. in the tower above me, and of the ships far away upon the ocean that werę steering by that light, and of the straining eyes that were directed toward our bedside. The keepers spoke of the anxiety and responsibility which they felt during wintry gales, although it was pleasant to feel that some one, at least, was interested in them and in their business. It not unfrequently happened that the storm-panes of the light-room were broken by heavy gales, and sometimes even by wild geese flying against them in the Fall. The time will doubtless come when Montauk Point will be a place of resort for those who really wish to visit the sea, who will go down to its barren sands for the sake of beholding the ocean in its primitive grandeur -- for those who, like Thoreau, will search for something there beside "a ten-pin alley, or a circular railway, or an ocean of mint juleps." To those who love the roar of the surf, and who appreciate the sublimity of the storms of autumn and winter, it is a region which will wear well. There are few spots upon the Atlantic coast that, in these respects, can compete with this locality. At present it is almost unknown to the travelling world. The sportsman comes in the Fall to deal death and destruction to the water-fowl, and occasionally a yachting-party is enabled, in fair weather, to land there for a day's recreation; but except to these, Montauk yet The remains nearly a terra incognita. view from the bluff, at the extremity of the Point, is unequalled; and that from the summit of the light-tower is even more extended than one from the masthead of the largest ship. Newport or Long Branch has nothing like it. I think that the real grandeur of the sea may be best seen during the burricane of the winter months, when snow and sleet come driving across the cape, and the surf crashes upon the rocks with its most terrific violence; when great ships, blinded with the hail, and staggering through the darkness, strike upon the rocks below the Light, or are thrown upon the cruel sands of Napeague. Yet, in the summer months, Montauk presents attractions for the tourist, equalled by very few sea-side spots in America. Hot weather is unknown there. We found overcoats not uncomfortable during the evenings of our stay, although the season was July, and in New York the warmest of the year. The air is at all times pure, bracing, and full of health to those not suffering from pulmonary disorders, and the outward chilliness, which the traveller experiences at sunset, renders the warmth and comfort of the habitations the more appreciated and welcome. In the course of time Montauk will doubtless have its Ocean House and its Bellevue. At present it is the wild Montauk, held and existing almost on sufferance between the remorseless jaws of the sayage Atlantic. PEDRO EL MORO, THE SWORD-BLADE MAKER OF PUEBLA. THE few veterans now remaining, who formed part of that gallant little army that, in the winter of 1847-28, cut its way to the city of Mexico-“ the halls of the Montezumas "-cannot but remember, at the close of the campaign, the scene presented at the city of Puebla-Puebla de los Angelos (the City of the Angels)—as the homeward-bound troops poured into it. Brigades and regiments arriving and departing daily, with their long trains of wagons and ambulances; troops of horse hourly clattering over the hard, flinty pavement; mounted orderlies flying through the streets, as if carrying respites to culprits just about to be executed, to the imminent danger of the lives of the pedestrians, as well as their own necks. Here, a commanding officer calls to the head of a column to "halt," but isn't obeyed, not being heard; there, a regiment takes a course down the wrong street, while mounted officers go tearing along to correct the mistake, which at length is accomplished in a disorderly manner. Now, you are greeted by some one just arrived, who has not seen you for an age, and you are pressed to take wine, or something stronger; then, your hand is wrung by another, with such a painful squeeze as to make you think you are greeted by a blacksmith; while the owner of the "strong hand,” halffull of brandy and brim-full of affection, bids you farewell, while he rushes off to take his place in the ranks of his regiment, the rear-guard of which has just turned the corner. Add to all this the beating of drums, the braying of trumpets, the sounding of bugles, the fifing of fifes, and it will convey a tolerably faithful picture of Puebla at the period of which I write. It was amid such scenes I made my way through the city, one afternoon, holding in my hand one of my pistols, which, being out of order, I was in search of an artisan to repair. I had been told, by a Mexican gentleman at whose house I was stopping, that one on whom I might rely resided in a certain street, to which I was endeavoring to pilot myself according to the direc tions given me. I had already passed more than one gunsmith's shop, where the job could have been done quite as well as by him of whom I was in search, who was not a gunsmith, but a sword-blade maker; but my informant had interested me in the account he gave of him; moreover, he showed me a sword he had wrought, which for keenness and elasticity surpassed any thing I had ever before seen. The name he went by, too— "Pedro el Moro" (Peter the Moor)set me speculating as to whether it gave any indication of his descent from that race whose skill in tempering metal was one of the wonders of the world; whose Damascus blades *-miracles of skill— * Damascus will long be held famous as having been the manufactory of those extraordinary weapons, by whose keen edge and high temper bars of iron have been severed, and delicate gossamers floating in the air, offering no opposing weight to the instrument, have been cut in two as if by a flash of fire. These weapons defied all attempts at imitation, until the Russian General Amossoff, celebrated as a metallurgist, it is said, has produced blades which are equal to the Damascus. By four methods he succeeded in producing steel of the Damascus quality, only one of which appears to be of practical importance. One of these methods was: melting the ore with graphite, requiring great purity and large consumption of fuel, and is uniform in its results. It