GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
Vol. XXI. November, 1842 No. 5.
Contents
[Transcriber’s Notes] can be found at the end of this eBook.
GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
Vol. XXI. PHILADELPHIA: NOVEMBER, 1842. No. 5.
THE SPANISH STUDENT.
———
BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
———
What’s done we partly may compute,
But know not what’s resisted.
Burns.
(Concluded from page 180.)
ACT THE THIRD.
Scene I.—A cross-road through a woodland. In the back ground a distant village spire. Evening. Victorian as a traveling student; a guitar slung under his arm.
Vic. I will forget thee! All dear recollections
Pressed in my heart, like flowers within a book,
Shall be torn out and scattered to the winds!
I will forget thee! but perhaps hereafter,
When thou shalt learn how heartless is the world,
A voice within thee will repeat my name,
And thou wilt say, “He was indeed my friend!”
(Enter Hypolito, dressed like Victorian.)
Hyp. Still dreaming of the absent?
Vic. Aye, still dreaming.
Oh, would I were a soldier, not a scholar,
That the loud march, the deafening beat of drums,
The shattering blast of the brass-throated trumpet,
The din of arms, the onslaught and the storm,
And a swift death, might make me deaf forever
To the upbraidings of this foolish heart!
Hyp. Then let that foolish heart upbraid no more!
To conquer love, one need but will to conquer.
Thou art too young, too full of lusty health
To talk of dying.
Vic. Yet I fain would die!
To go through life, unloving and unloved;
To feel that thirst and hunger of the soul
We cannot still; that longing, that wild impulse,
And struggle after something we have not
And cannot have; the effort to be strong;
And, like the Spartan boy, to smile and smile
While secret wounds do bleed beneath our cloaks:
All this the dead feel not—the dead alone!
I envy them because they are at rest!
Would I were with them!
Hyp. Thou wilt be soon.
Vic. It cannot be too soon. My happiest day
Will be that of my death. O, I am weary
Of the bewildering masquerade of Life,
Where strangers walk as friends, and friends as strangers;
Where whispers overheard betray false hearts;
And through the mazes of the crowd we chase
Some form of loveliness, that smiles, and beckons,
And cheats us with fair words, only to leave us
A mockery and a jest; maddened—confused—
Not knowing friend from foe.
Hyp. Why seek to know?
Enjoy the merry shrove-tide of thy youth!
Take each fair mask for what it gives itself!
Strive not to look beneath it.
Vic. O, too often,
Too often have I been deceived! The world
Has lost its bright illusions. One by one
The masks have gone; the lights burnt out; the music
Dropped into silence, and I stand alone
In the dark halls, and hear no sound of life
Save the monotonous beating of my heart!
Would that had ceased to beat!
Hyp. If thou couldst do it,
Wouldst thou lie down to sleep and wake no more?
Vic. Indeed would I: as quietly as a child:
As willingly as the tired artisan
Lays by his tools and stretches him to sleep.
Hyp. So would not I. Too many pleasant visions
Hover before me; phantoms of delight
Beckon me on, and wave their golden wings,
Making the Future radiant with their smiles.
Vic. Would it were so with me! For I behold
Nothing but shadows; and the Future stands
Before me like a wall of adamant
I cannot climb.
Hyp. And right above it gleams
A glorious star. Be patient—trust thy star.
(Sound of a village bell in the distance.)
Vic. Ave Maria! I hear the sacristan
Ringing the chimes from yonder village belfry!
A solemn sound that echoes far and wide
Over the red roofs of the cottages,
And bids the laboring hind a-field, the shepherd,
Guarding his flock, the lonely muleteer,
And all the crowd in village streets stand still,
And breathe a prayer unto the Blessed Virgin!
Hyp. Amen! amen! Not half a league from hence
The village lies.
Vic. This path will lead us to it,
Over the wheat fields, where the shadows sail
Across the running sea, now green, now blue,
And like an idle mariner on the main
Whistles the quail. Come, let us hasten on. [Exeunt.
Scene II.—The public square of El Pardillo. The Ave Maria still tolling. A crowd of villagers, with their hats in their hands, as if in prayer. In front a group of Gipsies. The bell rings a merrier peel. A Gipsy dance. Enter Pancho, followed by Pedro Crespo.
Pan. Make room, ye vagabonds and gipsy thieves!
Make room for the Alcalde of Pardillo!
P. Cres. Keep silence all! I have an edict here
From our most gracious lord, the King of Spain,
Which I shall publish in the market-place.
Open your ears and listen!
(Enter Padre Cura at the door of his cottage.)
Padre Cura,
Good day! and pray you hear this paper read.
P. Cura. Good day, and God be with you! What is this?
P. Crespo. An act of banishment against the gipsies!
(Agitation and murmurs in the crowd.)
Pancho. Silence!
P. Crespo. (reads.) “I hereby order and command,
That the Egyptian and Chaldean strangers,
Known by the name of gipsies, shall henceforth
Be banished from our realm, as vagabonds
And beggars; and if after seventy days
Any be found within our kingdom’s bounds,
They shall receive a hundred lashes each;
The second time, shall have their ears cut off;
The third, be slaves for life to him who takes them;
Or burnt as heretics. Signed, I the King.”
Vile miscreants and creatures unbaptized!
You hear the law! Obey and disappear!
Pancho. And if in seventy days you are not gone,
Dead or alive I make you all my slaves.
(The gipsies go out in confusion, showing signs of fear
and discontent. Pancho follows.)
P. Cura. A righteous law! A very righteous law!
Pray you sit down.
P. Crespo. I thank you heartily.
(They seat themselves on a bench at the Padre Cura’s door. Sound of guitars and voices heard at a distance, approaching during the dialogue which follows.)
A very righteous judgment, as you say.
Now tell me, Padre Cura—you know all things—
How came these gipsies into Spain?
P. Cura. Why, look you,
They came with Hercules from Palestine,
And hence are thieves and vagrants, Sir Alcalde,
As the Simoniacs from Simon Magus.
And, look you, as Fray Jayme Bleda says,
There are a hundred marks to prove a Moor
Is not a Christian, so ’tis with the gipsies.
They never marry, never go to mass,
Never baptize their children, nor keep Lent,
Nor see the inside of a church—nor—nor—
P. Crespo. Good reasons, good, substantial reasons all!
No matter for the other ninety-five.
They should be burnt, I see it plain enough,
They should be burnt.
(Enter Victorian and Hypolito playing.)
P. Cura. And pray, whom have we here?
P. Crespo. More vagrants! By Saint Lazarus, more vagrants!
Hyp. Good evening, gentlemen. Is this El Pardillo?
P. Cura. Yes, El Pardillo, and good evening to you.
Hyp. We seek the Padre Cura of the village;
And judging from your dress and reverend mien
You must be he.
P. Cura. I am. Pray what’s your pleasure?
Hyp. We are poor students, traveling in vacation.
You know this mark? (Touching the wooden spoon in his hat-band.)
P. Crespo. (aside.) Soup-eaters! by the mass!
The very worst of vagrants, worse than gipsies,
But there’s no law against them. Sir, your servant. [Exit.
P. Cura. (jovially.) Aye, know it, and have worn it.
Hyp. Padre Cura,
From the first moment I beheld your face,
I said within myself, This is the man!
There is a certain something in your looks,
A certain scholar-like and studious something—
You understand—which cannot be mistaken;
Which marks you as a very learned man,
In fine, as one of us.
Vic. (aside.) What impudence!
Hyp. As we approached, I said to my companion,
That is the Padre Cura; mark my words!
Meaning your grace. The other man, said I,
Who sits so awkwardly upon the bench,
Must be the sacristan.
P. Cura. Ah! said you so?
Ha! ha! ’Twas Pedro Crespo, the alcalde!
Hyp. Indeed! why, you astonish me! His air
Was not so full of dignity and grace
As an alcalde’s should be.
P. Cura. That is true.
He’s out of humor with some vagrant gipsies,
That have their camp here in the neighborhood.
There’s nothing so undignified as anger.
Hyp. The Padre Cura will excuse our boldness,
If from his well-known hospitality
We crave a lodging for the night.
P. Cura. I pray you!
You do me honor! I am but too happy
To have such guests beneath my humble roof.
It is not often that I have occasion
To speak with scholars; and Emollit mores,
Nec sinit esse feros, Cicero says.
Hyp. ’Tis Ovid, is it not?
P. Cura. No, Cicero.
Hyp. Your grace is right. You are the better scholar.
Now what a dunce was I to say ’twas Ovid.
But hang me if it is not! (Aside.)
P. Cura. Pass this way.
He was a very great man, was Cicero!
Pray you, go in, go in! no ceremony. [Exeunt.
Scene III.—A room in the Padre Cura’s house. Enter the Padre and Hypolito.
P. Cura. So then, Señor, you come from Alcalá.
I’m glad to hear it. It was there I studied.
Hyp. And left behind an honored name, no doubt.
How may I call your grace?
P. Cura. Gerónimo
De Santillana; at your honor’s service.
Hyp. Descended from the Marquis Santillana?
From the distinguished poet?
P. Cura. From the marquis,
Not from the poet.
Hyp. Why, they were the same.
Let me embrace you! O some lucky star
Has brought me hither! Yet once more—once more.
(Embraces him violently.)
Your name is ever green in Alcalá,
And our professor, when we are unruly,
Will shake his hoary head, and say; Alas!
It was not so in Santillana’s time!
P. Cura. I did not think my name remember’d there.
Hyp. More than remember’d; it is idolized.
P. Cura. Of what professor speak you?
Hyp. Timoneda.
P. Cura. I don’t remember any Timoneda.
Hyp. A grave and sombre man, whose beetling brow
O’erhangs the rushing current of his speech
As rocks o’er rivers hang. Have you forgotten?
P. Cura. Indeed, I have. O those were pleasant days,
Those college days! I ne’er shall see the like!
I had not buried then so many hopes!
I had not buried then so many friends!
I’ve turn’d my back on what was then before me;
And the bright faces of my young companions
Are wrinkled like mine own, or are no more.
Do you remember Cueva?
Hyp. Cueva? Cueva?
P. Cura. Fool that I am! He was before your time.
You are mere boys, and I am an old man.
Hyp. I should not like to try my strength with you.
P. Cura. Well, well. But I forget; you must be hungry.
Martina! ho! Martina! ’Tis my niece;
A daughter of my sister. What! Martina!
(Enter Martina.)
Hyp. You may be proud of such a niece as that.
I wish I had a niece. Emollit mores! (Aside.)
He was a very great man, was Cicero!
Your servant, fair Martina.
Mar. Servant, sir.
P. Cura. This gentleman is hungry. See thou to it.
Let us have supper.
Mar. ’Twill be ready soon.
P. Cura. And bring a bottle of my Val-de-Peñas
Out of the cellar. Stay; I’ll go myself.
Pray you, Señor, excuse me. [Exit.
Hyp. (beckoning off.) Hist! Martina!
One word with you. Bless me! what handsome eyes!
To-day there have been gipsies in the village.
Is it not so?
Mar. There have been gipsies here.
Hyp. Yes, and they told your fortune.
Mar. (embarrassed.) Told my fortune?
Hyp. Yes, yes; I know they did. Give me your hand.
I’ll tell you what they said. They said—they said,
The shepherd boy that loved you was a clown,
And him you should not marry. Was it not?
Mar. (surprised.) How know you that?
Hyp. O I know more than that.
What a soft little hand! And then they said
A cavalier from court, handsome and tall,
And rich, should come one day to marry you.
And you should be a lady. Was it not?
Mar. (withdrawing her hand.) How know you that?
Hyp. O I know more than that.
He has arrived, the handsome cavalier. (Tries to kiss her.
She runs off.)
(Enter Victorian, with a letter.)
Vic. The muleteer has come.
Hyp. So soon?
Vic. I found him
Sitting at supper by the tavern door,
And from a pitcher, that he held aloft
His whole arm’s length, drinking the blood-red wine.
Hyp. What news from court?
Vic. He brought this letter only. (Reads.)
O cursed perfidy! Why did I let
That lying tongue deceive me! Preciosa,
Sweet Preciosa! how art thou avenged?
Hyp. What news is this, that makes thy cheek turn pale,
And thy hand tremble?
Vic. O, most infamous!
The Count of Lara is a damnéd villain!
Hyp. That is no news, forsooth.
Vic. He strove in vain
To steal from me the jewel of my soul,
The love of Preciosa. Not succeeding,
He swore to be revenged; and set on foot
A plot to ruin her, which has succeeded.
She has been hissed and hooted from the stage,
Her reputation stained by slanderous lies
Too foul to speak of; and once more a beggar
She roams a wanderer over God’s green earth,
Housing with gipsies!
Hyp. To renew again
The Age of Gold, and make the shepherd swains
Desperate with love, like Gaspar Gil’s Diana.
Redit et Virgo!
Vic. Dear Hypolito,
How have I wronged that meek, confiding heart!
I will go seek for her; and with my tears
Wash out the wrong I’ve done her!
Hyp. O beware!
Act not that folly o’er again.
Vic. Aye, folly,
Delusion, madness, call it what thou wilt,
I will confess my weakness—I still love her!
Still fondly love her!
(Enter the Padre Cura.)
Hyp. Tell us, Padre Cura,
Who are these gipsies in the neighborhood?
P. Cura. Beltran Cruzado and his crew.
Vic. Kind Heaven,
I thank thee! She is found again! is found!
Hyp. And have they with them a pale, beautiful girl
Called Preciosa?
P. Cura. Aye, a pretty girl.
The gentleman seems moved.
Hyp. Yes, moved with hunger;
He is half famished with this long day’s journey.
P. Cura. Then, pray you, come this way. The supper waits. [Exeunt.
Scene IV.—A post-house on the road to Segovia, not far from the village of El Pardillo. Enter Chispa cracking a whip, and singing the Cachucha.
Chis. Halloo! the post-house! Let us have horses! and quickly. Alas, poor Chispa! what a dog’s life dost thou lead! I thought when I left my old master Victorian, the student, to serve my new master Don Carlos, the gentleman, that I too should lead the life of a gentleman; should go to bed early, and get up late. But in running away from the thunder I have run into the lightning. Here I am in hot chase after my old master and his gipsy girl. And a good beginning of the week it is, as he said who was hanged on Monday morning.
(Enter Don Carlos.)
Don C. Are not the horses ready yet?
Chis. I should think not, for the hostler seems to be asleep. Ho! within there! Horses! horses! horses!
(He knocks at the gate with his whip, and enter Mosquito, putting on his jacket.)
Mos. Pray have a little patience. I’m not a musket.
Chis. I’m glad to see you come on dancing, padre! Pray, what’s the news?
Mos. You cannot have fresh horses; because there are none.
Chis. Cachiporra! Throw that bone to another dog. Do I look like your aunt?
Mos. No; she has a beard.
Chis. Go to! go to!
Mos. Are you from Madrid?
Chis. Yes; and going to Estramadura. Get us horses.
Mos. What’s the news at court?
Chis. Why, the latest news is that I am going to set up a coach, and, as you see, I have already bought the whip. (Strikes him round the legs.)
Mos. Oh! oh! you hurt me!
Don C. Enough of this folly. Let us have horses. (Gives money to Mosquito.) It is almost dark; and we are in haste. But tell me, has a band of gipsies passed this way of late?
Mos. Yes; and they are still in the neighborhood.
Don C. And where?
Mos. Across the fields yonder, in the woods near El Pardillo. [Exit.
Don C. Now this is lucky. We’ll turn aside and visit the gipsy camp.
Chis. Are you not afraid of the evil eye? Have you a stag’s horn with you?
Don C. Fear not. We will pass the night at the village.
Chis. And sleep like the squires of Hernan Daza, nine under one blanket.
Don C. I hope we may find the Preciosa among them.
Chis. Among the squires?
Don C. No; among the gipsies, blockhead!
Chis. I hope we may; for we are giving ourselves trouble enough on her account. Don’t you think so? However, there is no catching trout without wetting one’s trowsers. Yonder come the horses. [Exeunt.
Scene V.—The gipsy camp in the forest. Night. Gipsies working at a forge. Others playing cards by the fire light.
Gipsies at the forge sing.
On the top of a mountain I stand,
With a crown of red gold in my hand,
Wild Moors come trooping over the lea,
Oh how from their fury shall I flee, flee, flee?
O how from their fury shall I flee?
First Gip. (playing.) Down with your John-Dorados, my pigeon. Down with your John-Dorados, and let us make an end.
Gipsies at the forge sing.
Loud sang the Spanish cavalier,
And thus his ditty ran;
God send the gipsy lassie here,
And not the gipsy man.
First Gip. (playing.) There you are in your morocco!
Second Gip. One more game. The alcalde’s doves against the Padre Cura’s new moon.
First Gip. Have at you, Chirelin.
Gipsies at the forge sing.
At midnight, when the moon began
To show her silver flame,
There came to him no gipsy man,
The gipsy lassie came.
(Enter Beltran Cruzado.)
Cruz. Come hither, Murcigalleros and Rostilleros; leave work, leave play; listen to your orders for the night. (Speaking to the right.) You will get you to the village, mark you, by the Cross of Espalmado.
Gip. Aye!
Cruz. (to the left.) And you, by the pole with the hermit’s head upon it.
Gip. Aye!
Cruz. As soon as you see the planets are out, in with you, and be busy with the ten commandments, under the sly, and Saint Martin asleep. D’ye hear?
Gip. Aye!
Cruz. Keep your lanterns open, and if you see a goblin or a papagage, take to your trampers. Vineyards and Dancing John is the word. Am I comprehended?
Gip. Aye! aye!
Cruz. Away, then!
(Exeunt severally. Cruzado walks up the stage, and disappears among the trees. Enter Preciosa.)
