of ancient
Rome, in the days of its simplicity and virtue; it is with her
fancy and admiration that we are to crown the ideal Bolivar,
till we acknowledge him, as he appears to her, the Washington
of the Colombians, eager only to emulate the patriotism, and to
achieve like successes with his great model of the northern
confederacy.

Her feelings and opinions, with regard to the Liberator, were
those of her family. Her father was a resident of Bogota, a
man of large possessions and considerable intellectual acquirements.
He gradually passed from a secret admiration of Bolivar
to a warm sympathy with his progress, and an active support —

[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]

so far as he dared, living in a city under immediate and despotic
Spanish rule — of all his objects. He followed with eager eyes
the fortunes of the chief, as they fluctuated between defeat and
victory in other provinces, waiting anxiously the moment when
the success and policy of the struggle should bring deliverance,
in turn, to the gates of Bogota. Without taking up arms himself,
he contributed secretly from his own resources to supplying
the coffers of Bolivar with treasure, even when his operations
were remote — and his daughter was the agent through whose
unsuspected ministry the money was conveyed to the several
emissaries who were commissioned to receive it. The duty was
equally delicate and dangerous, requiring great prudence and
circumspection; and the skill, address, and courage, with which
the child succeeded in the execution of her trusts, would furnish
a frequent lesson for older heads, and the sterner and the bolder
sex.

La Pola was but fourteen years old when she obtained her
first glimpse of the great man in whose cause she had already
been employed, and of whose deeds and distinctions she had
heard so much. By the language of the Spanish tyranny which
swayed with iron authority over her native city, she heard him
denounced and execrated as a rebel and marauder, for whom
an ignominious death was already decreed by the despotic viceroy.
This language, from such lips, was of itself calculated
to raise its object favorably in her enthusiastic sight. By the
patriots, whom she had been accustomed to love and venerate,
she heard the same name breathed always in whispers of hope
and affection, and fondly commended, with tearful blessings, to
the watchful care of Heaven.

She was soon to behold with her own eyes this individual
thus equally distinguished by hate and homage in her hearing.
Bolivar apprized his friends in Bogota that he should visit them
in secret. That province, ruled with a fearfully strong hand by
Zamano, the viceroy, had not yet ventured to declare itself for
the republic. It was necessary to operate with caution; and it
was no small peril which Bolivar necessarily incurred, in penetrating
to its capital, and laying his snares, and fomenting insurrection,
beneath the very hearth-stones of the tyrant. It was
to La Pola's hands that the messenger of the Liberator confided

[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]

the missives that communicated this important intelligence to
her father. She little knew the contents of the billet which she
carried him in safety, nor did he confide them to the child. He
himself did not dream of the precocious extent of that enthusiasm
which she felt almost equally for the common cause, and for the
person of its great advocate and champion. Her father simply
praised her care and diligence, rewarded her with his fondest
caresses, and then proceeded with all quiet despatch to make his
preparations for the secret reception of the deliverer.

It was at midnight, and while a thunder-storm was raging,
that he entered the city, making his way, agreeably to previous
arrangement, and under select guidance, into the inner apartments
of the house of Zalabariata. A meeting of the conspirators—
for such they were — of head men among the patriots of
Bogota, had been contemplated for his reception. Several of
them were accordingly in attendance when he came. These
were persons whose sentiments were well-known to be friendly
to the cause of liberty, who had suffered by the hands, or were
pursued by the suspicions of Zamano, and who, it was naturally
supposed, would be eagerly alive to every opportunity of shaking
off the rule of the oppressor.

But patriotism, as a philosophic sentiment, to be indulged
after a good dinner, and discussed phlegmatically, if not classically,
over sherry and cigars, is a very different sort of thing
from patriotism as a principle of action, to be prosecuted as a
duty, at every peril, instantly and always, to the death if need
be. Our patriots at Bogota were but too frequently of the contemplative,
the philosophical order. Patriotism with them was
rather a subject for eloquence than use. They could recall
those Utopian histories of Greece and Rome which furnish us
with ideals rather than facts, and sigh for names like those of
Cato, and Brutus, and Aristides. But more than this did not
seem to enter their imaginations as at all necessary to assert
the character which it pleased them to profess, or maintain the
reputation which they had prospectively acquired for the very
commendable virtue which constituted their ordinary theme.
Bolivar found them cold. Accustomed to overthrow and usurpation,
they were now slow to venture property and life upon
the predictions and promises of one who, however perfect in

[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]

their estimation as a patriot, had yet suffered from most capricious
fortunes. His past history, indeed, except for its patriotism,
offered but very doubtful guarantees in favor of the enterprise
to which they were invoked.

