Roundabout Papers

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I thought these little men might be going to school for the first time
in their lives; and mamma might be taking them to the doctor, and would
leave them with many fond charges, and little wistful secrets of love,
bidding the elder to protect his younger brother, and the younger to be
gentle, and to remember to pray to God always for his mother, who would
pray for her boy too. Our party made friends with these young ones
during the little journey; but the poor lady was too sad to talk except
to the boys now and again, and sat in her corner, pale, and silently
looking at them.

The next day, we saw the lady and her maid driving in the direction
of the railway-station, WITHOUT THE BOYS. The parting had taken place,
then. That night they would sleep among strangers. The little beds at
home were vacant, and poor mother might go and look at them. Well, tears
flow, and friends part, and mothers pray every night all over the
world. I dare say we went to see Heidelberg Castle, and admired the vast
shattered walls and quaint gables; and the Neckar running its bright
course through that charming scene of peace and beauty; and ate our
dinner, and drank our wine with relish. The poor mother would eat but
little Abendessen that night; and, as for the children--that first night
at school--hard bed, hard words, strange boys bullying, and laughing,
and jarring you with their hateful merriment--as for the first night at
a strange school, we most of us remember what THAT is. And the first is
not the WORST, my boys, there's the rub. But each man has his share of
troubles, and, I suppose, you must have yours.

From Heidelberg we went to Baden-Baden: and, I dare say, saw Madame de
Schlangenbad and Madame de la Cruchecassee, and Count Punter, and honest
Captain Blackball. And whom should we see in the evening, but our two
little boys, walking on each side of a fierce, yellow-faced, bearded
man! We wanted to renew our acquaintance with them, and they were coming
forward quite pleased to greet us. But the father pulled back one of the
little men by his paletot, gave a grim scowl, and walked away. I can see
the children now looking rather frightened away from us and up into the
father's face, or the cruel uncle's--which was he? I think he was the
father. So this was the end of them. Not school, as I at first had
imagined. The mother was gone, who had given them the heaps of pretty
books, and the pretty studs in the shirts, and the pretty silken
clothes, and the tender--tender cares; and they were handed to this
scowling practitioner of Trente et Quarante. Ah! this is worse than
school. Poor little men! poor mother sitting by the vacant little beds!
We saw the children once or twice after, always in Scowler's company;
but we did not dare to give each other any marks of recognition.

From Baden we went to Basle, and thence to Lucerne, and so over the
St. Gothard into Italy. From Milan we went to Venice; and now comes the
singular part of my story. In Venice there is a little court of which
I forget the name: but in it is an apothecary's shop, whither I went to
buy some remedy for the bites of certain animals which abound in Venice.
Crawling animals, skipping animals, and humming, flying animals; all
three will have at you at once; and one night nearly drove me into a
strait-waistcoat. Well, as I was coming out of the apothecary's with the
bottle of spirits of hartshorn in my hand (it really does do the bites
a great deal of good), whom should I light upon but one of my little
Heidelberg-Baden boys!

I have said how handsomely they were dressed as long as they were with
their mother. When I saw the boy at Venice, who perfectly recognized
me, his only garb was a wretched yellow cotton gown. His little feet,
on which I had admired the little shiny boots, were WITHOUT SHOE OR
STOCKING. He looked at me, ran to an old hag of a woman, who seized his
hand; and with her he disappeared down one of the thronged lanes of the
city.

From Venice we went to Trieste (the Vienna railway at that time was only
opened as far as Laybach, and the magnificent Semmering Pass was not
quite completed). At a station between Laybach and Graetz, one of my
companions alighted for refreshment, and came back to the carriage
saying:--

"There's that horrible man from Baden, with the two little boys."

Of course, we had talked about the appearance of the little boy at
Venice, and his strange altered garb. My companion said they were pale,
wretched-looking and DRESSED QUITE SHABBILY.

I got out at several stations, and looked at all the carriages. I could
not see my little men. From that day to this I have never set eyes on
them. That is all my story. Who were they? What could they be? How can
you explain that mystery of the mother giving them up; of the remarkable
splendor and elegance of their appearance while under her care; of
their barefooted squalor in Venice, a month afterwards; of their shabby
habiliments at Laybach? Had the father gambled away his money, and
sold their clothes? How came they to have passed out of the hands of a
refined lady (as she evidently was, with whom I first saw them) into the
charge of quite a common woman like her with whom I saw one of the boys
at Venice? Here is but one chapter of the story. Can any man write the
next, or that preceding the strange one on which I happened to light?
Who knows? the mystery may have some quite simple solution. I saw two
children, attired like little princes, taken from their mother and
consigned to other care; and a fortnight afterwards, one of them
barefooted and like a beggar. Who will read this riddle of The Two
Children in Black?




