Part 4

The gayest time of Amsterdam is dead winter. Then the Zuyder Zee and all its canals are frozen over, when ladies and gentlemen are skating night and day. Vessels sail charmingly on the ice, but their bottoms are made for the ice instead of water. Balls and pic-nic parties are numerous in winter. The Amsterdam ladies are all healthy looking. I saw half a dozen ladies yesterday shooting snipe, when I rode out to Saandam. They had on nice little boots and moved among the high grass like skilful hunters. At Saandam I registered my name in the little "book of names," in the house of Peter the Great, Emperor of Russia. He ran away from Russia and came here and rented this little house with only two rooms, and lived in poverty here, to learn to build ships. Hollandaise builders worked with him a year at a time, but knew not that it was Peter the Great, of the Russias. The little frame hut is three hundred years old, but has been preserved on account of its strange and novel history.

26th of September, and I am at the capitol of Holland, The Hague. The King lives here, about a quarter of a mile from my hotel, the "Bellevue." But I just dined with a King. The father of the Queen is the old King of Wurtemburg, and he is putting up here, and we have a guard of honor at our door. He is going out--he bows to me.

COL. FELLOWES LEARNING DUTCH.

I must now introduce the reader to an American "merchant Prince," better known by his associates as the "Prince of Good Fellows." This is Cornelius Fellowes, of the respectable firm of Messrs. Fellowes & Co., of New Orleans, La. He is rather more than a medium size man, and straight as an exclamation point, with handsome limbs. He cannot be justly termed handsome, without adding _man_. His face was the color of a last year's red apple all free from decay; his hair is light for black, and not very thick on top, and he is aged 48 years. He is no politician, statesman, or orator, but as a business man, he is "sound on the goose." I know of no man that could settle business disagreements to the entire satisfaction of both, better than Mr. Fellowes. He would have made a profound judge, his heart and talent alike is so justly qualified. He is a very liberal and extravagant man, more so than any man I am acquainted with, but he is by no means a benevolent man; I don't mean to say that he is stingy, for he is not, but I mean to indicate that he always has some original idea of his own to make him give; for example, if a group of little ragged girls come around him begging, he will instantly feel his pockets, and take out all the change, but the most of it would go into the hands of the prettiest or cleanest, at the same time saying, "this is a pretty little girl," and if there is any left they will be sure to get the remainder. Or if a group of little boys are the beggars, he will give the most to the smartest, and exclaim, "he is a smart little fellow." And sometimes he is conscious of this partiality, and tries to evade it by throwing the coin among the boys to see them scuffle for it, but this trait of his is so marked, that he will be sure to throw it on his favorite's head, and if he fails to catch it, it is a sure sign of another chance for the boys. He laughs heartily when his boy catches it, as if it done his soul good. He is so proud, or haughty, or perhaps I had better say, naturally aristocratic, that he can descend from his sphere to vulgar without knowing it, and joke, laugh, and even offer some of his drink, but if you forget yourself, he will recollect himself. He can treat a free colored man as polite as he can a poor white one, and a class that are below them must be in his estimation what they are.

