Chapter III: Part 3

Notwithstanding the mosquito nuisance and bad drainage, the traveller’s first impression of Havana is distinctly agreeable, and the pleasing illusion is never completely destroyed. The harbour is wonderfully picturesque. Opposite the entrance stands the Moro Castle, almost a _facsimile_ of that curious little castellated Moorish fortress which faces the beautiful monastery and Church of Belem, at Lisbon. To the left are two rather sharp promontories, crested by several fine churches, on _Los Angeles_, fully two hundred years old--an age in the New World, corresponding to hoar antiquity in the Old,--beyond these, upon a number of low-lying hills, rises the city, an irregular mass of one-storied dwellings, painted a vivid ochre, and interspersed with church domes and towers--with here and there tall, lank cocoa palms, or a tuft of banana leaves waving over some garden wall. Vessels from every part of the world, feluccas, with their swallow-shaped sails, some dazzling white, others a deep-red brown, fill up the foreground--whilst canoe-like market boats laden with tropical fruits, fish, vegetables and flowers, and rowed by negroes naked to the waist, scud in all directions over the deep blue waters.

Arriving, as I did, from New York, which I had left deep in snow, this summer scene was most exhilarating, and the exceeding transparency of the Cuban atmosphere added considerably to its beauty. Everything seemed unusual, novel, and, above all, utterly unlike what I had expected. The impress of the mother-country, Spain, is felt and seen everywhere, and modern American influences are barely perceptible, as yet. From the sea Havana might be Malaga or Cadiz, but when you land, memories of Pompeii immediately crowd upon you. What we should call the city proper, the commercial quarter of the Cuban capital, consists of a labyrinth of narrow lanes, traversed by one or two broadish streets, the principal of which, known all over Southern America and the West Indies as Calle O’Reilly, runs from the Governor’s Palace, right out to the walls of the city. Few of the houses which line these lanes and alleys are more than one story high, but that one story so exceedingly lofty, that it would make three in an average London dwelling. The lower half of every house is painted either a deep darkish blue, a deep Egyptian red, or a vivid yellow ochre; the upper part is always a dazzling white. As in Pompeii you notice rows of stucco columns, painted half one colour, half another. Peeping through the ever-open doorways, you may, as you pass along, obtain something more than a mere casual glimpse of the interior of the dwellings. If you are early enough, you may behold the family at its toilet, for there is very little privacy anywhere in Cuba, every act, from entry into life to its final exit, from baptism to burial, being serenely performed in the utmost publicity. The lower windows, overlooking the street, are protected by heavy iron bars, and behind these you may, in certain quarters of the town, see lively groups of Havanese Geishas, their faces thickly powdered with rice flour, their long black hair plaited, and their opulent charms displayed to liberal advantage--“_sono donn che fano all’ amore!_” These same curious overhanging windows, with their iron bars, would give the place a prison-like appearance, were they not painted in the most brilliant colours,--orange, scarlet, and pea-green.

There is no West End, so to speak, in Havana, the mansions of the wealthy being scattered through every part of the city. Some of the finer houses are exceedingly handsome, but they are all built on one plan, in the classical style, with an inner courtyard, surrounded by handsome marble or stucco columns. I imagine them to be designed much on the same plan as the villas of ancient Rome. In the centre of the _Pateo_, there is generally a garden, rich in tropical vegetation, shading either a fountain or a large gilded aviary full of brilliant parrots and parrakeets. In some houses there is a picture or statue of the Virgin, or some Saint, with a silver lamp burning before it day and night. In the _Pateo_ the family assembles of an evening, the ladies in full dress--and as it is generally brilliantly illuminated, the pleasant domestic scene adds greatly to the gay appearance of the streets, which fill with loungers in the cool of the evening.

The handsomest street in Havana is the Cerro, a long thoroughfare running up a hill at the back of the town, bordered on either side by enormous old villas, in the midst of magnificent gardens. The finest of these mansions belongs to the very old Hernandez family, and is built of white marble in the usual classical style. The adjacent villa, Santo Veneo has a lovely garden, and used to be famous for its collection of orchids, the late Countess de Santo Veneo, a very wealthy lady, being a great collector. She was a clever, agreeable woman, well-known in Paris where she usually spent the summer and autumn. In the midst of a perfect forest of cocoa-palms stands the former summer villa of the Bishops of Havana, now a private residence.

Then, one after the other, follow the handsome dwellings of the Havanese Sangre Azul, of the Marquese dos Hermanos, of the Conde Penalver, of the Marqueza de Rio Palma, etc. The cacti in these villa gardens are of amazing size and shape, some showing leaves thick enough to bear the weight of a full grown man. Unfortunately, these Havana Edens are infested all the year round by swarms of mosquitos. The residents seem skin proof, and do not appear to suffer from the insects’ attacks. But woe waits on the unwary newcomer who tempts fate by lingering in these lovely gardens!

Although an eminently Catholic city, Havana cannot be said to be rich in churches. A goodly number have been destroyed during the various rebellions, especially those of the middle of the century, when the religious orders were suppressed. The largest church is the Mercede, a fine building in the _rococo_ style with handsome marble altars and some good pictures. It is crowded on Sundays and holidays by the fashionable world of the place, the young men forming up in rows outside the church as soon as Mass is over, to gaze at the senoritas and their chaperons.

