Travellers' Stories Part 1

Travellers' Tales.

by Eliza Lee Follen.

It is the pleasant twilight hour, and Frank and Harry Chilton are in their accustomed seat by their mother's side in the old sofa, that same comfortable old sofa, which might have listened to many pleasant and interesting stories that will never be told.

Mother, said Frank, you have often promised us that some time you would tell us about your travels in Europe. This is a good stormy evening, and no one will come in to interrupt you; so please, dear Mother, tell us all you can remember.

It is now, boys, five years since my return from Europe. Much that I did and saw while there I forget. However, as I have been lately looking over my hasty journal, I will see what I can remember.

On the first of August I set sail in the steamer Caledonia for England.

At four o'clock in the afternoon, we were out of sight of land; one by one, we had taken leave of every object which could be seen from the departing vessel; and now nothing was visible to us but the sky, the ocean meeting it in its wide, unbroken circle the sun gradually sinking in the west, and our small but only house, the s.h.i.+p. How strange, how sublime the scene was! so lonely, so magnificent, so solemn! At last the sun set, gilding the clouds, and looking, to my tearful eyes, as if that too said farewell! Then the moon appeared; and the long, indefinite line of light from where her rays first touched the waters to our s.h.i.+p, and the dancing of the waves as they crossed it, catching the light as they pa.s.sed, were so beautiful that I was unwilling to leave the deck when the hour for rest arrived.

The wind was against us, and we did not get on very fast; but I enjoyed the novel scene the next day, and pa.s.sed all my time on deck, watching the sailors and the pa.s.sengers, and noticing the difference between Englishmen and Americans.

On Sunday it was very cold, and the wind, still contrary, rose higher and higher; it was impossible to set any sail, but I still kept on deck, and thus avoided sickness. Soon after breakfast I saw a white foam rising in different places occasionally, and was told that it was whales spouting; I saw a great number, and enjoyed it highly. Presently some one called out, "An iceberg!" and, far off against the sky, I saw this floating wonder. It was very beautiful; such a dazzling white, so calm and majestic, and so lonely; it was shaped, as I thought, like an old cathedral, but others thought like a sleeping lion, taking what I called the ruined tower for his head and mane.

Soon after this, the man on the lookout cried, "Steams.h.i.+p America;" and in a few moments more we saw her coming swiftly towards us with her sails all set, for the wind was fair for her. Captain Leitch then told me that he should stop his vessel and send a boat on board, and that he would send a letter by it if I would write one quickly; to others he said the same thing. In a moment the deck was cleared, and in a few more moments all had returned with their letters; and never was there a more beautiful sight than these two fine steamers manoeuvring to stop at a respectful distance from each other; then our little boat was lowered, and O, how pretty it was to see her dancing over the rough waves to the other steamer! We sent to the America the sad news of the loss of the Kestrel. After what seemed to us a long time, the boat returned and brought papers, &c., but no important news; and in a few moments the two steamers courtesied to each other, and each went on her way.

After six days, the waves had risen to a terrible height; the wind was all but a gale; the ocean, as far as one could see, was one roaring foam; one after another the angry billows rose to the height of twenty or thirty feet, and rolled on, curling over their green sides, and then broke with a voice of thunder against our vessel.

I crawled out of the cabin, a.s.sisted by two gentlemen, and from the lower deck saw the sublime commotion over the bulwarks, when the s.h.i.+p rolled over on the side where I was sitting. The sea broke over our vessel repeatedly; it went over the top of the smoke pipe, and struck the fore-topsail in the middle but did, not hurt either of them. The fourth officer was washed out of his berth by a sea when he was asleep.

One of the paddles broke, but in a very short time was replaced. One of the wheels was often entirely out of water, but no harm was done us by any of these disasters; and on we went safe through the troubled waters.

At night, when we were planning how we should secure ourselves from rolling about the cabin, there came a sudden lurch of the s.h.i.+p, and every thing movable was sent SLAM BANG on one side of the cabin; and such a crash of crockery in the pantry! A few minutes after came a sound as if we had struck a rock. "What is that?" I asked of the stewardess.

"Only a sea, ma'am," she replied. In my heart I hoped we should not have another such box on the ear.