Bolivar was artful and ingenious. He had considerable powers
of eloquence — was specious and persuasive; had an oily, and
bewitching tongue, like Belial; and, if not altogether capable of
making the worse appear the better cause, could at least so shape
the aspects of evil fortune, that, to the unsuspicious nature, they
would seem to be the very results aimed at by the most deliberate
arrangement and resolve.

But Bolivar, on this occasion, was something more than ingenious
and persuasive; he was warmly earnest, and passionately
eloquent. In truth, he was excited much beyond his wont. He
was stung to indignation by a sense of disappointnent. He had
calculated largely on this meeting, and it promised now to be a
failure. He had anticipated the eager enthusiasm of a host of
brave and noble spirits, ready to fling out the banner of freedom
to the winds, and cast the scabbard from the sword for ever.
Instead of this, he found but a little knot of cold, irresolute men,
thinking only of the perils of life which they should incur, and
the forfeiture and loss of property which might accrue from any
hazardous experiments.

Bolivar spoke to them in language less artificial and much
more impassioned than was his wont. He was a man of impulse
rather than of thought or principle, and, once aroused, the intense
fire of a southern sun seemed to burn fiercely in all his
words and actions.

His speech was heard by other ears than those to which it
was addressed. The shrewd mind of La Pola readily conjectured
that the meeting at her father's house, at midnight, and
under peculiar circumstances, contemplated some extraordinary
object. She was aware that a tall, mysterious stranger had
passed through the court, under the immediate conduct of her
father himself. Her instinct divined in this stranger the person
of the deliverer, and her heart would not suffer her to lose the
words, or, if possible to obtain it, to forego the sight of the great
object of its patriotic worship. Besides, she had a right to know

[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]

and to see. She was of the party, and had done them service.
She was yet to do them more.

Concealed in an adjoining apartment — a sort of oratory, connected
by a gallery with the chamber in which the conspirators
were assembled — she was able to hear the earnest arguments
and passionate remonstrances of the Liberator. They confirmed
all her previous admiration of his genius and character. She
felt with indignation the humiliating position which the men of
Bogota held in his eyes. She heard their pleas and scruples,
and listened with a bitter scorn to the thousand suggestions of
prudence, the thousand calculations of doubt and caution, with
which timidity seeks to avoid precipitating a crisis. She could
listen and endure no longer. The spirit of the improvvisatrice
was upon her. Was it also that of fate and a higher Providence?
She seized the guitar, of which she was the perfect
mistress, and sung even as her soul counselled and the exigency
of the event demanded. Our translation of her lyrical overflow
is necessarily a cold and feeble one.

[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]

At the first sudden gush of the music from within, the father
of the damsel started to his feet, and, with confusion in his countenance,
was about to leave the apartment. But Bolivar arrested
his footsteps, and in a whisper commanded him to be silent and
remain. The conspirators, startled if not alarmed, were compelled
to listen. Bolivar did so with a pleased attention. He
was passionately fond of music, and this was of a sort at once
to appeal to his objects and his taste. His eye kindled as the
song proceeded. His heart rose with an exulting sentiment.
The moment, indeed, embodied one of his greatest triumphs —
the tribute of a pure, unsophisticated soul, inspired by Heaven

[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]

with the happiest and highest endowments, and by earth with
the noblest sentiments of pride and country. When the music
ceased, Zalabariata was about to apologize and to explain, but
Bolivar again gently and affectionately arrested his utterance.

“Fear nothing,” said he. “Indeed, why should you fear? I
am in the greater danger here, if there be danger for any; and
I would as soon place my life in the keeping of that noble
damsel, as in the arms of my mother. Let her remain, my
friend; let her hear and see all; and above, do not attempt to
apologize for her. She is my ally. Would that she could make
these men of Bogota feel with herself — feel as she makes even
me to feel.”