Pre. How strangely gleams through the gigantic trees
The red light of the forge! Wild, beckoning shadows
Stalk through the forest, ever and anon
Rising and bending with the bickering flame,
Then flitting into darkness! So within me
Strange hopes and fears do beckon to each other,
My brightest hopes giving dark fears a being
As the light does the shadow. Wo is me!
How still it is about me, and how lonely!
All holy angels keep me in this hour;
Spirit of her, who bore me, look upon me;
Mother of God, the glorified, protect me;
Christ and the saints, be merciful unto me!
(Enter Victorian and Hypolito behind.)
Vic. ’Tis she! Behold how beautiful she stands
Under the tent-like trees!
Hyp. A woodland nymph!
Vic. I pray thee, stand aside. Leave me.
Hyp. Be wary.
Do not betray thyself too soon.
Vic. (disguising his voice.) Hist! gipsy!
Pre. (aside, with emotion.) That voice!—that voice! O speak—O speak again!
Who is it that calls?
Vic. A friend.
Pre. (aside.) ’Tis he! ’Tis he!
Now, heart, be strong! I must dissemble here.
False friend or true?
Vic. A true friend to the true.
Fear not; come hither. So; can you tell fortunes?
Pre. Not in the dark. Come nearer to the fire.
Give me your hand. It is not cross’d, I see.
Vic. (putting a piece of gold in her hand.) There is the cross.
Pre. Is’t silver?
Vic. No, ’tis gold.
Pre. There’s a fair lady at the court, who loves you,
And for yourself alone.
Vic. Fie! the old story!
Tell me a better fortune for my gold;
Not this old woman’s tale!
Pre. You’re passionate;
And this same passionate humor in your blood
Has marred your fortune. Yes; I see it now;
The line of life is crossed by many marks.
Shame! shame! O you have wronged the maid who loved you!
How could you do’t?
Vic. I never loved a maid;
For she I loved, was then a maid no more.
Pre. How know you that?
Vic. A little bird in the air
Whispered the secret.
Pre. There, take back your gold!
Your hand is cold, like a deceiver’s hand!
There is no blessing in its charity!
Make her your wife, for you have been abused;
And you shall mend your fortunes, mending hers.
Vic. (aside.) How like an angel’s, speaks the tongue of woman,
When pleading in another’s cause her own!—
That is a pretty ring upon your finger.
Pray give it me. (Tries to take the ring.)
Pre. No; never from my hand
Shall that be taken!
Vic. Why, ’tis but a ring.
I’ll give it back to you; or, if I keep it,
Will give you gold to buy you twenty such.
Pre. Why would you have this ring?
Vic. A traveler’s fancy—
A whim, and nothing more. I would fain keep it
As a memento of the gipsy camp
In El Pardillo, and the fortune-teller,
Who sent me back to wed a widow’d maid.
Pray, let me have the ring.
Pre. No—never! never!
I will not part with it, even when I die;
But bid my nurse fold my pale fingers thus,
That it may not fall from them. ’Tis a token
Of a beloved friend, who is no more.
Vic. How? dead?
Pre. Yes; dead to me; and worse than dead.
He is estrang’d! And yet I keep this ring.
I will rise with it from my grave hereafter,
To prove to him that I was never false.
Vic. (aside.) Be still, my swelling heart! one moment still!
Why ’tis the folly of a love-sick girl.
Come, give it me, or I will say ’tis mine,
And that you stole it.
Pre. O you will not dare
To utter such a fiendish lie!
Vic. Not dare?
Look in my face, and say if there is aught
I have not dared, I would not dare for thee!
(She rushes into his arms.)
Pre. ’Tis thou! ’tis thou! Yes; yes; my heart’s elected!
My dearest-dear Victorian! my soul’s heaven!
Where hast thou been so long! Why didst thou leave me?
Vic. Ask me not now, my dearest Preciosa.
Let me forget we ever have been parted!
Pre. Hadst thou not come—
Vic. I pray thee do not chide me!
Pre. I should have perished here among these gipsies.
Vic. Forgive me, sweet! for what I made thee suffer.
Think’st thou this heart could feel a moment’s joy,
Thou being absent? O believe it not!
Indeed since that sad hour I have not slept
For thinking of the wrong I did to thee!
Dost thou forgive me? Say, wilt thou forgive me!
Pre. I have forgiven thee. Ere those words of anger
Were in the book of Heaven writ down against thee
I had forgiven thee.
Vic. I’m the veriest fool
That walks the earth, to have believed thee false.
It was the Count of Lara—
Pre. That bad man
Has worked me harm enough. Hast thou not heard—
Vic. I have heard all.
Pre. May Heaven forgive him for it!
Hyp. (coming forward.) All gentle quarrels in the pastoral poets;
All passionate love scenes in the best romances;
All chaste embraces on the public stage;
All soft adventures, which the liberal stars
Have wink’d at, as the natural course of things,
Have been surpass’d here by my friend the student
And this sweet gipsy lass, fair Preciosa!
Pre. Señor Hypolito! I kiss your hand.
Pray shall I tell your fortune?
Hyp. Not to-night;
For should you treat me as you did Victorian,
And send me back to marry forlorn damsels,
My wedding day would last from now till Christmas.
Chis. (within.) What ho! the gipsies, ho! Beltran Cruzado!
Halloo! halloo! halloo! halloo!
(Enter booted, with a whip and lantern.)
Vic. What now?
Why such a fearful din? Hast thou been robbed?
Chis. Ay, robbed and murdered; and good evening to you,
My worthy masters.
Vic. Speak; what brings thee here?
Chis. Good news from court; good news! Fair Preciosa,
These letters are for you. Beltran Cruzado,
The Count of the Calés, is not your father,
But your true father has returned to Spain
Laden with wealth. You are no more a gipsy.
Vic. Strange as a Moorish tale!
Chis. And we have all
Been drinking at the tavern to your health,
As wells drink in November, when it rains.
Pre. (having read the letters.) Is this a dream? O, if it be a dream
Let me sleep on, and do not wake me yet!
Repeat thy story! Say I’m not deceived!
Say that I do not dream! I am awake;
This is the gipsy camp; this is Victorian,
And this his friend, Hypolito! Speak—speak!
Let me not wake and find it all a dream!
Vic. It is a dream, sweet child! a waking dream,
A blissful certainty—a vision bright
Of that rare happiness, which even on earth
Heaven gives to those it loves. Now art thou rich
As thou wert ever beautiful and good;
And I am the poor beggar.
Pre. (giving him her hand.) I have still
A hand to give.
Chis. (aside.) And I have two to take.
I’ve heard my grandmother say, that Heaven gives almonds
To those who have no teeth. That’s nuts to crack.
I’ve teeth to spare, but where shall I find almonds?—
Your friend Don Carlos is now at the village
Showing to Pedro Crespo, the alcalde,
The proofs of what I tell you. The old hag,
Who stole you in your childhood, has confess’d;
And probably they’ll hang her for the crime,
To make the celebration more complete.
Vic. No; let it be a day of general joy;
Fortune comes well to all, that comes not late.
Now let us join Don Carlos.
Hyp. So farewell
The Student’s wandering life! Sweet serenades,
Sung under ladies’ windows in the night,
And all that makes vacation beautiful!
To you, ye cloister’d shades of Alcalá,
To you, ye radiant visions of Romance,
Written in books, but here surpass’d by truth,
The Bachelor Hypolito returns
And leaves the gipsy with the Spanish Student.
THE END.
NOTES.
Act II. Scene I.—Busné, or gentiles, is the name given by the gipsies to all who are not of their race. Calés is the name they give themselves.
Act III. Scene V.—The scraps of song in this scene are from Borrow’s “Zincali; or an Account of the Gipsies in Spain.”
The gipsy words in the same scene may be thus interpreted:
Juan-Dorados, pieces of gold.
Pigeon, a simpleton.
In your morocco, robbed, stripped.
Doves, sheets.
Moon, a shirt.
Chirelin, a thief.
Murcigalleros, those who steal at night-fall.
Rastilleros, foot-pads.
Hermit, highway robber.
Planets, candles.
Commandments, the fingers.
Saint Martin asleep, to rob a person asleep.
THE CHILD’S PRAYER.
———
BY ROBERT MORRIS.
———
Great Being! whose eternal home
Is in the far-off skies,
Permit a little child to kneel
And heavenward turn her eyes!
They tell me that our lower world
Is not a world of bliss,
And that there is a realm beyond
More beautiful than this!
That there are seen angelic throngs
Constant in songs of praise,
That brothers, sisters, never part,
And years are but as days—
That smiles illumine every face,
And joy cheers every breast,
That sighs and sorrows are unknown,
And all alike are blest!
Oh! I would, when my life shall close,
Soar to that happy land,
And mingle with the good and fair,
And join the angel band—
Wings for my spirit I would have,
That like a bird at last
Upward and on my soul should soar,
Rejoicing as it passed!
But oh! I would not go alone,
I would not leave behind
A mother fond and dear as mine,
A father, too, so kind—
Oh! no, may these, when Death shall come
To close these fading eyes,
Soar with me to my heavenly home,
Or meet me in the skies!
As yet I am a feeble child,
A poor, frail thing of earth;
Great Maker! keep me undefiled
And sinless e’en in mirth!
They tell me that thy guardian care
Extends o’er land and sea,
That e’en a sparrow may not fall
Unseen, unknown to thee!
That thou art God o’er great and small,
That by thy power was made
As well the fire-fly as the sun,
The bright light as the shade—
That the clear stars which shine above
Are wondrous worlds like ours,
Perchance with richer, softer skies
And sweeter buds and flowers!
They tell me, and my Bible true
Confirms the cheering tale,
That thou dost love all human things,
That none who seek will fail—
That none who bend the suppliant knee
And ask thy godlike aid,
Will fail to win a mansion bright
When life and earth shall fade!
Then guide, I pray thee, guide my feet,
My youthful heart control,
Chasten and purify my thoughts
And brighten all my soul—
Oh! make me true and dutiful
To thee and kindred dear,
And lead me to that better land,
That world without a tear!
DE PONTIS.
A TALE OF RICHELIEU.
———
BY THE AUTHOR OF “HENRI QUATRE; OR THE DAYS OF THE LEAGUE.”
———
(Continued from page 175.)
CHAPTER V.
Next morning, at the usual hour, Marguerite was at the door of the Conciergerie.
The thread of affairs had become so intricate—matters that she felt at liberty to explain to her father, and other circumstances, which regard for the page’s safety forbade disclosing—that, for the first time in her life, she felt ill at ease in his presence. She was conscious of being, to a certain degree, culpable—the unreserved confidence hitherto subsisting between father and daughter was no more—there was reservation, and it produced distress, regret, and confusion.
Still she was true to her own intent. She had made a deliberate resolve of secrecy when her mind was calm and free to judge, and she would not break it when in a state of fluttering and depression. The veteran was delighted with the progress in his affairs—there was yet some chance, he said, of his being able to make provision for a dutiful daughter—some temporal solace for old age.
Leaving him after a short visit—for, in truth, she felt much of what he said as a secret reproach—Marguerite hastened to the advocate.
“The packet is deposited in sure hands—and not at the Tuileries, Monsieur Giraud!” was her salutation.
“And half an hour hence will see me at the Hôtel De Fontrailles,” replied the party addressed.
“But I dread the peril you incur, Monsieur,” rejoined the damsel; “is there no”—
“Has Marguerite done her duty?” demanded Giraud, interrupting her.
“I have,” exclaimed the lady, firmly.
“Then have no fear for the advocate,” said her friend, relaxing the piercing gaze he bent on the maiden.
Let us accompany Giraud. Donning hat—plain and featherless—tying a black mantle round his throat, and, with cane in hand—for he was a gentleman of the robe, not of the sword, and bore no weapon—he sallied forth, walking with deliberate air, till he reached a gloomy mansion in the Rue D’Orleans.
The gate or porte-cochère was opened to his knock by the ever ready porter, and he stood beneath the archway. The count had not yet gone abroad, and would doubtless see him—the name was carried to Monseigneur, and the lackey returned to usher the visiter. A spacious staircase of polished chesnut-wood, so slippery that the advocate had much ado to keep footing, led to a vestibule whence doors opened into various chambers. Passing through an ante-chamber into a saloon, he was at length conducted to the library of the Hôtel De Fontrailles.
The folios stood ranged in goodly rows, but the taste of the noble owner appeared more conspicuously in the abundance of maps, charts, plans of cities, models of European fortresses, and arms and armor. A large gothic arched window at the extremity afforded light to the chamber, and looked over a paved yard in the rear of the hôtel.
Fontrailles was seated at a table, his back toward the window. Robed in a loose gown, surrounded with papers, books, opened letters, and others tied with tape, among which had been negligently thrown his walking rapier; the courtier and diplomatist was more apparent in the occupation, than the gambler, gallant, and active political intriguer. The count might have attained forty years, perhaps more. The long dark face and prominent features, softened by the shade in which he sat, were far from unpleasing. In repose, the face might be reckoned handsome, certainly dignified.
A silent gesture to the advocate to take the seat which the lackey placed at the opposite end of the table, and who, upon doing so, immediately quitted the chamber—left the parties alone. The count waited in silence the business of the visiter, who announced himself as Etienne Giraud, avocat du parlement, friend and kinsman of Monsieur De Pontis, confined in the Conciergerie du Palais, and engaged in defending him against two suits now before the courts.
The count indicated by a slight motion that he was an attentive listener—then added, after a moment’s pause—
“I am not ignorant of Monsieur Giraud’s merits, but I believe he has mistaken my hôtel for that of the President Longueil, the third porte-cochère beyond.”
“I have the honor to address the Count De Fontrailles?” replied the advocate in a tone of inquiry.
“I was at a loss to account for Monsieur connecting me with suits in the courts of parliament!” rejoined the count, smiling, “but I pray him to proceed.”
Giraud detailed concisely the history of De Pontis—his uniform ill luck, the present desperate situation of his affairs, and the probable destitution of Mademoiselle. Fontrailles replied that the case was distressing, but, like every other case of such description, it had originated in culpable negligence. De Pontis was so eager to avail himself of the fruits of the droit, that he had commenced appropriating the effects ere the necessary legal forms had been gone through—ere, indeed, it could be ascertained whether the deceased died a wealthy man or a bankrupt.
“But why make my ear the receptacle of Monsieur De Pontis’ calamities—I whom, I believe, he has never exchanged a word with,” asked the count, in astonishment, “and who am neither the organ of grace or justice?”
“It is to crave the intercession of Monseigneur with one who is the organ of both—to crave the intercession of the Count De Fontrailles with his eminence to cancel the penal proceedings, being, at best, a prosecution for the mere omission of a legal form which an old soldier could know nothing of,” replied the advocate.
“This pleading, Monsieur Giraud,” said Fontrailles, impatiently, “may prove effective in the proper quarters, but on me it is lost. I believe you mean well, but zeal in the cause of a friend has made you overlook the ordinary usages of society, in forcing the veteran’s tale of error and distress on a stranger. I, therefore, am calmer than I might be—indeed, may remind you that, being principally employed on foreign services, and indulging, unavoidably, in some of the irregularities of those whom it falls to my duty to have affairs with, I have not perhaps that personal weight and consideration with his majesty and with his court, which attends the grave and quiet discharge of offices of trust and responsibility in Paris and the Provinces. Mine has been a life of peril, though not of military warfare—danger has often beset me in foreign lands—but here, in Paris, my services are overlooked, and the disorders incident to a life of travel commented on. It is Monsieur’s zeal for De Pontis, which I admire, that wrings this confession from me—and I would recommend his application to the Tuileries, or the Palais Cardinal, or, if he be seeking a patron for his client, to some personage of more austere and reverential course of life than his humble servant.”
So speaking, the count rose with an air which implied that the interview should here terminate. The advocate could not but be surprised with the language and manner assumed by the dissolute, turbulent noble—his affected candor and sincerity—which he had doubtless acquired by intercourse with foreign courts—a varnish to the vices which disgraced his character.
Notwithstanding, however, this nonchalance, and professed ignorance of the affairs of De Pontis, there was that in his discourse which encouraged the advocate to persevere. His affectation of candor—the confession wrung from him!—rather overshot the mark, and betrayed weakness. Fontrailles was not the man to suffer any thing to be wrung from him; and the plea of want of personal weight and character, a mere mask. But wherefore interpose a mask, if there were nothing to conceal?
’Tis the most difficult part of simulation to refrain from covert defence of an act, of which the party may be acutely self-conscious, but desirous of concealing. With a shrewd, subtle, penetrating adversary—such for instance as Giraud—it defeats the very object, to aid which it is evoked. In the mild, moderate language of the count, the advocate felt that he was speaking in a falsetto key—that the sentiments were foreign to his natural character; and there was not, or ought not to be, any necessity for extreme complaisance, and disguise of feeling, with one of the comparative humbleness of the auditor.
Giraud arose from his seat in unison with the count’s movement, but had no intention of taking leave.
“It is reported,” said he, “that Monseigneur is interested in the droit d’aubaine for which Monsieur De Pontis holds the sign manual, which may, perhaps, furnish a better argument than I have yet advanced for my appeal.”
“I know of no such report!” exclaimed the count, in a stern voice, “evil news flies quick, and had such been current, I have too many friends, glad of an opportunity to retail the slander, that they might watch its effect. But I must retract the high opinion I had of Monsieur Giraud, in carrying these fools’ messages—perhaps inventing. But we had better part, sir, ere I have reason to suspect worse of your motives.”
With these words, the count approached the table and rang a silver bell, a signal to the lackey in attendance to conduct the visiter to the gate.
“I have that to say, Monsieur le Comte, which it were better your household should not hear,” said the advocate, retaining his place.
“Ah! has it come to that?” exclaimed Fontrailles, darting a glance of anger; “so, the pleader threatens! Like the Spanish mendicant, he first solicits alms, and when refused, points the fusil which he had concealed in the grass.”
