Part 138

Our traveler returned to Cambridge in 1802, when, in consequence of his presents to the university, of which the principal was a Grecian statue of Ceres, he was presented with the degree of LL. D. It does not appear at what time he took orders, but in 1806, in which year he married Angelica, daughter of Sir William Beaumaris Rush, he succeeded to the college living of Harlton, in Cambridgeshire; and shortly afterwards to the vicarage of All Saints, Cambridge, where he officiated with great popularity, and upon which he bestowed an altar-piece, after the Grecian model. In the year last-mentioned, he commenced a course of lectures on mineralogy, the excellence of which induced the university, in 1808, to found a professorship for the encouragement of that branch of learning, when he was unanimously elected to the chair. About the same time he received £1,000 from the curators of the Bodleian Library, Oxford, for the manuscripts he had collected during his travels, including the famous one known as the _Patmos Plato_, to which Professor Porson assigned a very high antiquity. In 1810, the first volume of his travels appeared; and was succeeded, at subsequent periods, by five others. The publication of them produced him a sum of £6595; and by no means a more than adequate one, when it is considered that the work occupied five thousand pages of quarto letter-press; a task, under which, he says, ‘I should have sunk, had I not been blessed with double the share of spirits which commonly belong to sedentary men.’ Yet amidst all this toil and multifarious employment, he pursued the study of chemistry both with zeal and success, as appears in one of his letters to a friend, in September, 1816, in which he says, ‘I sacrificed the whole month of August to chemistry. Oh, how I did work! It was delightful play to me; and I stuck to it, day and night. At last, having blown off both my eye-brows and eye-lashes, and nearly blown out both my eyes, I ended with a bang that shook all the houses round my lecture-room. The Cambridge paper has told you the result of all this alchemy, for I have actually decomposed the earths, and attained them in a metallic form.’ The death of this accomplished traveler took place at the residence of his father-in-law, on the 9th of March, 1822, and he was buried on the 18th, in the chapel of Jesus College, Cambridge, with academic solemnities.

For ardent enterprise, energy of purpose, industry of research, and extent and variety of observation, few travelers are to be compared with Dr. Clarke. His works have, on this account, become more popular than any other of a similar nature, though containing an account of countries both before and since visited and described. They would certainly bear abridgement; but it would require a most skillful hand to select from pages where few paragraphs appear worthy of rejection, if of curtailment. Although he expresses himself with enthusiasm, and many of his reflections are hastily and inconsiderately formed, his style is chaste and clear, and he details the most curious facts with a simplicity incompatible with exaggeration. In speaking of the second volume, Lord Byron says, in a letter to the author, ‘in tracing some of my old paths, adorned by you so beautifully, I receive double delight. How much you have traversed! I must resume my seven-leagued boots, and journey to Palestine, which your description mortifies me not to have seen, more than ever.’

A peculiar feature in the character of Dr. Clarke, is the rapidity with which he passed from one pursuit to another. ‘I have lived to know,’ he says in a letter to Dr. D’Oyley, ‘that the great secret of human happiness is this:――never suffer your energies to stagnate. The old adage,’ he adds, ‘of “too many irons in the fire,” conveys an abominable lie. You cannot have too many; poker, tongs, and all――keep them all going.’ ‘His ardor for knowledge,’ says his biographer, the Rev. Mr. Otter, ‘not unaptly called by his old tutor, _literary heroism_, was one of the most zealous, most sustained, and most enduring principles of action that ever animated a human breast.’ As a preacher, his biographer speaks of ‘the sublimity and excellence of his discourses,’ and says that his ardor in the pursuit of science was ‘softened by moral and social views.’ In private life he was amiable and benevolent; and, to conversation equally interesting and intelligent, joined the most kind and captivating manners. He was survived by five sons and two daughters.

In addition to his Travels, Dr. Clarke was the author of Testimony of different Authors respecting the Colossal Statue of Ceres; The Tomb of Alexander; Description of the Greek Marbles brought from the Shores of the Euxine, Archipelago, and Mediterranean; besides some letters and pamphlets, on subjects relating to science and antiquity.