We had a horrid night, but the next day it grew quieter, though it was still rough, and the wind ahead. Soon after, it grew fair, and the captain promised us that on Monday, before twelve o'clock, we should see Ireland; and sure enough it was so. I was on deck again just at twelve; the sun came out of the clouds, and the mate took an observation.

"That is worth five pounds," said he; "now I know just where we are."

Then the captain went up on the wheel-box, and we heard the welcome sound, "Tory Island." We were then greatly rejoiced; this was the twelfth day of our voyage. At night, for one hour, the wind blew a gale, and the s.h.i.+p rocked in a very disagreeable manner; but at six o'clock on Tuesday morning we were on deck, and there was the beautiful Welsh coast, and Snowdon just taking off his night-cap; and soon we saw "England, that precious stone set in a silver sea."

Next to the thought of friends whom we had parted from for so long a time, my mind during the voyage was occupied with the idea of Columbus.

When I looked upon the rude, boundless ocean, and remembered that when he set out with his little vessel to go to a land that no one knew any thing of, not even that there was such a land, he was guided altogether by his faith in its existence; that he had no sympathy, but only opposition; that he had no charts, nothing but the compa.s.s, that sure but mysterious guide,--the thought of his sublime courage, of his patient faith, was so present to my mind, that it seemed as if I was actually sometimes in his presence.

The other idea was the wonderful skill displayed in the construction of the small, but wonderfully powerful and beautifully arranged and safe home, in which we were moving on this immense and turbid ocean, carrying within her the great central fire by which the engine was moved, which, in spite of winds and waves, carried us safely along; then the science which enabled the master of this curious nutsh.e.l.l of man's contriving to know just in what part of this waste of trackless waters we were. All these things I knew before, and had often thought of them, but was never so impressed with them; it was almost as if they were new to me.

Before I quit the ocean, I must tell you of what I saw for which I cannot account, and, had not one of the gentlemen seen it too, I should almost have doubted my senses. When we were entirely out of sight of land, I saw a white b.u.t.terfly hovering over the waves, and looking as if he were at home. Where the beautiful creature came from, or how he lived, or what would become of him, no one could tell. He seemed to me to be there as a symbol and a declaration that the souls of those whose bodies lay in the ocean were yet living and present with those they had loved.

When we arrived at Liverpool, we found a very dear friend, whom we had known in America, on the wharf ready to receive us. He took us to his house, and we felt that we were not, after all, in a strange land. Love and kindness are the home of all souls, and show us what heaven must be.

The thing that impressed me most was the dim light of the English day, the soft, undefined shadows, compared with our brilliant suns.h.i.+ne and sharply defined shade--then the coloring of the houses, the streets, the ground, of every thing; no bright colors, all sober, some very dark,--the idea of age, gravity, and stability. n.o.body seems in a hurry. Our country seems so young and vehement; this so grave and collected!

Now I will tell you something about my visit to my dear friend Harriet Martineau, whose beautiful little books, "Feats on the Fiord," "The Crofton Boys," and the others, you love so much to read. She lives at Ambleside, in what is called the Lake Country. Ambleside is a beautiful country town in the valley of the Rotha, and not far from Lake Windermere. Around the town rise high hills, which perhaps may be called mountains. These mountains are not, like many of ours, clothed to the summit with thick wild forests, but have fewer trees, and are often bare at the summit. The mixture of gray rock and green gra.s.s forms such a beautiful coloring over their graceful and sometimes grotesque outline that you would not have them other than they are.

The Ambleside houses are of dark-gray stone, and almost all of them have ivy and flowers about them. One small house, the oldest in the village, was several hundred years old; and out of all the crevices between the stones hung harebells and other wild flowers; one side of it and much of the roof were covered with ivy. This house was only about ten feet square, and it looked to me like a great rustic flower pot.

I should like some time to read you a description of this lovely place, written by Miss Martineau herself. Then you will almost hear the murmuring sound of the Brathay and the Rotha, and breathe the perfume of the wild heather, and catch the freshness of the morning breeze, as she offers you these mountain luxuries in her glowing words.

Miss Martineau lives a little out of the village. You drive up to the house through a shrubbery of laurels, and roses, and fuschias, and other plants,--young trees and flowers,--to the beautiful little porch, covered with honeysuckles and creeping plants. The back of the house is turned to the road, and the front looks out over the loveliest green meadows, to the grand, quiet hills, sometimes clear and sharp in their outline against the blue sky, and at others wreathed with mist; and one might sit for hours at the large bay window in the parlor, watching these changes, and asking no other enjoyment.

