Chapter II (5)

Upon the whole, viewing the difficulties above mentioned, the question naturally arises, whether they are of such a character as to be insurmountable; and to this I think we may safely say that they are not. What has been done once, as has been proved by the completion of the canal, can be done again, and will be maintained with much less difficulty. So far, therefore, viewed simply as a work of engineering, it resolves itself into a question of cost, or in other words, will the work pay as a commercial speculation, seeing that it has already cost 20,000,000_l._, and a great deal more is still required before it can be said to be quite complete, besides a very large sum for annual maintenance, and what this last item will be it is very difficult to decide, and nothing but experience can prove; still the more the canal becomes known, the more in all probability will it be used, and therefore the more money will be available for keeping it in repair. In addition to the dredging, it is very probable that the piers, both at Port Said and Suez, will have to be extended considerably.

The whole of the valley of the Nile, from the head of the delta below Cairo, is bordered by ridges of sandstone hills a few hundred feet high, with generally a plain monotonous tableland above, intersected by numerous ravines; no granite appears until we reach Assouan. In the vicinity of this place there are numerous quarries of fine granite, chiefly red; the masses are so compact that blocks of almost any size may be obtained from near the surface. From this district all the granite for the obelisks, statues, and columns of the various buildings, temples, and pyramids on both sides of the valley have been taken. Transported in flat-bottomed boats and rafts to the places where they were intended to be used, they were landed by means of inclined planes of wood, with rollers, and wedges, assisted by numerous rough capstans or windlasses, worked by countless gangs of men. This work appears to have been done with considerable skill, and the necessary combined operations were carried on simultaneously, by means of well-concerted signals. These operations are very clearly explained by the sculptured figures, and have been published by Sir Gardner Wilkinson and others.

Whilst examining the granite quarries near Assouan, I observed several imperfect blocks, which the Egyptians had commenced quarrying, but found them defective, and ceased working them. The mode of quarrying seems to have been nearly the same as we employ at the present time, namely, by wedges, levers, and pickaxes. Even if gunpowder had been known it would have been of very little use, for it would have in most cases destroyed the blocks, and the waste would have been enormous.

It does not quite clearly appear of what metal the tools were composed with which they worked the granite, whether of iron or bronze; if of the former, it must have been case-hardened. The polishing would be done by attrition with emery or sharp silicious sand. As for the stone, being sandstone, it was easily worked, and softer tools only were required.

As soon as I got back to Alexandria my first inquiries were for poor Demetrius. To my great delight I found him quite recovered, and overjoyed at seeing me; but he said he had been very ill for six weeks, and had several times considered himself dying. I immediately set to work making arrangements for my journey overland to Palestine, when I was suddenly interrupted by letters from my father, saying that he was very unwell, and wishing me to come back as soon as possible. I instantly dismissed Demetrius with a very handsome gratuity, discontinued my preparations, and, through Mr. Lee, our Consul at Alexandria, hired a passage to Malta in a merchant vessel. I was, however, laid up for several days at Cairo with fever, which was not pleasant, as the plague was then raging. As soon as I was sufficiently recovered I proceeded to Alexandria, where I found that the merchantman had already sailed. However, as I have said before, Captain Boswell, with H.M. sloop, the ‘Spry,’ was there, having Captain Wright on board, and the latter having finished his report on Cleopatra’s Needle, the sloop was about to return to Malta, and they very kindly offered me a passage. This I gladly accepted, and on arriving at Malta found that the plague had broken out on board the merchantman in which I had engaged a passage, and that several of the crew had died. She was then in quarantine, and before long everyone on board died of the plague, and I saw the ship burnt. I humbly thanked an all-merciful Providence for its inscrutable dispositions.

