LETTER 34.

TO MRS. BYRON.

"Falmouth, June 22. 1809.

"Dear Mother,

"I am about to sail in a few days; probably before this reaches you.

Fletcher begged so hard, that I have continued him in my service. If he does not behave well abroad, I will send him back in a _transport_.

I have a German servant, (who has been with Mr. Wilbraham in Persia before, and was strongly recommended to me by Dr. Butler, of Harrow,) Robert and William; they const.i.tute my whole suite. I have letters in plenty:--you shall hear from me at the different ports I touch upon; but you must not be alarmed if my letters miscarry. The Continent is in a fine state--an insurrection has broken out at Paris, and the Austrians are beating Buonaparte--the Tyrolese have risen.

"There is a picture of me in oil, to be sent down to Newstead soon.--I wish the Miss P----s had something better to do than carry my miniatures to Nottingham to copy. Now they have done it, you may ask them to copy the others, which are greater favourites than my own. As to money matters, I am ruined--at least till Rochdale is sold; and if that does not turn out well, I shall enter into the Austrian or Russian service--perhaps the Turkish, if I like their manners. The world is all before me, and I leave England without regret, and without a wish to revisit any thing it contains, except _yourself_, and your present residence.

"P.S--Pray tell Mr. Rushton his son is well and doing well; so is Murray, indeed better than I ever saw him; he will be back in about a month. I ought to add the leaving Murray to my few regrets, as his age perhaps will prevent my seeing him again. Robert I take with me; I like him, because, like myself, he seems a friendless animal."

To those who have in their remembrance his poetical description of the state of mind in which he now took leave of England, the gaiety and levity of the letters I am about to give will appear, it is not improbable, strange and startling. But, in a temperament like that of Lord Byron, such bursts of vivacity on the surface are by no means incompatible with a wounded spirit underneath;[116] and the light, laughing tone that pervades these letters but makes the feeling of solitariness that breaks out in them the more striking and affecting.

LETTER 35.

TO MR. HENRY DRURY.

"Falmouth, June 25. 1809.

My dear Drury,

"We sail to-morrow in the Lisbon packet, having been detained till now by the lack of wind, and other necessaries. These being at last procured, by this time to-morrow evening we shall be embarked on the _v_ide _v_orld of _v_aters, _v_or all the _v_orld like Robinson Crusoe. The Malta vessel not sailing for some weeks, we have determined to go by way of Lisbon, and, as my servants term it, to see 'that there Portingale'--thence to Cadiz and Gibraltar, and so on our old route to Malta and Constantinople, if so be that Captain Kidd, our gallant commander, understands plain sailing and Mercator, and takes us on our voyage all according to the chart.

"Will you tell Dr. Butler[117] that I have taken the treasure of a servant, Friese, the native of Prussia Proper, into my service from his recommendation. He has been all among the Worshippers of Fire in Persia, and has seen Persepolis and all that.

"H---- has made woundy preparations for a book on his return; 100 pens, two gallons of j.a.pan ink, and several volumes of best blank, is no bad provision for a discerning public. I have laid down my pen, but have promised to contribute a chapter on the state of morals, &c. &c.

"The c.o.c.k is crowing, I must be going, And can no more."

GHOST OF GAFFER THUMB.

"Adieu.--Believe me," &c. &c.

LETTER 36.

TO MR. HODGSON.

"Falmouth, June 25. 1809.

"My dear Hodgson,

"Before this reaches you, Hobhouse, two officers' wives, three children, two waiting-maids, ditto subalterns for the troops, three Portuguese esquires and domestics, in all nineteen souls, will have sailed in the Lisbon packet, with the n.o.ble Captain Kidd, a gallant commander as ever smuggled an anker of right Nantz.

"We are going to Lisbon first, because the Malta packet has sailed, d'ye see?--from Lisbon to Gibraltar, Malta, Constantinople, and 'all that,' as Orator Henley said, when he put the Church, and 'all that,'

in danger.

