Letters from the Old World/Number 2
LONDON,
January 30th, 1862.
My last, or rather my first, letter to you was so very short and unsatisfactory, that I owe an apology to you and your readers for its defects; but writing at sea is a difficult matter at the best of times, and for a fresh water sailor as I am, and always expect to be, it was especially hard. Left you, I believe, just as our ship came in sight of land on Sunday morning. The mail agent was in such a hurry to have the mail assorted and closed, that I had to coak off very abruptly and conclude. The weather at the time was somewhat hazy, and the coast very indistinct, although not over two miles distant. It was quite early in the morning, however, and we waited with great patience till the sun, foggy and damp as an Irish sun in winter always is, came out of the clouds, at least partially, and let the little of his warmth fall alike over the ship and shore. The coast of Ireland is bold, rocky, and picturesque, and far more interesting than I had thought it would be. The two hours sail from Cape Clear to the entrance to the Cove of Cork was most agreeably passed in scanning the distant hills, and watching through our perspective glasses the villages and hamlets on their slopes. The soil appeared to be barren and scantily wooded, but the population is large. Huts built of mud, which we are told exist in Ireland, we did not see, but rough stone cots abound, here and there a church, or on the brow of some promontory a tower jutted out from the rocks, varying the scene.
The towers were quite numerous along the coast. It is said they were built during the time of the Napoleon wars to watch for his gun-boats with the frightened inhabitants expected every hour to see looming up in the Southern horizon bound to their peaceful shores-for, say what they will, it can scarcely be denied that the British were thoroughly frightened by these formidable preparations which the great Emperor was carrying on at Boulogne. A ruined castle we would occasionally see,-at least we called them castles, but whether they were so or not I cannot say-then a police station with its white walls in striking contrast to the rocky scenery. We passed the three heads by the little cove of Baltimore, and then looming up grandly through the fog, which had by this time somewhat dispersed, we saw the old head of Kinsail, with the fort and light, the latter said to be the best on the Irish coast, and then we were heading up the bay towards the entrance to the harbor of Queenstown, the port of Cork. This sail was especially interesting, perhaps rendered more so by our having been so long deprived of the sight of land. We came very near the shore soon after taking our pilot, who came on board just off the bar. There are two large fortifications at this point which command the channel and town of Queenstown; also two light-houses at the entrance of this harbor, which is well known as a great naval station. Here is located a naval hospital which is plainly visible from the sea, also a prison for convicts which is situated on an Island just within the cove. We did not delay long; a tender came alongside the instant we came to a stand, the mails and passengers were taken off, and we again headed out to sea.
A strong southwesterly wind was blowing at the time, so as a matter of precaution we took our pilot on with us to Liverpool. The Cunard Company cannot be accused of negligence in providing for the safety of passengers. A pilot is kept on board all along the Irish and Welsh coasts, that he may be of use in case there should be any difficulty about the machinery and a gale blowing at the time sufficiently strong to render sails useless. We could beach the ship at some point of the lea coast where the landing would be less perilous; but fortunately no such necessity occured, and after a quiet night we woke up at 6 o'clock to find our vessel steaming through the Irish Sea within twenty miles of Liverpool. There was nothing to see but a few brigs, and a tug or two steaming about the harbor in search of ships to tow in, or the gulls which seemed to have followed us from the coast of Newfoundland. Several rockets were thrown up for a pilot, and in the course of a few minutes a boat emerged from the fog which rested over the water, in the direction in which we supposed land to lie. The pilot came on board, and we steamed slowly up to the wharf of the City.
The docks of Liverpool are famed over the world, so a description of them would be superfluous. We waited till the custom house officer lifted up the corner of the contents of our trunk, shut down the lid, and marked it with white chalk signifying passed, when we set out for our hotel, the Adelphi. The walk (for we were English enough to know the use of shoes, which are to walk with, and not merely to stand on) was long enough to tire, but not to weary us,-about two miles I should think. We passed along the road leading to the city, which is bounded on one side by massive stores, some of which are eight stories or more in height, and on the other side by a long wall bounding the docks. We passed through the Exchange, viewed the statue of Nelson, and walked through Castle to Lord, and thence by the way of Lord and Bold streets to Renleigh Place, where is situated our hotel. We lounged for an hour, went again to see the city for a little, and returned in time for a two o’clock dinner. The object which pleased me most was the cemetery, which is built on the sight of an old quarry, with vaults hewn out of solid rocks of the sides. The entrance to this singular burial place is by a tunnel 30 or 40 feet long. At the gate is a church built after the model of the Madeline at Paris. Returning from the cemetery we visited St. George’s hall, a fine new building some 700 or 800 feet in length. “Roscoe Arcade” is occupied through its entire length by upholsterers, who persisted in soliciting us to set up housekeeping, whether we would or no. At the market we passed a stand occupied by a dealer in vegetables etc.-an old woman, who was eating her breakfast. Evidently perceiving us to be strangers, who did not wish to purchase her wares, she paid us no attention-we were attracted by some fine potatoes, and asked the old lady what kind they were? Sixpence, she answered-”Not the price, madam, but the kind-what kind are they” “Flukes.” We never before heard of that kind of potatoes, but have since heard they are very common here.
