"'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you;
'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas."
_Taming of the Shrew._
There is nothing in which American Liberty, not always as much
restrained as it might be, has manifested a more decided tendency to run
riot, than in the use of names. As for Christian names, the Heathen
Mythology, the Bible, Ancient History, and all the classics, have long
since been exhausted, and the organ of invention has been at work with
an exuberance of imagination that is really wonderful for such a
matter-of-fact people. Whence all the strange sounds have been derived
which have thus been pressed into the service of this human
nomenclature, it would puzzle the most ingenious philologist to say. The
days of the Kates, and Dollys, and Pattys, and Bettys, have passed away,
and in their stead we hear of Lowinys, and Orchistrys, Philenys,
Alminys, Cytherys, Sarahlettys, Amindys, Marindys, &c. &c. &c. All these
last appellations terminate properly with an a, but this unfortunate
vowel, when a final letter, being popularly pronounced like y, we have
adapted our spelling to the sound, which produces a complete bathos to
all these flights in taste.
The hero of this narrative was born fully sixty years since, and happily
before the rage for modern appellations, though he just escaped being
named after another system which we cannot say we altogether admire;
that of using a family, for a christian name. This business of names is
a sort of science in itself and we do believe that it is less
understood and less attended to in this country than in almost all
others. When a Spaniard writes his name as Juan de Castro y[1] Muños, we
know that his father belonged to the family of Castro and his mother to
that of Muños. The French, and Italian, and Russian woman, &c., writes
on her card Madame this or that, _born_ so and so; all which tells the
whole history of her individuality Many French women, in signing their
names, prefix those of their own family to those of their husbands, a
sensible and simple usage that we are glad to see is beginning to obtain
among ourselves. The records on tomb-stones, too, might be made much
more clear and useful than they now are, by stating distinctly who the
party was, on both sides of the house, or by father and mother; and each
married woman ought to be commemorated in some such fashion as this:
"Here lies Jane Smith, wife of John Jones," &c., or, "Jane, daughter of
Thomas Smith and wife of John Jones." We believe that, in some
countries, a woman's name is not properly considered to be changed by
marriage, but she becomes a Mrs. only in connection with the name of her
husband. Thus Jane Smith becomes Mrs. _John_ Jones, but not Mrs. Jane
Jones. It is on this idea we suppose that our ancestors the
English--every Englishman, as a matter of course, being every American's
ancestor--thus it is, we suppose, therefore, that our ancestors, who pay
so much more attention to such matters than we do ourselves, in their
table of courtesy, call the wife of Lord John Russell, Lady _John_, and
not Lady--whatever her Christian name may happen to be. We suppose,
moreover, it is on this principle that Mrs. General This, Mrs. Dr. That,
and Mrs. Senator T'other, are as inaccurate as they are notoriously
vulgar.
[Footnote 1: Some few of our readers may require to be told that,
in Spanish, y, pronounced as e, is the simple conjunction "and;"
thus this name is de Castro _and_ Muños.]
Mark Woolston came from a part of this great republic where the names
are still as simple, unpretending, and as good Saxon English, as in the
county of Kent itself. He was born in the little town of Bristol, Bucks
county, Pennsylvania. This is a portion of the country that, Heaven be
praised! still retains some of the good old-fashioned directness and
simplicity. Bucks is full of Jacks, and Bens, and Dicks, and we question
if there is such a creature, of native growth, in all that region, as an
Ithusy, or a Seneky, or a Dianthy, or an Antonizetty, or a Deidamy.[2]
The Woolstons, in particular, were a plain family, and very unpretending
in their external appearance, but of solid and highly respectable habits
around the domestic hearth. Knowing perfectly how to spell, they never
dreamed anyone would suspect them of ignorance. They called themselves
as their forefathers were called, that is to say, Wooster, or just as
Worcester is pronounced; though a Yankee schoolmaster tried for a whole
summer to persuade our hero, when a child, that he ought to be styled
Wool-ston. This had no effect on Mark, who went on talking of his uncles
and aunts, "Josy Wooster," and "Tommy Wooster," and "Peggy Wooster,"
precisely as if a New England academy did not exist on earth; or as if
Webster had not actually put Johnson under his feet!
