Afloat and Ashore (53 page)

"Oh! easily enough, for that matter; a young fellow can hardly have
lived nine months in the same cabin with Emily, and not think of her,
when hard pushed; I will give you, Miss Emily Merton."

The toast was drunk, and I thought Mr. Hardinge looked thoughtful,
like one who had a guardian's cares, and that Grace was even grave. I
did not dare look at Lucy, though I could have toasted her all night,
had it been in rule to drink a person who was present. We began to
chat again, and I had answered some eight or ten questions, when Mrs.
Bradfort, much too precise to make any omissions, reminded us that we
had not yet been honoured with Miss Lucy Hardinge's toast. Lucy had
enjoyed plenty of time to reflect; and she bowed, paused a moment as
if to summon resolution, and then mentioned—

"Mr. Andrew Drewett."

So, then, Lucy Hardinge toasted this Mr. Drewett—the very youth with
whom she had been in such animated discourse, when I first met the
party! Had I been more familiar with the world, I should have thought
nothing of a thing that was so common; or, did I understand human
nature better, I might have known that no sensitive and delicate woman
would betray a secret that was dear to her, under so idle a form. But
I was young, and ready myself to toast the girl I preferred before the
universe; and I could not make suitable allowances for difference of
sex and temperament. Lucy's toast made me very uncomfortable for the
rest of the evening; and I was not sorry when Rupert reminded me that
it was eleven, and that he would go with me to a tavern, in order to
look for a room.

The next morning was passed in transacting the business of the ship. I
found myself much noticed among the merchants and ship-masters; and
one of my owners took me on 'Change, that I might see and be seen. As
the papers had spoken of the recapture of the Crisis, on the arrival
of the Pretty Poll, and had now each an article on the arrival of the
ship, I had every reason to be satisfied with my reception. There are
men so strong in principle, as well as intellect, I do suppose, that
they can be content with the approbation of their own consciences, and
who can smile at the praises or censure of the world, alike; but I
confess to a strong sympathy with the commendation of my
fellow-creatures, and as strong a distaste for their disapprobation. I
know this is not the way to make a very great man; for he who cannot
judge, feel and act for himself, will always he in danger of making
undue sacrifices to the wishes of others; but you can have no more of
a cat than the skin; and I was sufficiently proud at finding myself a
miniature hero, about the lower end of Wall-street, and in the columns
of the newspapers. As for these last, no one can complain of their
zeal in extolling everything national. To believe them, the country
never was wrong, or defeated, or in a condition to be defeated, except
when a political opponent could be made to suffer by an opposite
theory; and then nothing was ever right. As to fame, I have since
discovered they consider that of each individual to be public
property, in which each American has a part and parcel—the editors,
themselves, more than the man who has thrown the article into the
common lot. But I was young in 1802, and even a paragraph in my praise
in a newspaper had a certain charm for me, that I will not deny. Then
I
had
done well, as even my enemies, if I had any must have
admitted.

"Ships are but boards, sailors but men: there be land-rats, and
water-rats, water-thieves, and land-thieves; I mean pirates; and
then, there is the peril of waters, winds and rocks: the man is,
notwithstanding, sufficient;—three thousand ducats;—I think I may
take his bond."
—
Shylock
.

I saw Grace, and Lucy, and Rupert, and good Mr. Hardinge, every day;
but I could not find time to call on the Mertons, until near the close
of a week. I then paid them a visit, and found them glad to see me,
but not at all in want of my attentions to make them comfortable. The
Major had exhibited his claims to the British consul, who happened to
be a native Manhattanese, and was well-connected, a circumstance that
then gave him an influence in society, that his commission alone would
not have conferred. Colonel Barclay, for so was this gentleman
called, had taken the Mertons by the hand, as a matter of course; and
his example being followed by others, I found that they were already
in the best circle of the place. Emily mentioned to me the names of
several of those with whom she had exchanged visits; and I knew at
once, through Lucy's and Grace's conversation, and from my own general
knowledge of the traditions of the colony and state, that they were
among the leading people of the land, socially if not politically; a
class altogether above any with whom I had myself ever associated.
Now, I knew that the master of a merchantman, whatever might be his
standing with his owner, or consignee, or the credit he had gained
among his fellows, was not likely to get admission into this set; and
there was the comfortable prospect before me, of having my own sister
and the two other girls I admired most and loved best in the
world—next to Grace, of course—visiting round in houses, of which
the doors were shut against myself. This is always unpleasant, but in
my case it turned out to be more.