After visiting the churches and other objects of curiosity, we returned to the Adelphi for our luggage, hired a hack and drove down to the Birkenhead ferry. A small craft, more like one of our tugs than a ferry-boat, which took us across the Mersey to the little town of Birkenhead, the terminus of the railroad to Chester. We stopt but once on our way to Chester, at a station called Hotton, where but two or three houses besides the station house were to be seen. The country is flat, but rather interesting-the grass as green as we have it in May, and the air warm. I noticed one peculiar feature-the telegraph wires run along the ground, instead of being elevated on poles, as with us. After about an half hour’s ride we reached Chester, and were shown to the Queen’s Hotel, where we secured rooms.-We soon walked towards the city to view its wonders, and wonders indeed they were. Entering the town through a narrow but clean street, we pursued our way to the interior. After a ten minutes walk we came to the famous walls, and ascending to the top, took the circut. I was most agreeably surprised at this place-although singular and picturesque, it was so different from an American City, or even Liverpool, that I almost fancied myself transported back to the days when Charles and Cromwell struggled near the walls from which we were looking. And in fact, not far off, we came to the very house where the unfortunate king saw his army overwhelmed by the victorious usurper. It was upon a tower, some twenty feet above the battlements, time worn and rugged, built in the style of those days, and ornamented with several devices. A slab has been inserted bearing, as near as I can remember, this inscription: “Here King Charles saw his army defeated, Sept. 24th, 1645.” (This was the field of Rawdon-Moor.) There are many objects here worth visiting, but our time was too short to see all that we wished. The Cathedral, our hotel keeper informed me, is over 1000 years old. There are other churches, the dates of whose erection run back four and five hundred years. The walls of Chester surround one of the three fortified towns of England. They are not stupendous fortifications, such as we are now apt to call walls, but an insignificant structure, rising at the most not above 50 feet, and generally keeping a level of about then.-On one side of the City is a Citadel, near and overlooking the river Dee, here a stream twenty or thirty yards in width. To the west of this fortress is a race course-one of the best in the country-the grass on the course was just as fresh and green as in summer, and although the sky was obscured by clouds, the atmosphere was mild and delightful.-There is a museum on the walls toward the north end, not now open to visitors. After a ramble of two hours we descended to the city. Seeing a small ale shop in one of the old houses, we entered, and while enjoying our glass and muffin, we asked the keeper to point out to us anything remarkable and visible from his door. He directed our attention to two houses, which were well worth seeing; one the residence of the first Earl of Derby-a most singular edifice-built like the most of the other edifices in this part of the town, but evidently at a date long anterior. The other house shown us, was the one, and the only one, that escaped the plague, which desolated the city over two centuries ago; the inhabitants, probably under a sense of gratitude for their miraculous preservation, have placed this inscription over the door: “God’s Providence is mine inheritance.” The gable ends are towards the street, with beams and mortar exposed, and it has weathered the many winds and suns that have beat and shone upon it since its erection in 1625. It has just passed into new hands, and they are now busy in tearing it down-a perfect sacrilege-but we, in all probability, have the satisfaction of saying that we were the last Americans who saw it standing. In a little court called White Friars, a short distance beyond, stands the house of the martyr, Matthew Henry.-Overlooking the Dee, which is here about the size of our own Moodna, stands an old structure, now, however, much modernized, and which is supposed to be an old Roman castle. It was known to exit in the time of William the Conqueror, by whom it was repaired. The stones used by him in rebuilding are plainly distinguishable from those of older origin. Seen from the castle is the Grosvenor, once the largest span in the world, now a very pretty bridge and nothing more.
The railroad depot at Chester is one of the most beautiful I have ever seen; and the Hotel the best kept one we have yet met. In short, Chester possessed so much interest as almost to warrant a trip across the Atlantic, to visit that place alone. The North Western bore us away towards this city, old London, long before we had exhausted its beauties and antiquities. I could tell you more of the history of Chester, if I chose to copy from Murray or Bradshaw, but I prefer to recount simply what I see myself, and not what others have compiled. I close this in time for the Saturday boat. My next will, I fear, have but little interest, for London is to be our stopping place for several days; and the scenes and buildings of this great city are too well known to need much description.
L.X.