The Wing and Wing by J. Fenimore Cooper

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"So were the Luterani, bella Benedetta, to their chief schismatic and
leader, the German monk himself."

This piece of information caused great surprise, even the podesta
himself turning an inquiring glance at his superior, as much as to
acknowledge his own wonder that a Protestant should ever have been
anything but a Protestant--or rather, a Lutheran anything but a
Lutheran--the word Protestant being too significant to be in favor among
those who deny there were any just grounds for a protest at all. That
Luther had ever been a Romanist was perfectly wonderful, even in the
eyes of Vito Viti.

"Signore, you would hardly mislead these honest people, in a matter as
grave as this!" exclaimed the podesta.

"I do but tell you truth; and one of these days you shall hear the whole
story, neighbor Viti. 'Tis worth an hour of leisure to any man, and is
very consoling and useful to a Christian. But whom have you below,
Benedetta--I hear steps on the stairs, and wish not to be seen."

The widow stepped promptly forward to meet her new guests, and to show
them into a commoner room, below stairs, when her movement was
anticipated by the door's opening, and a man's standing on the
threshold. It was now too late to prevent the intrusion, and a little
surprise at the appearance of the new-comer held all mute and observant
for a minute.

The person who had followed his ears, and thus reached the sanctum
sanctorum of Benedetta, was no other than Ithuel Bolt, the American
seaman, already named in the earlier part of this chapter. He was backed
by a Genoese, who had come in the double capacity of interpreter and
boon companion. That the reader may the better understand the character
he has to deal with, however, it may be necessary to digress, by giving
a short account of the history, appearance, and peculiarities of the
former individual.

Ithuel Bolt was a native of what, in this great Union, is called the
Granite State, Notwithstanding he was not absolutely made of the stone
in question, there was an absence of the ordinary symptoms of natural
feeling about him, that had induced many of his French acquaintances in
particular to affirm that there was a good deal more of marble in his
moral temperament, at least, than usually fell to the lot of human
beings. He had the outline of a good frame, but it was miserably
deficient in the filling up. The bone predominated; the sinews came next
in consideration, nor was the man without a proper share of muscle; but
this last was so disposed of as to present nothing but angles, whichever
way he was viewed. Even his thumbs and fingers were nearer square than
round; and his very neck, which was bare, though a black silk kerchief
was tied loosely round the throat, had a sort of pentagon look about it,
that defied all symmetry or grace. His stature was just six feet and an
inch, when he straightened himself; as he did from time to time,
seemingly with a desire to relieve a very inveterate stoop in his
shoulders; though it was an inch or two less in the position he most
affected. His hair was dark, and his skin had got several coats of
confirmed brown on it, by exposure, though originally rather fair; while
the features were good, the forehead being broad and full, and the mouth
positively handsome. This singular countenance was illuminated by two
keen, restless, whitish eyes, that resembled, not spots on the sun, but
rather suns on a spot.

Ithuel had gone through all the ordinary vicissitudes of an American
life, beneath those pursuits which are commonly thought to be confined
to the class of gentlemen. He had been farmer's boy, printer's devil,
schoolmaster, stage-driver, and tin-pedlar, before he ever saw the sea.
In the way of what he called "chores," too, he had practised all the
known devices of rustic domestic economy; having assisted even in the
washing and house-cleaning, besides having passed the evenings of an
entire winter in making brooms.

