Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, No. 429

Suddenly a figure pushed through the crowd, and approached the fire near which Pierre Sandeau stood. It appeared to be one of the wreckers; but the voice, that almost whispered in the old man's ear, made him start.

'Father!' said Madeleine, in a low solemn voice, 'what are you about to do?'

'Fool! what want you here?' replied Pierre, amazed and angry at the same time.

'I come to prevent murder! Father, think what you are about to do? Here are fifty fellow-creatures coming in search of life and shelter, and you will give them death!'

'This is no place for you, Madeleine!' cried the other in a husky voice. 'Go home, girl, and let me never see you out again at night!'

'Away, Madeleine!—away!' said the crowd angrily.

'I will not away!—I will stay here to see you do your foul deed—to fix it on my mind, that day and night I may shout in your ears that ye are murderers! Father,' added she solemnly, 'imbrue your hands in the blood of one man to-night, and I am no child of yours. I will beg, I will crawl through the world on my hands, but never more will I eat the bread of crime!'

'Take her away, Pierre,' said one more ruffianly than the rest, 'or you may repent it.'

'Go, girl, go,' whispered Pierre faintly, while the wreckers moved in a body to the shore, where the boats were about to strike.

'Never!' shrieked Madeleine, clinging franticly to her father's clothes.

'Let me go!' cried Pierre, dragging her with him.

At that moment a terrible event interrupted their struggle. A man stood upright in the foremost boat, guiding their progress. Just as they were within two yards of the shore, this man saw the wreckers coming down in a body.

'As I expected!' he cried in a loud ringing voice. 'Fire!—shoot every one of the villains!'

A volley of small arms, within pistol-shot of the body of wreckers, was the unexpected greeting which these men received. A loud and terrible yell shewed the way in which the discharge had told. One-half of the pillagers fell on the stony beach, the other half fled.

Among those who remained was Madeleine. She was kneeling by her father, who had received several shots, and lay on the ground in agony.

'You were right, girl,' he groaned; 'I see it now, when it is too late, and I feel I have deserved it.'

'Better,' sobbed Madeleine, 'better be here, than have imbrued your hands in the blood of one of those miraculously-delivered sailors.'

'Say you so, woman?' said a loud voice near her. 'Then you are not one of the gang. I knew them of old, as well as their infernal cut-throat gorge, and pulled straight for it, but quite prepared to give them a warm reception.'

Madeleine looked up. She saw around her more than fifty men, three women, and some children. She shuddered again at the thought of the awful massacre which would have occurred but for the sailor's prudence.

'My good girl,' continued the man, 'we are cold, wet, and hungry; can you shew us to some shelter?'

'Yes; but do you bid some of your men carry my father, who, I fear, is dying.'

'It is no more than he merits,' replied the man; 'but for your sake I will have him taken care of.'

'It is what I merit,' said Pierre, in a strange and loud tone; 'but not from your hands, Jacques.'

'Merciful God!' cried the sailor, 'whose voice is that?'

'You will soon know; but do as your sister bids you, and then we can talk more at ease.'

Madeleine cast herself sobbing into her brother's arms, who, gently disengaging her, had a litter prepared for his father, and then, guided by Madeleine, the procession advanced on its way. An armed party marched at the head, and in a quarter of an hour the village of Montreaux was reached. It was entirely deserted. There were fires in the houses, and lamps lit, and even suppers prepared, but not a living thing. Even the children and old women on hearing the discharge of musketry, had fled to a cave where they sometimes took shelter when the coast-guard was sent in search of them.

The delighted sailors and passengers spread themselves through the village, took possession of the houses, ate the suppers, and slept in the beds, taking care, however, to place four sentries in well-concealed positions, for fear of a surprise. Madeleine, her father, her brother, the ship's surgeon, and a young lady passenger, came to the house of old Sandeau, who was put to bed, and his wounds dressed. He said nothing, but went to sleep, or feigned to do so.

Supper was then put upon the table, and the four persons above mentioned sat down, for a few minutes in silence. Jacques, the captain of the East-Indiaman, looked moody and thoughtful. He said not a word. Suddenly, however, he was roused by hearing the young surgeon of the Jeune Sophie speak.

