Early republic era (2 resultados)

Condición: Overall very good plus. An unpublished manuscript poem mourning the death of Stephen Decatur (1779-1820), written by a friend who "had known Commodore Decatur upwards of twenty years:- a great portion of that time intimately-under the auspices of a sincere, reciprocal friendship." A hero of the Quasi-War, War of 1812, and both Barbary Wars, Decatur was killed in March of 1820 in a duel with Commodore James Barron over comments Decatur had made about Barron's conduct during the Chesapeake-Leopard affair. The poem, which appears to have been re-written by a copyist around the 1840s or 50s, was purportedly written in April of 1820 "at the spot where repose the remains of the great and gallant Decatur". The inscription on the flyleaf indicates that this copy belonged to Decatur's nephew, also named Stephen Decatur, and also a Commodore of the US Navy. Interestingly, the author has made several pleas for secrecy about the text; he states that he "sought concealment" so that he could come to Decatur's grave "in as secret a manner as possible", and states of the poem that it: "is intended to be placed in an impervious case by the side of the 'Hero's Tomb,' a tribute of affection,- an offering of the Muse,- and a memorial of the grief occasioned by his untimely death. Should it at any future day, be discovered, it will be remembered that it never was intended to go beyond the eye of the author and the sacred sanctuary where it is deposited - It is hoped there it will remain sacred in the concealment the author wishes, which best suits the melancholly motive by which he has been actuated." It is not clear why secrecy about the text was so paramount to its author. Intimate and ardent platonic friendships between men, described in terms of passion and love, were neither uncommon nor shameful at the time. It seems possible, though, that the author's feelings may have gone a step beyond this; in particular, in the preamble to the poem he spends a fair amount of words contemplating Decatur's looks: "With these intrinsic gifts he added a form full of beauty and grace, an appearance that announced instantaneously the just pretensions of their professor, exciting in the beholder an interest and prepossession, sometimes felt, although difficult to be accounted for. His look was impressive in the highest degree, commanding the confidence of all who came within the influence of his eye and voice. "The person of Commodore Decatur was of a manly height, most symmetrically proportioned, erect & imposing - his bust of the finest order, - the chest full and expanded, the neck long and muscular, the head gracefully affixed, - the face oval; - the forehead ample; - the hair of raven hue and curling; the nose aquiline; - the mouth large and highly expressive, - the chin full; - the eye, the index and mirror of the soul, of a deep dark brown, quick and annimated in conversation, grave and solemn in meditation; - and its force, concentrated by inquiry or research, awfully scrutinizing; seeming to penetrate the recesses of the hidden heart; - these constituents combined formed a beautiful and interesting countenance such as identified a Hero fitted for the glorious occupation and circumstance of man; - to command, inspire and electrify." And, early in the poem, he laments: "Oh God! is here my friend so late I viewed / In all the health and strength of manhood's prime? / His mind with bright intelligence endued [sic] / His manly beauty still untouched by time -". He also remarks of their early relationship that "As manhood ripened, I the nearer drew". At several points, while writing of the loss to Decatur's wife, Susan Wheeler, the poem verges on taking on her point of view: "No more behold the sparkle of his eye, / His lip once warm with love's ambrosial sigh." Of course, twenty-first century norms of interpersonal relationships cannot be imposed here, and the author himself seems to have been married ("Here the unyielding tie - / That made me cling to earth and fear to die: / O! it was bitterness from her to part - / Who by the force of love enchained my heart"). Nonetheless, the relationship was close enough for the author to have contemplated suicide following his loss, finding "naught worth living for below": "The privilege of friendship still I crave, / To bend in fond devotion o'er thy grave. / Dreaming of wild unutterable things, / Such as a dark imagination brings / From this thy home,- thy long and last abode - / Not by thy country, but by friends bestowed!" He writes, "No dread of a terrific judge had I: / And yet I could not bring myself to die." In a description of this poem from M&S Rare Books, Daniel Siegel notes that Decatur's close relationship with fellow officer and childhood friend Richard Somers was discussed in Randy Shilts' book Conduct Unbecoming: Gays and Lesbians in the Military (2005). Shilts wrote that Decatur wore a gold ring belonging to Somers and, after Somers' death, was similarly inconsolable and continued to wear the ring for the remainder of his life. Much of the poem discusses Decatur's exploits with the Navy, especially in the Barbary Wars ("Turk upon Turk in dreadful slaughter piled"), proclaiming that: "Known is thy name within that chieftain's hall - / Is seen inscribed on every mouldering wall - / Thy deeds are sung within his gloomy towers / Thus slaves beguile away his heavy hours - / [.] There stands thy name in deep indented mark / On sombre turrets now grown gray and dark". Following the poem are a number of annotations giving historical context for specific lines. These include a narrative of an amputation performed by Decatur during one of the Barbary Wars, which the author claims to have witnessed: "Immediately after one of the desperate assaults on the Fortresses and Castles of Tripoli which were so often conducted by Decatur, the Gunboats being withdrawn beyond point blank range, he attended in person to the amputation of several limbs, which it was found necessary from their mutilated cond.…