Ithuel had reached his thirtieth year before he dreamed of going to sea.
An accident, then, put preferment in this form before his eyes, and he
engaged as the mate of a small coaster, for his very first voyage.
Fortunately, the master never found out his deficiencies, for Ithuel had
a self-possessed, confident way with him, that prevented discovery,
until they were outside of the port from which they sailed, when the
former was knocked overboard by the main boom, and drowned. Most men, so
circumstanced, would have returned, but Bolt never laid his hand to the
plough and looked back. Besides, one course was quite easy to him as
another. Whatever he undertook he usually completed, in some fashion or
other, though it were often much better had it never been attempted.
Fortunately it was summer, the wind was fair, and the crew wanted little
ordering; and as it was quite a matter of course to steer in the right
direction, until the schooner was carried safely into her proper port,
she arrived safely; her people swearing that the new mate was the
easiest and _cleverest_ officer they had ever sailed with. And well they
might, for Ithuel took care not to issue an order until he had heard it
suggested in terms by one of the hands; and then he never failed to
repeat it, word for word, as if it were a suggestion of his own. As for
the reputation of "cleverest" officer, which he so easily obtained, it
will be understood, of course, that the term was used in the provincial
signification that is so common in the part of the world from which
Ithuel came. He was "clever" in this sense, precisely in proportion as
he was ignorant. His success, on this occasion, gained him friends, and
he was immediately sent out again as the regular master of the craft, in
which he had so unexpectedly received his promotion. He now threw all
the duty on the mate; but so ready was he in acquiring, that by the end
of six months he was a much better sailor than most Europeans would have
made in three years. As the pitcher that goes too often to the well is
finally broken, so did Ithuel meet with shipwreck, at last, in
consequence of gross ignorance on the subject of navigation. This
induced him to try a long voyage, in a more subordinate situation, until
in the course of time he was impressed by the commander of an English
frigate, who had lost so many of his men by the yellow fever that he
seized upon all he could lay his hands on, to supply their places, even
Ithuel being acceptable in such a strait.

CHAPTER IV.

"The ship is here put in,
A Veronese; Michael Cassio,
Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello,
Is come on shore."

_Othello_.

The glance which Ithuel cast around him was brief, but comprehensive. He
saw that two of the party in the room were much superior to the other
four, and that the last were common Mediterranean mariners. The position
which Benedetta occupied in the household could not be mistaken, for she
proclaimed herself its mistress by her very air; whether it were in the
upper or in the lower room.

"Vino," said Ithuel, with a flourish of the hand, to help along his
Italian, this and one or two more being the only words of the language
he ventured to use directly, or without calling in the assistance of his
interpreter; "vino--vino, vino, Signora."

"Si, si, si, Signore," answered Benedetta, laughing, and this with her
meaning eyes so keenly riveted on the person of her new guest, as to
make it very questionable whether she were amused by anything but his
appearance; "your eccellenza shall be served; but whether at a paul or a
half-paul the flask, depends on your own pleasure. We keep wine at both
prices, and," glancing toward the table of Andrea Barrofaldi, "usually
serve the first to signori of rank and distinction."

"What does the woman say?" growled Ithuel to his interpreter, a Genoese,
who, from having served several years in the British navy, spoke English
with a very tolerable facility; "you know what we want, and just tell
her to hand it over, and I will fork out her St. Paul without more
words. What a desperate liking your folks have for saints,
Philip-o"--for so Ithuel pronounced Filippo, the name of his
companion--"what a desperate liking your folks have for saints,
Philip-o, that they must even call their money after them."

"It not so in America, Signor Bolto?" asked the Genoese, after he had
explained his wishes to Benedetta, in Italian; "It no ze fashion in your
country to honor ze saints?"

"Honor the saints!" repeated Ithuel, looking curiously round him, as he
took a seat at a third table, shoving aside the glasses at the same
time, and otherwise disposing of everything within reach of his hand, so
as to suit his own notions of order, and then leaning back on his chair
until the two ends of the uprights dug into the plaster behind him,
while the legs on which the fabric was poised cracked with his weight;
"honor the saints! we should be much more like to dishonor them! What
does any one want to honor a saint for? A saint is but a human--a man
like you and me, after all the fuss you make about 'em. Saints abound in
my country, if you'd believe people's account of themselves."

"Not quite so, Signor Bolto. You and me no great saint. Italian honor
saint because he holy and good."

By this time Ithuel had got his two feet on the round of his seat, his
knees spread so as to occupy as much space as an unusual length of leg
would permit, and his arms extended on the tops of two chairs, one on
each side of him, in a way to resemble what is termed a spread eagle.

Andrea Barrofaldi regarded all this with wonder. It is true, he expected
to meet with no great refinement in a wine-house like that of Benedetta;
but he was unaccustomed to see such nonchalance of manner in a man of
the stranger's class, or, indeed, of any class; the Italian mariners
present occupying their chairs in simple and respectful attitudes, as if
each man had the wish to be as little obtrusive as possible. Still he
let no sign of his surprise escape him, noting all that passed in a
grave but attentive silence. Perhaps he saw traces of national
peculiarities, if not of national history, in the circumstances.

