IMPRESSIONS OF PETERSBURG.—THE DESERTED CHURCH.
Upon a steep hill, situated about half a mile from the hotel, and bearing from it about south-east, stand the ruins of a well-built church, surrounded by a large grave-yard, thickly tenanted by the once citizens of Petersburg: numerous tombs, of a respectable and, indeed, venerable appearance, contribute to invest the spot with quite an Old-country character; and, viewed from the high stone wall which surrounds it, the setting sun is glorious.
To this place my first visit was one of mere chance, but each evening after saw me at the same calm hour taking my walk amongst the tombs. I discovered that by far the greatest number of these decent dwellings of the dead were inscribed to Europeans, chiefly from Ireland and Scotland: very few were dated past the middle age of life, the majority were indeed young men,—enterprising adventurers, who had wandered hither to seek fortune, and had found a grave, the consummation of all wants and desires.
Upon many of these grave-stones were displayed evidences of the lingering pride of gentle birth; recollections which, suppressed, or perhaps forgotten in the land of equality during life, seemed to have survived the grave, stronger than death. Here were set forth in goodly cutting the coat armour, crest, and motto of an old Scots or Irish house, from which the junior branches had probably received no other inheritance save this claim to gentillesse, with liberty to bear it to some distant soil.
How favoured was the French gentleman of whom we read, who, resigning his sword, sailed in search of gain, and was permitted to return and reclaim it before time had rusted its bright blade! How many young hearts, that, quitting home, have beat high with the prospect of an equally happy return, have been doomed to waste and wither in all the misery of hope deferred, which maketh the heart sick indeed, until care and climate closed the protracted weary struggle, and the fortune-seeker was laid to moulder in some stranger grave.
I trust that, amidst the changes each day brings forth here, this ruined church will be left unprofaned, and that the tenants who sleep within its little inclosure may be left undisturbed. And I would further counsel any gentle traveller who rests for a sunset in Petersburg, to walk to this church, and contemplate its going-down from off the lofty stile leading over the western wall of the grave-yard: and when he shall behold the forest vale below changed—as I have more than once beheld it—into a lake of living gold, and over this shall watch the shadows of evening steal till the last bright fringe is withdrawn, and the brown forest again is seen to cover all the land—when, I say, this has been witnessed, the stranger (if a woman, certainly) will hardly fail to thank me for this discovery; for such I do verily consider it to be, as much as was Colon's first lighting on this huge sliver of our nether world.
I visited this little city at a period when cholera was making frightful ravages on every side, and a consequent depression was to be expected amongst the community. I was nevertheless greatly pleased with the situation of the place, and with the air of business that appeared to animate its citizens despite the frightful disease by which they were assailed; and indeed, so far as a sojourner of five days may be permitted to express an opinion, I should say that the evidences of the city's prosperity and growing prospects were many and cheering.
I in this place and in the neighbourhood saw a good deal of slavery, and heard much more: the victims themselves (so called) seem here a merry, light-hearted, and lightly-worked race, and I was a good deal surprised to find that in many instances their possessors were looked upon as the real sufferers.