At Malta, though better, I still retained the fever, and consulted Dr. Groves, the head of the naval medical department. He looked very grave and said little, but recommended me to go to England as soon as possible, while he told a friend of mine that he did not think I should recover, the fever having taken such hold of my constitution. However, by the aid of bark and port wine I became temporarily myself, and as soon as I was able I proceeded to pay my visits. I called on the Commander-in-Chief of the Mediterranean squadron, Sir Graham Moore, who gave me every assistance in his power, and introduced me to Admiral Woolley, chief of the dockyard, to whom and his amiable wife I owe my gratitude for their kind hospitality. They introduced me to Sir Manly Power, the commander of the military forces, and from him and the various messes of the regiments composing the garrison I met with the most friendly reception. I here made the acquaintance of Mr. Strutt, one of the sons of Mr. Strutt, of Belper, and with him I explored both Malta and Gozo. He shortly after left for Greece and the East, where he died of malaria, which I much regretted, as he was a remarkably fine, intelligent, and spirited young man.

While I was here His Majesty George IV.’s birthday was celebrated with the greatest _éclat_. At twelve o’clock the entire garrison was reviewed by Sir Manly Power, with the usual salutes from the forts and ships of war. At sunset all the guns on the works were fired. This was a magnificent sight, and, that I might see it properly, I was invited to dine at the artillery mess at St. Elmo, from whence the first gun was fired; this was taken up by fort after fort until the entire fortress seemed in a blaze, and the whole was terminated by a magnificent bouquet of rockets.

I embarked for Naples on board a cutter commanded by Mr. Thurtle, one of the oldest midshipmen in the navy. He was a very peculiar and rather eccentric character, rough and sarcastic in manner, an excellent sailor, and a kind-hearted man. His long service and great experience rendered him well known throughout the navy, and his wit and good-humour made him a favourite wherever he went; in fact, he was a privileged person throughout the fleet, and enabled to assume a character which few officers of far higher rank thought of attempting. Unfortunately he was the brother of that daring and dissipated criminal who shortly afterwards murdered his companion, Welsh, at Elstree, for which he was hanged at the Old Bailey. This was a sad blow to the poor midshipman, and one from which I afterwards heard that he never recovered. My voyage with him was most agreeable. He was very kind and attentive, full of fun and humour, yet never for a moment neglecting his duties, and he kept his crew and ship in the most perfect order.

On landing at Naples I got apartments in the Gran Bretagna (then, and I believe now, the principal hotel), with more ease than usual, in consequence of the rapid advance of an Austrian army, thirty thousand strong, commanded by General Baron Pirmont, at the request of the King of Naples. I saw them enter, and very fine troops they were, especially the Tyrolese yagers. Later on, when I wished to make an excursion to Pæstum, I obtained, through the kindness of the colonel of the regiment, two Tyrolese corporals as escort. They sat, rifle in hand, on the box of my carriage, and mounted guard while I sketched. We saw several ill-looking fellows, armed, prowling about, but none dared venture within reach of the rifles. Letters from my father reached me here, saying that he was a good deal better, and that there was no necessity for my hurrying; I therefore, while still hastening home, thought I might allow myself a few days on the road to visit those objects of interest which I had previously omitted.

While at Naples I also examined an open pier, of which there are numerous specimens about the bay. This pier is constructed in a peculiar manner of pozzolana mixed up with irregular-shaped pieces of brick, marble, and tufa, or volcanic stone. The piers were formed by enclosing the space in a wooden dam or box, then filling it with the materials above mentioned, which after a short time set under water, and became a solid mass; the cofferdam was then removed and the pier left standing; then another was constructed in the same manner, until the required number were completed; upon these piers arches were built, and upon the top of them a roadway and parapet were constructed. The piers were about the same thickness, or rather greater, than the span of the arches. The object of the openings and piers was to provide a barrier which should be just sufficient to break the swell, but not large enough to obstruct the current, as the latter prevented any sediment from accumulating on either side of the pier. This is a very ingenious and novel mode of constructing piers, and it is strange that a like method has not been adopted in England, where the vast quantity of alluvial matter carried by the currents along our coasts accumulates round solid piers, and frequently fills up the harbours, rendering them almost useless, unless the accumulated matter be removed by dredging at continual expense.

