The entrance to New
York, as it was seen by us on 16th March, is not remarkable for beauty or
picturesque scenery, and I incurred the ire of several passengers, because I
could not consistently say it was very pretty. It was difficult to distinguish
through the snow the villas and country houses, which are said to be so
charming in summer. But beyond these rose a forest of masts close by a low
shore of brick houses and blue roofs, above the level of which again spires of
churches and domes and cupolas announced a great city. On our left, at the
narrowest part of the entrance, there was a very powerful casemated work of
fine close stone, in three tiers, something like Fort Paul at Sebastopol, built
close to the water's edge, and armed on all the faces, — apparently a tetragon
with bastions. Extensive works were going on at the ground above it, which
rises rapidly from the water to a height of more than a hundred feet, and the
rudiments of an extensive work and heavily armed earthen parapets could be seen
from the channel. On the right hand, crossing its fire with that of the
batteries and works on our left, there was another regular stone fort with
fortified enceinte; and higher up the channel, as it widens to the city
on the same side, I could make out a smaller fort on the water's edge. The
situation of the city renders it susceptible of powerful defence from the
seaside; and even now it would be hazardous to run the gauntlet of the
batteries, unless in powerful iron-clad ships favored by wind and tide, which
could hold the place at their mercy. Against a wooden fleet New York is now all
but secure, save under exceptional circumstances in favor of the assailants.
It was dark as the
steamer hauled up alongside the wharf on the New Jersey side of the river; but
ere the sun set, I could form some idea of the activity and industry of the people
from the enormous ferry-boats moving backwards and forwards like arks on the
water, impelled by the great walking-beam engines, the crowded stream full of
merchantmen, steamers, and small craft, the smoke of the factories, the tall
chimneys, — the net-work of boats and rafts, — all the evidences of commercial
life in full development. What a swarming, eager crowd on the quay-wall! What a
wonderful ragged regiment of laborers and porters, hailing us in broken or
Hibernianized English! “These are all Irish and Germans,” anxiously explained a
New Yorker. “I'll bet fifty dollars there's not a native-born American among
them.”
With Anglo-Saxon
disregard of official insignia, American Custom House officers dress very much
like their British brethren, without any sign of authority as faint as even the
brass button and crown, so that the stranger is somewhat uneasy when he sees
unauthorized-looking people taking liberties with his plunder, especially after
the admonitions he has received on board ship to look sharp about his things as
soon as he lands. I was provided with an introduction to one of the principal
officers, and he facilitated my egress, and at last I was bundled out through a
gate into a dark alley, ankle deep in melted snow and mud, where I was at once
engaged in a brisk encounter with my Irish porterhood, and, after a long
struggle, succeeded in stowing my effects in and about a remarkable specimen of
the hackney-coach of the last century, very high in the axle, and weak in the
springs, which plashed down towards the river through a crowd of men shouting
out, “You haven't paid me yet, yer honor. You haven't given anything to your
own man that's been waiting here the last six months for your honor!” “I’m the
man that put the lugidge up, sir,” &c, &c. The coach darted on board a
great steam ferry-boat, which had on deck a number of similar vehicles and
omnibuses; and the gliding, shifting lights, and the deep, strong breathing of
the engine, told me I was moving and afloat before I was otherwise aware of it.
A few minutes brought us over to the lights on the New York side, — a jerk or
two up a steep incline, — and we were rattling over a most abominable pavement,
plunging into mudholes, squashing through snow-heaps in ill-lighted, narrow
streets of low, mean-looking, wooden houses, of which an unusual proportion
appeared to be lager-bier saloons, whiskey-shops, oyster-houses, and billiard
and smoking establishments.
The crowd on the
pavement were very much what a stranger would be likely to see in a very bad
part of London, Antwerp, or Hamburg, with a dash of the noisy exuberance which
proceeds from the high animal spirits that defy police regulations and
are superior to police force, called “rowdyism.” The drive was long and
tortuous; but by degrees the character of the thoroughfares and streets
improved. At last we turned into a wide street with very tall houses,
alternating with far humbler erections, blazing with lights, gay with
shop-windows, thronged in spite of the mud with well-dressed people, and
pervaded by strings of omnibuses, — Oxford Street was nothing to it for length.
At intervals there towered up a block of brickwork and stucco, with long rows
of windows lighted up tier above tier, and a swarming crowd passing in and out
of the portals, which were recognized as the barrack-like glory of American
civilization, — a Broadway monster hotel. More oyster-shops, lager-bier
saloons, concert-rooms of astounding denominations, with external decorations
very much in the style of the booths at Bartholomew Fair, — churches,
restaurants, confectioners, private houses! again another series, — they cannot
go on expanding forever. The coach at last drives into a large square, and
lands me at the Clarendon Hotel.
Whilst I was
crossing the sea, the President's Inaugural Message, the composition of which
is generally attributed to Mr. Seward, had been delivered, and had reached
Europe, and the causes which were at work in destroying the cohesion of the
Union had acquired greater strength and violence.
Whatever force
"the declaration of causes which induced the Secession of South
Carolina" might have for Carolinians, it could not influence a foreigner
who knew nothing at all of the rights, sovereignty, and individual independence
of a state, which, however, had no right to make war or peace, to coin money,
or enter into treaty obligations with any other country. The South Carolinian
was nothing to us, quoad South Carolina — he was merely a citizen of the
United States, and we knew no more of him in any other capacity than a French
authority would know of a British subject as a Yorkshireman or a Munsterman.
But the moving
force of revolution is neither reason nor justice — it is most frequently
passion — it is often interest. The
American, when he seeks to prove that the Southern States have no right to
revolt from a confederacy of states created by revolt, has by the principles on
which he justifies his own revolution, placed between himself and the European
a great gulf in the level of argument. According to the deeds and words of
Americans, it is difficult to see why South Carolina should not use the rights
claimed for each of the thirteen colonies, “to alter and abolish a form of
government when it becomes destructive of the ends for which it is established,
and to institute a new one.” And the people must be left to decide the question
as regards their own government for themselves, or the principle is worthless.
The arguments, however, which are now going on are fast tending towards the ultima
ratio regum. At present I find public attention is concentrated on the two
Federal forts, Pickens and Sumter, called after two officers of the
revolutionary armies in the old war. As Alabama and South Carolina have gone
out, they now demand the possession of these forts, as of the soil of their
several states and attached to their sovereignty. On the other hand, the
Government of Mr. Lincoln considers it has no right to give up anything
belonging to the Federal Government, but evidently desires to temporize and
evade any decision which might precipitate an attack on the forts by the
batteries and forces prepared to act against them. There is not sufficient
garrison in either for an adequate defence, and the difficulty of procuring
supplies is very great. Under the circumstances every one is asking what the
Government is going to do? The Southern people have declared they will resist
any attempt to supply or reinforce the garrisons, and in Charleston, at least,
have shown they mean to keep their word. It is a strange situation. The Federal
Government, afraid to speak, and unable to act, is leaving its soldiers to do
as they please. In some instances, officers of rank, such as General Twiggs,
have surrendered everything to the State authorities, and the treachery and secession
of many officers in the army and navy no doubt paralyze and intimidate the
civilians at the head of affairs.
SOURCE: William
Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, p. 7-10
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