ON RIBBONS.


The uncle of the present Sir Louis N. Bonaparte, K.G., &c., inaugurated
his reign as Emperor over the neighboring nation by establishing an
Order, to which all citizens of his country, military, naval, and
civil--all men most distinguished in science, letters, arts, and
commerce--were admitted. The emblem of the Order was but a piece of
ribbon, more or less long or broad, with a toy at the end of it.
The Bourbons had toys and ribbons of their own, blue, black, and
all-colored; and on their return to dominion such good old Tories would
naturally have preferred to restore their good old orders of Saint
Louis, Saint Esprit, and Saint Michel; but France had taken the ribbon
of the Legion of Honor so to her heart that no Bourbon sovereign dared
to pluck it thence.

In England, until very late days, we have been accustomed rather to
pooh-pooh national Orders, to vote ribbons and crosses tinsel gewgaws,
foolish foreign ornaments, and so forth. It is known how the Great
Duke (the breast of whose own coat was plastered with some half-hundred
decorations) was averse to the wearing of ribbons, medals, clasps,
and the like, by his army. We have all of us read how uncommonly
distinguished Lord Castlereagh looked at Vienna, where he was the only
gentleman present without any decoration whatever. And the Great Duke's
theory was, that clasps and ribbons, stars and garters, were good
and proper ornaments for himself, for the chief officers of his
distinguished army, and for gentlemen of high birth, who might naturally
claim to wear a band of garter blue across their waistcoats; but that
for common people your plain coat, without stars and ribbons, was the
most sensible wear.

And no doubt you and I are as happy, as free, as comfortable; we can
walk and dine as well; we can keep the winter's cold out as well,
without a star on our coats, as without a feather in our hats. How often
we have laughed at the absurd mania of the Americans for dubbing their
senators, members of Congress, and States' representatives, Honorable.
We have a right to call OUR Privy Councillors Right Honorable, our
Lords' sons Honorable, and so forth; but for a nation as numerous, well
educated, strong, rich, civilized, free as our own, to dare to give its
distinguished citizens titles of honor--monstrous assumption of low-bred
arrogance and parvenu vanity! Our titles are respectable, but theirs
absurd. Mr. Jones, of London, a Chancellor's son, and a tailor's
grandson, is justly Honorable, and entitled to be Lord Jones at his
noble father's decease: but Mr. Brown, the senator from New York, is a
silly upstart for tacking Honorable to his name, and our sturdy British
good sense laughs at him. Who has not laughed (I have myself) at
Honorable Nahum Dodge, Honorable Zeno Scudder, Honorable Hiram Boake,
and the rest? A score of such queer names and titles I have smiled at in
America. And, mutato nomine? I meet a born idiot, who is a peer and born
legislator. This drivelling noodle and his descendants through life are
your natural superiors and mine--your and my children's superiors. I
read of an alderman kneeling and knighted at court: I see a gold-stick
waddling backwards before Majesty in a procession, and if we laugh,
don't you suppose the Americans laugh too?

Yes, stars, garters, orders, knighthoods, and the like, are folly. Yes,
Bobus, citizen and soap-boiler, is a good man, and no one laughs at him
or good Mrs. Bobus, as they have their dinner at one o'clock. But
who will not jeer at Sir Thomas on a melting day, and Lady Bobus, at
Margate, eating shrimps in a donkey-chaise? Yes, knighthood is absurd:
and chivalry an idiotic superstition: and Sir Walter Manny was a zany:
and Nelson, with his flaming stars and cordons, splendent upon a day
of battle, was a madman: and Murat, with his crosses and orders, at the
head of his squadrons charging victorious, was only a crazy mountebank,
who had been a tavern-waiter, and was puffed up with absurd vanity about
his dress and legs. And the men of the French line at Fontenoy, who
told Messieurs de la Garde to fire first, were smirking French
dancing-masters; and the Black Prince, waiting upon his royal prisoner,
was acting an inane masquerade: and Chivalry is naught; and honor is
humbug; and Gentlemanhood is an extinct folly; and Ambition is madness;
and desire of distinction is criminal vanity; and glory is bosh; and
fair fame is idleness; and nothing is true but two and two; and the
color of all the world is drab; and all men are equal; and one man is
as tall as another; and one man is as good as another--and a great dale
betther, as the Irish philosopher said.

