University of Virginia Library

36. CHAPTER XXXVI.

The floating chapel recalls to mind the “Old Church,”
well known to the seamen of many generations, who have
visited Liverpool. It stands very near the docks, a venerable
mass of brown stone, and by the town's people is called
the Church of St. Nicholas. I believe it is the best preserved
piece of antiquity in all Liverpool.

Before the town rose to any importance, it was the only
place of worship on that side of the Mersey; and under the
adjoining Parish of Walton was a chapel-of-ease; though
from the straight backed pews, there could have been but
little comfort taken in it.

In old times, there stood in front of the church a statue
of St. Nicholas, the patron of mariners; to which all pious
sailors made offerings, to induce his saintship to grant them
short and prosperous voyages. In the tower is a fine chime
of bells; and I well remember my delight at first hearing
them on the first Sunday morning after our arrival in the
dock. It seemed to carry an admonition with it; something
like the premonition conveyed to young Whittington by Bow
Bells. “Wellingborough! Wellingborough! you must
not forget to go to church, Wellingborough! Don't forget,
Wellingborough! Wellingborough! don't forget!”

Thirty or forty years ago, these bells were rung upon the
arrival of every Liverpool ship from a foreign voyage. How
forcibly does this illustrate the increase of the commerce of
the town! Were the same custom now observed, the bells
would seldom have a chance to cease.

What seemed the most remarkable about this venerable

old church, and what seemed the most barbarous, and grated
upon the veneration with which I regarded this time-hallowed
structure, was the condition of the grave-yard surrounding
it. From its close vicinity to the haunts of the swarms of
laborers about the docks, it is crossed and re-crossed by
thoroughfares in all directions; and the tomb-stones, not
being erect, but horizontal (indeed, they form a complete
flagging to the spot), multitudes are constantly walking over
the dead; their heels erasing the death's-heads and crossbones,
the last mementos of the departed. At noon, when
the lumpers employed in loading and unloading the shipping,
retire for an hour to snatch a dinner, many of them resort to
the grave-yard; and seating themselves upon a tomb-stone
use the adjoining one for a table. Often, I saw men
stretched out in a drunken sleep upon these slabs; and
once, removing a fellow's arm, read the following inscription,
which, in a manner, was true to the life, if not to the
death:—

For two memorable circumstances connected with this
church, I am indebted to my excellent friend, Morocco, who
tells me that in 1588 the Earl of Derby, coming to his
residence, and waiting for a passage to the Isle of Man, the
corporation erected and adorned a sumptuous stall in the
church for his reception. And moreover, that in the time
of Cromwell's wars, when the place was taken by that mad
nephew of King Charles, Prince Rupert, he converted the
old church into a military prison and stable; when, no
doubt, another “sumptuous stall” was erected for the benefit
of the steed of some noble cavalry officer.

In the basement of the church is a Dead House, like the
Morgue in Paris, where the bodies of the drowned are exposed
until claimed by their friends, or till buried at the
public charge.

From the multitudes employed about the shipping, this
dead-house has always more or less occupants. Whenever
I passed up Chapel-street, I used to see a crowd gazing
through the grim iron grating of the door, upon the faces of the
drowned within. And once, when the door was opened, I
saw a sailor stretched out, stark and stiff, with the sleeve of
his frock rolled up, and showing his name and date of birth
tattooed upon his arm. It was a sight full of suggestions;
he seemed his own head-stone.

I was told that standing rewards are offered for the recovery
of persons falling into the docks; so much, if restored
to life, and a less amount if irrecoverably drowned. Lured
by this, several horrid old men and women are constantly
prying about the docks, searching after bodies. I observed
them principally early in the morning, when they issued
from their dens, on the same principle that the rag-rakers,
and rubbish-pickers in the streets, sally out bright and early;
for then, the night-harvest has ripened.

There seems to be no calamity overtaking man, that can
not be rendered merchantable. Undertakers, sextons, tomb-makers,
and hearse-drivers, get their living from the dead;
and in times of plague most thrive. And these miserable
old men and women hunted after corpses to keep from
going to the church-yard themselves; for they were the
most wretched of starvelings.