Surf: a summer pilgrimage
.I|»I'I^M<|I 3*»fe3gfegg3JJ.ff||.U(liailiilU*!ilJll^lte!)i;Atf«i^^ titunuintw nil >^i I *.iiiii .Liii iji 1 1 iu jy jiiim ■^m; »Qr3i<ci>-*"*-<c3.ci>Crs<cJ>-a."*<=3<c::*«i j BOSTON UNIVERSITY ^ 9 (J College of Liberal Arts J§ Library y X Gift of Anderson Center '^^m' . w^y'/*' "Maf^^ ^y^ii^ SURF: A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE, BY SAUL WRIGHT. New York : FORDS, HOWARD, & HULBERT. Copyright, i88i. FORDS, HOWARD, & HULBERT. Manufactured by . W. GREEN'S SON, 74 & 76 Beekman St., MBW YOBK. (off J 3 ^ ^ / TO Sanies p;. iattctj, Journalist^ Hutnorist and Sage^ TO WHOSE GENIAL AND INDULGENT FRIENDSHIP THESE LETTERS WERE ADDRESSED AND THROUGH WHOSE FLATTERING ENCOURAGEMENT I AM TEMPTED TO PUBLISH THEM, ilTllia Book is respectfully dedicated by The Author. CONTENTS. 1. The Pilgrims, . . , • , ^ 9 2. On the Beautiful Blue Potomac, . 29 3. Bv^ THE Sad Sea-Waves, ... 44 4. A Symphony in Red and White, . . 62 5. The Moths and the Candle, . . 80 6. Dolce far Niente, 97 7. Aus Nacht; Durch Liebe; Zu Licht, 115 8. A Nocturne in Ultramarine, . . . 134 9. An Inexcusable Digression, . . 151 10. Spectral Analysis, 169 11. Oft in the Stilly Night, . . . 186 12. L'Envoi, .... . . 202 An Apology. The letters which form the motive for this book were actually written in cold blood, with premed- itated forethought, and addressed to my friend Bailey, of Danbury, Conn,, without the slightest expectation of their ever wandering beyond a cer- tain circumscribed orbit. That he has survived the infliction, has encouraged me to intrude them upon that most indulgent community — the Ameri- can people. Let me plead in extenuation that this is my first offense, with every reasonable ex- pectation of its being the last. If, then, I may hope to be released with a reprimand, it's Saul Wright. Washington, May i, 1881. The Pilgrims. On Board the "Lady of the Lake," Potomac River, August i, i8 —. When Thucydides suggested the return of our usual summer tramp the other day, I am free to confess the idea did not strike me with its usual force. Perhaps there were reasons for this absence of enthusiasm not altogether inconsistent with the popular idea of a " tramp," and perhaps there were not. I am not going to argue the point. To the individual who has not endured the agonies of an " extra session" of Congress it would be impossible to convey any idea of the supreme blessings of — rest. When one has been obliged for nearly four wretched months to report the goings-out and the comings-in of a few hundred, more or less, of sweltering Congressmen who haven't known their own minds over night, and who have been known to change their firm opinions and convictions twenty-four times within as many consecutive hours ; when one has been forced to listen to the chatter of political magpies who call each other lO SURF: A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. liars, blackguards, and cowards at one moment, and sit down to discuss a jovial lunch of terrapin and chmnpag7ie frappe together the next, the sub- lime delight accompanying the reaction is alto- gether too ecstatic to be tampered with. When one — but pshaw ! let it be said in a word without further circumlocution, that even a reporter, with no particular soul to save, has rights which even his friends are bound — occasionally — to respect. Hence, I plunge directly into the midst of my nar- rative by remarking that we are " on the road." It is possible that the monosyllabic " we" is not altogether explanatory. Yet, how else may I des- ignate four ambitious knights of the quill, who sincerely trust that, should the gods be propitious, they may in time be exalted to that sublime height from whence they may exchange the pencil for the shears and paste-pot, and sway all humanity through a judicious use of the second person plural? In the order, then, of their importance, permit me to introduce the members of this Bohe- mian expedition to nowhere in particular. First and foremost, my friend Thucydides, an humble attachi oi the Chicago Censor. Now, "Sid" is a tramp of refinement and varied accomplishments ; in fact he is a walking encyclopedia of valuable information, of which in my present degree of THE PILGRIMS. II apprenticeship, I am frequently and gratefully- obliged to avail myself. Upon his classic and middle-aged head is piled up the agony of years, through the sinuous mazes of which he has rubbed against the world, and suffered the customary ex- perience of leaving behind him a considerable por- tion of the cuticle of egotism, and a fair percentage of the ordinary human temper. Unlike the pro- verbial rolling stone, he has managed to accumu- late an inordinate quantity of the moss of expe- rience, while the consequent friction has developed a highly agreeable polish to the tone of his ad- vice. I am afraid that