Marble insisted on taking Talcott's place, and he now became my chief-mate, as I had once been his. After a little delay, I took in freight on Russian government account, and sailed for Odessa. It was thought the Sublime Porte would let an American through; but, after reaching the Dardanelles, I was ordered back, and was obliged to leave my cargo in Malta, which it was expected would be in possession of its own knights by that time, agreeably to the terms of the late treaty. From Malta I sailed for Leghorn, in quest of another freight. I pass over the details of these voyages, as really nothing worthy of being recorded occurred. They consumed a good deal of time; the delay at the Dardanelles alone exceeding six weeks, during which negotiations were going on up at Constantinople, but all in vain. In consequence of all these detentions, and the length of the passages, I did not reach Leghorn until near the close of March, I wrote to Grace and Mr. Hardinge, whenever a favourable occasion offered, but I did not get a letter from home, during the whole period. It was not in the power of my sister or guardian—late guardian would be the most accurate expression, as I had been of age since the previous October—to write, it being impossible for me to let them know when, or where, a letter would find me. It followed, that while my friends at home were kept tolerably apprised of my movements, I was absolutely in the dark as respected them. That this ignorance gave me great concern, it would be idle to deny; yet, I had a species of desperate satisfaction in keeping aloof, and in leaving the course clear to Mr. Andrew Drewett. As respects substantials, I had sent a proper power of attorney to Mr. Hardinge, who, I doubted not, would take the same care of my temporal interests he had never ceased to do since the day of my beloved mother's death.
Freights were not offering freely at Leghorn, when the Dawn arrived. After waiting a fortnight, however, I began to take in for America, and on American account. In the meantime, the cargo coming to hand slowly, I left Marble to receive it, and proceeded on a little excursion in Tuscany, or Etruria, as that part of the world was then called. I visited Pisa, Lucca, Florence, and several other intermediate towns. At Florence, I passed a week looking at sights, and amusing myself the best way I could. The gallery and the churches kept me pretty busy, and the reader will judge of my surprise one day, at hearing my own name uttered on a pretty high key, by a female voice, in the Duomo, or Cathedral of the place. On turning, I found myself in the presence of the Brighams! I was overwhelmed with questions in a minute. Where had I been? Where was Talcott? Where was the ship? When did I sail, and whither did I sail? After this came the communications. They had been to Paris; had seen the French Consul, and had dined with Mr. R. N. Livingston, then negotiating the treaty of Louisiana; had seen the Louvre; had been to Geneva; had seen the Lake; had seen Mont Blanc; had crossed Mont Cenis; had been at Milan; Rome; had seen the Pope; Naples; had seen Vesuvius; had been at Paestum; had come back to Florence, and nous voici! Glad enough was I, when I got them fairly within the gates of the City of the Lily. Next came America; from which part of the world they received such delightful letters! One from Mrs. Jonathan Little, a Salem lady then residing in New York, had just reached them. It contained four sheets, and was full of news. Then commenced the details; and I was compelled to listen to a string of gossip that connected nearly all the people of mark, my informants had ever heard of in the great Commercial Emporium that was to be. How suitable is this name! Emporium would not have been sufficiently distinctive for a town in which “the merchants” are all in all; in which they must have the post-office; in which they support the nation by paying all the revenue; in which the sun must shine and the dew fall to suit their wants; and in which the winds, themselves, may be recreant to their duty, when they happen to be foul! Like the Holy Catholic Protestant Episcopal Church, Trading Commercial Trafficking Emporium should have been the style of such a place; and I hope, ere long, some of the “Manor Born” genii of that great town, will see the matter rectified.
“By the way, Captain Wallingford,” cut in Jane, at one of Sarah's breathing intervals, that reminded me strongly of the colloquial Frenchman's “s'il crache il est perdu,” “You know something of poor Mrs. Bradfort, I believe?”
I assented by a bow.
“It was just as we told you,” cried Sarah, taking her revenge. “The poor woman is dead! and, no doubt, of that cancer. What a frightful disease! and how accurate has our information been, in all that affair!”
“I think her will the most extraordinary of all,” added Mr. Brigham, who, as a man, kept an eye more to the main chance. “I suppose you have heard all about her will, Captain Wallingford?”
I reminded the gentleman that this was the first I had ever heard of the lady's death.
“She has left every dollar to young Mr. Hardinge, her cousin's son;” added Jane, “cutting off that handsome, genteel, young lady his sister, as well as her father, without a cent”—in 1803, they just began to speak of cents, instead of farthings—“and everybody says it was so cruel!”
“That is not the worst of it,” put in Sarah. “They do say, Miss Merton, the English lady that made so much noise in New York—let me see, Mr. Brigham, what Earl's grand-daughter did we hear she was?—”
This was a most injudicious question, as it gave the husband an opportunity to take the word out of her mouth.