31 December 1832

The river being yet open, thank Heaven, we arose at half-past four o'clock. Dressed sans dawdling for once, and came down. * * * * * * * * * * D—— and I were bundled into a coach, and rumbled and tumbled over the stones, through the blackness of darkness down to the steam-boat. —— was waiting for us, and convoyed us safely to the cabin, where I laid myself down, and slept till breakfast-time. My father, Captain ——, Mr. ——, and Baron ——, sat themselves down most comfortably to breakfast, leaving us entirely to the charge and care of ——, who fulfilled his trust with infinite zeal. 'Tis curious; there was a man on board whom I have now seen every time I have been going to or from New York to Philadelphia, whose appearance was in itself very remarkable, and the subsequent account I received of him perhaps increased the sort of impression it made upon me. He was a man of about from thirty to thirty-five, I guess, standing about five feet ten, with a great appearance of strength and activity. His face was that of a foreigner, the features were remarkably well cut, and the piercing black eyes, dark hair, and brown complexion, gave a Spanish character to his countenance. There was a sort of familiar would-be gentlemanly manner in his deportment and address, and a species of slang gentility in his carriage and conversation, that gave me a curiosity to ascertain what on earth he could be. After breakfast, walked up and down deck with ——. —— was on board. I am happy to hear he is thriving: I love all my fellow-passengers; and when I see one of them, my heart warms towards them, as to a bit of the dear old land left behind. After about an hour's steaming, we disembarked to cross the narrow neck of land which divides the Delaware from the Chesapeake. Here we got into a coach holding some twelve of us, to be conveyed over the rail-road by one of Stevenson's engines. Neither the road nor the conveyances are comparable to those of the Liverpool and Manchester rail-way; and instead of those luxurious roomy coaches, which form the merit of the Liverpool train, we were squeezy and uncomfortable to a degree. The country along this slip of land is flat and very uninteresting, clothed with threadbare young woods, whose thin spare skeletons, without their leafy mantles, looked excessively miserable. The distance from the Delaware to Frenchtown, on the Elk, where we were again to take water, is about sixteen miles, which we did in an hour. The first part of the road lies in Delaware, the latter in Maryland. The Elk, which in this world of huge waters is considered but a paltry ditch, but which in our country would be thought a very decent-sized river, was, a few days ago, frozen up, thereby putting a stop to the steam-boat travelling. But, fortunately for us, it was open to-day, and presently we beheld the steamer coming puffing up to take us from the pier. This boat—the Charles Carroll—is one of the finest they have. 'Tis neither so swift nor so large, I think, as some of the North river boats, but it is a beautiful vessel, roomy and comfortable in its arrangements. I went below for a few minutes, but found, as usual, the atmosphere of the cabin perfectly intolerable. The ladies' cabin, in winter, on board one of these large steamers, is a right curious sight. 'Tis generally crammed to suffocation with women, strewn in every direction. The greater number cuddle round a stove, the heat of which alone would make the atmosphere unbreathable. Others sit lazily in a species of rocking-chair,—which is found wherever Americans sit down,—cradling themselves backwards and forwards, with a lazy, lounging, sleepy air, that makes me long to make them get up and walk. Others again manage, even upon fresh water, to be very sick. There are generally a dozen young human beings, some naughty, sick, and squalling, others happy, romping, and riotous; and what with the vibratory motion of the rocking-chairs and their contents, the women's shrill jabber, the children's shriller wailing and shouting, the heat and closeness of the air, a ladies' cabin on board an American steam-boat is one of the most overpowering things to sense and soul that can well be imagined. There was a poor sick woman with three children, among our company, two of which were noisy unruly boys, of from eight to ten years old. One of them set up a howl as soon as he came on board, which he prolonged, to our utter dismay, for upwards of half an hour sans intermission, except to draw breath. I bore it as long as I could; but threats, entreaties, and bribes having been resorted to in vain, by all the women in the cabin, to silence him, I at length very composedly took him up in my arms, and deposited him on his back in one of the upper berths; whereupon his brother flew at his mother, kicking, thumping, screaming, and yelling. The cabin was in an uproar; the little wretch I held in my arms struggled like a