{"id":"01KG8AKRPPA08MBG3X0B7XDD98","cid":"bafkreiggka5fg2r2pykuq6mg6n6lryf3zloq6cloazsme5t55zd76kwtoe","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":6125,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:14.842Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 4","source_file":"01KG89J1GP71YDJ60P8SRH97MF","start_line":6061,"text":"looked at my own sorry garb, and had much ado to keep from tears.\r\n\r\nBut I rallied, and gazed round at the sculptured stonework, and turned\r\nto my guide-book, and looked at the print of the spot. It was correct\r\nto a pillar; but wanted the central ornament of the quadrangle. This,\r\nhowever, was but a slight subsequent erection, which ought not to\r\nmilitate against the general character of my friend for\r\ncomprehensiveness.\r\n\r\nThe ornament in question is a group of statuary in bronze, elevated\r\nupon a marble pedestal and basement, representing Lord Nelson expiring\r\nin the arms of Victory. One foot rests on a rolling foe, and the other\r\non a cannon. Victory is dropping a wreath on the dying admiral’s brow;\r\nwhile Death, under the similitude of a hideous skeleton, is insinuating\r\nhis bony hand under the hero’s robe, and groping after his heart. A\r\nvery striking design, and true to the imagination; I never could look\r\nat Death without a shudder.\r\n\r\nAt uniform intervals round the base of the pedestal, four naked figures\r\nin chains, somewhat larger than life, are seated in various attitudes\r\nof humiliation and despair. One has his leg recklessly thrown over his\r\nknee, and his head bowed over, as if he had given up all hope of ever\r\nfeeling better. Another has his head buried in despondency, and no\r\ndoubt looks mournfully out of his eyes, but as his face was averted at\r\nthe time, I could not catch the expression. These woe-begone figures of\r\ncaptives are emblematic of Nelson’s principal victories; but I never\r\ncould look at their swarthy limbs and manacles, without being\r\ninvoluntarily reminded of four African slaves in the market-place.\r\n\r\nAnd my thoughts would revert to Virginia and Carolina; and also to the\r\nhistorical fact, that the African slave-trade once constituted the\r\nprincipal commerce of Liverpool; and that the prosperity of the town\r\nwas once supposed to have been indissolubly linked to its prosecution.\r\nAnd I remembered that my father had often spoken to gentlemen visiting\r\nour house in New York, of the unhappiness that the discussion of the\r\nabolition of this trade had occasioned in Liverpool; that the struggle\r\nbetween sordid interest and humanity had made sad havoc at the\r\nfire-sides of the merchants; estranged sons from sires; and even\r\nseparated husband from wife. And my thoughts reverted to my father’s\r\nfriend, the good and great Roscoe, the intrepid enemy of the trade; who\r\nin every way exerted his fine talents toward its suppression; writing a\r\npoem _(“the Wrongs of Africa”),_ several pamphlets; and in his place in\r\nParliament, he delivered a speech against it, which, as coming from a\r\nmember for Liverpool, was supposed to have turned many votes, and had\r\nno small share in the triumph of sound policy and humanity that ensued.\r\n\r\nHow this group of statuary affected me, may be inferred from the fact,\r\nthat I never went through Chapel-street without going through the\r\nlittle arch to look at it again. And there, night or day, I was sure to\r\nfind Lord Nelson still falling back; Victory’s wreath still hovering\r\nover his swordpoint; and Death grim and grasping as ever; while the\r\nfour bronze captives still lamented their captivity.\r\n\r\nNow, as I lingered about the railing of the statuary, on the Sunday I\r\nhave mentioned, I noticed several persons going in and out of an\r\napartment, opening from the basement under the colonnade; and,\r\nadvancing, I perceived that this was a news-room, full of files of\r\npapers. My love of literature prompted me to open the door and step in;\r\nbut a glance at my soiled shooting-jacket prompted a dignified looking\r\npersonage to step up and shut the door in my face. I deliberated a\r\nminute what I should do to him; and at last resolutely determined to\r\nlet him alone, and pass on; which I did; going down Castle-street (so\r\ncalled from a castle which once stood there, said my guide-book), and\r\nturning down into Lord.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 4"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJRKE76XA8GX60MNS3NKC","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1GP71YDJ60P8SRH97MF","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKRPPBWY12NN98FRA0SWK","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AKS80XW36ZWMV9YF981MB","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:15.062Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:30.034Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}