Condición: Overall excellent. Three letters from English immigrants to the United States sent to their cousin "Miss Gifford" in Duffield, Derbyshire. The earliest letter, from A. Bakewell, describes a stroll along the Battery and compares the classes of people in the two countries: "[My son Jon's] favorite walk as well as mine, is the battery, it is a delightful [?] it commands a very fine view of all the ships that come up to this harbour, the opposite shores of Long Island Governors Island, & Staten Island which are very fertile one very small Island in the water, with a number of small boats & barges which are generally sailing [?] is extremely pleasant, the Idea that sometime or other I may see the ship arrive which will contain my beloved Husband, renders it peculiarly interesting to me [.] the more I see of this country the more I like it; the lower classes of people are much better informed & from the high price of wages, enabled to live more comfortably than in England, it is very uncommon to see a beggar here: one very great inconvenience is the badness of servants, they are ten thousand times worse than in England [.] I could get some that is decent here, the manner of the ladies here is much more vulgar than the women in England & they were generally very ignorant, there are however some exceptions [.]." (February 1795) The writer's husband is William Bakewell, who writes to Miss Gifford in 1809 from what is probably Tolland, Connecticut (which he renders as "Tolland Ford"), reporting on the state of the economy and the 1807 Embargo Act: "I fear the intercourse between this country & England will be stopped for a time [.] during the continuation of this Embargo which has caused a total stagnation of business [.] I have since seen Mr Kinder (a friend of my Brother's) & who for some time (his home being in the country) boarded with my Brother's family in New York. He assures me that with respect to everything he observed there was as much economy as ever compatible with decency & that their table in particular was furnished in a more frugal stile than that of any Merchants he was acquainted with. [.] I hope to hear from you as frequently as is practicable while the communication is [?] between the two countries for this government will I expect pass a law to stop the intercourse with both England & France until they cease to capture American vessels. [.] [My son] Thomas is gone to NYK to wind up his adventure to New Orleans. He had 5000 dollars in silver with him. In the present uncertain state of mercantile affairs it is doubtful whether Mr Kinder will like to make any further adventure." (January 1809) Lastly, a 1796 letter from another cousin, a sister of "A.", opens by relating her arrival to New York City during an outbreak of yellow fever: "the worst of all was as soon as we [missing] land which we had so often wish'd to see the Pilot came on Board & told us of the fever being so bad at N York & that every Body that could had left it. I did not know in what situation I should find my Brother & his family or whether I should find them at all, but when we came to Anchor a Boy [ca]me on board & told us my Brother was at Philadelphia [.] my sister & Thomas was at long Island just [missing] the East river. [.] we staid a fortnight at the enormous expence of 30 Dollars a week for our family, we then came to [New] York the sickness being rather abated we could not get a House or part of one on long Island they being all engag'd at very high prices to people who had fled from [New] York & for miles round there was not a room to be had. We had thought of going to Albany but there was so many people gone with goods that we suposed the Market was full, my Brother was not return'd, we at last took this House at a very great rent till May it being a very Healthy situation we came here the following week & have been here ever since." The yellow fever epidemic hit New York City in 1795, and surged several times, prompting the city to finally create a Board of Health in 1805. This is not the author's only complaint about New York as compared to England: "the Country what I have seen of it is not so pleasant as England there being no hedges all posts & rail fences appears strange to us, there are a many very good houses 1 2 & 3 miles round this city which are very pleasant they are built of wood & painted white which looks very pretty & might be made delightful if the inhabitants had any taste for gardening, but that the Americans & Dutch have no notion of, I could be very comfortable at [New] York if we was in a way of getting a good deal but we have been spending a great deal and getting but little indeed we have sold most of our goods but the scarcety of cash occation'd by the Fall trade being spoilt with the Fever oblig'd every body to take Bills at a longer date than is usual so that we have rec'd very little there is a vast many English here I have met with some very agreeable acquaintance[s] which I shall be sorry to leave [.]" (March 1796) She also comments that "there is many Blacks here some of the Merchants keep 8 or 10 of them & I believe they are the best servants". Though New York City had been home to a large community of freed African Americans following the British Army's 1779 Philipsburg Proclamation, most of them had been resettled in Nova Scotia after the Revolutionary War. The author was more likely observing enslaved people, as New York did not pass its gradual abolition law until 1799 and emancipation was not completed until 1827. Of interest to historians of immigration to early republic New York City. Three letters (1795, 1795, and 1809) totalling approximately eleven pages; the larger two letters measuring approximately 7 ¾ x 12 ¼ inches and the smaller (1809) approximately 7 ¾ x 9 ½ inches. 1809 letter Near Fine; earlier letters having some damage especially at folds and margins intersecting with text, very good plus. …