THE SOUTH AMERICAN EDITOR
[I am tempted to include this little burlesque in this collection simplyin memory of the Boston Miscellany, the magazine in which it waspublished, which won for itself a brilliant reputation in its shortcareer. There was not a large staff of writers for the Miscellany, butmany of the names then unknown have since won distinction. To quote themin the accidental order in which I find them in the table of contents,where they are arranged by the alphabetical order of the several papers,the Miscellany contributors were Edward Everett, George Lunt, NathanHale, Jr., Nathaniel Hawthorne, N.P. Willis, W.W. Story, J.R. Lowell,C.N. Emerson, Alexander H. Everett, Sarah P. Hale, W.A. Jones, CorneliusMatthews, Mrs. Kirkland, J.W. Ingraham, H.T. Tuckerman, Evart A.Duyckinck, Francis A. Durivage, Mrs. J. Webb, Charles F. Powell, CharlesW. Storey, Lucretia P. Hale, Charles F. Briggs, William E. Channing,Charles Lanman, G.H. Hastings, and Elizabeth B. Barrett, now Mrs.Browning, some of whose earliest poems were published in this magazine.These are all the contributors whose names appear, excepting the writersof a few verses. They furnished nine tenths of the contents of themagazine. The two Everetts, Powell, William Story, and my brother, whowas the editor, were the principal contributors. And I am tempted to saythat I think they all put some of their best work upon this magazine.
The misfortune of the Miscellany, I suppose, was that its publishers hadno capital. They had to resort to the claptraps of fashion-plates andother engravings, in the hope of forcing an immediate sale upon personswho, caring for fashion-plates, did not care for the literary characterof the enterprise. It gave a very happy escape-pipe, however, for thehigh spirits of some of us who had just left college, and, through mybrother's kindness, I was sometimes permitted to contribute to thejournal. In memory of those early days of authorship, I select "TheSouth American Editor" to publish here. For the benefit of the New YorkObserver, I will state that the story is not true. And lest any shouldcomplain that it advocates elopements, I beg to observe, in theseriousness of mature life, that the proposed elopement did not succeed,and that the parties who proposed it are represented as having noguardians or keepers but themselves. The article was first published in1842.]
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It is now more than six years since I received the following letter froman old classmate of mine, Harry Barry, who had been studying divinity,and was then a settled minister. It was an answer to a communication Ihad sent him the week before.
"TOPSHAM, R.I. January 22, 1836.
"To say the truth, my dear George, your letter startled me a little. To think that I, scarcely six months settled in the profession, should be admitted so far into the romance of it as to unite forever two young runaways like yourself and Miss Julia What's-her-name is at least curious. But, to give you your due, you have made a strong case of it, and as Miss ---- (what is her name, I have not yours at hand) is not under any real guardianship, I do not see but I am perfectly justified in complying with your rather odd request. You see I make a conscientious matter of it.
"Write me word when it shall be, and I will be sure to be ready. Jane is of course in my counsels, and she will make your little wife feel as much at home as in her father's parlor. Trust us for secrecy.
"I met her last week--"
But the rest of the letter has nothing to do with the story.
The elopement alluded to in it (if the little transaction deserves sohigh-sounding a name) was, in every sense of the words, strictlynecessary. Julia Wentworth had resided for years with her grandfather, apragmatic old gentleman, to whom from pure affection she had longyielded an obedience which he would have had no right to extort, andwhich he was sometimes disposed to abuse. He had declared in the mostingenuous manner that she should never marry with his consent any man ofless fortune than her own would be; and on his consent rested theprospect of her inheriting his property.
Julia and I, however, care little for money now, we cared still lessthen; and her own little property and my own little salary made usesteem ourselves entirely independent of the old gentleman and his will.
