Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 54, No. 335, September 1843

The orderly was stunned by his fall; I was bruised and bewildered. Ready was the only one who seemed in no ways put out, and with his usual phlegm, extricating himself from under his horse, he came to our assistance. I was soon on my legs, and endeavouring to discover the cause of all this uproar.

Our unruly steeds had brought us close to the new battery, at the very moment that the train of a mine under the houses in front of it had been fired. The instant the obstacle was removed, the artillerymen had opened a tremendous fire on the fort. The Spaniards were not slow to return the compliment, and fortunate it was that a solid fragment of wall intervened between us and their fire, or all our troubles about the brig, and every thing else, would have been at an end. Already upwards of twenty balls had struck the old broken wall. Shot and shell were flying in every direction, the smoke was stifling, the uproar indescribable. It was so dark with the smoke and dust from the fallen houses, that we could not see an arm's length before us. The captain asked two or three soldiers who were hurrying by, where the battery was; but they were in too great haste to answer, and it was only when the smoke cleared away a little, that we discovered we were not twenty paces from it. Ready seized my arm, and pulling me with him, I the next moment found myself standing beside a gun, under cover of the breastworks.

The battery consisted of thirty, twenty-four, and thirty-six pounders, served with a zeal and courage which far exceeded any thing I had expected to find in the patriot army. The fellows were really more than brave, they were foolhardy. They danced rather than walked round the guns, and exhibited a contempt of death that could not well be surpassed. As to drawing the guns back from the embrasures while they loaded them, they never dreamed of such a thing. They stood jeering and scoffing the Spaniards, and bidding them take better aim.

It must be remembered, that this was only three months after the battle of Ayacucho, the greatest feat of arms which the South American patriots had achieved during the whole of their protracted struggle with Spain. That victory had literally electrified the troops, and inspired them with a courage and contempt of their enemy, that frequently showed itself, as on this occasion, in acts of the greatest daring and temerity.

At the gun by which Ready and myself took our stand, half the artillerymen were already killed, and we had scarcely come there, when a cannon shot took the head off a man standing close to me. The wind of the ball was so great that I believe it would have suffocated me, had I not fortunately been standing sideways in the battery. At the same moment, something hot splashed over my neck and face, and nearly blinded me. I looked, and saw the man lying without his head before me. I cannot describe the sickening feeling that came over me. It was not the first man I had seen killed in my life, but it was the first whose blood and brains had spurted into my face. My knees shook and my head swam; I was obliged to lean against the wall, or I should have fallen.

Another ball fell close beside me, and strange to say, it brought me partly to myself again; and by the time a third and fourth had bounced into the battery, I began to take things pretty coolly—my heart beating rather quicker than usual, I acknowledge; but, nevertheless, I began to find an indescribable sort of pleasure, a mischievous joy, if I may so call it, in the peril and excitement of the scene.

Whilst I was getting over my terrors, my companion was moving about the battery with his usual sang-froid, reconnoitring the enemy. He ran no useless risk, kept himself well behind the breastworks, stooping down when necessary, and taking all proper care of himself. When he had completed his reconnoissance, he, to my no small astonishment, took off his coat and neck-handkerchief, the latter of which he tied tight round his waist, then taking a rammer from the hand of a soldier who had just fallen, he ordered, or rather signed to the artilleryman to draw the gun back.

There was something so cool and decided in his manner, that they obeyed without testifying any surprise at his interference, and as though he had been one of their own officers. He loaded the piece, had it drawn forward again, pointed and fired it. He then went to the next gun and did the same thing there. He seemed so perfectly at home in the battery, that nobody ever dreamed of disputing his authority, and the two guns were entirely under his direction. I had now got used to the thing myself, so I went forward and offered my services, which, in the scarcity of men, (so many having been killed,) were not to be refused, and I helped to draw the guns backwards and forward, and load them. The captain kept running from one to the other, pointing them, and admirably well too; for every shot took effect within a circumference of a few feet on the bastion in front of us.

This lasted nearly an hour, at the end of which time the fire was considerably slackened, for the greater part of our guns had become unserviceable. Only about a dozen kept up the fire, (the ball, I was going to say,) and amongst them were the two that Ready commanded. He had given them time to cool after firing, whereas most of the others, in their desperate haste and eagerness, had neglected that precaution. Although the patriots had now been fifteen years at war with the Spaniards, they were still very indifferent artillerymen—for artillery had little to do in most of their fights, which were generally decided by cavalry and infantry, and even in that of Ayacucho there were only a few small field-pieces in use on either side. The mountainous nature of the country, intersected, too, by mighty rivers, and the want of good roads, were the reasons of the insignificant part played by the artillery in these wars.

