the end.

The Rancocus, though not a large, was a very fine, Philadelphia-built
ship, then the best vessels of the country. She was of a little less
than four hundred tons in measurement, but she had a very neat and
commodious poop-cabin. Captain Crutchely had a thrifty wife, who had
contributed her full share to render her husband comfortable, and
Bridget thought that the room in which she was united to Mark was one of
the prettiest she had ever seen. The reader, however, is not to imagine
it a cabin ornamented with marble columns, rose-wood, and the maples, as
so often happens now-a-days. No such extravagance was dreamed of fifty
years ago; but, as far as judicious arrangements, neat joiner's work,
and appropriate furniture went, the cabin of the Rancocus was a very
respectable little room. The circumstance that it was on deck,
contributed largely to its appearance and comfort, sunken cabins, or
those below decks, being necessarily much circumscribed in small ships,
in consequence of being placed in a part of the vessel that is
contracted in its dimensions under water, in order to help their sailing
qualities.

The witnesses of the union of our hero and heroine were the female
friend of Bridget named, the officiating clergyman, and one seaman who
had sailed with the bridegroom in all his voyages, and who was now
retained on board the vessel as a ship-keeper, intending to go out in
her again as soon as she should be ready for sea. The name of this
mariner was Betts, or Bob Betts as he was commonly called; and as he
acts a conspicuous part in the events to be recorded, it may be well to
say a word or two more of his history and character; Bob Betts was a
Jerseyman;--or, as he would have pronounced the word himself, a
Jarseyman--in the American meaning of the word, however, and not in the