This was the night of the 9th of August, and after that
we had cooler weather, and on the morning of the 13th the wind blew
like all possessed, and so continued till afternoon. Sunday morning,
the 14th, we got safe into Liverpool, landed, and went to the Adelphi
Hotel. Mamma and Georgie were only a little sick on the way over, and
that was the morning of the 13th.
As it was court time, the high sheriff of Lancashire, Sir Robert
Gerauld, a fine, stout, old, gray-haired John Bull, came thundering up
to the hotel at noon in his grand coach with six beautiful horses with
outriders, and two trumpeters, and twelve men with javelins for a
guard, all dressed in the gayest manner, and rushing along like Time
in the primer, the trumpeters too-ti-toot-tooing like a house a-fire,
and how I wished my little Charley had been there to see it!
Monday we wanted to go and see the court, so we went over to St.
George's Hall, a most magnificent structure, that beats the Boston
State House all hollow, and Sir Robert Gerauld himself met us, and
said he would get us a good place. So he took us away round a narrow,
crooked passage, and opened a little door, where we saw nothing but a
great, crimson curtain, which he told us to put aside and go straight
on; and where do you think we all found ourselves?
Right on the platform with the judges in their big wigs and long
robes, and facing the whole crowded court! It was enough to frighten a
body into fits, but we took it quietly as we could, and your mamma
looked as meek as Moses in her little, battered straw hat and gray
cloak, seeming to say, "I didn't come here o' purpose.
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