The Crater by James Fenimore Cooper

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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Fills them, or is withdrawn."--_Bryant._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] Munos, we
know that his father belonged to the family of Castro and his mother to
that of Munos. 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_ Munos.]

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.

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