[Footnote 2: Absurd and forced as these strange appellations may
appear, they are all genuine. The writer has collected a long list
of such names from real life, which he may one day
publish--Orchistra, Philena, and Almina are among them. To all the
names ending in a, it must be remembered that the sound of a final
y is given.]
The father of Mark Woolston (or Wooster) was a physician, and, for the
country and age, was a well-educated and skilful man. Mark was born in
1777, just seventy years since, and only ten days before the surrender
of Burgoyne. A good deal of attention was paid to his instruction, and
fortunately for himself, his servitude under the eastern pedagogue was
of very short duration, and Mark continued to speak the English language
as his fathers had spoken it before him. The difference on the score of
language, between Pennsylvania and New Jersey and Maryland, always
keeping in the counties that were not settled by Germans or Irish, and
the New England states, and _through_ them, New York, is really so
obvious as to deserve a passing word. In the states first named,
taverns, for instance, are still called the Dun Cow, the Indian Queen,
or the Anchor: whereas such a thing would be hard to find, at this day,
among the six millions of people who dwell in the latter. We question
if there be such a thing as a coffee-house in all Philadelphia, though
we admit it with grief, the respectable town of Brotherly Love has, in
some respects, become infected with the spirit of innovation. Thus it is
that good old "State House _Yard_" has been changed into "Independence
Square." This certainly is not as bad as the _tour de force_ of the
aldermen of Manhattan when they altered "Bear Market" into "_Washington_
Market!" for it is not a prostitution of the name of a great man, in the
first place, and there is a direct historical allusion in the new name
that everybody can understand. Still, it is to be regretted; and we hope
this will be the last thing of the sort that will ever occur, though we
confers our confidence in Philadelphian stability and consistency is a
good deal lessened, since we have learned, by means of a late law-suit,
that there are fifty or sixty aldermen in the place; a number of those
worthies that is quite sufficient to upset the proprieties, in Athens
itself!
Dr. Woolston had a competitor in another physician, who lived within a
mile of him, and whose name was Yardley. Dr. Yardley was a very
respectable person, had about the same degree of talents and knowledge
as his neighbour and rival, but was much the richest man of the two. Dr.
Yardley, however, had but one child, a daughter, whereas Dr. Woolston,
with much less of means, had sons and daughters. Mark was the oldest of
the family, and it was probably owing to this circumstance that he was
so well educated, since the expense was not yet to be shared with that
of keeping his brothers and sisters at schools of the same character.
In 1777 an American college was little better than a high school. It
could not be called, in strictness, a grammar school, inasmuch as all
the sciences were glanced at, if not studied; but, as respects the
classics, more than a grammar school it was not, nor that of a very high
order. It was a consequence of the light nature of the studies, that
mere boys graduated in those institutions. Such was the case with Mark
Woolston, who would have taken his degree as a Bachelor of Arts, at
Nassau Hall, Princeton, had not an event occurred, in his sixteenth
year, which produced an entire change in his plan of life, and nipped
his academical honours in the bud.
Although it is unusual for square-rigged vessels of any size to ascend
the Delaware higher than Philadelphia, the river is, in truth, navigable
for such craft almost to Trenton Bridge. In the year 1793, when Mark
Woolston was just sixteen, a full-rigged ship actually came up, and lay
at the end of the wharf in Burlington, the little town nearly opposite
to Bristol, where she attracted a great deal of the attention of all the
youths of the vicinity. Mark was at home, in a vacation, and he passed
half his time in and about that ship, crossing the river in a skiff of
which he was the owner, in order to do so. From that hour young Mark
affected the sea, and all the tears of his mother and eldest sister, the
latter a pretty girl only two years his junior, and the more sober
advice of his father, could not induce him to change his mind. A six
weeks' vacation was passed in the discussion of this subject, when the
Doctor yielded to his son's importunities, probably foreseeing he should
have his hands full to educate his other children, and not unwilling to
put this child, as early as possible, in the way of supporting himself.
The commerce of America, in 1793, was already flourishing, and
Philadelphia was then much the most important place in the country. Its
East India trade, in particular, was very large and growing, and Dr.