The lackey here entered in obedience to the summons, but the count motioned him to retire.
The advocate remarked in reply, that, as Monseigneur seemed bent on retaining his vantage-ground of professed ignorance of any special knowledge of the affairs of his client—and disclaimed the report respecting the droit d’aubaine—it became necessary that he should inform the count that an individual, one Pedro Olivera, whom he believed was not unknown to Monseigneur, had, like his superiors, occasion for more money than he could legitimately obtain, and that, often borrowing of his deceased countryman, the Spaniard, without the power or will of refunding, he was at length reduced, in efforts to obtain further supplies, to place in the hands of his rich friend, what was deemed good security, although of a strange character. He professed to have certain unsettled claims on the Count De Fontrailles for services of espionage, and holding intercourse with underlings of the ministerial bureau in Madrid. From his showing, it appeared that he had been the medium of a negotiation between the Spanish ministry and the count. For this service Fontrailles had not yet bestowed an equivalent, alleging the urgency of his own necessities; but, in one instance, certainly an unguarded one, he had given Pedro an authority in writing to appropriate to himself a certain portion of a sum of money, receivable at the bureau, in Madrid, and to be handed the count. Pedro, however, was unlucky, for, on application, he was informed that satisfaction had been afforded Fontrailles in person. He felt that this conduct of his patron was unhandsome—hence, perhaps, the betrayal of the count’s secrets—there was no proof, indeed, that the money had been paid Monseigneur—but the authority of Pedro to appropriate a portion of what he should receive, was still in existence in the count’s handwriting.
Pedro, as before intimated, having drawn all he could obtain by ordinary means from the deceased, inscribed a formal claim on the count for the heretofore named services, which he specially enumerated, and in which he made reference to the count’s authorization appended to the statement. The deceased upholsterer saw in this document, not only a security for the money owing by Pedro, but also a collateral guarantee for the refunding of what Fontrailles, who was also heavily his debtor, owed him.
In short, added Giraud, the evidence appeared clearly to convict the Count De Fontrailles of receiving money from Spain. The papers came into the possession of Monsieur De Pontis, and were by him handed to the advocate.
It would have baffled the painter’s art to have depicted the changing aspects which dwelt for awhile, and then fled the countenance of the noble. One minute listening attentively—the next he appeared lost in abstraction, or meditating some course of action—then starting up suddenly with menacing looks, the features took such a semblance, that his most intimate friend could not have indentified the face as belonging to the Count De Fontrailles.
“And this cunning cheat of forgery—this deep laid villany,” exclaimed the favorite of Richelieu, “what if I were so weak as to quail beneath it? What would the worthy, zealous, Monsieur Giraud require of me?”
“That the Count De Fontrailles cause Pedro Olivera to relinquish his fabricated claim—prevail on the cardinal to cancel the procureur’s proceedings, and leave the poor veteran in possession of the droit d’aubaine,” replied the undaunted advocate.
“A moderate request,” gasped the count, with suppressed rage, “what, give up all?”
“I knew not, so far as his own declaration went,” said Giraud, calmly, “that there was any thing for Monseigneur to give up. Unlike his friends, Pedro, and the deceased, we do not make the possession of these documents a pretext of extortion to be held over his head in terrorem—we ask of the count not the slightest pecuniary sacrifice, not a livre—we ask him merely to use his intercession, to act the honorable and coveted part of an interceder for mercy between justice and an innocent defendant. Such conduct will go far to lend the count that personal weight and respectability of character which he so much feels the want of.”
“Liar! It is false!” shouted the bitterly enraged noble, rushing upon the advocate. Seizing him by the throat, he bent his body over the table, depriving the victim both of power of speech and motion. “It is false, old dotard!” continued Fontrailles, without relaxing his grasp, “thou believest the droit is mine—and wouldst have me surrender it to gratify thy paltry pride. I have sweet revenge in store, or thou shouldst never have the chance of coining fresh lies!”
Being a powerful man, he was enabled to hold the advocate, prostrate and gasping for breath, with the right hand on his throat, whilst his left searched for the hand bell, which he rung violently. On the lackey entering, he commanded the attendance of Eugene and Robert, both armed, and to come without delay. Poor Giraud was nearly choked, and his back almost broken by the torturing position in which he was pinned to the library-table; nor did the count afford a moment’s respite till his creatures arrived armed to the teeth.
“Stand guard over the wretch,” cried Fontrailles, quitting his victim—“stand guard, at the peril of your lives, till I return—and if he offer the least resistance, or utters a single cry to raise an alarm, both of you fire—let him not escape, happen what may!”
The men mutely signified acquiescence by each taking a position, with pistols cocked, at the doors of the library.
“Monsieur le Comte!” said Giraud, in a feeble voice, recovering from the violence, “if you seek to commit a robbery, I promise you will be foiled—if you perpetrate violence on an unarmed man, it will not pass unrevenged. There are those able and willing waiting my return in safety—if I return not, then let the Count De Fontrailles tremble!”
“Peace, old dotard! You are not addressing a president of the Cour Royale!” said the count, now busily engaged in locking up his private papers.
“I warn you that what you seek will prove beyond reach,” added Giraud.
The count glanced at him for one moment without speaking, and then finished his occupation. Snatching the rapier, he quitted the chamber.
——
CHAPTER VI.
In the close immurement suffered by the advocate, he had leisure to reflect on his situation, and it was far from cheering. The count’s passion had carried him beyond bounds, more than Giraud had calculated on. He had believed Fontrailles to be a man of the world, so sensitively alive to his own interest, that the gratification of revenge would have held only a secondary place in his thoughts.
But from the specimen of anger, the effects of which were painfully visible, he began to dread the return of the incensed noble—disappointed of his prey, he might, regardless of consequences, abandon himself to a cruel revenge. There was no help in a house, and among creatures subservient to such a master. And where could aid spring from, even if it were posthumous only, but from the quarter where Marguerite had deposited the documents.
To this unknown refuge his thoughts fled for solace and support. If Marguerite’s friend failed her not—then, though his own life should be sacrificed—his character and heroism would be preserved—De Pontis and his daughter triumph, and infamy, ruin and disgrace be the portion of Fontrailles.
Some hours passed in this sad tribulation. He requested food—it was denied—water, if nothing else—Eugene shook his head. He was sorry for Monsieur, but he had received no orders on that point, and it might be, for aught he knew, the count’s desire that Monsieur should be kept without nourishment. If Monsieur felt very hungry, he had better compose himself to sleep—he had liberty to make a couch of the chairs—in his campaigns, Eugene had often found such a plan the only remedy for a barking stomach.
“But you had a contented mind, Eugene,” remarked the distressed advocate.
At length came a change. A knocking was heard below; Giraud trembled, for the footsteps of the count were on the stairs, and he presently entered the chamber.
Casting a glance round the library, he ordered the two sentinels to retire, but hold themselves in readiness. They obeyed the command, and Giraud and the noble were once more alone. The advocate scanned the countenance of Fontrailles attentively; there was a marked change, more of disappointment than anger. For awhile he made no remark, busying himself, or appearing to do so, with his papers—Giraud was equally silent.
The count, at length, broke silence. “I think, Monsieur Giraud,” said he, “that we are now on an equality to treat. You have suffered some violence at my hands, and I, since I left you, have found your pretensions to my interference better founded than I expected. My conditions are these. I will quash Pedro’s suit—I will cause his eminence to cancel the procureur’s proceedings, with guarantee from both that they shall not be renewed. De Pontis shall be liberated, and remain in undisturbed enjoyment of the droit d’aubaine. From you I expect a perfect silence, now and ever, in relation to these affairs—also a restitution of all papers which affect me. Further, the immediate payment of sixty thousand livres, and quittance of what I owe the estate—you will see, by the inventory, the abstraction of such a sum will leave De Pontis a very handsome maintenance for one of his rank. There are several minor conditions—but I wait your reply.”
“Has the Count de Fontrailles been to my house?” asked Giraud.
“I have—I searched it with Richelieu’s warrant,” replied Fontrailles.
“Is Monseigneur aware that that action would tend, in the estimation of the cardinal, to confirm the statement of Pedro Olivera?” demanded the advocate.
“Let me reply by asking a question,” rejoined the count. “Is Monsieur Giraud aware that, as affairs now stand, whatever the cardinal might affect toward me—even the withdrawal of his favor—it would not liberate De Pontis—would not leave him with the droit d’aubaine?”
“I know your agency is wanting—and I agree to the terms,” said the advocate.
“My other conditions are,” continued Fontrailles, “that you make no complaint of my search this morning—that you tell his eminence, should you chance to meet him, that by advising Monsieur De Pontis to surrender a portion to me, who, you are aware, had, even before the Spaniard’s death, asked the future droit of the cardinal, that you secured thereby the remainder to your friend.”
“Well! I do not object to building a bridge for Monseigneur’s retreat,” observed the advocate.
“It would be ridiculous toward one of your profession, and, above all, age, to offer the satisfaction accorded to a gentleman who has received violence at the hands of another,” said the count; “I, therefore, beg pardon of Monsieur Giraud for the same.”
The advocate bowed. It were, perhaps, better, he said, to allow it to pass thus, though the count must be aware that he had shown no want of courage. Fontrailles assented, remarking that he believed their business was now concluded—at least the preliminaries—and that he would call on the advocate on the morrow, when he hoped everything would be prepared.
Giraud was not sorry to see the exterior of the Hôtel De Fontrailles. The count had, however, made better terms for himself than he thought to have granted—still, it was true, as Fontrailles remarked, that, whatever became of him, through the cardinal listening to the tale of Pedro Olivera, De Pontis would be none the richer. The pride of Richelieu was touched by the veteran obtaining the sign-manual without his knowledge or intervention, and it was very probable that, if Fontrailles were disgraced, the droit d’aubaine would be destined to another favorite.
Giraud had foreseen this difficulty from the commencement, yet it was hard to part with so many thousand livres, especially to one who had almost choked him. On second consideration, the advocate thought it wiser to withhold this portion of the adventure from De Pontis and his daughter—the blood of the militaire would rise at the insult and imposition of hands offered to a kinsman, and fresh difficulties, perhaps, be thrown in the way of what was, after all, a very peaceful and happy termination of the affairs of the old soldier. The count had confessed the injury, and sued for pardon, and what more could he do? With this consolation, the advocate quieted himself.
The glad news was imparted to Marguerite that evening, and when the houblieur rang his bell, and was admitted, the maiden was more gracious than on the former occasion—the youth more thoughtful. As might be expected, from the previous intimacy shown relative to the secret affairs of the Palais Cardinal, its inmates and visiters, much of what had occurred was already known to the youth—the remainder he heard from the lips of Marguerite. She was charged by Giraud to reclaim the packet; it would be wanted on the morrow. That same night it was placed in her hands, the seal unbroken, and, before she retired to rest, it was again in the keeping of the zealous, faithful advocate.
Giraud was seated in his office. A night’s repose had calmed his spirits, refreshed the wearied frame. Fontrailles had kept the appointment, bringing an authenticated relinquishment of the suit of Pedro Olivera—also a notification from the procureur général that he had abandoned the prosecution of the decree of sequestration—and, lastly, a duplicate of Richelieu’s order to the warden of the Conciergerie to release the Sieur De Pontis. The count claimed and received satisfaction on the conditions insisted on—reference to the prisoner was not necessary, as Giraud had, on the committal of De Pontis, received a legal power to act as representative, and affix by procuration his signature to any act deemed necessary. As the cardinal’s seal was removed from the ware-rooms, and attachment withdrawn from the banker where the moneys of the deceased were lodged, there was no impediment to the prompt payment of the count’s subsidy—a matter, seemingly, of the utmost importance to Monseigneur.
Giraud, as we have said, was seated in his office, and alone. But presently there arrived visiters—the Sieur De Pontis, and the fair heroine, Marguerite. Congratulations and thanks exhausted, business recited and discussed, there ensued a pause—their hearts were full.
“There are but three here,” said Giraud, looking archly at Marguerite, “I should wish to see a fourth. There is a friend, Monsieur De Pontis, who has wonderfully aided our endeavors for your release, and to whom we owe many thanks. Shall we never see the unknown’s face?”
“Marguerite has my sanction to introduce him to Monsieur Giraud whenever she pleases,” said the veteran.
“Hah! then I have been forestalled in her confidence,” cried the advocate, “but I did not deserve the neglect!”
The day subsequent to the liberation of De Pontis, Louis was promenading alone his customary path in the garden of the Tuileries. The old soldier presented himself—he bent his knee to majesty.
“Rise, my good friend,” said the monarch, “I hear you have been better served than Louis could have wrought for you, though he had not forgotten his word, or his old servant.”
After a few remarks, the king complimented him on the perseverance and heroism of Marguerite adding that she was deserving of all honor.
“With your majesty’s permission, I believe I am about to marry her,” remarked De Pontis.
“To whom? I hope to a subject of mine!” exclaimed the monarch.
“François De Romainville, if it please your majesty,” replied the veteran.
“I know the youth,” said Louis, “our cardinal’s page, of good lineage, though accounted wild and reckless—the cardinal complains of his habits, but loves the page’s intelligence and capacity. We must see what can be done for this youth, also for Monsieur Giraud when the opportunity offers.”
He might have added, “when the cardinal permits,” thought the veteran, with a sigh.
“For yourself, De Pontis,” continued the royal personage, “I hope all will go well in future.”
“I intend to put it out of fortune’s power to do me further harm,” answered the militaire—“your majesty’s late bounty I shall settle on my daughter and her husband; for, though I hope a true man in the tented field, yet I do believe that, whether from my own fault, or an unlucky destiny, I should lose, or mismanage the fairest estate in your realm.”
At that moment, the cardinal and his suite were seen in the distance—the countenance of Louis fell, and De Pontis taking hasty leave—much to the royal satisfaction—glided through a side-walk.
MY MOTHER—A DREAM.
———
BY MRS. BALMANNO.
———
Oh mother! sacred! dear! in dreams of thee,
I sat, again a child, beside thy knee,
Nestling amidst thy robe delightedly!
And all was silent in the sunny room,
Save bees that humm’d o’er honeysuckle bloom.
I gazed upon thy face, so mild, so fair,
I heard thy holy voice arise in prayer;
Oh mother! mother! thou thyself wert there!
Thou, by the placid brow, the thoughtful eye,
The clasping hand, the voice of melody.
I clung around thy neck—thy tears fell fast,
Like rain in summer, yet the sorrow past;
And smiles, more beautiful than e’en the last,
Play’d on thy lip, dear mother! such it wore
To bless our early home in days of yore.
Then wild and grand arose my native hills—
I heard the leaping torrents, and the thrills
Of birds that hymn the sun; the charm that fills
Old Haddon’s vales, and haunts its river side—
What time the Fays pluck king-cups by its tide.
Methought ’twas hawthorn time—the jolly May—
For o’er far plains bright figures seemed to stray,
Gath’ring the buds, and calling me away!
I waked, but ah! to weep—no eye of thine,
Sweet mother! beam’d its gentle light on mine.
BAINBRIDGE.
———
BY J. FENIMORE COOPER, AUTHOR OF “THE SPY,” “THE PIONEERS,” ETC.
———
Dr. Harris, in his “Life and Services” of this distinguished officer, says that “The ancestor of Commodore Bainbridge, who, in the year 1600, settled in the province of New Jersey, was the son of Sir Arthur Bainbridge, of Durham county, England.” As no portion of the old United States was settled as early as 1600, and the province of New Jersey, in particular, was organized only about the middle of the seventeenth century, the date, in this instance, is an oversight, or a misprint; though the account of the ancestor is probably accurate. The family of the late Commodore Bainbridge was of respectable standing, beyond a question, both in the colony and state of New Jersey, and its connections were principally among persons of the higher classes of society. His father was a physician of local eminence, in the early part of his life, who removed to New York about the commencement of the Revolution, where he left a fair professional and personal reputation.
The fourth son of Dr. Bainbridge was William, the subject of our memoir. He was born at Princeton, New Jersey, then the residence of his father, May 7th, 1774. His birth must have occurred but a short time before the removal of the family to New York. The maiden name of Mrs. Bainbridge, the mother of William, was Taylor; a lady of Monmouth county, in the same colony; and her father, a man of considerable estate, undertook to superintend the education of the child.
Young Bainbridge was of an athletic manly frame, and early showed a bold spirit, and a love of enterprise. This temperament was likely to interfere with studies directed toward a liberal education, and, at the early age of fifteen, his importunities prevailed on his friends to allow him to go to sea. This must have been about the time when the present form of government went first into operation, and the trade and navigation of the country began to revive. In that day the republic had no marine; the old Alliance frigate, the favorite ship of the Revolution, then sailing out of the port at which young Bainbridge first embarked, as an Indiaman.
Philadelphia, for many years after the peace of 1783, produced the best seamen of America. Other ports, doubtless, had as hardy and as adventurous mariners, but the nicety of the art was better taught and practiced on the Delaware than in any other portion of the country. This advantage was thought to be owing to the length of the river and bay, which required more elaborate evolutions to take a ship successfully through, than ports that lay contiguous to the sea. The same superiority has long been claimed for London, and for the same reason, each place having a long and intricate navigation, among shoals, and in a tide’s way, before its wharves can be reached. The comparative decline of the navigation of these two towns is to be attributed to the very difficulties which made expert seamen, though the vast amount of supplies required by the English capital, for its own consumption, causes great bodies of shipping still to frequent the Thames. It is also probable that the superiority formerly claimed for the seamen of these two towns, was in part owing to the circumstances that, being the capitals of their respective countries, they were then in advance of other ports, both as to the arts, generally, and as to the wealth necessary to exhibit them.
