Chapter I.

THE CRATER

Or, Vulcan's Peak

A Tale of the Pacific.

By J. Fenimore Cooper.

1863

"Thus arise

Races of living things, glorious in strength

And perish, as the quickening breath of God

Fills them, or is withdrawn."--_Bryant._

Complete In One Volume

Preface.

The reader of this book will very naturally be disposed to ask the

question, why the geographies, histories, and other works of a similar

character, have never made any mention of the regions and events that

compose its subject. The answer is obvious enough, and ought to satisfy

every mind, however "inquiring." The fact is, that the authors of the

different works to which there is any allusion, most probably never

heard there were any such places as the Reef, Rancocus Island, Vulcan's

Peak, the Crater, and the other islands of which so much is said in our

pages. In other words, they knew nothing about them.

We shall very freely admit that, under ordinary circumstances, it would

be _prima facie_ evidence against the existence of any spot on the face

of this earth, that the geographies took no notice of it. It will be

remembered, however, that the time was, and that only three centuries

and a half since, when the geographies did not contain a syllable about

the whole of the American continent; that it is not a century since they

began to describe New Zealand, New Holland, Tahiti, Oahu, and a vast

number of other places, that are now constantly alluded to, even in the

daily journals. Very little is said in the largest geographies, of

Japan, for instance; and it may be questioned if they might not just as

well be altogether silent on the subject, as for any accurate

information they do convey. In a word, much as is now known of the

globe, a great deal still remains to be told, and we do not see why the

"inquiring mind" should not seek for information in our pages, as well

as in some that are ushered in to public notice by a flourish of

literary trumpets, that are blown by presidents, vice-presidents and

secretaries of various learned bodies.

One thing we shall ever maintain, and that in the face of all who may be

disposed to underrate the value of our labours, which is this:--there is

not a word in these volumes which we now lay before the reader, _as

grave matter of fact_, that is not entitled to the most implicit credit.

We scorn deception. Lest, however, some cavillers may be found, we will

present a few of those reasons which occur to our mind, on the spur of

the moment, as tending to show that everything related here _might_ be

just as true as Cook's voyages themselves. In the first place, this

earth is large, and has sufficient surface to contain, not only all the

islands mentioned in our pages, but a great many more. Something is

established when the possibility of any hypothetical point is placed

beyond dispute. Then, not one half as much was known of the islands of

the Pacific, at the close of the last, and at the commencement of the

present century, as is known to-day. In such a dearth of precise

information, it may very well have happened that many things occurred

touching which we have not said even one word. Again, it should never be

forgotten that generations were born, lived their time, died, and have

been forgotten, among those remote groups, about which no civilized man

ever has, or ever will hear anything. If such be admitted to be the

facts, why may not _all_ that is here related have happened, and equally

escape the knowledge of the rest of the civilized world? During the wars

of the French revolution, trifling events attracted but little of the

general attention, and we are not to think of interests of this nature,

in that day, as one would think of them now.

Whatever may be thought of the authenticity of its incidents, we hope

this book will be found not to be totally without a moral. Truth is not

absolutely necessary to the illustration of a principle, the imaginary

sometimes doing that office quite as effectually as the actual.

The reader may next wish to know why the wonderful events related in

these volumes have so long been hidden from the world. In answer to this

we would ask if anyone can tell how many thousands of years the waters

have tumbled down the cliffs at Niagara, or why it was that civilized

men heard of the existence of this wonderful cataract so lately as only

three centuries since. The fact is, there must be a beginning to

everything; and now there is a beginning to the world's knowing the

history of Vulcan's Peak, and the Crater. Lest the reader, however,

should feel disposed to reproach the past age with having been negligent

in its collection of historical and geological incidents, we would again

remind him of the magnitude of the events that so naturally occupied its

attention. It is scarcely possible, for instance, for one who did not

live forty years ago to have any notion how completely the world was

engaged in wondering at Napoleon and his marvellous career, which last

contained even more extraordinary features than anything related here;

though certainly of a very different character. All wondering, for near

a quarter of a century, was monopolized by the French Revolution and its

consequences.