When I told Emily that Grace and Lucy were in town, and intended
coming to see her that very morning, I thought she manifested less
curiosity than would have been the case a month before.

"Is Miss Hardinge a relative of Mr. Rupert Hardinge, the gentleman to
whom I was introduced at dinner, yesterday," she demanded, after
expressing the pleasure it would give her to see the ladies.

I knew that Rupert had dined out the day before, and, there being no
one else of the same name, I answered in the affirmative.

"He is the son of a respectable clergyman, and of very good
connections, I hear."

"The Hardinges are so considered among us; both Rupert's father and
grandfather were clergymen, and his great-grandfather was a seaman—I
trust
you
will think none the worse of him, for that."

"A sailor! I had supposed, from what some of those present said—that
is, I did not know it."

"Perhaps they told you that his great-grandfather was a
British
officer?
"

Emily coloured, and then she laughed faintly; admitting, however, that
I had guessed right.

"Well, all this was true," I added, "though he was a sailor. Old
Captain Hardinge—or Commodore Hardinge, as he used to be called, for
he once commanded a squadron—was in the English navy."

"Oh! that sort of a sailor!"—cried Emily, quickly—"I did not know
that it was usual to call gentlemen in the navy, seamen."

"They would make a poor figure if they were not, Miss Merton—you
might as well say that a judge is no lawyer."

This was enough, however, to satisfy me that Miss Merton no longer
considered the master of the Crisis the first man in the world.

A ring announced the arrival of the two girls. They were shown up, and
I soon had the satisfaction of seeing these three charming young women
together. Emily received her two guests very courteously, and was
frank—nay warm—in the expression of her gratitude for all that I
had done for herself and her father. She even went back so far as to
speak of the occurrence in the Park, at London, and was gracious
enough to declare that she and her parents owed their lives to my
interference. All this gave her listeners great pleasure, for I
believe neither ever tired of hearing my praises. After this opening,
the conversation turned on New York, its gaieties, and the different
persons known to them mutually. I saw that the two girls were struck
with the set Miss Merton was in, which was a shade superior even to
that of Mrs. Bradfort's, though the fusion which usually accompanies
that sort of thing, brought portions of each circle within the
knowledge of the other. As the persons named were utter strangers to
me, I had nothing to say, and sat listening in silence. The
opportunity was improved by comparing the girls with each other.

In delicacy of appearance, Grace and Lucy each had the advantage of
the English beauty. Their hands and feet were smaller, their waists
finer, and their
tournures
, generally, I thought the most
pleasing. Emily had the advantage in complexion, though her colour had
less fineness and delicacy. Perhaps her teeth were the most
brilliant; though Grace and Lucy, particularly the latter, had very
fine teeth. The English girl's shoulders and bust, generally, would
have been more admired than those of most American—particularly than
most New York—girls; but it was not possible to surpass those of
Lucy. As a whole, Emily's countenance had the most spirit, Lucy's the
most finesse and feeling. I make no comparison with the expression of
Grace's countenance, which was altogether too remarkable for its
intellectual character, to be included in anything like a national
classification. I remember I thought, as they sat there in a row
conversing frankly and cheerfully together, Lucy the handsomest, in
her pretty neat morning-dress; while I had my doubts whether Emily
would not have extorted the most applause in a ball-room. This
distinction is mentioned, because I believe it national.

