Paul Collins's Blog
October 7, 2013
Scans Added of the Poe Stories
I've added scans below of the original publication of the 3 Poe stories that I questioned at the New Yorker. The scans are from the plates in the 1926 volume Poe's Brother; they can also be found on microform, though the quality on those is rather poor.I've left any original printing errors in my transcriptions, without comment; however, if you notice an actual transcription error in the posts below, please do drop me a line.
Early Poe Fiction: "Recollections" (1827)
(Note: After a long absence from blogging, I'm back to follow up here on my New Yorker post about 3 possibly unattributed Edgar Allan Poe works. These works, published under the initials "W.H.P." in 1827, are not currently available online -- though can be found on microfilm and in the 1926 collection "Poe's Brother" -- and so I'm posting them on this blog.)
(North American, 10 November 1827. Vol. I, No. 26, p.205)
[Original.]
RECOLLECTIONS.
In traveling some years since in Spain it happened that I arrived early in the morning at the small yet beautiful and romantic village of De V--- A---, situated immediately on the coast. I had seen the ocean in its wildest anger, and in the soft and soul-subduing calmness—but I had never seen any thing half so beautiful as the enchanting scene which now met my delighted eyes. On the right, towering mountains here and there decked with a small patch of green that indicated the industry of the owner of the small hat which peeped out with a conscious bashfulness through the luxuriant vines—blushing in their fulness that their beauty claimed no richer lord;--and on the other side in the blue water of the classic Mediterranean, rolling gently as in as if totally unconscious of its own wild and terrific power,"Slumbering as a giant in his strength." To heighten the scene several urchins with the dark black eyes and brilliant colored dresses peculiar to Spain, were sporting in the sun as if they wished to take advantage of the sleeping waters—Envious lot!—where is the being that does not look back on those days,"When pence had o'er him power." I almost wished, insofar as I felt myself, to pass my days here—but I had a brother whose from his friends of several years, on account of a slight misunderstanding, had induced me, at the request of a loved parent whose eyes had recently been closed in death, to use my endeavors to persuade him to return to his home. With this duty before me, I had employed no inconsiderable portion of my time in its performance, and however reluctant I might feel to leave this interesting spot, duty required that I should stay no longer than to make the necessary enquiries. After seeing my mules accommodated, and having dined rather sumptuously, taking a Spanish inn with its fare into consideration, (although not without thinking of Gil Blas and his ragouts) I strolled out on the beach—After walking a considerable distance, musing on the almost romantic cause of my travels, and the slight chance I had of succeeding, I seated myself in a recess in the rocks to enjoy more leisurely the beauties that surrounded me.
I had learnt that Leonard, my brother, had been seen in some part of Spain leading a wild and reckless life—indeed, it was believed that he had commanded a corsair or smuggler on the coast, but as it was merely a report, the fact could not be sufficiently established for my entire belief. It was now dark, and the heavy clouds that flitted hastily before the moon foretold that the sea lately so calm and beautiful, would soon be agitated by a storm; the hollow moaning of the surf as it rolled heavily in and broke more fiercely, confirmed it. Dreading to be exposed to the weather, and feeling it time to return, I prepared to do so, when I perceived a boat swiftly approaching the shore—startled at this in so retired a situation, I again concealed myself in the recess, after having cast an anxious and hurried look to a vessel at anchor within the breakers, and not more than half a mile distant. It was evident that the boat belonged to her, and I could not help thinking that it was some mad infatuation or egregious folly, that could induce a man to anchor in such a situation, particularly as there was now every sign of a tempest which needed not the experienced eye of a seaman to confirm. I had not long observed their motion before a young man landed from the boat, and after speaking to one of the men, ran hastily up the mountains. I marked his course, but the darkness at the moment prevented by seeing whether he took the road to the village, or the one on the left which led to a nunnery. Although wishing to return home, I felt almost afraid to expose myself to the seamen—so dreadful were the tales related by my landlord, of the desperate acts of the Spanish smugglers, and you be assured appearances were not in the favor of those men—every one of them was armed, and as the moon gleamed on the long knives, I was fully convinced it was much safer to be in my hiding place than to run any risk. One of the men, a tall, herculean follow, seemed to pace the sands with a great deal of impatience, and as I was but a short distance off, I could distinctly hear all he said. "Another fool's errand," exclaimed he—"but the game will be up this time I'm thinking—those northeasterners, when they do blow, blow it out." "Yes, indeed!" answered another—"these Levanters are curious winds—I remember one dark night off Alicant, in the Sophia"— "Silence! and mind your boat," said the first—do you want her to thump her bottom out—Beach her, boy! beach her!" At the instant he spoke, a flash, followed by a report from the ship appeared to add to his impatience.