Young Bainbridge, consequently, enjoyed the advantage of being trained, as a seaman, in what was then the highest American school. Singularly handsome and prepossessing in his appearance, of a vigorous, and commanding frame, with the foundation of a good education, all aided by respectable connections, he was made an officer in the third year of his service. When eighteen, he sailed as chief mate of a ship in the Dutch trade, and on his first voyage, in this capacity, he recovered the vessel from the hands of mutineers, by his personal intrepidity, and physical activity. In the following year, when barely nineteen, the owners gave him command of the same ship. From this time down to the period of his joining the navy, Bainbridge continued in command of different merchant vessels, all of which were employed in the European trade, which was then carried on, by this country, in the height and excitement of the war that succeeded the French revolution.
Occasions were not wanting, by which Bainbridge could prove his dauntless resolution, even in command of a peaceful and slightly armed merchantman. In 1796, whilst in command of the Hope, of Philadelphia, he was lying in the Garonne, and was hailed by another American to come and aid in quelling a mutiny. This he did in person; though his life had nearly been the sacrifice, owing to an explosion of gunpowder. The same season, while shaping his course for one of the West India islands, the Hope was attacked by a small British privateer, of eight guns and thirty men, being herself armed with four nines, and having a crew of only eleven souls before the mast—an equipment then permitted, by the laws, for the purposes of defence only. The privateer commenced the engagement without showing any colors; but, receiving a broadside from the Hope, she hoisted English, in the expectation of intimidating her antagonist. In this, however, the assailant was mistaken; Bainbridge, who had his colors flying from the first, continued his fire until he actually compelled the privateer to lower her flag. The latter was much cut up, and lost several men. The Hope escaped with but little injury. Although he had compelled his assailant to submit, it would not have been legal for Bainbridge to take possession of the prize. He even declined boarding her, most probably keeping in view the feebleness of his own complement; but, hailing the privateer, he told her commander to go to his employers and let them know they must send some one else to capture the Hope if they had occasion for that ship. It was probably owing to this little affair, as well as to his general standing as a ship-master, that Bainbridge subsequently entered the navy with the rank he obtained.
Not long after the action with the privateer, while homeward bound again, a man was impressed from Bainbridge’s ship, by an English cruiser. The boarding officer commenced by taking the first mate, on account of his name, Allen M’Kinsey, insisting that the man must be a Scotchman! This singular species of logic was often applied on such occasions, even historians of a later day claiming such men as M’Donough and Conner, on the supposition that they must be Irish, from their family appellations. Mr. M’Kinsey, who was a native Philadelphian, on a hint from Bainbridge, armed himself, and refused to quit his own ship; whereupon the English lieutenant seized a foremast hand and bore him off, in spite of his protestations of being an American, and the evidence of his commander. Bainbridge was indignant at this outrage—then, however, of almost daily occurrence on the high seas—and, finding his own remonstrances disregarded, he solemnly assured the boarding officer that, if he fell in with an English vessel, of a force that would allow of such a retaliation, he would take a man out of her to supply the place of the seaman who was then carried away. This threat was treated with contempt, but it was put in execution within a week; Bainbridge actually seizing a man on board an English merchant-man, and that, too, of a force quite equal to his own, and carrying him into an American port. The ship which impressed the man belonging to the Hope, was the Indefatigable, Sir Edward Pellew.
All these little affairs contributed to give Bainbridge a merited reputation for spirit; for, however illegal may have been his course in impressing the Englishman, the sailor himself was quite content to receive higher wages, and there was a natural justice in the measure that looked down the policy of nations and the provisions of law. Shortly after this incident the aggressions of France induced the establishment of the present navy, and the government, after employing all the old officers of the Revolution who remained, and who were fit for service, was compelled to go into the mercantile marine to find men to fill the subordinate grades. The merchant service of America has ever been relatively much superior to that of most other countries. This has been owing, in part, to the greater diffusion of education; in part, to the character of the institutions, which throws no discredit around any reputable pursuit; and in part, to the circumstance that the military marine has not been large enough to give employment to all of the maritime enterprise and spirit of the nation. Owing to these united causes, the government of 1798 had much less difficulty in finding proper persons to put into its infant navy, than might have been anticipated; although it must be allowed that some of the selections, as usual, betrayed the influence of undue recommendations, as well as of too partial friendships.
The navy offering a field exactly suited to the ambition and character of Bainbridge, he eagerly sought service in it, on his return from a voyage to Europe; his arrival occurring a short time after the first appointments had been made. The third vessel which got to sea, under the new armament, was the Delaware 20, Capt. Stephen Decatur, the father of the illustrious officer of the same name; and this vessel, a few days out, had captured Le Croyable 14, a French privateer that she found cruising in the American waters. Le Croyable was condemned, and purchased by the navy department; being immediately equipped for a cruiser, under the name of the Retaliation. To this vessel Bainbridge was appointed, with the commission of lieutenant commandant; a rank that was subsequently and unwisely dropped; as the greater the number of gradations in a military service, while they are kept within the limits of practical necessity, the greater is the incentive for exertion, the more frequent the promotions, and the higher the discipline. First lieutenants, lieutenants commandant, exist, and must exist in fact, in every marine; and it is throwing away the honorable inducement of promotion, as well as some of the influence of a commission, not to have the rank while we have the duties. It would be better for the navy did the station of first lieutenant, or lieutenant commandant, now exist, those who held the commissions furnishing officers to command the smallest class of vessels, and the executive officers of ships of the line and frigates.
The Retaliation sailed for the West India station, in September, 1798. While cruising off Guadaloupe, the following November, the Montezuma, sloop of war, Capt. Murray, and the brig Norfolk, Capt. Williams, in company, three sail were made in the eastern board, that were supposed to be English; and two more strangers appearing to the westward, Capt. Murray, who was the senior officer, made sail for the latter, taking the Norfolk with him; while the Retaliation was directed to examine the vessels to the eastward. This separated the consorts, which parted on nearly opposite tacks. Unfortunately two of the vessels to the eastward proved to be French frigates, le Volontier 36, Capt. St. Laurent, and l’Insurgente 32, Capt. Barreault. The first of these ships carried 44 guns, French eighteens, and the latter 40, French twelves. L’Insurgente was one of the fastest ships that floated, and, getting the Retaliation under her guns, Bainbridge was compelled to strike, as resistance would have been madness.
The prisoner was taken on board le Volontier, the two frigates immediately making sail in chase of the Montezuma and Norfolk. L’Insurgente again out-stripped her consort, and was soon a long distance ahead of her. Capt. St. Laurent was the senior officer, and, the Montezuma being a ship of some size, he felt an uneasiness at permitting the Insurgente to engage two adversaries, of whose force he was ignorant, unsupported. In this uncertainty, he determined to inquire the force of the American vessels of his prisoner. Bainbridge answered coolly that the ship was a vessel of 28 long twelves, and the brig a vessel of 20 long nines. This was nearly, if not quite, doubling the force of the two American cruisers, and it induced the French commodore to show a signal of recall to his consort. Capt. Barreault, an exceedingly spirited officer, joined his commander in a very ill humor, informing his superior that he was on the point of capturing both the chases, when he was so inopportunely recalled. This induced an explanation, when the ruse practiced by Bainbridge was exposed. In the moment of disappointment, the French officers felt much irritated, but, appreciating the conduct of their prisoner more justly, they soon recovered their good humor, and manifested no further displeasure.
The Retaliation and her crew were carried into Basseterre. On board the Volontier was Gen. Desfourneaux, who was sent out to supersede Victor Hughes in his government. This functionary was very diplomatic, and he entered into a negotiation with Bainbridge of a somewhat equivocal character, leaving it a matter of doubt whether an exchange of prisoners, an arrangement of the main difficulties between the two countries, or a secret trade with his own island, and for his own particular benefit, was his real object. Ill treatment to the crew of the Retaliation followed; whether by accident or design is not known; though the latter has been suspected. It will be remembered that no war had been declared by either country, and that the captures by the Americans were purely retaliatory, and made in self-defence. Gen. Desfourneaux profited by this circumstance to effect his purposes, affecting not to consider the officers and people of the Retaliation as prisoners at all. To this Bainbridge answered that he regarded himself, and his late crew, not only as prisoners of war, but as ill-treated prisoners, and that his powers now extended no farther than to treat of an exchange. After a protracted negotiation, Bainbridge and his crew were placed in possession of the Retaliation again, all the other American prisoners in Guadaloupe were put on board a cartel, and the two vessels were ordered for America. Accompanying the Americans, went a French gentleman, ostensibly charged with the exchange; but who was believed to have been a secret diplomatic agent of the French government.
The conduct of Bainbridge, throughout this rude initiation into the public service, was approved by the government, and he was immediately promoted to the rank of master commandant, and given the Norfolk 18, the brig he had saved from capture by his address. In this vessel he joined the squadron under Com. Truxtun, who was cruising in the vicinity of St. Kitts. While on that station, the Norfolk fell in with and chased a heavy three-masted schooner, of which she was on the point of getting alongside, when both topmasts were lost by carrying sail, and the enemy escaped. The brig went into St. Kitts to repair damages, and here she collected a convoy of more than a hundred sail, bound home. Bainbridge performed a neat and delicate evolution, while in charge of this large trust. The convoy fell in with an enemy’s frigate, when a signal was thrown out for the vessels to disperse. The Norfolk occupied the frigate, and induced her to chase, taking care to lead her off from the merchantmen. That night the brig gave her enemy the slip, and made sail on her course, overtaking and collecting the whole fleet the following day. It is said not a single vessel, out of one hundred and nineteen sail, failed of the rendezvous!
It was August, 1799, before the Norfolk returned to New York. Here Bainbridge found that no less than five lieutenants had been made captains, passing the grades of commanders and lieutenants commandant altogether. This irregularity could only have occurred in an infant service, though it was of material importance to a young officer in after life. Among the gentlemen thus promoted, were Capts. Rodgers, and Barron, two names that, for a long time, alone stood between Bainbridge and the head of the service. Still, it is by no means certain that injustice was done, such circumstances frequently occurring in so young a service, to repair an original wrong. At all events, no slight was intended to Bainbridge, or any other officer who was passed; though the former ever maintained that he had not his proper rank in the navy.
After refitting the Norfolk, Bainbridge returned to the West Indies, where he was put under the orders of Capt. Christopher R. Perry, the father of the celebrated Commodore Oliver H. Perry, who sent him to cruise off Cape François. The brig changed her cruising ground, under different orders, no opportunity occurring for meeting an enemy of equal force. Indeed, it was highly creditable to the maritime enterprise of the French that they appeared at all in those seas, which were swarming with English and American cruisers; this country alone seldom employing fewer than thirty sail in the West Indies, that year; toward the close of the season it had near, if not quite forty, including those who were passing between the islands and the home coast.
On the 31st October, however, the Norfolk succeeded in decoying an armed barge within reach of her guns. The enemy discovered the brig’s character in time to escape to the shore, notwithstanding; though he was pursued and the barge was captured. Six dead and dying were found in, or near the boat.
In November, Bainbridge took a small lugger privateer, called Le Républicain, with a prize in company. The former was destroyed at sea, and the latter sent in. The prize of the lugger was a sloop. She presented a horrible spectacle when taken possession of by the Americans. Her decks were strewed with mangled bodies, the husbands and parents of eleven women and children, who were found weeping over them at the moment of recapture. The murders had been committed by some brigands in a barge, who slew every man in the sloop, and were proceeding to further outrages when the lugger closed and drove them from their prey. An hour or two later, Bainbridge captured both the vessels. His treatment of the unfortunate females and children was such as ever marked his generous and manly character.
Shortly after, Capt. Bainbridge received an order, direct from the Navy Department, to go off the neutral port of the Havana, to look after the trade in that quarter. Here he was joined by the Warren 18, Capt. Newman, and the Pinckney 18, Capt. Heyward. Bainbridge was the senior officer, and continued to command this force to the great advantage of American commerce, by blockading the enemy’s privateers, and giving convoy, until March, 1800, when, his cruise being up, he returned home, anchoring off Philadelphia early in the month of April. His services, especially those before Havana, were fully appreciated, and May 2d, of the same year, he was raised to the rank of captain. Bainbridge had served with credit, and had now reached the highest grade which existed in the navy, when he wanted just five days of being twenty-six years old. He had carried with him into the marine the ideas of a high-class Philadelphia seaman, as to discipline, and these were doubtless the best which then existed in the country. In every situation he had conducted himself well, and the promise of his early career as a master of a merchantman was likely to be redeemed, whenever occasion should offer, under the pennant of the republic.
Among the vessels purchased into the service during the war of 1798, was an Indiaman called the George Washington. This ship was an example of the irregularity in rating which prevailed at that day; being set down in all the lists and registers of the period as a 24, when her tonnage was 624; while the Adams, John Adams, and Boston, all near one sixth smaller, are rated as 32s. The George Washington was, in effect, a large 28, carrying the complement and armament of a vessel of that class. To this ship Bainbridge was now appointed, receiving his orders the month he was promoted; or, in May, 1800. The destination of the vessel was to carry tribute to the Dey of Algiers! This was a galling service to a man of her commander’s temperament, as, indeed, it would have proved to nearly every other officer in the navy; but it put the ship quite as much in the way of meeting with an enemy as if she had been sent into the West Indies; and it was sending the pennant into the Mediterranean for the first time since the formation of the new navy. Thus the United States 44, first carried the pennant to Europe, in 1799; the Essex 32, first carried it round the Cape of Good Hope, in 1800, and around Cape Horn, in 1813; and this ship, the George Washington 28, first carried it into the classical seas of the old world.
Bainbridge did not get the tribute collected and reach his port of destination, before the month of September. Being entirely without suspicion, and imagining that he came on an errand which should entitle him, at least, to kind treatment, he carried the ship into the mole, for the purpose of discharging with convenience. This duty, however, was hardly performed, when the Dey proposed a service for the George Washington, that was as novel in itself as it was astounding to her commander.
It seems that this barbarian prince had got himself into discredit at the Sublime Porte, and he felt the necessity of purchasing favor, and of making his peace, by means of a tribute of his own. The Grand Seignor was at war with France, and the Dey, his tributary and dependant, had been guilty of the singular indiscretion of making a separate treaty of peace with that powerful republic, for some private object of his own. This was an offence to be expiated only by a timely offering of certain slaves, various wild beasts, and a round sum in gold. The presents to be sent were valued at more than half a million of our money, and the passengers to be conveyed amounted to between two and three hundred. As the Dey happened to have no vessel fit for such a service, and the George Washington lay very conveniently within his mole, and had just been engaged in this very duty, he came to the natural conclusion she would answer his purpose.
The application was first made in the form of a civil request, through the consul. Bainbridge procured an audience, and respectfully, but distinctly, stated that a compliance would be such a departure from his orders as to put it out of the question. Hereupon the Dey reminded the American that the ship was in his power, and that what he now asked, he might take without asking, if it suited his royal pleasure. A protracted and spirited discussion, in which the consul joined, now followed, but all without effect. The Dey offered the alternatives of compliance, or slavery and capture, for the frigate and her crew, with war on the American trade. One of his arguments is worthy of being recorded, as it fully exposes the feeble policy of submission to any national wrong. He told the two American functionaries, that their country paid him tribute, already, which was an admission of their inferiority, as well as of their duty to obey him; and he chose to order this particular piece of service, in addition to the presents which he had just received.
Bainbridge finally consented to do as desired. He appears to have been influenced in this decision, by the reasoning of Mr. O’Brien, the consul, who had himself been a slave in Algiers, not long before, and probably retained a lively impression of the power of the barbarian, on his own shores. It is not to be concealed, however, that temporizing in all such matters, had been the policy of America, and it would have required men of extraordinary moral courage to have opposed the wishes of the Dey, by a stern assertion of those principles, which alone can render a nation great. “To ask for nothing but what is right, and to submit to nothing that is wrong,” is an axiom more easily maintained on paper than in practice, where the chameleon-like policy of trade interferes to color principles; and O’Brien, a merchant in effect, and Bainbridge, who had so lately been in that pursuit himself, were not likely to overlook the besetting weakness of the nation. Still, it may be questioned if there was a man in the navy who felt a stronger desire to vindicate the true maxims of national independence than the subject of this memoir. He appears to have yielded solely to the arguments of the consul, and to his apprehensions for a trade that certainly had no other protection in that distant sea, than his own ship; and she would be the first sacrifice of the Dey’s resentment. It ought to be mentioned, too, that a base and selfish policy prevailed, in that day, on the subject of the Barbary Powers, among the principal maritime states of Europe. England, in particular, was supposed to wink at their irregularities, in the hope that it might have a tendency to throw a monopoly of the foreign navigation of the Mediterranean into the hands of those countries which, by means of their great navies, and their proximity to the African coast, were always ready to correct any serious evil that might affect themselves. English policy had been detected in the hostilities of the Dey, a few years earlier, and it is by no means improbable that Mr. O’Brien foresaw consequences of this nature, that did not lie absolutely on the surface.
Yielding to the various considerations which were urged, Bainbridge finally consented to comply with the Dey’s demand. The presents and passengers were received on board, and on the 19th of October, or about a month after her arrival at Algiers, the George Washington was ready to sail for Constantinople. When on the very eve of departing a new difficulty arose, and one of a nature to show that the Dey was not entirely governed by rapacity, but that he had rude notions of national honor, agreeably to opinions of the school in which he had been trained. As the George Washington carried his messenger, or ambassador, and was now employed in his service, he insisted that she should carry the Algerine flag at the main, while that of the republic to which the ship belonged, should fly at the fore. An altercation occurred on this point of pure etiquette, the Dey insisting that English, French, and Spanish commanders, whenever they had performed a similar service for him, had not hesitated to give this precedency to his ensign. This was probably true, as well as the fact that vessels of war of those nations had consented to serve him in this manner, in compliance with the selfish policy of their respective governments; though it may be doubted whether English, or French ships, had been impressed into such a duty. Dr. Harris, whose biography of Bainbridge is much the most full of any written, and to which we are indebted for many of our own details, has cited an instance as recently as 1817, when an English vessel of war conveyed presents to Constantinople for the Dey; though it was improbable that any other inducement for the measure existed, than a desire in the English authorities to maintain their influence in the regency. Bainbridge, without entering into pledges on the subject, and solely with a view to get his ship beyond the reach of the formidable batteries of the mole, hoisted the Algerine ensign, as desired, striking it, as soon as he found himself again the commander of his own vessel.