'Madeleine,' said he, in a gentle but still much agitated tone of voice, 'how is it I find you here—you whom I left at St Omer?'

'Is this, then, the Madeleine you so often speak of?' cried the astonished sailor.

'It is. But speak, my dear friend.'

'Edouard, I am here because yonder is my father, and it is my duty to be where he is.'

'But why is your father here?' continued the other.

'I am here,' said the old man, fiercely turning round, 'because I am at war with the world. For a trifling error, I was dismissed the command of this very Jeune Sophie twelve years ago. I vowed revenge, and you see the kind of revenge I have selected.'

'Dear father,' said Madeleine gently, 'see what an escape you have had!'

'Besides,' interposed Jacques, 'there was no occasion for revenge. M. Ponceau, who had adopted me, searched for you far and wide, to give you another ship. They dismissed you in a moment of anger. They proved this, by giving me the command of the Jeune Sophie as soon as I could be trusted with it.'

'What is done is done,' said Pierre, 'and I am a wrecker! I have done wrong, but I am punished. Jacques, my boy, take away Madeleine; I see this life is not fit for her. If I recover, I shall remain, and become the trader of the village'–

'No, father, you must come with us,' observed Jacques sadly. 'You and I and Madeleine will find some quiet spot, where none will know of the past, and where we ourselves may learn to forget. I have already saved enough to support us.'

'And your wife, sir?' said the young lady, who had not hitherto spoken.

'Leonie, you can never marry me now. You are no fit mate for the son of a wrecker.'

'Jacques,' interposed the young surgeon, 'neither you nor Madeleine has any right to suffer for the errors of your father. I made the acquaintance of your sister at my aunt's school in St Omer. I loved her; and before I started on this journey, I had from her a half-promise, which I now call upon her to fulfil.'

'What say you, Madeleine?' said Jacques gravely.

'That I can never give my hand to a man whom I love too well to dishonour.'

'Madeleine, you are right, and you are a noble girl!' replied her brother.

'Children,' said the old man, with a groan, 'I see my crime now in its full hideousness; but I can at least repair part of the evil done. Now, listen to me. Let me see you follow the bent of your hearts, and be happy, and I will go where you will, for you will have forgiven your father. Refuse to do so, and I remain here—once a wrecker, always a wrecker. Come, decide!'

Madeleine held out her hand to Edouard, and Jacques to Leonie, his friend's sister, returning from the colony where her parents had died. The old man shut his eyes, and remained silent the rest of the evening.

Next day, conveyances were obtained from a neighbouring town, and the crew and passengers departed. The reunited friends remained at Montreaux, awaiting the recovery of Pierre, Jacques excepted, he being forced to go to Havre, to explain events to his owners. In ten days he returned. Old Sandeau was now able to be removed; and the whole party left Montreaux, which was then stripped by its owners, and deserted.

The family went to Havre. The father's savings as a captain had been considerable. United with those of Jacques, they proved sufficient to take a house, furnish it, and start both young couples in life. Edouard set up as a surgeon in Havre, his brother-in-law was admitted as junior partner into the house of Ponceau, and from that day all prospered with them. Old Sandeau did not live long. He was crushed under the weight of his terrible past; and his deathbed was full of horror and remorse.1

LOWELL MECHANICS' FAIR

There are very few places in the world that bear the mark of progress so strongly as this town, destined, beyond all doubt, to be the Manchester of the United States, and to enter—indeed it is now entering—into active rivalry with the Old Country in her staple manufactures, cottons and woollens. In the year 1821, few visited the small, quiet village, of about 200 inhabitants, situated in a mountain-nook at a bend of the Merrimac, at a point where that stream fell in a natural cascade, tumbling and gushing over its rocky, shallow bed, quite unconscious of the part it was to play in the world's affairs. This village was twenty-five miles north-west of Boston, not on a high-road leading anywhere; but, nevertheless, it began to move on, as usual, by the erection of a saw-mill, as at that point it was found convenient to arrest the downward progress of the timber, and convert it into plank. And so it went on, and on, step by step, till it became the splendid town it is, so large as to have two railway depôts: one in the suburbs, and the principal one in the centre of the town—for the Yankees think the closer their railways are to the town the better.

