"She's not fourteen."
"I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,
And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four,--
She is not fourteen."--
_Romeo and Juliet._
Divine wisdom has commanded us to "Honour your father and your mother."
Observant travellers affirm that less respect is paid to parents in
America, than is usual in Christian nations--we say _Christian_ nations;
for many of the heathen, the Chinese for instance, worship them, though
probably with an allegorical connection that we do not understand. That
the parental tie is more loose in this country than in most others we
believe, and there is a reason to be found for it in the migratory
habits of the people, and in the general looseness in all the ties that
connect men with the past. The laws on the subject of matrimony,
moreover, are so very lax, intercourse is so simple and has so many
facilities, and the young of the two sexes are left so much to
themselves, that it is no wonder children form that connection so often
without reflection and contrary to the wishes of their friends. Still,
the law of God is there, and we are among those who believe that a
neglect of its mandates is very apt to bring its punishment, even in
this world, and we are inclined to think that much of that which Mark
and Bridget subsequently suffered, was in consequence of acting directly
in the face of the wishes and injunctions of their parents.
The scene which had taken place under the roof of Doctor Yardley was
soon known under that of Doctor Woolston. Although the last individual
was fully aware that Bridget was what was then esteemed rich, at
Bristol, he cared not for her money. The girl he liked well enough, and
in secret even admired her as much as he could find it in his heart to
admire anything of Doctor Yardley's; but the indignity was one he was by
no means inclined to overlook, and, in his turn, he forbade all
intercourse between the girls. These two bitter pills, thus administered
by the village doctors to their respective patients, made the young
people very miserable. Bridget loved Anne almost as much as she loved
Mark, and she began to pine and alter in her appearance, in a way to
alarm her father. In order to divert her mind, he sent her to town, to
the care of an aunt, altogether forgetting that Mark's ship lay at the
wharves of Philadelphia, and that he could not have sent his daughter to
any place, out of Bristol, where the young man would be so likely to
find her. This danger the good doctor entirely overlooked, or, if he
thought of it at all, he must have fancied that his sister would keep a
sharp eye on the movements of the young sailor, and forbid him _her_
house, too.
Everything turned out as the Doctor ought to have expected. When Mark
joined his ship, of which he was now the first officer, he sought
Bridget and found her. The aunt, however, administered to him the second
potion of the same dose that her brother had originally dealt out, and
gave him to understand that his presence in Front street was not
desired. This irritated both the young people, Bridget being far less
disposed to submit to her aunt than to her father, and they met
clandestinely in the streets. A week or two of this intercourse brought
matters to a crisis, and Bridget consented to a private marriage. The
idea of again going to sea, leaving his betrothed entirely in the hands
of those who disliked him for his father's sake, was intolerable to
Mark, and it made him so miserable, that the tenderness of the deeply
enamoured girl could not withstand his appeals. They agreed to get
married, but to keep their union a secret until Mark should become of
age, when it was hoped he would be in a condition, in every point of
view, openly to claim his wife.
A thing of this sort, once decided on, is easily enough put in execution
in America. Among Mark's college friends was one who was a few years
older than himself, and who had entered the ministry. This young man was
then acting as a sort of missionary among the seamen of the port, and he
had fallen in the way of the young lover the very first day of his
return to his ship. It was an easy matter to work on the good nature of
this easy-minded man, who, on hearing of the ill treatment offered to
his friend, was willing enough to perform the ceremony. Everything being
previously arranged, Mark and Bridget were married, early one morning,
during the time the latter was out, in company with a female friend of
about her own age, to take what her aunt believed was her customary walk
before breakfast. Philadelphia, in 1796, was not the town it is to-day.
It then lay, almost entirely, on the shores of the Delaware, those of
the Schuylkill being completely in the country. What was more, the best
quarters were still near the river, and the distance between the
Rancocus--meaning Mark's ship, and not the creek of that name--and the
house of Bridget's aunt, was but trifling. The ceremony took place in
the cabin of the vessel just named, which, now that the captain was
ashore in his own house, Mark had all to himself, no second-mate having
been shipped, and which was by no means an inappropriate place for the
nuptials of a pair like that which our young people turned out to be, in
the end.