is supposed, from its simplicity, to be the ancient method of producing steel: charcoal of the cleanest sort, as pino; a furnace constructed of the most refractory materials; the best quality of crucible; the most malleable and ductile iron; pure native graphite; flux of dolomite, or calcined quartz; a high temperature; fusion as long-continued as possible. The blast of the furnace is kept on until the fuel is entirely consumed, and the crucible not removed until cold. The cover is then taken off, the graphite removed, and the lump of steel is produced. The temper is given to the blade by plunging it into grease when it is heated to redness. Amossoff, with a blade of his manufacture, cut a gauze handkerchief in the air-a feat that cannot be ac were famous throughout Palestine, and whose "Andrea Ferrara" and Toledo blades were equally famous throughout Europe. Strange to say, my speculations, contrary to the usual results of such imaginings, had, as will be seen, a foundation. I found the object of my search occupying a small shop answering the double purpose of workshop and store, in an obscure neighborhood. It was well stocked, however, with all kinds of weapons peculiar to and even outside of his calling; and though all, or nearly all, were second-hand, they were, nevertheless, of the first quality. As soon as the owner emerged from the little room behind the shop, where I noticed he was reading a somewhat bulky volume lying on a table before him, instead of hammering or filing, as I expected to find him, I saw at once why he was called "Pedro el Moro." He wore a shawl wound into a turban on his head. No other feature of his dress, however, corresponded, except it might be a sash round his waist; but that could not very well be called a peculiarity, for the Spanish-Americans often adopt this feature in the costume of their ancestors. In fact, with the exception of the turban, his dress might be said to be that usually worn by persons of his calling. It was, nevertheless, sufficiently conspicuous to cause his neighbors to substitute the word "Moor" for his Spanish, or rather his Moorish, name of "Alfaro." He was a man far beyond the prime of life, and his long white beard gave to his countenance, surmounted by the turban, a venerable and at the same time an Oriental appearance. Perceiv ing my object in entering, he silently took the pistol from my hand, examined it a moment, unscrewed the lock, partly took it asunder, gave a few light complished by the best English steel. The elasticity is so great that one may put his foot on the end of the blade and bend it to a right angle, when it will fly back to its place perfectly unchanged. Amossoff died in Siberia in 1851; but his successor in the works he superintended, it is said, cannot produce steel of equal quality. taps with his hammer and a rub or two with his file, put it together again, and the job was done. On paying him the trifle he charged, I asked him if he had a sword for sale equal to the one I was shown by the gentleman already alluded to. He said he had not; he never made such blades unless specially ordered. "You saw the blade, then, Señor?" said he, inquiringly. Yes," replied I; "and, if you have one like it, I would like to see, and, perhaps, buy it, if the price does not go beyond the depth of my purse." "I have a better blade in my shop now, but it belongs to the brother of the gentleman you have named." As he spoke, he turned to a large chest, unlocking which, he drew fortb a light cavalry sabre, which he unsheathed and held up before me. I saw nothing in its appearance beyond the ordinary sword worn by the Mexicans; it was bright, it is true, but it had no extraordinary finish or polish. In an instant he had its point bent until it touched the hilt, held it there some time, and, on releasing it, it flew back to its original position, presenting a perfectly straight appearance. But, to prove it, he laid the sword along an instrument he had for measuring its perfect straightness, when I was astonished to see it did not vary a hair's breadth from a straight line. It was not the first time I had seen swords bent in this way, nearly if not quite up to the handle, but they invariably retained more or less of a curve for some time after. He put it to another test, however, which proved the exquisite temper of the blade in a way such as I had only read of, and not without some doubt. In relating it, therefore, I know I will lay myself open to the charge of exaggeration, particularly as no officer of the American army, or any one connected with it, witnessed the operation but myself, as nothing would induce the old man to put it to the same test for any of those to whom I related the circumstance, for reasons which will appear further on. He took a heavy iron instrument, serpentine in shape, which he fastened in a vise. It was, in fact, a ponderous iron scabbard, into which, bringing artificial force to bear on it, he pushed the swordblade up to the hilt. "Now, Señor," said he, "I will leave it there as long as you please, and, when I draw it out, you will find it as straight as before." Impatient to see the result, I requested him to draw it out at once; which he did, when it presented the same perfect line as before. I was silent with astonishment, for I did not think any thing less flexible than india-rubber could follow the windings of that singular scabbard without breaking.