CHAPTER NINE.
ACROSS THE ATLANTIC.
O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless and our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, Survey our empire and behold our home!
"Sir," said the Honourable Mister Pigeonbarley of Missouri, "we _air_ a peculiar people. Jes so!"
Have you never noticed how, when travelling on a long journey, thewheels of the railway carriage in which you are sitting seem always tobe rattling out some carefully studied tune, to which the jolts of thevehicle beat a concerted bass; while, the slackening of the couplingchains, in combination with the concussion of the buffers as they hitchup suddenly again, sounds a regular obbligato accompaniment--the screamof the steam whistle, and the thundering whish and whirr of the trainthrough a deep cutting or tunnel, or over a bridge with water below,coming in occasionally as a sort of symphony to the main air?
Have you never noticed this?
No? Bless me, what a _very_ unimaginative person you are! I have,frequently; and yet, I do not think I am any brighter than the ordinaryrun of people.
Drawn some odd thousands of miles by the iron horse, as it has been myfortune to be during different periods of my life, I have seldom failedto associate his progress thus with those lesser Melpomenean nymphs, whomay be selected to watch over the destinies of the steam god and fill uptheir leisure hours by "riding on a rail," in the favourite fashion ofthe South Carolinian darkeys.
Of course the carriage wheels do not perpetually sing the same song:--that would be monotonous.
They know better than that, I can assure you. Sometimes they rattle outthe maddest of mad waltzes--such as that which the imprudent Germanyoung lady, living near the Harz Mountains, found herself dancing oneday against her will, when she had given expression to the very improperstatement, that, she would "take the devil for a partner," if he onlywould put in an appearance at the gay and festive scene at which she wasthen present. Sometimes, again, they will evolve, note by note, thedreariest air that the composer of the Dead March in _Saul_ could havedevised; or, croon you out a soothing lullaby, should you feel sleepy,to which the charming melody of "The Cradle Song" would bear nocomparison. In fact, the nymphs know their work well; and so altertheir strains as to suit every mood and humour of the variously-temperedtravellers that listen to their musical cadences.
As I proceeded now on my way to Southampton, where I was to take theocean steamer for my passage to America, the railway nymphs were busywith their harmonies.
Not sad or dispiriting by any means, but briskly enlivening was theirlay.
They seemed to me to sing--
"You're off on your travels! Off on your travels, To fame and fortune in another land! To wait and work, Frank! Wait and work, Frank! Ere you gain your own Min's hand!"
And, perhaps, it was from the recollection of Monsieur Paroled'Honneur's kindness, and from my having been in company with him thatwinter in Paris, where I had heard that opera of Offenbach's for thefirst time, but the tune of the carriage wheels was strangely like the"Pars pour Crete" chorus in the second act of _La Belle Helene_--where,if you remember, the unfortunate Menelaus is hustled off the stage, incompany with his portly umbrella and other belongings, in order to makeroom for the advent of Paris, the "gay deceiver," the successfulintriguant!
Although my thoughts were wrapped up in memories of Min and her parting,hopeful words, and my inner eyes still saw her standing at the window,waving her handkerchief to me in mute adieu, my outward vision waskeenly watchful of each landpoint the train hurried by.
I remember every incident on the way.
Not a thing escaped me.
The outlook for baggage at Waterloo; the feeing of the obsequious porterexpectant of a douceur; the mistake I made in getting my ticket whichhad to be rectified at the last moment; the confused ringing of bellsand clattering of trucks up and down the platform; the slamming of doorsand hurrying of feet to and fro:--then, the sudden pause in all thesesounds; the shrill whistle, betokening all was ready; the converting ofall the employes into animated sign-posts, that waved their arms wildly;the grunt and wheeze from the engine, as if from a giant in pain; thesharp jerk, and then the steady pull at the carriage in which I wassitting; the "pant, pant! puff, puff!" of the iron horse, as he buckledto his work with a will; and then, finally, the preliminary oscillationof the ponderous train, the trembling and rumbling of creaking wheelsalong the rails--as we glided and bumped, slowly but steadily, out ofthe terminus--the distance signal showing "all clear" to us, andblocking the up line with the red semaphore of "danger."
