Dick Boldhero.
CHAPTER III.
Adventures in South America, continued.
S evening approached, I found myself quite fatigued, and my feet almost blistered from the heat of the ground. I was therefore very glad to see a coffee plantation lying to the right, and about a mile distant. Thither I went, and applied to some of the negroes for a night’s lodging, but found, however, that not one of them could speak a word of English,—Dutch being the only language with which they were acquainted. Several of them got round me, chattering like so many magpies.
Finding it impossible to make them understand by words, I resorted to signs. I suppose I must have been a pretty good mimic, for they seemed to understand me at once, and burst into the most uproarious fits of laughter. They finally concluded to take me to their master, whom I found to be a great stout man, with a swarthy complexion, and a farmer-like appearance; but he, being a Dutchman, could speak no English. The negroes, however, interpreted my wishes, and the planter gave immediate directions to have me taken good care of. I was accordingly carried off in triumph by my sable friends, who treated me as well as if I had been an emperor.
I never saw such a merry, kind-hearted set of fellows. They got some water, and one of them washed my sore feet; another brought me a bowl of milk, and a third spread my bed. After I had rested for half an hour, I was called to supper, and took my meal with the planter and his family. They were all very kind and polite. There was one black-eyed girl,—the planter’s daughter, as I supposed,—whom I thought very handsome, but very different from our New England girls. Her complexion was extremely dark; her hair black as jet, her skin being quite of an olive color. When her features were at rest, her countenance was pensive, almost sad; but the moment she spoke, there was a flash of cheerfulness over her whole countenance. I stole several glances at her, but being only a poor sailor, I deemed this a kind of theft, and tried hard not to be detected. I noticed, however, that the maiden caught me looking at her several times. I expected she would be angry, but this was far from being the case.
The habitation of the planter was very different from a snug New England dwelling. In this delicious climate there is a perpetual summer; no frost, no snow, no blustering Boreas ever comes to chill the inhabitants, to destroy the vegetation, or interrupt the genial course of nature. Little is needed for the comfort of the inhabitants, in respect to a dwelling, but a mere shelter. The planter’s residence consisted of three or four distinct buildings, of irregular shape and arrangement. One was of brick, and covered with tiles; the rest were of wood, and had more the appearance of cattle sheds than human dwellings. There were no chimneys, and the windows consisted of openings without glass.
When it came night, I was put into one of these buildings. We ascended to a second loft by a ladder, and I laid down upon a bed which consisted of straw. Feeling very weary, I soon fell asleep. I continued in a sound repose for several hours, when, at last, I awoke suddenly. It seemed as if I had heard some one whispering to me, and in a sort of dream, I fancied that it was the black-eyed daughter of the planter. But when I was fully awake, and rose up in my bed, my amazement at what I beheld was indescribable.
The moon was shining very brightly, and lighted the large barn-like apartment in such a manner, that I could see almost every object with distinctness. Above me, amid the dusky shadows of the room, I beheld a creature of the most extraordinary aspect. It seemed to have the head of a rhinoceros, with most enormous ears, the body of a bird, and the legs of an alligator. It had immense wings, shaped like those of a bat. To my excited imagination, the creature seemed as big as an ox; and as I gazed upon it, it seemed to wave its prodigious wings, and grin at me with a sneering and malicious expression.
My first idea was, that it was a mere night-mare; but when I recollected that I was in a strange country, and moreover remembered the adventure of the alligator, which had so recently occurred, I began to conceive that it must be a reality. There is no harm, at least, thought I, in being prepared for the worst. Accordingly, I reached out my hand, and seized my cudgel. I then laid down upon my bed, and keeping my eye fixed upon the grisly apparition, held myself ready for what might happen. I kept myself perfectly still, and at last the creature spread its wings and began to make a circuit through the upper regions of the apartment.
Round and round he went, upon a noiseless wing, and at last began to make a dip at me. Never shall I forget the sensations of that horrible moment! The very uncertainty, whether it was a reality, or some grisly phantom of the brain, seemed to increase my agitation. Could I have been sure that it was a thing of flesh and blood, I should have been ready to give it battle. But the doubt, whether it was a being of this world or another, seemed to freeze my blood. I grasped my cudgel, but my arm was paralyzed.
Thus I lay for several moments, while the spectre wheeled round and round, at every evolution, stooping lower and lower, as he came near the place where I lay. At last he paused in his flight, and hovered over the foot of my bed. I could distinctly feel his claws upon my feet, as well as the fanning of his wings, which were kept constantly in motion. The sensation restored my reason and my strength. I partially arose in my bed, and struck a furious blow with my cane at the monster. It took effect, and it fell lifeless to the floor. What was my surprise, on going to the spot where the creature lay, to discover that what my excited fancy had exaggerated to the seeming dimensions of a winged ox, was, in fact, not bigger than a crow! It was one of the huge bats common to Guiana, and known by the name of the Vampire. It had no doubt come to see how a little blood drawn out of a Yankee boy’s great toe would taste. But the fellow was mistaken in his customer.