"Ay, there must be something now! for our love-sick captain left word if there was any danger, to fire—and old Truly is not the boy to be frightened with trifles—Another gun! and a light at the mast head! exclaimed the irritated seaman, as the signals were made which he mentioned—"Heavens! 'tis too much, to risk as fine a vessel as ever floated, and as gallant a crew as ever manned a ship, for the sake of a woman.' "Ay! you may well say that," replied the seaman who had first interrupted him—"these women are fearful things—in fact I have almost a kind of disliking to our captain's long weather cloak—it puts one so much in mind of a petticoat." "Up oars, boys!" shouted the coxwain—the captain and a lady"— The moon which had been apparently struggling to throw a little light, was now totally obscured, and I had no opportunity of discovering any thing more than what I had overheard,—that the captain was accompanied by a lady. They were all now in the boat which dashed gallantly off in the direction of the vessel, and I soon heard the seamen weighing anchor. Curiosity chained me to the spot—to save the vessel seemed almost impossible, as the wind had now increased to a gale, and blew directly on shore—she would have to beat out, and the least mismanagement would send her on the roof, where the foam in the occasional light of the moon shone with a terrific whiteness. At length the sails were spread—and I could perceive her stretching across between breakers, and I now began to entertain some hope;—they had one more tack to make ere she would clear the shoals, and as she stood gallantly on the very edge of them, I muttered a fervent prayer for their safety. I could ever hear amid the noise of the winds and waves the hoarse voice which called men to their stations—my heart felt as if 'twas freezing;—it was now, or never! Gracious heaven!—she missed stays, and in a moment was in the breakers, hardly to be distinguished from the mass of foam that surrounded her!— The next day many of the bodies drifted on shore, among them that of a lady who had eloped from the convent the evening preceding. I Looked for some time for her companion, and at last discovered him—but when I brushed the sand from his brow, what was my horror on discovering the countenance of my long-sought Brother! W.H.P.
(North American, 10 November 1827. Vol. I, No. 26, p.205)
[Original.]
RECOLLECTIONS.
In traveling some years since in Spain it happened that I arrived early in the morning at the small yet beautiful and romantic village of De V--- A---, situated immediately on the coast. I had seen the ocean in its wildest anger, and in the soft and soul-subduing calmness—but I had never seen any thing half so beautiful as the enchanting scene which now met my delighted eyes. On the right, towering mountains here and there decked with a small patch of green that indicated the industry of the owner of the small hat which peeped out with a conscious bashfulness through the luxuriant vines—blushing in their fulness that their beauty claimed no richer lord;--and on the other side in the blue water of the classic Mediterranean, rolling gently as in as if totally unconscious of its own wild and terrific power,"Slumbering as a giant in his strength." To heighten the scene several urchins with the dark black eyes and brilliant colored dresses peculiar to Spain, were sporting in the sun as if they wished to take advantage of the sleeping waters—Envious lot!—where is the being that does not look back on those days,"When pence had o'er him power." I almost wished, insofar as I felt myself, to pass my days here—but I had a brother whose from his friends of several years, on account of a slight misunderstanding, had induced me, at the request of a loved parent whose eyes had recently been closed in death, to use my endeavors to persuade him to return to his home. With this duty before me, I had employed no inconsiderable portion of my time in its performance, and however reluctant I might feel to leave this interesting spot, duty required that I should stay no longer than to make the necessary enquiries. After seeing my mules accommodated, and having dined rather sumptuously, taking a Spanish inn with its fare into consideration, (although not without thinking of Gil Blas and his ragouts) I strolled out on the beach—After walking a considerable distance, musing on the almost romantic cause of my travels, and the slight chance I had of succeeding, I seated myself in a recess in the rocks to enjoy more leisurely the beauties that surrounded me. 
I had learnt that Leonard, my brother, had been seen in some part of Spain leading a wild and reckless life—indeed, it was believed that he had commanded a corsair or smuggler on the coast, but as it was merely a report, the fact could not be sufficiently established for my entire belief. It was now dark, and the heavy clouds that flitted hastily before the moon foretold that the sea lately so calm and beautiful, would soon be agitated by a storm; the hollow moaning of the surf as it rolled heavily in and broke more fiercely, confirmed it. Dreading to be exposed to the weather, and feeling it time to return, I prepared to do so, when I perceived a boat swiftly approaching the shore—startled at this in so retired a situation, I again concealed myself in the recess, after having cast an anxious and hurried look to a vessel at anchor within the breakers, and not more than half a mile distant. It was evident that the boat belonged to her, and I could not help thinking that it was some mad infatuation or egregious folly, that could induce a man to anchor in such a situation, particularly as there was now every sign of a tempest which needed not the experienced eye of a seaman to confirm. I had not long observed their motion before a young man landed from the boat, and after speaking to one of the men, ran hastily up the mountains. I marked his course, but the darkness at the moment prevented by seeing whether he took the road to the village, or the one on the left which led to a nunnery. Although wishing to return home, I felt almost afraid to expose myself to the seamen—so dreadful were the tales related by my landlord, of the desperate acts of the Spanish smugglers, and you be assured appearances were not in the favor of those men—every one of them was armed, and as the moon gleamed on the long knives, I was fully convinced it was much safer to be in my hiding place than to run any risk. One of the men, a tall, herculean follow, seemed to pace the sands with a great deal of impatience, and as I was but a short distance off, I could distinctly hear all he said. "Another fool's errand," exclaimed he—"but the game will be up this time I'm thinking—those northeasterners, when they do blow, blow it out." "Yes, indeed!" answered another—"these Levanters are curious winds—I remember one dark night off Alicant, in the Sophia"— "Silence! and mind your boat," said the first—do you want her to thump her bottom out—Beach her, boy! beach her!" At the instant he spoke, a flash, followed by a report from the ship appeared to add to his impatience. 