"Honor saint because he holy and good!" said Ithuel, with a very
ill-concealed disdain--"why, that is the very reason why we _don't_
honor 'em. When you honor a holy man, mankind may consait you do it on
that very account, and so fall into the notion you worship him, which
would be idolatry, the awfullest of all sins, and the one to which every
ra'al Christian gives the widest bairth. I would rather worship this
flask of wine any day, than worship the best saint on your
parsons' books."

As Filippo was no casuist, but merely a believer, and Ithuel applied the
end of the flask to his mouth, at that moment, from an old habit of
drinking out of jugs and bottles, the Genoese made no answer; keeping
his eyes on the flask, which, by the length of time it remained at the
other's mouth, appeared to be in great danger of being exhausted; a
matter of some moment to one of his own relish for the liquor.

"Do you call _this_ wine!" exclaimed Ithuel, when he stopped literally
to take breath; "there isn't as much true granite in a gallon on't as in
a pint of our cider. I could swallow a butt, and then walk a plank as
narrow as your religion, Philip-o!"

This was said, nevertheless, with a look of happiness which proved how
much the inward man was consoled by what it had received, and a richness
of expression about the handsome mouth, that denoted a sort of
consciousness that it had been the channel of a most agreeable
communication to the stomach. Sooth to say, Benedetta had brought up a
flask at a paul, or at about four cents a bottle; a flask of the very
quality which she had put before the vice-governatore; and this was a
liquor that flowed so smoothly over the palate, and of a quality so
really delicate, that Ithuel was by no means aware of the potency of the
guest which he had admitted to his interior.

All this time the vice-governatore was making up his mind concerning the
nation and character of the stranger. That he should mistake Bolt for
an Englishman was natural enough, and the fact had an influence in again
unsettling his opinion as to the real flag under which the lugger
sailed, Like most Italians of that day, he regarded all the families of
the northern hordes as a species of barbarians--an opinion that the air
and deportment of Ithuel had no direct agency in changing; for, while
this singular being was not brawlingly rude and vulgar, like the coarser
set of his own countrymen, with whom he had occasionally been brought in
contact, he was so manifestly uncivilized in many material points, as to
put his claim to gentility much beyond a cavil, and that in a
negative way.

"You are a Genoese?" said Andrea to Filippo, speaking with the authority
of one who had a right to question.

"Signore, I am, at your eccellenza's orders, though in foreign service
at this present moment."

"In what service, friend? I am in authority, here in Elba, and ask no
more than is my duty."

"Eccellenza, I can well believe this," answered Filippo, rising and
making a respectful salutation, and one, too, that was without any of
the awkwardness of the same act in a more northern man, "as it is to be
seen in your appearance. I am now in the service of the king
of England."

Filippo said this steadily, though his eyes dropped to the floor under
the searching scrutiny they endured. The answer of the vice-governatore
was delivered coolly, though it was much to the point.

"You are happy," he said, "in getting so honorable masters; more
especially as your own country has again fallen into the hands of the
French. Every Italian heart must yearn for a government that has its
existence and its motives on this side of the Alps."

"Signore, we are a republic to-day, and ever have been, you know."

"Aye--such as it is. But your companion speaks no Italian--he is an
Inglese?"

"No, Signore--an Americano; a sort of an Inglese, and yet no Inglese,
after all. He loves England very little, if I can judge by his
discourse."

"Un' Americano!" repeated Andrea Barrofaldi; "Americano!" exclaimed Vito
Viti; "Americano!" said each of the marines in succession, every eye
turning with lively curiosity toward the subject of the discourse, who
bore it all with appropriate steadiness and dignity. The reader is not
to be surprised that an American was then regarded with curiosity, in a
country like Italy; for, two years later, when an American ship of war
anchored suddenly before the town of Constantinople, and announced her
nation, the authorities of the Sublime Porte were ignorant that such a
country existed. It is true, Leghorn was beginning to be much frequented
by American ships, in the year 1799; but even with these evidences
before their eyes, the people of the very ports into which these traders
entered were accustomed to consider their crews a species of Englishmen,
who managed to sail the vessels for the negroes at home[3]. In a word,
two centuries and a half of national existence, and more than half a
century of national independence, have not yet sufficed to teach all the
inhabitants of the old world, that the great modern Republic is peopled
by men of a European origin, and possessing white skins. Even of those
who are aware of the fact, the larger proportion, perhaps, have obtained
their information through works of a light character, similar to this of
our own, rather than by the more legitimate course of regular study and
a knowledge of history.

