Views a-foot Part 27

Next morning at sunrise we saw Sandy Hook; at nine o'clock we were telegraphed in New York by the station at Coney Island; at eleven the steamer "Hercules" met us outside the Hook; and at noon we were gliding up the Narrows, with the whole ship's company of four hundred persons on deck, gazing on the beautiful sh.o.r.es of Staten Island and agreeing almost universally, that it was the most delightful scene they had ever looked upon.

And now I close the story of my long wandering, as I began it--with a lay written on the deep.

HOMEWARD BOUND.

Farewell to Europe! Days have come and gone Since misty England set behind the sea.

Our ship climbs onward o'er the lifted waves, That gather up in ridges, mountain-high, And like a sea-G.o.d, conscious in his power, Buffets the surges. Storm-arousing winds That sweep, unchecked, from frozen Labrador, Make wintry music through the creaking shrouds.

Th' horizon's ring, that clasps the dreary view, Lays mistily upon the gray Atlantic's breast.

Shut out, at times, by bulk of sparry blue, That, rolling near us, heaves the swaying prow High on its shoulders, to descend again Ploughing a thousand cascades, and around Spreading the frothy foam. These watery gulfs, With storm, and winds far-sweeping, hem us in, Alone upon the waters!

Days must pa.s.s-- Many and weary--between sea and sky.

Our eyes, that long e'en now for the fresh green Of sprouting forests, and the far blue stretch Of regal mountains piled along the sky, Must see, for many an eve, the level sun Sheathe, with his latest gold, the heaving brine, By thousand ripples shivered, or Night's pomp Brooding in silence, ebon and profound, Upon the murmuring darkness of the deep, Broken by flashings, that the parted wave Sends white and star-like throujch its bursting foam.

Yet not more dear the opening dawn of heaven Poured on the earth in an Italian May, When souls take wings upon the scented air Of starry meadows, and the yearning heart Pains with deep sweetness in the balmy time, Than these gray morns, and days of misty blue, And surges, never-ceasing;--for our prow Points to the sunset like a morning ray, And o'er the waves, and through the sweeping storms, Through day and darkness, rushes ever on, Westward and westward still! What joy can send The spirit thrilling onward with the wind, In untamed exultation, like the thought That fills the Homeward Bound?

Country and home!

Ah! not the charm of silver-tongued romance, Born of the feudal time, nor whatsoe'er Of dying glory fills the golden realms Of perished song, where heaven-descended Art Still boasts her later triumphs, can compare With that one thought of liberty inherited-- Of free life giv'n by fathers who were free, And to be left to children freer still!

That pride and consciousness of manhood, caught From boyish musings on the holy graves Of hero-martyrs, and from every form Which virgin Nature, mighty and unchained, Takes in an empire not less proudly so-- Inspired in mountain airs, untainted yet By thousand generations' breathing--felt Like a near presence in the awful depths Of unhewn forests, and upon the steep Where giant rivers take their maddening plunge-- Has grown impatient of the stifling damps Which hover close on Europe's shackled soil.

Content to tread awhile the holy steps Of Art and Genius, sacred through all time, The spirit breathed that dull, oppressive air-- Which, freighted with its tyrant-clouds, o'erweighs The upward throb of many a nation's soul-- Amid those olden memories, felt the thrall.

But kept the birth-right of its freer home, Here, on the world's blue highway, comes again The voice of Freedom, heard amid the roar Of sundered billows, while above the wave Rise visions of the forest and the stream.

Like trailing robes the morning mists uproll, Torn by the mountain pines; the flashing rills Shout downward through the hollows of the vales; Down the great river's bosom shining sails Glide with a gradual motion, while from all-- Hamlet, and bowered homestead, and proud town-- Voices of joy ring up into heaven!

Yet louder, winds! Urge on our keel, ye waves, Swift as the spirit's yearnings! We would ride With a loud stormy motion o'er your crests, With tempests shouting like a sudden joy-- Interpreting our triumph! 'Tis your voice, Ye unchained elements, alone can speak The sympathetic feeling of the free-- The arrowy impulse of the Homeward Bound!

Although the narrative of my journey, "with knapsack and staff," is now strictly finished, a few more words of explanation seem necessary, to describe more fully the method of traveling which we adopted. I add them the more willingly, as it is my belief that many, whose circ.u.mstances are similar to mine, desire to undertake the same romantic journey. Some matter-of-fact statements may be to them useful as well as interesting.

We found the pedestrian style not only by far the best way to become acquainted with the people and sceneryof a country, but the pleasantest mode of traveling. To be sure, the knapsack was, at first, rather heavy, our feet were often sore and our limbs weary, but a few days walking made a great difference, and after we had traveled two weeks, this disappeared altogether. Every morning we rose as fresh and strong as if it had been the first day--even after a walk of thirty miles, we felt but little fatigue. We enjoyed slumber in its fullest luxury, and our spirits were always light and joyous. We made it a rule to pay no regard to the weather, unless it was so bad as to render walking unhealthy.