"Ay, there must be something now! for our love-sick captain left word if there was any danger, to fire—and old Truly is not the boy to be frightened with trifles—Another gun! and a light at the mast head! exclaimed the irritated seaman, as the signals were made which he mentioned—"Heavens! 'tis too much, to risk as fine a vessel as ever floated, and as gallant a crew as ever manned a ship, for the sake of a woman.' "Ay! you may well say that," replied the seaman who had first interrupted him—"these women are fearful things—in fact I have almost a kind of disliking to our captain's long weather cloak—it puts one so much in mind of a petticoat." "Up oars, boys!" shouted the coxwain—the captain and a lady"— The moon which had been apparently struggling to throw a little light, was now totally obscured, and I had no opportunity of discovering any thing more than what I had overheard,—that the captain was accompanied by a lady. They were all now in the boat which dashed gallantly off in the direction of the vessel, and I soon heard the seamen weighing anchor. Curiosity chained me to the spot—to save the vessel seemed almost impossible, as the wind had now increased to a gale, and blew directly on shore—she would have to beat out, and the least mismanagement would send her on the roof, where the foam in the occasional light of the moon shone with a terrific whiteness. At length the sails were spread—and I could perceive her stretching across between breakers, and I now began to entertain some hope;—they had one more tack to make ere she would clear the shoals, and as she stood gallantly on the very edge of them, I muttered a fervent prayer for their safety. I could ever hear amid the noise of the winds and waves the hoarse voice which called men to their stations—my heart felt as if 'twas freezing;—it was now, or never! Gracious heaven!—she missed stays, and in a moment was in the breakers, hardly to be distinguished from the mass of foam that surrounded her!— The next day many of the bodies drifted on shore, among them that of a lady who had eloped from the convent the evening preceding. I Looked for some time for her companion, and at last discovered him—but when I brushed the sand from his brow, what was my horror on discovering the countenance of my long-sought Brother! W.H.P.
Early Fiction by Poe: "A Fragment" (1827)
(Note: After a long absence from blogging, I'm back to follow up here on my New Yorker post about 3 possibly unattributed Edgar Allan Poe works. These works, published under the initials "W.H.P." in 1827, are not currently available online -- though can be found on microfilm and in the 1926 collection "Poe's Brother" -- and so I'm posting them on this blog.)
(North American, 3 November 1827. Vol. I, No. 25, p. 196)
[Original.]
A FRAGMENT.
WELL! I have determined—lightly it may be—but when there is nothing left to live for—nothing that the heart craves anxiously and devotedly, life is but a kind of prison house from which we would be freed. I feel even at this moment a something of impatience to know what death is—and although I am now writing the very last words this hand will ever trace—yet even the outward show—the trifles of the world beguile me— The ink is not good—I have stirred it—'tis better now, and I have mended my pen—'tis disagreeable, even if it is our very last letter, to write with a bad pen—a blot!—I must erase it—this when an hour will finish my existence!—an existence of wretchedness—one of weary, bitter disappointment. I feel as if hungry, and suddenly a sumptuous feast before me—surfeiting myself—ravelling in my thoughts—indulging in what I have been afraid to think of—I have but a short hour to live, and the ticking of the clock before me, seems of a laughing spectator of my death—I wish it had life—it would not then be so gay—nay, it might be a partner of my melancholy. Pshaw! this pen—surely my hand must have trembled when I made it—I have held it up to the light—Heavens! my hand does tremble—No! tis only the flickering of the lamp. It will—at least it may be asked, why I have done this—they may say I was insane—the body which is earthed cannot feel their taunts, and the soul cares not. I have a strange wish even at this time—it is that some maiden would plant flowers on my grave—which my mortality would add life to. When there is no hope—no cheering to brighten, no land to mark the bewildered seaman's way—why not try death?
"And come it slow or come it fast,It is but death that comes at last."
There are many who would rather linger in a life of wretchedness, disappointment—and other causes which blight many a youthful heart, and make ruin and desolation in the warmest feelings—yes! even the lip must smile and the eye be gay—although when the night brings us to our couch we unconsciously wish it was for the last time.
Such is man—such is mankind!—I have still one half hour to live—one half hour!—yet I look around me as if it was the journey of a day, and not an eternal adieu!——Why should I live? Delighting in one object, and she
"The fairest flow'r that glittered on a stemTo wither at my grasp."
No more—the pistol—I have loaded it—the balls are quite new—quite bright—they will soon be in my heart—Incomprehensible death—what art thou? I have put the pistol to my bosom—it snapped—I had forgotten to prime it—I must do it— In the act of doing so it went off, and I awoke and found myself rolling on the floor, having fallen from my bed in the agitation of a most strange and singular DREAM.W.H.P.
(North American, 3 November 1827. Vol. I, No. 25, p. 196)
[Original.]
A FRAGMENT.