Woolston knew that fortunes were rapidly made by many engaged in it.
After, turning the thing well over in his mind, he determined to consult
Mark's inclinations, and to make a sailor of him. He had a cousin
married to the sister of an East India, or rather of a Canton
ship-master, and to this person the father applied for advice and
assistance. Captain Crutchely very willingly consented to receive Mark
in his own vessel, the Rancocus, and promised "to make a man and an
officer of him."
The very day Mark first saw the ocean he was sixteen years old. He had
got his height, five feet eleven, and was strong for his years, and
active. In fact, it would not have been easy to find a lad every way so
well adapted to his new calling, as young Mark Woolston. The three years
of his college life, if they had not made him a Newton, or a Bacon, had
done him no harm, filling his mind with the germs of ideas that were
destined afterwards to become extremely useful to him. The young man was
already, indeed, a sort of factotum, being clever and handy at so many
things and in so many different ways, as early to attract the attention
of the officers. Long before the vessel reached the capes, he was at
home in her, from her truck to her keelson, and Captain Crutchely
remarked to his chief mate, the day they got to sea, that "young Mark
Woolston was likely to turn up a trump."
As for Mark himself, he did not lose sight of the land, for the first
time in his life, altogether without regrets. He had a good deal of
feeling in connection with his parents, and his brothers and sisters;
but, as it is our aim to conceal nothing which ought to be revealed, we
must add there was still another who filled his thoughts more than all
the rest united. This person was Bridget Yardley, the only child of his
father's most formidable professional competitor.
The two physicians were obliged to keep up a sickly intercourse, not
intending a pun. They were too often called in to consult together, to
maintain an open war. While the heads of their respective families
occasionally met, therefore, at the bed-side of their patients, the
families themselves had no direct communications. It is true, that Mrs.
Woolston and Mrs. Yardley were occasionally to be seen seated at the
same tea-table, taking their hyson in company, for the recent trade with
China had expelled the bohea from most of the better parlours of the
country; nevertheless, these good ladies could not get to be cordial
with each other. They themselves had a difference on religious points,
that was almost as bitter as the differences of opinions between their
husbands on the subject of alternatives. In that distant day,
homoeopathy, and allopathy, and hydropathy, and all the opathies, were
nearly unknown; but men could wrangle and abuse each other on medical
points, just as well and as bitterly then, as they do now. Religion,
too, quite as often failed to bear its proper fruits, in 1793, as it
proves barren in these, our own times. On this subject of religion, we
have one word to say, and that is, simply, that it never was a meet
matter for self-gratulation and boasting. Here we have the
Americo-Anglican church, just as it has finished a blast of trumpets,
through the medium of numberless periodicals and a thousand letters from
its confiding if not confident clergy, in honour of its quiet, and
harmony, and superior polity, suspended on the very brink of the
precipice of separation, if not of schism, and all because it has
pleased certain ultra-sublimated divines in the other hemisphere, to
write a parcel of tracts that nobody understands, themselves included.
How many even of the ministers of the altar fall, at the very moment
they are beginning to fancy themselves saints, and are ready to thank
God they are "not like the publicans!"
Both. Mrs. Woolston and Mrs. Yardley were what is called 'pious;' that
is, each said her prayers, each went to her particular church, and very
_particular_ churches they were; each fancied she had a sufficiency of
saving faith, but neither was charitable enough to think, in a very
friendly temper, of the other. This difference of religious opinion,
added to the rival reputations of their husbands, made these ladies
anything but good neighbours, and, as has been intimated, years had
passed since either had entered the door of the other.