Past Vauxhall, once famed for its revelry--conspicuous, now, only forits picturesque expanse of candle-factory roofs and the dead boardingthat is displayed skirting the railway:--Clapham, villa-studded and withgardens laid out in bird's-eye perspective:--Surbiton, dainty in itspretty little road-side station, all garnished with roses and shell-walks:--Farnborough, where a large proportion of our passengers, ofmilitary proclivities, alight en route for Aldershot, and celebrated ofyore for the "grand international" contest with fisticuffs between aBritish Sayers and a Transatlantic Heenan:--Basingstoke, the great ugly"junction" of many twisted rails and curiously-intricate stacks ofchimneys; until, at length, Southampton was reached--a town smelling ofdocks and coal-tar, and dismal in the evening gloom.
Not a feature of the landscape on my way down was lost to me; although,as I've said, I was thinking of Min all the time the train was speedingon.
I was wondering within myself, in a duplicate system of thought, when Iwould see the scene again, in all its variations, as I saw it clearly,now; and whether the green meadows, and fir-summited hills, and shiningwater-courses that wandered through and around them--nay, whether thevery telegraph posts and wires, and the country stations we rattled pastso quickly and unceremoniously, as if they were not worth stopping for--would look the same on my coming back to England and my darling oncemore!
But, I was not sad or down-hearted.
Her last words had rendered me almost as hopeful as she professed to be;so, in spite of my great grief at our parting, a grief which was toodeep for words, I was endeavouring more to look forward sanguinely tothe future than dwell on all our past unhappiness--which I tried to putaway from me as a bad dream.
I was only musing, that's all.
It is impossible to keep one's mind idle, you know; for, even whenengaged in an abstract contemplation of the most engrossing theme, thefancy _will_ stray off into by-paths that lead to strangely dissimilarideas and very disconnected associations.
As the German steamer in which I was going to New York did not startuntil next day, I put up for the night at Radley's--that haven of shore-comfort to the Red-Sea-roasted, Biscay-tossed, sea-sickened Indianwarriors returning home by the P and O vessels--where, you may be sure,I met with every attention that my constitution required in the way ofrest and refreshment; and, at midday on the morrow, embarking on boardthe stately _Herzog von Gottingen_, I passed through the Needles,outward-bound across the Atlantic to the "New World" of promise!
Ocean voyages are so common now-a-days that they are not worthmentioning.
Mine was no exception to the rule; the only noticeable point that Iobserved being the rare courageous temperament of the Teutonic ladies,and the undaunted spirit they displayed in "fighting their battles o'eragain" at the saloon table, in despite of the insidious attacks ofNeptune. No matter how frequently the fell malady of the sea shouldassail them--at breakfast, or lunch, or dinner, or at any of the otherand many meals which the ship's caterer thought necessary to our diurnalwants--these delicate fair ones would "never say die," on having to beata precipitate retreat to their cabins. They would return again, Iassure you, in a few minutes, to resume the repast which had beentemporarily interrupted; smiling as if nothing had happened, andshowing, too, that nothing _had_ happened, to seriously interfere withtheir deglutinal faculties!
This was not my first voyage--I did not tell you
so before?
Well, suppose I did not; don't you remember my saying that I was notaware of being under any obligation to you which would make me regardyou as the receptor of _all_ my secrets?
This was not my first voyage, I say; consequently, ship-board life wasno novelty to me--nor the Atlantic Ocean, either, for that matter. Iwas used to the one, I had seen the other previously. I was as much athome to both, in fact, as I had been in the vicarage parlour standingbeside dear little Miss Pimpernell's old arm-chair in the chimneycorner!
I love the sea, in rest or unrest.
It is never monotonous to me, as some find it; for I think it ever-changing, ever new. I love it always--under every aspect of itskaleidoscopic face.