The Rancocus, though not a large, was a very fine, Philadelphia-built
ship, then the best vessels of the country. She was of a little less
than four hundred tons in measurement, but she had a very neat and
commodious poop-cabin. Captain Crutchely had a thrifty wife, who had
contributed her full share to render her husband comfortable, and
Bridget thought that the room in which she was united to Mark was one of
the prettiest she had ever seen. The reader, however, is not to imagine
it a cabin ornamented with marble columns, rose-wood, and the maples, as
so often happens now-a-days. No such extravagance was dreamed of fifty
years ago; but, as far as judicious arrangements, neat joiner's work,
and appropriate furniture went, the cabin of the Rancocus was a very
respectable little room. The circumstance that it was on deck,
contributed largely to its appearance and comfort, sunken cabins, or
those below decks, being necessarily much circumscribed in small ships,
in consequence of being placed in a part of the vessel that is
contracted in its dimensions under water, in order to help their sailing
qualities.
The witnesses of the union of our hero and heroine were the female
friend of Bridget named, the officiating clergyman, and one seaman who
had sailed with the bridegroom in all his voyages, and who was now
retained on board the vessel as a ship-keeper, intending to go out in
her again as soon as she should be ready for sea. The name of this
mariner was Betts, or Bob Betts as he was commonly called; and as he
acts a conspicuous part in the events to be recorded, it may be well to
say a word or two more of his history and character; Bob Betts was a
Jerseyman;--or, as he would have pronounced the word himself, a
Jarseyman--in the American meaning of the word, however, and not in the
English. Bob was born in Cape May county, and in the _State_ of New
Jersey, United States of America. At the period of which we are now
writing, he must have been about five-and-thirty, and seemingly a
confirmed bachelor. The windows of Bob's father's house looked out upon
the Atlantic Ocean, and he snuffed sea air from the hour of his birth.
At eight years of age he was placed, as cabin-boy, on board a coaster;
and from that time down to the moment when he witnessed the marriage
ceremony between Mark and Bridget, he had been a sailor. Throughout the
whole war of the revolution Bob had served in the navy, in some vessel
or other, and with great good luck, never having been made a prisoner of
war. In connection with this circumstance was one of the besetting
weaknesses of his character. As often happens to men of no very great
breadth of views, Bob had a notion that that which he had so
successfully escaped, viz. captivity, other men too might have escaped
had they been equally as clever. Thus it was that he had an
ill-concealed, or only half-concealed contempt for such seamen as
suffered themselves, at any time or under any circumstances, to fall
into the enemies' hands. On all other subjects Bob was not only
rational, but a very discreet and shrewd fellow, though on that he was
often harsh, and sometimes absurd. But the best men have their weakness,
and this was Bob Betts's.
Captain Crutchely had picked up Bob, just after the peace of 1783, and
had kept him with him ever since. It was to Bob that he had committed
the instruction of Mark, when the latter first joined the ship, and from
Bob the youth had got his earliest notions of seamanship. In his calling
Bob was full of resources, and, as often happens with the American
sailor, he was even handy at a great many other things, and particularly
so with whatever related to practical mechanics. Then he was of vast
physical force, standing six feet two, in his stockings, and was
round-built and solid. Bob had one sterling quality--he was as fast a
friend as ever existed. In this respect he was a model of fidelity,
never seeing a fault in those he loved, or a good quality in those he
disliked. His attachment to Mark was signal, and he looked on the
promotion of the young man much as he would have regarded preferment
that befel himself. In the last voyage he had told the people in the
forecastle "That young Mark Woolston would make a thorough sea-dog in
time, and now he had got to be _Mr._ Woolston, he expected great things
of him. The happiest day of my life will be that on which I can ship in
a craft commanded by _Captain_ Mark Woolston. I teached him, myself, how
to break the first sea-biscuit he ever tasted, and next day he could do
it as well as any on us! You see how handy and quick he is about a
vessel's decks, shipmates; a ra'al rouser at a weather earin'--well,
when he first come aboard here, and that was little more than two years
ago, the smell of tar would almost make him swound away." The latter
assertion was one of Bob's embellishments, for Mark was never either
lackadaisical or very delicate. The young man cordially returned Bob's
regard, and the two were sincere friends without any phrases on the
subject.