There are a few explanations, however, which are of a very humble nature

compared with the principal events of our history, but which may as well

be given here. The Woolston family still exists in Pennsylvania, and

that, by the way, is something towards corroborating the truth of our

narrative. Its most distinguished member is recently dead, and his

journal has been the authority for most of the truths here related. He

died at a good old age, having seen his three-score years and ten,

leaving behind him, in addition to a very ample estate, not only a good

character, which means neither more nor less than what "the neighbours,"

amid their ignorance, envy, love of detraction, jealousy and other

similar qualities, might think proper to say of him, but the odour of a

well-spent life, in which he struggled hard to live more in favour with

God, than in favour with man. It was remarked in him, for the last forty

years of his life, or after his return to Bucks, that he regarded all

popular demonstrations with distaste, and, as some of his enemies

pretended, with contempt. Nevertheless, he strictly acquitted himself of

all his public duties, and never neglected to vote. It is believed that

his hopes for the future, meaning in a social and earthly sense, were

not very vivid, and he was often heard to repeat that warning text of

Scripture which tells us, "Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed

lest he fall."

The faithful, and once lovely partner of this principal personage of our

history is also dead. It would seem that it was not intended they should

be long asunder. But their time was come, and they might almost be said

to have departed in company. The same is true of Friends Robert and

Martha, who have also filled their time, and gone hence, it is to be

hoped to a better world. Some few of the younger persons of our drama

still exist, but it has been remarked of them, that they avoid

conversing of the events of their younger days. Youth is the season of

hope, and hope disappointed has little to induce us to dwell on its

deceptive pictures.

If those who now live in this republic, can see any grounds for a timely

warning in the events here recorded, it may happen that the mercy of a

divine Creator may still preserve that which he has hitherto cherished

and protected.

It remains only to say that we have endeavoured to imitate the

simplicity of Captain Woolston's journal, in writing this book, and

should any homeliness of style be discovered, we trust it will be

imputed to that circumstance.

The Crater.

Chapter I.

"'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you;

'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas."

_Taming of the Shrew._

There is nothing in which American Liberty, not always as much

restrained as it might be, has manifested a more decided tendency to run

riot, than in the use of names. As for Christian names, the Heathen

Mythology, the Bible, Ancient History, and all the classics, have long

since been exhausted, and the organ of invention has been at work with

an exuberance of imagination that is really wonderful for such a

matter-of-fact people. Whence all the strange sounds have been derived

which have thus been pressed into the service of this human

nomenclature, it would puzzle the most ingenious philologist to say. The

days of the Kates, and Dollys, and Pattys, and Bettys, have passed away,

and in their stead we hear of Lowinys, and Orchistrys, Philenys,

Alminys, Cytherys, Sarahlettys, Amindys, Marindys, &c. &c. &c. All these

last appellations terminate properly with an a, but this unfortunate

vowel, when a final letter, being popularly pronounced like y, we have

adapted our spelling to the sound, which produces a complete bathos to

all these flights in taste.

The hero of this narrative was born fully sixty years since, and happily

before the rage for modern appellations, though he just escaped being

named after another system which we cannot say we altogether admire;

that of using a family, for a christian name. This business of names is

a sort of science in itself and we do believe that it is less

understood and less attended to in this country than in almost all

others. When a Spaniard writes his name as Juan de Castro y[1] Muños, we

know that his father belonged to the family of Castro and his mother to

that of Muños. The French, and Italian, and Russian woman, &c., writes

on her card Madame this or that, _born_ so and so; all which tells the

whole history of her individuality Many French women, in signing their

names, prefix those of their own family to those of their husbands, a

sensible and simple usage that we are glad to see is beginning to obtain

among ourselves. The records on tomb-stones, too, might be made much

more clear and useful than they now are, by stating distinctly who the

party was, on both sides of the house, or by father and mother; and each

married woman ought to be commemorated in some such fashion as this:

"Here lies Jane Smith, wife of John Jones," &c., or, "Jane, daughter of

Thomas Smith and wife of John Jones." We believe that, in some

countries, a woman's name is not properly considered to be changed by

marriage, but she becomes a Mrs. only in connection with the name of her

husband. Thus Jane Smith becomes Mrs. _John_ Jones, but not Mrs. Jane

Jones. It is on this idea we suppose that our ancestors the

English--every Englishman, as a matter of course, being every American's

ancestor--thus it is, we suppose, therefore, that our ancestors, who pay

so much more attention to such matters than we do ourselves, in their

table of courtesy, call the wife of Lord John Russell, Lady _John_, and

not Lady--whatever her Christian name may happen to be. We suppose,

moreover, it is on this principle that Mrs. General This, Mrs. Dr. That,

and Mrs. Senator T'other, are as inaccurate as they are notoriously

vulgar.