The Cathedral is the chief architectural monument of interest in Havana. It was erected for the Jesuits in 1704, and was converted into a Cathedral in the course of the Nineteenth Century. It is built in the usual Hispano-American style with a big dome and two stumpy towers on either side of the centre. Internally the effect is rather heavy, owing to the dark colour of the marbles which cover the walls, but compared with most churches in these latitudes, the edifice is in exceptionally good taste, with a remarkable absence of the tawdry images and wonderful collections of trumpery, artificial flowers and glass shades, which, as a rule, disfigure South American churches. The choir would be considered handsome even in Rome, and the stalls are beautifully carved in mahogany. Almost all the columns in the church are also mahogany, highly polished, producing the effect of a deep red marble, most striking when relieved, as in this case, by gilt bronze capitals. In the choir is the tomb of Columbus. The great navigator died, as most of my readers will doubtless be aware, at Valladolid, in Spain, on Ascension Day, 1506, and his body was at first deposited, after the most pompous obsequies, in the Church of San Francisco, in that city.

In 1513, the remains were conveyed to the Carthusian monastery of La Quabas, at Seville, where Ferdinand and Isabella erected a monument over them, bearing the simple but appropriate inscription:

“_A Castile y Leon
Nuevo Mundo Dio Colon._”

Twenty-three years later, the body of Columbus, with that of his son Diego, was removed to the island of San Domingo or Hayti, and interred in the principal church of the capital; but when that island was ceded to the French, the Spaniards claimed the ashes of the Discoverer, and they were carried to Havana and solemnly interred in the Cathedral, on the 15th January, 1796. The remains, which, by this time, it seems, were scanty enough, were placed in a small urn, deposited in a niche in the left wall of the chancel, and sealed up with a marble slab, surmounted by an excellent bust of the bold explorer, wreathed with laurel. The inscription, a very poor one, excited considerable ridicule, and a pasquinade was circulated, lamenting the absence of the nine Muses on the occasion of its composition.

Of late years, however, the inhabitants of San Domingo have set up a protest in favour of certain bones which have been discovered in their own Cathedral, and declare by their gods or by their saints, that never a bone of Columbus left their island, and that the relics of the great Christopher in the Cathedral of Havana, unto which so many pilgrimages have been made, are as apocryphal as were those of certain saints mentioned by the learned Erasmus.

Of the other numerous Havanese churches there is not much to be said, except that nearly all have remarkable ceilings, decorated in a sort of mosaic work in rare woods, often very artistic in design. Columns of mahogany are frequently seen, and nearly all the churches are lined with very old Spanish or Dutch tiles. The Church of Santa Clara, attached to a very large nunnery, is a favourite place of devotion with the fashionable ladies, who squat on a piece of carpet in front of the Madonna, with their negro attendant kneeling a few feet behind them. When the lady has performed her devotions, the sable footman takes up her carpet, and follows her out of the church, walking solemnly a few feet behind her. In the Church of the Mercede, there is a very curious picture representing a group of Indians being slaughtered by a number of Spaniards. In the centre is a wooden cross, upon the transverse portions of which Our Lady is seated, holding the infant Jesus in her arms. In the corner is a long inscription of some historical importance. It runs thus:

“The Admiral, Don Christopher Columbus and the Spanish Army, being possessed of the ‘Cerro de la Vaga,’ a place in the Spanish island, erected on it a cross, on whose right arm, the 2d of May, 1492, in the night, there appeared, with her most precious Son, the Virgin, Our Lady of Mercy. The Indians, who occupied the island, as soon as they saw Her, drew their arrows and fired at Her, but, as the arrows could not pierce the sacred wood, the Spaniards took courage, and, falling upon the said Indians, killed a great number of them. And the person who saw this wonderful prodigy was the V. P. F. Juan.”

The Jesuits have an important college for boys in Havana. Annexed to it is an observatory, said to be the best organized in South America. The church is handsome, and over the high altar hangs a famous Holy Family by Ribera. In connection with this college, there is also a museum and library, especially rich in drawings and prints, illustrating Cuban life and scenery, from the Sixteenth Century down to our own times.

The Tacon opera-house, which can accommodate 5,000 persons, is, in its way, a very fine theatre, built in the Italian fashion, with tiers of boxes, one above another. They are separated by gilded lattices, so as to afford every possible means of ventilation. Round each tier of boxes is a sort of ambulatory or verandah, overlooking the great Square. The upper gallery is exclusively devoted to the coloured people, who, on a Sunday, fill it to suffocation. They are considered the most critical part of the audience, and their appreciation or disapproval is generally well founded and liberally demonstrated. The first two rows of boxes belong to the aristocracy and wealthy merchants, and the display of jewelry on a gala night used to be quite amazing. The lower part of the house is divided into a pit and orchestra-stalls. When crowded the Tacon presents a really fine appearance. The stage is, I should say, as large as that at Covent Garden and the operas are perfectly mounted and staged.

