University of Virginia Library

5. V.
Wash. Fudge Abroad.

THE speech of Mr. Politic-would-be, in Ben
Jonson's play, twangs as admirably with the
humor and intent of Wash. Fudge, as he set off
upon his travels, as can be imagined. Mrs. Fudge
and Wilhelmina waved their handkerchiefs theatrically
from the Jersey dock, as the steamer which
bore George Washington paddled off into the bay.
Mr. Solomon Fudge waved his hat, in the graceful

manner which he had learned when returning the
plaudits paid to him as Mayor of the city.

I cannot say that the parties were much overcome,
on either side. Mrs. Fudge, as usual, bore
up stoutly. Wilhelmina might, I think, have shed
a tear or two, had her eye not lighted, in the very
moment of her enthusiasm, upon a dashing fellow
upon the quarter-deck: and she conceived the sudden
and cruel design of fascinating him where he
stood.

I have no doubt that the basilisk eyes of Wilhelmina
were fastened upon the gentleman above-named,
at the very moment that she twirled her
handkerchief for the last time, toward the dimly-receding
figure of Wash. Fudge, and subsided
gracefully into the arms of her mother. Her position
was a good one upon the dock. Mrs. Fudge
had arranged her dress as she supported her; the
cambric handkerchief, which waved adieu, was
trimmed with lace; the wind was moderate; the
by-standers were numerous; and the whole affair
was creditable.

As the crowd dispersed, Miss Wilhelmina recovered
her spirits and her footing.

As for Wash. Fudge, who had learned some
experience in the nautical line, by one or two excursions
in mild weather, in a small sloop-rigged yacht,

to Coney Island, he avowed himself to various
parties on ship-board to be quite in his element.
The element seemed to be kindred with his qualities
down the bay, and for some twenty hours thereafter.
After this, it would appear that young Mr. Fudge
was less talkative than usual: he seemed fatigued;
he reposed frequently upon the settees lashed to the
“lights” of the after-cabin. His appetite failed
him, especially at breakfast. There were very violent
calls for the steward from state-room number
fourteen, such as could hardly have been anticipated
from a dashing yacht-man, in his own element.

I am told that there is something excessively
awkward in the position of a ship's decks at sea.
My opinion is that Wash. Fudge experienced
this awkwardness very sensibly. I can imagine
my young friend, wedged of a morning very tightly
in the angle formed by a thin mattress and the wall
of his state-room, the victim of irresolution, and
of considerable nausea. I can fancy his plaid
pantaloons swinging over him, in a very extraordinary
manner, from the farther side of his room,
the contents of his wash-bowl plunging toward
him very threateningly, and the bedclothes, and
ship generally, wearing a very bad smell. In any
delirious attempts to dress, I can easily imagine
him making sad plunges toward the leg of his

pantaloons, sometimes taking a rest, with his hand
in the wash-bowl, and struggling frightfully to
recover the escaping end of his cravat. Under
these circumstances, and while recovering some
composure by a resort to a horizontal position, I
can imagine the contrast afforded by the pleasant,
off-hand manner of the English steward, as he
announces breakfast: and I think I can picture
to myself the parched and yellow expression of
my usually cheerful young friend, as he listens to
the appetizing and kind enumeration of “Grilled
fowl, Sir! nice curry, Sir! broiled bacon, Sir!”

Young Mr. Fudge has been specially commended
by Mr. Fudge, senior, to the Captain. The Captain
would not, of course, fail to be obedient to
the wishes of Mr. Fudge, late Mayor, etc. He
pays them the same degree of regard which seacaptains
usually pay to such demands upon their
time and attention. On the third day, perhaps,
he pays a visit to his protégé:

“Eh, bless me! not out yet, Mr. Fudge?—
rather under the weather?”

Master Fudge replies faintly: not at all in the
manner of a yacht-man.

“Ah, well, brave it out my man: eat hearty:
stir about: rather nasty weather, this. Good
morning.”