RICHARD POCOCKE.

Richard Pocoke was born at Southampton, some time in the year 1704. After having received a classical education, and acquired a knowledge of several oriental languages, he, in August, 1733-4, about which time he took the degree of LL. D., visited France and Italy; and in 1736, he set out on an expedition to the east. He reached Alexandria in September, 1737, and proceeded thence to Rosetta, where he visited Cosmas, the Greek patriarch, and observed the veneration of the people for ‘two of those naked saints, who are commonly natural fools, and are held in great esteem in Egypt.’ On the 11th of November, he reached Cairo, when he took great pains in ascertaining the modern condition of the country, and the customs of the people, with every description of whom he associated and conversed. After descending the well of Joseph, visiting and examining the pyramids near Cairo and Saccara, and endeavoring to discover the site of ancient Memphis, which in accordance with Bruce and others, he places at Metrahenny, he made an excursion to Faiume, the Fake Mœris, and ancient Arsinoe; in which province he discovered, at Baiamont, the ruins of two pyramids; where, he observes, ‘I saw the people sifting the sand in order to find seals and medals, there being no part in all the east where the former are found in such great abundance.’ About two miles distant from Lake Mœris, he explored the remains of the Temple of the Labyrinth, a building which once contained three thousand rooms, ‘contrived in such a manner that no stranger could find his way out;’ and he relates a tradition, prevalent among the inhabitants near the lake, of King Caroon, ‘who had keys to his treasures that loaded two hundred camels.’ ‘One would imagine from this,’ he observes, ‘that the fable of Charon might have its rise here, and that this name might be the title of the chief person who had the care of the labyrinth and of the sepulchres in and about it.’

Mr. Pococke embarked in the beginning of December, for Upper Egypt; and, on the 9th of January, 1738, reached Dendera, where he discovered the remains of all the ancient buildings choked with ashes, and the inhabitants of the Arabs fixed on the Temple of Athor-Aphrodite, or the Egyptian Venus. He then visited the ruins of Thebes, Elephantina, Philoe, and the cataracts; and returning to Cairo, the latter end of February, prepared for an excursion to Mount Sinai; but a war just breaking out between the monks and Arabs in that part, he changed his course, and, sailing down the Nile to Damietta, arrived at Jaffa on the 14th of March. Proceeding immediately to Jerusalem, he explored every spot worthy of notice in that city; and his topographical observations have removed much obscurity respecting several parts of it. After making an excursion to Jericho and Jordan, he proceeded along the brook of Kedron to the Dead Sea, where he bathed, in order to ascertain the truth of Pliny’s assertion that no living bodies would sink in it. ‘I stayed in it,’ says Mr. Pococke, ‘near a quarter of an hour, and found I could lay on it in any posture without motion and without sinking; it bore me up in such a manner, that when I struck in swimming, my legs were above the water, and I found it difficult to recover my feet.’ His face was covered with a crust of salt on coming out of the lake, and he describes the water as having the effect of constringing his mouth, in the same manner as strong alumn juice. In May, he returned to Jaffa, whence he sailed to Acra, and visited the northern parts of Palestine and Galilee, particularly Mounts Carmel and Tabor, Cana, Nazareth, the lake of Tiberias, and Mount Hermon; whence he proceeded towards the sea, and sailed to Tyre, Sidon, and Mount Lebanon. He next explored Balbec and its magnificent temple; proceeded to Damascus, Horus, and Aleppo; and after crossing the Euphrates to Orfah, continued his route through Antioch and Scanderoon to Tripoli, where on the 25th of October, he embarked for Cyprus. After passing some time in this island, he returned to Egypt; visited Mount Sinai; followed the track of the Israelites through the wilderness; embarked at Alexandria for Crete; ascended Mount Ida, and continued his course to Smyrna and Constantinople. He then visited the principal cities of Greece, and returned to England in 1741; two years after which, he published, in one folio volume, an account of his travels, with maps and plates, under the title of A Description of the East, and some other Countries, which was succeeded by two other volumes of the same size.