According to the best authorities, Diego Velasquez, the Conqueror of Cuba, founded the famous city of San Christobal de la Habana in 1508, and being immensely impressed by the width and depth of the harbour, and its generally favourable position for trade purposes, he called it _la Have del Nuevo Mondo_, the key to the New World. So far he was right, and until quite recently Havana stood forth among the richest cities in Southern America. The early history of Cuba, like that of all the West Indian Islands, consists of a series of attacks by Spanish, English, French and Dutch buccaneers and privateers. In 1528, these adventurers burnt the new city to the ground, but, Phœnix-like, it soon rose above its ashes, and was eventually protected by a chain of fortifications of sufficient importance to resist a siege by the Dutch in 1628. From 1762 until February, 1763, the English, under Sir George Pickock, held the place. It was finally restored to the Spaniards; and the evacuation, on July 10th of the same year, was celebrated with great rejoicing; Britain being, at that date, distinctly unpopular in Cuba. In 1768, France having ceded Louisiana to Spain, Don Antonio Alloa sailed for New Orleans, to take possession in the name of Their Catholic Majesties. He was so ill received as to be obliged to return forthwith to Havana, where Marshal O’Reilly, an Irish exile, organized an expedition to Louisiana, and seized the capital, which was not held for very long. In 1802, Havana was partly burnt to the ground and some ten thousand persons were left homeless. Under the Governorship of the celebrated Tacon, Havana soon resumed its foremost position, and was almost entirely rebuilt in stone and masonry, whereas, hitherto, most of the houses had been of wood thatched with straw. If you ask, “Who built that fine edifice?” the answer is invariably “Tacon.” “Yon theatre?” “Tacon.” It is literally a case of “_Tacon qui, Tacon su e Tacon giù._” He is the benevolent Figaro of the place. The wonders which he performed in a short time prove clearly that when the island is energetically governed, it flourishes marvellously.

ST. MICHAEL’S CHURCH, CHARLESTON

WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS

Cities, like men, and because they are the work of men, have each, necessarily, marked features of individuality, and these will be found to illustrate in some degree, the characteristics of the people by whom they have been founded, and by whom they are maintained. All of our American cities may thus be distinguished, each having its local atmosphere and aspect. Charleston is confessedly one of the favourite cities of the South, if not of the Union, and is commended to our regards by a thousand special considerations. She has been distinguished by her early and active share in our Revolution--in the formation of the Confederacy and the Constitution--in the noble contributions of intellect and valour which she has made to the common capital of the country--in her generous sacrifices at all times in the common cause--by the refinements of her society--by the polish of her people--the general propriety of her tastes--her lofty morals and warm hospitality.

Founded under peculiar circumstances, at a juncture of marked transition in European affairs, under the direct patronage of the most eminent among the British nobility, and subsequently taken under the immediate protection of the Crown, the colony of South Carolina--of which Charleston was at that period the very soul--was always a much favoured province of the mother country. The richness and value of her products furnished substantial reasons why she should be a favourite. Her merchants were mostly British; her native sons of family were sent to Britain for education; and the affinities between the parent state and the colony were thus rendered doubly tenacious, making the struggle of the Revolution a much severer one in this than in any other colony of the whole continent.

The Palmetto City is happily placed within two spacious rivers, the Cooper and Ashley--the Etiwan and Keawah of the Red Men. These unite to form the harbour, which is ample and attractive to the eye, in high degree, forming a beautiful _ensemble_, not less sweet than spacious. As you enter from the sea, between the Islands of Sullivan and Morris, the city opens before you in the foreground, five miles distant--rising, like another Venice from the ocean. It is built, like Venice, upon flats and shoals of sand and mud. So low is the land, that the illusion that it is built directly in the sea, continues till you approach quite near it. This illusion is productive of a picturesque effect, but not sufficient to compensate you for the relief which would be yielded by an elevated background, or by lofty eminences of land on either side. As you advance, the bay expands, wide and majestic, forming a harbourage to which there can be no objection, were it not for the embarrassments of the bar at the entrance, which forbids the admission of ships of very heavy draught of water. In front of you, commanding the channel is Fort Sumter, a formidable pile of fortress, with double tier of heavy cannon rising upon a mole at the head of a sand-bar. In passing Sullivan’s Island the eye readily distinguishes the famous fortress which bears the name of Moultrie, distinguished in American history as the scene of one of the first and best fought battles of the Revolution, when a few hundred native riflemen, who had never fired a cannon before, beat off and nearly destroyed a formidable British fleet, making such slaughter among them as, in proportion to the numbers engaged, was not even reached by that of Trafalgar and the Nile. On the right you see Haddrill’s--Mount Pleasant village--which also constituted one of the fortresses of ’76. On the left are the shores of James and Morris Islands, the latter bearing the lighthouse of the port; the former the site of old Fort Johnson, which was wrested from the British, prior to the battle of Fort Moultrie by the enterprise of a small body of citizen soldiery. Here at the very portals of the city, you encounter Castle Pinckney, covering an ancient mud reef; and here we propose to give you a bird’s eye view of the city itself--the Palmetto City. You see the _tout ensemble_ at a glance, and perceive its two most prominent characteristics--the verandahs, balconies, piazzas, with the ample gardens and their foliage, which isolate every dwelling-house, and form a substitute for public squares, in which Charleston is lamentably deficient. But for the largeness of the several lots and the taste of the people for shade trees, the deficiency would be fatal at once to the health and beauty of the place.

On the south-east corner of Broad and Meeting Street is an antique of the old Colonial period, the sight of which always rouses the pride of the Palmetto citizen. This is St. Michael’s Church (Episcopalian), a fine old fabric, and one of the best specimens of the British architectural talent of its day, at least as this was exhibited in its American production.