[Footnote 1: Some few of our readers may require to be told that,

in Spanish, y, pronounced as e, is the simple conjunction "and;"

thus this name is de Castro _and_ Muños.]

Mark Woolston came from a part of this great republic where the names

are still as simple, unpretending, and as good Saxon English, as in the

county of Kent itself. He was born in the little town of Bristol, Bucks

county, Pennsylvania. This is a portion of the country that, Heaven be

praised! still retains some of the good old-fashioned directness and

simplicity. Bucks is full of Jacks, and Bens, and Dicks, and we question

if there is such a creature, of native growth, in all that region, as an

Ithusy, or a Seneky, or a Dianthy, or an Antonizetty, or a Deidamy.[2]

The Woolstons, in particular, were a plain family, and very unpretending

in their external appearance, but of solid and highly respectable habits

around the domestic hearth. Knowing perfectly how to spell, they never

dreamed anyone would suspect them of ignorance. They called themselves

as their forefathers were called, that is to say, Wooster, or just as

Worcester is pronounced; though a Yankee schoolmaster tried for a whole

summer to persuade our hero, when a child, that he ought to be styled

Wool-ston. This had no effect on Mark, who went on talking of his uncles

and aunts, "Josy Wooster," and "Tommy Wooster," and "Peggy Wooster,"

precisely as if a New England academy did not exist on earth; or as if

Webster had not actually put Johnson under his feet!

[Footnote 2: Absurd and forced as these strange appellations may

appear, they are all genuine. The writer has collected a long list

of such names from real life, which he may one day

publish--Orchistra, Philena, and Almina are among them. To all the

names ending in a, it must be remembered that the sound of a final

y is given.]

The father of Mark Woolston (or Wooster) was a physician, and, for the

country and age, was a well-educated and skilful man. Mark was born in

1777, just seventy years since, and only ten days before the surrender

of Burgoyne. A good deal of attention was paid to his instruction, and

fortunately for himself, his servitude under the eastern pedagogue was

of very short duration, and Mark continued to speak the English language

as his fathers had spoken it before him. The difference on the score of

language, between Pennsylvania and New Jersey and Maryland, always

keeping in the counties that were not settled by Germans or Irish, and

the New England states, and _through_ them, New York, is really so

obvious as to deserve a passing word. In the states first named,

taverns, for instance, are still called the Dun Cow, the Indian Queen,

or the Anchor: whereas such a thing would be hard to find, at this day,

among the six millions of people who dwell in the latter. We question

if there be such a thing as a coffee-house in all Philadelphia, though

we admit it with grief, the respectable town of Brotherly Love has, in

some respects, become infected with the spirit of innovation. Thus it is

that good old "State House _Yard_" has been changed into "Independence

Square." This certainly is not as bad as the _tour de force_ of the

aldermen of Manhattan when they altered "Bear Market" into "_Washington_

Market!" for it is not a prostitution of the name of a great man, in the

first place, and there is a direct historical allusion in the new name

that everybody can understand. Still, it is to be regretted; and we hope

this will be the last thing of the sort that will ever occur, though we

confers our confidence in Philadelphian stability and consistency is a

good deal lessened, since we have learned, by means of a late law-suit,

that there are fifty or sixty aldermen in the place; a number of those

worthies that is quite sufficient to upset the proprieties, in Athens

itself!

Dr. Woolston had a competitor in another physician, who lived within a

mile of him, and whose name was Yardley. Dr. Yardley was a very

respectable person, had about the same degree of talents and knowledge

as his neighbour and rival, but was much the richest man of the two. Dr.

Yardley, however, had but one child, a daughter, whereas Dr. Woolston,

with much less of means, had sons and daughters. Mark was the oldest of

the family, and it was probably owing to this circumstance that he was

so well educated, since the expense was not yet to be shared with that

of keeping his brothers and sisters at schools of the same character.

In 1777 an American college was little better than a high school. It

could not be called, in strictness, a grammar school, inasmuch as all

the sciences were glanced at, if not studied; but, as respects the

classics, more than a grammar school it was not, nor that of a very high

order. It was a consequence of the light nature of the studies, that

mere boys graduated in those institutions. Such was the case with Mark

Woolston, who would have taken his degree as a Bachelor of Arts, at

Nassau Hall, Princeton, had not an event occurred, in his sixteenth

year, which produced an entire change in his plan of life, and nipped

his academical honours in the bud.