It was also a great pleasure to witness the true and happy life of my friend. I saw there the highest ideas of duty, usefulness, and benevolence carried into daily practice. Miss Martineau took us one morning to see the poet Wordsworth. He lived in a low, old-fas.h.i.+oned stone house, surrounded by laurels, and roses, and fuschias, and other flowers and flowering shrubs. The porch is all covered with ivy. We found the venerable man in his low, dark parlor. He very kindly showed us his study, and then took us over his grounds.

When we took our leave, I asked him to give each of us a leaf from a fine laurel tree near him; this he did very kindly, and smiled as kindly at my effort at a compliment, in saying to him something about one who had received so many laurels having some to spare to others. I thanked him for his goodness in giving me so much of his time, and bade the venerable man good by, very much pleased with my visit, and very grateful to the kind friend who had introduced me to him, and insured me a welcome. I shall never forget that day.

Ambleside is a very fas.h.i.+onable place for travellers to visit in the summer months, and we saw there many distinguished and agreeable people.

I had a conversation with an intelligent lad of fourteen years of age, which impressed me very much. He was talking with me about our country, and finding faults with it of various kinds. While I could, I defended it. He thought our revolution was only a rebellion. I told him that all revolutions were only successful rebellions, and that we bore with the tyranny of his country as long as we could. "I don't like the Americans," said he; he blushed as he thought of the discourtesy of saying this to me, and then added, "they are so inconsistent; they call themselves republicans, and then hold slaves, and that is so wicked and absurd." He went on to say all he thought and felt about the wickedness of slavery. I heard him to the end, and then said, "There is nothing you have said upon that subject that I do not agree to entirely. You cannot say too much against slavery; but I call myself an abolitionist, and while I live, I mean to say and do all I can against it. There are many people in America, also, who feel as I do, and we hope to see it abolished."

While we were in Westmoreland, we made an excursion of four days among the beautiful lakes. Miss Martineau was our guide and companion. She knows the name of every mountain, every lake, every glen and dale, every stream and tarn, and her guidance lent a new charm to the scenes of grandeur and beauty through which she conducted us.

We took a vehicle which the people call a jaunting car; it is a square open carriage with two side seats and a door behind; and is drawn by one horse. Two easy steps and a door easily opened let you in and out when you please. The car holds four persons. The driver has a seat in front, and under it he tied our carpet bag.

Never did four souls enjoy themselves more than we on this little excursion. I could not give you an adequate idea of what we saw, or of the pleasure we took. Think of coming down from one of these beautiful hills into Eskdale, or Ennesdale, of walking four miles on the banks of Ullswater, of looking with your living eyes on Derwent Water, Gra.s.smere, Windermere, and many other lovely spots of which you have seen pictures and read descriptions; and of being one in the pleasantest party in the world, as you think, stopping where, and when, and as long as any one pleases.

It was on this journey that I first saw a real ruin. The ruins of Calder Abbey I had never heard of; but the impression it made upon me I can never forget; partly, perhaps, that it was the first ruin upon which I ever gazed. One row of the pillars of the great aisle remains standing. The answering row is gone. Two tall arches of the body of the main building remain also, and different pieces of the walls. It is of sandstone; the cl.u.s.ters of columns in the aisle look as if they were almost held together by the ivy and honeysuckles that wave around their mouldering capitals with every motion of the wind. In every crevice, the harebell, the foxglove, and innumerable other flowers peep forth, and swing in the wind. On the tops of the arches and walls large flowering shrubs are growing; on the highest is a small tree, and within the walls are oak trees more than a century old. The abbey was built seven hundred years ago; and the ruins that are now standing look as if they might stand many centuries longer. The owner of the place has made all smooth and nice around it, so that you may imagine the floor of the church to look like green velvet. It seems as if the ivy and the flowers were caressing and supporting the abbey in its beautiful old age.

