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Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1849-09-18 00:00:00

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1(0,, ,
vuta _ r
' Journeyinge the Djibel Kutnri : an
41C°6jography of Jonathan Romer. Edited by W. S.
Itt.:4M, M.D. London : David Bogue, 86, Fleet-street.
I'
editor of the work before us—or, we rather suspect,
tjet:l,titilor, although he treats us, in his preface, with a
the—l'eti description of the mode in which he met with
I,et,lllatuseript in the town of Rabat, in Central Africa,
iy fa 7 Productio' n of a young American of errant habits—
tpo eurably known to his fellow-countrymen ; and has
ProltentlY seen much of adventure, both by sea and land.
but the
„ somewhat fabulous character—as we cannot
wthtnk—of the concluding scenes of the story, we can
believe the writer's description of the sort of mental
e,,a.ti'l'ne which himself, or his hero, had undergone, to
of L.le him to give the romantic colouring to this portion
Is adventures. Of his early studies he says :

A QUIXOTE IN EMBRYO.
tipo titled in the depths of the sombre forest, or floating
the broad St. Lawrence on a raft of ray own con-
g9k,l°49 or seated amid the ruins of the old trading
have mentioned ; tales, travels, plays, poetry and
tot, Dta'ere swallowed indiscriminately with the most
"diel-"ensive avidity. All came alike to me, and were
ttaajed alike. I knew that many people looked upon
l books as fictions. I could only wonder at such
tlftl ittu. • Were there not kings and princes, and beau-
ttit4,.aules in the world ? Then there must be dragons,
1401,•',. and enchanted castles. The evidence was the
ghti ar both. 1 knew that the Seven Champions once
the' "led each one in propria persona, and that some of
mbrit,telations were still left in the world. I knew that
lkhr,i Crusoe was a veritable personage; no imaginary
to),a•''lcation of a common-place Scotchman, but a true
lEllei,de fellow, who bad no more to do with Alexander
i;,,;,than I had. Even Jack the Giant Killer—if any
%ce that"" dared to doubt, in my presence, his bodily exis-
katii boy would have been flogged. At length this
Da' for it amounted to that, reached its crisis. A copy
titetil°ll Quixote fell in my way. The pleasure—the ex-
-1414„e,at, as I re amounted to agony. There was uo-
,!iiioldierous in any of the Don's adventures. Taking
`,4e for giants was a mistake, no doubt, but then
themselves were worthy opponents. I
/ie„ tic): tn attack a windmill. I had a perfectly clear con-
-2041,7' that, if I could once fairly charge a windmill, I
,overthrow it and compel it to resume its true
°tit-'
it ,vthat of some gigantic magician. Unfortunately the
indmill in the neighbourhood was one with wings
"4%4-eyed horizontally, and at some distance from the
tbea;teThe talest knight that ever beEtrode a charger
hot ;,,eahands could not have touched the lower edge of
e.,tn, the poit of his lance. The windmill was safe,
the l p-11,u1 not help feeling something like contempt for
•71a'if``' cowardly whirligig, that, confiding in its secure
seemed to mock my ambition. The excitement
lit;rnind seemed to increase. My brain became as full
surd conceits as the old Don's. I could not sleep,
411th.eYapPetite, grew pale and emaciated, and in fact was
`Ce very verge of settled insanity."
S hblSt, however, proceed in more regular order to
tthiveej to the reader an idea of the nature of the work,
kli is more full of varied incident—of " strange ad-
are both by flood and field "—than any which has
nt •
Th 7 issued from the press.
autobiographer, Jonathan Romer—a most fit cog-
ken
btt ' if an a had been inserted between the o and na—
kahea Initive of Nantucket, and come of a race of whale-
ts; Adventure, he says, was hereditary in him ;
Lkot'lltth,oUgh every effort had been made by his widowed
Ltsl;•',2. Prevent his embracing the pursuit of the sea,
,h„is ancestors ha. d fallen victims, and which had
the family propensity was strong in the youth, and
,'4)ar„a,uifested itself in his undertaking a sporting excur-
,lll-40 the western woods of his native State, in corn-
i,4N)lavl°.ith, a veteran trapper, in the course of which he
[ages 'Ltne native hardihood of his race, and the advan-
;?eti.,`. a proficiency in every athletic exercise. This
!rl, :g Portion of the narrative is most graphically writ-
re CZ! full of versatile talent. is at length, upon
th,;"u of his widowed mother, placed as an apprentice
t'lliill;inledical profession, to which he had been destined ;
his got into a scrape, caused by mismanagement
tork" urst attempt at body-snatching, escapes to New
tooll' and embarks in the " Lively Anne," a vessel
I°Y aauded by a friend of his father, bound for Bermuda.
"V" series of misfortunes, he is at length thrown on
414
slaver, of which, and of her hairbreadth escapes,
olfrie,•lllng description is given, until we find him on the
,qc.tt, coast, in the character of the (forced) medical
'q!irkA,Of the ship, a witness to the proceedings in a slave-
illti* This portion of the work is most graphically
,tt R-Li • Here he discovers, amongst the slaves offered
a female captive, Kaloolah, a white girl, the
rte 4 et hutsortio of the interior of Africa, not
.yet
aid to be inhabited by a perfectly white race,
`ottl,..nl a state of high civilization. This girl and her
(the children of the king of the country in ques-
Atl,n,c,,a Purchases, with a view to rescue them from the