Although it is unusual for square-rigged vessels of any size to ascend

the Delaware higher than Philadelphia, the river is, in truth, navigable

for such craft almost to Trenton Bridge. In the year 1793, when Mark

Woolston was just sixteen, a full-rigged ship actually came up, and lay

at the end of the wharf in Burlington, the little town nearly opposite

to Bristol, where she attracted a great deal of the attention of all the

youths of the vicinity. Mark was at home, in a vacation, and he passed

half his time in and about that ship, crossing the river in a skiff of

which he was the owner, in order to do so. From that hour young Mark

affected the sea, and all the tears of his mother and eldest sister, the

latter a pretty girl only two years his junior, and the more sober

advice of his father, could not induce him to change his mind. A six

weeks' vacation was passed in the discussion of this subject, when the

Doctor yielded to his son's importunities, probably foreseeing he should

have his hands full to educate his other children, and not unwilling to

put this child, as early as possible, in the way of supporting himself.

The commerce of America, in 1793, was already flourishing, and

Philadelphia was then much the most important place in the country. Its

East India trade, in particular, was very large and growing, and Dr.

Woolston knew that fortunes were rapidly made by many engaged in it.

After, turning the thing well over in his mind, he determined to consult

Mark's inclinations, and to make a sailor of him. He had a cousin

married to the sister of an East India, or rather of a Canton

ship-master, and to this person the father applied for advice and

assistance. Captain Crutchely very willingly consented to receive Mark

in his own vessel, the Rancocus, and promised "to make a man and an

officer of him."

The very day Mark first saw the ocean he was sixteen years old. He had

got his height, five feet eleven, and was strong for his years, and

active. In fact, it would not have been easy to find a lad every way so

well adapted to his new calling, as young Mark Woolston. The three years

of his college life, if they had not made him a Newton, or a Bacon, had

done him no harm, filling his mind with the germs of ideas that were

destined afterwards to become extremely useful to him. The young man was

already, indeed, a sort of factotum, being clever and handy at so many

things and in so many different ways, as early to attract the attention

of the officers. Long before the vessel reached the capes, he was at

home in her, from her truck to her keelson, and Captain Crutchely

remarked to his chief mate, the day they got to sea, that "young Mark

Woolston was likely to turn up a trump."

As for Mark himself, he did not lose sight of the land, for the first

time in his life, altogether without regrets. He had a good deal of

feeling in connection with his parents, and his brothers and sisters;

but, as it is our aim to conceal nothing which ought to be revealed, we

must add there was still another who filled his thoughts more than all

the rest united. This person was Bridget Yardley, the only child of his

father's most formidable professional competitor.

The two physicians were obliged to keep up a sickly intercourse, not

intending a pun. They were too often called in to consult together, to

maintain an open war. While the heads of their respective families

occasionally met, therefore, at the bed-side of their patients, the

families themselves had no direct communications. It is true, that Mrs.

Woolston and Mrs. Yardley were occasionally to be seen seated at the

same tea-table, taking their hyson in company, for the recent trade with

China had expelled the bohea from most of the better parlours of the

country; nevertheless, these good ladies could not get to be cordial

with each other. They themselves had a difference on religious points,

that was almost as bitter as the differences of opinions between their

husbands on the subject of alternatives. In that distant day,

homoeopathy, and allopathy, and hydropathy, and all the opathies, were

nearly unknown; but men could wrangle and abuse each other on medical

points, just as well and as bitterly then, as they do now. Religion,

too, quite as often failed to bear its proper fruits, in 1793, as it

proves barren in these, our own times. On this subject of religion, we

have one word to say, and that is, simply, that it never was a meet

matter for self-gratulation and boasting. Here we have the

Americo-Anglican church, just as it has finished a blast of trumpets,

through the medium of numberless periodicals and a thousand letters from

its confiding if not confident clergy, in honour of its quiet, and

harmony, and superior polity, suspended on the very brink of the

precipice of separation, if not of schism, and all because it has

pleased certain ultra-sublimated divines in the other hemisphere, to

write a parcel of tracts that nobody understands, themselves included.

How many even of the ministers of the altar fall, at the very moment

they are beginning to fancy themselves saints, and are ready to thank

God they are "not like the publicans!"