This fine church was first opened for worship in 1761. Its tower is supposed to be one of the noblest ornaments of the city. The proportions are good; the effect is graceful and imposing. The extreme elevation is 168 feet; no great elevation, perhaps, except in a city so little above the sea as Charleston. It is here even now overtopped by others. But it is not a mere spire. It is a series of ornamented chambers, gradually rising from each other; and involves dimensions of greater bulk and weight than any other of the city towers, St. Philip’s alone excepted. The church of St. Michael’s seems to be deficient in relation with the tower, and the effect is not good. It is too squat for the steeple. The extreme length of the body of the church is 130 feet, its width 60. As a whole the structure is in good taste, simple and proper; while this steeple, from its proportions, and an air of grace and lightness, which lessens greatly your idea of its bulk and weight, is in the highest degree pleasing and impressive.

This tower constituted, until a comparatively recent period, the great landmark of the city from the sea. It was the chief, or only beacon in the period of the Revolution, and was painted black when the assailing British fleet was anticipated, in order to prevent their use of it as a guide to the harbour. But this was a mistake. Black against a light-blue sky was a more certain landmark than white. It has a very musical chime of eight bells, none sweeter in the country. In the humid climate of Charleston the bells acquire a rare sweetness of tone, and those of St. Michael’s are especially musical. Of these bells there is a curious history. They were taken down and sent, as a portion of the _spolia opima_ of the captured city, to London for sale. They were bought by London merchants, and restored by them to the church, whether as a gift or by purchase we are not able to say.[9]

During the Civil War the bells of St. Michael’s were sent to Columbia to be cast into cannon, but General Beauregard pronounced them unfit for the purpose and had them preserved in the capital with other relics of value.

THE CARLYLE HOUSE, ALEXANDRIA

In the quiet little town of Alexandria, whose large and grass-grown cobble-stones are rarely disturbed by vehicles or pedestrians, there are many old houses of distinguished, if somewhat decayed, appearance. They date from the period when the town, known as Belle Haven, had every prospect of becoming an important centre of trade and society. It was a mart for the famous “Oronoko tobacco” and a warehouse for this commodity established about 1720 brought prosperity to the settlement on the Potomac, whose name was soon changed to honour James Alexander, the Earl of Stirling. Many ships docked in the harbour to land merchandise, soldiers, sailors, officers and distinguished foreigners on diplomatic missions; and from the _Royal George_, the northern mail coach left every day connecting Alexandria with the world. In this period of prosperity, many handsome houses were built and furnished with every comfort and luxury known to this country.

Among the typical examples of domestic architecture of Colonial days is one that amply repays a visit,--not merely on account of its historical associations, but because it is one of the best specimens of Eighteenth Century architecture existing in this country.

Completely hidden by a modern hotel of unprepossessing appearance, few tourists who pause on their way from Washington to _Mount Vernon_ to see the town that Washington visited so frequently, are aware of its existence.

Passing through the hotel into the back court, the visitor is suddenly confronted by this noble old house, now deserted and forlorn, with no hints of its days of gaiety and splendour. The house is extremely large and of fine proportions, and when surrounded by its trees and gardens must have presented an appearance of great dignity and charm. Architects, however, delight even more in the interior decorations,--the beautifully carved chimney-pieces, doors and other woodwork and the fine stairway. When this house was built by Major John Carlyle in 1752, it was considered one of the three handsomest homes in the vicinity, the others being _Mount Vernon_, the home of the Washingtons, and _Belvoir_, the home of the Fairfaxes.

One curious feature of the Carlyle House is that it is built upon an old fort, whose massive grass-grown walls are still to be seen, as well as the subterranean passage that leads from the house through the fort to the Potomac.

The following description by a nameless writer describes the house as it was about forty years ago:

“It is built of cut stone, quite large, being about fifty feet square, the doors and windows ornamented with carved caps. A massive porch is built on the west front and the east is occupied by a long verandah. A wide hall runs entirely through the house, in each story, and opening into them are spacious rooms. These, as well as the hall on the first story, are wainscoted to the ceiling and ornamented with carved wood, after the style of the period in which the house was built.

“Formerly, fine grounds surrounded the house; on the east side a garden extended to the river, which, at that time, was about three hundred yards distant. This inlet has long been filled in, and its site is now occupied by streets and buildings. A broad walk, bordered on either side with trees and shrubs extended from the house to the river. Being considerably above the grade of the surrounding streets, the garden was entirely cut away except a small portion near the house, which was walled in. The garden on the west front extended from the mansion to the street and fronted directly on the public square, which at that time was occupied by the town jail and pillory. In the garden were a number of tall Lombardy poplars, and at each corner a lodge was built, which was used as servants’ quarters. These have all been removed and their site is occupied by a large building. This prevents a front view of the mansion, except from the interior point of the hotel.”

Another excellent description by Alexander Cameron, in the _New England Magazine_ for 1902, reads as follows:

“The most imposing residence the town possessed was, of course, the one John S. Carlyle had erected in 1752, constructed of Portland stone, shipped from the Isle of Wight in exchange for the famous Oronoko tobacco. The house was well situated,--in the rear the lawn sloped down to the Potomac and on the portico one could sit and watch the vessels from over the seas glide into the haven that ever appeared most beautiful, and in front like watchful sentinels, a double row of Lombardy poplars kept guard over the stately home, where hospitality was offered with a lavish hand and where good cheer and kindliness were ever to be found. The woodwork of the interior of the house is regarded as the best specimen of Colonial style; the windows, doorways, mantels, the primitive cupboards, the heavy carved frieze, even the chairboard are all in exquisite taste. Here in the great drawing-room of gold and white, Washington was often to be seen, taking part in the minuet and one could catch a glimpse of the dainty room in blue and white across the hall. But there was another side to all this brightness and gaiety, as the dungeons of the house could testify, where in times of attack by the Indians, the household sought protection, or by means of the subterranean passage, as at _Mount Vernon_, an escape was offered by way of the Potomac and the happy youths in powdered wigs, beruffled shirts, knee breeches, and silk hose, who could step with so light a heart in the dance, could also draw their swords and fight for the protection of their homes and for the honour of their King.”