The George Washington had a boisterous and weary passage to the mouth of the Dardanelles, the ship being littered with Turks, and the cages of wild beasts. This voyage was always a source of great uneasiness and mortification to Bainbridge, but he occasionally amused his friends with the relation of anecdotes that occurred during its continuance. Among other things he mentioned that his passengers were greatly puzzled to keep their faces toward Mecca, in their frequent prayers; the ship often tacking during the time thus occupied, more especially after they got into the narrow seas. A man was finally stationed at the compass to give the faithful notice when it was necessary to “go-about,” in consequence of the evolutions of the frigate.
Bainbridge had great apprehensions of being detained at the Dardanelles, for want of a firman, the United States having no diplomatic agent at the Porte, and commercial jealousy being known to exist, on the subject of introducing the American flag into those waters. A sinister influence up at Constantinople might detain him for weeks, or even prevent his passage altogether, and having come so far, on his unpleasant errand, he was resolved to gather as many of its benefits as possible. In the dilemma, therefore, he decided on a ruse of great boldness, and one which proved that personal considerations had little influence, when he thought the interests of his country demanded their sacrifice.
The George Washington approached the castles with a strong southerly wind, and she clewed up her light sails, as if about to anchor, just as she began to salute. The works returned gun for gun, and in the smoke sail was again made, and the ship glided out of the range of shot before the deception was discovered; passing on toward the sea of Marmora under a cloud of canvass. As vessels were stopped at only one point, and the progress of the ship was too rapid to admit of detention, she anchored unmolested under the walls of Constantinople, on the 9th November, 1800; showing the flag of the republic, for the first time, before that ancient town.
Bainbridge was probably right in his anticipation of difficulty in procuring a firman to pass the castles, for when his vessel reported her nation, an answer was sent off that the government of Turkey knew of no such country. An explanation that the ship came from the new world, that which Columbus had discovered, luckily proved satisfactory, when a bunch of flowers and a lamb were sent on board; the latter as a token of amity, and the former as a welcome.
The George Washington remained several weeks at Constantinople, where Bainbridge and his officers were well received, though the agents of the Dey fared worse. The Capudan Pacha, in particular, formed a warm friendship for the commander of the George Washington, whose fine personal appearance, frank address and manly bearing were well calculated to obtain favor. This functionary was married to a sister of the Sultan, and had more influence at court than any other subject. He took Bainbridge especially under his own protection, and when they parted, he gave the frigate a passport, which showed that she and her commander enjoyed this particular and high privilege. In fact, the intercourse between this officer and the commander of the George Washington was such as to approach nearly to paving the way for a treaty, a step that Bainbridge warmly urged on the government at home, as both possible and desirable. It has been conjectured even, that Capt. Bainbridge was instructed on this subject; and that, in consenting to go to Constantinople at all, he had the probabilities of opening some such negotiation in view. This was not his own account of the matter, although, in weighing the motives for complying with the Dey’s demands, it is not impossible he permitted such a consideration to have some weight.
The visit of Clarke, the well known traveler, occurred while the George Washington was at Constantinople. The former accompanied Bainbridge to the Black Sea, in the frigate’s long-boat, where the American ensign was displayed also, for the first time. It appears that an officer was one of the party in the celebrated visit of the traveler to the seraglio, Bainbridge confirming Dr. Clarke’s account of the affair, with the exception that he, himself, looked upon the danger as very trifling.
During the friendly intercourse which existed between Capt. Bainbridge and the Capudan Pacha, the latter incidentally mentioned that the governor of the castles was condemned to die for suffering the George Washington to pass without a firman, and that the warrant of execution only waited for his signature, in order to be enforced. Shocked at discovering the terrible strait to which he had unintentionally reduced a perfectly innocent man, Bainbridge frankly admitted his own act, and said if any one had erred it was himself; begging the life of the governor, and offering to meet the consequences in his own person. This generous course was not thrown away on the Capudan Pacha, who appears to have been a liberal and enlightened man. He heard the explanation with interest, extolled Bainbridge’s frankness, promised him his entire protection, and pardoned the governor; sending to the latter a minute statement of the whole affair. It was after this conversation that the high functionary in question delivered to Bainbridge his own especial letter of protection.
At length the Algerine ambassador was ready to return. On the 30th of December, 1800, the ship sailed for Algiers. The messenger of the Dey took back with him a menace of punishment, unless his master declared war against France, and sent more tribute to the Porte; granting to the Algerine government but sixty days to let its course be known. On repassing the Dardanelles, Bainbridge was compelled to anchor. Here he received presents of fruit and provisions, with hospitalities on shore, as an evidence of the governor’s gratitude for his generous conduct in exposing his own life, in order to save that of an innocent man. It is shown by a passage in Dr. Clarke’s work, that Bainbridge was honorably received in the best circles in Pera, during his stay at Constantinople, while the neatness and order of his ship were the subject of general conversation. An entertainment that was given on board the frigate was much talked of also; the guests and all the viands coming from the four quarters of the earth. Thus there was water, bread, meats, etc., etc., each from Europe, Asia, Africa and America, as well as persons to consume them; certainly a thing of rare occurrence at any one feast.
The George Washington arrived at Algiers on the 20th January, 1801, and anchored off the town, beyond the reach of shot. The Dey expressed his apprehensions that the position of the ship would prove inconvenient to her officers, and desired that she might be brought within the mole, or to the place where she had lain during her first visit. This offer was respectfully declined. A day or two later the object of this hospitality became apparent. Bainbridge was asked to return to Constantinople with the Algerine ambassador; a request with which he positively refused to comply. This was the commencement of a new series of cajoleries, arguments and menaces. But, having his ship where nothing but the barbarian’s corsairs could assail her, Bainbridge continued firm. He begged the consul to send him off some old iron for ballast, in order that he might return certain guns he had borrowed for that purpose, previously to sailing for Constantinople, the whole having been rendered necessary in consequence of his ship’s having been lightened of the tribute sent in her from America. The Dey commanded the lightermen not to take employment, and, at the same time, he threatened war if his guns were not returned. After a good deal of discussion, Bainbridge exacted a pledge that no further service would be asked of the ship; then he agreed to run into the mole and deliver the cannon, as the only mode that remained of returning property which had been lent to him.
As soon as the frigate was secured in her new berth, Capt. Bainbridge and the consul were admitted to an audience with the Dey. The reception was any thing but friendly, and the despot, a man of furious passions, soon broke out into expressions of anger, that bade fair to lead to personal violence. The attendants were ready, and it was known that a nod or a word might, at a moment’s notice, cost the Americans their lives. At this fearful instant, Bainbridge, who was determined at every hazard to resist the Dey’s new demand, fortunately bethought him of the Capudan Pacha’s letter of protection, which he carried about him. The letter was produced, and its effect was magical. Bainbridge often spoke of it as even ludicrous, and of being so sudden and marked as to produce glances of surprise among the common soldiers. From a furious tyrant, the sovereign of Algiers was immediately converted into an obedient vassal; his tongue all honey, his face all smiles. He was aware that a disregard of the recommendation of the Capudan Pacha would be punished, as he would visit a similar disregard of one of his own orders; and that there was no choice between respect and deposition. No more was said about the return of the frigate to Constantinople, and every offer of service and every profession of amity were heaped upon the subject of our memoir, who owed his timely deliverance altogether to the friendship of the Turkish dignitary; a friendship obtained through his own frank and generous deportment.
The reader will readily understand that dread of the Grand Seignior’s power had produced this sudden change in the deportment of the Dey. The same feeling induced him to order the flag-staff of the French consulate to be cut down the next day; a declaration of war against the country to which the functionary belonged. Exasperated at these humiliations, which were embittered by heavy pecuniary exactions on the part of the Porte, the Dey turned upon the few unfortunate French who happened to be in his power. These, fifty-six in number, consisting of men, women and children, he ordered to be seized and to be deemed slaves. Capt. Bainbridge felt himself sufficiently strong, by means of the Capudan Pacha’s letter, to mediate; and he actually succeeded, after a long discussion, in obtaining a decree by which all the French who could get out of the regency, within the next eight-and-forty hours, might depart. For those who could not remained the doom of slavery, or of ransom at a thousand dollars a head. It was thought that this concession was made under the impression that no means of quitting Algiers could be found by the unfortunate French. No one believed that the George Washington would be devoted to their service, France and America being then at war; a circumstance which probably increased Bainbridge’s influence at Constantinople, as well as at Algiers.
But our officer was not disposed to do things by halves. Finding that no other means remained for extricating the unfortunate French, he determined to carry them off in the George Washington. The ship had not yet discharged the guns of the Dey, but every body working with good will, this property was delivered to its right owner, sand ballast was obtained from the country and hoisted in, other necessary preparations were made, and the ship hauled out of the mole and got to sea just in time to escape the barbarian’s fangs, with every Frenchman in Algiers on board. It is said that in another hour the time of grace would have expired. The ship landed her passengers at Alicant, a neutral country, and then made the best of her way to America, where she arrived in due season.
This act of Bainbridge’s was quite in conformity with the generous tendencies of his nature. He was a man of quick and impetuous feelings, and easily roused to anger; but left to the voluntary guidance of his own heart, no one was more ready to serve his fellow creatures. It seemed to make little difference with him, whether he assisted an Englishman or a Frenchman; his national antipathies, though decided and strong, never interfering with his humanity. Napoleon had just before attained the First Consulate, and he offered the American officer his personal thanks for this piece of humane and disinterested service to his countrymen. At a later day, when misfortune came upon Bainbridge, he is said to have remembered this act, and to have interested himself in favor of the captive.
On reaching home, Bainbridge had the gratification of finding his conduct, in every particular, approved by the government. It was so much a matter of course, in that day, for the nations of Christendom to submit to exactions from those of Barbary, that little was thought of the voyage to Constantinople, and less said about it. A general feeling must have prevailed that censure, if it fell any where, ought to light on the short-sighted policy of trade, and the misguided opinions of the age. It is more probable, however, that the whole transaction was looked upon as a legitimate consequence of the system of tribute, which then so extensively prevailed.
Bainbridge must have enjoyed another and still more unequivocal evidence that the misfortunes which certainly accompanied his short naval career, had left no injurious impressions on the government, as touching his own conduct. The reduction law, which erected a species of naval peace establishment, was passed during his late absence, and, on his arrival, he found its details nearly completed in practice. Previously to this law’s going into effect, there were twenty-eight captains in the navy, of which number be stood himself as low as the twenty-seventh in rank. There was, indeed, but one other officer of that grade below him, and, under such circumstances, the chances of being retained would have been very small, for any man who had not the complete confidence of his superiors. He was retained, however, and that, too, in a manner in defiance of the law, for, by its provisions, only nine captains were to be continued in the service in a time of peace; whereas, his was the eleventh name on the new list, until Dale and Truxtun resigned; events which did not occur until the succeeding year. The cautious and reluctant manner in which these reductions were made by Mr. Jefferson, under a law that had passed during the administration of his predecessor, is another proof that the former statesman did not deserve all the reproaches of hostility to this branch of the public service that were heaped upon him.[[1]]
Not satisfied with retaining Capt. Bainbridge in the service, after the late occurrences at Algiers, the Department also gave him immediate employment. For the first time this gallant officer was given a good serviceable ship, that had been regularly constructed for a man-of-war. He was attached to the Essex 32, a fine twelve-pounder frigate, that had just returned from a first cruise to the East Indies, under Preble; an officer who subsequently became so justly celebrated. The orders to this vessel were issued in May, 1801, and the ship was directed to form part of a squadron then about to sail for the Mediterranean.
Capt. Bainbridge joined the Essex at New York. He had Stephen Decatur for his first lieutenant, and was otherwise well officered and manned. The squadron, consisting of the President 44, Philadelphia 38, Essex 32, and Enterprise 12, sailed in company; the President being commanded by Capt. James Barron, the Philadelphia by Capt. Samuel Barron, and the Enterprise by Lieut. Com. Sterrett. The broad pennant of Com. Dale was flying on the President. This force went abroad under very limited instructions. Although the Bashaw of Tripoli was seizing American vessels, and was carrying on an effective war, Mr. Jefferson appeared to think legal enactments at home necessary to authorize the marine to retaliate. As respected ourselves, statutes may have been wanting to prescribe the forms under which condemnations could be had, and the other national rights carried out in full practice; but, as respected the enemy, there can be no question his own acts authorized the cruisers of this country to capture their assailants wherever they could be found, even though they rotted in our harbors for the want of a prescribed manner of bringing them under the hammer. The mode of condemnation is solely dependent on municipal regulations, but the right to capture is dependent on public law alone. It was in this singular state of things that the Enterprise, after a bloody action, took a Tripolitan, and was then obliged to let her go!
The American squadron reached Gibraltar the 1st day of July, where it found and blockaded two of the largest Tripolitan cruisers, under the orders of a Scotch renegade, who bore the rank of an admiral. The Philadelphia watched these vessels, while the Essex was sent along the north shore to give convoy. The great object, in that day, appears to have been to carry the trade safely through the Straits, and to prevent the enemy’s rovers from getting out into the Atlantic; measures that the peculiar formation of the coasts rendered highly important. It was while employed on this duty, that Capt. Bainbridge had an unpleasant collision with some of the Spanish authorities at Barcelona, in consequence of repeated insults offered to his ship’s officers and boats; his own barge having been fired into twice, while he was in it in person. In this affair he showed his usual decision and spirit, and the matter was pushed so far and so vigorously, as to induce an order from the Prince of Peace, “to treat all officers of the United States with courtesy and respect, and more particularly those attached to the United States frigate Essex.” The high and native courtesy of the Spanish character renders it probable that some misunderstandings increased and complicated these difficulties, though there is little doubt that jealousy of the superior order and beauty of the Essex, among certain subordinates of the Spanish marine, produced the original aggression. In the discussions and collisions that followed, the sudden and somewhat brusque spirit of the American usages was not likely to be cordially met by the precise and almost oriental school of manners that regulates the intercourse of Spanish society. Bainbridge, however, is admitted to have conducted his part of the dispute with dignity and propriety; though he was not wanting in the promptitude and directness of a man-of-war’s man.
On the arrival of the Essex below, with a convoy, it was found that the enemy had laid up his ships, and had sent the crews across to Africa in the night; the admiral making the best of his way home in a neutral. Com. Morris had relieved Com. Dale, and the Essex, wanting material repairs, was sent home in the summer of 1802, after an absence of rather more than a year. During her short cruise, the Essex had been deemed a model ship, as to efficiency and discipline, and extorted admiration wherever she appeared. On her arrival at New York, the frigate was unexpectedly ordered to Washington to be laid up, a measure that excited great discontent in her crew. One of those quasi mutinies which, under similar circumstances, were not uncommon in that day, followed; the men insisting that their times were up, and that they ought to be paid off in a sea-port, and “not on a tobacco plantation, up in Virginia;” but Bainbridge and Decatur were men unwilling to be controlled in this way. The disaffection was put down with spirit, and the ship obeyed her orders.
Bainbridge was now employed in superintending the construction of the Siren and Vixen; two of the small vessels that had been recently ordered by law. As soon as these vessels were launched, he was again directed to prepare for service in the Mediterranean, for which station the celebrated squadron of Preble was now fitting. This force consisted of the Constitution 44, Philadelphia 38, Siren 16, Argus 16, Nautilus 14, Vixen 14, and Enterprise 12; the latter vessel being then on the station, under Lieut. Com. Hull. Of these ships, Bainbridge had the Philadelphia 38, a fine eighteen-pounder frigate that was often, by mistake, called a forty-four, though by no means as large a vessel as some others of her proper class. It was much the practice of that day to attach officers to the ships which were fitting near their places of residence, and thus it followed that a vessel frequently had a sort of local character. Such, in a degree, was the case with the Philadelphia, most of whose sea-officers were Delaware sailors, in one sense; though all the juniors had now been bred in the navy. As these gentlemen are entitled to have their sufferings recorded, we give their names, with the states of which they were natives, viz:
Captain.—William Bainbridge, of New Jersey.
Lieutenants.—John T. R. Cox; Jacob Jones, Delaware; Theodore Hunt, New Jersey; Benjamin Smith, Rhode Island.
Lieutenant of Marines.—Wm. S. Osborne.
Surgeon.—John Ridgely, Maryland.
Purser.—Rich. Spence, New Hampshire.
Sailing-Master.—Wm. Knight, Pennsylvania.
Surgeon’s Mates.—Jonathan Cowdery, N. York; Nicholas Harwood, Va.
Midshipmen.—Bernard Henry, Pa.; James Gibbon, Va.; James Biddle, Pa.; Richard B. Jones, Pa.; D. T. Patterson, N. Y.; Wm. Cutbush, Pa.; B. F. Reed, Pa.; Thomas M’Donough, Del.; Wallace Wormley, Va.; Robert Gamble, Va.; Simon Smith, Pa.; James Renshaw, Pa.
The Philadelphia had a crew a little exceeding three hundred souls on board, including her officers. One or two changes occurred among the latter, however, when the ship reached Gibraltar, which will be mentioned in their proper places.