Bob Betts was the only male witness of the marriage between Mark
Woolston and Bridget Yardley, with the exception of the officiating
clergyman; as Mary Bromley was the only female. Duplicate certificates,
however, were given to the young couple, Mark placing his in his
writing-desk, and Bridget hers in the bosom of her dress. Five minutes
after the ceremony was ended, the whole party separated, the girls
returning to their respective residences, and the clergyman going his
way, leaving the mate and the ship-keeper together on the vessel's deck.
The latter did not speak, so long as he saw the bridegroom's eyes
fastened on the light form of the bride, as the latter went swiftly up
the retired wharf where the ship was lying, on her way to Front street,
accompanied by her young friend. But, no sooner had Bridget turned a
corner, and Bob saw that the attraction was no longer in view, than he
thought it becoming to put in a word.
"A trim-built and light-sailing craft, Mr. Woolston," he said, turning
over the quid in his mouth; "one of these days she'll make a noble
vessel to command."
"She is my captain, and ever will be, Bob," returned Mark. "But you'll
be silent concerning what has passed."
"Ay, ay, sir. It is not my business to keep a log for all the women in
the country to chatter about, like so many monkeys that have found a bag
of nuts. But what was the meaning of the parson's saying, 'with all my
worldly goods I thee endow'--does that make you any richer, or any
poorer, sir?"
"Neither," answered Mark, smiling. "It leaves me just where I was, Bob,
and where I am likely to be for some time to come, I fear."
"And has the young woman nothing herself, sir? Sometimes a body picks up
a comfortable chest-full with these sort of things, as they tell me,
sir."
"I believe Bridget is as poor as I am myself, Bob, and that is saying
all that can be said on such a point. However, I've secured her now,
and two years hence I'll claim her, if she has not a second gown to
wear. I dare say the old man will be for turning her adrift with as
little as possible."
All this was a proof of Mark's entire disinterestedness. He did not know
that his young bride had quite thirty thousand dollars in reversion, or
in one sense in possession, although she could derive no benefit from it
until she was of age, or married, and past her eighteenth year. This
fact her husband did not learn for several days after his marriage, when
his bride communicated it to him, with a proposal that he should quit
the sea and remain with her for life. Mark was very much in love, but
this scheme scarce afforded him the satisfaction that one might have
expected. He was attached to his profession, and scarce relished the
thought of being dependent altogether on his wife for the means of
subsistence. The struggle between love and pride was great, but Mark, at
length, yielded to Bridget's blandishments, tenderness and tears. They
could only meet at the house of Mary Bromley, the bride's-maid, but then
the interviews between them were as frequent as Mark's duty would allow.
The result was that Bridget prevailed, and the young husband went up to
Bristol and candidly related all that had passed, thus revealing, in
less than a week, a secret which it was intended should remain hid for
at least two years.
Doctor Woolston was sorely displeased, at first; but the event had that
about it which would be apt to console a parent. Bridget was not only
young, and affectionate, and beautiful, and truthful; but, according to
the standard of Bristol, she was rich. There was consolation in all
this, notwithstanding professional rivalry and personal dislikes. We are
not quite certain that he did not feel a slight gratification at the
thought of his son's enjoying the fortune which his rival had received
from his wife, and which, but for the will of the grandfather, would
have been enjoyed by that rival himself. Nevertheless, the good Doctor
did his duty in the premises. He communicated the news of the marriage
to Doctor Yardley in a very civilly-worded note, which left a fair
opening for a settlement of all difficulties, had the latter been so
pleased. The latter did not so please, however, but exploded in a
terrible burst of passion, which almost carried him off in a fit of
apoplexy.
Escaping all physical dangers, in the end, Doctor Yardley went
immediately to Philadelphia, and brought his daughter home. Both Mark
and Bridget now felt that they had offended against one of the simplest
commands of God. They had _not_ honoured their father and their mother,
and even thus early came the consciousness of their offence. It was in
Mark's power, however, to go and claim his wife, and remove her to his
father's house, notwithstanding his minority and that of Bridget. In
this last respect, the law offered no obstacle; but the discretion of
Doctor Woolston did. This gentleman, through the agency of a common
friend, had an interview with his competitor, and they talked the matter
over in a tolerably composed and reasonable temper. Both the parents, as
medical men, agreed that it would be better that the young couple should
not live together for two or three years, the very tender age of
Bridget, in particular, rendering this humane, as well as discreet.