Whilst we were thus hard at work, who should enter the battery but the very officer we had left Lima to visit? He was attended by a numerous staff, and was evidently of very high rank. He stood a little back, watching every movement of Captain Ready, and rubbing his hands with visible satisfaction. Just at that moment the captain fired one of the guns, and, as the smoke cleared away a little, we saw the opposite bastion rock, and then sink down into the moat. A joyous hurra greeted its fall, and the general and his staff sprang forward.

It would be necessary to have witnessed the scene that followed in order to form any adequate idea of the mad joy and enthusiasm of its actors. The general seized Ready in his arms, and eagerly embraced him, then almost threw him to one of his officers, who performed the like ceremony, and, in his turn, passed him to a third. The imperturbable captain flew, or was tossed, like a ball, from one to the other. I also came in for my share of the embraces.

I thought them all stark-staring mad; and, indeed, I do not believe they were far from it. The balls were still hailing into the battery; one of them cut a poor devil of an orderly nearly in two, but no notice was taken of such trifles. It was a curious scene enough; the cannon-balls bouncing about our ears—the ground under our feet slippery with blood—wounded and dying lying on all sides—and we ourselves pushed and passed about from the arms of one black-bearded fellow into those of another. There was something thoroughly exotic, completely South American and tropical, in this impromptu.

Strange to say, now that the breach was made, and a breach such that a determined regiment, assisted by well-directed fire of artillery, could have had no difficulty in storming the town, there was no appearance of any disposition to profit by it. The patriots seemed quite contented with what had been done; most of the officers left the batteries, and the thing was evidently over for the day. I knew little of Spanish Americans then, or I should have felt less surprised than I did at their not following up their advantage. It was not from want of courage; for it was impossible to have exhibited more than they had done that morning. But they had had their moment of fury, of wild energy and exertion, and the other side of the national character, indolence, now showed itself. After fighting like devils, at the very moment when activity was of most importance, they lay down and took the sièsta.

We were about leaving the battery, with the intention of visiting some of the others, when our orderly came up in all haste, with orders to conduct us to the general's quarters. We followed him, and soon reached a noble villa, at the door of which a guard was stationed. Here we were given over to a sort of major-domo, who led us through a crowd of aides-de-camp, staff-officers, and orderlies, to a chamber, whither our valises had preceded us. We were desired to make haste with our toilet, as dinner would be served so soon as his Excellency returned from the batteries; and, indeed, we had scarcely changed our dress, and washed the blood and smoke from our persons, when the major-domo re-appeared, and announced the general's return.

Dinner was laid out in a large saloon, in which some sixty officers were assembled when we entered it. With small regard to etiquette, and not waiting for the general to welcome us, they all sprang to meet us with a "Buen venidos, capitanes!"

The dinner was such as might be expected at the table of a general commanded at the same time an army and the blockade of a much-frequented port. The most delicious French and Spanish wines were there in the greatest profusion; the conviviality of the guests was unbounded, but although they drank their champagne out of tumblers, no one showed the smallest symptom of inebriety.

The first toast given, was—Bolivar.

The second—Sucre.

The third—The Battle of Ayacucho.

The fourth—Union between Columbia and Peru.

The fifth—Hualero.

The general rose to return thanks, and we now, for the first time, knew his name. He raised his glass, and spoke, evidently with much emotion.

"Senores! Amigos!" said he, "that I am this day amongst you, and able to thank you for your kindly sentiments towards your general and brother in arms, is owing, under Providence, to the good and brave stranger whose acquaintance you have only this day made, but who is one of my oldest and best friends." And so saying he left his place, and approaching Captain Ready, affectionately embraced him. The seaman's iron features lost their usual imperturbability, and his lips quivered as he stammered out the two words—

"Amigo siempre."

The following day we passed in the camp, and the one after returned to Lima, the general insisting on our taking up our quarters in his house.

From Hualero and his lady I learned the origin of the friendship existing between the distinguished Columbian general and my taciturn Yankee captain. It was the honourable explanation of the mysterious stain upon Ready's character.