Often, during the day, we rested for half an hour on the gra.s.sy bank, or sometimes, if it was warm weather, lay at full length in the shade with our knapsacks under our heads. This is a pleasure which none but the pedestrian can comprehend.

We always accepted a companion, of whatever kind, while walking--from chimney-sweeps to barons. In a strange country one can learn something from every peasant, and we neglected no opportunity, not only to obtain information, but impart it. We found everywhere great curiosity respecting America, and we were always glad to tell them all they wished to know. In Germany, we were generally taken for Germans from some part of the country where the dialect was a little different, or, if they remarked our foreign peculiarities, they supposed we were either Poles, Russians, or Swiss. The greatest ignorance in relation to America, prevails among the common people. They imagine we are a savage race, without intelligence and almost without law. Persons of education, who had some slight knowledge of our history, showed a curiosity to know something of our political condition. They are taught by the German newspapers (which are under a strict censorship in this respect) to look only at the evil in our country, and they almost invariably began by adverting to Slavery and Repudiation. While we admitted, often with shame and mortification, the existence of things so inconsistent with true republicanism, we endeavored to make them comprehend the advantages enjoyed by the free citizen--the complete equality of birth--which places America, despite her sins, far above any other nation on earth. I could plainly see, by the kindling eye and half-suppressed sigh, that they appreciated a freedom so immeasurably greater than that which they enjoyed.

In large cities we always preferred to take the second or third-rate hotels, which are generally visited by merchants and persons who travel on business; for, with the same comforts as the first rank, they are nearly twice as cheap. A traveler, with a guide-book and a good pair of eyes, can also dispense with the services of a _courier_, whose duty it is to conduct strangers about the city, from one lion to another. We chose rather to find out and view the "sights" at our leisure. In small villages, where we were often obliged to stop, we chose the best hotels, which, particularly in Northern Germany and in Italy, are none too good. But if it was a _post_, that is, a town where the post-chaise stops to change horses, we usually avoided the post-hotel, where one must pay high for having curtains before his windows and a more elegant cover on his bed. In the less splendid country inns, we always found neat, comfortable lodging, and a pleasant, friendly reception from the people. They saluted us on entering, with "Be you welcome," and on leaving, wished us a pleasant journey and good fortune. The host, when he brought us supper or breakfast, lifted his cap, and wished us a good appet.i.te--and when he lighted us to our chambers, left us with "May you sleep well!" We generally found honest, friendly people; they delighted in telling us about the country around; what ruins there were in the neighborhood--and what strange legends were connected with them. The only part of Europe where it is unpleasant to travel in this manner, is Bohemia. We could rarely find a comfortable inn; the people all spoke an unknown language, and were not particularly celebrated for their honesty. Beside this, travelers rarely go on foot in those regions; we were frequently taken for traveling handworker, and subjected to imposition.

With regard to pa.s.sports, although they were vexatious and often expensive, we found little difficulty when we had acquainted ourselves with the regulations concerning them. In France and Germany they are comparatively little trouble; in Italy they are the traveler's greatest annoyance. Americans are treated with less strictness, in this respect, than citizens of other nations, and, owing to the absence of rank among us, we also enjoy greater advantages of acquaintance and intercourse.

The expenses of traveling in England, although much greater than in our own country, may, as we learned by experience, be brought, through economy, within the same compa.s.s. Indeed, it is my belief, from observation, that, with few exceptions, throughout Europe, where a traveler enjoys the same comfort and abundance as in America, he must pay the same prices. The princ.i.p.al difference is, that he only pays for what he gets, so that, if he be content with the necessities of life, without its luxuries, the expense is in proportion. I have given, at times, through the foregoing chapters, the cost of travel and residence in Europe, yet a connected estimate will better show the _minimum_ expense of a two years' pilgrimage:

Voyage to Liverpool, in the second cabin . . . . . . . . . . . $24.00 Three weeks' travel in Ireland and Scotland . . . . . . . . . 25.00 A week in London, at three shillings a day . . . . . . . . . . 4.50 From London to Heidelberg . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15.00 A month at Heidelberg, and trip to Frankfort . . . . . . . . . 20.00 Seven months in Frankfort, at $10 per month . . . . . . . . . 70.00 Fuel, pa.s.sports, excursions and other expenses . . . . . . . . 30.00 Tour through Ca.s.sel, the Hartz, Saxony, Austria, Bavaria, etc. 40.00 A month in Frankfort . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10.00 From Frankfort through Switzerland, and over the Alps to Milan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15.00 From Milan to Genoa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60 Expenses from Genoa to Florence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14.00 Four months in Florence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50.00 Eight day's journey from Florence to Rome, two weeks in Rome, voyage to Ma.r.s.eilles and journey to Paris . . . . . . 40.00 Five weeks in Paris . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15.00 From Paris to London . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8.00 Six weeks in London, at three shillings a day . . . . . . . . 31.00 Pa.s.sage home . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60.00 ------ $472.00

The cost for places of amus.e.m.e.nt, guides' fees, and other small expenses, not included in this list, increase the sum total to $500, for which the tour may be made. Now, having, I hope, established this to the reader's satisfaction, I respectfully take leave of him.

THE END.