[3] As recently as 1828, the author of this book was at Leghorn. The
Delaware, so, had just left there; and speaking of her appearance to a
native of the place, who supposed the writer to be an Englishman, the
latter observed: "Of course, her people were all blacks." "I thought so,
too, signore, until I went on board the ship," was the answer; "but they
are as white as you and I are."

"Si" repeated Ithuel, with emphasis, as soon as he heard his nationality
thus alluded to, and found all eyes on himself--"Si, oon Americano--I'm
not ashamed of my country; and if you're any way partic'lar in such
matters, I come from New Hampshire--or, what we call the Granite state.
Tell 'em this, Philip-o, and let me know their idees, in answer."

Filippo translated this speech as well as he could, as he did the reply;
and it may as well be stated here, once for all, that in the dialogue
which succeeded, the instrumentality of this interpreter was necessary
that the parties might understand each other. The reader will,
therefore, give Filippo credit for this arrangement, although we shall
furnish the different speeches very much as if the parties fully
comprehended what was said.

"_Uno stato di granito_!" repeated the vice-governatore, looking at the
podesta with some doubt in the expression of his countenance--"it must
be a painful existence which these poor people endure, to toil for their
food in such a region. Ask him, good Filippo, if they have any wine in
his part of the world."

"Wine!" echoed Ithuel; "tell the Signore that we shouldn't call this
stuff wine at all. Nothing goes down our throats that doesn't rasp like
a file, and burn like a chip of Vesuvius. I wish, now, we had a drink of
New England rum here, in order to show him the difference. I despise the
man who thinks all his own things the best, just because they're his'n;
but taste _is_ taste, a'ter all, and there's no denying it."

"Perhaps the Signor Americano can give us an insight into the religion
of his country--or are the Americani pagans? I do not remember, Vito, to
have read anything of the religion of that quarter of the world."

"Religion too!--well, a question like this, now, would make a stir among
our folks in New Hampshire! Look here, Signore; we don't call your
ceremonies, and images, and robes, and ringing of bells, and bowing and
scraping, a religion at all; any more than we should call this smooth
liquor, wine."

Ithuel was more under the influence of this "smooth liquor" than he was
aware of, or he would not have been so loud in the expression of his
dissent; as experience had taught him the necessity of reserve on such
subjects, in most Catholic communities. But of all this the Signor
Barrofaldi was ignorant, and he made his answer with the severity of a
good Catholic, though it was with the temper of a gentleman.

"What the Americano calls our ceremonies, and images, and ringing of
bells, are probably not understood by him," he said; "since a country as
little civilized as his own cannot very well comprehend the mysteries of
a profound and ancient religion."

"Civilized! I calculate that it would _stump_ this part of the world to
produce such a civilization as our very youngest children are brought up
on. But it's of no use _talking_, and so we will _drink_."

Andrea perceiving, indeed, that there was not much use in _talking_,
more especially as Filippo had been a good deal mystified by the word
"_stump_," was now disposed to abandon the idea of a dissertation on
"religion, manners, and laws," to come at once to the matter that
brought him into the present company.

"This Americano is also a servant of the English king, it would seem,"
he carelessly remarked; "I remember to have heard that there was a war
between his country and that of the Inglesi, in which the French
assisted the Americani to obtain a sort of national independence. What
that independence is, I do not know; but it is probable that the people
of the New World are still obliged to find mariners to serve in the navy
of their former masters."

Ithuel's muscles twitched, and an expression of intense bitterness
darkened his countenance. Then he smiled in a sort of derision, and gave
vent to his feelings in words.

"Perhaps you're right, Signore; perhaps this is the ra'al truth of the
matter; for the British _do_ take our people just the same as if they
had the best right in the world to 'em. After all, we _may_ be serving
our masters; and all we say and think at home about independence is just
a flash in the pan! Notwithstanding, some on us contrive, by hook or by
crook, to take our revenge when occasion offers; and if I don't sarve
master John Bull an ill turn, whenever luck throws a chance in my way,
may I never see a bit of the old State again--granite or rotten wood."

