The Steam-Packet: A Tale of the River and the Ocean — page 270: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE STEAM PACKET, 205 It was upon that eventful day when this terrible fortress was attacked by the Parisians, that Henri Alvimar was returning from the Faubourg Saint Antoine, whither he had been upon business of some import- ance. On that day the adamantine bars of the most formidable prison in the world were rent by the popular will, as Samson snapped asunder the cords of the Phcenicians ;—the secrets of that dread castle were displayed ;—the dark dungeon of slavery was illuminated by the torch of popular vengeance; and then emanated from that dismal abode young Liberty clad in all her gayest colours. The words of the prophetess were fulfilled to the letter: the drum beat—the trumpet brayed—and the cannon roared ;—the royal troops fought like demons against the incensed people; but the citizens prevailed then, as they have prevailed since in France,and as they will prevail ever, because they possess the true courage inspired by the noblest feelings—feelings of honour, of patriotism, and of glory, which are unknown to the patient and enduring Englishman. Yes—the words of Mademoiselle Lenormand were fulfilled. Alvi- mar, entangled amidst the crowds pressing onward to aid in the attack upon the Bastille, and aware that all endeavours to extricate himself would be useless, became resigned to the necessity which forced him to witness, if not to take a part in the glorious achievement ; and he was hurried on towards the principal gate, just at the moment when the popu- lar banner waved upon the wall—a symbol of Freedom’s victory. The gate was forced, and in a short time the captives obtained their release, Some of them rushed into the streets with the looks of madmen, anxious once more to gaze upon the houses, the people, and the vehicles —and yet doubting whether they were not inastate of somnambulism and dream, in their own dreary cells ;—others came forward timidly tothe gate, and then drew back, alarmed at the appearance of a great crowd ;— here one danced for joy—there another seated himself upon a stone and wept :—never was seen such a strange display of various feelings and emotions, all produced by acommon cause. Captives of twenty, thirty, forty years—aye, even of halfa century, and prisoners of only a year or a few days—came forth from their dread abode, scarcely daring to believe that they were really free. But suddenly amidst the crowd of captives, two men have recognised each other—an old one with a long white beard covering his breast, and a younger man with a black beard curling short upon his chin;—they have uttered cries of surprise and joy—the people have formed a circle around them—they exclaim, the one, ‘‘ My father!” the other, ‘‘ My son!’’—and they have fallen into each other’s arms. And then, almost at the same moment, another individual darts like lightning from the ranks of the spectators of this Gomicbooks (E(0)