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The Crater by James Fenimore Cooper

J >> James Fenimore Cooper >> The Crater




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.




Chapter II.



"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."