Very different was the feeling of the children. Anne Woolston, the
oldest sister of Mark, and Bridget Yardley, were nearly of an age, and
they were not only school-mates, but fast friends. To give their mothers
their due, they did not lessen this intimacy by hints, or intimations of
any sort, but let the girls obey their own tastes, as if satisfied it
was quite sufficient for "professors of religion" to hate in their own
persons, without entailing the feeling on posterity. Anne and Bridget
consequently became warm friends, the two sweet, pretty young things
both believing, in the simplicity of their hearts, that the very
circumstance which in truth caused the alienation, not to say the
hostility of the elder members of their respective families, viz.
professional identity, was an additional reason why _they_ should love
each other so much the more. The girls were about two and three years
the juniors of Mark, but well grown for their time of life, and frank
and affectionate as innocence and warm hearts could make them. Each was
more than pretty, though it was in styles so very different, as
scarcely to produce any of that other sort of rivalry, which is so apt
to occur even in the gentler sex. Anne had bloom, and features, and fine
teeth, and, a charm that is so very common in America, a good mouth; but
Bridget had all these added to expression. Nothing could be more soft,
gentle and feminine, than Bridget Yardley's countenance, in its ordinary
state of rest; or more spirited, laughing, buoyant or pitying than it
became, as the different passions or feelings were excited in her young
bosom. As Mark was often sent to see his sister home, in her frequent
visits to the madam's house, where the two girls held most of their
intercourse, he was naturally enough admitted into their association.
The connection commenced by Mark's agreeing to be Bridget's brother, as
well as Anne's. This was generous, at least; for Bridget was an only
child, and it was no more than right to repair the wrongs of fortune in
this particular. The charming young thing declared that she would
"rather have Mark Woolston for her brother than any other boy in
Bristol; and that it was delightful to have the same person for a
brother as Anne!" Notwithstanding this flight in the romantic, Bridget
Yardley was as natural as it was possible for a female in a reasonably
civilized condition of society to be. There was a vast deal of
excellent, feminine self-devotion in her temperament, but not a particle
of the exaggerated, in either sentiment or fueling. True as steel in all
her impulses and opinions, in adopting Mark for a brother she merely
yielded to a strong natural sympathy, without understanding its tendency
or its origin. She would talk by the hour, with Anne, touching _their_
brother, and what they must make him do, and where he must go with them,
and in what they could oblige him most. The real sister was less active
than her friend, in mind and body, and she listened to all these schemes
and notions with a quiet submission that was not entirely free from
wonder.
The result of all this intercourse was to awaken a feeling between Mark
and Bridget, that was far more profound than might have been thought in
breasts so young, and which coloured their future lives. Mark first
became conscious of the strength of this feeling when he lost sight of
the Capes, and fancied the dear little. Bucks county girl he had left
behind him, talking with his sister of his own absence and risks. But
Mark had too much of the true spirit of a sailor in him, to pine, or
neglect his duty; and, long ere the ship had doubled the Cape of Good
Hope, he had become an active and handy lad aloft. When the ship reached
the China seas, he actually took his trick at the helm.
As was usual in that day, the voyage of the Rancocus lasted about a
twelvemonth. If John Chinaman were only one-half as active as Jonathan
Restless, it might be disposed of in about one-fourth less time; but
teas are not transported along the canals of the Celestial Empire with
anything like the rapidity with which wheat was sent to market over the
rough roads of the Great Republic, in the age of which we are writing.
When Mark Woolston re-appeared in Bristol, after the arrival of the
Rancocus below had been known there about twenty-four hours, he was the
envy of all the lads in the place, and the admiration of most of the
girls. There he was, a tall, straight, active, well-made, well-grown and
decidedly handsome lad of seventeen, who had doubled the Cape of Good
Hope, seen foreign parts, and had a real India handkerchief hanging out
of each pocket of a blue round-about of superfine cloth, besides one
around his half-open well-formed throat, that was carelessly tied in a
true sailor knot! The questions he had to answer, and _did_ answer,
about whales, Chinese feet, and "mountain waves!" Although Bristol lies
on a navigable river, up and down which frigates had actually been seen
to pass in the revolution, it was but little that its people knew of the
ocean. Most of the worthy inhabitants of the place actually fancied that
the waves of the sea were as high as mountains, though their notions of
the last were not very precise, there being no elevations in that part
of the country fit even for a windmill.