Nothing was said of the fortune, which mollified Doctor Yardley a good
deal, since he would be left to manage it, or at least to receive the
income so long as no legal claimant interfered with his control. Elderly
gentlemen submit very easily to this sort of influence. Then, Doctor
Woolston was exceedingly polite, and spoke to his rival of a difficult
case in his own practice, as if indirectly to ask an opinion of his
competitor. All this contributed to render the interview more amicable
than had been hoped, and the parties separated, if not friends, at least
with an understanding on the subject of future proceedings.
It was decided that Mark should continue in the Rancocus for another
voyage. It was known the ship was to proceed to some of the islands of
the Pacific, in quest of a cargo of sandal-wood and bêche-le-mar, for
the Chinese market, and that her next absence from home would be longer,
even, than her last. By the time the vessel returned, Mark would be of
age, and fit to command a ship himself, should it be thought expedient
for him to continue in his profession. During the period the vessel
still remained in port, Mark was to pay occasional visits to his wife,
though not to live with her; but the young couple might correspond by
letter, as often as they pleased. Such was an outline of the treaty made
between the high contracting parties.
In making these arrangements, Doctor Yardley was partly influenced by a
real paternal interest in the welfare of his daughter, who he thought
altogether too young to enter on the duties and cares of the married
life. Below the surface, however, existed an indefinite hope that
something might yet occur to prevent the consummation of this most
unfortunate union, as he deemed the marriage to be, and thus enable him
to get rid of the hateful connection altogether. How this was to happen,
the worthy doctor certainly did not know. This was because he lived in
1796, instead of in 1847. Now-a-days, nothing is easier than to separate
a man from his wife, unless it be to obtain civic honours for a
murderer. Doctor Yardley, at the present moment, would have coolly gone
to work to get up a lamentable tale about his daughter's fortune, and
youth, and her not knowing her own mind when she married, and a ship's
cabin, and a few other embellishments of that sort, when the worthy and
benevolent statesmen who compose the different legislatures of this vast
Union would have been ready to break their necks, in order to pass a
bill of divorce. Had there been a child or two, it would have made no
great difference, for means would have been devised to give the custody
of them to the mother. This would have been done, quite likely, for the
first five years of the lives of the dear little things, because the
children would naturally require a mother's care; and afterwards,
because the precocious darlings, at the mature age of seven, would
declare, in open court, that they really loved 'ma' more than they did
'pa'! To write a little plainly on a very important subject, we are of
opinion that a new name ought to be adopted for the form of government
which is so fast creeping into this country. New things require new
names; and, were Solomon now living, we will venture to predict two
things of him, viz. he would change his mind on the subject of
novelties, and he would never go to congress. As for the new name, we
would respectfully suggest that of Gossipian, in lieu of that of
Republican, gossip fast becoming the lever that moves everything in the
land. The newspapers, true to their instincts of consulting the ruling
tastes, deal much more in gossip than they deal in reason; the courts
admit it as evidence; the juries receive it as fact, as well as the law;
and as for the legislatures, let a piteous tale but circulate freely in
the lobbies, and bearded men, like Juliet when a child, as described by
her nurse, will "stint and cry, ay!" In a word, principles and proof are
in much less esteem than assertions and numbers, backed with enough of
which, anything may be made to appear as legal, or even constitutional.
But neither of our doctors entered into all these matters. It was enough
for them that the affair of the marriage was disposed of, for a time at
least, and things were permitted to drop into their ancient channels.
The intercourse between Bridget and Anne was renewed, just as if nothing
had happened, and Mark's letters to his virgin bride were numerous, and
filled with passion. The ship was 'taking in,' and he could only leave
her late on Saturday afternoons, but each Sunday he contrived to pass in
Bristol. On such occasions he saw his charming wife at church, and he
walked with her in the fields, along with Anne and a favoured admirer of
hers, of an afternoon, returning to town in season to be at his post on
the opening of the hatches, of a Monday morning.