A bottle of old particular Madeira, secured
upon the first day, holds its place obstinately in
the rack: Mr. Fudge finds that taste changes
at sea. A nice little pacquet of flat cigars, on
which he had counted for a vast deal of luxury,
are entirely discarded. The same may be said
of a nicely-ruled diary, in which Mr. Solomon
Fudge had suggested the record of such practical
observations as occurred to his son upon the
voyage. There are, indeed, a few notes upon
New-York bay: brief mention of the first day's
longitude, and one or two observations upon steam-engines.
In a letter to an old companion, eked
out upon the calm days, Wash. Fudge shows
himself more discursive, and possessed of more
fertile resources:

“Dear Tom,” he writes, “hope you are well
and thriving down at Bassford's to-night: can't
say the same for myself. The motion is different
from that of the Sylph, and the engines keep up
an infernal clatter: prefer sailing, myself. Beside,
one has no appetite: the truth is, I've been a
little under the weather. My chum, a chubby
Englishman, in grey coat and gaiters, shaves
regularly at eight. I expect to see him cut his
throat every breezy morning: it would be a great
relief.

“I don't know as you were ever sea-sick; it's
uncommonly annoying!

“I have managed a game or two of piquet,
with a nice, gentlemanly fellow aboard; but he
plays devilish well: no very tall figures; but
I'm in for three or four pound. I mean to learn
the game.

“There's a confounded pretty girl aboard—
Jenkins is her name—with her father or uncle,
I don't know which. I wish you'd find out who
they are, what set, etc., and let me know. She's
deuced stylish. No chance for flirtation aboard
ship. When you come, Tom, don't, for Heaven's
sake, count on any great dash. It's no go. The
style is a stout sou'-wester, and grey pants: only
at dinner a little show of waistcoat and fob-chain.

“I take pen again to tell you the voyage is up.
Irish shores in sight. Uncommon low, black
steamers they have this side. Am in for four
pound more at that infernal piquet: mean to learn
it. Give my love to the boys.”

From the Adelphi, Liverpool, Wash. Fudge,
in obedience to maternal wishes, communicates
such facts as he trusts will be interesting to Mrs.
Fudge. I quote only a few passages, which certainly
show a condensed and pointed style, as well
as careful observation:

“Immensely stormy passage and there were
great fears of being lost: at which I hope you
will not be alarmed, as it is now over. Was
sick for a day or so, but soon over it. There was
a pretty Miss Jenkins: blue eyes, uncommon pretty
hair. Do you know any family of that name?
Write me if you do: also anything else interesting.

“Liverpool is quite a large place, but foggy,
very. The ladies hold up their clothes at the
crossings considerably higher than in New-York:
clogs pretty general. Don't dress so prettily:
rather taller than they are at home: fatter, too.
Haven't seen many fine faces: Miss Jenkins's is
the prettiest.

“They gamble badly on board ships. It is
melancholy to think of it. Kept a diary, but it's
too big to send with this, postage being high.
Shall write again from Paris or London, can't
now say which.

“Love to Wilhe. Yrs. aff'y.”

At London, Wash. Fudge is quartered at Morley's
Hotel; and in obedience to the reiterated
wishes of Mr. Solomon Fudge, he transmits to
that gentleman a brief record of his observations.
I beg to premise, that Mr. Solomon Fudge,
with true business tact, had always recommended
great precision of language, no redundancy of

words, and close observation of foreign habit,
especially in all that related to commercial life,
into which line he has a strong hope of one day
warping his son's somewhat scattered habits.

“My dear father,” writes Washington, “for
account of voyage please see mother's letter of 6th:
also for general notes on Liverpool. The docks
are large, of brown stone, containing an immense
deal of shipping. They are called Prince's dock,
Salt-house dock, Queen's dock, and others: all
said to have been dug out of the cemetery,
which seems probable, as the cemetery is very
deep.