WELL! I have determined—lightly it may be—but when there is nothing left to live for—nothing that the heart craves anxiously and devotedly, life is but a kind of prison house from which we would be freed. I feel even at this moment a something of impatience to know what death is—and although I am now writing the very last words this hand will ever trace—yet even the outward show—the trifles of the world beguile me— The ink is not good—I have stirred it—'tis better now, and I have mended my pen—'tis disagreeable, even if it is our very last letter, to write with a bad pen—a blot!—I must erase it—this when an hour will finish my existence!—an existence of wretchedness—one of weary, bitter disappointment. I feel as if hungry, and suddenly a sumptuous feast before me—surfeiting myself—ravelling in my thoughts—indulging in what I have been afraid to think of—I have but a short hour to live, and the ticking of the clock before me, seems of a laughing spectator of my death—I wish it had life—it would not then be so gay—nay, it might be a partner of my melancholy. Pshaw! this pen—surely my hand must have trembled when I made it—I have held it up to the light—Heavens! my hand does tremble—No! tis only the flickering of the lamp. It will—at least it may be asked, why I have done this—they may say I was insane—the body which is earthed cannot feel their taunts, and the soul cares not. I have a strange wish even at this time—it is that some maiden would plant flowers on my grave—which my mortality would add life to. When there is no hope—no cheering to brighten, no land to mark the bewildered seaman's way—why not try death?"And come it slow or come it fast,It is but death that comes at last."
There are many who would rather linger in a life of wretchedness, disappointment—and other causes which blight many a youthful heart, and make ruin and desolation in the warmest feelings—yes! even the lip must smile and the eye be gay—although when the night brings us to our couch we unconsciously wish it was for the last time.
Such is man—such is mankind!—I have still one half hour to live—one half hour!—yet I look around me as if it was the journey of a day, and not an eternal adieu!——Why should I live? Delighting in one object, and she"The fairest flow'r that glittered on a stemTo wither at my grasp."
No more—the pistol—I have loaded it—the balls are quite new—quite bright—they will soon be in my heart—Incomprehensible death—what art thou? I have put the pistol to my bosom—it snapped—I had forgotten to prime it—I must do it— In the act of doing so it went off, and I awoke and found myself rolling on the floor, having fallen from my bed in the agitation of a most strange and singular DREAM.W.H.P.
Early Fiction by Poe: "The Pirate" (1827)
(Note: After a long absence from blogging, I'm back to follow up here on my New Yorker post about 3 possibly unattributed Edgar Allan Poe works. These works, published under the initials "W.H.P." in 1827, are not currently available online -- though can be found on microfilm and in the 1926 collection "Poe's Brother" -- and so I'm posting them on this blog.)
(North American, 27 October 1827. Vol. I, No. 24, p.189-190.)
[Original.]
To the Editor of the North American
On my last voyage to the West Indies, a friend whom I met after a long separation, related to me the following adventure, and as it appeared singular and romantic, I made a memorandum of it, and I now transcribe it from my "log book" for your use, which you are at liberty to do with as you may deem proper. Yours, W.H.P.
____
THE PIRATE.
I went to Havana in the summer of 182-, on business, and having settled it to my satisfaction, engaged my passage in a vessel bound to New York—We had been but a few hours on the voyage when I felt that weariness and pain which indicates the approach of yellow fever. I continued to grow worse, and to add to my distress, the vessel began to roll violently and sea-sickness with all its horrors came upon me—I would have sacrificed every thing for a quiet place in which to die, as I felt that this was all I could wish for. Overcome at length with weakness, and completely exhausted, I fell asleep, from which I was awakened by a confused noise. I at first believed it was merely imagination, but as it became louder, I felt convinced that what I heard was a reality. At length the cabin door opened, and several persons descended. Our captain approached my birth and told me the vessel had been captured by pirates, and that we were now standing in for the land. I heard the first part of this speech with an apathy which my illness can only account for;—but the very name of land seemed to operate like a charm upon me. A young man now approached and told me to be under no apprehension, as no personal injury was intended, and that every care should be bestowed upon me. He inquired the nature and state of my disease, and brought me a cordial, which considerably relieved me. In a short time, we were at anchor, and I was told the vessel would be detained for a day or two, and after a few articles had been taken out, permitted to proceed on her voyage. The same person subsequently entered, and observed that I could be much better attended on shore, where I could be relieved from the bustle and confusion of the vessel. To this I cheerfully assented, and in the afternoon I was placed in a boat and carried to a hut near the beach;—here I was treated kindly, and every attention paid me. I had been three days on shore when the young man (whom I now discovered to be the captain of the corsair) arrived, and told me our vessel would sail in an hour, and if I wished to proceed in her I was at liberty to do so, although he remarked, in my present state it would no doubt cost me my life:—and that if I would trust to him, and could bear the detention of a month or so, he would convey me to some part of Cuba, from whence I could easily procure a passage home. Believing a removal in my present state would be an almost certain death, added to a strong desire to know more of a man who appeared so different from what I had heard of men engaged in the profession with which he was connected, made me assent to his proposal. In about a week I was decidedly convalescent, and I felt really grateful for the kindness of the youthful outlaw. One evening on entering my room he expressed himself gratified to see me so much recovered, as he was to set sail in the morning for the other side of the islands, and it was his wish that I should accompany him, as it was likely he would fall in with some vessel bound to the United States, and I could thus get home—the next morning were underweigh.