As I walked under the arches and upon the soft green turf, that so many years ago had been a cold rough stone pavement, trodden by beings like myself; and felt the flowers and vines hanging from the mouldering capitals touch my face; and saw, in the place where was once a confessional, an oak tree that had taken centuries to grow, and whose top branches mingled with the smiling crest of flowers that crowned the tops of the highest arches,--the thought of the littleness and the greatness of man, and the everlasting beauty of the works of the Creator, almost overwhelmed me; and I felt that, after all, I was not in a decaying, ruined temple, but in an everlasting church, that would grow green and more beautiful and perfect as time pa.s.ses on.

There is a fine old park around these lovely ruins; and, not far off, a beautiful stream of water, with a curious bridge over it. The old monks well knew how to choose beautiful places to live in. All harmonizes, except--I grieve to tell of it--a shocking modern house, very near, very ugly, and, I suppose, ridiculously elegant and comfortable inside.

From this hideosity you must resolutely turn away; and then you may say, as I did, that your mortal eyes have never rested on any thing so lovely as the ruins of Calder Abbey.

Sometimes Miss Martineau would tell us some pretty legend, or some good story.

This was one of the legends: Near the borders of the Ullswater is the beautiful Ara Force, one of the most lovely falls I have seen in England. One may stand below, and look up at the rus.h.i.+ng stream, or above, on the top of the fall. Here, long ago, in the time of the crusades, stood a pair of lovers; and here grows an old oak which was their trysting tree. The lady was of n.o.ble birth, and lived in a castle near by; and her true knight used to come at the still hour of evening to meet her at the Ara Force.

At length the lover was called away to the Holy Land. As he left his lady, he vowed to be her true knight, and to return and wed her. Many long days pa.s.sed away, and the lady waited in vain for her true knight.

Though she heard often from others of his chivalrous deeds in the East, yet no word came from him to tell her he was faithful; and she began to fear that he was no longer true to her, but was serving some other lady. Despair at last came upon her; and she grew wan and pale, and slept no longer soundly: But, when the world was at rest, she would rise in her sleep, and wander to the trysting tree, and pluck off the green oak leaves, and throw them into the foaming water.

The knight was all this time faithful, but was not able to send word to his lady love. At last, he returned to England, and hastened towards the castle where she lived.

It was late at night when he came to the Ara Force; and he sat him down under the trysting tree to wait for the morning. When he had been there a long time, he saw a figure approach, all in white, and pluck off the oak leaves, and fling them into the stream. Angry to see the sacred tree thus injured, he rose to prevent it. The figure started and awoke.

In a moment he knew his beloved lady. She was now on the frail bridge.

The sudden shock, and the roar of the Force below, had made her giddy.

He leaped forward to embrace and save her. Alas! too late. Her foot slipped, and she fell. It was all over. The water tumbling far down into the rocky chasm beneath told the story of death.

The knight was inconsolable. He retired from the world forever, and built a monastery near by, on the borders of the lake, where he died.

The frail bridge is now gone, and a strong plank, with a railing, supplies its place. But the water still roars down the rock as on the fatal night; and the foam and spray look as if the white garments of the fair lady were still fluttering over the deep below.

From Ambleside I went with some friends to visit Dr. Nichol at Glasgow.

We took coach first, and then the railroad. For the sake of economy we took a second cla.s.s carriage. The second cla.s.s carriages, on the English railroad, are, in fact, boxes with small holes for windows, from which you may, if you are not very short, see something of the world you are flying through, but not much. Good, honest, hard boards are on the floor, sides, tops, and seats; in short, all around you. The backs are not slanted at all. You must sit bolt upright, or not sit at all. Now and then, these vehicles have a thin leather on the seats--not often.

Nothing can be more luxurious than a first cla.s.s carriage. The floors are nicely carpeted, the seats and backs are all stuffed; each seat is a very nice easy chair. You can sleep in them almost as well as in a bed; but these carriages are very expensive; and on this account many of the gentry take those of the second cla.s.s, hard as they are.

We arrived at Glasgow at eight o'clock in the evening, and were unfortunate enough to have a driver to the vehicle we took, who did not know where the Observatory was. We knew that it was three miles from the city, and not much more. We were advised by a gentleman, who was in the same railroad box with us, to take a noddy, or a minibus, to the Observatory. What these things were, of course, we could only guess, and we did not care much, so we could only get out of our wooden box.

We came to the conclusion that we could sympathize tolerably well with poor Box Brown.