His intention respecting the poor girl's marriage was thundered in herears at least once a week, so that we both knew that I had no need tomake court to him, indeed, I had never seen him, always having met herin walking, or in the evening at party, spectacle, concert, or lecture.He had lately been more domineering than usual, and I had but littledifficulty in persuading the dear girl to let me write to Harry Barry,to make the arrangement to which he assented in the letter which I havecopied above. The reasoning which I pressed upon her is obvious. Weloved each other,--the old gentleman could not help that; and as hemanaged to make us very uncomfortable in Boston, in the existing stateof affairs, we naturally came to the conclusion that the sooner wechanged that state the better. Our excursion to Topsham would, wesupposed, prove a very disagreeable business to him; but we knew itwould result very agreeably for us, and so, though with a good deal ofmaidenly compunction and granddaughterly compassion on Julia's part, weoutvoted him.
I have said that I had no fortune to enable me to come near the oldgentleman's _beau ideal_ of a grandson-in-law. I was then living on mysalary as a South American editor. Does the reader know what that is?The South American editor of a newspaper has the uncontrolled charge ofits South American news. Read any important commercial paper for amonth, and at the end of it tell me if you have any clear conception ofthe condition of the various republics (!) of South America. If youhave, it is because that journal employs an individual for the solepurpose of setting them in the clearest order before you, and thatindividual is its South American editor. The general-news editor of thepaper will keep the run of all the details of all the histories of allthe rest of the world, but he hardly attempts this in addition. If hedoes, he fails. It is therefore necessary, from the most cogent reasons,that any American news office which has a strong regard for theconsistency or truth of its South American intelligence shall employsome person competent to take the charge which I held in theestablishment of the Boston Daily Argus at the time of which I amspeaking. Before that enterprising paper was sold, I was its "SouthAmerican man"; this being my only employment, excepting that by aspecial agreement, in consideration of an addition to my salary, I wasengaged to attend to the news from St. Domingo, Guatemala, andMexico.[F]
Monday afternoon, just a fortnight after I received Harry Barry'sletter, in taking my afternoon walk round the Common, I happened to meetJulia. I always walked in the same direction when I was alone. Juliaalways preferred to go the other way; it was the only thing in which wediffered. When we were together I always went her way of course, andliked it best.
I had told her, long before, all about Harry's letter, and the dear girlin this walk, after a little blushing and sighing, and half falteringand half hesitating and feeling uncertain, yielded to my last andwarmest persuasions, and agreed to go to Mrs. Pollexfen's ball thatevening, ready to leave it with me in my buggy sleigh, for a threehours' ride to Topsham, where we both knew Harry would be waiting forus. I do not know how she managed to get through tea that evening withher lion of a grandfather, for she could not then cover her tearful eyeswith a veil as she did through the last half of our walk together. Iknow that I got through my tea and such like ordinary affairs byskipping them. I made all my arrangements, bade Gage and Streeter beready with the sleigh at my lodgings (fortunately only two doors fromMrs. Pollexfen's) at half-past nine o'clock, and was the highestspirited of men when, on returning to those lodgings myself at eighto'clock, I found the following missives from the Argus office, which hadbeen accumulating through the afternoon.
No. 1.
"4 o'clock, P.M.
"DEAR SIR:--The southern mail, just in, brings Buenos Ayres papers six days later, by the Medora, at Baltimore.
"In haste, J.C."
(Mr. C. was the gentleman who opened the newspapers, and arranged thedeaths and marriages; he always kindly sent for me w
hen I was out of theway.)
No. 2.
"5 o'clock, P.M.
"DEAR SIR:--The U.S. ship Preble is in at Portsmouth; latest from Valparaiso. The mail is not sorted.
"Yours, J.D."
(Mr. D. arranged the ship news for the Argus.)
No. 3.
"6 o'clock, p.m.
"DEAR SIR:--I boarded, this morning, off Cape Cod, the Blunderhead, from Carthagena, and have a week's later papers.
"Truly yours, J.E."
(Mr. E. was the enterprising commodore of our news-boats.)
No. 4.
"6-1/4 o'clock, P.M.
