Richmond is a lovely spot, situated on the northern bank of James River, one hundred and fifty miles from the sea, and is the capital of Virginia. It contains nearly 30,000 inhabitants of whom 1000 are slaves. Being built upon several hills, it is free from the eternal sameness of level and regularity of lines which tire the eye so much in New York, Philadelphia, &c., and its site resembles more that of Boston or Baltimore. The James River is navigable for small vessels as high as Richmond; but just above the town there is a barrier which arrests alike the navigator's course and the traveller's eye. This barrier is called the Rapids, and is a most beautiful feature in the scenery.
The Rapids are about three-quarters of a mile in extent, having a fall of more than one hundred feet in that distance. The stream is broad, and interspersed with endless little wooded islands and rocks, around and above which it dashes the spray and foam in its impetuous descent. The climate is lovely, the atmosphere pearly; and when, from the height above, you look down upon the panorama spread beneath your feet, it recalls to the mind the beautiful view so many of us must have frequently been entranced with, while inhaling the meditative weed and strolling along Richmond-terrace on a summer afternoon, gazing on old Father Thames glowing in the rays of a setting sun, and looking doubly bright from the sombre shade of the venerable timber which fringes the margin of this sluggish stream. Pardon this digression; those only who have wandered so far away can feel the indefinite, indescribable pleasure with which one grasps at anything that recals the home of one's affections, the scenes of early days, and the dear friends who are still enjoying them.
The best place for reviewing the Rapids is from the drive leading to the Cemetery, which here, as in most large American towns, is one of the prettiest spots in the neighbourhood; but the Rapids are not only ornamental, they are eminently useful. They afford a water-power to several mills, one of which, the Gallego Flour-Mill, is a splendid establishment, six stories high, nearly one hundred feet square, and capable of sending out daily 1200 barrels of flour. The flour is of very superior quality, the brand fetching a higher price than that of most others in the country. There are also rolling-mills, cotton and tobacco factories; the latter of course in great quantities, as tobacco is one of the chief products of the state, and rapidly increasing. The produce entered in Richmond, which in 1851 was under 16,000 hogsheads, in 1852 amounted to more than 24,000, and is now very probably above 30,000. Virginia has the honour of being the first State that raised cotton, the cultivation whereof was commenced in the year 1662.
Let us pass on to the hill at the eastern extremity of the city, commanding a panoramic view of the river below the town, and all the surrounding country. One spot arrests the attention, a spot closed with the deepest and most romantic interest. A solitary tree, to which no sacrilegious hand has yet dared to apply the axe, stands a few miles down the river, on the same side as the town, and marks the site of the lodge of the venerable old chieftain, Powhattan, when as yet the colony was in its infancy, and when the Indian and the white man—the spoiler and the spoiled—were looking at each other with mutual distrust, deep fear on one side and dark foreboding on the other. The Indian is no more; and nought remains as a memorial of this chief who once ruled this fertile land with absolute sway, except this solitary tree;—and what an episode in the history of colonization does that tree recal! Who can forget that, when despair was the Colonists' daily bread, when nought but the energy and genius of Smith—a man of very ordinary name, but of no ordinary character—kept hope flickering in its socket, an attack of Indians made him a prisoner, and left them hopeless. Then, how romantic the tale of his captivity! He betrayed no fear, but retained perfect self-possession; and remembering how easy their superstitious minds could be worked upon, he drew forth, and with great solemnity commenced looking steadily at his pocket-compass, and thence to heaven, alternating between the two, until he impressed them with a feeling of awe, as though he were a superior being communing with the Great Spirit. This feeling gradually wearing off, the captors insisted upon his death, as an expiation for the many injuries they had experienced at the hands of the whites. The tribe meet, the block is prepared, the captive's neck is laid ready, the upraised tomahawk, held by a brawny Indian arm, whose every muscle quivers with revenge, glitters in the sunbeams; swarthy figures around, thirsting for blood, anxiously await the sacrifice of the victim, already too long delayed. Hope has fled from the captive's breast, and he is communing in earnest with the Great Spirit into whose presence he is about to be so sadly and speedily ushered. Suddenly a shriek is heard! At that well-known voice the savage arm falls helpless at its side, as, stretched upon the neck of the despairing captive, lies the lovely daughter of Powhattan, with tearful eye, and all the wild energy of her race, vowing she will not survive the butchery of her kindest friend. Ruthless hands would tear her away, and complete the bloody tragedy. Who dares lay even a finger upon the noble daughter of their adored chief? They stand abashed, revenge and doubt striving in their hearts; the eloquence of love and mercy pleading irresistibly from the eyes of Pocahontas. The tomahawk, upraised by man's revenge for the work of a captive's death, descends, when moved by woman's tears, to cut a captive's bonds.
Callous indeed must that man's heart be, who can gaze upon the spot where the noble Pocahontas—reared among savages, 'mid the solemn grandeur of the forest, and beneath, the broad canopy of heaven, with no Gospel light to guide and soften—received the holy impulses of love and mercy fresh from her Maker's hand; and how gratifying to remember, that she who had thus early imbibed these sacred feelings, became soon after a convert to Christianity. Alas! how short her Christian career. Marrying Mr. J. Rolfe, she died in childbirth ere she had reached her twenty-fifth year, and from her many of the oldest families in Virginia at this day have their origin. Virginia, as is well known, has always been considered an aristocratic State; and it is a kind of joke—in allusion to this Indian origin—for other States to speak disparagingly of the F.F.Vs.—alias first families of Virginia. Let those who sneer, seek carefully amid their musty ancestral rolls for a nobler heart than that of Pocahontas, the joy of Powhattan's house and the pride of all his tribe. How strange, that a scene so well known as the foregoing, and a life so adventurous as that of Smith, has never yet engaged the pen of a Cooper or a Bulwer!