It was near midnight when I was awakened by a deep groan in the cabin in which I slept—I raised my head and perceived the captain gazing on a small but beautiful dagger, which he was holding to the light to see more plainly—before him on the table, as well as I could judge, lay a miniature—he was in tears, and appeared much affected—In a few moments he placed them in his desk and went on deck. I mused some time on the singularity of this man, who seemed fitted for a better situation than that of a piratical captain—he was rather small in his person, but well formed—had been handsome, I should think, but sorrow seemed to have set her seal upon his brow; his hair exhibited the marks of premature old age, although he could not be more than twenty-three. The next night I determined to watch and see if he would again look at the dagger—he at length came down, and after sitting some time in a contemplative posture, opened the desk and again the dagger met my eye—Curiosity could bear it no longer—"What a singularly beautiful dirk," I exclaimed—he started as if he had been shot, but suddenly recovering himself, said, with a look which seemed as if he would reach my very thoughts, "Why did you make that remark?" I felt abashed, but he immediately added, "Since you appear anxious to know my history, I will tell it to you. Do you see that," he exclaimed, as he moved the light nearer and placed the dagger before me—" 'Tis blood," I answered, sickening at the sight—"Ay, 'tis blood—blood! to save one drop of which I would give all this miserable body contains—and yet," added he, wildly, " 'twas I that shed it!"—He buried his face in his hands and groaned deeply—in a few moments he became more composed, and began his story.
"The events of my boyhood I pass over—suffice it to say, I lost my parents at an early age, and was left to the care of a relation. I received a good education, and knew sorrow but by name until I had attained my eighteenth year. I then began a new existence—I was in love—Yes! if ever a man loved passionately—intensely,—I did. I was singular, romantic in my ideas, and Rosalie was equally so. I will pass over the few happy hours of our affection—they would be tedious, and I would not wish to bring them to my mind too forcibly—she promised me her hand, and declared that none but myself should ever possess it—Oh! my friend, you are young—but beware how you entrust your heart and happiness in the keeping of a woman!—it is this that has brought that has brought me to what I am—a wretched outcast—a murderer!—a broken-hearted, desperate being!"—The perspiration stood in large drops on his forehead—after a pause of a moment he continued: "I was too much restricted by poverty to marry—but I believed that I possessed talents which would place me beyond the reach of its effects—I accordingly embraced an offer from a friend to engage in a trading voyage to the West Indies, and as my health was delicate, my friends considered the climate would restore my frame to its usual vigour. I bade a farewell to home and to Rosalie—that kiss!—that farewell kiss, was our last. We were detained nearly a year trading to different ports, and altho' I had written home every opportunity, had never received an answer. It was with such feelings of rapturous joy which language is incapable of defining, that I saw our vessel fast approaching my native land—a thousand endearing recollections rushed to my mind—the thought that my Rosalie was false, had never entered my brain—I would have blushed if it had done so. It was that night when our boat landed me at the wharf, and I flew with a beating heart towards her dwelling. I forgot to mention the dagger—I purchased it with some other trinkets on account of its beauty, and had that day carefully put it in my waistcoat pocket.
There were some lights in the front of the house and heard music—I wished to see her alone, and went to the garden gate—every thing reminded me of the blissful hours I had passed—I walked towards the servants' house, intending to get one of them to carry a message to Rose. The first I met had often carried letters between us—but she did not recognize me, until I spoke, when she exclaimed, "o Lord! Master Edgar it is you!—Miss Rose is to be married in half an hour!" and burst into tears. I have often since been surprised at my own firmness, for I listened calmly to her tale!—'twas short—a wealthy suitor had been proposed and was accepted. I asked if she could not procure me an interview—that, she said was impossible, but if I would stand in the passage I might see her as she passed to the room. Thither I went, and as there was only a small lamp burning, I could not easily be discovered—I heard her laughing and talking gaily in her dressing room—strange feelings came over me—a difficulty of breathing, and a confused sensation of pain oppressed me—when I came to myself I was leaning against the wall, and my hand convulsively grasping the dagger. The door opened, and Rosalie with several others, came into the passage—I waited until she was nearly opposite to me, when I let fall the cloak with which I had concealed my face, and exclaimed "do you know me!—I am Edgar Leonard!"—She shrieked at the mention, and I buried my dagger in her bosom!"—— He paused—he countenance was livid, and he bit his lip till the blood spouted on the table before him.—After a few moments he became more composed, and hastily swallowing a glass of wine, proceeded— "I remember nothing afterwards until I found myself in the street—my hand fell stiff, and when I held it up in the moonlight, I discovered that it was blood—the truth flashed across my bewildered mind—'twas Rosalie's life-blood! the dagger, too, looked dim—that too was stained with the blood of her, for whom, but one short hour previous to the fatal disclosure on her inconstancy, every drop of blood in my own veins should have freshly flowed!——I knew not how I got there, but I was in the boat, and I remember telling the men to land me on the opposite shore. I wished to fly, if possible, from thought, and embarked under a feigned name in a vessel for Colombia, intending to join the patriots. On our passage we were captured by this vessel, and as I am now an outcast from society, I gladly joined them, and at the death of their captain I was chosen the commander. I am weary of life, yet, although a murderer, I cannot commit suicide. I have courted death, but it shuns me—so true it is, that"Life's strange principle will longest lieDeepest in those who wish the most to die."