Is this so? Titles and badges of honor are vanity; and in the American
Revolution you have his Excellency General Washington sending back, and
with proper spirit sending back, a letter in which he is not addressed
as Excellency and General. Titles are abolished; and the American
Republic swarms with men claiming and bearing them. You have the French
soldier cheered and happy in his dying agony, and kissing with frantic
joy the chief's hand who lays the little cross on the bleeding bosom. At
home you have the Dukes and Earls jobbing and intriguing for the Garter;
the Military Knights grumbling at the Civil Knights of the bath; the
little ribbon eager for the collar; the soldiers and seamen from India
and the Crimea marching in procession before the Queen, and receiving
from her hands the cross bearing her royal name. And, remember, there
are not only the cross wearers, but all the fathers and friends; all the
women who have prayed for their absent heroes; Harry's wife, and Tom's
mother, and Jack's daughter, and Frank's sweetheart, each of whom wears
in her heart of hearts afterwards the badge which son, father, lover,
has won by his merit; each of whom is made happy and proud, and is bound
to the country by that little bit of ribbon.

I have heard, in a lecture about George the Third, that, at his
accession, the King had a mind to establish an order for literary men.
It was to have been called the Order of Minerva--I suppose with an Owl
for a badge. The knights were to have worn a star of sixteen points, and
a yellow ribbon; and good old Samuel Johnson was talked of as President,
or Grand Cross, or Grand Owl, of the society. Now about such an order
as this there certainly may be doubts. Consider the claimants, the
difficulty of settling their claims, the rows and squabbles amongst the
candidates, and the subsequent decision of posterity! Dr. Beattie would
have ranked as first poet, and twenty years after the sublime Mr. Hayley
would, no doubt, have claimed the Grand Cross. Mr. Gibbon would not have
been eligible, on account of his dangerous freethinking opinions; and
her sex, as well as her republican sentiments, might have interfered
with the knighthood of the immortal Mrs. Catharine Macaulay. How
Goldsmith would have paraded the ribbon at Madame Cornelys's, or the
Academy dinner! How Peter Pindar would have railed at it! Fifty years
later, the noble Scott would have worn the Grand Cross and deserved it;
but Gifford would have had it; and Byron, and Shelley, and Hazlitt, and
Hunt would have been without it; and had Keats been proposed as officer,
how the Tory prints would have yelled with rage and scorn! Had the star
of Minerva lasted to our present time--but I pause, not because the idea
is dazzling, but too awful. Fancy the claimants, and the row about their
precedence! Which philosopher shall have the grand cordon?--which the
collar?--which the little scrap no bigger than a buttercup? Of the
historians--A, say,--and C, and F, and G, and S, and T,--which shall be
Companion and which Grand Owl? Of the poets, who wears, or claims, the
largest and brightest star? Of the novelists, there is A, and B and C D;
and E (star of first magnitude, newly discovered), and F (a magazine of
wit), and fair G, and H, and I, and brave old J, and charming K, and
L, and M, and N, and O (fair twinklers), and I am puzzled between three
P's--Peacock, Miss Pardoe, and Paul Pry--and Queechy, and R, and S, and
T, mere et fils, and very likely U, O gentle reader, for who has not
written his novel now-a-days?--who has not a claim to the star and
straw-colored ribbon?--and who shall have the biggest and largest? Fancy
the struggle! Fancy the squabble! Fancy the distribution of prizes!

Who shall decide on them? Shall it be the sovereign? shall it be the
Minister for the time being? and has Lord Palmerston made a deep study
of novels? In this matter the late Ministry,* to be sure, was better
qualified; but even then, grumblers who had not got their canary
cordons, would have hinted at professional jealousies entering the
Cabinet; and, the ribbons being awarded, Jack would have scowled at his
because Dick had a broader one; Ned been indignant because Bob's was as
large: Tom would have thrust his into the drawer, and scorned to wear it
at all. No--no: the so-called literary world was well rid of Minerva
and her yellow ribbon. The great poets would have been indifferent, the
little poets jealous, the funny men furious, the philosophers satirical,
the historians supercilious, and, finally, the jobs without end.
Say, ingenuity and cleverness are to be rewarded by State tokens and
prizes--and take for granted the Order of Minerva is established--who
shall have it? A great philosopher? no doubt we cordially salute him
G.C.M. A great historian? G.C.M. of course. A great engineer? G.C.M.
A great poet? received with acclamation G.C.M. A great painter? oh!
certainly, G.C.M. If a great painter, why not a great novelist?
Well, pass, great novelist, G.C.M. But if a poetic, a pictorial, a
story-telling or music-composing artist, why not a singing artist?
Why not a basso-profondo? Why not a primo tenore? And if a singer, why
should not a ballet-dancer come bounding on the stage with his cordon,
and cut capers to the music of a row of decorated fiddlers? A chemist
puts in his claim for having invented a new color; an apothecary for
a new pill; the cook for a new sauce; the tailor for a new cut of
trousers. We have brought the star of Minerva down from the breast to
the pantaloons. Stars and garters! can we go any farther; or shall we
give the shoe maker the yellow ribbon of the order for his shoetie?