He is a man with no enemies; I don't believe he has one, and he himself hates no man, and in fact is always happy, jovial, and scarcely ever disappointed with his calculations of things and people. Whatever the Col. does, he does well, but he always puts it off until it can be delayed no longer. If he makes up his mind that he must go up the river, and look in the affairs of his agents or debters, he will appoint next week, but four or five weeks will follow in succession, but as next week must eventually come, he battles with that until the last day. Saturday he leaves on the last boat, and, is his most interested partner abler than another man to tell when he will ever turn his face home, or whether he will stop at Natchez, or Memphis, for what convinced him at 2 o'clock Saturday that he had better get off that evening, was as much the departure of his friends on that boat, as the conviction that these affairs of his must be looked into. When he wants a partner in any of his various traffics, he never looks for a man with capital, but one that understands what his views are, and would feel an aspiring interest, so much so as to devote all his time and talent and scrutiny to its development of prosperity in the end, if not at first. His object seems more the perfection of the business than its profits; but at the end of the year of business, which is the first day of September, if there is no profit, and he is not very deeply in, he will not be inclined to risk much, but he sticks like a leech, and this year must pay the loss of last. He will bleed some branch of this business before he lets go. The balance sheet of the firm of Messrs. Fellowes and Co., foots per annum about $140,000 to $170,000 profit; but if he lost by giving up some of his planters that have made a good crop, $10,000, he thinks that he managed badly, and goes about finding who they are connected with, and whether they wish to come back again. He will now furnish them with more means than he refused them when they left him. No man can get along with a planter better than Cornelius Fellowes; for he considers a planter, or slave holder, his equal in every particular; consequently feels himself at home with them. A planter looks at a merchant as his agent until they become the leading houses in their community, then they are honored in having the great merchant to stay a few days and hunt. But when they go to New Orleans they expect to be waited on by the merchant, when to their great disgust, the merchant sends his clerk to look after their wants; and the merchant, instead of persuading them to come and put up at his house, or dine with him, has other friends more congenial to his taste and dignity, than the planter with his Sunday suit of store made clothes. But as Mr. Fellowes never cares much for looks or position, and as he is an old bachelor and never had a house, and a slave holder is his equal, he hesitates not to go to the ladies ordinary and order his seat at table, and call on the rustic gentleman and family to dine with him, where they drink such wine as they would most likely take at home for stump water and cider. But this familiarity will tell upon the nerves of Mr. Fellowes, for he does not like to feel himself obliged to do any thing, and they will, in this good mood, invite him to the opera, theatre, or most likely the circus. Now this stumps his benevolent feelings to those who need no benevolence; he has his club mates, or the gaieties of Orleans to meet, where are to be found the very men he must touch glasses or whif a cigar with. He is now puzzled. He will let them know before dark, but will have their tickets for them already. He surely will be found missing; he says to himself "it will not do to refuse them without a good and plausable excuse," therefore he plans in his mind. He calls on one of his numerous clerks, and requests him to take an amount of money and go and buy so many tickets, and requests him further to call on Mr. Brown, and make an excuse, and offer to accompany him and the ladies to the amusement in view. These rich, bustle-dressed, young girls are diamonds in the eyes of young clerks; and young clerks in the best houses are Adonises to what these girls are used to. They soon become agreeable, and when they return home, Sam Smith, their next neighbor, is treated as he deserves to be by civilized beings. Soon after a letter comes to Mr. Clerk from this plantation, with a lady's scrawl, care Fellowes & Co., and Mr Fellowes delights to find that his suggestion of this young man met the entire approbation of the favorite of the old farmer. The fact is Mr. Fellowes can kill more birds with one stroke of his policy, than any other man that studies so little. Mr. Fellowes is never in so bad a humour as when he treats one kindly, and it is unkindly returned, to illustrate this, I must drop this epitome of his history, and carry the reader to the Capitol of Holland, where Mr. Fellowes is trying to learn something of this slow and easy people. He was smoking his segar when the King of Wurtimburg went out, but took no notice of him, because he was engaged with a group of beggar boys, throwing stivers at them. An English gentleman that had lived in the Indies, was by us, and we had travelled on the Rhine together. "Let us go down to the sea, five miles off, and see the Dutch fisheries. I understand they are extensively engaged in fishing, Mr. Grant," said Col. Fellowes. "I have been there, Mr. Fellowes," said the Englishman, "but will go again with you, though I know you will be annoyed with these plagued beggars." "O," said Mr. Fellowes, "I like to see them, with their large wooden shoes, jumping after the grochens, and further, they are a great people, and I wish to find out a great deal about their habits and manners; I think I shall stay here a week." The fame of the Col. had reached the remotest corner of the Hague, and squads of two and three were seen in all directions coming to the Bellevue House. Here our lacquey brought before the door a fine turnout, and he jumped in and drove away like a prince, whilst they followed on all sides, some hundreds of yards, like Fallstaff's soldiers, ready to run from any one they found they were close to that knew them except their abject leader. In a few moments we were down on the North sea. It was very cold down on the beach, but fishermen were walking in the sea from their smacks, with hamper baskets full of all kinds of fish. Their vessels that had been two days seining, was full of fish, but as these vessels could get no nearer than a quarter of a mile to land, they always fill their bushel basket, and shoulder it, and walk through the surging waves on the beach, on whose sand was pyramids of fish piled up, to be sold at a zwanzich bushels (about 25 cents). Sometimes they would disappear in the waves with the fish, but would appear soon again nearer shore, plodding on patiently.

Whilst Col. Fellowes was reading a description of this fish point, the lacquey explained a conversation he had with six or seven beggars off a rod from us. He said they were anxious to know who we three fellows were, and had dubbed Mr. Fellowes "Count of New York." I was son of the Count, and would eventually become Count of the Amsterdam, of the Empire state. Mr. Grant was dignified with the royal appellation of "Duke of Brunswick." They certainly found more curious matter in the polish of our glazed boots, than we did at their large wooden trotters, that at every step rattled against the others, who stood so close together as to form a bouquet of dirty Dutch heads of various colors.