But Mark cared little for these interrogatories. He was happy; happy
enough, at being the object of so much attention; happier still in the
bosom of a family of which he had always been the favourite and was now
the pride; and happiest of all when he half ravished a kiss from the
blushing cheek of Bridget Yardley. Twelve months had done a great deal
for each of the young couple. If they had not quite made a man of Mark,
they had made him manly, and his _soi-disant_ sister wondered that any
one could be so much improved by a sea-faring life. As for Bridget,
herself, she was just bursting into young womanhood, resembling the bud
as its leaves of green are opening to permit those of the deepest
rose-coloured tint to be seen, before they expand into the full-blown
flower. Mark was more than delighted, he was fascinated; and young as
they were, the month he passed at home sufficed to enable him to tell
his passion, and to obtain a half-ready, half-timid acceptance of the
offer of his hand. All this time, the parents of these very youthful
lovers were as profoundly ignorant of what was going on, as their
children were unobservant of the height to which professional
competition had carried hostilities between their respective parents.
Doctors Woolston and Yardley no longer met even in consultations; or, if
they did meet in the house of some patient whose patronage was of too
much value to be slighted, it was only to dispute, and sometimes
absolutely to quarrel.
At the end of one short month, however, Mark was once more summoned to
his post on board the Rancocus, temporarily putting an end to his
delightful interviews with Bridget. The lovers had made Anne their
confidant, and she, well-meaning girl, seeing no sufficient reason why
the son of one respectable physician should not be a suitable match for
the daughter of another respectable physician, encouraged them in their
vows of constancy, and pledges to become man and wife at a future, but
an early day. To some persons all this may seem exceedingly improper, as
well as extremely precocious; but the truth compels us to say, that its
impropriety was by no means as obvious as its precocity. The latter it
certainly was, though Mark had shot up early, and was a man at a time of
life when lads, in less genial climates, scarcely get tails to their
coats; but its impropriety must evidently be measured by the habits of
the state of society in which the parties were brought up, and by the
duties that had been inculcated. In America, then, as now, but little
heed was taken by parents, more especially in what may be called the
middle classes, concerning the connections thus formed by their
children. So Long as the parties were moral, bore good characters, had
nothing particular against them, and were of something near the same
social station, little else was asked for; or, if more were actually
required, it was usually when it was too late, and after the young
people had got themselves too deeply in love to allow ordinary
prudential reasons to have their due force.
Mark went to sea this time, dragging after him a "lengthening chain,"
but, nevertheless, filled with hope. His years forbade much despondency,
and, while he remained as constant as if he had been a next-door
neighbour, he was buoyant, and the life of the whole crew, after the
first week out. This voyage was not direct to Canton, like the first;
but the ship took a cargo of sugar to Amsterdam, and thence went to
London, where she got a freight for Cadiz. The war of the French
Revolution was now blazing in all the heat of its first fires, and
American bottoms were obtaining a large portion of the carrying trade of
the world. Captain Crutchely had orders to keep the ship in Europe,
making the most of her, until a certain sum in Spanish dollars could be
collected, when he was to fill up with provisions and water, and again
make the best of his way to Canton. In obeying these instructions, he
went from port to port; and, as a sort of consequence of having Quaker
owners, turning his peaceful character to great profit, thus giving Mark
many opportunities of seeing as much of what is called the world, as can
be found in sea-ports. Great, indeed, is the difference between places
that are merely the marts of commerce, and those that are really
political capitals of large countries! No one can be aware of, or can
fully appreciate the many points of difference that, in reality, exist
between such places, who has not seen each, and that sufficiently near
to be familiar with both. Some places, of which London is the most
remarkable example, enjoy both characters; and, when this occurs, the
town gels to possess a tone that is even less provincial and narrow, if
possible, than that which is to be found in a place that merely rejoices
in a court. This it is which renders Naples, insignificant as its
commerce comparatively is, superior to Vienna, and Genoa to Florence.
While it would be folly to pretend that Mark, in his situation, obtained
the most accurate notions imaginable of all he saw and heard, in his
visits to Amsterdam, London, Cadiz, Bordeaux, Marseilles, Leghorn,
Gibraltar, and two or three other ports that might be mentioned and to
which he went, he did glean a good deal, some of which was useful to him
in after-life. He lost no small portion of the provincial rust of home,
moreover, and began to understand the vast difference between "seeing
the world" and "going to meeting and going to mill."[3] In addition to
these advantages, Mark was transferred from the forecastle to the cabin
before the ship sailed for Canton. The practice of near two years had
made him a very tolerable sailor, and his previous education made the
study of navigation easy to him. In that day there was a scarcity of
officers in America, and a young man of Mark's advantages, physical and
moral, was certain to get on rapidly, provided he only behaved well. It
is not at all surprising, therefore, that our young sailor got to be the
second-mate of the Raucocus before he had quite completed his eighteenth
year.