Our difficulties regarding the brig were now soon at an end. The vessel and cargo were returned to us, with the exception of a large quantity of cigars belonging to the Spanish government. These were, of course, confiscated, but the general bought them, and made them a present to Captain Ready, who sold them by auction; and cigars being in no small demand amongst that tobacco-loving population, they fetched immense prices, and put thirty thousand dollars into my friend's pocket.

To be brief, at the end of three weeks we sailed from Lima, and in a vastly better humour than when we arrived there.

* * * * *

WOMAN'S RIGHTS AND DUTIES

BY A WOMAN

"Chose étrange d'aimer, et que pour ces maitresses,
Les hommes soient sujets à de telles foiblesses—
Tout le monde connoit leur imperfection,
Ce n'est qu'extravagance et qu'indiscrétion.
Leur esprit est méchant, et leur âme fragile,
Il n'est rien de plus foible et de plus imbécille,
Rien de plus infidèle—et malgrè tout cela,
Dans le monde on fait tout pour ces animaux-là."

    Ecole des Femmes.
Such is the language of disappointment—but although a careful examination of ancient and modern manners might lead to a different conclusion, (for as the corruption of excessive refinement ends by placing her in the first condition, so does the brutal assertion of physical superiority begin by degrading her to the last,) woman is, we firmly believe, neither intended for a tyrant nor a slave—Not a slave, for till she is raised above the condition of a beast of burden, man, her companion, must continue barbarous—Not a tyrant, for terrible as are the evils of irresponsible authority, with whomsoever it may be vested, in her hands it becomes the most tremendous instrument that Providence in its indignation can employ to crush, degrade, and utterly to paralyze the nations within its reach. The former position will readily be conceded; and the history of Rome under the Emperors, or of France during the last century, affords but too striking an exemplification of the second. It is, then, of the last importance to society, that clear and accurate notions should prevail among us concerning the education of a being on whom all its refinement, and much of its prosperity, must depend. It is of the last importance, not only that the absurd notions which half-a-century ago deprived English ladies of education altogether, should be consigned to everlasting oblivion and contempt—not only that the system to which France is indebted for its Du Deffauds, Pompadours, and Du Barrys should be extinguished, but that principles well adapted to the habits and intelligence of man, in the most civilized state in which he has ever yet existed, should prevail among us, should float upon the very atmosphere we breathe, and be circulated in every vein that traverses the mighty fabric of society. Therefore it is, because we are deeply impressed with this conviction, that we hail with delight the appearance of a work so profound, eloquent, and judicious; combining in so rare an union so many kinds of excellence, as that which we now propose to the consideration of our readers. Since the days of Smith and Montesquieu, no more valuable addition has been made to moral science; and though the good taste and modesty of its author, has induced her to put, in the least obtrusive form, the wisdom and erudition—the least fragment of which would have furnished forth a host of modern Sciolists with the most ostentatious paragraphs—the deep thought and nervous eloquence by which almost every page of the volume before us is illustrated, sufficiently establish her title to rank among the most distinguished writers of this age and country. If, indeed, we were ungrateful enough to quarrel with any part of a work, the perusal of which has afforded us so much gratification, we should be disposed (in deference, however, rather to the opinions of others than our own) to alter the title that is prefixed to it. Many a grave and pompous gentleman, who is "free to confess," and "does not hesitate to utter" the dullest and most obvious commonplaces, would sit down to the perusal of a work entitled, "On the Government of Dependencies," or "Sermons on the Functions of Archdeacons and Rural Deans," though never so deficient in learning, vigour, and originality, who will reject with the supercilious ignorance of incurable stupidity, these volumes, in which the habits, the interests, the inalienable rights, the sacred duties of one half of the species, (and of that half to which, at the most pliant and critical period of life, the health, the disposition, the qualities, moral and intellectual, of the other half must of necessity be confided,) are discussed with exemplary fairness, and placed in the most luminous point of view. But we have detained our readers too long from the admirable work which it is our object to make known to them. It opens in the following manner:—

"It was once suggested by an eminent physiologist, that the greatest enjoyments of our animal nature might be those which, from their constancy, escape our notice altogether.