Having informed Mr. Fellowes of his new made honor, he laughed heartily, and called them nearer to corroborate the information that they had been so lucky to find out, by throwing among them some of his revenue of the city named after their great Amsterdam. The Col. threw stavers and grochens until he astonished the natives. Some jumped clear over other's heads. Now the Col. was in his glory. This was Friday, and they had'nt eaten anything, but from their movements and agility, you would swear "they would make hay while the sun shines." Their strange movements was not only a signal for miles up the beach, but the fishermen had abandoned their smacks, and were coming through the surf, and under it. The Col. here run out of money, and called on my money bag, which was hanging under my arm like a bird bag, and was full of various coins, from Louis d' Or's of twenty franc pieces, to the smallest denominations. I gave small coin until I thought he had thrown away enough, and then cried broke. Mr. Grant and myself drew back from the Col., and he was beseiged. He told them he was broke, at the same time feeling all his pockets, whilst they was looking all around him for pockets he might overlook. About sixty or seventy had circled him, and we were laughing to ourselves because we saw he was vexed and felt himself in a dilemma. The little Dutch had almost fell down in the sand by his feet, and was feeling up his pantaloons leg to see if some was not dropping. One old honest Dutchman that had been carefully examining Mr. Fellowes coat tail, had come across his white handkerchief, and took it round in front and returned it. Here Mr. Fellowes showed tokens of fear, and he hallowed out, "Lacquey, why don't you take a stick and beat them off, don't you see they are robbing me?" "No sir, that handkerchief he thought was something that you had overlooked sticking to your clothes, and he brought it to your notice," said the lacquey. "Then tell them I am broke and drive them off." "Yes, sir, if I can." Here he went to work in earnest, explaining that the Count had run out of money but he had a plenty in the Bank, and they could get no more to-day. Then they went away about a rod and seemed buried in reflection. They started to come again, but the Col. backed, while the lacquey appealed to their reason by informing them that were it the king himself, he could not carry all his money with him. Mr. Fellowes shook himself and tried to put on a pleasing countenance, but we could not for our lives maintain our gravity at his lesson of familiarity while learning Dutch.

We walked up the beach, and conversed on the subject of the North Sea and Sir John Franklin, when all of a sudden Mr. Fellowes called to the coachman to drive up. I looked around and saw the beggars coming. We lost no time in retreating. While passing through the gates of the city, I noticed a bronze lion placed in the position of a guardian over it. I said, what an awful condition Daniel must have been in when in the lion's den. "No worse," said the Col. "than I was in with the Dutch!" Here a boy opened a door on the Col.'s side, that he might descend. As the Col. stepped out, he alighted on the Dutchman's wooden shoe, and tripped himself up. As he picked himself up and moved towards the hotel door, he exclaimed in an under tone, d----n the Dutch.

It must not be supposed that Mr. Fellowes meant any harm to the Dutch, but, they were not in his opinion, as agreeable as they might be. He left next day, although he intended staying a week "learning Dutch."

ON! ON! TO WATERLOO.

Without noting Rotterdam, Holland's lowest town, and Antwerp, an old Flemish town, I am at the carpet city of Belgium, Brussels, on my way to Waterloo. I have a little old lacquey I just hired and he is as cute as a mink. "All ready, sir," said he, "shall I drive you to the Palace or the Museum?" "No sir, on to Waterloo!" Here the hackman remonstrated--he was not engaged for twelve miles and only engaged inside the city walls, and would not go to Waterloo this cold wet day for less than twenty francs. "Go on, sir," said I, and he traversed the whole of the Brussels Boulevard before he passed the gates. Here we are at the battle-field where Wellington rose and Napoleon fell. Wellington conquered the master of the world. Byron says, in his Ode on Napoleon,--

"'Tis done! but yesterday a king, And armed with kings to strive; And now thou art a nameless thing-- So abject, yet alive"

He continues:--

"Is this the man with thousand thrones Who strewed our earth with hostile bones, And can he yet survive? Since he miscalled the morning star, Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far."

My guide was an old revolutionary soldier who was opposed to the Bourbons before the days of Charles the 10th. He fought in this bloody fray, and pleads up fool play on the part of Grouchy.

Mr. Cotton's clerk sold me a copy of a book giving the details of this battle, which it took ten years to accumulate the matter for. Mr. Cotton was in the battle or close to it. In the centre of this field is now an immense mound, made with the bones of slain warriors. Small steps run up to its top, and Wellington is a monumental emblem seated on a horse moving over the field, apparently as natural as life, pinnacling this mound.