"DEAR SIR:--I have just opened accidentally the enclosed letter, from our correspondent at Panama. You will see that it bears a New Orleans post-mark. I hope it may prove exclusive.
"Yours, J.F."
(Mr. F. was general editor of the Argus.)
No. 5.
"6-1/2 o'clock, P.M.
"DEAR SIR:--A seaman, who appears to be an intelligent man, has arrived this morning at New Bedford, and says he has later news of the rebellion in Ecuador than any published. The Rosina (his vessel) brought no papers. I bade him call at your room at eight o'clock, which he promised to do.
"Truly yours, J.G."
(Mr. G. was clerk in the Argus counting-room.)
No 6.
"7-1/2 o'clock, P.M.
"Dear Sir:--The papers by the Ville de Lyon, from Havre, which I have just received, mention the reported escape of M. Bonpland from Paraguay, the presumed death of Dr. Francia, the probable overthrow of the government, the possible establishment of a republic, and a great deal more than I understand in the least.
"These papers had not come to hand when I wrote you this afternoon. I have left them on your desk at the office.
"In haste, J.F."
I was taken all aback by this mass of odd-looking little notes. I hadspent the afternoon in drilling Singelton, the kindest of friends, as towhat he should do in any probable contingency of news of the nextforty-eight hours, for I did not intend to be absent on a wedding toureven longer than that time; but I felt that Singleton was entirelyunequal to such a storm of intelligence as this; and, as I hurried downto the office, my chief sensation was that of gratitude that the cloudhad broken before I was out of the way; for I knew I could do a greatdeal in an hour, and I had faith that I might slur over my digest asquickly as possible, and be at Mrs. Pollexfen's within the timearranged.
I rushed into the office in that state of zeal in which a man may doanything in almost no time. But first, I had to go into theconversation-room, and get the oral news from my sailor; then Mr. H.;from one of the little news-boats, came to me in high glee, with someVenezuela Gazettes, which he had just extorted from a skipper, who, withgreat plausibility, told him that he knew his vessel had brought nonews, for she never had before. (N.B. In this instance she was the onlyvessel to sail, after a three months' blockade.) And then I had handedto me by Mr. J., one of the commercial gentlemen, a private letter fromRio Janeiro, which had been lent him. After these delays, with fullmaterials, I sprang to work--read, read, read; wonder, wonder, wonder;guess, guess, guess; scratch, scratch, scratch; and scribble, scribble,scribble, make the only transcript I can give of the operations whichfollowed. At first, several of the other gentlemen in the room sataround me; but soon Mr. C., having settled the deaths and marriages, andthe police and municipal reporters immediately after him, screwed outtheir lamps and went home; then the editor himself, then the legislativereporters, then the commercial editors, then the ship-news conductor,and left me alone.
I envied them that they got through so much earlier than usual, butscratched on, only interrupted by the compositors coming in for thepages of my copy as I finished them; and finally, having made my lasttranslation from the last _Boletin Extraordinario_, sprang up, shouting,"Now for Mrs. P.'s," and looked at my watch. It was half past one![G] Ithought of course it had stopped,--no; and my last manuscript page wasnumbered twenty-eight! Had I been writing there five hours? Yes!
Reader, when you are an editor, with a continent's explosions todescribe, you will understand how one may be unconscious of the passageof time.
I walked home, sad at heart. There was no light in all Mr. Wentworth'shouse; there was none in any of Mrs. Pollexfen's windows;[H] and thelast carriage of her last relation had left her door. I stumbled upstairs in the dark, and threw myself on my bed. What should I say, whatcould I say, to Julia? Thus pondering, I fell asleep.
If I were writing a novel, I should say that, at a late hour the nextday, I listlessly drew aside the azure curtains of my couch, andlanguidly rang a silver bell which stood on my dressing-table, andreceived from a page dressed in an Oriental costume the notes andletters which had been left for me since morning, and the newspapers ofthe day.
I am not writing a novel.