"His investigations had led him to think, that even the involuntary motions carried on in our system, were productive of pleasure; and that the act of respiration was probably attended by a sensation as delightful as the gratifications of the palate. It is certain that every sense is a source of unnoticed pleasures. Sound and light are agreeable in themselves, before their varied combinations have produced music to our ear, or conveyed the perceptions of form to our mind. Innumerable are the emotions of pleasure conveyed to the imagination and the senses, by the endless diversities of form, colour, and sound; and the unbought riches poured upon us from these sources, are more prolific of enjoyment, than any of the far-sought distinctions which stir the hopes and rivalries of men. Yet, on these and other spontaneous blessings, no one reflects, or even enumerates them among the sources of happiness, till some casual suspension of them revives sensibility to the delight they afford.

"Such are the lamentations, though rarely so eloquently uttered, which we daily hear on the loss of some possession, which, while held, was scarcely noticed; and could preserve its owner, neither from the gloom of apathy, nor the irritation of discontent.

"Were it not for this, the necessary effect of habit both in the physical and moral world, women might be expected to live in daily and hourly exultation, who have been born in a Christian and civilized country. Whatever theorists may have thought occasionally of the happiness of men in barbarous or savage conditions, no doubt at all can be entertained as to that of women. It is civilization which has taken the yoke from their neck, the scourge from their back, and the burden from their shoulders. It is Christianity chiefly which has raised them from the state of slaves or menials to that of citizens, and compelled their rough and unresisted tyrants to call up law in their defence; that potent spirit which they, who have evoked it, must ever after themselves submit to. Religion, which extends the sanctity of the marriage vow to the husband as well as to the wife, has rescued her from a condition in which her best and most tender affections were the source of her bitterest misery; a condition in which her only escape from a sense of suffering too unremitting for nature to endure, was in that mental degradation which produces insensibility to wrong. The instances of primitive communities, in which such injustice has not prevailed, are too few and far between, to form any solid objection to the truth of this general picture. The mere increase of numbers infallibly obliterates the fair but feeble virtues that originate in nothing but ignorance of ill; and the first inroads of want or discord, usually settle the doom of the weak and defenceless. In restoring to women their domestic dignity, religion has done more than every other cause towards shielding them from the consequences of weakness and dependence. From the dignified affections of the other sex, they have gradually acquired some social rights, and some share of that freedom, without which virtue itself can scarcely exist. Opinion, the offspring, not of resplendent genius, whose earliest fires burned indignantly against the tyrant and oppressor, but of a religion which preached the equality of all before God, has given them a share of those blessings, without which life is not worth possession. At length it has opened to them the portals of knowledge and wisdom, the gradual, but effective supports against degradation; and has sanctified its gifts by withholding from them every license that leads to vice, every knowledge that detracts from their purity, and every profession that would expose them to insult."

Then follows a masterly sketch of the condition of woman in uncivilized life, in which the subject is illustrated by the most apposite quotations from the works of different travellers and historians. It is the writer's opinion that in uncivilized life, the degradation of woman, though common, is not universal. The celebrated passage in Tacitus is quoted in support of this position; and among other less interesting extracts, is the following account of Galway by Hardiman, a country which, so great is the blessing of a paternal and judicious government, may furnish, in the nineteenth century, illustrations of uncivilized life, equally picturesque and striking with those which Tacitus has recorded in his day as familiar among the inhabitants of Pagan Germany.

"This colony, from time immemorial, has been ruled by one of their own body, periodically elected, who somewhat resembled the Brughaid or head village of ancient times, when every clan resided in its hereditary canton. This individual, who is decorated with the title of mayor, in imitation of the city, regulates the community according to their own peculiar customs and laws, and settles all fishery disputes. His decisions are so decisive, and so much respected, that the parties are seldom known to carry their differences before a legal tribunal, or to trouble the civil magistrate. They neither understand nor trouble themselves about politics, consequently, in the most turbulent times, their loyalty has never been questioned. Their mayor is no way distinguished from other villagers, except that his boat is decorated with a white sail, and may be seen when at sea, at which time he acts as admiral, with colours flying at the masthead, gliding through their fleet with some appearance of authority…. When on shore, they employ themselves in repairing their boats, sails, rigging, and cordage, in making, drying, and repairing their nets and spillets, in which latter part they are assisted by the women, who spin the hemp and yarn for their nets. In consequence of their strict attention to these particulars, very few accidents happen at sea, and lives are seldom lost. Whatever time remains after these avocations, they spend in regaling with whisky, and assembling in groups to discuss their maritime affairs, on which occasions they arrange their fishing excursions. When preparing for sea, hundreds of their women and children for days before crowd the strand, seeking for worms to bait the hooks. The men carry in their boats, potatoes, oaten cakes, fuel, and water, but never admit any spirituous liquors. Thus equipped, they depart for their fishing ground, and sometimes remain away several days. Their return is joyfully hailed by their wives and children, who meet them on the shore. The fish instantly becomes the property of the women, (the men, after landing, never troubling themselves further about it,) and they dispose of it to a poorer class of fishwomen, who retail it at market.