The vessels of Com. Preble did not sail in squadron, but left home as each ship got ready. Bainbridge, being equipped, was ordered to sail in July, and he entered the Straits on the 24th of August, after a passage down the Delaware and across the Atlantic of some length. Understanding at Gibraltar that certain cruisers of the enemy were in the neighborhood of Cape de Gatte, he proceeded off that well-known headland the very next day; and, in the night of the 26th, it blowing fresh, he fell in with a ship under nothing but a foresail, with a brig in company, under very short canvass also. These suspicious circumstances induced him to run alongside of the ship, and to demand her character. After a good deal of hailing, and some evasion on the part of the stranger, it was ascertained that he was a cruiser from Morocco, called the Meshboha 22, commanded by Ibrahim Lubarez, and having a crew of one hundred and twenty men. The Philadelphia had concealed her own nation, and a boat coming from the Meshboha, the fact was extracted from its crew that the brig in company was an American, bound into Spain, and that they had boarded but had not detained her. Bainbridge’s suspicions were aroused by all the circumstances; particularly by the little sail the brig carried; so unlike an American, who is ever in a hurry. He accordingly directed Mr. Cox, his first lieutenant, to board the Meshboha, and to ascertain if any Americans were in her, as prisoners. In attempting to execute this order, Mr. Cox was resisted, and it was necessary to send an armed boat. The master and crew of the brig, the Celia of Boston, were actually found in the Meshboha, which ship had captured them, nine days before, in the vicinity of Malaga, the port to which they were bound.
Bainbridge took possession of the Moorish ship. The next day he recovered the brig, which was standing in for the bay of Almeria, to the westward of Cape de Gatte. On inquiry he discovered that Ibraham Lubarez was cruising for Americans under an order issued by the governor of Mogadore. Although Morocco was ostensibly at peace with the United States, Bainbridge did not hesitate, now, about taking his prize to Gibraltar. Here he left the Meshboha in charge of Mr. M’Donough, under the superintendence of the consul, and then went off Cape St. Vincent in pursuit of a Moorish frigate, which was understood to be in that neighborhood. Failing in his search, he returned within the Straits, and went aloft, in obedience to his original orders. At Gibraltar, the Philadelphia met the homeward bound vessels, under Com. Rodgers, which were waiting the arrival of Preble, in the Constitution. As this force was sufficient to watch the Moors, it left the Philadelphia the greater liberty to proceed on her cruise. While together, however, Lieut. Porter, the first of the New York 36, exchanged with Lieut. Cox, the latter gentleman wishing to return home, where he soon after resigned; while the former preferred active service.
The Philadelphia found nothing but the Vixen before Tripoli. A Neapolitan had given information that a corsair had just sailed on a cruise, and this induced Capt. Bainbridge to despatch Lieut. Com. Smith in chase. In consequence of this unfortunate, but perfectly justifiable, decision the frigate was left alone off the town. A vigorous blockade having been determined on, the ship maintained her station as close in as her draught of water would allow until near the close of October, when, it coming on to blow fresh from the westward, she was driven some distance to leeward, as often occurred to vessels on that station. As soon as it moderated, sail was made to recover the lost ground, and, by the morning of the 31st, the wind had become fair, from the eastward. At 8, A. M., a sail was made ahead, standing like themselves to the westward. This vessel proved to be a small cruiser of the Bashaw’s, and was probably the very vessel of which the Vixen had gone in pursuit. The Philadelphia now crowded every thing that would draw, and was soon so near the chase as to induce the latter to hug the land. There is an extensive reef to the eastward of Tripoli, called Kaliusa, that was not laid down in the charts of the ship, and which runs nearly parallel to the coast for some miles. There is abundance of water inside of it, as was doubtless known to those on board the chase, and there is a wide opening through it, by which six and seven fathoms can be carried out to sea; but all these facts were then profound mysteries to the officers of the Philadelphia. Agreeably to the chart of Capt. Smyth, of the British navy, the latest and best in existence, the eastern division of this reef lies about a mile and a half from the coast, and its western about a mile. According to the same chart, one of authority and made from accurate surveys, the latter portion of the reef is distant from the town of Tripoli about two and a half miles, and the former something like a mile and a half more. There is an interval of quite half a mile in length between these two main divisions of the reef, through which it is possible to carry six and seven fathoms, provided three or four detached fragments of reef, of no great extent, be avoided. The channels among these rocks afforded great facilities to the Turks in getting in and out of their port during the blockade, since a vessel of moderate draught, that knew the land-marks, might run through them with great confidence by daylight. It is probable the chase, in this instance, led in among these reefs as much to induce the frigate to follow as to cover her own escape, either of which motives showed a knowledge of the coast, and a familiarity with his duties in her commander.
In coming down from the eastward, and bringing with her a plenty of water, the Philadelphia must have passed two or three hundred yards to the southward of the northeastern extremity of the most easterly of the two great divisions of the reef in question. This position agrees with the soundings found at the time, and with those laid down in the chart. She had the chase some distance inshore of her; so much so, indeed, as to have been firing into her from the two forward divisions of the larboard guns, in the hope of cutting something away. Coming from the eastward, the ship brought into this pass, between the reef and the shore, from fourteen to ten fathoms of water, which gradually shoaled to eight, when Capt. Bainbridge, seeing no prospect of overhauling the chase, then beginning to open the harbor of Tripoli, from which the frigate herself was distant but some three or four miles, ordered the helm a-port, and the yards braced forward, in the natural expectation of hauling directly off the land into deep water. The leads were going at the time, and, to the surprise of all on board, the water shoaled, as the frigate run off, instead of deepening. The yards were immediately ordered to be braced sharp up, and the ship brought close on a wind, in the hope of beating out of this seeming cul de sac, by the way in which she had entered. The command was hardly given, however, before the ship struck forward, and, having eight knots way on her, she shot up on the rocks until she had only fourteen and a half feet of water under her fore-chains. Under the bowsprit there were but twelve. Aft she floated, having, it is said, come directly out of six or seven fathoms of water into twelve and fifteen feet; all of which strictly corresponds with the soundings of the modern charts.[[2]]
There was much of the hard fortune which attended a good deal of Bainbridge’s professional career, in the circumstances of this accident. Had the prospects of the chase induced him to continue it, the frigate might have passed ahead, and the chances were that she would have hauled off, directly before the mouth of the harbor of Tripoli, and gone clear; carrying through nowhere less than five fathoms of water. Had she stood directly on, after first hauling up, she might have passed through the opening between the two portions of the reef, carrying with her six, seven, nine and ten fathoms, out to sea. But, in pursuing the very course which prudence and a sound discretion dictated to one who was ignorant of the existence of this reef, he ran his ship upon the very danger he was endeavoring to avoid. It is by making provision for war, in a time of peace, and, in expending its money freely, to further the objects of general science, in the way of surveys and other similar precautions, that a great maritime state, in particular, economizes, by means of a present expenditure, for the moments of necessity and danger that may await it, an age ahead.
Bainbridge’s first recourse, was the natural expedient of attempting to force the ship over the obstacle, in the expectation that the deep water lay to seaward. As soon, however, as the boats were lowered, and soundings taken, the true nature of the disaster was comprehended, and every effort was made to back the Philadelphia off, by the stern. A ship of the size of a frigate, that goes seven or eight knots, unavoidably piles a mass of water under her bows, and this, aided by the shelving of the reef, and possibly by a ground swell, had carried the ship up too far, to be got off by any ordinary efforts. The desperate nature of her situation was soon seen by the circumstance of her falling over so much, as to render it impossible to use any of her starboard guns.
The firing of the chase had set several gun-boats in motion in the harbor, and a division of nine was turning to-windward, in order to assist the xebec the Philadelphia had been pursuing, even before the last struck. Of course the nature of the accident was understood, and these enemies soon began to come within reach of shot, though at a respectful distance on the larboard quarter. Their fire did some injury aloft, but neither the hull nor the crew of the frigate were hit.
Every expedient which could be resorted to, in order to get the Philadelphia off, was put in practice. The anchors were cut from the bows; water was pumped out, and other heavy articles were thrown overboard, including all the guns, but those aft. Finally the foremast was cut away. It would seem that the frigate had no boat strong enough to carry out an anchor, a great oversight in the equipment of a vessel of any sort. After exerting himself, with great coolness and discretion, until sunset, Bainbridge consulted his officers, and the hard necessity of hauling down the colors was admitted. By this time, the gun-boats had ventured to cross the frigate’s stern, and had got upon her weather quarter, where, as she had fallen over several feet to leeward, it was utterly impossible to do them any harm. Other boats, too, were coming out of the harbor to the assistance of the division which had first appeared.
The Tripolitans got on board the Philadelphia, just as night was setting in, on the last day of October. They came tumbling in at the ports, in a crowd, and then followed a scene of indiscriminate plunder and confusion. Swords, epaulettes, watches, jewels, money, and no small portion of the clothing of the officers even, disappeared, the person of Bainbridge himself being respected little more than those of the common men. He submitted to be robbed, until they undertook to force from him a miniature of his young and beautiful wife, when he successfully resisted. The manly determination he showed in withstanding this last violence, had the effect to check the aggression, so far as he was concerned, and about ten at night, the prisoners reached the shore, near the castle of the Bashaw.
Jussuf Caramelli received his prisoners, late as was the hour, in full divan; feeling a curiosity, no doubt, to ascertain what sort of beings the chances of war had thrown into his power. There was a barbarous courtesy in his deportment, nor was the reception one of which the Americans had any right to complain. After a short interview, he dismissed the officers to an excellent supper which had been prepared for them in the castle itself, and to this hour, the gentlemen who sat down to that feast with the appetites of midshipmen, speak of its merits with an affection which proves that it was got up in the spirit of true hospitality. When all had supped, they were carried back to the divan, where the Pacha and his ministers had patiently awaited their return; when the former put them in charge of Sidi Mohammed D’Ghies, one of the highest functionaries of the regency, who conducted the officers, with the necessary attendants, to the building that had lately been the American consular residence.
This was the commencement of a long and irksome captivity, which terminated only with the war. The feelings of Bainbridge were most painful, as we know from his letters, his private admissions, and the peculiar nature of his case. He had been unfortunate throughout most of his public service. The Retaliation was the only American cruiser taken in the war of 1798, and down to that moment, she was the only vessel of the new marine that had been taken at all. Here, then, was the second ship that had fallen into the enemy’s hands, also under his orders. Then the affair of the George Washington was one likely to wound the feelings of a high spirited and sensitive mind, to which explanations, however satisfactory, are of themselves painful and humiliating. These were circumstances that might have destroyed the buoyancy of some men; and there is no question, that Bainbridge felt them acutely, and with a lively desire to be justified before his country. At this moment, his officers stepped in to relieve him, by sending a generous letter, signed by every man in the ship whose testimony could at all influence the opinion of a court of inquiry. Care was taken to say, in this letter, that the charts and soundings justified the ship in approaching the shore, as near as she had, which was the material point, as connected with his conduct as a commander; his personal deportment after the accident being beyond censure. Bainbridge was greatly relieved by the receipt of this letter, the writing of which was generously and kindly conceived, though doubts may exist as to its propriety, in a military point of view. The commander of a ship, to a certain extent, is properly responsible for its loss, and his subordinates are the witnesses by whose testimony the court, which is finally to exonerate, or to condemn, is guided; to anticipate their evidence, by a joint letter, is opening the door to management and influence which may sometimes shield a real delinquent. So tender are military tribunals, strictly courts of honor, that one witness is not allowed to hear the testimony of another, and the utmost caution should ever be shown about the expression of opinions even, until the moment arrives to give them in the presence of the judges, and under the solemnities of oaths. This is said without direct reference to the case before us, however; for, if ever an instance occurred in which a departure from severe principles is justifiable, it was this; and no one can regret that Bainbridge, in the long captivity which followed, had the consolation of possessing such a letter. It may be well, here, to mention that all the officers whose names are given already in this biography, shared his prison, with the exception of Messrs. Cox and M’Donough; the former of whom had exchanged with lieutenant Porter, now a captain, while the latter had been left at Gibraltar, in charge of the Meshboha, to come aloft with Decatur, and to share in all the gallant deeds of that distinguished officer, before Tripoli.
Much exaggeration has prevailed on the subject of the treatment the American prisoners received from the Turks. It was not regulated by the rules of a more civilized warfare, certainly, and the common men were compelled to labor under the restrictions of African slavery; but the officers, on the whole, were kindly treated, and the young men were even indulged in many of the wild expressions of their humors. There were moments of irritation, and perhaps of policy, it is true, in which changes of treatment occurred, but confinement was the principal grievance. Books were obtained, and the studies of the midshipmen were not neglected. Sidi Mohammed D’Ghies proved their friend, though the Danish consul, M. Nissen, was the individual to whom the gratitude of the prisoners was principally due. This benevolent man commenced his acts of kindness the day after the Americans were taken, and he continued them, with unwearying philanthrophy, down to the hour of their liberation. By means of this gentleman, Bainbridge was enabled to communicate with Com. Preble, who received many useful suggestions from the prisoner, concerning his own operations before the town.
The Turks were so fortunate as to be favored with good weather, for several days after the Philadelphia fell into their hands. Surrounding the ship with their gunboats, and carrying out the necessary anchors, they soon hove her off the reef into deep water; where she floated, though it was necessary to use the pumps freely, and to stop some bad leaks. The guns, anchors, &c., had, unavoidably, been thrown on the rocks; and they were also recovered with little difficulty. The prisoners, therefore, in a day or two, had the mortification to see their late ship anchored between the reef and the town; and, ere long, she was brought into the harbor and partially repaired.
It is said, on good authority, that Bainbridge suggested to Preble the plan for the destruction of the Philadelphia, which was subsequently adopted. His correspondence was active, and there is no question that it contained many useful suggestions. A few weeks after he was captured he received a manly, sensible letter from Preble, which, no doubt, had a cheering influence on his feelings.
It will be remembered that the Philadelphia went ashore on the morning of the 31st October, 1803. On the 15th of the succeeding February, the captives were awakened about midnight by the firing of guns. A bright light gleamed upon the windows, and they had the pleasure to see the frigate enveloped in flames. Decatur had just quitted the ship, and his ketch was then sweeping down the harbor, towards the Siren, which awaited her in the offing!
This exploit caused a sensible change in the treatment of the officers, who were then captives in Tripoli. On the first of March, they were all removed to the castle, where they continued for the remainder of the time they were prisoners, or more than a twelvemonth. Several attempts at escape were made, but they all failed; principally for the want of means. In this manner passed month after month, until the spring had advanced into the summer. One day the cheering intelligence spread among the captives that a numerous force was visible in the offing, but it disappeared in consequence of a gale of wind. This was about the 1st of August, 1804. A day or two later, this force reappeared, a heavy firing followed, and the gentlemen clambered up to the windows which commanded a partial view of the offing. There they saw a flotilla of gunboats, brigs, and schooners, gathering in towards the rocks, where lay a strong division of the Turks, the shot from the batteries and shipping dashing the spray about, and a canopy of smoke collecting over the sea. In the back-ground was the Constitution—that glorious frigate!—coming down into the fray, with the men on her top-gallant-yards gathering in the canvass, as coolly as if she were about to anchor. This was a sight to warm a sailor’s heart, even within the walls of a prison! Then they got a glimpse of the desperate assault led by Decatur—the position of their windows permitting no more—and they were left to imagine what was going on, amid the roar of cannon, to leeward. This was the celebrated attack of the 3d August; or that with which Preble began his own warfare, and little intermission followed for the next two months. On the night of the 4th of September, a few guns were fired—a heavy explosion was heard—and this terminated the din of war. It was the catastrophe in which Somers perished. A day or two later, Bainbridge was taken to see some of the dead of that affair, but he found the bodies so much mutilated as to render recognition impossible.
Bainbridge kept a journal of the leading events that occurred during his captivity. Its meagreness, however, supplies proof of the sameness of his life; little occurring to give it interest, except an occasional difficulty with the Turks, and these attacks. In this journal he speaks of the explosion of the Intrepid, as an enterprise that entirely failed; injuring nothing. It was thought in the squadron that a part of the wall of the castle had fallen, on this occasion, but it was a mistake. Not a man, house, or vessel of Tripoli, so far as can now be ascertained, suffered, in the least, by the explosion. Bainbridge also mentions, what other information corroborates, that the shells seldom burst. Many fell within the town, but none blew up. Two or three even struck the house of the worthy Nissen, but the injury was slight, comparatively, in consequence of this circumstance.
At length the moment of liberation arrived. An American negotiator appeared in the person of the consul general for Barbary, and matters drew toward a happy termination. Some obstacles, however, occurred, and, to get rid of them, Sidi Mohammed D’Ghies, a judge of human nature, and a man superior to most around him, proposed to the Bashaw to let Bainbridge go on board the Constitution, then commanded by Com. Rodgers. The proposal appeared preposterous to the wily and treacherous Jussuf, who insisted that his prisoner would never be fool enough to come back, if once at liberty. The minister understood the notions of military honor that prevailed amongst Christian nations better, and he finally succeeded in persuading his master to consent that Bainbridge might depart; but not until he had placed his own son in the Bashaw’s hands, as a hostage.[[3]]
The 1st of June, 1805, was a happy hour for the subject of our memoir, for then, after a captivity of nineteen months, to a day, was he permitted again to tread the deck of an American man-of-war. The entire day was spent in the squadron, and Bainbridge returned in the night, greatly discouraged as to the success of the negotiation. Finding Sidi Mohammed D’Ghies, they repaired to the palace together, where the Bashaw received them with wonder. He had given up the slight expectation he ever had of seeing his captive again, and had been sharply rebuking his minister for the weakness he had manifested by his credulity. Bainbridge stated to the prince the only terms on which the Americans would treat, and these Jussuf immediately rejected. The friendly offices of M. Nissen were employed next day, however, and on the third, a council of state was convened, at which the treaty, drawn up in form, was laid before the members for approval or rejection.