The next morning, about ten o'clock, I arose and went down tobreakfast. As I sat at the littered table which every one else had left,dreading to attack my cold coffee and toast, I caught sight of themorning papers, and received some little consolation from them. Therewas the Argus with its three columns and a half of "Important from SouthAmerica," while none of the other papers had a square of anyintelligibility excepting what they had copied from the Argus the daybefore. I felt a grim smile creeping over my face as I observed thissignal triumph of our paper, and ventured to take a sip of the blackbroth as I glanced down my own article to see if there were any glaringmisprints in it. Before I took the second sip, however, a loud peal atthe door-bell announced a stranger, and, immediately after, a note wasbrought in for me which I knew was in Julia's hand-writing.
"DEAR GEORGE:--Don't be angry; it was not my fault, really it was not. Grandfather came home just as I was leaving last night, and was so angry, and said I should not go to the party, and I had to sit with him all the evening. Do write to me or let me see you; do something--"
What a load that note took off my mind! And yet, what must the poor girlhave suffered! Could the old man suspect? Singleton was true to me assteel, I knew. He could not have whispered,--nor Barry; out that Jane,Barry's wife. O woman! woman! what newsmongers they are! Here were Juliaand I, made miserable for life, perhaps, merely that Jane Barry mighthave a good story to tell. What right had Barry to a wife? Not fouryears out of college, and hardly settled in his parish. To think that Ihad been fool enough to trust even him with the particulars of myall-important secret! But here I was again interrupted, coffee-cup stillfull, toast still untasted, by another missive.
"Tuesday morning.
"SIR:--I wish to see you this morning. Will you call upon me, or appoint a time and place where I may meet you?
"Yours, JEDEDIAH WENTWORTH."
"Send word by the bearer."
"Tell Mr. Wentworth I will call at his house at eleven o'clock."
The cat was certainly out; Mrs. Barry had told, or some one else had,who I did not know and hardly cared. The scene was to come now, and Iwas almost glad of it. Poor Julia! what a time she must have had withthe old bear!
* * * * *
At eleven o'clock I was ushered into Mr. Wentworth's sitting-room. Juliawas there, but before I had even spoken to her the old gentleman camebustling across the room, with his "Mr. Hackmatack, I suppose"; andthen followed a formal introduction between me and her, which both of usbore with the most praiseworthy fortitude and composure, neitherevincing, even by a glance, that we had ever seen or heard of each otherbefore. Here was another weight off my mind and Julia's. I had wrongedpoor Mrs. Barry. The secret was not out--what could he want? It verysoon appeared.
After a minute's discussion of the weather, the snow, and thethermometer, the old gentleman drew up his chair to mine, with "I think,sir, you are connected with the Argus office?"
"Yes, sir; I am its South American editor.'
; "Yes!" roared the old man, in a sudden rage. "Sir, I wish South Americawas sunk in the depths of the sea!"
"I am sure I do, sir," replied I, glancing at Julia, who did not,however, understand me. I had not fully passed out of my last night'sdistress.
My sympathizing zeal soothed the old gentleman a little, and he saidmore coolly, in an undertone: "Well, sir, you are well informed, nodoubt; tell me, in strict secrecy, sir, between you and me, do you--doyou place full credit--entire confidence in the intelligence in thismorning's paper?"
"Excuse me, sir; what paper do you allude to? Ah! the Argus, I see.Certainly, sir; I have not the least doubt that it is perfectlycorrect."
"No doubt, sir! Do you mean to insult me?--Julia, I told you so; hesays there is no doubt it is true. Tell me again there is some mistake,will you?" The poor girl had been trying to soothe him with the constantremark of uninformed people, that the newspapers are always in thewrong. He turned from her, and rose from his chair in a positive rage.She was half crying. I never saw her more distressed. What did all thismean? Were one, two, or all of us crazy?
