Herman Melville, Mariner and Mystic
M. High land--the Needles--Wind ahead and tacking. Get in to-night or
to-morrow--or next week or year. Devilish dull, and too bad altogether.
Continued tacking all day with a light wind from West. Isle of Wight
in sight all day and numerous ships. In the evening all hands in high
spirits. Played chess in the ladies’ saloon--another party at cards;
good deal of singing in the gentlemen’s cabin and drinking--very
hilarious and noisy. Last night every one thought. Determined to go
ashore at Portsmouth. Therefore prepared for it, arranged my trunk to
be left behind--put up a shirt or two in Adler’s carpet bag and retired
pretty early.”
Sunday, Nov. 4th: “Looked out of my window first thing upon rising and
saw the Isle of Wight again--very near--ploughed fields, etc. Light
head wind--expected to be in a little after breakfast time. About 10
A. M. rounded the Eastern end of the Isle, when it fell flat calm.
The town in sight by telescope. Were becalmed about three or four
hours. Foggy, drizzly; long faces at dinner--no porter bottles. Wind
came from the West at last. Squared the yards and struck away from
Dover--distant 60 miles. Close reefed the topsails so as not to run too
fast. Expect now to go ashore to-morrow morning early at Dover--and
get to London via Canterbury Cathedral. Mysterious hint dropped me
about my green coat. It is now eight o’clock in the evening. I am alone
in my state-room--lamp in tumbler. Spite of past disappointments,
I _feel_ that this is my last night aboard the _Southampton_. This
time to-morrow I shall be on land, and press English earth after the
lapse of ten years--_then a sailor_, now H. M. author of _Peedee_,
_Hullabaloo_ and _Pog-Dog_. For the last time I lay aside my ‘log’ to
add a line or two to Lizzie’s letter the last I shall write aboard.
(‘Where dat old man?--Where looks?’)”
The account of his experiences in England is preserved in a separate
note-book, formally beginning: “Commenced this journal at 25 Craven
Street at 6-1/2 P. M. on Wednesday, Nov. 7, 1849--being just arrived
from dinner at a chop house, and feeling like it.”
“_Mon. Nov. 5th, 1849_: Having at the invitation of McCurdy cracked
some champagne with him, I returned about midnight to my state-room,
and at four in the morning was wakened by the Captain in person, saying
we were off Dover. Dressed in a hurry, ran on deck, and saw the lights
ashore. A cutter was alongside, and after some confusion in the dark,
we got off in her for the shore. A comical scene ensued, the boatman
saying we could not land at Dover, but only at Deal. So to Deal we
went, and were beached there just at break of day. Some centuries ago a
person called Julius Cæsar jumped ashore about in this place, and took
possession. It was Guy Fawkes day also. Having left our baggage (that
is, Taylor, Adler and myself) to go round by ship to London, we were
wholly non-encumbered, and I proposed walking to Canterbury--distant
18 miles, for an appetite to breakfast. So we strode thru this quaint
old town of Deal, one of the Cinque Ports, I believe, and soon were in
the open country. A fine Autumnal morning and the change from ship to
shore was delightful. Reached Sandwich (6 miles) and breakfasted at a
tumble down old inn. Finished with ale and pipes, visited ‘Richbors’
Castle’--so called--a Roman fortification near the sea shore. An
imposing ruin, the interior was planted with cabbages. The walls
some ten feet thick grown over with ivy. Walked to where they were
digging--and saw, defined by a trench, the exterior wall of a circus.
Met the proprietor--an antiquary--who regaled me with the history of
the place. Strolled about the town, on our return, and found it full of
interest as a fine specimen of the old Elizabethan architecture. Kent
abounds in such towns. At one o’clock took the 2nd class (no 3rd) cars
for Canterbury. The cathedral is on many accounts the most remarkable
in England. Henry II, his wife, and the Black Prince are here--and
Becket. Fine cloisters. There is a fine thought expressed in one of the
inscriptions on a tomb in the nave. Dined at the Falstaff Inn near the
Westgate. Went to the theatre in the evening, & was greatly amused at
the performance: More people on the stage than in the boxes. Ineffably
funny, the whole affair. All three of us slept in one room at the
inn--odd hole.
“_Tuesday, Nov. 6th_: Swallowed a glass of ale and away for the R.
R. Station & off for London, distant some 80 miles. Took the third
class car--exposed to the air, devilish cold riding against the wind.
Fine day--people sociable. Passed thro Penshurst (P. S.’s place &
Tunbridge--fine old ruin that). Arrived at London Bridge at noon.
Crossed at once over into the city and down at a chop-house in the
Poulberry--having eaten nothing since the previous afternoon dinner.
Went and passed St. Paul’s to the Strand to find our house. They
referred us elsewhere. Very full. Secured room at last (one for each)
at a guinea and a half a week. Very cheap. Went down to the Queen’s
Hotel to inquire after our ship friends--(on the way green coat
attracted attention)--not in. Went to Drury Lane at Julien’s Promenade
Concerts (admittance 1 s.) A great crowd and fine music. In the reading
room to see ‘Bentley’s Miscellany’ with something about _Redburn_. (By
the way, stopped at a store in the Row & inquired for the book, to see
whether it had been published. They offered it to me at a guinea). At
Julien’s also saw Blackwoods’ long story about a short book. It’s very
comical. Seemed so, at least, as I had to hurry on it. But the wonder
is that the old Tory should waste so many papers upon a thing which I,
the author, know to be trash, and wrote it to buy some tobacco with. A
good wash & turned in early.