young giant, and though I succeeded in lodging him upon the upper shelf, presently slid down from it like an eel. However, this effort had a salutary effect, for it obtained silence,—the crying gave way to terror, which produced silence, of which I availed myself to sleep till dinner-time. At dinner, —— and Mr. —— took charge of D—— and me, who, seeing that we were to get no dinner till six o'clock, thought fit to eat some lunch. The strange dark man was sitting opposite us, and discoursing away to his neighbours in a strain and tone in which shrewdness and swagger, and vulgarity and a sort of braggart gallantry, were curiously jumbled. From his conversation, it was evident that he was a seafaring man. He spoke of having been a midshipman on board an American frigate. The question they were debating was that of superstitious prejudice, involving belief in lucky and unlucky days, witches, ghosts, etc. The stranger professed perfect faith in all, and added sundry experiences of his own, at the same time observing, that with regard to sailors, the strong prejudice they have against sailing on certain days often creates the very ill luck they apprehend; for if any danger should occur, 'tis all attributed to evil influences against which they have no power, and they are at once deprived of half their energy in labour, and half their courage in peril. When dinner was over, I pointed out this strange man to my father, asking him if he had any idea who he was. "I am told," was his reply, "that he is but just returned from New York, where he has been tried for piracy." This accounted for every thing,—dare-devil look and language, seafaring adventures, and superstitious creed. It is a pleasant mode of travelling that throws one into contact with such company. * * * * * * * * * * Touching pirates, Baltimore, I was told (I know not how truly) is famous for them. They have small schooners there of a particularly light build, and raking masts, which are the prettiest craft in the world to look at, and the swiftest that sail sea. The Baltimore clippers are proverbial for their elegance and fleetness: they are like greyhounds on the water. These, I was told, were frequently owned by gentlemen of rather an ambiguous character, something between pirate, smuggler, and wrecker, perhaps a judicious compound of all three. Their trade is chiefly, I believe, with and about the West India islands. I looked at my Spanish-faced friend with redoubled curiosity: he was the very man for a pirate. We reached Baltimore at about half-past four. The Chesapeake bay, like the Delaware river, appeared to me admirable only as an immense sheet of water. At some parts that we passed, it was six, at others, ten, at others, thirteen miles across. The shores were flat and uninteresting on one side, but on the other occasionally very picturesque and beautiful, rising in red-looking cliffs from the water's edge, and crowned with beautiful green tufts of wood—cedar, I suppose, for nothing else is green at this time. The curvings of the shore, too, are very pretty; but, owing to the enormous width of the water, my imperfect vision could hardly discern the peculiar features of the land. The day was more lovely than a fine day in early September, in England,—bright, soft and sunny, with the blue in the sky of the delicate colour one sees in the Sèvres porcelain. As we entered the Patapsco, and neared Baltimore, North Point and Fort M'Henry were pointed out to me. My spirits always sink when I come to a strange place; and as we came along the wharf sides, under the red dingy-looking warehouses, between which the water ran in narrow dark-looking canals, I felt terribly gloomy. We drove up to Barnham's, the best house in the town; and, having found out where to lay my head, I had my fill of crying. After dinner, went and lay down; slept profoundly till nine o'clock. On my return to the drawing-room, found —— there, and Mr. ——, the man who owns the Front Street theatre, but who it seems is only just out of gaol, and has neither actors nor scenes to get up a play withal. While he was here, came missives from the proprietors of the Holliday Street theatre, to inform my father that it was lighted up, and requesting him to come and look at it. This was awkward rather. When Mr. —— was gone, I came to my room, where I remained without a fire, cold without and disconsolate within, till past one o'clock. I did not know it was New-Year's eve; and so the waters carried me over this other dam without my looking back at what was past, or forward at what is to come: and why should I?—surely "the thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done, is that which shall be done; and there is no new thing under the sun:" sorrow and joy, hoping and fearing, pain and pleasure, laughing and weeping, striving and yielding,—they will all come again and again, and all things will be the same, till all things cease.