In less than a month after the premature marriage between Mark Woolston
and Bridget Yardley, the Rancocus cleared for the Pacific and Canton.
The bridegroom found one day to pass in Bristol, and Doctor Yardley so
far pitied his daughter's distress, as to consent that the two girls
should go to town, under his own care, and see the young man off. This
concession was received with the deepest gratitude, and made the young
people momentarily very happy. The doctor even consented to visit the
ship, which Captain Crutchely, laughing, called St. Mark's chapel, in
consequence of the religious rite which had been performed on board her.
Mrs. Crutchely was there, on the occasion of this visit, attending to
her husband's comforts, by fitting curtains to his berth, and looking
after matters in general in the cabin; and divers jokes were ventured
by the honest ship-master, in making his comments on, and in giving his
opinion of the handy-work of his own consort. He made Bridget blush more
than once, though her enduring tenderness in behalf of Mark induced her
to sit out all the captain's wit, rather than shorten a visit so
precious, one moment.
The final parting was an hour of bitter sorrow. Even Mark's young heart,
manly, and much disposed to do his duty as he was, was near breaking:
while Bridget almost dissolved in tears. They could not but think how
long that separation was to last, though they did not anticipate by what
great and mysterious events it was to be prolonged. It was enough for
them, that they were to live asunder two whole years; and two whole
years appear like an age to those who have not yet lived their four
lustrums. But the final moment must and did arrive, and the young people
were compelled to tear themselves asunder, though the parting was like
that of soul and body. The bride hung on the bridegroom's neck, as the
tendril clings to its support, until removed by gentle violence.
Bridget did not give up her hold upon Mark so long as even his vessel
remained in sight. She went with Anne, in a carriage, as low as the
Point, and saw the Rancocus pass swiftly down the river, on this its
fourth voyage, bearing those in her who as little dreamed of their fate,
as the unconscious woods and metals, themselves, of which the ship was
constructed. Mark felt his heart beat, when he saw a woman's
handkerchief waving to him from the shore, and a fresh burst of
tenderness nearly unmanned him, when, by the aid of the glass, he
recognised the sweet countenance and fairy figure of Bridget. Ten
minutes later, distance and interposing objects separated that young
couple for many a weary day!
A few days at sea restored the equanimity of Mark's feelings, while the
poignant grief of Bridget did not fail to receive the solace which time
brings to sorrows of every degree and nature. They thought of each other
often, and tenderly; but, the pain of parting over, they both began to
look forward to the joys of meeting, with the buoyancy and illusions
that hope is so apt to impart to the bosoms of the young and
inexperienced. Little did either dream of what was to occur before
their eyes were to be again gladdened with the sight of their respective
forms.
Mark found in his state-room--for, in the Rancocus, the cabin was fitted
with four neat little state-rooms, one for the captain, and two for the
mates, with a fourth for the supercargo--many proofs of Bridget's love
and care. Mrs. Crutchely, herself, though so much longer experienced,
had scarcely looked after the captain's comfort with more judgment, and
certainly not with greater solicitude, than this youthful bride had
expended on her bridegroom's room. In that day, artists were not very
numerous in America, nor is it very probable that Doctor Yardley would
have permitted his daughter to take so decided a step as to sit for her
miniature for Mark's possession; but she had managed to get her profile
cut, and to have it framed, and the mate discovered it placed carefully
among his effects, when only a week out. From this profile Mark derived
the greatest consolation. It was a good one, and Bridget happened to
have a face that would tell in that sort of thing, so that the husband
had no difficulty in recognising the wife, in this little image. There
it was, with the very pretty slight turn of the head to one side, that
in Bridget was both natural and graceful. Mark spent hours in gazing at
and in admiring this inanimate shadow of his bride, which never failed
to recall to him all her grace, and nature, and tenderness and love,
though it could not convey any direct expression of her animation and
spirit.