It soon appeared. After pacing the length of the room once or twice,Wentworth came up to me again, and, attempting to appear cool, saidbetween his closed lips: "Do you say you have no doubt that Rio Janeirois strictly blockaded?"
"Not the slightest in the world," said I, trying to seem unconcerned.
"Not the slightest, sir? What are you so impudent and cool about it for?Do you think you are talking of the opening of a rose-bud or the deathof a mosquito? Have you no sympathy with the sufferings of afellow-creature? Why, sir!" and the old man's teeth chattered as hespoke, "I have five cargoes of flour on their way to Rio, and theircaptains will--Damn it, sir, I shall lose the whole venture."
The secret was out. The old fool had been sending flour to Rio, knowingas little of the state of affairs there as a child.
"And do you really mean, sir," continued the old man, "that there is anembargo in force in Monte Video?"
"Certainly, sir; but I'm very sorry for it."
"Sorry for it! of course you are;--and that all foreigners are sent outof Buenos Ayres?"
"Undoubtedly, sir. I wish--"
"Who does not wish so? Why, sir, my corresponding friends there are halfacross the sea by this time. I wish Rosas was in--and that the Indianshave risen near Maranham?"
"Undoubtedly, sir."
"Undoubtedly! I tell you, sir, I have two vessels waiting for cargoes ofIndia-rubbers there, under a blunder-headed captain, who will do nothinghe has not been bidden to,--obey his orders if he breaks his owners. Yousmile, sir? Why, I should have made thirty thousand dollars this winter,sir, by my India-rubbers, if we had not had this devilish mild, openweather, you and Miss Julia there have been praising so. But next wintermust be a severe one, and with those India-rubbers I should havemade--But now those Indians,--pshaw! And a revolution in Chili?"
"Yes, sir."
"No trade there! And in Venezuela?"
"Yes, sir"
"Yes, sir; yes, sir; yes, sir; yes, sir! Sir, I am ruined. Say 'Yes,sir,' to that. I have thirteen vessels at this moment in the SouthAmerican trade, sir; say 'Yes, sir,' to that. Half of them will betaken by the piratical scoundrels; say 'Yes, sir,' to that. Theirinsurance will not cover them; say 'Yes, sir,' to that. The other halfwill forfeit their cargoes, or sell them for next to nothing; say 'Yes,sir,' to that. I tell you I am a ruined man, and I wish the SouthAmerica, and your daily Argus, and you--"
Here the old gentleman's old-school breeding got the better of his rage,and he sank down in his arm-chair, and, bursting into tears, said:"Excuse me, sir,--excuse me, sir,--I am too warm."
We all sat for a few moments in silence, but then I took my share of theconversation. I wish you could have seen the old man's face light uplittle by little, as I showed him that to a person who understood thepolitics and condition of the mercurial country with which he hadignorantly attempted to trade, his condition was not near so bad as hethought it; that though one port was blockaded, another was opened; thatthough one revolution thwarted him, a few weeks would show another whichwould favor him; that the goods which, as he saw, would be worthless atthe port to which he had sent them, would be valuable elsewhere; thatthe vessels which would fail in securing the cargoes he had orderedcould secure others; that the very revolutions and wars which troubledhim would require in some instances large government purchases, perhapslarge contracts for freight, possibly even for passage,--his vesselsmight be used for transports; that the very excitement of somedistricts might be made to turn to our advantage; that, in short, therewere a thousand chances open to him which skilful agents could readilyimprove. I reminded him that a quick run in a clipper schooner couldcarry directions to half these skippers of his, to whom, with aninfatuation which I could not and cannot conceive, he had left nodiscretion, and who indeed were to be pardoned if they could use none,seeing the tumult as they did with only half an eye. I talked to him forhalf an hour, and went into details to show that my plans were notimpracticable. The old gentleman grew brighter and brighter, and Julia,as I saw, whenever I stole a glance across the room, felt happier andhappier. The poor girl had had a hard time since he had first heard thisnews whispered the evening before.