Whilst breakfasting at the hotel at Pozzoli I felt an attack of my old enemy, the malaria fever, coming on; I therefore got back to Naples as soon as possible, and was obliged to go to bed, and there I remained for several days perfectly helpless. Thinking it would leave me, I did not send for medical advice. However, finding myself gradually getting worse, I was recommended to send for Dr. Roskilly, formerly an army surgeon, who had now established himself at Naples as a physician, and from his well-known skill and courteous manners had obtained considerable practice, particularly amongst the English. He came, and I found him such as described; he examined me carefully, and, after a considerable time of grave consideration, he said that I was in a very bad way, that the fever had got such a strong hold of me that it was continually undermining my constitution, and that, if not speedily arrested, he could not answer for the consequences; indeed, I might not live to see England. The worthy doctor, with whom I was much pleased, then left, and promised to return the next day at the same time, which he did. He then said that he had given my case his utmost consideration, and he was more than ever convinced that some decisive measure was necessary. My constitution was still good, and strong enough for the measure he would propose; and if I would submit to him, he felt confident that he could carry me through. He explained his remedy, which was nothing more or less than that I should take blue pill, as much as I was able; this, he said, would thoroughly eradicate the fever. I accordingly consented, as my case was desperate. It succeeded completely after about a fortnight’s trial. I felt very weak, but I was entirely a different man. I soon began to recover strength and appetite, and in about another week I was enabled to go out, and became myself again. No doubt the remedy was severe, but I must in justice to the able doctor say that he perfectly cured me; for although in after life I was frequently exposed to malaria influence in the fens of Lincolnshire, Walcheren, the worst parts of Holland, Tunis, and elsewhere, I never had an attack of the malaria fever.

On my way northwards I stopped two days at Mola di Gaeta, where the Apennines approach the sea, and where are numerous traces of the villas of the old Roman aristocracy; it was well I did so, for the brigands had mustered in great strength in the adjoining mountains, and committed many atrocities; amongst other things, they had just carried off a number of pupils from a neighbouring school. The Austrians, who were there in great force, at the request of the local authorities came to the rescue. A very strong patrol of cavalry kept the main roads, while a still more numerous body of Tyrolese swept the valleys and penetrated the recesses of the mountains. The brigands at first defied their pursuers, but finding themselves hard pressed, they killed their unfortunate prisoners. On hearing this the Austrians attacked at once, and having slain a great number, made the rest prisoners. I saw about thirty chained together, who, I believe, were all shot the next day. The road being now clear, I resumed my journey.

At Florence I carefully examined and measured the celebrated bridge of the Most Holy Trinity, by Ammanati, across the Arno, near the Gran Bretagna. This beautiful structure, a masterpiece in the art of bridge-building, consists of three arches; the arches may be termed semi-elliptic, slightly pointed at the crown; perhaps they might be more appropriately termed Gothi-elliptic. The slight pointing at the crown may have been done to allow for sinking, which did not take place to the extent calculated upon. Each of the arches is surrounded with a moulded archivolt of equal thickness throughout, with an ornamented scroll or shield in the centre of the spandril walls supporting the roadway, which is bounded by a solid panelled bridge. The piers are terminated by acute angular buttresses carved up to the top, and panelled also. The whole is built of marble, and is certainly one of the lightest, most elegant, and most scientific structures of the kind in existence. Some doubts as to its stability have existed at various times; nevertheless, it still exists without a flaw, and as a model to engineers and architects.

I visited the magnificent picture gallery of the Palazzo Pitti, replete with choice specimens of the great Italian masters. The palace itself is a fine example of the simple, massive, rusticated style, devoid of ornament. The effect is imposing, and shows what may be done by bold, well-defined masses, without resorting to that exuberant over-ornamented style, intermixed with all sorts of coloured marble, so much the fashion of the present day, particularly in England, where the climate is peculiarly unsuited for it; in any case it can only be termed a vitiated taste. If the building is well designed and properly grouped in effective masses, so as to give well-defined portions of light and shade, there can be no need of extraneous ornaments, as they only detract from the general effect; and where a building is not well designed no ornament can render it effective.