* That of Lord Derby, in 1859, which included Mr. Disraeli
and Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton.

When I began this present Roundabout excursion, I think I had not quite
made up my mind whether we would have an Order of all the Talents or
not: perhaps I rather had a hankering for a rich ribbon and gorgeous
star, in which my family might like to see me at parties in my best
waistcoat. But then the door opens, and there come in, and by the same
right too, Sir Alexis Soyer! Sir Alessandro Tamburini! Sir Agostino
Velluti! Sir Antonio Paganini (violinist)! Sir Sandy McGuffog (piper to
the most noble the Marquis of Farintosh)! Sir Alcide Flicflac (premier
danseur of H. M. Theatre)! Sir Harley Quin and Sir Joseph Grimaldi (from
Covent Garden)! They have all the yellow ribbon. They are all honorable,
and clever, and distinguished artists. Let us elbow through the rooms,
make a bow to the lady of the house, give a nod to Sir George Thrum,
who is leading the orchestra, and go and get some champagne and
seltzer-water from Sir Richard Gunter, who is presiding at the buffet.
A national decoration might be well and good: a token awarded by the
country to all its benemerentibus: but most gentlemen with Minerva stars
would, I think, be inclined to wear very wide breast-collars to their
coats. Suppose yourself, brother penman, decorated with this ribbon, and
looking in the glass, would you not laugh? Would not wife and daughters
laugh at that canary-colored emblem?

But suppose a man, old or young, of figure ever so stout, thin, stumpy,
homely, indulging in looking-glass reflections with that hideous ribbon
and cross called V. C. on his coat, would he not be proud? and his
family, would they not be prouder? For your nobleman there is the famous
old blue garter and star, and welcome. If I were a marquis--if I had
thirty--forty thousand a year (settle the sum, my dear Alnaschar,
according to your liking), I should consider myself entitled to my seat
in Parliament and to my garter. The garter belongs to the Ornamental
Classes. Have you seen the new magnificent Pavo Spicifer at the
Zoological Gardens, and do you grudge him his jewelled coronet and the
azure splendor of his waistcoat? I like my Lord Mayor to have a gilt
coach; my magnificent monarch to be surrounded by magnificent nobles:
I huzzay respectfully when they pass in procession. It is good for Mr.
Briefless (50, Pump Court, fourth floor) that there should be a Lord
Chancellor, with a gold robe and fifteen thousand a year. It is good
for a poor curate that there should be splendid bishops at Fulham and
Lambeth: their lordships were poor curates once, and have won, so
to speak, their ribbon. Is a man who puts into a lottery to be sulky
because he does not win the twenty thousand pounds prize? Am I to fall
into a rage, and bully my family when I come home, after going to see
Chatsworth or Windsor, because we have only two little drawing-rooms?
Welcome to your garter, my lord, and shame upon him qui mal y pense!

So I arrive in my roundabout way near the point towards which I have
been trotting ever since we set out.

In a voyage to America, some nine years since, on the seventh or eighth
day out from Liverpool, Captain L---- came to dinner at eight bells as
usual, talked a little to the persons right and left of him, and helped
the soup with his accustomed politeness. Then he went on deck, and was
back in a minute, and operated on the fish, looking rather grave the
while.

Then he went on deck again; and this time was absent, it may be, three
or five minutes, during which the fish disappeared, and the entrees
arrived, and the roast beef. Say ten minutes passed--I can't tell after
nine years.

Then L---- came down with a pleased and happy countenance this time, and
began carving the sirloin: "We have seen the light," he said. "Madam,
may I help you to a little gravy, or a little horse-radish?" or what
not?

I forget the name of the light; nor does it matter. It was a point
off Newfoundland for which he was on the look-out, and so well did the
"Canada" know where she was, that, between soup and beef, the captain
had sighted the headland by which his course was lying.

And so through storm and darkness, through fog and midnight, the ship
had pursued her steady way over the pathless ocean and roaring seas, so
surely that the officers who sailed her knew her place within a minute
or two, and guided us with a wonderful providence safe on our way. Since
the noble Cunard Company has run its ships, but one accident, and that
through the error of a pilot, has happened on the line.