When, bright with mellow sunshine, it reflects the intense blue of theocean sky above, with a brisk breeze topping its many-furrowed waves--that are racing by and leaping over each other like a parcel ofschoolboys at play--and cutting off sheets and sparkling showers of theprismatic foam that exhibits every tint of the rainbow--azure andorange, violet, light-green, and pale luminous white,--scatters itbroadcast into the air around; whence it falls into yeasty hollows, asort of feathery snow of a fairy texture, just suited for the bridalveils of the Nereides--only to be churned over again and tossed up anewby the wanton wind in its frolicsome mirth.
Or, when, in a dead calm, it appears to lie sleeping, heaving its tumidbosom in occasional long-drawn sighs--that make it rise and sink inrounded ridges of an oily look and a leadeny tinge, except at theequator, where they shine at midday like a burnished mirror.
Or, again, when storm-tossed and tempest-weary, it rages and raves withall its pent-up fury broken loose--goaded to frenzy by the howlinglashes of Aeolus and the roar of the storm-fiend. Then it is grand andawful in its majesty; and when I see it so it makes me mad with atriumphant sense of power in overriding it--as it boils beneath thevessel's keel, longing to overwhelm it and me, yet impotent of evil!
Whether in calm or in storm--at dawn of day, with the rosy flush of therising sun blushing the horizon up to the zenith, or at night, with thetwinkling stars shining down into its sombre depths and the recurringflashes of sheet lightning lighting up its immensity, which seems vasteras the darkness grows--it is to me always attractive, ever lovable.
In its bright buoyancy it exhilarates me; in its calm, it causes me todream; and, in its wild moods, when heaven and sea appear to meettogether in wrestling embrace, I can--if joyous at the time--almostshout aloud in ecstasy of admiring awe and kindred riot of mind; while,should I feel sad during the carnival of the elements, I get reflective,and--
"As I watch the ocean In pitiless commotion, Like the thoughts, now surging wildly through my storm-tost breast, The snow-capt, heaving billows Seem to me as lace-fring'd pillows Of the deep Deep's bed of rest!"
Did you ever chance to read Chateaubriand's _Genie du Christianisme_?
It is a queer book for a Frenchman to have written, but abounding inbeautiful description and startling bits of observation. I remember,one evening on the passage out, when it was very rough, having aparticular sentence of this work especially called to my mind. It wasthat in which the author discourses on the Deity, and says,--
"I do not profess to be anything myself; I am only a solitary unit. But I have often heard learned men disputing about a chief originator, or prime cause, and I have never been able to comprehend their arguments; for I have always noticed that it is at the sight of the stupendous movements of nature that the idea of this unknown supreme `origin' becomes manifested to the mind of man."
This sentence was the more impressed on my memory, from the fact, that,on the very same evening, while reading the appointed portion of thePsalms out of the little Prayer-book which Min had given me--a duty thatI had promised her to perform regularly every day--I came across averse, which, in different language, expressed almost the very samething. It was the one wherein David exclaims, "They that go down to thesea in ships, and occupy their business in great waters, these men seethe works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep!"
Our voyage was uneventful, beyond this one instance of rough weather--when, throughout the night, as the steamer pitched and heaved, rollingand labouring, as if her last hour was come, the screw propeller workedround with a heavy thudding sound, as if some Cyclops were pounding awayunder my bunk with a broomstick to rouse me up, my cabin being just overthe screw shaft. It went for awhile "thump:--thump! thump, thump,thump! Thump:--thump! Thump, thump, thump!" with even regularity; andthen would suddenly break off this movement, whizzing away at a greatrate, as the "send" of the sea lifted the blades out of the water,buzzing furiously the while like some marine alarum clock running down,or the mainspring of your watch breaking!
In the morning, however, only the swelling waves--that were rapidlysubsiding--remained to remind us of the gale; and, from that date, wehad fine weather and a good wind "a-beam," until we finally sightedSandy Hook lightship at the foot of New York Bay.
We did this in exactly ten days from the time of our "departure point"being taken, off the Needles.--Rather a fair run on the whole, when youconsider that we lost fully a day by the storm, compelling us as it did,not only to slacken speed, but also to reverse our course, in order tokeep the vessel's head to the sea, and prevent her being pooped by somegigantic following wave--as might have been the case if we had kept onbefore it, as the unfortunate _London_ did, a short period before.
