Mock epic narrative poem describing an ill-fated journey by boat, stage-coach and on foot from Sheerness to a concert in Chatham and the ‘inconsideration’ that blighted their return journey.
Thin, maroon-coloured roan covered wrappers, rubbing to spine and corners; white tape reinforcement along gutter to verso of wrapper. 18 pages of text, 21 lines per page, c2600 words. Text block sewing intact but detached from binding. Featherstone addressed the poem to his travelling companion Henry Senior (1794-1861, son of John Raven Senior of Compton Beauchamp, Berks and Mary, daughter of Henry Duke; Ensign to the 60th Regiment, Royal Americans, in 1813, and later served with several other regiments) recalling one year on: ‘Dear Friend... in a poet’s dress/ Our midnight ramble to Sheerness...’ in the company also of William Wood. Featherstone writes in easily digestible free verse about the inspiration for the trip coming from yet a further friend, Wlliam Moore, whose father forbad his attendance. He describes them taking the ‘packet’ to Chatham but being becalmed ‘Off Gillingham’ change vessel into a perilous little dingy ‘and ‘twas a mercy great that Drowning was not then our fate.’ After taking on both Dinner and a visit for Tea the little group is delighted by the Oratorio performance:
Vocal performers not a few/ who most delightfully did sing/ Like Birds ascending on teh wing/ All took their parts extremely well/ But Roebuck seemed to hear the bell/ for when the people hear his voice/ They manifested great applause... the pieces on the occasion sung... Were some by Handel, Arnold, Leach/ A choice selection made from each in Handel’s “Hallelujah” Chorus/ It seemed like angels hov’ring o’er us.
Leaving the concert the men discover that no boat is to be had back to Sheerness and repair to the Chest Arms (55 High Street, Chatham) ‘Supper is ordered. Bread and Cheese,/ But bring me some meat first if you please/ said you...’; after waiting for hours they take a coach in the middle of night to Sittingbourne ‘we upon its top must sit/ shiv’ring as with an ague fit... Oh! Music thou hast many a charm/ But thoughts of thee wont keep us warm/ And oft I cried I’ll never to To another Oratorio’; the men find themselves unable to afford a room at the Rose Inn, Sheerness and walk ‘through a heavy fall of snow/ The roads were purely like a slough/ Our coats from top to bottom spattered’ to find a friend at Milton from where they can take the boat across to the Isle of Sheppey where the ‘Dockyard bell begins to ring/ And as it is no trivial thing / To be a servant of the King’ make haste back to their quarters. Not knowing how he can work, Featherstone reports that he nonetheless spent the next day putting ‘locks on cabin doors/ in one of our great seventy fours’.