The French and Indians were a menace to the prosperity of Alexandria; those living without the town found it difficult to bring their produce to market without fearing an attack; therefore in 1754 Washington, then but twenty-two, led a small company of Alexandria soldiers against the enemy. This was unsuccessful and Washington was compelled to surrender. In the following year, England took extreme measures.

It was the period when England and France were contending for power on this continent. France, with her allies, the Indians, held the Lakes and many strong forts in the interior, while England held the Atlantic seaboard peopled by loyal colonists. The English ministry having decided to attack the French on the Lakes and in Ohio, despatched General Braddock to Virginia in 1755, with instructions to proceed to Fort Duquesne, the site of the present city of Pittsburg.

On his arrival in Alexandria, General Braddock became the guest of Major Carlyle, while doubtless the soldiers were put up at the _Royal George_.

We can imagine that the entertainment offered to the gallant, gay and eccentric General by a wealthy colonist did not shame the famed Virginia hospitality; and that when the Governors of New York, Massachusetts, Maryland, Virginia, Pennsylvania and North Carolina arrived, there were dances, dinners, cards, toasts and wines, and scenes of gaiety, as well as the discussion of vital questions. A Conference of six Governors and noted army officers was not an everyday occurrence, and the old house held a very brilliant gathering.

The Conference ended and the plan of action determined upon, Braddock and his little company of red-coated soldiers, set out from Alexandria.

They took the road across the mountains, still a wilderness, although the Indian no longer lurks behind the trees and rocks. Here the traveller is shown various paths called “Braddock’s Road,” and springs and stones called “Braddock’s Well” and “Braddock’s Stone,” all of which are associated, or supposed to be associated, with the memorable “Braddock’s Defeat.”

Braddock’s story is very well told by John Esten Cooke, who writes: “He went from Williamsburg to Alexandria to consult with the governors of the more prominent colonies; and one morning there appeared at his headquarters a young gentleman of some reputation as a soldier--Colonel George Washington of _Mount Vernon_. As Washington had already smelled gunpowder and knew the wilderness, Braddock gave him a position on his staff, and informally consulted with him, but exhibited ill-conditioned disdain when the young ‘buckskin’ hinted that ‘regulars’ would not accomplish much in the woods when matched against Indians firing from behind the trees. The idea that _British regular troops_ would not sweep such hornets from their path, struck Braddock evidently in the light of an exquisite absurdity; and, paying no attention to Washington’s warnings, he hurried forward his preparations, set out for the frontier, passing through Frederick City, Maryland, and Winchester, Virginia, and entered Fort Cumberland, where his troops were to rendezvous amid a thundering salute of thirteen cannon, the drums beating the ‘Grenadier’s March’ as he flashed by in his chariot, his staff galloping beside it. So went upon his way the brave and unlucky Englishman who was not destined to return....

“The tragic sequel of the drama we need not describe. Braddock had acted like the brave man he was in the battle and defeat that ensued, and, seeing all things crumbling around him, seemed anxious to die. He rode into the hottest of the fire, a conspicuous figure in his splendid uniform--shouting orders, storming at the troops, waving his sword--exposing himself recklessly in every part of the field. Five horses had been killed under him. As one fell, he seized and mounted a fresh one. At last his fate came. A bullet traversed his right arm and buried itself in his lungs. He fell--was caught by Captain Stewart of the Virginia light-horse, and there was scarcely time to hurry him off the fateful field, when the English troops broke on all sides and retreated in wild disorder, pursued by the French and Indians.

“The shattered army were now in full flight across the Monongahela; and then they hastened back through the wilderness, scarcely pausing before they reached Fort Cumberland. Tradition relates that Braddock was so painfully wounded that he could not be carried off even in a spring vehicle, and was swung at full length in a large silken sash which he had worn, the extremities of which were affixed to two horses moving abreast. This sash is said to be still in existence. He could be carried no further than the Great Meadows, where he died on the night of July 13th, Washington reading the funeral service over his body, which was there interred. Savages lurked around--all was done in silence. Not even a volley was fired in honour of the brave soldier who had come to this wilderness to find a grave.”

The report to the home government gave the Colonial soldiers their due. It read: “The Virginia officers and troops behaved like men and died like soldiers.” Washington was the only officer who survived. He wrote: “I had four bullets through my coat, and two horses shot under me, yet escaped unhurt although death was levelling my companions on every side of me.”

On his return, Washington entered into all the gaieties of Alexandria, balls and dances at the Carlyle House, balls and dances at the _Royal George_, and balls and dances at the tavern called Gadsby’s. He notes in his Diary of 1760 the description of a ball in Alexandria, ending: “We lodged at Col. Carlyle’s.”

During the Civil War, this old house was used as headquarters for the medical directors of the hospitals in the vicinity.