* The pains he went to in proving the quality of his steel sprung from no desire to sell his weapons, but purely from professional pride; and the more surprise I evinced, the more pleased he appeared. If I felt astonishment at what I saw, I also felt an equal degree of interest in the individual whose wonderful skill had created it: Was it possible I stood, here in Mexico, before a veritable descendant of the once powerful Moor, the conquerors of Spain, and for hundreds of years its possessors ? Was this venerable old man really a link between the present and the past, and to whom, from father to son, for generations on generations, was transmitted the secret by which is produced such miracles of art-art now unknown, lost to the modern world, but found hid away here in this corner of the world? Yet so it was. As the gentleman's name I had mentioned was a passport to his confidence, he did not hesitate to answer the interrogatories-and numerous enough they I must acknowledge-I now put were, The late Viceroy of Egypt, it is said, had a sword among his collection, the scabbard of which represented a coiled serpent, the head of which was the handle. Whenever it was drawn forth, it presented as straight a line as if it had lain in an ordinary scabbard. Some English journals denied that steel, howsoever tempered, could remain for any great length of time in such a scabbard without retaining more or less of the curve it presented. to him. I learned from him that his father, who was of Moorish descent, followed the same calling as himself, as did his father before him; and that the walls of the Alhambra actually formed one side of their little workshop for generations, until a thirst for adventure induced his father to join a Spanish ship-of-war, shortly after the American Revolution. His ship was ordered to the Mexican station; and, while in the port of Vera Cruz, a quarrel having arisen between him and one of the officers, he deserted the ship, in which he held the position of armorer, and fled to the interior of the country, where he settled. The old man became more loquacious and sociable as he proceeded in his narration. It was easy to see, he loved to talk about his father, and of Granada. With the latter he seemed as well acquainted as if he had lived there all his life. "If you will do me the honor, Señor," said he, "to step in to my little sittingroom, I will show you a sword which, though far inferior to the one before you, will nevertheless excite your curiosity quite as much." I was not slow in accepting his invitation. Before he showed me this weapon, however, he entered into a somewhat lengthened discourse, which was of so interesting a nature, I offer no apology for placing a portion of it before the reader. "Take care!" said he, as I passed in, holding the sword, the quality of which I had just seen tested in so extraordinary a manner, in my hand; "you will cut yourself if you are not careful." I happened to hold it carelessly by the blade, but, being thus admonished, removed my hand, and was surprised to see blood flowing from two or three slight scars across my fingers. "Your sword," observed I, "is sharper than I expected it could possibly be,. after having driven it with such force into that strange-looking scabbard.” "The edge never touched the iron," said he, smiling. "It would not do to injure it in that way. Try its edge, a little further towards the point." peats itself; the difference is but in the time and in the manner in which it is I did so, and found it as keen as a repeated. The manner disguises things razor. "What in the world is the necessity of having a sword as sharp as this?" said I, in surprise. "What is the necessity of having a sword at all?" asked he. in such a way, that most of us see, in the transactions taking place under our own eyes, no resemblance to those of the past, though the resemblance is there all the same. Neither am I ignorant of the history of your country, and "Well, I suppose it is to kill people of the bright and glorious page it prewith," replied I, laughing. "Just so, Señor; and, when it is made for that purpose, the sharper you can make it, the better." To this very sensible conclusion I did not, of course, dissent. "You people of the Western world,'" continued he, 66 use a sword with as little care as if it were a wood-chopper; indeed, Europeans now-a-days use it no better. Modern warfare has rendered the use of such a weapon as that "pointing to the sword which I had laid on the table" obsolete; but in the hand-to-hand encounters of former days it was irresistible." "Are you not a Mexican?" observed I, hearing him say, "You people of the Western world," and supposing I had been mistaken regarding his birthplace, which I understood to be Mexico. True, Señor; I am a Mexican. But I do not forget the race from which I am descended, for all that; nor am I ignorant of their glorious history." As he spoke, his eyes unconsciously wandered to a row of books on a number of shelves covering the wall of one side of the apartment, whose quaint, musty appearance and peculiar binding indicated a past century-a kind of mute explanation of the bias of his mind. "I see you are well supplied with food for the mind, at all events," I remarked.. "They are all of the past-I may say, of the remote past," replied he. "Not that I am ignorant of modern history, but I prefer reading the history of the past; for he who reads it aright can better understand the present even foretell the future. History, Señor," continued the old man, แ re sents in the history of nations, nor of the great and good man, George Washington, she has added to the very few great and good men that God has permitted to shed lustre on the world; nor of the virtue and self-denial displayed by your forefathers in their protracted struggle for freedom." "If the past has so much attraction for you," observed I, "how can you pass over the wondrous monuments of a past civilization, which are under your own eyes here in Mexico?" "What are they, Señor," replied he, "without the records, little better than a book the language of which one cannot understand? I love to follow, page by page, the wondrous deeds of the once haughty Moor-a progressive race, like your own; though here, where my lot is cast, all is stagnation, decay. Yes, Señor, I love to dwell upon the history of my kindred and race. The man who is indifferent to them is dead to one of the most ennobling feelings of the human heart. And yet, how few there are, now-a-days, descendants, like myself, of old races, ever cast a thought on the history of their forefathers, whose names they bear and whose features they perpetuate! But I am alone in such thoughts. Few appreciate or even understand me here. I had long contemplated returning to Granada, so that I might leave my bones with those of my people; but one of those intestine quarrels that curse this unhappy country, robbed me of all I possessed-for I was not always as poor as you see me. My only son, too, was taken from me, and I have now no kindred left with whom to leave my cherished secret. These, as well as other trials, interfered with my plans. |