Both. Mrs. Woolston and Mrs. Yardley were what is called 'pious;' that

is, each said her prayers, each went to her particular church, and very

_particular_ churches they were; each fancied she had a sufficiency of

saving faith, but neither was charitable enough to think, in a very

friendly temper, of the other. This difference of religious opinion,

added to the rival reputations of their husbands, made these ladies

anything but good neighbours, and, as has been intimated, years had

passed since either had entered the door of the other.

Very different was the feeling of the children. Anne Woolston, the

oldest sister of Mark, and Bridget Yardley, were nearly of an age, and

they were not only school-mates, but fast friends. To give their mothers

their due, they did not lessen this intimacy by hints, or intimations of

any sort, but let the girls obey their own tastes, as if satisfied it

was quite sufficient for "professors of religion" to hate in their own

persons, without entailing the feeling on posterity. Anne and Bridget

consequently became warm friends, the two sweet, pretty young things

both believing, in the simplicity of their hearts, that the very

circumstance which in truth caused the alienation, not to say the

hostility of the elder members of their respective families, viz.

professional identity, was an additional reason why _they_ should love

each other so much the more. The girls were about two and three years

the juniors of Mark, but well grown for their time of life, and frank

and affectionate as innocence and warm hearts could make them. Each was

more than pretty, though it was in styles so very different, as

scarcely to produce any of that other sort of rivalry, which is so apt

to occur even in the gentler sex. Anne had bloom, and features, and fine

teeth, and, a charm that is so very common in America, a good mouth; but

Bridget had all these added to expression. Nothing could be more soft,

gentle and feminine, than Bridget Yardley's countenance, in its ordinary

state of rest; or more spirited, laughing, buoyant or pitying than it

became, as the different passions or feelings were excited in her young

bosom. As Mark was often sent to see his sister home, in her frequent

visits to the madam's house, where the two girls held most of their

intercourse, he was naturally enough admitted into their association.

The connection commenced by Mark's agreeing to be Bridget's brother, as

well as Anne's. This was generous, at least; for Bridget was an only

child, and it was no more than right to repair the wrongs of fortune in

this particular. The charming young thing declared that she would

"rather have Mark Woolston for her brother than any other boy in

Bristol; and that it was delightful to have the same person for a

brother as Anne!" Notwithstanding this flight in the romantic, Bridget

Yardley was as natural as it was possible for a female in a reasonably

civilized condition of society to be. There was a vast deal of

excellent, feminine self-devotion in her temperament, but not a particle

of the exaggerated, in either sentiment or fueling. True as steel in all

her impulses and opinions, in adopting Mark for a brother she merely

yielded to a strong natural sympathy, without understanding its tendency

or its origin. She would talk by the hour, with Anne, touching _their_

brother, and what they must make him do, and where he must go with them,

and in what they could oblige him most. The real sister was less active

than her friend, in mind and body, and she listened to all these schemes

and notions with a quiet submission that was not entirely free from

wonder.

The result of all this intercourse was to awaken a feeling between Mark

and Bridget, that was far more profound than might have been thought in

breasts so young, and which coloured their future lives. Mark first

became conscious of the strength of this feeling when he lost sight of

the Capes, and fancied the dear little. Bucks county girl he had left

behind him, talking with his sister of his own absence and risks. But

Mark had too much of the true spirit of a sailor in him, to pine, or

neglect his duty; and, long ere the ship had doubled the Cape of Good

Hope, he had become an active and handy lad aloft. When the ship reached

the China seas, he actually took his trick at the helm.

As was usual in that day, the voyage of the Rancocus lasted about a

twelvemonth. If John Chinaman were only one-half as active as Jonathan

Restless, it might be disposed of in about one-fourth less time; but

teas are not transported along the canals of the Celestial Empire with

anything like the rapidity with which wheat was sent to market over the

rough roads of the Great Republic, in the age of which we are writing.

When Mark Woolston re-appeared in Bristol, after the arrival of the

Rancocus below had been known there about twenty-four hours, he was the

envy of all the lads in the place, and the admiration of most of the

girls. There he was, a tall, straight, active, well-made, well-grown and

decidedly handsome lad of seventeen, who had doubled the Cape of Good

Hope, seen foreign parts, and had a real India handkerchief hanging out

of each pocket of a blue round-about of superfine cloth, besides one

around his half-open well-formed throat, that was carelessly tied in a

true sailor knot! The questions he had to answer, and _did_ answer,

about whales, Chinese feet, and "mountain waves!" Although Bristol lies

on a navigable river, up and down which frigates had actually been seen

to pass in the revolution, it was but little that its people knew of the

ocean. Most of the worthy inhabitants of the place actually fancied that

the waves of the sea were as high as mountains, though their notions of

the last were not very precise, there being no elevations in that part

of the country fit even for a windmill.