“_Thursday, Nov. 8th_: Dressed, after breakfast at a coffee-house, and
went to Mr. Bentley’s. He was out of town at Brighton. The notices
of _Redburn_ were shown me.--Laughable. Staid awhile, and then to
Mr. Murray’s, out of town. Strolled about and went into the National
Gallery. Dined with the Doctor & Adler, and after dark a ramble thro’
Chancery Lane and Lincoln’s Inn Fields, we turned into Holborn & so to
the Princess’s Theatre in Oxford Street. Went into the pit at the hall
price--one shilling. The part of a Frenchman was very well played. So
also, skater on the ice.
“_Friday, Nov. 9th_: Breakfasted late and went into Cheapside to see
the ‘Lord Mayor’s show’ it being the day of the great civic feast &
festivities. A most bloated pomp, to be sure. Went down to the bridge
to see the people crowding there. Crossed by Westminster, thro’ the
Parks to the Edgeware Road, & found the walk delightful, the sun coming
out a little, and the air not cold. While on one of the bridges, the
thought struck me again that a fine story might be written about a Blue
Monday in November London--a City of Dis (Dante’s) Cloud of Smoke--the
damned, etc., coal boxes, oily waters, etc.--its marks are left upon
you, etc., etc., etc.”
In _Israel Potter_ (1855) Melville devoted one chapter to a description
of London Bridge: a chapter entitled: “In the City of Dis.” The
description begins: “It was late on a Monday morning in November--a
Blue Monday--a Fifth of November--Guy Fawkes’ Day!--very blue, foggy,
doleful and gunpowdery, indeed.” Melville had been husbanding for six
years the impressions gathered on November 9, 1849.
On November 10, Melville received a reply to the note he had sent
to Bentley announcing his presence in London. Bentley expressed a
willingness to come up from Brighton to see Melville at any time
convenient to Melville. Melville appointed “Monday noon, in New
Burlington Street,” and went forth again to explore the city. He
visited the Temple Courts. By way of Cock Lane--reflecting on Dr.
Johnson’s Ghost--he walked on to the Charter House, “where I had a
sociable chat with an old pensioner who guided me through some fine old
cloisters, kitchens, chapels.” Saturday night, with Adler, he strolled
over to Holborn “vagabonding thro’ the courts and lanes and looking in
at windows. Stopped at a penny theatre--very comical. Adler afraid. To
bed early.” On Sunday Melville went “down to Temple Church to hear the
music,” looked in at St. Paul’s, and then, with Adler, “took a bus for
Hampton Court.” They enjoyed the ride down, the pictures at Hampton
Court, and then dinner at the Adelphi in the evening.
On Monday, Melville saw Bentley. “Very polite,” says Melville. “Gave
me his note for £100 at ten days for _Redburn_. Couldn’t do better,
he said. He expressed much anxiety and vexation at the state of the
copyright question. Proposed my new book _White-Jacket_ to him and
showed him the table of contents. He was much pleased with it, and
notwithstanding the vexatious and uncertain state of the copyright
matter, he made me the following offer: To pay me £200 for the first
thousand copies of the book (the privilege of publishing that number)
and as we might afterwards arrange concerning subsequent editions. A
liberal offer. But he could make no advance--left him and called upon
Mr. Murray. Not in. Out of town.... Walked to St. Paul’s and sat over
an hour in a dozy state listening to the chanting of the choir. Felt
homesick and sentimentally unhappy.”
To sweeten his blood, he sallied forth, with Adler, early on the
morrow, “to see the last end of the Mannings. An innumerable crowd in
all the streets. Police by hundreds. Men and women fainting. The man
and wife were hung side by side--still unreconciled to each other--what
a change from the time they stood up to be married together! The mob
was brutish. All in all, a most wonderful, horrible, and unspeakable
scene.--Breakfasted about 11 A. M. and went to the Zoological Gardens,
Regent’s Park. Very pretty. Fine giraffes. Dreary and rainy day.”
On the morrow “Rigged up again, and in my _green_ jacket called
upon Mr. Murray in Albemarle Street. He was very civil, much vexed
about copyright matters. I proposed _White-Jacket_ to him--he seemed
decidedly pleased and has since sent for the proof sheets, according
to agreement. That evening we went to the New Strand Theatre, to
see Coleman’s _The Clandestine Marriage_.” Melville’s comment upon
Leigh Murray, who played Melvil, would do credit to the lost diary of
Mrs. Pepys: “the finest leg I ever saw on a man--a devilishly well
turned-out man, upon my soul.”
The day following--November 15--was by the Queen appointed as a day
of special thanksgiving. Melville again sallied forth sight-seeing. On
the morrow he made two attempts to see Murray; the second found him
in. “Very polite--but would not be in his line to publish my book.” On
November 17, Colbour declined Melville’s offer of £200 for a thousand
copies of _White-Jacket_, “and principally because of the cussed
state of the copyright. Bad news enough--I shall not see Rome--I’m
floored--appetite unimpaired, however.” On the 19th, he saw Longman, to
be told “they bided by the original terms.” On the twentieth, he saw
Moxen, the publisher. “Found him in--sitting alone in a back room. He
was at first very stiff, cold, clammy and clumsy. Managed to bring him
to, tho, by clever speeches. Talked of Charles Lamb--he warmed up and
ended by saying he would send me a copy of his works. He said he had
often put Lamb to bed--drunk. He spoke of Dana--he published D’s book
here.” Moxen sent Melville copies of Lamb’s works: but Moxen did not
accept Melville’s invitation to publish _White-Jacket_.
On November 22--after a jovial evening spent over porter, gin, brandy,
whiskey, and cigars--Melville rose late, and with a headache. So he
rode out to Windsor, to inspect the state apartments,--which he found
“cheerlessly damned fine”--and to view the Royal Stables. “On the way