This speech was not very closely translated, but enough was said to
awaken curiosity in the vice-governatore, who thought it odd one who
served among the English should entertain such feelings toward them. As
for Ithuel himself, he had not observed his usual caution; but, unknown
to himself, the oily wine had more "granite" in it than he imagined, and
then he seldom spoke of the abuse of impressment without losing more or
less of his ordinary self-command.

"Ask the Americano when he first entered into the service of the king of
Inghilterra," said Andrea, "and why he stays in it, if it is unpleasant
to him, when so many opportunities of quitting it offer?"

"I never entered," returned Ithuel, taking the word in its technical
meaning; "they pressed me, as if I had been a dog they wanted to turn a
spit, and kept me seven long years fighting their accursed battles, and
otherwise sarving their eends. I was over here, last year, at the mouth
of the Nile, and in that pretty bit of work--and off Cape St. Vincent,
too--and in a dozen more of their battles, and sorely against my will,
on every account. This was hard to be borne, but the hardest of it has
not yet been said; nor do I know that I shall tell on't at all."

"Anything the Americano may think proper to relate will be listened to
with pleasure."

Ithuel was a good deal undecided whether to go on or not; but taking a
fresh pull at the flask, it warmed his feelings to the sticking point.

"Why, it was adding insult to injury. It's bad enough to injure a man,
but when it comes to insulting him into the bargain, there must be but
little grit in his natur' if it don't strike fire."

"And yet few are wronged who are not calumniated," observed the
philosophical vice-governatore. "This is only too much the case with our
Italy, worthy neighbor Vito Viti."

"I calculate the English treat all mankind alike, whether it's in Italy
or Ameriky," for so Ithuel would pronounce this word, notwithstanding he
had now been cruising in and near the Mediterranean several years; "but
what I found hardest to be borne was their running their rigs on me
about my language and ways, which they were all the time laughing at as
Yankee conversation and usages, while they pretended that the body out
of which all on it come was an English body, and so they set it up to be
shot at, by any of their inimies that might happen to be jogging along
our road. Then, squire, it is generally consaited among us in Ameriky,
that we speak much the best English a-going; and sure am I, that none on
us call a 'hog' an ''og,' an 'anchor' a 'hanchor,' or a 'horse' an
''orse.' What is thought of that matter in this part of the world,
Signor Squire?"

"We are not critics in your language, but it is reasonable to suppose
that the English speak their own tongue better than any other people.
That much must be conceded to them, at least, Signor Bolto."

"I shall acknowledge no such advantage as belonging to them. I have not
been to school for nothing; not I. The English call c-l-e-r-k, clark;
and c-u-c-u-m-b-e-r, cowcumber; and a-n-g-e-l, aingel; and no reasoning
can convince me that's right. I've got a string of words of this sort,
that they pronounce out of all reason, that's as long as a pair of
leading-lines, or a ship's tiller-rope. You must know, Signor Squire, I
kept school in the early part of my life."

"_Non e possible_!" exclaimed the vice-governatore, astonishment
actually getting the better of his habitual good breeding; "you must
mean, Signor Americano, that you gave lessons in the art of rigging and
sailing luggers."

"You never was more mistaken, Signore. I taught on the general system,
all sorts of things in the edication way; and had one of my scholars
made such a blunder as to say 'clark,' or 'aingel,' or 'harth,' or
'cowcumber,' he wouldn't have heard the last of it, for that week, at
least. But I despise an Englishman from the very bottom of my soul; for
heart isn't deep enough for my feelings."

Absurd as Ithuel's critical dissertations must appear to all who have
any familiarity with real English, they were not greatly below many
criticisms on the same subject that often illustrate the ephemeral
literature of the country; and, in his last speech, he had made a
provincial use of the word "despise," that is getting to be so common as
almost to supplant the true signification. By "despising," Ithuel meant
that he "hated"; the passion, perhaps, of all others, the most removed
from the feeling described by the word he had used, inasmuch as it is
not easy to elevate those for whom we have a contempt, to the level
necessary to be hated.

"Notwithstanding, the Inglese are not a despicable people," answered
Andrea, who was obliged to take the stranger literally, since he knew
nothing of his provincial use of terms; "for a nation of the north, they
have done marvellous things of late years, especially on the ocean."

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