Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo--without his roe, like a dried
herring. O flesh, flesh! how art thou fishified!
ROMEO AND JULIET.
Upon his return to his dear native town, Morton was received by his
father with his usual quiet affection; for old Mr. Morton was one of
that nearly obsolete school of parents, husbands, and members of
society, that do not think their duties in either relation require any
sounding of trumpets, and who are of opinion that those who feel most
deeply and sincerely religion, Christian charity, or human affections,
are generally people who seldom make any parade of either. This sect
seems to be very nearly extinct, or at least their leading principles, I
have been told, are exploded from the creeds of modern saints; but as my
acquaintance with modern saints is, thank God, very limited, I cannot
vouch for the fact.
It was not long after Morton's return, when the young people of his own
age and standing began to perceive an alteration in his manners, and
that he, who was a leader in their gay parties, was now a moping,
stupid, silent, dull creature, without any of his former animation and
gaiety. The young ladies took it for granted that he was in love; and
as it was evident that he was not in love with any of them, why of
course some nymph in the Pacific had stolen his heart; and as, moreover,
they had no idea of the existence in that remote and unknown quarter of
creation of any females more fascinating than the amphibious and
lascivious damsels of the Sandwich Islands, (to convert whom from the
error of their ways, more missionaries have been sent out, or
volunteered their services, than to all the rest of the "poor ignorant
heathen" put together,) or the ladies of the North West Coast, who smell
too strong of train-oil to comprehend the truths of Christianity, or
rather of Calvanism, which is altogether another affair, and who are in
consequence left in their original and antediluvian darkness.
Impressed with this idea, and feeling both grieved and mortified that so
excellent a young gentleman as Charles Morton should give himself up to
such an absurd and, in their estimation, unnatural passion, the young
ladies of New Bedford determined to tease him out of it; much upon the
same principle as the Roman emperors endeavored to suppress the
Christian religion by exposing its professors to wild beasts: the wild
beasts grew fat upon Christians, and Christianity grew fat and strong
upon persecution. Perhaps if the diademed tyrants had treated it with
indifference, the effects would have been otherwise.
Whenever poor Morton was met in company, he was always the object of
ridicule to these lively and well-meaning young ladies.
"Pray, Charles, do tell us something about this lady-love of yours;
what's her complexion?"
"How much train-oil does she drink in the course of a day?" said
another.
"Or how much raw shark serves her for a meal?" asked a third.
"Does she wear a spritsail-yard through the gristle of her nose?" said a
fourth.
"Or a brass ring in her under lip?" said a fifth.
"Is she tattooed on both cheeks, or only on one?" said a sixth.
Such was the peculiar style of banter to which he was sure to be
subjected, whenever he went into company; and in a short time he
abstained from visits, and devoted his time to perfecting himself in his
nautical studies, and making diligent inquiries after vessels bound
round Cape Horn. If ever you noticed it, madam, a man in love does not
relish jokes at the expense of his idol. "Ne lude cum sacris,"
ecclesiastically rendered, signifies, do not make fun of the clergy; but
among lovers it means, do not speak of my love with levity or contempt.
I remember when I was in love for the third or fourth time--I was then
studying trigonometry and navigation--my passion being unable to expend
itself in sonnets to my mistress's eyebrow, I gave way to geometrical
flights of fancy, and took the altitude of every apple-tree and
well-pole in the neighborhood, and made my advances to _her_ upon the
principles of traverse sailing.
Nor was old Mr. Morton unconscious of the great alteration in his son's
behaviour while at home, so unlike any thing he had ever observed before
in him, and he saw the change with no small pain.
"The poor boy cannot have fallen in love," said the senior to himself;
"there is nothing more amiable than a copper-colored squaw, beyond Cape
Horn."
One Saturday evening, the old man, being comfortably installed in his
leather-cushioned arm-chair, with his pipe and pitcher of cider (for
merchants, forty years since, drank cider at a dollar the barrel,
instead of London particular Madeira at five dollars the gallon, and the
consequences were--no matter what), commenced the conversation:
"Ahem! well, Charles, my son, do you intend going to sea again, or would
you prefer commencing business ashore? You are now at the age when most
young men think of settling down for life. Let's see--you are
five-and-twenty, are you not?"
"Five-and-twenty next month, father."
"Aye, true; well, it's strange, now I can never recollect your age
without looking into the bible there. I recollect, now, it was so stormy
that we did not dare to carry you to the meeting-house, and so Parson
Fales christened you in this very room."
"I wish," said Charles, speaking with difficulty, "I wish, my dear sir,
to make one more voyage round the Cape as soon as possible, and then I
don't care if I never see a ship again."
"Well, that's strange enough; why, what have you seen in that part of
the world so very enticing?"
"Enticing, indeed!" said the young man, springing from his chair, and
hurrying across the room in agitation; "something that I must possess,
or die!"
"Why, what a plague--why, what's got into the boy?" said the old
gentleman, dashing down his pipe; "you haven't got be-devilled after
those island girls, like a young fellow that I knew from Boston, who got
so bewitched after the copper-skinned, amphibious jades, that his father
was finally obliged to locate him there, as a sort of agent."
"O! no, no, no! she is as white as my own mother, well born, well
educated, and a Protestant," said the son, hurrying his words upon each
other; for he felt that the ice was broken, and saw the old gentleman's
countenance lengthening fast; "oh, father, if you could but see her--if
you but knew her--"
"Hum," quoth pa, "I dare say that sixty and twenty-five would agree to a
charm on such a subject; but pray, how the deuce came this well born,
well educated, white, protestant damsel in the Pacific, where the devil
himself would never dream of looking for such a phenomenon?"
"It is a long story," said Charles.
"If that's the case," said the senior Mr. Morton, "you had better step
down cellar, and draw another mug of cider."
So saying, he replenished his pipe, and disposed himself in an attitude
of calm resignation. As our readers are already acquainted with the
history of the rise and progress of young Morton's love, we shall say no
more of his narrative than that towards the close of it, his father was
surprised out of his gravity, and ejaculated the word "d--nation!" with
great emphasis, at the same time, flinging his pipe into the fire, and
exclaiming by way of sermon to his short and pithy text,
"Why the d--l didn't you bring her with you, you foolish boy?
Why, you have no more spunk than a hooked cod-fish! You'll
never see her again, if you make fifty voyages round the cape;
she's in a nunnery by this time, or, what is more likely,
married to that Don What-d'ye-call-him."
Charles could only repeat his conviction that neither event had taken
place, and his firm reliance upon Isabella's constancy.
"Fiddle-de-dee! A woman's constancy! I would as soon take Continental
money at par!" was his father's reply.
Their conversation on this interesting topic was protracted to a late
hour, when they retired, the old gentleman to--sleep as sound as usual,
and Charles to yield himself most unreservedly to the illusions of
sanguine, youthful hope and love--that love that one never has _very_
severely but once in his life; for love is like a squall at sea; the
inexperienced landsman sees nothing alarming in the aspect of the
heavens, and is both astonished and vexed at the bustle and hurry, the
"thunder of the captain and the shouting;" but when it comes "butt-eend
foremost," he suffers a thousand times more from his fears than the
oldest sailors. After one has become acquainted with the disorder, he
can distinguish its premonitory symptoms, and crush it in the bud, or
let it run on to a matrimonial crisis. For my own part, I can always
ascertain, at its first accession, whether it is about to assume a
chronic form, or pass off with a few acute attacks.