Mr. Pococke, on his return to England, was spoken of with great reputation through Europe; and having taken orders, was made, in 1756, Archdeacon of Ossory; in 1765, Bishop of Elphin; in the July of the same year, Bishop of Meath; and died of apoplexy in the following month of September.

OVERLAND JOURNEY TO INDIA.

The following description of the route from England to India was drawn up by Dr. Buist, of the Bombay Times:

The only way, not many years ago, of reaching India from England, was by sailing vessels, which, touching at St. Helena or the Cape of Good Hope, made the voyage in about four months. Now, the journey is usually performed partly by sea, and partly by land, in from thirty-five to forty days. This overland journey, as it is called, admits of variation. Some travel across France to Marseilles, and then proceed by a steamer to Alexandria; and this is undoubtedly the quickest way of reaching Egypt, through which it is necessary to pass. The greater number of travelers, however, prefer proceeding by steamer from Southampton direct to Alexandria, because this saves much fatigue, shifting of luggage, and also some expenses.

Having spent a few months in England in the latter part of 1845, it became necessary for me to decide on returning to my official duties in Bombay. Of the different modes of making the journey, I preferred that by steam vessel from Southampton. Occupied till the last moment with business in London, I did not find it possible to leave town till the morning of the 3d of December. Packing having been got through rapidly enough, I found myself on my way to the South-Western Railway station, at half-past six――an unpleasant time to start on a long journey, but travelers learn to accommodate themselves to all sorts of inconveniences. The distance from London to Southampton was traversed in little more than three hours. I found various friends and acquaintances about to be my companions on the journey to India, and a more pleasant and agreeable party than that turned out to be which left Southampton in the _Tagus_, on the 3d of December, no one need desire to travel with.

It is sad to witness the parting of relatives with those about to leave for India; doubly sad to those who know the sickness, the suffering, the sorrow, and the disappointment too often awaiting the young who quit home with visions of the East flitting before them in their brightest hues. The looked-for return――the bright future――the hopes of happy meetings――all how rarely realised!

We quitted our moorings at three o’clock P. M., and lost sight of England in the darkness while yet very close to it. We steered down the Channel during night. Next day the weather was thick, and the land invisible. The Bay of Biscay, which opens after passing Ushant, has, by means of steam, been divested of half its terrors.

We sighted Cape Finisterre on the morning of the 7th――the first land we had seen since leaving Southampton. We continued to make good progress, though latterly we had had a rough wind and heavy sea to contend with.

The vessel, in general, approaches tolerably near to the Cape. The outlines of the landscape are bold, varied, and beautiful; but a heavy swell, which commonly rolls in, is apt to interfere with the voyager’s contemplations.

From this on running down the coast of Portugal, the steamer on most occasions keeps pretty close in-shore, so that the land is for the most part visible. The first places of note that present themselves are Oporto and Vigo Bay. The appearance presented here by the mainland is exceedingly picturesque. The coast seems rocky and precipitous, jagged and irregular. There are lighthouses on certain small islands, and on more than one of the headlands; and white-walled dwellings and villages everywhere present themselves.

The heights of Torres Vedras, close on shore, present nothing to the eye that is marvellous or attractive, though rich in the most striking historical associations. The magnificent pile at Mafra is generally distinctly visible without the aid of a telescope. It is of enormous extent, containing a palace, convent, and superb church. The lines of Byron here recur to remembrance:――

‘The horrid crags, by toppling convent crowned, The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep, The mountain-moss by scorching skies embrowned, The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep, The tender azure of the unruffled deep, The orange tints that gild the greenest bough, The torrents that from cliff to valley leap, The vine on high, the willow branch below, Mixed in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow.’

The ridge, on the highest pinnacle of which the convent of our Lady of the Rock is situated, is wild, rugged, and precipitous, ascending to an elevation of about two thousand five hundred feet. A low cliff skirts the sea-shore, and singular masses, apparently of drift sand, make their appearance, stretching for some miles along and inland.