My first impressions of "the Empire city," as the proud Manhattanesefondly style it, were, certainly, not favourable; rather the contrary, Imay say at once, without any "beating about the bush."
You see, I landed on a Sunday. It was likewise wet--a nasty, drizzling,misty morning, fit to give you the blues with its many disagreeables andmake you bless Mackintosh, while cursing Pleiads. Now, either of thesetwo conditions--I do not refer to the act of benediction or its reverse,but to the fact of its being Sunday and wet--would have been sufficientto detract from the attractive merits of any English town; how muchmore, therefore, from those possessed by the great cosmopolitanmetropolis of Transatlantica? This city is in bad weather a hundred-fold more desolate than London, in an aesthetic sense, and that issaying a good deal; and, on a Sunday, through the absence of anySabbatarian influences and the working of teetotal tastes, it is moreoutwardly dull and inwardly vicious than any spot north of Tweed--Glasgow, for example, where the name of the illustrious Forbes Mackenzieis venerated!
To commence with, during the early morning we had warped into dock atHoboken, the Rotherhithe--and, in some respects, Rosherville--of NewYork, being situated on the opposite side of the river; and here, the_Herzog von Gottingen_ lay, with her bowsprit jammed into a coal shedand her decks, aforetime so white and clean, all bespattered with dirt,and encumbered with hawsers and cables. These latter coiling anduncoiling themselves here, there, and everywhere, like so many writhingsea-serpents, and, tripping you up suddenly just when you believed youhad discovered a clear space on which you might stand withoutimperilling your valuable life.
Besides, the crew were engaged in getting up luggage from the lower holdby the aid of a donkey engine, which made a great deal of clatteringfuss over doing a minimum amount of work--in which respect it resembleda good many people of my acquaintance, by the way. It was not pleasantto have the iron-bound cover of a heavy chest poked into the small ofone's back without leave or licence, and the entire article beingsubsequently deposited on one's toes! No, it was not. And, to makematters worse, the escape steam, puffing off in volumes from the wastepipe in a hollow roar of relief at being no longer compelled to earn itsliving, was condensing an additional shower for our benefit--that wasnot more agreeable, in consequence of being warm--as if the drizzlingrain that was falling was not deemed sufficient for wetting purposes!
After settling matters with the Custom House, and crossing the ferryfrom Hoboken, myself and all my goods packed in a hackney carriage hungon very high springs--like the old "glass coaches" that were
used inLondon during the early part of the century, although, unlike them,drawn by a pair of remarkably fine horses--my drive through the backslums of New York to one of the Broadway hotels was not of a nature todispel my vapours.
The lower parts of the town, adjacent to the Hudson, are about asodoriferous and architecturally beautiful as a sixth-rate seaport in"the old country." While, as for Broadway itself--that much be-praised-boulevard--Broadway, the "great," the "much pumpkins, I guess"--to seewhich, I had been told by enthusiastic Americans, was to behold the verythirteenth wonder of the world!--Well, the less I say about it, perhapsthe better!
If you are still inquisitive, however, and would kindly imagine whatyour feelings would be on beholding Upper Oxford Street on a Novemberday--with a few draggling flags hung across it, one or two "blocks" ofbrown-stone buildings interspersed between its rows of uneven shops, anda lofty-spired church, like Saint Margaret's, jutting out into theroadway by the Marble Arch--you will have a general idea of myimpressions when first looking at the magnificent thoroughfare that ourcousins love.
It has evidently secured its reputation, from being the only decentstreet in New York--just as Sackville Street in Dublin is "a foine placeentirely," on account of its being the only one of any respectablelength or width in the city on the Liffey--if you will kindly permit thecomparison for a moment?
I was disappointed, I confess.
Ever since boyhood I had pictured America, and everything belonging toit, from Fennimore Cooper's standpoint. I thought I was going to a spotquite different from any locality I had previously been accustomed to;and, lo! New York was altogether commonplace. Nothing original,nothing tropical, nothing "New World"-like about it. It was only anordinary town of the same stamp as many I have noticed on this side ofthe water--a European city in a slop suit--"Yankee" all over in _that_way!