Lowell now covers five square miles, with handsome, straight streets; the principal one, Merrimac Street, being a mile and a half in length, and about sixty feet wide, with footways twelve feet wide, and rows of trees between them and the road. The appearance of this street reminds the spectator of the best in France. The loom-power of a manufacturing place, I understand, is estimated by the number of spindles, and this works 350,000; the mills employ 14,000 males, and 10,000 females; the number of inhabitants reckoned stationary, 12,000. It has lately been raised to the dignity of a city by a charter of incorporation, which, in the state of Massachusetts, can be claimed by any town when the number of its inhabitants amounts to 10,000: thus it appoints its officers, and manages its own affairs, as a body corporate and municipal.

The most striking feature of the social system here, is the condition of the mill-workers, of which, as it is so different from ours, I shall give you some particulars. The corporation of Lowell has built streets of convenient houses, for the accommodation of the workmen; and nine-tenths of these are occupied by the unmarried. These houses are farmed by the corporation to elderly females, whose characters must bear the strictest investigation, and at a rent just paying a low rate of interest for the outlay. They carry on the business under strict rules, which limit the numbers, and determine the accommodation of the inmates, two of whom sleep in one room. Females, whose wages are 12s. per week, pay 6s. 6d. per week for board and lodging; for males, the wages and cost of board are about 15 per cent. higher. These females are housed, fed, and dressed as well as the wives and daughters of any tradesman in Edinburgh or London. The hours of work at the mills leave them leisure; which some spend in fancy needle-work, so as to increase their income; and all, by arrangements among themselves, have access to good libraries. The amusements are balls, reading-rooms, lectures, and concerts; indeed, all the means of intellectual cultivation are placed within their reach, and full advantage is taken of them. There is an ambition to save money, which they nearly all do; those in superior situations, such as overlookers, have considerable sums in the savings-banks established by the companies owning the mills; the workers in each mill thus putting their weekly savings into the concern, from which they receive interest in money, and so having an interest in the well-doing of the mill itself, and a bond of attachment to its proprietors. In this manner, the capital of all is constantly at work, and provision is made for a possible slackness, which, however, has not yet befallen Lowell.

To this place, it is no longer a toilsome journey from Boston. Three-quarters of an hour, in a very commodious railway-carriage, brought me into the centre of the town, when a most interesting sight presented itself. The railway had been pouring in for the occasion upwards of 20,000 persons; and in the streets, all was bustle and harmony; thousands of well-dressed persons—some of the females elegantly so—moving in throngs here and there, all bearing the tokens of comfort and respectability. The occasion of the gathering is called the Mechanics' Fair, held for a fortnight, during some days of which all mill-work is suspended; the attraction consisting of a horticultural and cattle show, and an exhibition of the products of art and manufactures of the county, which is Middlesex.

The horticultural show was in the Town-hall, a large, handsome apartment, with long aisles of tables, covered with piles of fruits and vegetables; and such fruits! peaches, nectarines, apricots, and the choicest plums, all of open-air growth, and not surpassed by any I have seen—fully equal to the best hot-house productions of England. Vegetables also very fine, all equal to the finest, except the turnip, which in New England is small. The flowers as beautiful as in the Old Country, but much smaller; consequently, that part of the show was much inferior to our shows of the kind. In the evening of each day, the fruits are put up to auction, and a good deal of merriment is caused by this part of the entertainment. Those who supply the show are well paid, as each morning there is a fresh supply; thus proving that it is not the selected few that are exhibited, but the average produce of the county.