"The inhabitants of the Cloddagh are an unlettered race. They rarely speak English, and even their Irish they pronounce in a harsh, discordant tone, sometimes not intelligible to the townspeople. They are a contented, happy race, satisfied with their own society, and seldom ambitious of that of others. Strangers (for whom they have an utter aversion) are never suffered to reside among them. The women possess an unlimited control over their husbands, the produce of whose labour they exclusively manage, allowing the men little more money than suffices to keep the boat and tackle in repair; but they keep them plentifully supplied with whisky, brandy, and tobacco. The women seldom speak English, but appear more shrewd and intelligent in their dealings than the men; in their domestic concerns the general appearance of cleanliness is deserving of particular praise. The wooden ware, with which every dwelling is well stored, rivals in colour the whitest delft.

"At an early age they generally marry amongst their own clan. A marriage is commonly preceded by an elopement, but no disappointment or disadvantage from that circumstance has ever been known among them. The reconciliation with the friends usually takes place the next morning, the clergyman is sent for, and the marriage celebrated. The parents generally contrive to supply the price of a boat, or a share in one, as a beginning."

The writer then proceeds, in a strain of generous yet chastened energy, to comment on the false measure which people apply to the sufferings of others. Insensibility to wretchedness, or, as in the vocabulary of oppression it is called, content, is often a proof of nothing but that stupefaction of the faculties which is the natural result of long and blighting misery. A contented slave is a degraded man. His sorrow may be gone, but so is his understanding.

In the course of her enquiries into the condition of women under the Mahometan law, the author is led to make some reflections upon one by whom Mahometan manners were first presented in an attractive shape to the English public—a person celebrated for her friends, but still more celebrated for her enemies—known for her love, but famous for her hate—a girl without feeling, a woman without tenderness—a banished wife, a careless mother—on whom extraordinary wit, masculine sense, a clear judgment, and an ardent love of letters seem to have been lavished for no other purpose than to show that, without a good heart, they serve only to make their possessor the most contemptible of mankind. Lady Mary Wortley's heart was the receptacle of all meanness and sensuality—the prey of a selfishness as intense as rank, riches, a bad education, natural malignity, and the extremes of good and bad fortune, ever engendered in the breast of woman. The remarks on her character, in the volume before us, are, as might be expected, excellent.

The condition of women among the more polished nations of antiquity, is a subject which, if fully examined, would more than exhaust our narrow limits. It does not appear from Homer, says our author, that the condition of women was depressed. Achilles, in a very striking passage, declares that every wise and good man loves and is careful for his wife, and Hector, in the passage which Cicero is so fond of quoting, urges the opinion of

"Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground,"

as a motive for his conduct. However this may be, certain it is, that the feelings and affections of domestic life are portrayed by Homer with a degree of purity, truth, and pathos, that casts every other writer, Virgil not excepted, into the shade; and which, to carry the panegyric of human composition as far as it will go, he himself, in his most glorious passages, has never been able to surpass. It has been so long the fashion to represent Virgil as the sole master of the pathetic, that this assertion may appear to many paradoxical; and it is undoubtedly true, that the fourth book of the Aeneid cannot he read by any one of common sensibility without strong emotion; but how different is the lamentation of Andromache over her living husband, uttered in all the glow and consciousness of returned and "twice blest" love, from the raving of the slighted woman, abandoned by the lover whom she has too rashly trusted, and to whom she has too plainly become indifferent! How different is the character of the patriot warrior, the prop and bulwark of his country, sacrificing his life to delay that ruin which he knew it was beyond his power to avert—snatching, amid the bloody scenes around him, a moment for the indulgence of a father's pride and a husband's tenderness, from the perfidious paramour flying from the vengeance of the woman he had wronged!