INDEPENDENCE HALL, PHILADELPHIA

D. W. BELISLE

This venerable edifice, which excites so much patriotic veneration from the American people and is regarded with profound esteem abroad, was known until the year 1776 as the State House. From that memorable period--when the representatives of the nation resolved to be free--the room on the east side of the main entrance has been designated by the appellation of Independence Hall. For wise and patriotic reasons it has never been altered. By that designation it will remain hallowed to all time. So long as a single genuine spark of freedom remains in the human heart, so long will Independence Hall be regarded as the birthplace of liberty--the immortal spot where the manacles of oppression were sundered and despotism received its most formidable rebuke. The State House, originally constructed for the purpose of accommodating legal business, the dispensation of Colonial statutes for Pennsylvania, and the transaction of various other matters, was commenced in the year 1729 and completed in 1734. Its dimensions and architectural plan--the design being furnished by an amateur architect, named John Kearsley, Sr.,--were regarded by many as too large and expensive; and the erection of the building was, therefore, quite strenuously opposed. Had the men who first conceived the noble enterprise of building it foreseen the exalted character which their contemplated edifice would assume in future, there would not probably have been a single dissenting voice in the liberal plan projected by its founders. It is a singular historical fact, that most of those who opposed the plan of the edifice in the commencement and who were still living at the time, were opposed to the adoption of the “Declaration of Independence,” which occurred within its very walls about a quarter of a century afterwards. According to bills and papers kept by Andrew Hamilton, one of the three Commissioners who had the superintendence of the financial matters connected with its construction, it appears that the edifice cost originally $16,250. The two wings which now form important addenda to the building, however, were not erected until the years 1739–40, and increased the total amount to $28,000--but their cost cannot be counted in the original bill.

Watson in his _Annals_ says: “Edmund Woolley did the carpenter work, John Harrison the joiner work, Thomas Boude was the brick mason, William Holland did the marble work, Thomas Kerr, plaster, Benjamin Fairman and James Stoopes made the bricks; the lime was from the kilns of the Tysons. [These kilns were situated in Manship Township, Montgomery County, about one mile west from Willow Grove and fifteen miles from the Hall of Independence.] The glass and lead cost £170 and the glazing in leaden frames was done by Thomas Godfrey, the celebrated. I may here usefully add, for the sake of comparison, the costs of sundry items, to wit: carpenter’s work at 4_s._ per day; boy’s, 1_s._; master carpenter, E. Woolley, 4_s._ 6_d._; brick-laying by Thomas Boude, John Palmer and Thomas Redman, at 10_s._ 6_d._ per M.; stone work in the foundation at 4_s._ per perch; digging ground and carting away, 9_d._ per yard; bricks, 31_s._ 8_d._ per M.; lime per 100 bushels, £4; boards, 20_s._ per M.; lath-wood, 18_s._ per cord; laths, 3_s._ per C.; shingles, 20_s._ per M.; scantling, 1½_d._ per foot; stone, 3_s._ per perch, and 5_s._ 5_d._ per load. Labourers receive 2_s._ 6_d._ per day; 2,100 loads of earth are hauled away at 9_d._ per load.” These items are only given as specimens of curiosity, and will serve to amuse, if not to instruct.

The woodwork of the steeple by which the building was first surmounted, on examination in 1774, was found to be so much decayed, that it was decided to remove it, and it was accordingly taken down, leaving only a small belfry to cover the bell for the use of the town-clock,--which had but one dial face, at the west end of the building. In that condition it remained until 1829, when the steeple which now crowns the building, was erected on the plan of the original one. Some years ago the interior woodwork to the room in which the “Declaration of Independence” was signed was removed for the purpose of modernizing the plans, but public sentiment soon demanded its restoration, and it now presents the same appearance it did on that memorable occasion. In 1854, the City Councils of Philadelphia very patriotically resolved to place in this sacred room--where they properly belong--all the relics associated with the brilliant history of the Hall and the times contemporaneous with the American Revolution, which they could obtain. With commendable zeal and enterprise they have obtained and arranged in their appropriate places portraits of nearly all the distinguished “Signers of the Declaration of Independence,” as well as many other valuable relics, all of which are sacred mementoes uniting the present and the past with ligaments of inseverable affection.

“When the regular sessions of the Assembly were held in the State House,” says Watson, “the Senate occupied upstairs and the Lower House the same chamber since called Independence Hall. In the former, Anthony Morris is remembered as Speaker, occupying an elevated chair facing north--himself a man of amiable mien, contemplative aspect, dressed in a suit of drab cloth, flaxen hair slightly powdered, and his eyes fronted with spectacles. The Representative Chamber had George Latimer for Speaker, seated with his face to the west,--a well-formed manly person, his fair large front and eyes sublime declared absolute rule.”

For many years previous to 1855, the upper apartment of Independence Hall was divided into rooms which were occupied by the Supreme Courts of the United States, and was rented for offices of various kinds.

