I need not speak much of the events of last night, which
were not unimportant, perhaps to some of the insects which played a leading
part in them. The heat was literally overpowering; for in addition to the hot
night there was the full power of most irritable boilers close at hand to
aggravate the natural désagrémens
of the situation. About an hour after dawn, when I turned out on deck,
there was nothing visible but a warm gray mist; but a knotty old pilot on deck
told me we were only going six knots an hour against tide and wind, and that we
were likely to make less way as the day wore on. In fact, instead of being near
Baltimore, we were much nearer Fortress Monroe. Need I repeat the horrors of
this day? Stewed, boiled, baked, and grilled on board this miserable Elizabeth,
I wished M. Montalembert could have experienced with me what such an impassive
nature could inflict in misery on those around it. The captain was a shy,
silent man, much given to short naps in my temporary berth, and the mate was so
wild, he might have swam off with perfect propriety to the woods on either side
of us, and taken to a tree as an aborigine or chimpanzee. Two men of most
retiring habits, the negro, a black boy, and a very fat negress who officiated
as cook, filled up the “balance” of the crew.
I could not write, for the vibration of the deck of the
little craft gave a St. Vitus dance to pen and pencil; reading was out of the
question from the heat and flies; and below stairs the fat cook banished repose
by vapors from her dreadful caldrons, where, Medea-like, she was boiling some
death broth. Our breakfast was of the simplest and — may I add? — the least
enticing; and if the dinner could have been worse it was so; though it was
rendered attractive by hunger, and by the kindness of the sailors who shared it
with me. The old pilot had a most wholesome hatred of the Britishers, and not
having the least idea till late in the day that I belonged to the old country,
favored me with some very remarkable views respecting their general
mischievousness and inutility. As soon as he found out my secret he became more
reserved, and explained to me that he had some reason for not liking us,
because all he had in the world, as pretty a schooner as ever floated and a
fine cargo, had been taken and burnt by the English when they sailed up the
Potomac at Washington. He served against us at Bladensburg. I did not ask him
how fast he ran; but he had a good rejoinder ready if I had done so, inasmuch
as he was up West under Commodore Perry on the lakes when we suffered our most
serious reverses. Six knots an hour! hour after hour! And nothing to do but to
listen to the pilot.
On both sides a line of forest just visible above the low
shores. Small coasting craft, schooners, pungies, boats laden with wood
creeping along in the shallow water, or plying down empty before wind and tide.
“I doubt if we'll be able to catch up them forts afore
night,” said the skipper. The pilot grunted, u I rather think yu'll not.”
"H--- and thunder! Then we'll have to lie off till daylight?” “They may
let you pass, Captain Squires, as you've this Europe-an on board, but anyhow we
can't fetch Baltimore till late at night or early in the morning.”
I heard the dialogue, and decided very quickly that as
Annapolis lay somewhere ahead on our left, and was much nearer than Baltimore,
it would be best to run for it while there was daylight. The captain demurred.
He had been ordered to take his vessel to Baltimore, and General Butler might
come down on him for not doing so; but I proposed to sign a letter stating he
had gone to Annapolis at my request, and the steamer was put a point or two to
westward, much to the pleasure of the Palinurus, whose “old woman” lived in the
town. I had an affection for this weather-beaten, watery-eyed, honest old
fellow, who hated us as cordially as Jack detested his Frenchman in the old
days before ententes cordiales were known to the world. He was
thoroughly English in his belief that he belonged to the only sailor race in
the world, and that they could beat all mankind in seamanship; and he spoke in
the most unaffected way of the Britishers as a survivor of the old war might do
of Johnny Crapaud — “They were brave enough no doubt, but, Lord bless you, see
them in a gale of wind! or look at them sending down top-gallant masts, or
anything sailor-like in a breeze. You'd soon see the differ. And,
besides, they never can stand again us at close quarters.” By and by the
houses of a considerable town, crowned by steeples, and a large Corinthian-looking
building, came in view. “That's the State House. That's where George Washington
— first in peace, first in war, and first in the hearts of his countrymen —
laid down his victorious sword without any one asking him, and retired amid the
applause of the civilized world.” This flight I am sure was the old man's
treasured relic of school-boy days, and I'm not sure he did not give it to me
three times over. Annapolis looks very well from the river side. The approach
is guarded by some very poor earthworks and one small fort. A dismantled sloop
of war lay off a sea wall, banking up a green lawn covered with trees, in front
of an old-fashioned pile of buildings, which formerly, I think, and very
recently indeed, was occupied by the cadets of the United States Naval School. “There
was a lot of them Seceders. Lord bless you! these young ones is all took by
these States Rights' doctrines — just as the ladies is caught by a new fashion.”
About seven o'clock the steamer hove along-side a wooden
pier which was quite deserted. Only some ten or twelve sailing boats, yachts,
and schooners lay at anchor in the placid waters of the port which was once the
capital of Maryland, and for which the early Republicans prophesied a great
future. But Baltimore has eclipsed Annapolis into utter obscurity. I walked to
the only hotel in the place, and found that the train for the junction with
Washington had started, and that the next train left at some impossible hour in
the morning. It is an odd Rip Van Winkle sort of a place. Quaint-looking
boarders came down to the tea-table and talked Secession, and when I was
detected, as must ever soon be the case, owing to the hotel-book, I was treated
to some ill-favored glances, as my recent letters have been denounced in the
strongest way for their supposed hostility to States Rights and the Domestic
Institution. The spirit of the people has, however, been broken by the Federal
occupation, and by the decision with which Butler acted when he came down here
with the troops to open communications with Washington after the Baltimoreans
had attacked the soldiery on their way through the city from the north.
SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and
South, Vol. 1, p. 419-22
No comments:
Post a Comment