One of my friends in New York had given me a letter to a gentleman in Richmond, at whose house I called soon after my arrival, as my stay was necessarily short. He was out in the country, at his plantation. This disappointment I endeavoured to rectify by enclosing the letter; but when I had done so, Sambo could not tell me how to address it, as he was in ignorance both of the place and its distance. In this dilemma, and while ransacking my brain-box how to remedy the difficulty, a lady came in, and having passed me, Sambo—grinning through a chevaux-de-frise of snow-white ivories—informed me that was "his Missus." I instantly sent the letter in to her to receive its direction, and in lieu of my letter received an immediate summons to walk in. Nothing could be more lady-like and cordial than the reception she gave me. Shy as I am, she immediately put me quite at my ease; in less than a quarter of an hour I felt I was in the society of an old friend; and during my stay in Richmond, each day found me in the same snug corner of the sofa, near the fire, enjoying the society of one of the most amiable and agreeable ladies it has ever been my good fortune to meet. The husband soon returned from the plantation, and then all the hospitalities of the house were as much at my disposal as if it had been my own, and one or the other of these kind friends, if not both, daily lionized me over Richmond or its neighbourhood. I feel sure, that any of my countrymen who have visited this city when Mr. and Mrs. Stanard were staying in town, will readily hear testimony to their kind hospitality and agreeable society.
There are various public buildings here, among the most conspicuous of which is the Capitol, built in the great public square, and from its summit commanding a splendid panoramic view. There are also about thirty churches, one of which, the Monumental Church—which is Episcopalian—stands upon ground of melancholy recollections; for here, in 1811, stood the theatre, which during that year was utterly consumed by a fire, in which the governor and scores of other human beings perished. One great cause of the destruction of life was, having the doors of the building fitted to open inwards—a custom, the folly of which is only equalled by its universality. At the cry of fire, the rush to the doors was so great that it was impossible to open them, owing to the pressure. The only avenues of escape were the windows, in retreating through which, the greater number of those few who succeeded in escaping suffered the most serious injuries. How is this absurd practice of doors opening inwards to be stopped? What think you if Insurance Companies would combine, and make people forfeit their insurance if they entered any public building whose doors were so fitted; or perhaps the Chancellor of the Exchequer might bring in a bill to levy a very heavy tax on all public buildings the doors of which opened in this dangerous manner, and containing a stringent clause compelling managers and all parties concerned to support the widows and orphans, and pay the doctors' fees, arising from accidents caused therefrom. Alas! I fear until—as Sydney Smith would say—we reduce a few cabinet ministers and a leading member or two of the House of Peers to cinders, we shall go on in our folly, because our ancestors did so before us.
Among other places I went to was the public billiard-room, and on entering, my sympathies were immediately aroused by seeing a lad about thirteen or fourteen, with a very extensive flaming choker on, above which was a frightful large swelling. Not being a medical man, I was very much puzzled when I saw the said swelling move about like a penny roll in a monkey's cheek; presently the sympathy fled, and the puzzle was solved, as a shower of 'bacco juice deluged the floor. Poor boy! it must have taken him an hour's hard work to have got the abominable mass in, and it could only have been done by instalments: the size it had reached would have broken any jaw to remove in the lump; but he seemed to have no idea of parting with his treasure, which, to do him justice, he rolled about with as much ease as if he had had a monkey-teacher before him from his cradle; nor did it prevent his betting away in a style that quite astonished a steady old gentleman like myself.
The State of Virginia, like all the other States of the Union, is undergoing the increasing pressure of democracy:[[AJ]] one of its features—which is peculiarly obnoxious to the more sober-minded of the community—is the new arrangement for the division of the electoral districts, and which goes by the name of "Gerymander." In the early days of the Republic, all divisions were made by straight lines, or as near straight as possible; but that fair and natural mode of division is not considered by the autocratic democracy as sufficiently favourable to their views; and the consequence is, that other divisions have been substituted, most irregular in shape, so as if possible to annihilate entirely the already weakened opposition. This operation, my informant told me, acquired a kind of celebrity in Massachusetts some years ago; and, in the discussions upon the subject in their State legislature, one of the speakers is said to have compared some of these arbitrary divisions to a salamander which, in their outline they somewhat resembled. The governor of the State was of the democratic party, and therefore supporting and encouraging these changes, and his name was "Gery;" so a wag interrupted the speaker, exclaiming, "Don't say salamander; call it Gerymander,"—by which name it has been known since that day.
I may here as well mention a little occurrence I witnessed, which, however pleasant it may have been to the democratic rowdies enacting it, must have been anything but agreeable to those operated upon. A fire company was out trying its engine and hoses, and followed of course by a squad of the idle and unwashed. Arrived at the market-place, they tried its range; that appeared satisfactory enough; but the idea seems to have struck the man who held the hose-end, that range without good aim was useless: he accordingly looked round for a target, and a glass coach passing by at the time, it struck him as peculiarly suited for his experiment. Two elderly females were inside, and a white Jehu on the box. In the most deliberate manner he pointed his weapon, amidst encouraging shouts from bystanders, and increasing zeal on the part of the pumpers; lucidly the windows were closed, or the ladies would have been drenched; as it was, the gushing stream rattled against the carriage, then fixed itself steadily upon poor Jehu, frightening the horses and nearly knocking him off the box. Naturally enough Jehu was highly incensed, and pulled up; then getting off the box, he walked up to his assailants, who received him with shouts of laughter; the horses, left without a ruler, started off at a gallop, Jehu ran after them, but luckily another person and myself rushed up, and stopped them before any accident occurred.