Grave and deliberate as were the general purposes, during the early period of the Revolution, to which the “State House” was appropriated in the Colonial days of Pennsylvania, it was on several occasions used as a hall for banqueting. In the long gallery, upstairs, the feasting tables were spread, around which hilarity and mirthfulness prevailed, while the tables themselves were loaded with every desirable luxury which the appetite or inclination might fancy or desire. Soon after the edifice was completed, in 1736, William Allen, Esq., then Mayor of Philadelphia, made a feast at his own expense. This entertainment, which was of a sumptuous and costly character, was spread in the “State House,” and the Mayor extended his invitations to all distinguished strangers in the city. The number of invited guests exceeded any at the feasts given in the city on previous occasions, while those who partook of his hospitality expressed their unanimous consent that, “for excellency of fare, it was a most elegant entertainment.” On the arrival of their new Colonial Governor, Denny, in 1756, while the Assembly was in session, that body gave him a reception dinner, and this feast was likewise spread at the “State House,” at which the “civil and military officers and clergy of the city” were present. This entertainment occurred in August, and was an important event during that session of the Assembly. It had a tendency to harmonize various antagonistical personal feelings, which were looked upon as boding no peculiar good to the new administration. Again, when Lord Loudon, commander-in-chief of the King’s forces in the several colonies, visited the city in the year 1757, the corporation received him at the “State House” by a great banquet. General Forbes, who was then commander at Philadelphia and of the southern settlements, was also present on that occasion. Various guests were invited, among whom were officers of rank, gentlemen strangers, clergy and private citizens, who partook of those municipal hospitalities. It was remarked by some uninvited guests at the time, that the expenditure for this entertainment was greater than had ever before been made by the authorities for public receptions, which indicated a very early hospitality to such feasts--especially when given at the expense of the public treasury. When in 1774, the first Congress met in Philadelphia, a sumptuous collation was prepared by the gentlemen of the city, for the entertainment of its representatives, the “State House” was selected as the building in which the festive ceremonies should be performed. The members and invited guests congregated first at the City Tavern,[10] and thence marched in an imposing procession to the “State House,” in the dining-hall of which the repast was spread. About five hundred persons partook of the dinner, and when the toasts were given they were rendered patriotic by the “firing of cannon and martial music.” These festive occasions exerted salutary influence upon public sentiment, and had a tendency to develop, in no small degree, political feelings which actuated the people. No doubt the principles promulgated and advocated around the brimful goblet and board, were regarded in a patriotic or disloyal sense, according to the dominant characteristics of leading men, with their adherence to Parliamentary laws, or Republican sympathy.

Notwithstanding the fact that Independence Hall is regarded as a most sacred shrine of Liberty, in days of yore it was used for various purposes--some of which illy comported with the true character of the building. Mr. Watson says: “For many years the public papers of the Colony, and afterwards of the City and State, were kept in the east and west wings of the State House, without any fire-proof security as they now possess. From their manifest insecurity, it was deemed, about the year 1809, to pull down those former two-story brick wings and to supply their places by those which are now there. In former times such important papers as rest with the Prothonotaries were kept in their offices at their family residences.” When workmen were superintending the removal of the former wings of the “State House,” Mr. Grove, who was the master mason, made several interesting discoveries of relics. These were mostly found under the foundations of the walls, as the workmen excavated the ground considerably deeper for the present cellars. At the depth of some five feet, and close to the western wall, was dug up a keg of Indian flints. Nothing appears upon record to give the faintest idea as to who performed the deed, or for what purpose they were buried there. The impression of the keg was distinct, but the wood had decayed and become assimilated with the loamy soil. At about the same depth, and in close proximity to it, were uncovered the complete equipments of a sergeant, consisting of a musket, cartouche-box, sword, buckles, etc. “The wood being decayed left the impression of what they had been.” These discoveries excited considerable curiosity, and attracted a large multitude of people to see and examine them. But a greater and more general excitement was created, a day or two subsequently, at the announcement that a lot of bomb-shells, filled with powder, had been exhumed by the diggers. This circumstance led to various conjectures, relative to the object for which they had been buried beneath the building, but a satisfactory solution of the mystery has not, as yet, been given. Some entertained the belief that it was intended for another Guy Fawkes plot, to destroy the edifice on a particular occasion. Most probably, however, they had been placed there for safe keeping, or to prevent their falling into unfriendly hands. Subsequently, when the present foundation was built two of these bombs were walled in with the stones and now form a portion of the stonework.

We have remarked that Independence Hall was used for various purposes. In the year 1802, the Legislature of Pennsylvania granted to Charles Wilson Peale the use of the upper rooms in which the public banquets were formerly given for the exhibition of curiosities which he had collected and arranged under the title of the _Philadelphia Museum_.

As a place of literary entertainment, Independence Hall assumes a conspicuous reputation. In 1771, the Rev. Jacob Duché, assistant minister of Christ Church and St. Peter’s, Philadelphia, wrote as follows:--“The ‘State House,’ as it is called, is a large plain building, two stories high. The lower story is divided into two large rooms, in one of which the Provincial Assembly meet and in the other the Supreme Court of Judicature is held. The upper story consists of a long gallery, which is generally used for public entertainments, and two rooms adjoining it, one of which is appropriated for the Governor and his Council; the other, I believe, is yet unoccupied. In one of the wings, which join the main building by means of a brick arcade, is deposited a valuable collection of books, belonging to a number of the citizens, who are incorporated by the name of ‘_The Library Company of Philadelphia_.’ You would be astonished, my Lord, at the general taste for books which prevails among all orders and ranks of people in this city. The librarian assured me that, for one person of distinction and fortune, there were twenty tradesmen that frequented this library.” The Library Company of Philadelphia, to which the above reverend writer so sneeringly alludes (and who, during the Revolutionary struggle for Independence, turned Tory to the cause of Freedom), was first started by Benjamin Franklin in 1731, and was called “_The City Library_,” in consequence of a union which was made on the first of July of that year, of several libraries. In October, 1732, their first importation of books from England arrived, amounting in cost to £45 15_s._, sterling. The Library was located in Pewter-platter Alley, but in 1740 it was transferred to the State House. Thence in 1773 it was placed in the Carpenters’ Hall, where it remained until the year 1790. It received its incorporation in 1742, under the title of the “Library Company of Philadelphia.” In 1792, this Company, the Loganian and the Union, were merged into one,--making a _tria juncta in una_.