His difficulties were not over, however; for when I talked to him of thenecessity of sending out one or two skilful agents immediately to takethe personal superintendence of his complicated affairs, the old mansighed, and said he had no skilful agents to send.
With his customary suspicion, he had no partners, and had neverintrusted his clerks with any general insight into his business.Besides, he considered them all, like his captains, blunder-headed tothe last degree. I believe it was an idea of Julia's, communicated to mein an eager, entreating glance, which induced me to propose myself asone of these confidential agents, and to be responsible for the other.I thought, as I spoke, of Singleton, to whom I knew I could explain myplans in full, and whose mercantile experience would make him a valuablecoadjutor. The old gentleman accepted my offer eagerly. I told him thattwenty-four hours were all I wanted to prepare myself. He immediatelytook measures for the charter of two little clipper schooners which layin port then; and before two days were past, Singleton and I were on ourvoyage to South America. Imagine, if you can, how these two days werespent. Then, as now, I could prepare for any journey in twenty minutes,and of course I had no little time at my disposal for last words withMr. and--Miss Wentworth. How I won on the old gentleman's heart in thosetwo days! How he praised me to Julia, and then, in as natural affection,how he praised her to me! And how Julia and I smiled through our tears,when, in the last good-bys, he said he was too old to write or read anybut business letters, and charged me and her to keep up a closecorrespondence, which on one side should tell all that I saw and did,and on the other hand remind me of all at home.
* * * * *
I have neither time nor room to give the details of that South Americanexpedition. I have no right to. There were revolutions accomplished inthose days without any object in the world's eyes; and, even in mine,only serving to sell certain cargoes of long cloths and flour. Thedetails of those outbreaks now told would make some patriotic presidentstremble in their seats; and I have no right to betray confidence atwhatever rate I purchased it. Usually, indeed, my feats and Singleton'swere only obtaining the best information and communicating the mostspeedy instructions to Mr. Wentworth's vessels, which were made to movefrom port to port with a rapidity and intricacy of movement which nonebesides us two understood in the least. It was in that expedition that Itravelled almost alone across the continent. I was, I think, the firstwhite man who ever passed through the mountain path of Xamaulipas, nowso famous in all the Chilian picturesque annuals. I was carryingdirections for some vessels which had gone round the Cape; and what atime Burrows and Wheatland and I had a week after, when we rode into thepublic square of Valparaiso shouting, "Muera la Constitucion,--VivaLibertad!" by our own unassisted lungs ac
tually raising a rebellion,and, which was of more importance, a prohibition on foreign flour, whileBahamarra and his army were within a hundred miles of us. How thosevessels came up the harbor, and how we unloaded them, knowing that atbest our revolution could only last five days! But as I said, I must becareful, or I shall be telling other people's secrets.
The result of that expedition was that those thirteen vessels all madegood outward voyages, and all but one or two eventually made profitablehome voyages. When I returned home, the old gentleman received me withopen arms. I had rescued, as he said, a large share of that fortunewhich he valued so highly. To say the truth, I felt and feel that he hadplanned his voyages so blindly, that, without some wiser head than his,they would never have resulted in anything. They were his last, as theywere almost his first, South American ventures. He returned to his oldcourse of more methodical trading for the few remaining years of hislife. They were, thank Heaven, the only taste of mercantile businesswhich I ever had. Living as I did, in the very sunshine of Mr. Wentworth's favor, I went through the amusing farce of paying my addressesto Julia in approved form, and in due time received the old gentleman'scordial assent to our union, and his blessing upon it. In six monthsafter my return, we were married; the old man as happy as a king. Hewould have preferred a little that the ceremony should have beenperformed by Mr. B----, his friend and pastor, but readily assented tomy wishes to call upon a dear and early friend of my own.
Harry Barry came from Topsham and performed the ceremony, "assisted byRev. Mr. B."
G.H.
ARGUS COTTAGE, April 1, 1842.
The Man Without a Country, and Other Tales Page 4