Sid is somewhat of a cynic, and that his stock of faith in the good intentions of humanity is decidedly diminutive. He is in the habit of taking me into the Congressional galleries of an afternoon, and, pointing out some public man, proceeds to tear in pieces his political charac- ter, as a student in anatomy would dissect an in- teresting subject, and with about the same regard for the feelings of his victim. And what makes the operation particularly aggravating is the un- fortunate way he has of following up his attacks of the scalpel of criticism with the abominable lancet of proof. When I first knew Sid, he had just been legis- 12 SURF: A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. lated out of the army, through one of those annual assaults that idle Congresses are wont to make on an institution they know nothing about, and by which means its casualties are greater in peace than in war, and had been forced to sheathe his sword, because of the treasonable offense of being at the foot of his grade in the regiment. Sid's prominent characteristic, after some years of desultory adventure, is personal assurance, a virtue that among degenerate minds is frequently styled "cheek," by which is meant that his coun- tenance is one of surpassing loveliness and un- blushing candor. Learning from sad experience that the pen is mightier than the sword, and from personal observation that the pun is vastly more remunerative than the item of fact, behold our ex- warrior tickling, for a livelihood, the sensibilities of civilized men as he once tickled with a saber the ribs of the untutored savage. If his present call- ing is less beneficial to humanity, it is, upon the whole, more intensely poetic. And speaking of the poetic reminds me of Jack. Jack, by the way, is a bright and shining satellite of the New York Moon. Like the mild luminary from which he borrows his effulgence, he shines for all, yet Jack's luster is not altogether of a re- flected quality, but rather a combination of moon- THE PILGRIMS. 1 3 beams and gas-light ; a compound of quaint origi- nality and a straining after the sensational effect for which the luminary in question is so univer- sally noted. I am afraid that Jack does not hesi- tate to amplify and enlarge upon the exact truth upon occasion, but in justice to Mr. Longmeter, I must confess that the said occasions are mostly professional. The wonderful and preposterous proportions to which a questionable rumor has been known to swell under Jack's manipulations is only exceeded by the refreshing and open-hearted candor which distinguishes his contradiction of the whole story in his next dispatch. Jack has a habit of disclosing the most remarkable and unsus- pected phases of character at the most unexpected moments, and is generally conceded to be a mys- tery to his friends, and an agreeable study for the community at large. By the community at large, I refer more properly to the female community. Although the most susceptible youth within the range of my acquaintance, this unbounded suscep- tibility is always accompanied by the most glaring instances of fickleness and inconstancy. Hence Jack is no less popular with the fair sex than agreeable to his own, for no one would ever think of being either vexed with or jealous of Jack, in the absolute certainty that that worthy's mind is of so 14 SURF: A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. uncertain a quantity that both time and patience would thereby be wholly and uselessly wasted. Yet, strange as it may appear, Jack has a vulner- able point, and stranger still, the point in question is his intense and undisguised admiration for the poetic Muse. To this adorable damsel Jack is always and pathetically constant. The more glar- ing does this infatuation appear, when it is consid- ered that Jack has the most supreme contempt for any of his fellow-adorers, and the most utter disre- gard for their passion or identity. He is quite as likely to confound Byron with Bishop Heber, or Dr. Watts with Dr. Holmes, as to quote an im- passioned strophe of Swinburne's as an annex to one of Mrs. Sigourney's devotional inspirations. And that brings me to Dick. Mr. Richard Palette, Artiiim Baccalaureus^ whilom representa- tive of the Boston Cash Book, at your service. There is nothing uncertain about Dick. He is intense, ardent, earnest, and sufficient. When you catch Dick at a disadvantage you will have to turn out at an uncommonly early hour of the morning. He is as utterly devoid of sentiment as an oyster of philosophy. I don't imagine Dick was ever in love with anything but himself — and art. If Dick had not been compelled out of dire necessity to become a collector of political fact and THE PILGRIMS. 