It is said ships have no Sundays. The meaning of this is merely that a
vessel must perform her work, week-days and sabbaths, day and night, in
fair or foul. The Rancocus formed no exception to the rule, and on she
travelled, having a road before her that it would require months ere the
end of it could be found. It is not our intention to dwell on the
details of this long voyage, for two reasons. One is the fact that most
voyages to the southern extremity of the American continent are marked
by the same incidents; and the other is, that we have much other matter
to relate, that must be given with great attention to minutiae, and
which we think will have much more interest with the reader.
Captain Crutchely touched at Rio for supplies, as is customary; and,
after passing a week in that most delightful of all havens, went his
way. The passage round the Horn was remarkable neither way. It could not
be called a very boisterous one, neither was the weather unusually mild.
Ships do double this cape, occasionally, under their top-gallant-sails,
and we have heard of one vessel that did not furl her royals for several
days, while off that formidable head-land; but these cases form the
exception and not the rule. The Rancocus was under close-reefed topsails
for the better part of a fortnight, in beating to the southward and
westward, it blowing very fresh the whole time; and she might have been
twice as long struggling with the south-westerly gales, but for the
fortunate circumstance of the winds veering so far to the southward as
to permit her to lay her course, when she made a great run to the
westward. When the wind again hauled, as haul it was almost certain to
do, Captain Crutchely believed himself in a meridian that would admit of
his running with an easy bowline, on the larboard tack. No one but a
sailor can understand the effect of checking the weather-braces, if it
be only for a few feet, and of getting a weather-leach to stand without
'swigging out' on its bowline. It has much the same influence on the
progress of a ship, that an eloquent speech has on the practice of an
advocate, a great cure or a skilful operation on that of a medical man,
or a lucky hit in trade on the fortunes of the young merchant. Away all
go alike, if not absolutely with flowing sheets, easily, swiftly, and
with less of labour than was their wont. Thus did it now prove with the
good ship Rancocus. Instead of struggling hard with the seas to get
three knots ahead, she now made her six, and kept all, or nearly all,
she made. When she saw the land again, it was found there was very
little to spare, but that little sufficed. The vessel passed to windward
of everything, and went on her way rejoicing, like any other that had
been successful in a hard and severe struggle. A fortnight later, the
ship touched at Valparaiso.
The voyage of the Rancocus may now be said to have commenced in earnest.
Hitherto she had done little but make her way across the endless waste
of waters; but now she had the real business before her to execute. A
considerable amount of freight, which had been brought on account of
the Spanish government, was discharged, and the vessel filled up her
water. Certain supplies of food that was deemed useful in cases of
scurvy, were obtained, and after a delay of less than a fortnight, the
ship once more put to sea.
In the year 1796 the Pacific Ocean was by no means as familiar to
navigators as it is to-day. Cooke had made his celebrated voyages less
than twenty years before, and the accounts of them were then before the
world; but even Cooke left a great deal to be ascertained, more
especially in the way of details. The first inventor, or discoverer of
anything, usually gains a great name, though it is those who come after
him that turn his labours to account. Did we know no more of America
to-day than was known to Columbus, our knowledge would be very limited,
and the benefits of his vast enterprise still in their infancy.
Compared with its extent, perhaps, and keeping in view its ordinary
weather, the Pacific can hardly be considered a dangerous sea; but he
who will cast his eyes over its chart, will at once ascertain how much
more numerous are its groups, islands, rocks, shoals and reefs, than
those of the Atlantic. Still, the mariners unhesitatingly steered out
into its vast waters, and none with less reluctance and fewer doubts
than those of America.
For nearly two months did Captain Crutchely, after quitting Valparaiso,
hold his way into the depths of that mighty sea, in search of the
islands he had been directed to find. Sandal-wood was his aim, a branch
of commerce, by the way, which ought never to be pursued by any
Christian man, or Christian nation, if what we hear of its uses in China
be true. There, it is said to be burned as incense before idols, and no
higher offence can be committed by any human being than to be principal,
or accessory, in any manner or way, to the substitution of any created
thing for the ever-living God. In after-life Mark Woolston often thought
of this, when reflection succeeded to action, and when he came to muse
on the causes which may have led to his being the subject of the
wonderful events that occurred in connection with his own fortunes. We
have now reached a part of our narrative, however, when it becomes
necessary to go into details, which we shall defer to the commencement
of a new chapter.