“Delivered Mr. M.'s letter the 4th. Counting-rooms
in Liverpool are dark, in other respects
resemble those of New York. Dined with Mr. M.
next day: expressed regard for you. Dinner much
the same as at home, only sit longer over wine:
glass of porter served. Beef is specially tender
and juicy. Waiter wears white gloves, ditto cravat.
I think this description of a British merchant's
dinner will be agreeable to you.

“Left Liverpool Monday. They call the cars
carriages: stuffed seats, but very expensive. I am
afraid, dear father, you will have to extend my
credit two hundred pounds. Didn't see much of the
country: should say it was fertile, very. Couldn't

tell how many passengers there were, but rather a
long train.

“As you have seen London, I will not describe
it. A young gentleman came on with me, who has
kindly showed me a good many of the buildings,
theatres, and others: but as he is rather a gay lark,
I think I shall avoid him some.

“I go to church on Sundays: quite a large
church at Liverpool, with a chime of bells. I have
not been to the docks yet, but hope to, in case I
leave by sea. I shall go to Paris shortly, and
remain, meantime, very dutifully, etc.”

Not being myself very familiar with London, I
do not wish to be considered personally responsible
for any statements above made. It is, perhaps,
needless to remark that Wash. Fudge visited the
Tower, the Hay-market, and London Bridge, with
great apparent interest; he was also particularly
struck with the huge sentry at the gate of the
Horse-Guards. In short, like most young Americans,
Mr. Fudge turned his back upon England,
with only such knowledge of British habit as could
be picked up along Oxford street and the Strand,
and with such acquaintance with the British country
and agriculture as may be gained in the Park of St.
James, or in the “Long Walk” of Windsor.

At Paris, Wash. Fudge is again, as he expresses

it, in his own element, notwithstanding a very unfortunate
ignorance of the language. He takes rooms,
as most fresh Americans do, upon the Rue Rivoli,
and commences observations of continental habit by
minute study of the long-legged English, and dashing
couriers, who usually throng the court-yard of
Meurice. These observations, being of a valuable
character, he jots down for Mr. Sol. Fudge, of Wall
street, in this strain:

—“Thus far it appears to me that the French
are a tall people, and talk considerable English:
some wear gilt bands on their hats. They (the
bankers) have their offices in their houses, and call
them, very funnily, bureaux.

“Paris is an expensive place, and I hope you
will remember about the credit: am glad to see
Dauphin is rising: hope it will keep rising.
M. Hottinguer was very polite: asked me to step
in occasionally, and read the papers. They call the
Exchange, Bourse, I find, and do considerable business.
It is a building with pillars: theatre opposite.
I rarely go to the theatre. They have beautiful
gardens here: Tuileries, and Mabille, and others.
Occasionally they dance in them. The French are
fond of dancing. I shall probably practise a little.

“As you advised me to pay attention to business
matters, called to-day at several shops on the Rue

de la Paix. The shop-keepers are very polite. A
great deal of wine is sold in Paris. Some newspapers
are published. I have not had much time
to read them. The form of government is republican.
People seem contented, especially at the
balls up the Champs Elysées (translated, means
Elysian Fields). Am getting on pretty well with
French. A good deal of order seems to prevail.
The wine is made in the provinces. I have not yet
seen the provinces: am told they are very extensive:
also the vineyards. Have not yet seen the
President, but a good many cuts of him: the cuts
are said to be very fair.”

It may be as well to leave our cousin Wash. at
this point, premising only that Mrs. Fudge, with
true maternal regard, has cautioned her son against
forming such associations abroad as would retard
his advancement upon a return to New York, especially
among American travellers. There was a
time, indeed, when the rarity and expense of foreign
travel was a certain guaranty for gentility; but
now-a-days, as Mrs. Fudge very justly observes, the
popular taste for European society and observation
renders a great deal of caution imperative.