1 5 scandal for the daily press, I am confident that the world would long since have gone frantic over him as an artist. It is unfortunate that politics and art cannot well be confounded, and still more unfortunate that the attention exacted by the one is apt to interfere with the devotion demanded by the other. Hence, the habit of arresting one's brush just at the moment one has caught a spark of the divine aflatus, in order to follow up the smoke of a political racket in the House, is apt *to disarrange one's ideas, and demoralize one's temper. As a consequence, D'ick has never been able to complete anything in the line of high art that he has ever commenced. Not but that he has begun enough in the aggregate to have filled the Na- tional Gallery to repletion, had they ever advanced beyond the preliminary stage ; but a visit to Dick's apartments would develop the most remarkable collection of initiated efforts ever witnessed. Land- scapes outlined in umber ; historical suggestions in charcoal ; portraits in which a pair of liquid blue eyes gaze down in astonishment upon the skeleton of a pink nose ; marines advanced to the stage wherein a fleet of phantom ships are suspended midway between a cadmium sky and a pea-green ocean. One of these days all of these astounding possibilities are to be completed, and burst sud- 1 6 SURF: A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. denly upon an enthusiastic community, and then — then indeed I shall be proud of my friend Dick. And this is all I propose to explain regarding the personnelle of this expedition, excepting that upon the undersigned devolves the duties of the scribe, and that Sid will assume, without effort, the role of the Pharisee in this faithful report of a Midsummer Day's Dream. So far as Jack and Dick are concerned, they will be expected to con- tribute the sentimental and the picturesque ; to deal with the esthetics and the finer sensibilities of the tramp, as a counterpoise to the ruder cyni- cisms of the Pharisee, and the practical dogmatism of the Scribe. There are several excellent reasons why the schedule of our journey is not inserted at this point. In reading a work of travels, such as this is to be, it is desirable to know the line over which one is expected to follow, the sights one is to see, or at the least the point at which one is ex- pected to arrive. But in the first place, this tramp is to differ from the ordinary in most respects ; why not in all ? As most works of travel outline the route, this shall not, out of pure obstinacy. In the second place, there is nothing so desirable in a romance as the sense of expectation, and no right-minded reader will calmly turn to the final THE PILGRIMS. 1 7 page to learn how the thing is coming out, as do females as a class, and school-girls as a genus. So we propose to remove this temptation from our readers nolens volens, in the conviction that we shall receive their undying gratitude in the end. In the third place, we are not going to outline our route in this opening chapter, for the reason that we have not the least conceivable idea of what it is ourselves. And, come to think of it, perhaps this should, after all, have been the first reason instead of the third. But as it is not, let the reader select whichever of the three he, she, or they prefer, and thus maintain their independence. If there is any- thing the average reader abhors, it is to be led by the nose, as it were. Hence, whether we bring up in the vicinity of Greenland's icy mountains or India's coral strands, no one need feel the slightest disappointment or conceive that they have been in any manner deceived. This much I can promise : that if this ship holds together, and from the creak- ing and straining at this writing, there is nothing certain about it, the morning will find us on the " broad bosom of the Atlantic." At least I wrenched that much from the brain of the captain a moment ago. Those were not his precise words, by the way ; but as he said we'd be '' 'way down below the mouth of the river," I merely recalled 1 8 SURF: A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. the remains of a limited anatomical education and made my own deductions. So the scene opens with the expedition fairly under way. " Under weigh" would perhaps be more nautical, but then one is not expected to as- sume his sea legs while yet in sight of land, and as yet the only marine monster observed has been the aforesaid captain of the boat, whom I would defy the most experienced reporter to interview with impunity. What a successful Congressman that amphibious monster would make, by the way ! How he would shut himself up like one of his own binoculars, and box the ears of an opponent as quickly as he would box his own compass. Not that I ever heard of a sea-captain boxing a com- pass against time ; but as that certainly Seems the proper thing for a sea-captain to do, I am not going to spoil a comparison for so paltry a thing as an inconsistency. The scenery thus far on the voyage has not been particularly picturesque. We have left Alexandria in the offing, and are steam- ing away toward Fort Washington. Sid says that it's the fog that Alexandria is left in ; but " offing" sounds better, and what's the good of being at sea if one is not to make use of the few nautical phrases in his vocabulary ? There may be some- thing slightly anomalous in the fact of a tramp THE PILGRIMS. 