By this little incident (hourly of course repeated, and trivial to all
sea-going people) I own I was immensely moved, and never can think of
it but with a heart full of thanks and awe. We trust our lives to these
seamen, and how nobly they fulfil their trust! They are, under heaven,
as a providence for us. Whilst we sleep, their untiring watchfulness
keeps guard over us. All night through that bell sounds at its season,
and tells how our sentinels defend us. It rang when the "Amazon" was
on fire, and chimed its heroic signal of duty, and courage, and honor.
Think of the dangers these seamen undergo for us: the hourly peril and
watch; the familiar storm; the dreadful iceberg; the long winter nights
when the decks are as glass, and the sailor has to climb through icicles
to bend the stiff sail on the yard! Think of their courage and their
kindnesses in cold, in tempest, in hunger, in wreck! "The women and
children to the boats," says the captain of the "Birkenhead," and, with
the troops formed on the deck, and the crew obedient to the word of
glorious command, the immortal ship goes down. Read the story of the
"Sarah Sands:"--


"SARAH SANDS.

"The screw steamship 'Sarah Sands,' 1,330 registered tons, was chartered
by the East India Company in the autumn of 1858, for the conveyance of
troops to India. She was commanded by John Squire Castle. She took out a
part of the 54th Regiment, upwards of 350 persons, besides the wives and
children of some of the men, and the families of some of the officers.
All went well till the 11th November, when the ship had reached lat. 14
S., long. 56 E., upwards of 400 miles from the Mauritius.

"Between three and four P. M. on that day a very strong smell of fire
was perceived arising from the after-deck, and upon going below into
the hold, Captain Castle found it to be on fire, and immense volumes
of smoke arising from it. Endeavors were made to reach the seat of the
fire, but in vain; the smoke and heat were too much for the men.
There was, however, no confusion. Every order was obeyed with the same
coolness and courage with which it was given. The engine was immediately
stopped. All sail was taken in, and the ship brought to the wind, so as
to drive the smoke and fire, which was in the after-part of the ship,
astern. Others were, at the same time, getting fire-hoses fitted
and passed to the scene of the fire. The fire, however, continued to
increase, and attention was directed to the ammunition contained in
the powder-magazines, which were situated one on each side the ship
immediately above the fire. The star-board magazine was soon cleared.
But by this time the whole of the after-part of the ship was so much
enveloped in smoke that it was scarcely possible to stand, and great
fears were entertained on account of the port magazine. Volunteers were
called for, and came immediately, and, under the guidance of Lieutenant
Hughes, attempted to clear the port magazine, which they succeeded in
doing, with the exception, as was supposed, of one or two barrels. It
was most dangerous work. The men became overpowered with the smoke and
heat, and fell; and several, while thus engaged, were dragged up by
ropes, senseless.

"The flames soon burst up through the deck, and running rapidly along
the various cabins, set the greater part on fire.

"In the meantime Captain Castle took steps for lowering the boats. There
was a heavy gale at the time, but they were launched without the least
accident. The soldiers were mustered on deck;--there was no rush to the
boats; and the men obeyed the word of command as if on parade. The men
were informed that Captain Castle did not despair of saving the ship,
but that they must be prepared to leave her if necessary. The women and
children were lowered into the port lifeboat, under the charge of Mr.
Very, third officer, who had orders to keep clear of the ship until
recalled.

"Captain Castle then commenced constructing rafts of spare spars. In a
short time, three were put together, which would have been capable of
saving a great number of those on board. Two were launched overboard,
and safely moored alongside, and then a third was left across the deck
forward, ready to be launched.

"In the meantime the fire had made great progress. The whole of the
cabins were one body of fire, and at about 8.30 P. M. flames burst
through the upper deck, and shortly after the mizzen rigging caught
fire. Fears were entertained of the ship paying off, in which case the
flames would have been swept forwards by the wind; but fortunately the
after-braces were burnt through, and the main-yard swung round, which
kept the ship's head to wind. About nine P. M., a fearful explosion
took place in the port magazine, arising, no doubt, from the one or two
barrels of powder which it had been impossible to remove. By this time
the ship was one body of flame, from the stern to the main rigging, and
thinking it scarcely possible to save her, Captain Castle called Major
Brett (then in command of the troops, for the Colonel was in one of
the boats) forward, and, telling him that he feared the ship was lost,
requested him to endeavor to keep order amongst the troops till the
last, but, at the same time, to use every exertion to check the
fire. Providentially, the iron bulkhead in the after-part of the
ship withstood the action of the flames, and here all efforts were
concentrated to keep it cool.