The eloquence of the Liberator received a new impulse from
that of the improvisatrice. He renewed his arguments and entreaties
in a different spirit. He denounced, in yet bolder language
than before, that wretched pusillanimity which, quite as
much, he asserted, as the tyranny of the Spaniard, was the
curse under which the liberties of the country groaned and
suffered.

“And now, I ask,” he continued, passionately, “men of Bogota,
if ye really purpose to deny yourselves all share in the
glory and peril of the effort which is for your own emancipation.
Are your brethren of the other provinces to maintain the conflict
in your behalf, while, with folded hands, you submit, doing
nothing for yourselves? Will you not lift the banner also?
Will you not draw sword in your own honor, and the defence
of your firesides and families? Talk not to me of secret contributions.
It is your manhood, not your money, that is needful
for success. And can you withhold yourselves while you profess
to hunger after that liberty for which other men are free to
peril all — manhood, money, life, hope, everything but honor
and the sense of freedom. But why speak of peril in this?
Peril is everywhere. It is the inevitable child of life, natural to
all conditions — to repose as well as action, — to the obscurity
which never goes abroad, as well as to that adventure which
for ever seeks the field. You incur no more peril in openly
braving your tyrant, all together as one man, than you do
thus tamely sitting beneath his footstool, and trembling for ever
lest his capricious will may slay as it enslaves. Be you but

[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]

true to yourselves — openly true — and the danger disappears
as the night-mists that speed from before the rising sun. There
is little that deserves the name of peril in the issue which lies
before us. We are more than a match — united, and filled with
the proper spirit — for all the forces that Spain can send against
us. It is in our coldness that she warms — in our want of unity
that she finds strength. But even were we not superior to her
in numbers — even were the chances all wholly and decidedly
against us — I still can not see how it is that you hesitate to
draw the sword in so sacred a strife — a strife which consecrates
the effort, and claims Heaven's sanction for success. Are your
souls so subdued by servitude, are you so accustomed to bonds
and tortures, that these no longer irk and vex your daily consciousness?
Are you so wedded to inaction that you cease to
feel? Is it the frequency of the punishment that has made you
callous to the ignominy and the pain? Certainly, your viceroy
gives you frequent occasion to grow reconciled to any degree of
hurt and degradation. Daily you behold, and I hear, of the
exactions of this tyrant — of the cruelties and the murders to
which he accustoms you in Bogota. Hundreds of your friends
and kinsmen, even now, lie rotting in the common prisons, denied
equally your sympathies and every show of justice, perishing
daily under the most cruel privations. Hundreds have perished
by this and other modes of torture, and the gallows and
garote seem never to be unoccupied. Was it not the bleaching
skeleton of the venerable Hermano, whom I well knew for his
wisdom and patriotism, which I beheld, even as I entered, hanging
in chains over the gateway of your city? Was he not the
victim of his wealth and love of country? Who among you is
secure? He dared but to deliver himself as a man — and, as he
was suffered to stand alone, he was destroyed. Had you, when
he spoke, but prepared yourselves to act, flung out the banner
of resistance to the winds, and bared the sword for the last
noble struggle, Hermano had not perished, nor were the glorious
work only now to be begun. But which of you, involved in the
same peril with Hermano, will find the friend, in the moment of
his need, to take the first step for his rescue? Each of you, in
turn, having wealth to tempt the spoiler, will be sure to need
such friendship. It seems you do not look for it among one

[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]

another — where, then, do you propose to find it? Will you
seek for it among the Cartagenians — among the other provinces—
to Bolivar without? Vain expectation, if you are unwilling
to peril anything for yourselves within! In a tyranny
so suspicious and so reckless as is yours, you must momentarily
tremble lest ye suffer at the hands of your despot. True manhood
rather prefers any peril which puts an end to this state of
anxiety and fear. Thus to tremble with apprehension ever, is
ever to be dying. It is a life of death only which ye live — and
any death or peril that comes quickly at the summons, is to be
preferred before it. If, then, ye have hearts to feel, or hopes
to warm ye — a pride to suffer consciousness of shame, or an
ambition that longs for better things — affections for which to
covet life, or the courage with which to assert and to defend
your affections — ye can not, ye will not hesitate to determine,
with souls of freemen, upon what is needful to be done. Ye
have but one choice as men; and the question which is left for
ye to resolve, is that which determines, not your possessions, not
even your lives, but simply your rank and stature in the world
of humanity and man.”