You have heard of the history of my ill-fated life—but I have something more with you"—with this, he opened a chest and drew thence a bag of gold—"Take this," said he,—"it may benefit you—me it never can—and yet," he bitterly added, that at one time, perhaps, would have made me the happiest of mortals in the possession of my"——He stopped short—and suddenly clasping his hands to his forehead, he reeled and sunk senseless to the floor, ere I could recover from the bewildering maze which had seized upon my faculties.—He slowly recovered, and, when he seemed somewhat composed, I endeavoured to persuade him to renounce his present mode of life, and again return to the bosom of civilized society—"Never!" exclaimed he, with a vehemence which made me shrink back with terror—"Never shall my outlawed foot pollute the soil of my much injured country—some speedy vengeance may here close my hated existence—but to bear in retirement those stings of remorse with which my guild-stricken conscience is afflicted, would be worse than a thousand deaths on the ocean, where every nerve would be firmly strung in the conflict." His firmness awed me into silence, and I felt no inclination to renew my endeavors to avert him from his purpose. In a few days we fell in with a vessel bound to Charleston, in which I obtained a passage, and, after bidding an affectionate farewell to the youthful commander of the pirate, to whose attention and kindness I was mainly indebted for my restoration to health, we kept on our course homeward, and his little barque was soon beyond the reach of our observance. When the last glimpse was extinct, (I until then I stood motionless on the deck,) I retired to the cabin, where I found that not only was my baggage safely and carefully delivered through his orders, but that the gold which I had intentionally left in the cabin of the corsair, was also placed in the hands of the captain, to be delivered to me. After a pleasant run of five days we reached our destined port, and it being the sabbath day on which we landed, my first duty was fulfilled in repairing to the church and offering up my grateful acknowledgements for the signal display of the finger of providence in my behalf,—and in which a prayer for the unfortunatepirate was not forgotten."
(North American, 27 October 1827. Vol. I, No. 24, p.189-190.)
[Original.]
To the Editor of the North American
On my last voyage to the West Indies, a friend whom I met after a long separation, related to me the following adventure, and as it appeared singular and romantic, I made a memorandum of it, and I now transcribe it from my "log book" for your use, which you are at liberty to do with as you may deem proper. Yours, W.H.P.
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THE PIRATE.
I went to Havana in the summer of 182-, on business, and having settled it to my satisfaction, engaged my passage in a vessel bound to New York—We had been but a few hours on the voyage when I felt that weariness and pain which indicates the approach of yellow fever. I continued to grow worse, and to add to my distress, the vessel began to roll violently and sea-sickness with all its horrors came upon me—I would have sacrificed every thing for a quiet place in which to die, as I felt that this was all I could wish for. Overcome at length with weakness, and completely exhausted, I fell asleep, from which I was awakened by a confused noise. I at first believed it was merely imagination, but as it became louder, I felt convinced that what I heard was a reality. At length the cabin door opened, and several persons descended. Our captain approached my birth and told me the vessel had been captured by pirates, and that we were now standing in for the land. I heard the first part of this speech with an apathy which my illness can only account for;—but the very name of land seemed to operate like a charm upon me. A young man now approached and told me to be under no apprehension, as no personal injury was intended, and that every care should be bestowed upon me. He inquired the nature and state of my disease, and brought me a cordial, which considerably relieved me. In a short time, we were at anchor, and I was told the vessel would be detained for a day or two, and after a few articles had been taken out, permitted to proceed on her voyage. The same person subsequently entered, and observed that I could be much better attended on shore, where I could be relieved from the bustle and confusion of the vessel. To this I cheerfully assented, and in the afternoon I was placed in a boat and carried to a hut near the beach;—here I was treated kindly, and every attention paid me. I had been three days on shore when the young man (whom I now discovered to be the captain of the corsair) arrived, and told me our vessel would sail in an hour, and if I wished to proceed in her I was at liberty to do so, although he remarked, in my present state it would no doubt cost me my life:—and that if I would trust to him, and could bear the detention of a month or so, he would convey me to some part of Cuba, from whence I could easily procure a passage home. Believing a removal in my present state would be an almost certain death, added to a strong desire to know more of a man who appeared so different from what I had heard of men engaged in the profession with which he was connected, made me assent to his proposal. In about a week I was decidedly convalescent, and I felt really grateful for the kindness of the youthful outlaw. One evening on entering my room he expressed himself gratified to see me so much recovered, as he was to set sail in the morning for the other side of the islands, and it was his wish that I should accompany him, as it was likely he would fall in with some vessel bound to the United States, and I could thus get home—the next morning were underweigh. 
It was near midnight when I was awakened by a deep groan in the cabin in which I slept—I raised my head and perceived the captain gazing on a small but beautiful dagger, which he was holding to the light to see more plainly—before him on the table, as well as I could judge, lay a miniature—he was in tears, and appeared much affected—In a few moments he placed them in his desk and went on deck. I mused some time on the singularity of this man, who seemed fitted for a better situation than that of a piratical captain—he was rather small in his person, but well formed—had been handsome, I should think, but sorrow seemed to have set her seal upon his brow; his hair exhibited the marks of premature old age, although he could not be more than twenty-three. The next night I determined to watch and see if he would again look at the dagger—he at length came down, and after sitting some time in a contemplative posture, opened the desk and again the dagger met my eye—Curiosity could bear it no longer—"What a singularly beautiful dirk," I exclaimed—he started as if he had been shot, but suddenly recovering himself, said, with a look which seemed as if he would reach my very thoughts, "Why did you make that remark?" I felt abashed, but he immediately added, "Since you appear anxious to know my history, I will tell it to you. Do you see that," he exclaimed, as he moved the light nearer and placed the dagger before me—" 'Tis blood," I answered, sickening at the sight—"Ay, 'tis blood—blood! to save one drop of which I would give all this miserable body contains—and yet," added he, wildly, " 'twas I that shed it!"—He buried his face in his hands and groaned deeply—in a few moments he became more composed, and began his story. 