But Mark cared little for these interrogatories. He was happy; happy

enough, at being the object of so much attention; happier still in the

bosom of a family of which he had always been the favourite and was now

the pride; and happiest of all when he half ravished a kiss from the

blushing cheek of Bridget Yardley. Twelve months had done a great deal

for each of the young couple. If they had not quite made a man of Mark,

they had made him manly, and his _soi-disant_ sister wondered that any

one could be so much improved by a sea-faring life. As for Bridget,

herself, she was just bursting into young womanhood, resembling the bud

as its leaves of green are opening to permit those of the deepest

rose-coloured tint to be seen, before they expand into the full-blown

flower. Mark was more than delighted, he was fascinated; and young as

they were, the month he passed at home sufficed to enable him to tell

his passion, and to obtain a half-ready, half-timid acceptance of the

offer of his hand. All this time, the parents of these very youthful

lovers were as profoundly ignorant of what was going on, as their

children were unobservant of the height to which professional

competition had carried hostilities between their respective parents.

Doctors Woolston and Yardley no longer met even in consultations; or, if

they did meet in the house of some patient whose patronage was of too

much value to be slighted, it was only to dispute, and sometimes

absolutely to quarrel.

At the end of one short month, however, Mark was once more summoned to

his post on board the Rancocus, temporarily putting an end to his

delightful interviews with Bridget. The lovers had made Anne their

confidant, and she, well-meaning girl, seeing no sufficient reason why

the son of one respectable physician should not be a suitable match for

the daughter of another respectable physician, encouraged them in their

vows of constancy, and pledges to become man and wife at a future, but

an early day. To some persons all this may seem exceedingly improper, as

well as extremely precocious; but the truth compels us to say, that its

impropriety was by no means as obvious as its precocity. The latter it

certainly was, though Mark had shot up early, and was a man at a time of

life when lads, in less genial climates, scarcely get tails to their

coats; but its impropriety must evidently be measured by the habits of

the state of society in which the parties were brought up, and by the

duties that had been inculcated. In America, then, as now, but little

heed was taken by parents, more especially in what may be called the

middle classes, concerning the connections thus formed by their

children. So Long as the parties were moral, bore good characters, had

nothing particular against them, and were of something near the same

social station, little else was asked for; or, if more were actually

required, it was usually when it was too late, and after the young

people had got themselves too deeply in love to allow ordinary

prudential reasons to have their due force.

Mark went to sea this time, dragging after him a "lengthening chain,"

but, nevertheless, filled with hope. His years forbade much despondency,

and, while he remained as constant as if he had been a next-door

neighbour, he was buoyant, and the life of the whole crew, after the

first week out. This voyage was not direct to Canton, like the first;

but the ship took a cargo of sugar to Amsterdam, and thence went to

London, where she got a freight for Cadiz. The war of the French

Revolution was now blazing in all the heat of its first fires, and

American bottoms were obtaining a large portion of the carrying trade of

the world. Captain Crutchely had orders to keep the ship in Europe,

making the most of her, until a certain sum in Spanish dollars could be

collected, when he was to fill up with provisions and water, and again

make the best of his way to Canton. In obeying these instructions, he

went from port to port; and, as a sort of consequence of having Quaker

owners, turning his peaceful character to great profit, thus giving Mark

many opportunities of seeing as much of what is called the world, as can

be found in sea-ports. Great, indeed, is the difference between places

that are merely the marts of commerce, and those that are really

political capitals of large countries! No one can be aware of, or can

fully appreciate the many points of difference that, in reality, exist

between such places, who has not seen each, and that sufficiently near

to be familiar with both. Some places, of which London is the most

remarkable example, enjoy both characters; and, when this occurs, the

town gels to possess a tone that is even less provincial and narrow, if

possible, than that which is to be found in a place that merely rejoices

in a court. This it is which renders Naples, insignificant as its

commerce comparatively is, superior to Vienna, and Genoa to Florence.