1 9 traveling by steamboat; but when one considers that the pecuniary consideration demanded in exchange for a voyage between Washington and Norfolk and return — a matter of some five hundred miles, more or less — is the beggarly pittance of one hun- dred and fifty cents, the anomaly is lost, and the joke comes in, you see, with telling effect. \Item : This is not an advertisement for the steamboat company, as future unhappy voyagers between the points in question will learn to their sorrow, when the rival lines have exhausted their surplus funds, or compromised the matter, which will be one and the same thing, so far as the public are concerned.] As a consequence, the boat is crowded, crammed, overflowing. About one per cent of the crowd are going to Norfolk for legitimate purposes; say ten per cent for pleasure, and the balance for no other reason under the heavens than because they are carried for one dollar and a half. They are as much interested in the trip as though they were riding a block or so in the horse-cars; the trip is, in fact, attended by every imaginable discomfort conse- quent upon the superiority of numbers over accom- modations; the majority will be wretchedly sea-sick, home-sick, and heart-sick before morning, and will wish themselves and the boat at the bottom of the 20 SURF: A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. Potomac a thousand times before daylight; but the recollection of that paltry dollar will be a surcease of all sorrow and a recompense for every misery. We are passing a charming section of woodland, through the openings of which peep a delightful mansion, whose high-columned portico and dainty cupola supply the motive to what is really an ex- quisite picture. I inquire of Sid the name of the place, and twenty voices, male, female, and neuter, hasten to respond, ^'' Mount Vernon^ " Ah!" said I, " doubtless the seat of some wealthy Virginian Congressman, perhaps. Or, possibly, the home of some gentleman of reputation." "Mount Vernon ?" says Sid; "the name sounds familiar. But I don't see any mountain." "Why," shout the twenty voices, "Mount Ver- non is the home of Washington. It contains the tomb of the Father of his Country. It is — " " But, hold on a moment," says Sid; "in other words go slow, and one at a time, if you please. Who is Washington, and what does he want of a tomb ? You see we are strangers in this vale of tears, and particularly anxious to acquire knowl- edge. Is this Mr. Washington one of your public men ?" Here the most of the twenty turn up their noses in disgust, several snicker, and the balance stare at THE PILGRIMS. 21 the wretch as though they would prefer to demol- ish him, Sid's impassive countenance, however, dispels all doubts that may have arisen regarding his being, possibly, a humorist in disguise, and sev- eral of the faces, mostly feminine, take on a look of pity for his ignorance and charity for his uncon- scious crime. And one benevolent old party, with a peculiarly sympathetic countenance, goes over to Sid, and places his broad palm on his knee, with the remark: " General Washington, sir, was the greatest man, beyond all question, who ever lived. When the American colonies, sir, rose in rebellion — " "Ah, yes, I see," interrupted Sid, with an im- pressive wave of his hand ; " a Confederate Briga- dier." "No, sir! no, sir! this was one hundred years ago. When the American colonies rose in rebellion against the mother - country, Washington placed himself at their head and led them to victory. He—" " Ah, yes — now I see why he needs a tomb. A most commendable precaution, I should say ; but — but — I beg your pardon — but perhaps he is no longer living ?" " Washington died, sir, on the fourteenth day of December, seventeen hundred and ninety-nine; but 22 SURF: A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. he lives, my dear sir — he lives in the hearts of his countrymen/' " Indeed! striking coincidence — happy sentiment. I infer, then, that the late Mr. Washington was an American." '' The greatest of all Americans. We honor and love and revere his memory. There is nothing, sir, that America would not do to honor the memory of Washington. We have named our capital city for him, and there is scarcely a state in the Union that has not counties and towns and villages that bear his name. Monuments, statues, squares, and parks perpetuate his fame from one end of the land to the other." " Indeed! Now I think of it, I did observe, while in Washington, a huge white chimney that re- minded me of a grain elevator, set down in the midst of a swamp, that they told me was the Wash- ington Monument. And some flannel drawers and an undershirt or two were shown in a glass case at the Patent Office, and labeled ' Washington's Clothes.' I am glad you mentioned it. What can there be, my venerable friend, more sublime in life than these touching examples of a nation's grati- tude. What — " " And this," said the benevolent old party, hast- ily interrupting, as he pointed to a dilapidated THE PILGRIMS. 