Having rested my body by leaning on the leg of the horse, I listened to the harangue of this old man, whose jaws had crept into his mouth, which was void of teeth. He first pointed out the position of Grouchy, who was not in the battle, but was Napoleon's climaxing reserve, off miles in the distance. He now evidently felt some of the animating spirit of that great day, as, pointing in the same direction, he showed me the hill over which Blucher came, and made Napoleon believe that it was his own Grouchy. The old man quieted his feelings before proceeding farther. He assured me that Napoleon's heartstrings must have burst at this perfidious conduct of Grouchy. He believed that Grouchy was so angry with Napoleon for refusing to let him lead on the battle in the morning instead of French Generals and Marshals, that he sold himself to the allies. Grouchy was one of Napoleon's German Generals, and wanted the glory of a battle which, if lost, would bankrupt the French nation, as they had drained their coffers to support the ambition of its chief, which, no doubt, was the greatest general of modern times. The old soldier pointed off to the right of Blucher's march over the hill, to the French position of Belle Alliance, and referred to those hours of anxiety from the first evening Napoleon arrived there and saw the English in the distance, when he craved the power of Joshua to stop the sun that he might attack them that day, to the close of the battle, when he mounted his white steed and started to the carnage, that he might fall among the slain, and how he was checked by Marshal Soult, which Marshal is yet living, who said to Napoleon, "They will not slay you but take you prisoner," upon which he fled from the scene of desolation and mourning.

The old soldier now turned languidly round to Hougomont, and there depicted some of the most daring fighting that ever a juvenile ear listened to. He said that Napoleon ordered Hougomont to be taken, and gave so many soldiers for that purpose. Hougomont is a long brick building, like an old fashioned barracks. It has a hedge of tall shrubbery in front, looking towards the battle plain. Thousands of English were stationed there with loop holes only a foot apart, so as to shoot down all attacks. When the French soldiers went towards the house to take it, they were shot down one upon another so fast that the few thousands sent against it were slain before they reached the hedge, where the French thought the fire came from. Word was sent to Napoleon that Hougomont could not be taken, and asking for an answer to the leader. Napoleon glanced once round the field, and said, "Tell him to take Hougomont," but he reinforced the leader, who said to his true soldiers, "Let us march up to die, the emperor says, take Hougomont." When these soldiers heard the orders of their emperor, they scuffled over the hedge to find the fire of their enemy, but to their great disappointment it came from the loopholes! but these daring veterans were not inclined to disobey the great emperor, who was no more a "little corporal." "They," says history, "marched up to the muzzles of the English muskets, and grappled with them till they sank beneath their wrath." Afterwards they took it, but could not keep it. They took it again and kept it some time, but finally left it in the hands of the enemy.

The old man says there were all sorts of reports on the field the night after the battle concerning the emperor. One was, that he rode into the fight and fell with the old guard, who made a pyramid over his body trying to screen him from the blows which fell on him; others were, that Wellington had him in close confinement, and when this was told, thousands of mangled men that seemed to be living only to hear his fate, fell back and died the death that none can die but a soldier. Next day the news came to the living wounded, that Napoleon was on his way, if not at Fontainbleau, and the old soldiers sprang up on their broken limbs, and filled the air with _vive l'empereur, vive toujours_.

Blucher and Wellington then commenced preparing to march on Paris and did. Blucher wanted to burn it but Wellington knew the revengeful spirit of the nation. He might have burned Paris as his allies wished, and, like Nero, fiddled while it burned, but all France would have been annihilated, or London razed to the earth.

Napoleon sent to Paris to know the Cabinet's opinion of this awful disaster to her Treasury and dignity. Tallyrand who was at the head of affairs, advised him to stay away from Paris, for he bankrupted France, and therefore, must abdicate. Napoleon sent a faithful man to plead in favor of his son, but Tallyrand said he had cost France millions of souls, besides bankrupting her, and must leave unconditionally.

Next morning this king of a hundred thrones rode out of Fontainbleau towards Dieppe. He went aboard an English vessel and said, "I am Napoleon." The old captain trembled as he saw the resemblance of that cold countenance, whose pictures filled even the hamlets of England. Struck with this importance, he untied his vessel, drew up his sail and steered to the admiral. Thus ends this Chapter as it did Napoleon, whose orders some days ago were, "On to Waterloo."

THE BIAS OF MY TOUR.

Here is Ghent. It is a large city, and a great many of the Brussells carpets are made here. There is no doubt it is as old a city as London. It is here the famous "Treaty of Ghent" was made by Henry Clay and John Adams. I have just been in their old residence, which, from appearances, must have been one of the best houses in Ghent. A good deal of silk is manufactured here even now. A great many Flemish families live here. The city supports an Opera, besides Theatres and other places of amusement. They are inclined to be Frenchy on the Sabbath. I went on the Sabbath to see a horse go up in a balloon. Three men, who paid a certain sum, took passage with the beast, and as he hung below the balloon, well strapped so he could not kick or agitate himself, these passengers were seated above; I hated it much, as the beast looked so melancholy and innocent. I had seen the same performance at Paris. It was not such a novelty to the horse as to me, for this was the same horse I had seen at Paris some time before. Away they went, upward like a cloud, in a hurry toward the sea, and were soon lost to our sight.