I now laid myself down upon my bed but it was in vain that I attempted to sleep. I lay for several hours, and finding it impossible to repose, I went to the window and looked forth upon the scene. The moon was shining with wonderful brightness, and from the eminence on which the plantation stood, I had a distinct view of the surrounding country. The river Surinam shone like silver in the distance, the air was filled with spicy fragrance, and a kind of dazzling light or silvery mist seemed to be diffused throughout the whole space beneath the sky. The whole aspect of nature and the objects around me was strange, yet lovely. There was a balmy softness in the atmosphere, a kind of twilight splendor over the face of nature, which excited my admiration, and, at the same time, gave me a sort of pensive and lonely feeling, at the idea that I was far, very far, from my home.
I remained at the window looking out at the scene for some time. At last the morning came, and before the sun had risen, I went forth into the fields. An immense extent of ground, belonging to the plantation, was covered with coffee trees. These were about ten feet in height, planted in rows at the distance of about ten feet from each other. They somewhat resemble the peach tree; but the leaves are longer, narrower, and highly varnished. These trees, or rather shrubs, are evergreens, and produce fruit when they are about four years old. They live to a great age—sometimes a hundred years. They were now covered with large branches of white blossoms, which gave forth a sweet odor. The coffee berry grows in a kind of fruit, which is red when ripe, and has a very beautiful appearance upon the trees.
After looking about the grounds for a short time, I was returning to the house, when I met the black-eyed daughter of the planter. She bade me good morning, in English, and, to my joy and surprise, I found that she knew a few words of that language. We tried to enter into conversation, but without much success. She asked me my name; and when I told her it was Dick Boldhero, she manifested much surprise and interest. She spoke with great earnestness, and seemed to have an intense desire to know something more. At last, I saw the tears come down her cheeks, and I felt an emotion which I cannot describe. After a time, we separated, and having taken breakfast, I bade adieu to the plantation, and set forward upon my journey.
[To be continued.]
William Ellery Channing.[1]
Dr. Channing was born at Newport, Rhode Island, April 7th, 1780. His father, William Channing, Esq., an eminent lawyer of Newport, died in the midst of his vigor, and at the height of his professional success, when his son William was in his fourteenth year. His mother, was a daughter of William Ellery, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence. She died in Boston, in 1834. His father’s character doubtless exerted an influence in forming the mind of his son, but the nearer intimacy, which, in the long period through which his mother remained the sole possessor of his filial regard, gave her a peculiar power over him.
Dr. Channing is said to have been remarked in early youth as singularly pure-minded, devout, earnest, and aspiring—leaving his friends to anticipate from him great excellence and eminence of character. He graduated at Cambridge, Mass., in 1798, bearing with him the highest honors of the institution, and having distinguished himself for habits of diligence, and for blamelessness of conduct. He now accepted an invitation to reside a year with a gentleman of Virginia, as the instructor of his children. Here he doubtless laid the foundation of that feebleness of constitution which attended him through life. Here, also, he probably adopted the resolution to devote himself to the ministry. He pursued his professional studies, partly with his uncle, Rev. Henry Channing, of New London, Connecticut, and partly at Cambridge.
Mr. Channing received an invitation to settle over the Church and Society in Brattle Square, at the same time that he received one from the Federal Street Church. He chose to accept the latter; his preference being determined “partly by considerations of health, and partly by diffidence;” his humility producing a distrust of his own fitness for the office of a Christian minister, that for a time was painfully oppressive, and finally led him, in connection with his health, to choose the less conspicuous and important of the situations offered him.
His ordination took place on the 1st of June, 1803. An old copy of the Columbian Centinel contains the following notice: “Ordination.—Yesterday was ordained to the pastoral care of the Church in Federal Street, the Rev. Wm. Ellery Channing. The Rev. Mr. Holmes introduced the solemnity by prayer. Professor Tappan delivered the sermon from Eph. iii. 8, 9; the Rev. Dr. Osgood made the ordaining prayer; the Rev. Henry Channing gave the charge; the Rev. Mr. Tuckerman expressed the fellowship of the Church; and the Rev. Dr. Eckley made the concluding prayer. The ceremonial was conducted, and the services performed, with a solemnity and fervor suited to the occasion.”