23 mansion cosily embowered in a most charming grove on the left bank — ''this is Marshall Hall." "Indeed !" responds Sid, as he sights the sylvan picture through his eyeglasses — " and was Mr. Hall another of your Revolutionary fathers ?" " Mr. Marshall, sir, Mr. John Marshall, a Mary- land gentleman of great wealth, and the intimate friend of Washington. You will observe the two estates front each other on opposite banks of the river. The hall was a fine structure in its day, sir, but with the fortunes of the family, has run sadly to decay." " Did — did this Mr. Marshall — did he leave any monuments and small-clothes ?" "And this quiet little group of trees at the end of the little pier on your right," goes on the b. o. p., utterly oblivious of Sid's inquiry, "is Mount Ver- non Springs. The springs, however, are about one mile to the west, and — " " How charming — pardon me ! — how charming is the nomenclature of your river estates. ning to penetrate the brain of the benevolent old party, or whether he recalled a forgotten engage- ment at the other end of the boat, may never be known. He had disappeared, and never returned to apologize or explain, and with him had disap- peared our late audience, leaving us alone, in the most comfortable part of the boat, to our own de- vices. But from the suspicious manner with which we are gazed upon, and pointed at, at safe dis- tances, by our fellow voyagers, I am convinced that the report of the aforesaid b. o. p. has not been altogether flattering. " Saul," remarks my inseparable as he disposes his long figure at full length on the bench, and assumes the most insufferable air of intense satis- faction with himself and the world, " sit a little more to the windward, if you please — I find these breezes a trifle "unpleasant on my shoulders — and hand me one of those Partagas that I saw you pur- chasing an hour ago ; borrow a light for me from that gentleman yonder, and keep perfectly quiet, with a strict avoidance of all comments, and I will give you the benefit of a few morsels of wisdom that I find I can spare from the bountiful store of my experience." Now, as I find nothing of importance transpiring among the crowd of pleasure-seekers about us ; the THE PILGRIMS. 2$ scenery through which we are slowly steaming, while fresh and delightfully verdant, is wretchedly monotonous, and nothing beyond the historical memories of the stream over which we are gliding to make the hour other than commonplace and dull ; as Jack and Dick are flirting on the after- deck — in short, as all is quiet on the Potomac, and my cigar is tolerable, I presume I may as well lis- ten to Sid's dreary twaddle as undergo any other penance that occurs to me, so I accept the inevita- ble with due humility. "Now then," says Sid, "you will observe that in order to obtain absolute comfort in travel, the first essential for the traveler is perfect and complete stupidity. Your knowing traveler is always bur- dened with his own conceit, and weighed down by the incubus of his own wisdom. I have always looked upon the human sponge as the most un- happy member of the animal kingdom. He absorbs everything that surrounds him, and being over- floated with wisdom, extends a perpetual invitation for some one to squeeze him. Now that venerable old guide-book doubtless meant well, but he could no more have permitted so brilliant an opportunity to impart wisdom to a stranger to slip him than he could have avoided soaring on the Washington question. It was half his enjoyment' of the trip. 26 SUHF: A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. It has lightened his heart equal to a dose of seltzer, and he really didn't mind my chaffing him one bit. He put it all down to my ignorance, you know, as a compliment to his own superior culture. On the other hand, you see we are now left in undisputed possession of the most cosily sheltered part of the boat. We are savages, ig^iorami^ idiots who, never having heard of these local gods, are beyond the pale of good society. Hence we are left severely to ourselves, while the better herd are packed to- gether yonder on the after-deck, like so many edu- cated sardines. " There are four rules, my dear fellow, that gov- ern the successful tourist in his peregrinations up and down the earth, and which enable him to en- dure and positively enjoy them. In the first place he knows nothing, and is never surprised at any- thing he sees or hears. He thus avoids the society of those superficial souls who, knowing a little of everything, are fond of airing their wisdom at his expense. " Second. He has no idea where he came from nor where he is going, and hasn't the slightest sus- picion what place he will visit en route. His stock of knowledge on these points for the benefit of such of his fellow-travelers as are overburdened with curiosity is therefore decidedly limited. THE PILGRIMS. 