;tter„B of slavery, and sails with them in the slaver.
tgiell'atue further stirring events, amid the narration of
we have given to us amost striking description of
gl),() wens of the " middle pamssage," the three are nicked
wring jumped overboard—by a British cruiser, which
oathe enase of the slaver ; and are brought to Sierra
yA• From this place Jonathan Romer, enfeebled by
thilinvr fever, which he had caught at the slave barra-
-4[444 a longing to visit the scenes of home, notwith-
tbtlie,.g a growing affection for Kaloolah, who, with her
kikde,:, were about to set out, with a party of Mandingo
ip fo'r op the route towards their native country. A
Liverpool offered itself, in which he took his
it, Dare and we give the following extract, describing
mtlaw ing from Kaloolah, as a beautiful specimen of the
8 management of pathetic narrative i—
wh.rhe A SCENE WITH RALOOLAH.
ill NI Dallor of death overspread the features of Kaloolah
t‘ N 11) 4,lln9unced to her that I had made arrangements tnoosr
al
ii,l44ltie
eye,teguryeringip,
fix d l the bloodless cheek,
tote :shrunken rigidity of her whole frame indicated the in-
hat the within. For a moment she stood thus, erect,
jr,'lxt save asm passing, my outstretched arm was
I h time to her from falling to the ground.. Gently
Woha'lt 0. upon the green sward at the foot of a waving palm,
441. YQ!ler side. She did not faint-1 was in hopes that she
Ili 1 shocked and frightened, I knew not what to say or
I screamed to Enphadde, but he was far down the h
,L!t44:llouted to some negro women for water, but they paid
t0,,,,41ce :flan. I rubbed her hands, raised her head, and turned
L`l'Y to
the cool sea breeze that came up from the broad es.
YBigecr and at last did what was the very best thing to do
d bps
l!er in my arms, pressed her to my heart, and kissed
.
4Pl'eena feW minutes she struggled with the tide of feeling that
Va suddenly thrown back upon her heart. She greaw
'o4'4 gs gazed. When I first saw her she was a child—n
411141"seinating child—and now ! It seemed as if at one
!oelle bereached the verge of womanhood.
'tiulirat.ent forward her head, covered her face with her hands
tkol%ver.ll2to a passionate flood of tears. I felt relieved. Iler
pylsre „lo trie like the rain drops to the mariner in a hurri-
Ptesage of a calm. 'Tis well, thought I, and I drew
lel,' the more freely, 'tis well the heavy night dews, dropping
the ended flower, relieve it from the weight that endan-
kte stem.
seised her head. Kaloolah !' said I.
,kl4,ang into my arms, and buried her face in my bosom.
t", s Tali 1 you love me!'
/(4T, nouht els in tis worl' she relied.
Kaloolah e was about, p to add some protesta-
-40.e th-;"°n, but would my feelings towards he- warrant it
q" fro 'Y those of strong abiding love ? Were they other
r, -ernap,
tt 4111. a• • Other than a syinpathy for her misfortunes,
110'44 %lon of her simplicity—her innocence? I knew not
41_they were, would it be right to express them ? I
IT„'"), mother, and fancied I could almost hear the
son ! my son !' amid the sighs of the gentle sea-
,
' Aim swept through the rustling palm-tops.
0 ,ttf,\Vilt!'hliad de?' said I.
a)„,,urPneY more easily without me—he will reach home
An gladden the eyes that now weep for him.
hi:Vt Kaloolah ?'
passionately exclaimed Kaloolah, am your
k.,
e/rotosorittiii:ylwbiyealu—where you go I will go—your country shall
Kaloolah Enphadde will never go and
.behiadt Wth you how would he dare to meet
‘il jc,in,a eyes °` that white-haired old man who sits -mourning for
tiliAilth:tt child, beloved daughter, in the halls of
alirick of you cousins, Kaloolah. Think of the play-
-041,6f t6fillends, and servants, who all loved ypu so much.
'rk4 shae all of crystal, the court of the fountains, and the
,tt y gallery that looks down upon the joyous and mane
t• Think of the pleasant walks in the royal gardens
krert theaWss of the Wollo. Think of your favourites—the
irds, the diamond fish, and Gogo, your golden-
that yo woull mind no4omhut you, and who was
,sos
jtk,t"la
;.:I))ttve ZOoptensthle,.. theybeaun oatinfunnt leap
11 :14.1 ;* 1(011 ren teatlllkg sisters, Kaloolah,
op,e4,T,„..Presence will change their tears into smiles.
srourn are in gloom, for there is grief in the wi-
tll.l',4 kith .19unsi, the father of his people return will
tiDieark ie le voices of gladness. The hall of crystal will
the h 1 flaweand play in the court of the fountains7-e
4,1111 ve deers will raise their bended heads—your silent
will resume their songs—the diamond fish will
alat'Wev light from the lowest depth of their marble
4. a one `Jogo—sensible Gogo—will cease to pine when he
theore in the footsteps of his mistress.'
she7ree Kaloolah withdrew herself from my arms.
Oat h:htle a sw 1,1) her slight and graceful figure to its full
Parkle of feminine pride beamed from her eye.
‘3t esti „ ,she said. • I undestand you. You love me
-94ee.15,15 be burdened with me no longer. I forgot
„' Of the ,You but a useless slave, I fancied that I was a
kt.,l/4.100Q40ng line of Shounsi—forgive my foolishness—'
4 N._ coti,t, said I, reproachfully, taking her hand.
,4riS vnitilCe fell, she grasped my hand in both of hers
)Ittyorgi;Tnin
.st,arted to her eys
%4 she sobbed you have been too kind to me.
Wit have go with nphadd , b t—b t—those pleasant
t ay eiv`heesrtnPst rithdoeeifEin, Jr,
love
dh u_ u
Kaloolap, think not so. Enphadde feels con& Ing them.