In regard to its extent, which I had been led to believe was quite equalto, if not surpassing, our metropolis, I found that I could walk fromone side of it to the other in half an hour; and traverse its length intwice that time--the entire island on which it is built being only ninemiles long. "Why," thought I, when I had arrived at this knowledge,"some of our suburbs could beat that!"
When bright days came, Broadway undoubtedly looked a little better--Barnum's streamers, "up town," floating out bravely over the heads ofthe "stage" drivers--but I was never able to overcome my firstimpressions of it and New York generally; and, to make an end of thematter, I may say now, that the longer I stayed in the "land of thesettin' sun," north, south, east, and west--I had experience of all--theless I saw to like in it.
The country and the scenery are well enough; but the people!
Ah! if the Right Honourable John Bright and other ardent admirers ofeverything connected with the "great Republic" on the other side of theocean, would but go over, as I did, and study it honestly from everypoint of view for three years, say, they _must_ come to a differentopinion about the nation which they are so constantly eulogising at theexpense of their own!
Don't let them merely run over to see it in gala trim, however, and haveits workings explained only to them through a transatlantic section ofthe same clique of which they are members at home; but let them go in aprivate capacity and see things for themselves, mixing amongst allclasses of the American community, and not only in one circle.
They won't, though.
The Manchester manufacturer of "advanced views" visits the Massachusettsmanufacturer;--and, derives all _his_ knowledge of America and herinstitutions from him. The trades' union delegate of England palaverswith the working-men's societies of the eastern states; whence he gets_his_ information of Transatlantic polemics. The ballot enthusiast overhere talks, and only _talks_, mind you! with the believer in the ballotover there; and so arrives at _his_ conclusions on the subject of secretvoting--and then, all these return to this "down-trodden," "aristocracy-ridden," "effete old kingdom," and prate about the glorious way in whichtheir several theories work across the ocean--not one of them havingresided long enough beneath the stars and stripes to be able to judge ofthe truth of what they allege, as they are quite contented to take forgospel the hearsay with which they bolster up their own opinions!
If these respective persons would only go out and live, I say, for threeyears consecutively in the States, and move about outside of theirrespective bigotted grooves, they would find out, in time, that, theboasted free, liberty-loving, advanced, progressive commonwealth on theother side of "the big pond," is?--one of the most despotic, intolerant,morally-and-politically-rotten republics that ever existed, bar none!
What will your ballot-advocate--who anathematises "Tory coercion," andis continually urging into notice the "purity of election" thatcharacterises the system of our "cousins"--say, to the fact, that oneparty of "free and enlightened citizens" of the model cosmos of hisadmiration regularly sell their votes to the highest bidder; while,another set, under a military despotism, are compelled to exercise thefranchise only in a manner pleasing to a dominant faction? What willyour Democratic Dilke, or Ouvrier Odger--who may, in this "speech-gagged," "oppressed" country, heap scurrilous abuse on royalty andoverhaul the washing bills of her Majesty without let or hindrance--say,for the "liberty of speech" on the other side; where, if they were toutter a word in favour of the conquered Confederates, amongst a certainschool of "black republicans," they would run the risk of having arevolver bullet in their epigastric region before they knew where theywere?
How would your communistic enthusiast, who bawls out about the equalityof all men, like to see, as I have seen, "respectable cullered pussons,"representatives of the beloved "man and a brother," _wearing livery_,the "badge of servitude," which is only supposed to be donned by the"menials of European tyrants?" And yet, these darkey flunkeys are inthe service of free and equal citizens of a "Great Republic," strange tosay!
What does your Manchester "Spinning Jenney," the earnest upholder offree trade, say to the "Protection" policy of his congeners in theStates?
How can he reconcile his statements _here_ with facts _there_?
Where is the "Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite," now, when you really cometo dive below the surface, and see things as they are in America, eh?--
But, bless you, these reformers will _not_ so regard the objects oftheir veneration. They will only see them in the light in which theychoose to see them; and would swear black was white in order to answertheir purpose!