"The events of my boyhood I pass over—suffice it to say, I lost my parents at an early age, and was left to the care of a relation. I received a good education, and knew sorrow but by name until I had attained my eighteenth year. I then began a new existence—I was in love—Yes! if ever a man loved passionately—intensely,—I did. I was singular, romantic in my ideas, and Rosalie was equally so. I will pass over the few happy hours of our affection—they would be tedious, and I would not wish to bring them to my mind too forcibly—she promised me her hand, and declared that none but myself should ever possess it—Oh! my friend, you are young—but beware how you entrust your heart and happiness in the keeping of a woman!—it is this that has brought that has brought me to what I am—a wretched outcast—a murderer!—a broken-hearted, desperate being!"—The perspiration stood in large drops on his forehead—after a pause of a moment he continued: "I was too much restricted by poverty to marry—but I believed that I possessed talents which would place me beyond the reach of its effects—I accordingly embraced an offer from a friend to engage in a trading voyage to the West Indies, and as my health was delicate, my friends considered the climate would restore my frame to its usual vigour. I bade a farewell to home and to Rosalie—that kiss!—that farewell kiss, was our last. We were detained nearly a year trading to different ports, and altho' I had written home every opportunity, had never received an answer. It was with such feelings of rapturous joy which language is incapable of defining, that I saw our vessel fast approaching my native land—a thousand endearing recollections rushed to my mind—the thought that my Rosalie was false, had never entered my brain—I would have blushed if it had done so. It was that night when our boat landed me at the wharf, and I flew with a beating heart towards her dwelling. I forgot to mention the dagger—I purchased it with some other trinkets on account of its beauty, and had that day carefully put it in my waistcoat pocket. 
There were some lights in the front of the house and heard music—I wished to see her alone, and went to the garden gate—every thing reminded me of the blissful hours I had passed—I walked towards the servants' house, intending to get one of them to carry a message to Rose. The first I met had often carried letters between us—but she did not recognize me, until I spoke, when she exclaimed, "o Lord! Master Edgar it is you!—Miss Rose is to be married in half an hour!" and burst into tears. I have often since been surprised at my own firmness, for I listened calmly to her tale!—'twas short—a wealthy suitor had been proposed and was accepted. I asked if she could not procure me an interview—that, she said was impossible, but if I would stand in the passage I might see her as she passed to the room. Thither I went, and as there was only a small lamp burning, I could not easily be discovered—I heard her laughing and talking gaily in her dressing room—strange feelings came over me—a difficulty of breathing, and a confused sensation of pain oppressed me—when I came to myself I was leaning against the wall, and my hand convulsively grasping the dagger. The door opened, and Rosalie with several others, came into the passage—I waited until she was nearly opposite to me, when I let fall the cloak with which I had concealed my face, and exclaimed "do you know me!—I am Edgar Leonard!"—She shrieked at the mention, and I buried my dagger in her bosom!"—— He paused—he countenance was livid, and he bit his lip till the blood spouted on the table before him.—After a few moments he became more composed, and hastily swallowing a glass of wine, proceeded— "I remember nothing afterwards until I found myself in the street—my hand fell stiff, and when I held it up in the moonlight, I discovered that it was blood—the truth flashed across my bewildered mind—'twas Rosalie's life-blood! the dagger, too, looked dim—that too was stained with the blood of her, for whom, but one short hour previous to the fatal disclosure on her inconstancy, every drop of blood in my own veins should have freshly flowed!——I knew not how I got there, but I was in the boat, and I remember telling the men to land me on the opposite shore. I wished to fly, if possible, from thought, and embarked under a feigned name in a vessel for Colombia, intending to join the patriots. On our passage we were captured by this vessel, and as I am now an outcast from society, I gladly joined them, and at the death of their captain I was chosen the commander. I am weary of life, yet, although a murderer, I cannot commit suicide. I have courted death, but it shuns me—so true it is, that"Life's strange principle will longest lieDeepest in those who wish the most to die." 