During the progress of the struggle for Freedom, the State House was signalized for many scenes which transpired within it, and was, at one time, used as a hospital for wounded soldiers. A “lobby” extended the whole length of the building, then eastward from the head of the stairs, and in this “lobby” the American officers who were captured at the Battle of Germantown were retained as prisoners. It was used as a hospital after the Battle of the Brandywine, where many a noble patriot breathed his last. Such were some of the sad purposes for which this sacred structure has been used. This building is also rendered immortal from the fact that here Washington “bade farewell to public life, and delivered that memorable address which will ever be cherished as a sacred legacy by his grateful countrymen.” In 1824, Lafayette received his friends in Independence Hall. It has been subsequently used as the audience-chamber of several distinguished visitors, and a reception room for the Presidents of the United States. The body of the venerable John Adams here lay in state on its way to his final resting-place.

After the completion of the State House in 1734, measures were set on foot to secure means and funds sufficient to place in the dome a bell appropriate for the building. As they had already supplied a great public necessity by placing a clock in the west end--not in the _steeple_, as _Harper’s Magazine_ represents it--many influential citizens opposed the measure, on the ground of extravagance, arguing that the “great cost of the State House had imposed a heavy tax upon the citizens, and further expenditure was useless.” The better judgment of the people, however, after several years prevailed, and it was decided to have a bell. But another great and discouraging difficulty met the speedy accomplishment of their purposes. There had been but little moulding and casting effected in the Colonies, in consequence of the home government monopolizing almost exclusively every department of manufacturing, thereby subjecting their subjects in the New World to depend upon the mills, looms and furnaces of England for a supply of such articles as Parliament might _think proper_ for them to have. It became necessary, therefore, to submit to the inconvenience, trouble and delay, of sending to London for a bell. This was done. The size, peculiar shape, weight,[11] motto and thickness, were accurately mentioned, as directions for casting it, and the order was sent in the latter part of the year 1750. About a year would elapse before they could reasonably expect the bell to reach this country. It came at last in 1752, and before it was landed from the ship, hundreds of citizens repaired to the vessel to examine it and congratulate the city on its safe arrival.

The tone was clear, distinct and forcible, well calculated to inspire feelings of pride in those enterprising citizens, who had been chiefly instrumental in procuring it. But their high anticipations were doomed to meet a sad disappointment. A day or two after its arrival, while removing it from the vessel to the place for which it was intended, it met with an accident by which its tones were rendered discordant, the beauty of its appearance mutilated and its uses almost destroyed. In fact, the bell had to be recast, and it was decided that an experiment should be made in the city.

Accordingly the task was assigned to Messrs. Pass & Stow, who were to perform the operation under the superintendence of Isaac Norris, Esq., Speaker of the Colonial Assembly. To that gentleman is ascribed the honour of having originally suggested the motto “Proclaim Liberty throughout the land and to all the inhabitants thereof,” which the bell contains, and which proved so prophetic of its future use. In regard to the new bell cast by Messrs. Pass & Stow, Mr. Norris remarked that “they have made a good bell, which pleases me much that we should _first_ venture upon and succeed in the greatest bell, for aught I know, in English America--surpassing, too, the imported one, which was too high and brittle.” No doubt such were the facts, especially in reference to the last part of Mr. Norris’s remarks, and in that respect, also, the bell was significantly emblematical. Efforts were made to restore the bell to its original sound by boring holes into it, but the attempt proved unavailing.

Such is the brief history of the origin of the “Old State House Bell”; and it is to be regretted that no more definite reminiscences connected with it have been preserved. During the struggle for that Independence and Freedom which was proclaimed by this bell, while the British threatened to take and occupy Philadelphia, this bell, together with that belonging to Christ Church, was taken down, and conveyed to the river, near Trenton, where they were buried in the water in order to prevent them from falling into the hands of their enemies. In this condition they remained from 1777 to the close of the American Revolution, when they were brought back to the city and placed in their former situations.

THE CASTLE OF CHAPULTEPEC

THOMAS UNETT BROCKLEHURST

A clear, unclouded atmosphere at an elevation of 8,000 feet above the level of the sea in the tropics puts everything _couleur de rose_. There is no heat, no cold; the average temperature is about 60°, and the atmosphere is so clear that when you see the mountains at the ends of the streets they appear close at hand, instead of being from twenty to forty miles distant.

All the houses in the city have a gay appearance; such as are not white or light yellow or green are tinted with various shades of red, and many of the churches may be pronounced pink; three or four hundred yards of a street in pink has a pretty effect, especially if continued in pale green; a house in grey stone adjoining another faced with blue encaustic tiles is, to say the least, pleasing to the eye of any one who for months past has only gazed upon dwellings of dull red brick. As you get into the outskirts of the city, the houses are meaner, but many of them are festooned with flowers and wreaths, so the appearance of beauty is maintained, even if on close inspection it is found delusive.

One of the three principal rides out of the city is the Paséo de la Reforma, three miles in length, leading to the Castle of Chapultepec; here the gay world disports itself from seven to nine in the morning on horseback, and from six to seven in the evening in carriages; but it is deserted during Lent for the Paséo de la Viga, where three or four military bands discourse excellent music.