Monday was wet and foggy. Some of the passengers were sick. “In the afternoon tried to create some amusement by arraigning Adler before the Captain in a criminal charge. In the evening put the Captain in the chains, and argued the question ‘which was best, a monarchy or a republic?’ Had some good sport during the debate—the Englishman wouldn’t take part in it tho’.—After claret and stout with Monsieur Moran and Taylor, went on deck and found it a moonlight midnight. Wind astern. Retired at 1 A. M.”
On November 1, Melville wrote: “Just three weeks from home, and made the land—Start Point—about 3 P. M.—well up channel—passed the Lizzard. Very fine day—great number of ships in sight. Thro’ these waters Blake’s and Nelson’s ships once sailed. Taylor suggested that he and I should return McCurdy’s civilities. We did, and Captain Griswold joined and ordered a pitcher of his own. The Captain is a very intelligent and gentlemanly man—converses well and understands himself. I never was more deceived in a person than I was in him. Retired about midnight. Taylor played a rare joke upon McCurdy this evening, passing himself off as Miss Wilbur, having borrowed her cloak, etc. They walked together. Shall see Portsmouth to-morrow morning.”
Saturday, Nov. 3rd: “Woke about six o’clock with an insane idea that we were going before the wind, and would be in Portsmouth in an hour’s time. Soon found out my mistake. About eight o’clock took a pilot, who brought some papers two weeks old. Made the Isle of Wight about 10 A. M. High land—the Needles—Wind ahead and tacking. Get in to-night or to-morrow—or next week or year. Devilish dull, and too bad altogether. Continued tacking all day with a light wind from West. Isle of Wight in sight all day and numerous ships. In the evening all hands in high spirits. Played chess in the ladies’ saloon—another party at cards; good deal of singing in the gentlemen’s cabin and drinking—very hilarious and noisy. Last night every one thought. Determined to go ashore at Portsmouth. Therefore prepared for it, arranged my trunk to be left behind—put up a shirt or two in Adler’s carpet bag and retired pretty early.”
Sunday, Nov. 4th: “Looked out of my window first thing upon rising and saw the Isle of Wight again—very near—ploughed fields, etc. Light head wind—expected to be in a little after breakfast time. About 10 A. M. rounded the Eastern end of the Isle, when it fell flat calm. The town in sight by telescope. Were becalmed about three or four hours. Foggy, drizzly; long faces at dinner—no porter bottles. Wind came from the West at last. Squared the yards and struck away from Dover—distant 60 miles. Close reefed the topsails so as not to run too fast. Expect now to go ashore to-morrow morning early at Dover—and get to London via Canterbury Cathedral. Mysterious hint dropped me about my green coat. It is now eight o’clock in the evening. I am alone in my state-room—lamp in tumbler. Spite of past disappointments, I feel that this is my last night aboard the Southampton. This time to-morrow I shall be on land, and press English earth after the lapse of ten years—then a sailor, now H. M. author of Peedee, Hullabaloo and Pog-Dog. For the last time I lay aside my ‘log’ to add a line or two to Lizzie’s letter the last I shall write aboard. (‘Where dat old man?—Where looks?’)”
The account of his experiences in England is preserved in a separate note-book, formally beginning: “Commenced this journal at 25 Craven Street at 6½ P. M. on Wednesday, Nov. 7, 1849—being just arrived from dinner at a chop house, and feeling like it.”
