[[1]] Copy*1
H.M.S. Erebus
Berkeley Sound E[ast] Falkland
Nov[ember] 28. 1842
My Dear Hamilton
I was no less surprised than grateful when I received the kind testimonial of
your affectionate feeling, towards one, who has long shown himself a
defaulter in the matter of correspondence. Not that I once thought you had
forgotten me ; still less that, should we meet again, any change would appear
in your friendship; but knowing you to be kept very busy by labors of the most
important kind, far more important than mine, I could not expect that you
would be first to address me. My mother has told me that you called at our
house in Glasgow more than once. I think, since my departure for the South,
& by the same packet as brought your letter, she informs me of your having
been summoned to London. It will be a great pleasure to me, indeed, to
renew our old acquaintance, & to see you much oftener than as if you had
remained in Scotland. And yet I must not say of you, as I do of my nearest
relations, I knew them first in Scotland & there should like to meet them again.
Our stronger feelings of affection are want to associate places with persons, &
the recollection of either is not to be severed from the other. Well do I
remember those scenes in Glen Nevis, which your letter recalls so vividly to
my mind, even down to the blue pocket handkerchief & the flock of sheep,
which lay close to the peat dykes & sheilings of Campbell of Glen Nevis:-One walk, too through the Birch grove in the dark & the twinkling lights which
proceeded from the square fort of Fort William. So, likewise, as I remember
[[2]] our solitary walk together, up & down on the Irongate, waiting for the
coach which soon whisked you away through the Gallowgate & left me to
muse on the length of time that must probably elapse ere we should see one
another again.
Most of the scenes which have passed under my eyes since then, boast all
the wildness, without the beauties of Scotland. A more perfect resemblance to
those deep lochs & rugged hills, clad half way up with foliage, of many parts
of Argyleshire, I never beheld, than when we were lying in the little cove of St
Martin's, in Hermite Island, Cape Horn. There were the rapid torrents, dashing
down the hills, the rugged, often snowy peak, rising steep & abrupt above our
heads;-- deep water close inshore; squally weather, & above all a delightful
mist, which soaks you through, in such an insinuating manner, that it is
impossible to quarrel with it. The Evergreen Beech formed a capital substitute
for the Birch, when viewed en masse -- & taken all together, the scenery
reminds both Capt[ain] Ross & me, most strongly, of the Trosachs. In
grandeur indeed. St Martin's Cove was little behind that favourite spot, many
things were however, wanted to complete the picture as Scotch; perhaps, like
Glen Coe it was wild without being really beautiful & only assumed the latter
appearance to me, because for 11 months, we had not seen a tree. A hoarse
& angry surf[?] reverberating through the vallies[sic] from the exposed shores
announced that our retreat was too near*2 (I forget how to write Greek.) None
of the everchanging hues of the heather appear on the black rocks & bleak hill
tops, & the evergreen foliage is neither the garb of Summer nor Winter; but
being common to both loses all its attractions. The naked Fuegians who
inhabit this inhospitable region, are divided into communities, at
[[3]] war with one another, chiefly for the sake of the miserable subsistence
which their country affords. They seem to inhabit certain Islands or districts,
their huts, absolutely made of nothing but branches, arranged like beehives,
being seen in every sheltered cove, & they wander about from one of these to
another. In person they are atrociously ugly, the women particularly; covering
their bodies with wood ashes & clay, wearing no clothing & subsisting entirely
on Limpets & Mussels; except when Providence, kind to all creatures, sends
them a dead Seal, Whale or Penguin; such as their rude canoes can follow &
their weapons secure. On all occasions the women perform the hardest work;
one I saw, wading for many hours up to her middle in water at 38°, with snow
falling, quite naked of course, procuring Limpets for her husband, who sat in
his wigwam, roasting or rather warming them. These & the Van Diemen's
Land Savages (now nearly extinct), are the beings, lowest in the world, as
respects any sign of civilization, any inventive genius, or any spirit, by copying
others, to better their own condition. Those individuals who were brought
home & well educated in England, on returning to the hills & woods of Fuegia,
quickly flung aside their clothing and threw themselves back into their former
savage abominations, with an appalling eagerness! These facts give rise to
reflection not very encouraging to the Christian & Philanthropist, & yet as
these people are "made in God's image" they are also made for his service in
due time.