[Footnote 3: This last phrase has often caused the writer to smile,
when he has heard a countryman say, with a satisfied air, as is so
often the case in this good republic, that "such or such a thing
here is good enough for _me_;" meaning that he questions if there
be anything of the sort that is better anywhere else. It was
uttered many years since, by a shrewd Quaker, in West-Chester, who
was contending with a neighbour on a subject that the other
endeavoured to defend by alluding to the extent of his own
observation. "Oh, yes, Josy," answered the Friend, "thee's been to
meeting and thee's been to mill, and thee knows all about it!"
America is full of travellers who have been to meeting and who have
been to mill. This it is which makes it unnecessarily provincial.]
The voyage from London to Canton, and thence home to Philadelphia,
consumed about ten months. The Rancocus was a fast vessel, but she could
not impart her speed to the Chinamen. It followed that Mark wanted but a
few weeks of being nineteen years old the day his ship passed Cape May,
and, what was more, he had the promise of Captain Crutchely, of sailing
with him, as his first officer, in the next voyage. With that promise in
his mind, Mark hastened up the river to Bristol, as soon as he was clear
of the vessel.
Bridget Yardley had now fairly budded, to pursue the figure with which
we commenced the description of this blooming flower, and, if not
actually expanded into perfect womanhood, was so near it as to show
beyond all question that the promises of her childhood were to be very
amply redeemed. Mark found her in black, however; or, in mourning for
her mother. An only child, this serious loss had thrown her more than
ever in the way of Anne, the parents on both sides winking at an
association that could do no harm, and which might prove so useful. It
was very different, however, with the young sailor. He had not been a
fortnight at home, and getting to be intimate with the roof-tree of
Doctor Yardley, before that person saw fit to pick a quarrel with him,
and to forbid him his house. As the dispute was wholly gratuitous on the
part of the Doctor, Mark behaving with perfect propriety on the
occasion, it may be well to explain its real cause. The fact was, that
Bridget was an heiress; if not on a very large scale, still an heiress,
and, what was more, unalterably so in right of her mother; and the
thought that a son of his competitor, Doctor Woolston, should profit by
this fact, was utterly insupportable to him. Accordingly he quarrelled
with Mark, the instant he was apprised of the character of his
attentions, and forbade him the house, To do Mark justice, he knew
nothing of Bridget's worldly possessions. That she was beautiful, and
warm-hearted, and frank, and sweet-tempered, and feminine, and
affectionate, he both saw and felt; but beyond this he neither saw
anything, nor cared about seeing anything. The young sailor was as
profoundly ignorant that Bridget was the actual owner of certain three
per cents, that brought twelve hundred a year, as if she did not own a
'copper,' as it was the fashion of that period to say,'_cents_' being
then very little, if at all, used. Nor did he know anything of the farm
she had inherited from her mother, or of the store in town, that brought
three hundred and fifty more in rent. It is true that some allusions
were made to these matters by Doctor Yardley, in his angry comments on
the Woolston family generally, Anne always excepted, and in whose
flavour he made a salvo, even in the height of his denunciations. Still.
Mark thought so much of that which was really estimable and admirable
in Bridget, and so little of anything mercenary, that even after these
revelations he could not comprehend the causes of Doctor Yardley's harsh
treatment of him. During the whole scene, which was purposely enacted in
the presence of his wondering and trembling daughter, Mark behaved
perfectly well. He had a respect for the Doctor's years, as well as for
Bridget's father, and would not retort. After waiting as long as he
conceived waiting could be of any use, he seized his hat, and left the
room with an air of resentment that Bridget construed into the
expression of an intention never to speak to any of them again. But Mark
Woolston was governed by no such design, as the sequel will show.