A very picturesque appearance is often presented by the fishing-boats when the breeze is fresh. They have a drag-net attached to the extreme end of a long outrigger, stretching some thirty or forty feet beyond the vessel, and hundreds of sea-birds follow the net, with the view, apparently, of picking up any stray fish they can extract from it.

The Rock of Lisbon, a huge, unshapely, but striking mass, indicates the approach to the Tagus. The river opens up magnificently from the sea. The spires and lofty buildings of Lisbon are distinctly visible, with the vessels at anchor off the quay. Cape Espartelle, a remarkable headland, with a lighthouse upon its extremity, becomes visible a little to the south of the debouchure of the Tagus. The cliff is obliquely stratified, and marked like those of Alum bay, Isle of Wight. The land now recedes, and is in a considerable measure lost sight of, till, rounding close in upon cape St. Vincent, the scene of the celebrated engagement in 1797, the bay of Cadiz is entered. In crossing this bay, land is for some time lost sight of. It becomes visible again off cape Trafalgar; but this celebrated headland it was our misfortune to pass in the dark.

The next place of importance reached by the steamer is Gibraltar, where we quit the Atlantic ocean, and enter the Mediteranean. The rock of Gibraltar first comes into view about ten miles off. As the bay is approached, the suddenness of the change in the color of the water, from bright deep blue to green, as the soundings decrease at once from twenty-four to sixteen fathoms, strikes the voyager. The transition is instantaneous, without any intermediate hue or shading. Rounding the point Carnero, and breasting Europa point, you find yourself at once within a beautiful sheltered and spacious recess, some six miles across and ten in depth, with British men-of-war, steamers, and merchant-ships of every nation at anchor. The appearance of the rock of Gibraltar, with respect to its known military strength, generally disappoints the stranger. The most formidable of the batteries are either concealed in mysterious galleries in the bosom of the rock itself, half-way up, or lie so close on the line of the sea, as to be lost sight of amongst the hulls of the vessels around. The promontory consists of a vast rock, rising from twelve hundred to fourteen hundred feet above the sea; it is about three miles in length, and from one-half to three-quarters of a mile in width, and is joined to the mainland by a low sandy isthmus, about a mile and a half in length. On the north side, fronting the isthmus, the rock is almost perpendicular, the east and south sides are also steep and rugged; but on the west side it slopes downward to a fine bay, nine miles long by four and a half miles broad. On this slope lies the town, containing a mixed population of sixteen thousand, and above rise the principal ramparts of the rocky fortress, which is generally garrisoned by from three to four thousand troops. The ordnance consists of more than seven hundred cannons fit for service.

Gibraltar derives its name from Tarif, a Moorish general, by whom it was taken from the Spaniards in 711――Gibel Tarif, the Mountain of Tarif. It remained in the hands of the Moors till the beginning of the fourteenth century, when it was recovered by the Spaniards. It was retaken by the Moors in 1333. In 1462 it finally fell into the hands of the Christians, after having been possessed by their adversaries for seven hundred and forty-eight years. On the 24th of July, 1704, it was captured by the English, who fell on it suddenly, and stormed it――the garrison amounting to no more than one hundred and fifty men, the batteries mounting one hundred guns. From this time till nearly the end of the century, numberless attempts to wrest it from them have been made by the French and Spaniards, but in vain. During the late war, it seemed to be considered idle to attempt to disturb them.

The town of Algesiras, a place of considerable importance, and remarkable as that at which the Moors first landed in Spain, lies across the bay about five and a half miles off, while the village of St. Roque, at the upper end of the bay, is conspicuous on the slope. The high blue mountains of Granada fill up the background.