Your true radical or republican--the name "liberal" is a misnomer--is,as I have often heard the vicar say, one of the most intolerant,illiberal persons under the sun. His idea of freedom, is, thateverybody should be free to do as _he_ pleases:--if they object to hisprogramme, they are evidently not sufficiently "advanced" to suit him!His liberty of speech, is, for himself to spout away ad libitum on hishobby, and everybody else who may not agree with him to hold his tongue!His theory of equality is, for all above him in station to be broughtdown to _his_ level, and then, for _him_ to remain cock of the walk!
I have studied the animal. That's his view of it, depend upon it! Hewill not be convinced. He will not even "argue the point," nor listento a word said on the side contrary to that which he espouses. He has_his_ opinions, he says; and will stick to them, right or wrong--notwithstanding the home truths that may lie in those of others opposedto him. Dogged, certainly:--liberal, no! Do you doubt what I say?--Letus go to particulars then.
Your candid disestablishers, for instance,--will they meet youroutspoken churchmen, who stand up for the old faith in the constitution,on an open platform; and discuss the question of a national church on acommon footing, where both its opponents and its supporters can beheard?
Will your would--be--republican, foregathering at some Hole-in-the-Wallmeeting, allow a conservative speaker to say a word in opposition to hisprogressive puerilities? Your teetotal-alliancer, in a quorum of water-drinkers, will he _let_ a licensed victualler utter a protest againsthis scheme for universal abstinence?
No.
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Each and all of these several cliques are, in common with all cliques,narrow-minded and intolerant. They prefer being kings of theirrespective small companies and enjoying the mutual admiration of apacked assembly, to coming out boldly like men and letting the pros andcons of their schemes be ventilated in free discussion at genuinemeetings, composed of diverse elements.--Do you want any further proof?
I confess, I don't like republics or republicans. Once upon a time,before seeing how they worked, I undoubtedly had a leaning towards the"liberalism," as I thought it, of this school; but a thorough exposureof the "institution" and the character of its partisans in America andin France have completely opened my eyes to their real nature.
Were I asked, now, to define a republic, I should say that it was ageneral scramble for power and perquisites, by a lot of ragged rascalswith empty pockets, who have everything to gain by success, and nothingto lose by failure.--A sort of "rough and tumble" fight, in which thosewith the easiest consciences, the loudest tongues and the wildestpromises, come to the fore, letting "the devil take the hindmost!"
It is a so-called commonwealth, wherein the welfare of the mass issubordinated to party spirit; and in which each aspirant for place andpower, well knowing that his chief ambition is to "feather his own nest"without any afterthought of patriotism, kicks down his strugglingbrother--likewise on the lookout for the loaves and fishes of office--ostracising him, if he doesn't put up with the treatment quietly!
I may be wrong, certainly, and I'm open to argument on the point, but Ilike our old system best. I infinitely prefer a gentleman with areputation, to a snob with none; and a clean shirt to a dirty one! andif you allow that I possess the right of selecting my future rulers, Iwould much rather have those whom birth and education have taught atleast toleration, than a parcel of grubby-nailed democrats, innocent ofsoap-and-water, who wish to choke their one-sided creed, willy-nilly,down my throat, in defiance of my inclinations and better judgment; andwhose sole interest in "their fellow man" is centred in the problem--howto line their own pockets at his cost, in the neatest way!
"Sans culottes" and the "Bonnet Rouge" for those who like them; but, asa matter of choice, I prefer a pair of decent "inexpressibles" and aLincoln and Bennett "chapeau!" As the elder Capulet's first scullionsagely remarked to his fellow-servant--
"When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing!"
There are men calling themselves "politicians"--save the mark! thatwould have us pull down the old constitutional machine, (lumbering itmay be,) which has served our purpose for generations, and whose workingand capabilities we have tested some odd thousand years; to replace itwith the newfangled gimcrack model which is continually getting out ofgear across the Atlantic; and I have no patience with them. I do notparticularly desire to run America and its people down; but, when we arein the habit of criticising the deeds and doings of our continentalneighbours, without much reticence as to our likes and dislikes, I donot see why any especial immunity should be placed over Americans totaboo them from honest judgment!