The visit lasted an hour; for I had expressed a wish to all parties
that they would become acquainted, and the girls seemed mutually
pleased. As they chatted, I listened to the tones of their voices, and
fancied, on the whole, that Emily had slightly the advantage in
intonation and accent; though it was scarcely perceptible, and it was
an advantage that was attended by a slight sacrifice of the charm of
natural utterance. She was a little more artificial in this respect
than her companions, and insomuch less pleasing though, had the
comparison been made with the Manhattan
style
of the present
day, the odds would have been immensely in her favour. In 1802,
however, some attention was still paid to the utterance, tones of
voice, and manner of speaking of young ladies. The want of it all,
just now, is the besetting vice of the whole of our later instruction
of the sex; it being almost as rare a thing now-a-days, to find a
young American girl who speaks her own language gracefully, as it is
to find one who is not of pleasing person.

When the young ladies parted, it was with an understanding that they
were soon to meet again. I shook hands with Emily, English fashion,
and took my leave at the same time.

"Well, Miles," said Grace, as soon as we were in the street, "you have
certainly been of service to a very charming young woman—I like her,
excessively."

"And you, Lucy—I hope you agree with Grace, in thinking my friend,
Emily Merton, a charming young woman."

Lucy did not speak as frankly, or as decidedly as Grace, so far as
manner was concerned; though she coincided in words.

"I am of the same opinion," she said, in a tone that was far less
cheerful than her usually very cheerful manner. "She is one of the
loveliest creatures I ever saw—and it is no wonder—"

"What is no wonder, dear?" asked Grace, observing that her friend
hesitated to proceed.

"Oh! I was about to say something silly, and had better not finish the
speech. But, what a finished manner Miss Merton possesses;—do you not
think so, Grace?"

"I wish she had a little less of it, dear; that is precisely what I
should find fault with in her deportment. It
is
manner; and,
though we all must have some, it strikes me it ought not to be seen. I
think all the Europeans we saw in town, last winter, Lucy, had more or
less of this manner."

"I dare say it would seem so to
us
; notwithstanding, it may be
very agreeable to those who are used to it—a thing to miss, when one
gets much accustomed to it."

As Lucy made this remark, I detected a furtive and timid glance at
myself. I was mystified at the time, and was actually so silly as to
think the dear girl was talking at me, and to feel a little
resentment. I fancied she wished to say, "There, Master Miles, you
have been in London, and on a desert island in the South Seas—the
very extremes of human habits—and have got to be so sophisticated, so
very un-Clawbonnyish, as to feel the necessity of a
manner
, in
the young ladies with whom you associate." The notion nettled me to a
degree that induced me to pretend duty, and to hurry down to the
ship. Whom should I meet, in Rector Street, but Mr. Hardinge, who had
been across to the Hudson in search of me.

"Come hither, Miles," said the excellent old man, "I wish to converse
with you seriously."

As Lucy was uppermost in my thoughts at the moment, I said to
myself—"What can the dear old gentleman have to say, now?"

"I hear from all quarters the best accounts of you, my dear boy,"
Mr. Hardinge continued, "and I am told you make a very superior
seaman. It is a feather in your cap, indeed, to have commanded an
Indiaman a twelve-month before you are of age. I have been conversing
with my old friend John Murray, of the house of John Murray and Sons,
one of the very best merchants in America, and he says 'push the boy
ahead, when you find the right stuff in him. Get him a ship of his
own, and that will put him on the true track. Teach him early to have
an eye to his own interests, and it will make a man of him, at once.'
I have thought the matter over, have had a vessel in my eye, for the
last month, and will purchase her at once, if you like the plan."

"But, have I money enough for such a thing, my dear sir—after having
sailed in the John, and the Tigris, and the Crisis, I should not like
to take up with any of your B's, No. 2."

"You have forgotten to mention the 'Pretty Poll,' Miles," said the
divine, smiling. "Be under no fear, however, for your dignity; the
vessel I have in treaty, is all you could wish, they tell me, having
made but one voyage, and is sold on account of the death of her
owner. As for money, you will remember I have thirteen thousand
dollars of your income invested in stocks, and stocks that cost but
ten. The peace has brought everything up, and you are making money,
right and left. How have your own pay and private venture turned out?"