2/ "Third. He has no curiosity. He don't care a picayune whether it is going to rain this evening or shine to-morrow ; don't care how far it is to the next stage of the journey, nor how long before he will get there ; hasn't an idea what this place or that is particularly or incidentally noted for, and can lie down to his evening's repose with perfect contentment if he never should know. By this means he is left free to absorb the guide-book and the conversation of those about who do know, and thus is thoroughly posted on all matters of the route both in the aggregate and detail, and " Fourth. He is without courtesy to his own sex or gallantry to the weaker. Thus being voted a boor by general consent, he may always secure the most desirable seats and corners in conveyances, the best seats at the tables — where he can reach the choicest dishes — and the first choice of rooms at the hotels. No one will borrow his newspaper or his magazines, or interrupt him in their perusal ; no one will sample his favorite cigars or imbibe from his — medicine flask. In short, he must be stupid, selfish, conceited, and 'cheeky' beyond compare. When you have learned and can prac- tice these simple rules with ease, my dear fellow, you may consider yourself an accomplished trav- 28 SURF: A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. eler, and people will look up to you and envy and admire you — as they do me." And the insufferable wretch stretched himself at full length on the only bench in the vicinity, closed his eyes in serene contentment with himself and the balance of the world, and was asleep in a mo- ment. I shall wake him directly to learn all about Washington and Mount Vernon and the other big fishes of the Potomac, with whom he is better ac- quainted than old Baedeker himself. In the mean time this gallant ship continues to breast the bounding billow, and the man at the wheel is holding her strong to the windward, with her mainsail hard a-port and her bowsprit plowing the raging main. I am not sure about the exact nautical correctness of that last sentence; but being new to the marine service, I trust that any trifling inaccuracies of phraseology may be condoned, if not pardoned. I shall write you again from the first port we touch, and am, thus far, Enthusiastically, Saul Wright. II On the Beautiful Blue Potomac. Still at Sea, off Point Lookout, Potomac River, August 2, 18—. The final closing in of the night finds our expe- dition in the vicinity of Acquia Creek and about rounding Maryland Point, near which the Nanje- moy makes into the Maryland swamps. The Lady is putting in her fifteen knots with painful regularity, and a good, round, able-bodied August moon slowly climbing up out of the sacred soil of the mother-in-law of Presidents. The pilgrims are gracefully disposed about the decks in picturesque groups, in which ham sandwiches and cold chicken play no inconsiderable part, and the pop of the beer-bottle mingles with the song of the Potomac turtle, and the voice of the tourist urchin whose name is legion as he vociferously howls for " more." It is the hour that poets love, of which artists dream, and lovers in all ages and climes are wont to claim their own ; the hour when Nature has re- tired to rest, and throwing " her sable mantle round has pinned it with a star ;" the hour when the man 30 SURF: A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. at the wheel peers out into the night, and watches for land and water marks that none but he can rec- ognize ; the hour when tender youth and blooming maids steal away to quiet corners of the boat, and sigh and spoon and breathe their secrets to the laughing moon. And, most important of all. it hap- pens to be the hour when our particular party has lighted its evening cigar after having put itself out- side a respectable supper, and retired to the com- munion of its own thoughts. The Pharisee is con- tented with himself, and hence in good humor, and disposed to accommodate himself to his surround- ings. I think he is satisfied with the conduct of th«e moon and stars, and willing to concede that he could not improve upon the situation. "I never pass the mouth of the Nanjemoy," says he, " without thinking of a dark, pitiless night some fourteen years ago, when a frail bark — bearing the fortunes of two unfortunate wretches hurrying for shelter against a nation's vengeance, drifted by the current around Matthias Point, just rising below there on our starboard bow — was spied by a gun- boat and chased to the woods of Nanjemoy. "Just off our quarter, where the moonbeams are dancing on the tips of the waves, is the entrance to a narrow inlet that crawls for a dozen miles through the swamps, and ends at Port Tobacco. Just now ON THE BEAUTIFUL BLUE POTOMAC. 