The port of Leghorn consisted of several solid stone piers, which did not appear to be laid out in the most scientific manner, and considerable improvements were in contemplation when I saw it. The great difficulty it has to contend with is the quantity of alluvial matter brought down by the Arno, which spreads along the coast for some distance both to the north and south. This might be obviated by judiciously adopting the principle of open piers, as invented by the Romans, so as to allow the littoral current full scope; this would sweep away the alluvium as fast as it was deposited, and the requisite protection from westerly winds might be easily obtained if the works were constructed on a proper system.

Passing by Carrara, I was much struck by the waste consequent on the clumsy method of working the quarries, and of transporting and loading the blocks. It occurred to me at the time how easy it would be to construct an iron tramway from the quarries to the shore, with a suitable pier furnished with powerful derricks at its termination, and this, with proper machinery for quarrying, all of which would have cost but little, would materially reduce the price of the marble, and consequently increase the demand.

As I passed the magnificent and well-protected Gulf of Spezzia, I thought, “What a splendid site for a naval arsenal!” This idea has now been at least partially carried into effect, and if the works are properly designed and executed, it ought to be one of the finest in Europe.

The morning after my arrival at Genoa I arose early, quite refreshed, and went first to the harbour, which I had always heard was one of the finest works of the kind in the world, and as such my excellent father expected that I should give him a complete account of it. I therefore examined it very minutely, and took great pains in tracing, sketching, and measuring it, when I could do so without being observed, for there was a good deal of jealousy about it. At first sight I was very much struck by the extent and magnificence of the bay, with the fine old town rising like a vast amphitheatre of palaces round it, surrounded by a huge circle of forts which crowned the summits of the hills; and by the great extent and massiveness of the two outer moles, the depth of water enclosed within them being capable of receiving at all times the largest vessels of war. But when I began to examine more narrowly I found that there, was a great error in the design of the main or outer moles. The southern, which was the longest, consisted of two arms, the outer one inclining inward at a considerable angle, whilst the northern mole consisted of a single straight line projecting from the shore in a south-south-west direction, so that the entrance pointed south-south-west, and was consequently exposed to the full effect of the severe gales which blow up the Gulf of Lyons during the winter and autumn months; the consequence is that during severe gales from this quarter a heavy swell sets into the entrance and produces such a strong current throughout the interior of the harbour that vessels in front of the town and under the southern mole can scarcely ride with safety at their moorings. This is a serious defect, and it might be easily remedied, although up to the present I have not heard that anything has been done. In the construction of the works there was nothing particular to find fault with, but there was a serious error committed in the disposal of the sewage; the whole of this was discharged into the harbour, so that in hot weather a most disagreeable effluvia arose in front of the lower part of the town; moreover, it caused the accumulation of a considerable quantity of alluvial matter. This had to be removed by constant dredging, in which convict labour was employed. The alluvium was emptied into lighters and sent out to sea to be discharged. The old arsenal was situated at the south-east corner of the inner harbour; it was quite unequal to the requirements of modern times.

While I was at Genoa an accident occurred by which my old acquaintance the sloop ‘Spry’ was nearly lost. Captain Boswell, having served his time, had been succeeded by another captain, who, contrary to strict rule, had his wife on board. The evening on which the captain had given orders to prepare for sailing there happened to be a grand ball in the town, and the lady persuaded her husband to take her, and defer sailing to the morrow. By this time the ‘Spry’ had left the harbour, and lay at single anchor outside the north mole. During the night a strong gale sprung up from the south. As the ship could not regain her old position the officer in command let go two more anchors, but two cables having parted she dragged her third anchor, and was driven close to the rocks. No assistance could be given from the shore, and, as her position seemed hopeless, the officers and crew took to their boats, and managed to get off in safety. To the astonishment of everybody, however, the last cable held, and the recoil of the waves, so close was she to the rocks, actually prevented her from striking, and so she remained until the gale abated, and the ship was saved. The odd part of it was, that when the crew were about leaving the ship my old friend Dr. Biggar was asleep in the cabin, and when aroused flew into a violent rage, and threw a bootjack at the head of the midshipman who woke him. After several ineffectual attempts, the midshipman was obliged to leave him, and he turned round and slept soundly till the morning. Judge of his surprise when he awoke and found what had happened during the night!