At this council, Bainbridge was invited to be present. When he entered he was told by the Bashaw, himself, that no prisoner in Barbary had ever before been admitted to a similar honor, and that the discussions should be carried on in French, in order that he might understand them. The question of “peace or war” was then solemnly proposed. There were eight members of the council, and six were for war. Sidi Mohammed D’Ghies and the commandant of the marine alone maintained the doctrine of peace. There may have been preconcert and artifice in all this; if so, it was well acted. The speeches were grave and dignified, and seemingly sincere, and, after a time, two of the dissentients were converted to the side of peace; leaving the cabinet equally divided. “How shall I act?” demanded the Bashaw. “Which party shall I satisfy—you are four for peace, and four for war!” Here Sidi Mohammed D’Ghies arose and said it was for the sovereign to decide—they were but councillors, whereas he was their prince; though he entreated him, for his own interests and for those of his people, to make peace. The Bashaw drew his signet from his bosom, deliberately affixed it to the treaty, and said, with dignity and emphasis, “It is peace.”
The salutes followed, and the war ceased. The principal officers of the squadron visited the captives that evening; and the next day the latter were taken on board ship. A generous trait of the seamen and marines, on this occasion, merits notice. A Neapolitan slave had been much employed about them, and had shown them great kindness. They sent a deputation to Bainbridge, to request he would authorize the purser to advance them $700, of their joint pay; it was done, and, with the money, they bought the liberty of the Neapolitan; carrying him off with them—finally landing him on his own shores.
At Syracuse, a court of inquiry was held, for the loss of the Philadelphia. This court consisted of Capts. James Barron, Hugh G. Campbell and Stephen Decatur, jun. Gen. Eaton was the judge advocate. The result was an honorable aquittal. The finding of this court was dated June 29, 1805.
The country dealt generously and fairly by Bainbridge and his officers. The loss of the Philadelphia was viewed as being, precisely what it was, an unavoidable accident, that was met by men engaged in the zealous service of their country, in a distant sea, on an inhospitable shore, and at an inclement season of the year; and an accident that entailed on the sufferers a long and irksome captivity. To have been one of the Philadelphia’s crew has ever been rightly deemed a strong claim on the gratitude of the republic, and, from the hour at which the ill-fated ship lowered her ensign, down to the present moment, a syllable of reproach has never been whispered. Bainbridge, himself, was brought prominently into notice by the affair, and the sympathy his misfortunes produced in the public mind, made him a favorite with the nation. The advantage thus obtained, was supported and perpetuated by that frank and sincere earnestness which marked his public service, and which was so well adapted to embellish the manly career of a sailor.
The officers and crew of the Philadelphia reached home in the autumn of 1805, and were welcomed with the warmth that their privations entitled them to receive.
Capt. Bainbridge had married, when a young man, and he now found himself embarrassed in his circumstances, with an increasing family. But few ships were employed, and there were officers senior to himself to command them. The half-pay of his rank was then only $600 a year, and he determined to get leave to make a voyage or two, in the merchant service, in order to repair his fortunes. He had been appointed to the navy yard at New York, however, previously to this determination, but prudence pointed out the course on which he had decided. A voyage to the Havana, in which he was part owner, turned out well, and he continued in this pursuit for two years; or from the summer of 1806, until the spring of 1808. In March of the latter year, he was ordered to Portland, and, in December following, he was transferred to the command of the President 44, then considered the finest ship in the navy. Owing to deaths, resignations, and promotions, the list of captains had undergone some changes since the passage of the reduction-law. It now contained thirteen names, a number determined by an act passed in 1806, among which that of Bainbridge stood the sixth in rank. The difficulties with England, which had produced the armament, seemed on the point of adjustment, and immediate war was no longer expected. Bainbridge hoisted his first broad pennant in the President, having the command on the southern division of the coast; Com. Rodgers commanding at the north. In the summer of 1809 the President sailed on the coast service, and continued under Bainbridge’s orders, until May, 1810, when he left her, again to return to a merchant vessel.
On this occasion Bainbridge went into the Baltic. On his way to St. Petersburg, a Danish cruiser took him, and carried him into Copenhagen. Here, his first thought was of his old friend Nissen. Within half an hour, the latter was with him, and it is a coincidence worthy of being mentioned, that at the very moment the benevolent ex-consul heard of Bainbridge’s arrival, he was actually engaged in unpacking a handsome silver urn, which had been sent to him, as a memorial of his own kindness to them, by the late officers of the Philadelphia.
Through the exertions of this constant friend, Bainbridge soon obtained justice, and his ship was released. He then went up the Baltic. In this trade, Capt. Bainbridge was induced to continue, until the rencontre occurred, between his late ship, the President, and the British vessel of war, the Little Belt. As soon as apprized of this event, he left St. Petersburg, and made the best of his way to the Atlantic coast, over-land. In February, 1812, he reached Washington, and reported himself for service. But no consequences ever followed the action mentioned, and a period of brief but delusive calm succeeded, during which few, if any, believed that war was near. Still it had been seriously contemplated; and, it is understood, the question of the disposition of the navy, in the event of a struggle so serious as one with Great Britain’s occurring, had been gravely agitated in the cabinet. To his great mortification, Bainbridge learned the opinion prevailed that it would be expedient to lay up all the vessels; or, at most, to use them only for harbor defence. Fortunately, the present Com. Stewart, an officer several years the junior of Bainbridge in rank, but one of high moral courage and of great decision of character, happened to be also at the seat of government. After a consultation, these two captains had interviews with the Secretary and President, and, at the request of the latter, addressed to him such a letter as finally induced a change of policy. Had Bainbridge and Stewart never served their country but in this one act, they would be entitled to receive its lasting gratitude. Their remonstrances against belonging to a peace-navy were particularly pungent; but their main arguments were solid and convincing. After aiding in performing this act of vital service to the corps to which he belonged, Bainbridge proceeded to Charlestown, Massachusetts, and assumed the command of the yard.
War was declared on the 18th June, 1812; or shortly after Bainbridge was established at his new post. By this time death had cleared the list of captains of most of his superiors. Murray was at the head of the navy, but too old and infirm for active service. Next to him stood Rodgers; James Barron came third, but he was abroad; and Bainbridge was the fourth. This circumstance entitled him to a command afloat, and he got the Constellation 38, a lucky ship, though not the one he would have chosen, or the one he might justly have claimed in virtue of his commission. But the three best frigates had all gone to sea, in quest of the enemy, and he was glad to get any thing. A few weeks later, Hull came in with the Constitution, after performing two handsome exploits in her, and very generously consented to give her up, in order that some one else might have a chance. To this ship Bainbridge was immediately transferred, and on board her he hoisted his broad pennant on the 15th September, 1812.
The Essex 32, Capt. Porter, and Hornet 18, Capt. Lawrence, were placed under Bainbridge’s orders, and his instructions were to cruise for the English East India trade, in the South Atlantic. The Essex being in the Delaware, she was directed to rendezvous at the Cape de Verdes, or on the coast of South America. The Constitution and Hornet sailed in company, from Boston, on the 26th October, but the events of the cruise prevented the Essex, which ship was commanded by Porter, his old first lieutenant in the Philadelphia, from joining the commodore.
The Constitution and Hornet arrived off St. Salvador on the 13th of December. The latter ship went in, and found the Bonne Citoyenne, an enemy’s cruiser of equal force, lying in the harbor. This discovery led to a correspondence which will be mentioned in the life of Lawrence, and which induced Bainbridge to quit the offing, leaving the Hornet on the look-out for her enemy. On the 26th, accordingly, he steered to the southward, intending to stand along the coast as low as 12° 20′ S., when, about 9, A. M., on the 29th, the ship then being in 13° 6′ S. latitude, and 31° W. longitude, or about thirty miles from the land, she made two strange sail, inshore and to windward. After a little manœuvring, one of the ships closing, while the other stood on towards St. Salvador, Bainbridge was satisfied he had an enemy’s frigate fairly within his reach. This was a fortunate meeting to occur in a sea where there was little hazard of finding himself environed by hostile cruisers, and only sixty-four days out himself from Boston.
In receiving the Constitution from Hull, Bainbridge found her with only a portion of her old officers in her, though the crew remained essentially the same. Morris, her late first lieutenant, had been promoted, and was succeeded by George Parker, a gentleman of Virginia, and a man of spirit and determination. John Shubrick and Beekman Hoffman, the first of South Carolina and the last of New York, two officers who stood second to none of their rank in the service, were still in the ship, however, and Alwyn, her late master, had been promoted, and was now the junior lieutenant.[[4]] In a word, their commander could rely on his officers and people, and he prepared for action with confidence and alacrity. A similar spirit seemed to prevail in the other vessel, which was exceedingly well officered, and, as it appeared in the end, was extra manned.
At a quarter past meridian, the enemy showed English colors. Soon after, the Constitution, which had stood to the southward to draw the stranger off the land, hauled up her mainsail, took in her royals, and tacked toward the enemy. As the wind was light and the water smooth, the Constitution kept every thing aloft, ready for use, closing with the stranger with royal yards across. At 2 P. M. the latter was about half a mile to windward of the Constitution, and showed no colors, except a jack. Bainbridge now ordered a shot fired at him, to induce him to set an ensign. This order, being misunderstood, produced a whole broadside from the Constitution, when the stranger showed English colors again, and returned the fire.
This was the commencement of a furious cannonading, both ships manœuvring to rake and to avoid being raked. Very soon after the action commenced, Bainbridge was hit by a musket ball in the hip; and, a minute or two later, a shot came in, carried away the wheel, and drove a small bolt with considerable violence into his thigh. Neither injury, however, induced him even to sit down; he kept walking the quarter-deck, and attending to the ship, greatly adding to the subsequent inflammation, as these foreign substances were lodged in the muscles of his leg, and, in the end, threatened tetanus. The last injury was received about twenty minutes after the firing commenced, and was even of more importance to the ship than the wound it produced was to her captain. The wheel was knocked into splinters, and it became necessary to steer below.[[5]] This was a serious evil in the midst of a battle, and more particularly in an action in which there was an unusual amount of manœuvring. The English vessel, being very strong manned, was actively handled, and, sailing better than the Constitution in light winds, her efforts to rake produced a succession of evolutions, which caused both ships to ware so often, that the battle terminated several miles to leeward of the point on the ocean at which it commenced.
After the action had lasted some time, Bainbridge determined to close with his enemy at every hazard. He set his courses accordingly, and luffed up close to the wind. This brought matters to a crisis, and the Englishman, finding the Constitution’s fire too heavy, attempted to run her aboard. His jib-boom did get foul of the American frigate’s mizzen rigging, but the end of his bowsprit being shot away, and his foremast soon after following, the ships passed clear of each other, making a lucky escape for the assailants.[[6]] The battle continued some time longer, the Constitution throwing in several effective raking broadsides, and then falling alongside of her enemy to leeward. At length, finding her adversary’s guns silenced and his ensign down, Bainbridge boarded his tacks again, luffed up athwart the Englishman’s bows, and got a position ahead and to windward, in order to repair damages; actually coming out of the battle as he had gone into it, with royal yards across, and every spar, from the highest to the lowest, in its place! The enemy presented a singular contrast. Stick after stick had been shot out of him, as it might be, inch by inch too, until nothing, but a few stumps, was left. All her masts were gone, the foremast having been shot away twice, once near the catharpings, and again much nearer to the deck; the main-topmast had come down some time before the mainmast fell. The bowsprit, as has been said, was shot away at the cap. After receiving these damages, the enemy did not wait for a new attack, but as soon as the Constitution came round, with an intention to cross his fore-foot, he lowered a jack which had been flying at the stump of his mizzenmast.
The ship Bainbridge captured was the Java 38, Capt. Lambert. The Java was a French built ship that had been taken some time previously, under the name of La Renommée, in those seas where lies the island after which she was subsequently called. She mounted 49 carriage guns, and had a sufficient number of supernumeraries on board to raise her complement at quarters to something like 400 souls. Of these the English accounts admit that 124 were killed and wounded; though Bainbridge thought her loss was materially greater. It is said a muster-list was found in the ship, that was dated five days after the Java left England, and which contained 446 names. From these, however, was to be deducted the crew for a prize she had taken; the ship in company when made the day of the action. Capt. Lambert died of his wounds; but there was a master and commander on board, among the passengers, and the surviving first lieutenant was an officer of merit.
In addition to the officers and seamen who were in the Java, as passengers, were Lieutenant-General Hislop and his staff, the former of whom was going to Bombay as governor. Bainbridge treated these captives with great liberality and kindness, and, after destroying his prize for want of means to refit her, he landed all his prisoners, on parole, at St. Salvador.
In this action the Constitution had nine men killed and twenty-five men wounded. She was a good deal cut up in the rigging, and had a few spars injured, but, considering the vigor of the engagement and the smoothness of the water, she escaped with but little injury. There is no doubt that she was a heavier ship than her adversary, but the difference in the batteries was less than appeared by the nominal calibres of the guns; the American shot, in that war, being generally of light weight, while those of the Java, by some accounts, were French.
It has been said that Bainbridge disregarded his own wounds until the irritation endangered his life. His last injury must have been received about half past two, and he remained actively engaged on deck until 11 o’clock at night; thus adding the irritation of eight hours of exertion to the original injuries. The consequences were some exceedingly threatening symptoms, but skilful treatment subdued them, when his recovery was rapid.
An interesting interview took place between Bainbridge and Lambert, on the quarter-deck of the Constitution, after the arrival of the ship at St. Salvador. The English captain was in his cot, and Bainbridge approached, supported by two of his own officers, to take his leave, and to restore the dying man his sword. This interview has been described as touching, and as leaving kind feelings between the parting officers. Poor Lambert, an officer of great merit, died a day or two afterwards.
The Constitution now returned home for repairs, being very rotten. She reached Boston February 27, 1813, after a cruise of only four months and one day. Bainbridge returned in triumph, this time, and, if his countrymen had previously manifested a generous sympathy in his misfortunes, they now showed as strong a feeling in his success. The victor was not more esteemed for his courage and skill, than for the high and chivalrous courtesy and liberality with which he had treated his prisoners.
Bainbridge gave up the Constitution on his return home, and resumed the command of the yard at Charlestown, where the Independence 74 was building, a vessel he intended to take, when launched. Here he remained until the peace, that ship not being quite ready to go out when the treaty was signed. In the spring of 1815, a squadron was sent to the Mediterranean, under Decatur, to act against the Dey of Algiers, and Bainbridge followed, as commander-in-chief, in the Independence, though he did not arrive until his active predecessor had brought the war to a successful close. On this occasion, Bainbridge had under his orders the largest naval force that was ever assembled beneath the American flag; from eighteen to twenty sail of efficient cruisers being included in his command. In November, after a cruise of about five months, he returned to Newport, having one ship of the line, two frigates, seven brigs, and three schooners in company. Thus he carried to sea the first two-decker that ever sailed under the American ensign; the present Capt. Bolton being his first lieutenant. During this cruise, Com. Bainbridge arranged several difficulties with the Barbary powers, and in all his service he maintained the honor and dignity of his flag and of his command.
Bainbridge now continued at Boston several years, with his pennant flying in the Independence, as a guard ship. In the autumn of 1819, however, he was detached once more, for the purpose of again commanding in the Mediterranean. This was the fifth time in which he had been sent into that sea; three times in command of frigates, and twice at the head of squadrons. The Columbus 80, an entirely new ship, was selected for his pennant, and he did not sail until April, 1820, in consequence of the work that it was necessary to do on board her. The Columbus reached Gibraltar early in June. This was an easy and a pleasant cruise, one of the objects being to show the squadron in the ports of the Mediterranean, in order to impress the different nations on its coast with the importance of respecting the maritime rights of the republic. Bainbridge had a strong desire to show his present force, the Columbus in particular, before Constantinople, whither he had been sent twenty years before, against his wishes; but a firman could not be procured to pass the castles with so heavy a ship. After remaining out about a year, Bainbridge was relieved, and returned home, the principal objects of his cruise having been effected.
This was Bainbridge’s last duty afloat. He had now made ten cruises in the public service; had commanded a schooner, a brig, five frigates and two line-of-battle ships, besides being at the head of three different squadrons; and it was thought expedient to let younger officers gain some experience. Age did not induce him to retire, for he was not yet fifty; but others had claims on the country, and his family had claims on himself.
But, although unemployed afloat, Bainbridge continued diligently engaged in the service, generally of the republic and of the navy. He was at Charlestown—a favorite station with him—for some time, and then was placed at the head of the board of navy commissioners, at Washington. After serving his three years in the latter station, he had the Philadelphia yard. Bainbridge had removed his family twenty-six times, in the course of his different changes, and considering himself as a Delaware seaman, he now determined to set up his penates permanently in the ancient capital of the country. An unpleasant collision with the head of the department, however, forced him from his command in 1831; but, the next year, he was restored to the station at Charlestown. His health compelled him to give up this yard in a few months, and, his constitution being broken, he returned to his family in Philadelphia, in the month of March, 1832, only to die. His disease was pneumonia, connected with great irritation of the bowels and a wasting diarrhœa. As early as in January, 1833, he was told that his case was hopeless, when he manifested a calm and manly resignation to his fate. He lived, however, until the 28th of July, when he breathed his last, aged fifty-nine years, two months and twenty-one days. An hour or two previously to his death, his mind began to wander, and not long before he yielded up his breath, he raised all that was left of his once noble frame, demanded his arms, and ordered all hands called to board the enemy!
Bainbridge married, in the early part of his career, a lady of the West Indies, of the name of Hyleger. She was the grand-daughter of a former governor of St. Eustatia, of the same name. By this lady he had five children who grew up; a son and four daughters. The son was educated to the bar, and was a young man of much promise; but he died a short time previously to his father. Of the daughters, one married a gentleman of the name of Hayes, formerly of the navy; another married Mr. A. G. Jaudon, of Philadelphia, and a third is now the wife of Henry K. Hoff, a native of Pennsylvania, and a sea-lieutenant in the service, of eleven years standing. He left his family in easy circumstances, principally the result of his own prudence, forethought, gallantry and enterprise.
