Now Yesterday At Lisbon We Saw H.M.S. "Caledonia." THIS, On The
Contrary, Inspired Us With Feelings Of Respect And Awful Pleasure.
There She Lay - The Huge Sea-Castle - Bearing The Unconquerable Flag
Of Our Country.
She had but to open her jaws, as it were, and she
might bring a second earthquake on the
City - batter it into
kingdom-come - with the Ajuda palace and the Necessidades, the
churches, and the lean, dry, empty streets, and Don John,
tremendous on horseback, in the midst of Black Horse Square.
Wherever we looked we could see that enormous "Caledonia," with her
flashing three lines of guns. We looked at the little boats which
ever and anon came out of this monster, with humble wonder. There
was the lieutenant who boarded us at midnight before we dropped
anchor in the river: ten white-jacketed men pulling as one, swept
along with the barge, gig, boat, curricle, or coach-and-six, with
which he came up to us. We examined him - his red whiskers - his
collars turned down - his duck trousers, his bullion epaulets - with
awe. With the same reverential feeling we examined the seamen - the
young gentleman in the bows of the boat - the handsome young
officers of marines we met sauntering in the town next day - the
Scotch surgeon who boarded us as we weighed anchor - every man, down
to the broken-nosed mariner who was drunk in a wine-house, and had
"Caledonia" written on his hat. Whereas at the Frenchmen we looked
with undisguised contempt. We were ready to burst with laughter as
we passed the Prince's vessel - there was a little French boy in a
French boat alongside cleaning it, and twirling about a little
French mop - we thought it the most comical, contemptible French
boy, mop, boat, steamer, prince - Psha! it is of this wretched
vapouring stuff that false patriotism is made. I write this as a
sort of homily 'a propos of the day, and Cape Trafalgar, off which
we lie. What business have I to strut the deck, and clap my wings,
and cry "Cock-a-doodle-doo" over it? Some compatriots are at that
work even now.
We have lost one by one all our jovial company. There were the
five Oporto wine-merchants - all hearty English gentlemen - gone to
their wine-butts, and their red-legged partridges, and their duels
at Oporto. It appears that these gallant Britons fight every
morning among themselves, and give the benighted people among whom
they live an opportunity to admire the spirit national. There is
the brave honest major, with his wooden leg - the kindest and
simplest of Irishmen: he has embraced his children, and reviewed
his little invalid garrison of fifteen men, in the fort which he
commands at Belem, by this time, and, I have no doubt, played to
every soul of them the twelve tunes of his musical-box. It was
pleasant to see him with that musical-box - how pleased he wound it
up after dinner - how happily he listened to the little clinking
tunes as they galloped, ding-dong, after each other!
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