You do not tell me how you like London:-- independently I mean of your high
calling, how you like the change from the sweet peaceful valleys of lovely
Perthshire to the bustle & smoke of the Metropolis. For my part, I shall always
look upon Scotland as possessing, equally at least with England, a claim on
my affections;
[[4]] though to me the advantages of a situation, near the great Metropolis, are
incalculable.
You mention poor Halley, & though doubtless all is well with him I was quite
struck with your remarks on his state of mind at the end of life. I saw him in
Medera[sic] & spent some time with him, but on the following day I caught a
sharp rheumatic fever, which laid me up & only allowed my going on shore
once again, & though I greatly wished to have bade him a last farewell, I
found myself unable, that day, to reach his house; and the next morning we
were obliged to put to sea, earlier than we intended, for fear of a gale of wind.
He was then in such a state that it was apprehended he could not survive
many weeks. Though it was impossible for me to have helped it, I did not
cease to up-braid myself for not having seen him. When we were in the act of
weighing anchor, the accompanying letter was put into my hand. He doubtless
had heard ashore, that we being in the open roadstead, must go to sea in the
approaching weather. I have read it often & send it to you, who will give it
back to me on my return. Halley was miserably thin, but quite like himself,
perfectly calm & apparently very happy, calling me his "wee Josie'" as of old;
his affectionate sister was attending on him with that interesting solicitude
which I believe a sister can feel as fully as a mother. He then could hardly
walk across the room & said he did not expect to leave the house again; I
never was so surprised as to hear that his death took place in Britain. The
memoir of him is gone to the Cape for me.
When I began this letter I purposely took notepaper, my time being very short,
previous to the sailing of this vessel which can house[?] my plants & many
other things, which are not yet got ready.
[[5]] It is longer far, not than I wished, but that I intended it should be: still I feel
such pleasure in addressing one, who is so intimately connected with my first
daydreams of travelling as you are, that I can with difficulty stay my pen. Of all
the pictures that used most forcibly to arrest my attention in Cook's Voyages
was that which represents Christmas Harbor, in Kerguelens Island, & the men
killing Penguins. This was when quite a child of 5 or 6 years old. Now the
"Erebus & Terror" are the first men of war that have entered it, of any nation,
since Cook's ships. How often did my father's face while he was turning over the
leaves of that book, present itself to my mind, when I was sitting in the
identical point of view, from which Cook's most accurate sketch was taken!
By this opportunity I have written to Archy [Archibald] Smith. Should there be
time for you to address me again, pray tell me how your good family are: also
the Stewarts of Erskine. James Mitchell is my only Glasgow correspondent.
You must not hurt your health by over burthening yourself with work: such
unnatural mental efforts exhaust the bodily frame & as you find in your labors,
that sudden awakenings are very rare, how much better it is, & how much more
in accordance with the calling you obey, to husband your strength. Spend an
evening now & then at West Park, where you will find my mother & sister
delighted to see you, & I shall ensure your not disturbing my father's work for I
write to say you are coming.
I am very glad to hear that Arnott (the Rev[eren]d W[illia]m) is well: he was an
excellent man. Were I to commence on old associations, I should scribble
away the whole night, for a host are already rising in my mind, urging for vent:
but it must not be. I have duties to other friends & have only written fully to
one at home -- I am dear Hamilton Sincerely y[ou]rs J D Hooker
To the Rev[eren]d Ja[me]s Hamilton
ENDNOTES
1. This letter is a contemporary 19th century copy, not written in the hand of
the original author Joseph Dalton Hooker, and not signed by him. The copy
was probably made by Hooker's Mother or one of his sisters to be circulated
amongst family and friends.
2. An annotation appears here written vertically across the page, it reads: "(I
carelessly neglected to get this quotation inserted)". This may be an omission
& notation by the amanuensis not Hooker, the original author.
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