From thence I walked to the show of products of industry. I found a building 600 feet in length, 40 feet wide, and two storeys high, crammed with such a variety of articles that it is extremely difficult to describe them, or, indeed, to reduce them to order in the mind. I do not propose to send you a catalogue, but to convey, as far as I can, the impression made upon me. The ground-floor is devoted to the exhibition of agricultural implements and machinery. I have no intention to enter into the question of our own patent laws, but I cannot refuse to acknowledge the superiority of the arrangements here. The greatest advantage is, that the right to an invention is so simply, cheaply, and easily secured, that there is no filching or ill-feeling. Talking with a very intelligent person, who was kindly trying to give me definite ideas in this labyrinth of cranks and wheels, by shewing and explaining to me the movements of a most singular machine for making carding implements—I said: 'How is it, that with these wonders, the American portion of the Crystal Palace in London should have been so scant? Here is enough for almost an indefinite supply: the reaping-machine is but a unit.' 'True,' he replied, 'but we could get no guarantee for securing the patents; and if one man was simple enough to give the English his reaping-machine, it did not suit others to be robbed. We have little ambition about the matter: satisfied with what we have, we cannot afford to give away inventions for the sake of fine words.' This explained the whole to me.

The first store I looked over in this country was one in Boston, having an immense stock of agricultural implements, and tools for every mechanical purpose. I should know something of such matters, having whistled at the plough myself, and used most of the implements; and being therefore curious on the point, I looked in for the sake of old associations. I am positive that every article for agricultural and mechanical use is better made than with us, and more adapted to its purpose—tools especially. What has been said of the plough in London, is equally true of all other implements in use in America, from the most complicated to the most simple. The Englishman uses what his fathers used; the American will have the tool best adapted, whether existing before his time or not. In favour of this superiority in tools is the fine quality of the hard-woods used here. At the Fair I saw some coach and chaise wheels, of the most beautiful make, of hickory, which is as durable as metal-spokes, not thicker than the middle finger, but strong enough for any required weight, and with great flexibility; and from its extreme toughness, calculated for the woodwork of implements. The apartment on the ground-floor was entirely occupied by machines in motion, and each was attended by a person who explained, with the greatest civility and intelligence, the uses of the various parts of the machine, setting it going, or stopping it, as necessary: each had its crowd of listeners; and I could not but admire the patience and politeness of the lecturer, as he endeavoured to explain the wondrous capabilities of his own pet machine. It would require a volume to follow the subject thoroughly; but I will mention what appeared to be the newest inventions, or those not known in England.

A crowd of ladies were watching with great attention the Sewing-machine—sewing away with the greatest exactness, and much stronger than by the ordinary mode with a needle, as each stitch is a knot. The inventor was shewing it; and he said he had nearly completed a machine for the button-holes. The next was a machine called 'The Man'—and truly named, for a more marvellous production can scarcely be conceived—for making implements for carding wool or cotton, the article passing in as raw wire, going through before our eyes four processes of the most delicate description, and finally coming out a perfect card, with its wire-teeth exactly set, and ready for use. My attention was drawn to the application of the Jacquard principle to a loom engaged in weaving a calico fabric, of various colours woven with a pattern, and thus producing an elegant article, thick, and well adapted for bed-furniture. But the most curious and simple, and withal, perhaps, the most important invention for facilitating manufactures, is what is called the 'Turpin Wheel,' taking its name from the inventor. How simple may be the birth of a great idea! We all observe that a log under a waterfall, coming down perpendicularly upon it, spins round, as on an axis, till it escapes. This led to the invention in question. The water falls upon the spokes of a horizontal wheel, which it sends round with great velocity; and by this contrivance the force of the water is more than doubled. I must not omit to mention the machine just invented for weaving the fabric we call Brussels carpeting. This machine will weave twenty yards of carpeting per day, with one female to attend it. The carpet is worth 3s. per yard, while the wages paid for human aid in its production is 1¼d. per yard: machinery can go little further. Let me add, that I was informed that everything on this floor was the invention of working-men.