The Liberator paused, not so much through his own or the
exhaustion of the subject, as that his hearers should in turn be
heard. But, with this latter object, his forbearance was profitless.
There were those among them, indeed, who had their
answers to his exhortations, but these were not of a character to
promise boldly for their patriotism or courage. Their professions,
indeed, were ample, but were confined to unmeaning generalities.
“Now is the time — now!” was the response of
Bolivar to all that was said. But they faltered and hung back
at every utterance of his spasmodically-uttered “now! now!”
He scanned their faces eagerly, with a hope that gradually
yielded to despondency. Their features were blank and inexpressive,
as their answers had been meaningless or evasive.
Several of them were of that class of quiet citizens, unaccustomed
to any enterprises but those of trade, who are always slow
to peril wealth by a direct issue with their despotism. They
felt the truth of Bolivar's assertions. They knew that their
treasures were only so many baits and lures to the cupidity and
exactions of the royal emissaries, but they still relied on their

[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]

habitual caution and docility to keep terms with the tyranny at
which they yet trembled. When, in the warmth of his enthusiasm,
Bolivar depicted the bloody struggles which must precede
their deliverance, they began, indeed, to wonder among themselves
how they ever came to fall into that mischievous philosophy
of patriotism which had involved them with such a restless
rebel as Bolivar! Others of the company were ancient hidalgos,
who had been men of spirit in their day, but who had survived
the season of enterprise, which is that period only when
the heart swells and overflows with full tides of warm and
impetuous blood.

“Your error,” said he, in a whisper to Señor Don Joachim
de Zalabariata, “was in not bringing young men into your
counsels.”

“We shall have them hereafter,” was the reply, also in a
whisper.

“We shall see,” muttered the Liberator, who continued,
though in silence, to scan the assembly with inquisitive eyes, and
an excitement of soul, which increased duly with his efforts to
subdue it. He had found some allies in the circle — some few
generous spirits, who, responding to his desires, were anxious to
be up and doing. But it was only too apparent that the main
body of the company had been rather disquieted than warmed.
In this condition of hopeless and speechless indecision, the emotions
of the Liberator became scarcely controllable. His whole
frame trembled with the anxiety and indignation of his spirit.
He paced the room hurriedly, passing from group to group,
appealing to individuals now, where hitherto he had spoken collectively,
and suggesting detailed arguments in behalf of hopes
and objects, which it does not need that we should incorporate
with our narrative. But when he found how feeble was the
influence which he exercised, and how cold was the echo to his
appeal, he became impatient, and no longer strove to modify the
expression of that scorn and indignation which he had for some
time felt. The explosion followed in no measured language.

“Men of Bogota, you are not worthy to be free. Your chains
are merited. You deserve your insecurities, and may embrace,
even as ye please, the fates which lie before you. Acquiesce
in the tyranny which offends no longer, but be sure that

[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]

acquiescence never yet has disarmed the despot when his rapacity
needs a victim. Your lives and possessions — which ye dare not
peril in the cause of freedom — lie equally at his mercy. He
will not pause, as you do, to use them at his pleasure. To save
them from him there is but one way — to employ them against
him. There is no security against power but in power; and to
check the insolence of foreign strength you must oppose to it
your own. This ye have not soul to do, and I leave you to the
destiny you have chosen. This day, this night, it was yours to
resolve. I have perilled all to move you to the proper resolution.
You have denied me, and I leave you. To-morrow — unless
indeed I am betrayed to-night” — looking with a sarcastic
smile around him as he spoke — “I shall unfurl the banner of
the republic even within your own province, in behalf of Bogota,
and seek, even against your own desires, to bestow upon you
those blessings of liberty which ye have not the soul to conquer
for yourselves.”