"This town of Falmouth, as you will partly conjecture, is no great ways from the sea. It is defended on the sea-side by tway castles, St.

Maws and Pendennis, extremely well calculated for annoying every body except an enemy. St. Maws is garrisoned by an able-bodied person of fourscore, a widower. He has the whole command and sole management of six most unmanageable pieces of ordnance, admirably adapted for the destruction of Pendennis, a like tower of strength on the opposite side of the Channel. We have seen St. Maws, but Pendennis they will not let us behold, save at a distance, because Hobhouse and I are suspected of having already taken St. Maws by a coup de main.

"The town contains many Quakers and salt fish--the oysters have a taste of copper, owing to the soil of a mining country--the women (blessed be the Corporation therefor!) are flogged at the cart's tail when they pick and steal, as happened to one of the fair s.e.x yesterday noon. She was pertinacious in her behaviour, and d.a.m.ned the mayor.

"I don't know when I can write again, because it depends on that experienced navigator, Captain Kidd, and the 'stormy winds that (don't) blow' at this season. I leave England without regret--I shall return to it without pleasure. I am like Adam, the first convict sentenced to transportation, but I have no Eve, and have eaten no apple but what was sour as a crab;--and thus ends my first, chapter.

Adieu.

"Yours," &c.

In this letter the following lively verses were enclosed:--

"Falmouth Roads, June 30. 1809.

"Huzza! Hodgson, we are going, Our embargo's off at last; Favourable breezes blowing Bend the canva.s.s o'er the mast.

From aloft the signal's streaming, Hark! the farewell gun is fired, Women screeching, tars blaspheming, Tell us that our time's expired.

Here 's a rascal, Come to task all, Prying from the Custom-house; Trunks unpacking, Cases cracking, Not a corner for a mouse 'Scapes unsearch'd amid the racket, Ere we sail on board the Packet.

"Now our boatmen quit their mooring.

And all hands must ply the oar; Baggage from the quay is lowering, We're impatient--push from sh.o.r.e.

'Have a care! that case holds liquor-- Stop the boat--I'm sick--oh Lord!'

'Sick, ma'am, damme, you'll be sicker Ere you've been an hour on board.'

Thus are screaming Men and women, Gemmen, ladies, servants, Jacks; Here entangling, All are wrangling, Stuck together close as wax.-- Such the general noise and racket, Ere we reach the Lisbon Packet.

"Now we've reach'd her, lo! the captain, Gallant Kidd, commands the crew; Pa.s.sengers their berths are clapt in, Some to grumble, some to spew, 'Hey day! call you that a cabin?

Why 'tis hardly three feet square; Not enough to stow Queen Mab in-- Who the deuce can harbour there?'

'Who, sir? plenty-- n.o.bles twenty Did at once my vessel fill'-- 'Did they? Jesus, How you squeeze us!

Would to G.o.d they did so still: Then I'd scape the heat and racket, Of the good ship, Lisbon Packet.'

"Fletcher! Murray! Bob! where are you?

Stretch'd along the deck like logs-- Bear a hand, you jolly tar, you!

Here's a rope's end for the dogs.

H---- muttering fearful curses, As the hatchway down he rolls; Now his breakfast, now his verses, Vomits forth--and d.a.m.ns our souls.

'Here's a stanza On Braganza-- Help!'--'A couplet?'--'No, a cup Of warm water.'-- 'What's the matter?'

'Zounds! my liver's coming up; I shall not survive the racket Of this brutal Lisbon Packet.'

"Now at length we're off for Turkey, Lord knows when we shall come back!

Breezes foul and tempests murky May unship us in a crack.

But, since life at most a jest is, As philosophers allow, Still to laugh by far the best is, Then laugh on--as I do now.

Laugh at all things, Great and small things, Sick or well, at sea or sh.o.r.e; While we're quaffing, Let's have laughing-- Who the devil cares for more?-- Some good wine! and who would lack it, Ev'n on board the Lisbon Packet?