At the time of his death, Commodore Bainbridge stood third in rank, in the American navy; having a long list of captains below him. Had justice been done to this gallant officer, to the service to which he belonged, or even to the country, whose interests are alone to be efficiently protected by a powerful marine, he would have worn a flag some years before the termination of his career. Quite recently a brig of war has received his name, in that service which he so much loved, and in which he passed the best of his days.
Com. Bainbridge was a man of fine and commanding personal appearance. His stature was about six feet, and his frame was muscular and of unusually good proportions. His face was handsome, particularly in youth, and his eye uncommonly animated and piercing. In temperament he was ardent and sanguine; but cool in danger, and of a courage of proof. His feelings were vehement, and he was quickly roused; but, generous and brave, he was easily appeased. Like most men who are excitable, but who are firm at bottom, he was the calmest in moments of the greatest responsibility.[[7]] He was hospitable, chivalrous, magnanimous, and a fast friend. His discipline was severe, but he tempered it with much consideration for the wants and health of his crews. Few served with him who did not love him, for the conviction that his heart was right, was general among all who knew him. There was a cordiality and warmth in his manner, that gained him friends, and those who knew him best, say he had the art of keeping them.
A shade was thrown over the last years of the life of this noble-spirited man by disease. His sufferings drove him to the use of antispasmodics, to an extent which deranged the nerves. This altered his mood so much as to induce those who did not know him well, to imagine that his character had undergone the change. This was not the case, however; to his dying hour Bainbridge continued the warm-hearted friend, the chivalrous gentleman, and the devoted lover of his country’s honor and interests.
| [1] | There appears to have been some uncertainty about officers remaining in service, after the peace of 1801, that contributed to rendering the reduction irregular. The resignations of Dale and Truxtun, and the death of Barry, brought the list down to nine; the number prescribed by law. As the Tripolitan war occurred so soon, a question might arise how far the peace establishment law was binding at all. Certainly, in its spirit, it was meant only for a time of peace. On the other hand, Mr. Jefferson, by his public acts, did not seem to think the nation legally at war with Tripoli, even after battles were fought and vessels captured. |
| [2] | There already exists some disagreement as to the question on which of the two principal portions of this reef, the eastern or the western, the Philadelphia ran. Captain Bainbridge, in his official letter, says that the harbor of Tripoli was distant three or four miles, when his ship struck. But the harbor of Tripoli extends more than a mile to the eastward of the town. Fort English lies properly near the mouth of the harbor, and it is considerably more than a mile east of the castle; which, itself, stands at the southeastern angle of the town. Com. Porter, in his testimony before the court of inquiry, thought the ship struck about three miles and a half from the town of Tripoli, and one and a half from the nearest point of land, which bore south. By the chart, the western margin of the western reef is about 4000 yards from the nearest point in the town, and the western margin of the eastern reef, about 6000. Three miles and a half would be just 6110 yards. This reef, too, lies as near as may be, a mile and a half north of the nearest land; thus agreeing perfectly with Com. Porter’s testimony. In addition, the western portion of the reef could not have been reached without passing into five fathoms water, and Capt. Bainbridge deemed it prudent to haul off when he found himself in eight. All the soundings show, as well as the distances, that the frigate struck as stated in the text, on the eastern half of the Kaliusa Reef; which might well be named the Philadelphia Reef. It may be added, that the nearest land would bear nearer southeast, than south, from the western half of these shoals. |
| [3] | It is pleasing to know that this son has since had his life most probably saved, by the timely intervention of the American authorities. A man-of-war was sent to Tripoli, and brought him off, at a most critical moment, when he was about to fall a sacrifice to his enemies. He is dead; having been an enlightened statesman, like his father, and a firm friend of this country; though much vilified and persecuted toward the close of his brief career. |
| [4] | Alas! how few of the gallant spirits of the late war remain! Bainbridge is gone. Parker died in command of the Siren, the next year. John Shubrick was lost in the Epervier, a twelvemonth later; and Beekman Hoffman died a captain in 1834; while Alwyn survived the wounds received in this action but a few days. |
| [5] | Some time after the peace of 1815, a distinguished officer of the English navy visited the Constitution, then just fitted anew at Boston, for a Mediterranean cruise. He went through the ship accompanied by Capt. ——, of our service. “Well, what do you think of her?” asked the latter, after the two had gone through the vessel and reached the quarter-deck again. “She is one of the finest, if not the very finest frigate I ever put my foot on board of,” returned the Englishman, “but, as I must find some fault, I’ll just say that your wheel is one of the clumsiest things I ever saw, and is unworthy of the vessel.” Capt. —— laughed, and then explained the appearance of the wheel to the other, as follows: “When the Constitution took the Java, the former’s wheel was shot out of her. The Java’s wheel was fitted in the Constitution to steer with, and, although we think it as ugly as you do, we keep it as a trophy!” |
| [6] | On the part of the enemy, in the war of words which succeeded the war of 1612, it was pretended that the Constitution kept off in this engagement. Bainbridge, in his official letter, says he endeavored to close, at the risk of being raked; though the early loss of the Constitution’s wheel prevented her from manœuvring as quickly as she might otherwise have done. When a frigate’s wheel is gone, the tiller is managed by tackles, below two decks, and this makes awkward work; first, as to the transmission of orders, and next, and principally, as to the degree of change, the men who do the work not being able to see the sails. There are two modes of transmitting the orders; one by a tube fitted for that express purpose, and the other by a line of midshipmen. But the absurd part of the argument was an attempt to show that the Constitution captured the Java by her great superiority in small-arms-men; Kentucky riflemen, of course, of whom, by the way, there probably was never one in an American ship. This attempt was made, in connection with a battle in which the defeated party, too, had every spar, even to her bowsprit, shot out of her! All the witnesses on the subsequent court of inquiry appear to have been asked about this musketry, and the answer of the boatswain is amusing. Question. “Did you suffer much from musketry on the forecastle?” Answer. “Yes: and likewise from round and grape.” Another absurdity was an attempt to show (see James, Ap. p. 12) that the Java would have carried the Constitution had her men boarded. The Constitution’s upper deck was said to be deserted, as if her people had left it in apprehension of their enemies. Not a man left his station in the ship, that day, except under orders, and so far from caring about the attempt to board, the crew ridiculed it. The Java was very bravely fought, beyond a question, but the Constitution took her, and came out of action with royal yards across! |
| [7] | A singular proof how far the resolution of Bainbridge could overcome his natural infirmities, was connected with a very melancholy affair. When Decatur fought the duel in which he fell, he selected his old commander and friend, Bainbridge, to accompany him to the field. Bainbridge had a slight natural impediment in his speech which sometimes embarrassed his utterance; especially when any thing excited him. On such occasions, he usually began a sentence—“un-ter”—“un-ter,” or “un-to,” and then he managed to get out the beginning of what he had to say. On the sad occasion alluded to, the word of command was to be “Fire—one, two, three;” the parties firing between “Fire” and “three.” Bainbridge won the toss, and was to give the word. It then occurred to one of the gentlemen of the other side that some accident might arise from this peculiarity of Bainbridge’s—“one two” sounding so much like “un-ter,” and he desired that the whole order might be rehearsed before it was finally enacted. This was done; but Bainbridge was perfectly cool, and no mistake was made. |
SONG—“I SAW HER ONCE.”
———
BY RICHARD H. DANA.
———
I saw her once; and still I see
That placid eye and thoughtful brow;
That voice! it spoke but once to me—
That quiet voice is with me now.
Where’er I go my soul is blest;
She meets me there, a cheering light;
And when I sink away to rest
She murmurs near—Good night! good night!
Our earthly forms are far apart;
But can her spirit be so nigh
Nor I a home within her heart?
And Love but dream her fond reply?
Oh, no! the form that I behold—
No shaping this of memory!
Her self, her self is here ensoul’d!
—I saw her once; and still I see.
SONNET—THE UNATTAINED.
———
BY MRS. SEBA SMITH.
———
Is this, then, Life? Oh! are we born for this?
To follow phantoms that elude the grasp!
Or whatsoe’er secured, within our clasp
To withering lie! as if an earthly kiss
Were doomed Death’s shuddering touch alone to greet.
Oh Life! hast thou reserved no cup of bliss?
Must still the Unattained allure our feet?
The Unattained with yearnings fill the breast,
That rob, for aye, the spirit of its rest?
Yes, this is Life, and everywhere we meet,
Not victor crowns, but wailings of defeat—
Yet falter not, thou dost apply a test
That shall incite thee onward, upward still—
The present cannot sate, thy soul it cannot fill.
A YOUNG WIFE.
———
BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE.”
———
CHAPTER I.
An she shall walk in silken tire
And siller hae to spare.
Scottish Song.
“No, no, Lowndes,” answered Mr. Gilmer, in reply to some question which the former had made his friend touching the accomplishments of his bride elect. “No, no: you will find Miss Vivian very different probably from what you expect. Men at my age, who know the world, know that talents and accomplishments are not the first qualities to seek in a wife. Freshness of heart and mind, naïveté and disinterestedness are the charms that we prize as we grow older, for they alone, springing from the heart, can insure us happiness. No, you will not find Miss Vivian accomplished to any high degree. Her extreme youth precludes that. But what music or language can equal the melody and eloquence that speak in a young voice fresh from a warm heart! Of disinterested affection, one can feel sure in a creature so young; and the pleasure of cultivating a heart and mind all your own, of feeling that every flower that springs there is of your own planting, is worth more to my taste than the utmost perfection of acquirements ready made to the hand.”
Mr. Lowndes, who was also mature in the world’s ways, was somewhat amused at his friend’s warmth, while he smiled as he thought of the disinterestedness that leads sixteen to wed with forty-two, and he said,
“The lady is beautiful, no doubt. For with all your philosophic knowledge of the world, Gilmer, I doubt whether you would appreciate so highly the charms of a youthful mind were they not united to the loveliness of a youthful person.”
Gilmer replied with a smile,
“I think you will find she does credit to my taste. You must let me introduce you;” and the friends having agreed to call at Mrs. Vivian’s for that purpose in the evening, separated; Gilmer pitying Lowndes’ forlorn state as an old bachelor, while Lowndes could not but be amused to see his friend so enthusiastic in a folly he had often ridiculed in others.
Mr. Gilmer, at forty-two, knew the world as he said; and what is more, the world knew him; and having run a gay career, to settle in a grave and polished middle age, he would now renew life, and start afresh for the goal of happiness; deeming himself, old worldling that he was, a fit match for bright sixteen, and a natural recipient for the first warm affections of that happy age.
But is time to be so cheated? Let us see.
“Look!” cried the little bride elect, “is not this beautiful?” showing her mother an exquisite cadeau from her lover. “Oh, mamma,” added she, clasping her little hands in an ecstasy, “how he will dress one!”
“Yes, my love,” said her mother tenderly, “it is beautiful, indeed. How very attentive and kind in Mr. Gilmer to remember that passing wish of yours.”
“Oh yes! and what perfect taste too he has,” continued the little lady, evidently much more intent upon her present than her lover; and so she flew to her aunt to show the rich present she had just received. Miss Lawrence, a younger sister of her mother, who resided with them, had been absent when this engagement took place; and having examined and admired the jewel to the satisfaction of her niece, said,
“I am quite anxious to see this Mr. Gilmer of yours, Charlotte.”
“Are you? Well, he will be here this evening, I suppose; and I dare say you will like him. He likes all those sensible, dull books that you and mamma are so fond of. He’ll just suit you.”
“I hope,” replied her aunt, smiling, “he suits you too.”
“Yes,” she answered, with a little hesitation, “only he is too grave and sensible: but then he’s old, you know,” she added with a serious look.
“Old!” replied Miss Lawrence, “what do you call old?”
“Oh, I don’t know; thirty, or forty, or fifty, I don’t know exactly; but he must be quite as old as mamma, maybe older: but,” added she, with more animation, “I shall have the prettiest phaeton, with the dearest little pair of black ponies you ever saw, just to drive when I shop, you know, and an elegant chariot to pay visits; and I mean to give so many parties and a fancy ball regularly every winter;” and she continued dwelling on her anticipated gaieties to the utter exclusion, in all her plans, of husband or lover, to the surprise and amusement, not unmixed with anxiety, of her aunt, who soon began to perceive that her niece’s young brain was dizzy with the prospect of splendors and gaieties that her mother’s limited income denied her, while her heart was as untouched by any deeper emotion as one might naturally have expected from her joyous, unthinking, careless age. She was dazzled by Mr. Gilmer’s fortune and flattered by his attentions, for he was distingué in society; but love she deemed out of the question with a man as old as her mother; and she was right. It was out of the question with a girl young enough to be his daughter; for however age may admire youth, there is nothing captivating to youth in age. His fine mind, cultivated tastes and elegant manners were lost upon one whose youth and ignorance precluded her appreciating qualities she did not comprehend; and she only looked forward to her marriage as the first act in a brilliant drama in which she was to play the principal part.
“Are you quite satisfied, sister, with this engagement of Charlotte’s?” asked Miss Lawrence, with some anxiety.
“Perfectly,” replied Mrs. Vivian, “more than satisfied. Mr. Gilmer’s fortune and station are all I could ask. He is a man of sense and a gentleman. What more could I desire?”
“He is that, certainly,” replied her sister, “but I confess I wish that the disparity of years between them was less.”
“I am not sure that I do,” answered Mrs. Vivian. “His age gives me a security for his character that I could not have otherwise. And the younger the wife the greater the idol generally. Charlotte has been too much of an indulged and spoiled child, if you will, to humor and support the caprices of a young man, and I had rather she were an ‘old man’s darling than a young man’s slave.’ ”
“If she were compelled to either alternative,” said Miss Lawrence.
“Beside,” continued Mrs. Vivian, scarce hearing her sister’s interruption, “his fortune is immense; and the certainty that she will always be encompassed by every luxury wealth can procure is to me an unspeakable comfort. You cannot know, Ellen, with what idolatry a mother loves an only child, nor can you, therefore, comprehend how anxiously I would guard her from every trial or privation that could beset her path in life. My income is so small that with me she must suffer many privations both as to pleasures and comforts that will now be showered upon her with a liberal hand; and I own I anticipate her marriage with as much happiness as a mother can look forward to a separation from her only child.”
And now the preparations were rapidly making for the marriage, and every day brought some new finery to deck the pretty bride, who was in one continued ecstasy at every fresh importation; and when the wedding-day arrived and brought with it a corbeille from Mr. Gilmer, which, when opened, disclosed a bouquet of sixteen white camellias, and underneath the bridal veil of costliest lace, with other elegancies too numerous to mention, she fairly danced in her childish glee as she threw the veil over her head and flew to the mirror; and the only shadow or doubt that crossed her fair young face that day, was lest Martille, that most faithless of coiffeurs, should disappoint her in the evening.
The veil is at last arranged, with its orange buds and blossoms, and as the sparkling, white dress floats around her airy figure, a prettier, brighter, more graceful creature has rarely glanced across this world than that beauteous young bride; and Mr. Gilmer as he stood beside her, high-bred, grave and middle-aged, looked better fitted to perform the part of father than of groom.
As his friend Mr. Lowndes gazed upon the flashing eyes and glowing cheeks of the young beauty, and heard the merry tones of her childish voice, and then glanced round at the small rooms and plain furniture of her mother’s house, he perfectly comprehended the infatuation of his friend and the motives of his bride.
——
CHAPTER II.
That may gar one cry, but it canna gar me mind.
Heart of Mid Lothian.
“Well, Charlotte,” said Mr. Gilmer, after they had been married about six weeks, “I suppose our wedding gaieties are nearly over?”
“Oh! I hope not,” cried she, looking almost aghast at the idea. “Why they have scarcely more than begun. There would be very little use in being a bride indeed, if it were to end so soon,” she continued.
“So soon!” replied her husband. “Why I should think that even you would be tired of this incessant gaiety. I fairly long for one quiet dinner and evening at home.”
“I agree with you,” she returned, “the dinners are bores. To be obliged to sit four or five mortal hours and talk is very dull. But the balls are delightful, and I hope may continue these three months. You don’t dance, however,” she added, “and I don’t wonder you find it tiresome. Mamma used to complain of it too, and I dare say it is dull to you old folks who look on. But to us who waltz, you don’t know how charming it is,” and as she shook back her curls and looked up in his face, with such an expression of youthful delight, he was compelled to swallow with good humor the being classed with “Mamma” and the “old folks,” unpleasant as it might be, in the hope that she would soon weary of this heartless gaiety, and ceasing to be a child, “put away childish things.”
Finding, however, that her youth was more than a match for his patience, he soon wearied of playing the indulgent lover, and within two months after their marriage he said,
“Charlotte, after to-night we go to no more evening parties. I am thoroughly tired of them, and you have had enough for this season.”
She would have remonstrated, but the decision, almost amounting to sternness with which he spoke, startled her, and she only pouted without replying. Her usual resource, to complain of her husband to her mother, was left her, and Mrs. Vivian’s spirit quickly fired at seeing her darling child thwarted, and she said with the feeling more natural than judicious in a mother-in-law,
“Tell your husband, Charlotte, that if he does not wish to go, I am always ready to accompany you,” and the young wife returned triumphantly to her husband to say, “that mamma would take her to Mrs. Johnson’s.” Mr. Gilmer could not reasonably object to the arrangement, little as he liked it; but thus Mrs. Vivian laid the foundation of a dislike between her son-in-law and self that took root but to flourish and strengthen with time.
Mrs. Vivian calling soon after on her daughter, found her poring over a large volume most intently.