Diary in America, Series Two

by Frederick Marryat

There is one very remarkable point in the American character, which is, that they constantly change their professions. I know not whether it proceeds simply from their love of change, or from their embracing professions at so early a period, that they have not discovered the line in which from natural talents they are best calculated to succeed. I have heard it said, that it is seldom that an American succeeds in the profession which he had first taken up at the commencement of his career. An American will set up as a lawyer; quit, and go to sea for a year or two; come back, set up in another profession; get tired again, go as clerk or steward in a steam-boat, merely because he wishes to travel; then apply himself to something else, and begin to amass money. It is of very little consequence what he does, the American is really a jack of all trades, and master of any to which he feels at last inclined to apply himself.

In Mrs Butler’s clever journal there is one remark which really surprised me. She says, “The absolute absence of imagination is of course the absolute absence of humour. An American can no more understand a fanciful jest than a poetical idea; and in society and conversation the strictest matter of fact prevails,” etcetera.

If there was nothing but “matter of fact” in society and conversation in America or elsewhere, I imagine that there would not be many words used: but I refer to the passage, because she says that the Americans are not imaginative; whereas, I think that there is not a more imaginative people existing. It is true that they prefer broad humour, and delight in the hyperbole, but this is to be expected in a young nation; especially as their education is, generally speaking, not of a kind to make them sensible to very refined wit, which, I acknowledge, is thrown away upon the majority. What is termed the under current of humour, as delicate raillery, for instance, is certainly not understood. When they read Sam Slick, they did not perceive that the author was laughing at them; and the letters of Major Jack Downing are much more appreciated in this country than they are in America. But as for saying that they are not imaginative, is a great error, and I have no doubt that Mrs B has discovered it by this time.

Miss Martineau says, and very truly, “The Americans appear to me an eminently imaginative people.” Indeed, it is only necessary to read the newspapers to be convinced it is the case. The hyperbole is their principal forte, but what is lying but imagination? and why do you find that a child of promising talent is so prone to lying? because it is the first effort of a strong imagination. Wit requires refinement, which the Americans have not; but they have excessive humour, although it is generally speaking coarse.

An American, talking of an ugly woman with a very large mouth, said to me, “Why, sir, when she yawns, you can see right down to her garters;” and another, speaking of his being very sea-sick, declared, “That he threw every thing up, down to his knee-pans.”

If there required any proof of the dishonest feeling so prevalent in the United States arising from the desire of gain, it would be in the fact, that almost every good story which you hear of an American is an instance of great ingenuity, and very little principle. So many have been told already, that I hesitate to illustrate my observation, from fear of being accused of uttering stale jokes. Nevertheless I will venture upon one or two.

“An American (Down East, of course), when his father died, found his patrimony to consist of several hundred dozen of boxes of ointment for the cure of a certain complaint, said (by us) to be more common in the North than in England. He made up his pack, and took a round of nearly a hundred miles, going from town to town and from village to village, offering his remedy for sale. But unfortunately for him no one was afflicted with the complaint, and they would not purchase on the chance of any future occasion for it. He returned back to his inn, and having reflected a little, he went out, inquired where he could find the disease, and having succeeded, inoculated himself with it. When he was convinced that he had it with sufficient virulence, he again set forth making the same round; and taking advantage of the American custom which is so prevalent, he shook hands with everybody whom he had spoken to on his former visit, declaring he was ‘’tarnal glad to see them again.’ Thus he went on till his circuit was completed, when he repaired to the first town again, and found that his ointment, as he expected, was now in great request; and he continued his route as before, selling every box that he possessed.”

There is a story of a Yankee clock-maker’s ingenuity, that I have not seen in print. He also “made a circuit, having a hundred clocks when he started; they were all very bad, which he well knew; but by ‘soft sawder and human natur,’ as Sam Slick says, he contrived to sell ninety-nine of them, and reserve the last for his intended ‘ruse.’ He went to the house where he had sold the first clock, and said, ‘Well, now, how does your clock go? very well, I guess.’ The answer was as he anticipated, ‘No, very bad.’ ‘Indeed! Well, now, I’ve found it out at last. You see, I had one clock which was I know a bad one, and I said to my boy, “you’ll put that clock aside, for it won’t do to sell such an article.” Well, the boy didn’t mind, and left the clock with the others; and I found out afterwards that it had been sold somewhere. Mighty mad I was, I can tell you, for I’m not a little particular about my credit; so I have asked here and there, everywhere almost, how my clocks went, and they all said that “they actually regulated the sun.” But I was determined to find out who had the bad clock, and I am most particular glad that I have done it at last. Now, you see I have but one clock left, a very superior article, worth a matter of ten dollars more than the others, and I must give it you in change, and I’ll only charge you five dollars difference, as you have been annoyed with the bad article.’ The man who had the bad clock thought it better to pay five dollars more to have a good one; so the exchange was made, and then the Yankee, proceeding with the clock, returned to the next house. ‘Well, now, how does your clock go? very well, I guess.’ The same answer—the same story repeated—and another five dollars received in exchange. And thus did he go round, exchanging clock for clock, until he had received an extra five dollars for every one which he had sold.”

Logic.—“A Yankee went into the bar of an inn in a country town: ‘Pray what’s the price of a pint of shrub?’ ‘Half a dollar,’ was the reply of the man at the bar. ‘Well, then, give it me.’ The shrub was poured out, when the bell rang for dinner. ‘Is that your dinner-bell?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘What may you charge for dinner?’ ‘Half a dollar.’ ‘Well, then, I think I had better not take the shrub, but have some dinner instead.’ This was consented to. The Yankee went in, sat down to his dinner, and when it was over, was going out of the door without paying. ‘Massa,’ said the negro waiter, ‘you not paid for your dinner.’ ‘I know that; I took the dinner instead of the shrub.’ ‘But, massa, you not pay for the shrub.’ ‘Well, I did not have the shrub, did I, you nigger?’ said the Yankee, walking away. The negro scratched his head; he knew that something was wrong, as he had got no money; but he could not make it out till the Yankee was out of sight.”

I do not think that democracy is marked upon the features of the lower classes in the United States; there is no arrogant bearing in them, as might be supposed from the despotism of the majority; on the contrary, I should say that their lower classes are much more civil than our own. I had a slap of equality on my first landing at New York. I had hired a truck-man to take up my luggage from the wharf; I went a-head, and missed him when I came to the corner of the street where I had engaged apartments, and was looking round for him in one direction, when I was saluted with a slap on the shoulder, which was certainly given with good-will. I turned, and beheld my carman, who had taken the liberty to draw my attention in this forcible manner. He was a man of few words; he pointed to his truck where it stood with the baggage, and then went on.