While it would be folly to pretend that Mark, in his situation, obtained

the most accurate notions imaginable of all he saw and heard, in his

visits to Amsterdam, London, Cadiz, Bordeaux, Marseilles, Leghorn,

Gibraltar, and two or three other ports that might be mentioned and to

which he went, he did glean a good deal, some of which was useful to him

in after-life. He lost no small portion of the provincial rust of home,

moreover, and began to understand the vast difference between "seeing

the world" and "going to meeting and going to mill."[3] In addition to

these advantages, Mark was transferred from the forecastle to the cabin

before the ship sailed for Canton. The practice of near two years had

made him a very tolerable sailor, and his previous education made the

study of navigation easy to him. In that day there was a scarcity of

officers in America, and a young man of Mark's advantages, physical and

moral, was certain to get on rapidly, provided he only behaved well. It

is not at all surprising, therefore, that our young sailor got to be the

second-mate of the Raucocus before he had quite completed his eighteenth

year.

[Footnote 3: This last phrase has often caused the writer to smile,

when he has heard a countryman say, with a satisfied air, as is so

often the case in this good republic, that "such or such a thing

here is good enough for _me_;" meaning that he questions if there

be anything of the sort that is better anywhere else. It was

uttered many years since, by a shrewd Quaker, in West-Chester, who

was contending with a neighbour on a subject that the other

endeavoured to defend by alluding to the extent of his own

observation. "Oh, yes, Josy," answered the Friend, "thee's been to

meeting and thee's been to mill, and thee knows all about it!"

America is full of travellers who have been to meeting and who have

been to mill. This it is which makes it unnecessarily provincial.]

The voyage from London to Canton, and thence home to Philadelphia,

consumed about ten months. The Rancocus was a fast vessel, but she could

not impart her speed to the Chinamen. It followed that Mark wanted but a

few weeks of being nineteen years old the day his ship passed Cape May,

and, what was more, he had the promise of Captain Crutchely, of sailing

with him, as his first officer, in the next voyage. With that promise in

his mind, Mark hastened up the river to Bristol, as soon as he was clear

of the vessel.

Bridget Yardley had now fairly budded, to pursue the figure with which

we commenced the description of this blooming flower, and, if not

actually expanded into perfect womanhood, was so near it as to show

beyond all question that the promises of her childhood were to be very

amply redeemed. Mark found her in black, however; or, in mourning for

her mother. An only child, this serious loss had thrown her more than

ever in the way of Anne, the parents on both sides winking at an

association that could do no harm, and which might prove so useful. It

was very different, however, with the young sailor. He had not been a

fortnight at home, and getting to be intimate with the roof-tree of

Doctor Yardley, before that person saw fit to pick a quarrel with him,

and to forbid him his house. As the dispute was wholly gratuitous on the

part of the Doctor, Mark behaving with perfect propriety on the

occasion, it may be well to explain its real cause. The fact was, that

Bridget was an heiress; if not on a very large scale, still an heiress,

and, what was more, unalterably so in right of her mother; and the

thought that a son of his competitor, Doctor Woolston, should profit by

this fact, was utterly insupportable to him. Accordingly he quarrelled

with Mark, the instant he was apprised of the character of his

attentions, and forbade him the house, To do Mark justice, he knew

nothing of Bridget's worldly possessions. That she was beautiful, and

warm-hearted, and frank, and sweet-tempered, and feminine, and

affectionate, he both saw and felt; but beyond this he neither saw

anything, nor cared about seeing anything. The young sailor was as

profoundly ignorant that Bridget was the actual owner of certain three

per cents, that brought twelve hundred a year, as if she did not own a

'copper,' as it was the fashion of that period to say,'_cents_' being

then very little, if at all, used. Nor did he know anything of the farm

she had inherited from her mother, or of the store in town, that brought

three hundred and fifty more in rent. It is true that some allusions

were made to these matters by Doctor Yardley, in his angry comments on

the Woolston family generally, Anne always excepted, and in whose

flavour he made a salvo, even in the height of his denunciations. Still.

Mark thought so much of that which was really estimable and admirable

in Bridget, and so little of anything mercenary, that even after these

revelations he could not comprehend the causes of Doctor Yardley's harsh

treatment of him. During the whole scene, which was purposely enacted in

the presence of his wondering and trembling daughter, Mark behaved

perfectly well. He had a respect for the Doctor's years, as well as for

Bridget's father, and would not retort. After waiting as long as he

conceived waiting could be of any use, he seized his hat, and left the

room with an air of resentment that Bridget construed into the

expression of an intention never to speak to any of them again. But Mark

Woolston was governed by no such design, as the sequel will show.