Woven with the Ship: A Novel of 1865 Read online

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  WOVEN WITH THE SHIP

  _By the Same Author_

  WHEN BLADES ARE OUT AND LOVE'S AFIELD

  Buff buckram, eight illustrations by E. Plaisted Abbott, with coloredborder decorations and head-pieces by Edward Stratton Holloway, $1.50

  Mr. Brady's novel is full of fighting, gallant deeds and the surprisesand alluring uncertainties of love-making. It has the vivid setting ofVirginia and Carolina in 1781

  "As a romance it is delightful."--_Boston Transcript_

  "A perfect gem of a volume. One of the daintiest that ever came to the_World's_ table."--_New York World_

  "Oh, Captain Barry, you must do something!"See page 35]

  WOVEN WITH THE SHIP

  A NOVEL OF 1865

  TOGETHER WITH CERTAIN OTHER VERACIOUS TALES OF VARIOUS SORTS

  BYCYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY, LL.D.

  Author of "When Blades are Out and Love's Afield," "For the Freedomof the Sea," "Hohenzollern," "The Quiberon Touch," "Border Fightsand Fighters," etc.

  WITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS BY

  HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY, FRANKX. LEYENDECKER, W. GLACKENS, WILLCRAWFORD, AND H. L. V. PARKHURST

  PHILADELPHIA & LONDONJ. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY1902

  Copyright, 1902, byTHE CROWELL & KIRKPATRICK COMPANY

  Copyright, 1902, byTHE CROWELL PUBLISHING COMPANY

  Copyright, 1902, byJ. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

  _Published October, 1902_

  _Electrotyped and Printed byJ. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.S.A._

  Lovingly Dedicated to Margaret and Katharine

  Whose chief pleasure during one seashore summer lay in listening to their father while this romance was

  "WOVEN WITH THE SHIP"

  PREFACE

  Prefaces remind me of a certain text of Scripture,--_i.e._, "thelast shall be first,"--for they are things written after which gobefore! Whether or not they serve a useful purpose is hard to say. Ihave several thousands of them in my library, most of which I haveread, and perhaps the fact that I am a reader of prefaces may mark meas unique. And the mark may be accentuated to the gentle reader--ifthis preface should have any--when I say that I am also one of the fewremaining authors who write them. Only one of my books is without apreface,--though some of them are disguised as notes, or forewords, orafterwords,--and I hereby apologize for the acephalous condition ofthat volume.

  I am determined that this book shall be amply provided, and though Iwrite the preface while I am sending back the proof galleys, yet I willbegin at the beginning. Beginnings are sometimes interesting, althoughthe interest of a beginning largely depends on the ending thereof. Ishall hope that this book in the end may commend itself sufficiently tomy indulgent readers to make the story of the beginning worth while.

  "The years are many, the years are long," since a happy young sailor,fresh from his graduation at the United States Naval Academy, spentsome of the pleasantest days of his life in the shadow of the old ship;for there was a ship, just such a one as I have described, and in justsuch a condition. There was a white house on the hill, too, and a veryold naval officer, who took a great interest in the opening career ofthe young aspirant who passed so many hours lying on the grass amid themouldering ways, with the huge bulk of the ship looming over his headand the sparkling waters of the bay breaking at his feet.

  There were girls, too, and a sailor, and soldiers galore across theharbor in the barracks, and back of all the sleepy, dreamy, idle,quaint, and ancient little town. The story, of course, is only aromance; but the setting at least is actual, and there is this touch ofrealism in the tale: when the old ship was torn down to be made intokindling-wood, a part of it fell upon one of the destroyers and crushedthe life out of him,--stern protest against an ignoble ending!

  The idea of the story came to me twenty years ago. Indeed, in a brief,disconnected way I set it down on paper and forgot it until I chancedto resurrect it last year, when I threw aside the old notes and wrotethe story _de novo_.

  I intend it as a character sketch of the old admiral, the veteransailor, the young officer, the innocent woman they all loved, and--dareI say it?--the mighty ship. Here are contrasts, surely.

  When I wrote "Hohenzollern," I thought it would be perfectly plain toevery one that it was not an historical novel. Vain hope! Yet I am notdiscouraged by the lack of perception on the part of the critics.Therefore I put this novel forth with a stronger confidence that itwill not be considered in that category. Save for what I have admitted,there is not one word of history in it. Indeed, I have deliberately,and because it was my fancy, chosen to appropriate the name of AdmiralCharles Stewart, "Old Ironsides,"--who did indeed live well into theCivil War period, but who died under very different circumstances,--forthe name of the ancient captain in the white house on the hill. Iapologize to his _manes_, his descendants, and his friends for theliberty.

  Now, I do not write this because I wish to make any apology for thehistorical novel. Not at all. The thing is slightly overdone atpresent, but that is proof of its goodness. So far as I am concerned Iwill stand by my guns. I love to read historic romances when they aregood, and I love to write them--even when they are as my own. I expectto write more of them, too; but this really is not one. It is a warstory without any war, a sea story without any sea; yet it exhibits agreat struggle and rings with a great victory. The reader maycharacterize it further at pleasure.

  As for the second part of the volume I have called it Veracious Talesadvisedly, for all of these stories are founded upon facts in one wayor another. Some of them have been suggested to me by incidents withwhich I am familiar because in them I bore a small part. The substanceof one of them came from a young English traveller who told a romanticincident at a delightful dinner at the New York University Club. A realdiary suggested another. An historical mystery as to what became of acertain cargo of slaves captured by Decatur in the Mediterranean evokeda third. Neglected chapters in history and biography are responsiblefor some of the others, as the Martinique tale, for the Diamond Rockwas once a ship! Sir Henry Irving's marvellous rendition of Matthias in_The Bells_ so possessed me with its power that after I came homefrom the theatre I could not sleep until I had written the story. Allof these tales represent real incidents, therefore, or are founded uponthem in some way.

  Writing a short story, with me at least, is very different from writinga novel. I can invent plots of novels without the slightest difficulty,but the making of a short story is different. The making is a case ofbirth! The single incident, the brief condensed plot, or the vividcharacter sketch which is necessary to a proper short story has to cometo me from outside. The short story is the product of inspiration, thelong story the result of labor. Perhaps, therefore, there is more truthin the short story than in the long--from my point of view.

  At any rate, in this volume are two kinds, and the readers may decide.If they have half as much pleasure out of the book as I had, they willthank me for having written.

  C. T. B.

  THE LAKE PLACID CLUB, ADIRONDACKS, NEW YORK, June 16, 1902.