You have heard of the history of my ill-fated life—but I have something more with you"—with this, he opened a chest and drew thence a bag of gold—"Take this," said he,—"it may benefit you—me it never can—and yet," he bitterly added, that at one time, perhaps, would have made me the happiest of mortals in the possession of my"——He stopped short—and suddenly clasping his hands to his forehead, he reeled and sunk senseless to the floor, ere I could recover from the bewildering maze which had seized upon my faculties.—He slowly recovered, and, when he seemed somewhat composed, I endeavoured to persuade him to renounce his present mode of life, and again return to the bosom of civilized society—"Never!" exclaimed he, with a vehemence which made me shrink back with terror—"Never shall my outlawed foot pollute the soil of my much injured country—some speedy vengeance may here close my hated existence—but to bear in retirement those stings of remorse with which my guild-stricken conscience is afflicted, would be worse than a thousand deaths on the ocean, where every nerve would be firmly strung in the conflict." His firmness awed me into silence, and I felt no inclination to renew my endeavors to avert him from his purpose. In a few days we fell in with a vessel bound to Charleston, in which I obtained a passage, and, after bidding an affectionate farewell to the youthful commander of the pirate, to whose attention and kindness I was mainly indebted for my restoration to health, we kept on our course homeward, and his little barque was soon beyond the reach of our observance. When the last glimpse was extinct, (I until then I stood motionless on the deck,) I retired to the cabin, where I found that not only was my baggage safely and carefully delivered through his orders, but that the gold which I had intentionally left in the cabin of the corsair, was also placed in the hands of the captain, to be delivered to me. After a pleasant run of five days we reached our destined port, and it being the sabbath day on which we landed, my first duty was fulfilled in repairing to the church and offering up my grateful acknowledgements for the signal display of the finger of providence in my behalf,—and in which a prayer for the unfortunatepirate was not forgotten."
November 6, 2010
Steaming Mug
So a decade ago, hack advertisers needed to make everything cyber-this and i-that. Fifty years ago, everyone was selling a Space-whatsit, and a hundred years ago it was all radium-whatever. Radium Razor Blades! (
Wonder no more. It's....
From the Boston Directory for 1848-1849
Wonder no more. It's....
From the Boston Directory for 1848-1849
October 29, 2010
When Millinery Attacks!
If you're going to get drunk at a Halloween party, I'm just saying -- don't dress like a Victorian:
(Found in the October 7, 1897 issue of the New York Journal.)
(Found in the October 7, 1897 issue of the New York Journal.)
June 22, 2010
Savage vs. Car
I've just finished reading a 1934 memoir that possesses one of the greatest titles to ever come across my desk: SAVAGE OF SCOTLAND YARD. You can imagine my disappointment when it turned out to be written by one Superintendent Percy Savage. There's rather more "Percy" than "Savage" in his book, though it has its moments, including a remarkable chapter on the "Crumbles murders" of 1924, a case where Savage was the first at the scene. The overwhelming sense of the book, though, is that...
June 16, 2010
The Collins Almanac is Back!
It's....
After six years of slumber (I prefer to call it "deep cogitation") the Almanac is back as an exclusive on the McSweeney's iPhone App. It is, exactly as you'd imagine, basically me puttering about old and odd books, picking them up, and exclaiming: "What! Ho-ho! Listen to this!"
It all began back when I was living in Hay-on-Wye, and scribbling odd finds into a memo pad while I shoveled the book piles in Richard Booth's antiquarian warehouse; and it started turning into a full-fledged manuscript while writing Sixpence House. In short, the Almanac is that book's eccentric bespectacled uncle.
The first installment's an 18 page stroll through curious extracts from literature, like this passage from an 1898 Baedeker's guide to Paris and Its Environs:
...and there will be more installments to come!
After six years of slumber (I prefer to call it "deep cogitation") the Almanac is back as an exclusive on the McSweeney's iPhone App. It is, exactly as you'd imagine, basically me puttering about old and odd books, picking them up, and exclaiming: "What! Ho-ho! Listen to this!"
It all began back when I was living in Hay-on-Wye, and scribbling odd finds into a memo pad while I shoveled the book piles in Richard Booth's antiquarian warehouse; and it started turning into a full-fledged manuscript while writing Sixpence House. In short, the Almanac is that book's eccentric bespectacled uncle.
The first installment's an 18 page stroll through curious extracts from literature, like this passage from an 1898 Baedeker's guide to Paris and Its Environs:
...and there will be more installments to come!
May 30, 2010
826 London
Very happy indeed about this: today's Guardian is reporting that an "826 London" is in the works. The project founders have a blog here, and the first planning meeting was just a few weeks ago:
Among the themes being considered for the storefront: The London Monster Emporium.
May 8, 2010
The Book of the Dead
Today's NY Times reports that Verizon wants to get rid of phone books in New York:
The company estimates that it would save nearly 5,000 tons of paper by ending the automatic distribution of the books. Only about one of every nine households uses the hard-copy listings anymore, according to Verizon, which cited a 2008 Gallup survey.... Verizon has a similar request before regulators in New Jersey, Mr. Bonomo said. In some states, including Florida, Ohio, Oklahoma and Georgia, AT&T has already received approval to stop delivering White Pages to all residents.
Back in '08 I wrote in Slate on the seemingly endless death throes of the phone book. But now, at last, it really is passing into history -- and there is the inevitable web site for phone book collectors. Incredibly, their very existence was once something of an act of rebellion:
We started a club for telephone book collectors, with a membership of two. We called it the Organization of Universal Telephone Book Amalgamated Collectors, or OUTBAC. We started publishing a newsletter called the Joutbac, or Journal of the OUTBAC. In my dusty files, I have the four yearly issues from 1964 to 1967. In 1965, we tried to locate other collectors by submitting a small advertisement to Hobbies magazine. The ad was rejected. The advertising department notified us that in Illinois, where Hobbies was published, the telephone directories remain the property of the telephone company. They wanted to avoid any legal complications.