" He may—he will, but unless in company with you, Jon'-
than, 1 shall never see them. They are here, Jon'than, and
here,' pointing her hand to her head and heart; but we look
upon the realities together, or I shall never see them.'
" A foolish fancy, Kaloolah. Why should you think so ?'
" I know not why, but so it is. Yet mention it not to En-
phadde—l would not discourage him in the attempt.'
" Perhaps you will tell a different story when I visit you a
year or two hence in Framazugda,' said I.
" How! what mean you?' exclaimed Kaloolah.
" That, perhaps, I will yet undertake to visit your country.
It is possible, I will even say probable, but it would only be in
hopes of finding you.'
" Oh, Jon'than, if that could be so! but I cannot hope it.'
"' It shall be so—l feel that such will be my destiny—be as-
sured that I shall make no resistance to the march of fate.'
As I spoke the resnlu'ion full formed sprang into life. I felt its
invigorating influence. Why should I not give Kaloolah the
full benefit of it? _ _ _

" • I will certainly make the attempt to reach Framazugda,"
said I, energetically.

"`When?'
" Ere the almond-trees have three times strown, with their
silver leaves, the garden walks on the Wollo.'
" You promise?'
" No circumstances, that I can control, shall prevent me
from being there. I promise.'
" Oh, Enphadde !' exclaimed Kaloolah, throwing herself joy-
fully into the arms of her brother, who was advancing to join
us. Jon'than will come to see us. We shall see him again—
he has promised to join us ere long in Frainazugda.'
" God grant it,' replied Enphadde, no stranger could
bring such light and joy to the court of Sellta Shonnsi.'
" We seated ourselves upon the sloping green sward, and for
an hour discussed the pleasant and newly-opened prospect of a
future meeting. Uncontrolled by reason, hope revelled wild
and free, indulging in the most delightful vagaries. An event,
really so improbable, seemed to grow more and more simple
and feasible the longer we considered it. Kaloolah, so far from
dreading now the journey, was anxious to set out at once, that
she might be at home to receive me.
" Unfortunately, the kaffila of Mandingos would not be
ready to start for two or three weeks, whereas, in a day or two
at most the ship in which I was going would sail. This would
be a lonely interval of time for them, but there was sonic encou-
ragement in the reflection that it was short. and would soon

" Again and again had I to repeat the promise of coming to
Framazugda. Kaloolah dwelt upon it every hour of the three
days that elapsed before my departure, and at the last moment
she exacted its solemn renewal.
" I shall watch the fall of the almond's silver leaves," were
her last words, the fourth time, and you come not, they fall
on my grave. Farewell !'
" Farewell, Kaloolab
" Gracious heaven I like not, even now, to think of the
horrible choking sensation with which these words were pro-
nounced. Not ten miles from land, and I would have given
the world to have returned and linked my fate indissolubly
with hers. But it could not be, and well it could not. Myste-
rious agencies were weaving the threads of destiny far more
skilfully than we could have done, hadwe had complete control
of warp and woof."

We pass over his shipwreck on the Arabian coast, and
the narrative of his captivity, and various escapes and
suffering in the Desert, where he meets with Kaloolah,
who is a slave travelling to market with a company of
Arabs, and with whom he proceeds towar_ls her native
country. The following adventure, which occurred on
the route, displays the writer's powers of description in
another vein :