Mr. Channing was appointed Dexter Lecturer on Biblical Criticism in Harvard University, in 1812, but his health did not allow him to prepare a course of lectures, and he resigned the appointment the next year. In 1813 he was elected a member of the Corporation, at which board he retained a seat till 1826. The University conferred on him the honorary degree of D. D. in 1820.
Dr. Channing first appeared as a controversial writer in 1815, when he addressed his letter to Rev. S. C. Thatcher, “on the aspersions contained in a late number of the Panoplist, of the ministers of Boston and the vicinity.” This led to a public correspondence between him and the Rev. Dr. Worcester, of Salem. In 1819 he preached the sermon at the ordination of Mr. Sparks, at Baltimore, which produced the letters of Professor Stuart, and of Drs. Wood and Ware. In this sermon he took that position in behalf of Unitarianism, which he defended in many subsequent discourses, on public occasions, and in his own pulpit.
Dr. Channing being very feeble, embarked for Europe, in May, 1822, and returned home in August, 1823. During his absence, he visited Great Britain, France, Switzerland, and Italy. In the autumn of 1830 he was again compelled, by his state of health, to leave the United States, and passed the winter of 1830-31 in St. Croix. One or two subsequent winters he spent in Philadelphia.
He probably derived permanent benefit from this absence to Europe, but still there was such an habitual want of vigor in his system, that, soon after his return, he desired an assistant in his ministry; and a colleague was settled in 1824. From this time he continued to officiate in the pulpit, with more or less frequency, as his strength permitted, till 1840, when he requested the society to release him from all obligation of professional service, though he desired to retain the pastoral connexion towards them. As his mind was relieved from the pressure of ministerial engagements, his attention was more and more given to the aspects which society, in its opinions, usages, and institutions, presents to the Christian philanthropist. He was led, by his interest in these subjects, to communicate to the public, at different times, his thoughts on questions of immediate urgency, involving high moral considerations, and devoted a large part of his time to an examination of the light which Christianity throws upon practical ethics.
Dr. Channing’s residence was in Boston, but for several years he had been accustomed to spend the summer in the country, amidst those influences of nature which he esteemed as even more grateful in their effects upon the mind than on the body. He chose his residence for the season of 1842, among the mountains that traverse the western section of Massachusetts, in whose beautiful seclusion he found a high degree of enjoyment, and a firmer tone of health than he had possessed for a long time. On his journey homeward, by way of Vermont, he was exposed to a temperature unusual at the season, and too severe for him to encounter with impunity, which produced an access of disease, that prevented his proceeding beyond Bennington. Here his illness steadily advanced till it overpowered the vital energy; and what at first were the slight apprehensions of his friends, were converted into anxious fears, that only gave place to the sorrows of bereavement. He observed the progress of his disease with the calmness that was habitual with him in every situation; expressed a sense of the Divine love even beyond what he had before felt, and manifested that exquisite tenderness of affection, which gave such beauty to his private life.
Dr. Channing’s illness extended over twenty-six days. As is usual in autumnal fevers, the action of the brain was increased, and the mind was crowded with subjects and images, which at times occasioned him distress, as depriving him of that control over his thoughts, which in health, and under previous attacks of disease, he habitually exercised. The nature of his complaint, also, made it necessary to avoid the excitement of the pulse inevitable upon conversation, and he therefore, as well as those about him, abstained from long-continued discourse. Still he said much that can never be forgotten; and the beautiful serenity, and the perfect trust which he exhibited, made the apartment in which he lay waiting for death, a place of holy instruction, and peaceful sympathies. He expressed a wish to die at home, but yielded himself wholly to the Divine will. His bodily suffering was at no time extreme. Towards the close of the disease there was an oppression on the chest, and he sank rapidly. He died at half past five o’clock, on Sunday, October 2, 1820.
Chinese Ingenuity.—The ingenuity of the Chinese is too often exercised for the purpose of fraud. Sometimes you will buy a capon, as you may think, of a Chinese, but find you have only the skin of the bird, which has been so ingeniously filled, that the deception is not discovered until it is prepared for being dressed.
They also make counterfeit hams. These are made of pieces of wood, cut in the form of a ham, and coated over with a certain kind of earth, which is covered with hog’s skin; and the whole is so ingeniously prepared, that a knife is necessary to detect the fraud.
A gentleman travelling in China some few years ago, bought some chickens, the feathers of which were curiously curled. In a few days, he observed the feathers straight, and that the chickens were of the most common sort. The man who sold them had curled the feathers of the whole brood, a little while before he sold them.
Effect of Climate and Cultivation on Vegetables.—The myrtle-tree, which with us is a small shrub, grows in Van Dieman’s Land to the height of two hundred feet, and has a trunk from thirty to forty feet in circumference. The wood resembles cedar.