“Mon. Nov. 5th, 1849: Having at the invitation of McCurdy cracked some champagne with him, I returned about midnight to my state-room, and at four in the morning was wakened by the Captain in person, saying we were off Dover. Dressed in a hurry, ran on deck, and saw the lights ashore. A cutter was alongside, and after some confusion in the dark, we got off in her for the shore. A comical scene ensued, the boatman saying we could not land at Dover, but only at Deal. So to Deal we went, and were beached there just at break of day. Some centuries ago a person called Julius Cæsar jumped ashore about in this place, and took possession. It was Guy Fawkes day also. Having left our baggage (that is, Taylor, Adler and myself) to go round by ship to London, we were wholly non-encumbered, and I proposed walking to Canterbury—distant 18 miles, for an appetite to breakfast. So we strode thru this quaint old town of Deal, one of the Cinque Ports, I believe, and soon were in the open country. A fine Autumnal morning and the change from ship to shore was delightful. Reached Sandwich (6 miles) and breakfasted at a tumble down old inn. Finished with ale and pipes, visited ‘Richbors’ Castle’—so called—a Roman fortification near the sea shore. An imposing ruin, the interior was planted with cabbages. The walls some ten feet thick grown over with ivy. Walked to where they were digging—and saw, defined by a trench, the exterior wall of a circus. Met the proprietor—an antiquary—who regaled me with the history of the place. Strolled about the town, on our return, and found it full of interest as a fine specimen of the old Elizabethan architecture. Kent abounds in such towns. At one o’clock took the 2nd class (no 3rd) cars for Canterbury. The cathedral is on many accounts the most remarkable in England. Henry II, his wife, and the Black Prince are here—and Becket. Fine cloisters. There is a fine thought expressed in one of the inscriptions on a tomb in the nave. Dined at the Falstaff Inn near the Westgate. Went to the theatre in the evening, & was greatly amused at the performance: More people on the stage than in the boxes. Ineffably funny, the whole affair. All three of us slept in one room at the inn—odd hole.
“Tuesday, Nov. 6th: Swallowed a glass of ale and away for the R. R. Station & off for London, distant some 80 miles. Took the third class car—exposed to the air, devilish cold riding against the wind. Fine day—people sociable. Passed thro Penshurst (P. S.’s place & Tunbridge—fine old ruin that). Arrived at London Bridge at noon. Crossed at once over into the city and down at a chop-house in the Poulberry—having eaten nothing since the previous afternoon dinner. Went and passed St. Paul’s to the Strand to find our house. They referred us elsewhere. Very full. Secured room at last (one for each) at a guinea and a half a week. Very cheap. Went down to the Queen’s Hotel to inquire after our ship friends—(on the way green coat attracted attention)—not in. Went to Drury Lane at Julien’s Promenade Concerts (admittance 1 s.) A great crowd and fine music. In the reading room to see ‘Bentley’s Miscellany’ with something about Redburn. (By the way, stopped at a store in the Row & inquired for the book, to see whether it had been published. They offered it to me at a guinea). At Julien’s also saw Blackwoods’ long story about a short book. It’s very comical. Seemed so, at least, as I had to hurry on it. But the wonder is that the old Tory should waste so many papers upon a thing which I, the author, know to be trash, and wrote it to buy some tobacco with. A good wash & turned in early.
“Thursday, Nov. 8th: Dressed, after breakfast at a coffee-house, and went to Mr. Bentley’s. He was out of town at Brighton. The notices of Redburn were shown me.—Laughable. Staid awhile, and then to Mr. Murray’s, out of town. Strolled about and went into the National Gallery. Dined with the Doctor & Adler, and after dark a ramble thro’ Chancery Lane and Lincoln’s Inn Fields, we turned into Holborn & so to the Princess’s Theatre in Oxford Street. Went into the pit at the hall price—one shilling. The part of a Frenchman was very well played. So also, skater on the ice.
“Friday, Nov. 9th: Breakfasted late and went into Cheapside to see the ‘Lord Mayor’s show’ it being the day of the great civic feast & festivities. A most bloated pomp, to be sure. Went down to the bridge to see the people crowding there. Crossed by Westminster, thro’ the Parks to the Edgeware Road, & found the walk delightful, the sun coming out a little, and the air not cold. While on one of the bridges, the thought struck me again that a fine story might be written about a Blue Monday in November London—a City of Dis (Dante’s) Cloud of Smoke—the damned, etc., coal boxes, oily waters, etc.—its marks are left upon you, etc., etc., etc.”
In Israel Potter (1855) Melville devoted one chapter to a description of London Bridge: a chapter entitled: “In the City of Dis.” The description begins: “It was late on a Monday morning in November—a Blue Monday—a Fifth of November—Guy Fawkes’ Day!—very blue, foggy, doleful and gunpowdery, indeed.” Melville had been husbanding for six years the impressions gathered on November 9, 1849.