After passing rapidly through France, I embarked from Boulogne, September 23, 1821, in a small packet, during a very strong gale, with about fifty other passengers.

The following day we started with the morning’s tide with about seventy passengers, of whom Colonel Hylton Jolliffe, a friend of my father’s, was one. We left Boulogne about eleven, and reached Dover at 2 P.M.; I directly started by coach for London, and reached my father’s, 27, Stamford Street, the same night. I found him in very bad health, lying upon the sofa in the principal front bedroom; he was glad to see me.

He continued in the same weak state, although in perfect possession of all his great faculties, dictated to me several letters on business, and talked of sundry new works that he was about to undertake, particularly the new London Bridge, and the removal of the old one, which had been for some time under discussion in Parliament; a Bill for this purpose had actually been introduced during the past session, and my father had been requested to prepare a design for it, which he did, and it was very similar to that since executed by myself. My father’s bodily health appeared to decline gradually; he was confined almost to the sofa, and could do little more than walk across the room; in this manner he continued until the 3rd of October. He went to bed as usual, perfectly sensible and composed, and hoped that he would soon be better, as he was most anxious to return to business and make up for lost time. I went to his room on the morning of the 4th of October, and found that a considerable change for the worse had taken place; he seemed to be in much pain, and was walking about the room, evidently scarcely knowing what he was about. I got him into bed, and immediately sent for his physician, Dr. Ainslie, who had known him all his life, but he was unfortunately out of town. The apothecary, Mr. Welbank, came, and we consulted together as to whom we should send for, and ultimately summoned Dr. Roberts, who, although in good practice, had never seen my father, and consequently knew nothing of his constitution or complaints. He did the best he could, but evidently thought the case was very serious. My father lay in bed all day, almost unconscious, although I thought he knew me. I remained with him nearly the whole day, and about five o’clock in the afternoon he appeared to be sinking fast, and breathed very heavily, which alarmed us all excessively. In a short time this ceased, his features began gradually to relax, and he breathed his last at half-past five on the afternoon of the 4th of October, 1821, in the sixty-first year of his age.

The disease which killed my poor father was that of the kidneys and liver, as far as we could ascertain. All my brothers and sisters were assembled round his deathbed. It was a sad, sad sight, and afflicted us most severely; we had, however, the melancholy satisfaction of having done all in our power, though of no avail, to arrest the fatal event. He was universally known and respected; the news of his death spread immediately throughout the town, the public papers were filled with leading articles giving accounts of his public and private life, and everybody deplored his loss. One of the most powerful and touching articles was written by his talented friend Perry, the proprietor of the ‘Morning Chronicle,’ who was then at Brighton in bad health, and died there three months afterwards.

It seemed to be the universal wish that he who had rendered so many services to his country and was so generally beloved, should be buried in St. Paul’s, and arrangements were made accordingly. The funeral took place a few days afterwards, at eleven o’clock, and he was attended to his last resting-place by a vast concourse of literary, scientific, and private friends. The late talented John Wilson Croker, Esq., then First Secretary of the Admiralty, wrote the epitaph, which was composed in the most feeling and scholar-like manner for which that able gentleman was so particularly well qualified.

[1] Let me here relate an anecdote of the almost incredible
instinct of the dog. Passing by the palace of the Austrian
viceroy, I observed a dog sitting with an air of profound
melancholy before one of the sentry-boxes. Colonel Brown,
our representative, who was then with me, said that this dog
formerly belonged to a soldier of the body-guard of Eugène
Beauharnois, the viceroy, and accompanied his master to Moscow.
The man never returned, but upwards of two years afterwards the
dog did, and resumed his station before his former master’s
sentry-box. After a time the dog came to be talked about,
and at length the viceroy, an Austrian archduke, had him
brought into the palace and tried to domesticate him, but he
always returned to the sentry-box, where he lay motionless,
and at times moaning. Seeing this, the archduke ordered him
daily rations, and he was placed in the sentry’s orders for
protection, and in this state I saw him; but a short time after
the dog died, apparently inconsolable.