3 1 it is not much of a port, and doesn't see a hogs- head of tobacco in a month. But in the days of the rebellion it was a happy haunt for spies and blockade-runners, the refuge for the criminals from both armies, the home of the river thieves and pi- rates, and generally the devil's own Elysium. The natives were all rebel sympathizers, whose sympa- thy was cheap and harmless and inconsequential, and it was not deemed by the government worth the trouble and bother of occupation. Here Atzer- ott flourished as a coach-maker, and Dr. Mudd car- ried on a little harmless practice against the chills and fever, which, being an inheritance from their fathers, the natives declined to tamper with, A few miles up the country — a squalid settlement, to which some mysterious some one has bequeathed his initial — at T. B. was a huge, tumble-down tav- ern, where Mrs. Surratt dispensed cheap whisky, and caught an occasional traveler like Wilkes Booth with plenty of money and a hobby, who scattered the one while working up the deviltry required to develop the other." "Wilkes Booth — what a bold, handsome, devil- may-care fellow he was, to be sure," interrupted Jack. '' I can seem to see his dark, melodramatic face, that always suggested an idea of Lucifer — a face that was Satanic in its beauty and pale with 32 SURF: A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. the faint shadow of the coming tragedy. How often have I passed on the Avenue the woman who wrote of him that she would marry him at the foot of the gallows, and never without recalling the man whose fatal beauty and accomplishments could incite such devoted love and homage, to dim some little the horror of his crime. What a brilliant scapegrace he was! What a reckless, generous, whole-souled reprobate, whom the women spoiled by adulation and the men by envy. What a — but never mind. Go on, my dear Pharisee ; you were down at T. B., I believe, when I left you." " Yes, thank you, if you are through — not that I would presume to interrupt your rhapsody, you know, only if I am to tell this story I prefer to do it in my own vulgar way. Well, it was into Port Tobacco that Booth and Harold rode on that fatal night when all the bitterness and malice and atroc- ity of a four years' struggle had culminated in his dastardly act, and its terrible story was flashing over the land, carrying terror and dread to the hearts of a nation. Here they spent the next day — Saturday — and Sunday morning, when, becom- ing timid on the news from Washington, they stole down to the ferry, some six miles below the town, where they were concealed until Thursday night. Then they attempted to cross over into ON THE BEAUTIFUL BLUE POTOMAC. 33 Virginia, lost their way, and were chased into Nan- jemoy, where they were found by a poor farmer, and shared his hog and hominy for a couple of days. Saturday they were more successful, crossed the river, and spent the night in the barn of Dr. Stuart, a rich Virginian of Westmoreland County. From here they crossed the Rappahannock, steal- ing gradually toward the rebel lines, and picked up Willie Jett, a Confederate captain, who piloted them to Garrett's farm, within three miles of Port Royal, and then seeking his own safety, was pounced upon by Doherty with his squad of the 1 6th New York Cavalry. Jett squealed before he was hurt, showed them the way to Garrett's, and on Wednesday, the 26th of April, after eleven wretched days of pain and anguish. Booth met his Nemesis in Boston Corbett." Now we have passed the light at Cedar Point, and a little later are off the mouth of the Wicomico, opposite the entrance to Pope's Creek, between which and Mattox Creek is the birthplace of Wash- ington. I hesitate long before opening the flood- gates of Sid's eloquence, which I knew would be carried away with a rush at the slightest allusion to the locality; but Sid himself, as if awaiting the pre- cise moment when the blessed opportunity would present itself, has primed himself for the occasion. 