I must say that when I hear and read the fulsome admiration that it hasbeen the fashion of late to express and write concerning our so-called"cousins," it fairly makes my blood boil. If nobody else _will_ "takethe gilt off the gingerbread," why shouldn't I try to do so?
The truth of the matter, with regard to America, is that the Columbianeagle makes such a tremendous cackling over every little _egg_ it lays,that we cis-Atlantic folks rate its achievements much higher than theydeserve!
We do not kick up a fuss about our general proceedings; consequently, weimagine something very great must have happened to cause the Bird o'Freedom to burst into such gallinacious paeans of delight.
The "advancement" of the first Republic, you say?--Why, it has takenover a hundred years to grow, and it _ought_ to be arriving at maturityby this time!
The determination of its citizens displayed in crushing out secession?--They took four years to do it in, although they had an army and navyprovided to their hand, and were receiving recruits in hundreds from themasses of incoming emigrants, up to the very end of the struggle; while,the Southerners had to improvise everything, and their forces dwindleddown day by day.
We put down the Indian mutiny in 1857 with a little handful of troops,that had to confront thousands upon thousands of insurgent Hindoosbefore a single reinforcement could arrive from England:--_we_ nevertriumphed so loudly about what we did on that occasion; and yet, ourcampaign against the Sepoys was fought over a far more extendedterritory than the war for the "Union."
Their progress, you remark?
Pooh, my dear sir! One would almost think, to hear you talk, that theold world had stood still in sheer astonishment ever since the "new" wasushered into being!
Granted, that a few wooden shanties are run up "out west" on theprairies, and styled "towns," and that these towns grow into "cities"by-and-by:--what then? Are there not miles of streets, and houseswithout number, added to London, and other little villages over hereevery year, which do not attract any comment--except in the annualreport of the Registrar General?
Their Union Pacific Railway, connecting New York with Saint Francisco;and hence abridging the distance between Europe and Asia!
A "big thing," certainly; but have you forgotten our Underground line,and the Holborn Viaduct, and the Thames Embankment--either and all ofwhich can vie with the noblest relics of ancient Rome?
Bah! Don't talk to me in that strain, please. Has not France alsoachieved the Suez Canal, and Italy the Mont Cenis tunnel--both workssurpassing any feat of Transatlantic engineering ever attempted. Why,their Hoosaic tunnel, which is not near the size of the Alpine one, andwhich has been talked of and worked at for the last twenty years, is notyet half completed! Have we not, too, run railways through the junglesof India, and spanned the wastes of Australia with the electric wire?
Ha! while alluding to telegraphs, let us instance the Atlantic cable._That_ strikes nearer home, doesn't it? Originated as the idea was byan American, Cyrus Field--to whom may all honour be given--can youinform me which country is entitled to take credit for its success--slowEngland or smart America?
You won't answer, eh? Then I'll tell you.
The company that conducted that undertaking to a triumphant issue--wasgot up in London, and formed mostly of Englishmen. The money that paidfor the ocean cable--came out of the pockets of English shareholders.English manufacturers constructed it:--English artisans fashioned it;and an English ship, the largest ever built, manned by an English crew,laid it. There! what do you say to that now, eh?
"Caved in?"
I guessed so. Thought _we_ "could crow some, I reckon."
But, I will say no more on the subject. I have allowed you to have thefree benefit of my opinions--such as they are--at your privatevaluation, no discount allowed!
You don't seem pleased--what is it that you say?
You want to hear about my doings; and not my opinions?
Bless me! How very impatient you are. I was only just going tocontinue my story!
How can you hear about me without hearing my opinions also?
I dare say they may not appear palatable to you. There is no accountingfor tastes; and, as you probably know, "veritas odium parit!"
Still, you cannot separate a man and his opinions; they are inseparable.
Fancy an individual without an opinion of his own!
Why, he would be a nonentity--a thing!
Don't talk nonsense.
She and I, Volume 2 Page 9