Upon ascending to the first floor, I found the apartment arranged with stands—each stand devoted to one sort of manufacture—and attended, as below, by an intelligent person, to shew and explain. Here was every description of furniture, cotton, and woollen fabric; but neither velvets nor silks, which have not, as yet, been introduced. We know so much of our doings in England in the woollen and cotton line, that my attention was principally attracted to these specimens. Here was everything except the broad-cloths—all the patterns of plaid-shawls, so beautifully imitated and executed, that they would, I am sure, pass in Edinburgh. I saw the kerseymere fabric that obtained the prize in London, and nothing could be more beautiful; for the calicoes, I believe we cannot produce them cheaper or better. A writer in a journal here, observes: 'Why should our cotton go to England to be spun when we can spin it in Massachusetts?' A very pertinent question, well worth thinking of at home. We should be thankful to the projectors of the Crystal Palace, that it has opened our eyes, for nothing else could. There is no manner of doubt, that we can learn something beyond yacht-sailing; but we shall not open our eyes to the widest until the arrival in our market of the first cargo of manufactured woollens and cottons; and as surely as we have barrels of flour and pork, we shall soon find them with us: I saw first-rate calico, which could be sold at 2d. per yard.

The exports of manufactured goods from this country to all parts of the world is increasing weekly; but of all that another time, for I am carefully collecting information. One stand I would not omit, as it furnished evidence of the condition of the operatives. The exhibition is managed by the mechanics themselves, and the profits are devoted to the support of a mechanics' institute, with the usual advantages of library, balls, and concerts, but of a very superior order; while every female who provides any article of her own production for exhibition and sale, has a free ticket admitting to all the advantages of the institution. This is found a useful stimulus, as the stand for those articles testified, consisting as they did of all descriptions of fancy-work: rugs, chair-bottoms, table-covers, tapestry, &c. produced in overhours, tasteful in design, and beautiful in execution. Let me not forget an invention, which is as great a boon to sufferers as the water-bed: it is a contrivance applied to an ordinary bedstead, which, by turning a handle, will support any part of the body, or place the body in any required position. It was the invention of a mechanic, who was nine months in bed in consequence of an accident, and felt the want of something of the kind. It is adapted to a bedstead at a cost of L.3.

From thence I went to the cattle-show. I could see but little of that, as most of the animals were gone; but I was assured it was very fine. I believe it, if what I saw was a specimen—a pair of working oxen, perfectly white, the pair weighing 7000 pounds. In our cattle-shows at home, we find plenty of bulk, but it destroys form and symmetry: here both were preserved. The fowls are of the long-legged Spanish breed, coming to table like trussed ostriches; the plump English barndoor sort are about being introduced. I had nearly forgotten a beautiful and extraordinary invention—a rifle, not heavier than the common one, that will discharge twenty-four balls in succession without reloading. Where the ramrod is usually placed, is a smaller barrel, containing, when filled, twenty-four ball-cartridges, and, after discharging, the action of recocking introduces another cartridge, and so on, until the whole are discharged; the whole twenty-four can be discharged in as many seconds!

After leaving this interesting exhibition, where I could have lingered a whole day, I was joined by a friend, an American—a gentleman of great attainments in science—to whose remarks I am indebted for the following scraps. The Merrimac, when low—as when I saw it—is a trifling stream, having a bottom of laminated rock, worn in channels by the stream. At spring and fall, there is ten or fifteen feet of depth; and to remedy this inequality, an important work was undertaken and executed: to this we bent our way. It is a canal in form, but should more properly be called a reservoir. It is 1¼ miles long, 100 feet wide, and 15 feet deep; of solid granite, sides and bottom—equal in durability to any work, ancient or modern. It is about half way cut through the solid granite rock, which in that part furnishes a natural wall. My friend had watched its progress, and gave me many interesting details of the engineering processes employed: among others, the tremendous application of steam and gunpowder. An engine bored holes in the rock fifteen feet deep and twelve inches in diameter; and these were so placed, and in such numbers, that at a single blast 170 tons of granite were blown into the air—an operation hardly conceivable. This canal leaves the town in a westerly direction—being, at its outset, about a quarter of a mile from the Merrimac, but gradually approximating for a quarter of a mile, until it touches and unites with that river. Between the two, is one of the prettiest of public walks, ten feet wide, having rows of trees on each side, and terminating in a point; being the end of a splendid granite wall, at its base thirty feet thick, and tapering to half the thickness, dividing the natural from the artificial stream. Here we come to a point of great interest: on the right is an artificial dam across the river, with two sharp lines at an angle of sixty-seven degrees, the point meeting the stream, thus stopping the waters, and insuring a supply for the reservoir, while it forms a cascade of about twenty feet.