34 SURF: A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. " Seventeen hundred and thirty-two," says he — and I knew it was coming — ''one hundred and forty- seven years ago. "The Potomac," he goes on, after affording us the opportunity to gulp down the emotion which his dismal reference to the historical date was in- tended to excite, " The Potomac is particularly as- sociated with the private life of Washington, her banks having listened to his infant prattle — if it be possible to associate an infant's prattle with the immortal first in war, etc., etc. — and to his dying whispers. What the Potomac does not know about Washington isn't worth mentioning. Her sands furnished the material with which he first con- structed the mud pastry of childhood — alwa^^s pre- suming that he ever was a child, and I confess the presumption is unpardonable — her waters enjoyed the enviable position of purveyor to his table, and to her broad bosom he stole away on Sunday after- noons when the paternal laid the flattering unction to his soul that George and his brothers were im- bibing wisdom in the Sunday-school. Here we are pained to note a glaring dereliction of duty on the part of the aforesaid Potomac, in not having gath- ered him in as a penalty for disobedient and sur- reptitious desecration of the day. It is not in ac- cordance with the Sunday-school books that the ON THE BEAUTIFUL BLUE POTOMAC. 35 Muse of History should have interfered, and have provided a career for a youth who went saiiing on Sunday afternoons. It was wrong — painfully, piti- ably wrong. " It was along the banks of this beautiful Poto- mac that the youthful G. W. wandered at twilight, hand in hand with some village maiden, into whose blue eyes he gazed in rapture as he poured into her ears the tale of his first and virgin passion, and pressed her waiting lips in the tender, timorous ardor of first love. Here they sat down by the river side and watched the silvery moon as it danced on the rippling waves, and built brown- stone fronts in the atmosphere, and projected bridal tours to Saratoga and Coney Island, and fig- ured out the expense of a Cook's Tour to the Holy Land. And then, when the night was far spent, and the moon had turned in, and the barn-yard birds were crowing the small hours, they wandered homeward and swung their good-nights across her front gate. Alas ! parting was such sweet sorrow that they could say " Good-night" until 'twere morrow. But it is too painful to pursue these harrowing reminiscences. We all know their mel- ancholy end, and that the course of true love never ran smooth. He was soon called upon to play a star engagement on the stage of life, and furnish 36 SURF: A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. an example to coming ages, and she — well, she wasn't, and that's all history has to say on the subject. Doubtless she never told her love, but let concealment, like a potato worm, prey on her damask cheek. It required a considerable cheek in those days for a Virginian maiden to angle for a hus- band. There were no watering-places in the seventeen hundred and forties, and the White Sulphur Springs and Old Point had not even been thought of." '' Sid," said the Scribe, interrupting the flow of that worthy's eloquence, to his intense disgust, " did I ever tell you of my visit to the birthplace of Washington? No? Well, I'm not proud of having enrolled myself among the famous explor- ers whom history will love to honor ; but among the many delinquencies of my long and eventful career I am ashamed to confess that I once visited Westmoreland County, in which rocked the cradle of the infant George." " Did you, indeed ? But I have no doubt of it. You are young and foolish, and, I presume, patri- otic. I have always desired to know about Wash- ington's birthplace, and have lived in the confidence that sooner or later I should encounter some idiot who had taken the trouble to go there. How did you get there? Did you see the birthplace, and how much of it did you bring away ?" ON THE BEAUTIFUL BLUE POTOMAC. 37 " I came, I saw, and I haven't the least hesitation in saying I was conquered. And if Caesar and his legions had ever met a squadron of Potomac mos- quitoes on the field of battle, he would never have crossed the Rubicon but once. I presume the late General Caesar had a hard march into Gaul ; but if he had ever marched over a Virginia road he would have surrendered to the first Goth or Vandal he met. The fast-sailing clipper-ship that bore me to the scene was called the Hi. Livingstone. I shall ever hold the name in grateful remembrance, and ever associate it in my memory with the infernally low living that distinguished its table. Washington and Hi Living! Hi Living and Washington ! Re- markable combination ! The one emblematical of the soaring eagle, the other of the creeping turtle. The one rose from the muddy banks of the Poto- mac and reached the summit of fame ; the other started from the nation's capital and landed in the Potomac mud. You see it was merely a transposi- tion of terms. 