The winter climate of Gibraltar is extremely delightful. In December, the temperature varies from 60 to 75 degrees, clouds shading the piercing rays of the sun. In summer, it is occasionally extremely hot, especially when the wind blows from the African shore. The appearance presented by Gibraltar, viewed from the harbor, is peculiarly striking after nightfall. The numberless lights, seen in all their brightness through the open windows, look as if issuing from apertures admitting to some bright cave or furnace in the centre of the rock, whose huge black mass towers on high, the houses in the town being indistinguishable in the darkness. In summer, the surface of the sea is occasionally so closely covered with luminous particles, as to seem sheeted in phosphorus. The slightest ripple increases the intensity of the light, and the dolphins flash through the water, literally ‘moving in light of their own making.’ In winter, this in a great measure disappears, the luminosity being confined to a few bright masses which sweep by the ship. I have often taken up bucketsful of water brilliant with luminous particles when stirred, but though I have tried the experiment in a hundred different ways, I have never been so fortunate as to get a sight of the zoophyte or animalculæ by which this is given forth, either with the naked eye or glass.

We landed at Gibraltar at noon, and embarked about five o’clock on the evening of the 10th. Of this time――of which a good deal was made by the more active of our passengers――I was unable to avail myself, being occupied in duties which I could not properly desert. Some of the party provided themselves with mules, and made an interesting excursion over the rock. The view of the African shore from Gibraltar Bay is, towards sunset, peculiarly beautiful――the fortress of Ceuta, standing out purple and red in the setting sun, in mimic rivalry of that on the European shore. One huge mass of mountains, of the Atlas group on the African side, with the Sierras of Andalusia on the Spanish shore, ‘fill the mind with beauty’ for a long while on leaving or on approaching Gibraltar.

After staying but a few hours, our gallant vessel was again on her course. The weather, unfortunately, was not propitious. On leaving Gibraltar we encountered a heavy gale of wind, which lasted four days. The wind was westerly, and, as is usual in such circumstances, the mercury in the barometer kept rising as the gale increased. When at its height, the column stood at 30.114, and began steadily to descend as the storm abated. How useful is this instrument to the mariner――how faithful its prognostications of storm and calm!

Pursuing our way up the Mediterranean, the vessel steers direct for Malta, by which we approach the African shore. On the 14th we were off Algiers. The bay and town, with the villas around, were plainly visible by the naked eye: we were little more than six miles off. The country adjoining appeared fertile and well-cultivated, and we could see roads, gardens, and enclosures, with fields and vineyards, all looking in good condition. Cape Faroe, and the promontory of the Seven Capes, are jagged, irregular headlands, very distinctly visible. Cape Bon was another headland which came into sight. We likewise passed within view of the dreary island of Pantellaria, which is evidently the huge tumulus of an extinct volcano. It is about thirty-six miles in circumference, and seems about three thousand feet in height. The raptured craters and streams of lava are easily traceable, with beds of loose stones hurled down the mountain’s side during some of its fiercer explosions. A large mass of cloud, which might readily be mistaken for the smoke of smouldering fires, almost constantly rests on the summit of the mountain. There is a considerable town, of the same name with the island, near the sea-shore on the western slope, and vineyards and gardens appear scattered about in surprising abundance. It belongs to the king of Sicily, and is used as a penal settlement, whither the Sicilian convicts are sent.

Our coal had been so heavily taxed by the storm, which had only now abated, that we were at one time on the point of making for Tunis. The wind got round upon us, and it is astonishing how rapidly in these seas the swell goes down after a gale. Six hours after it had ceased to blow the waves were nearly smooth, and the speed of the vessel almost doubled.

We reached Malta at daybreak on the 17th of December, and proceeded to land with as little delay as possible. Had we come in an opposite direction, we should have had to perform a troublesome quarantine. The island of Malta, which now belongs to England, is sixty miles from the nearest point in Sicily, and two hundred from the African shore. It attains at one place an elevation of six hundred feet. The climate is fine and healthy, though hot in summer, and suffers occasionally from the sirocco, which blows from the south-east, and occurs chiefly in September. The mean annual temperature is 67 degrees; the variation of the yearly means from 1820 to 1840 was no more than 3 degrees; the extreme range during the year is about 24 degrees.