as I had been rated in the Delaware; with this difference, that, for my service in the Brandywine, I received my regular eighteen dollars a month as a petty officer; whereas, though actually captain of the Delaware’s forecastle for quite two years, and second-captain nearly all the rest of the time I was in the ship, I never got more than seaman’s wages, or twelve dollars a month. I do not know how this happened, though I supposed it to have arisen from some mistake connected with the circumstance that I was paid off for my services in the Delaware, by the purser of the frigate. This was in consequence of the transfer.
The Brandywine sailed in March for the Gulf. Our cruise lasted about five months, during which time we went to Vera Cruz, Pensacola, and the Havana. We appeared to me to be a single ship, as we were never in squadron, and saw no broad-pennant. No accident happened, the cruise being altogether pleasant. The ship returned to Norfolk, and twenty-five of us, principally old Delawares, were discharged, our times being out. We all of us intended to return to the frigate, after a cruise ashore, and we chartered a schooner to carry us to Philadelphia in a body, determining not to part company.
The morning the schooner sailed, I was leading the whole party along one of the streets of Norfolk, when I saw something white lying in the middle of the carriage-way. It turned out to be an old messmate, Jack Dove, who had been discharged three days before, and had left us to go to Philadelphia, but had been brought up by King Grog. While we were overhauling the poor fellow, who could not speak, his landlady came out to us, and told us that he had eat nothing for three days, and did nothing but drink. She begged us to take care of him, as he disregarded all she said. This honest woman gave us Jack’s wages to a cent, for I knew what they had come to; and we made a collection of ten dollars for her, calculating that Jack must have swallowed that much in three days. Jack we took with us, bag and hammock; but he would eat nothing on the passage, calling out constantly for drink. We gave him liquor, thinking it would do him good; but he grew worse, and, when we reached Philadelphia, he was sent to the hospital. Here, in the course of a few days, he died.
Never, in all my folly and excesses, did I give myself so much up to drink, as when I reached Philadelphia this time. I was not quite as bad as Jack Dove, but I soon lost my appetite, living principally on liquor. When we heard of Jack’s death, we proposed among ourselves to give him a sailor’s funeral. We turned out, accordingly, to the number if a hundred, or more, in blue jackets and white trowsers, and marched up to the hospital in a body. I was one of the leaders in this arrangement, and felt much interest in it, as Jack had been my messmate; but, the instant I saw his coffin, a fit of the “horrors” came over me, and I actually left the place, running down street towards the river, as if pursued by devils. Luckily, I stopped to rest on the stoop of a druggist. The worthy man took me in, gave me some soda water, and some good advice. When a little strengthened, I made my way home, but gave up at the door. Then followed a severe indisposition, which kept me in bed for a fortnight, during which I suffered the torments of the damned.
I have had two or three visits from the “horrors,” in the course of my life, but nothing to equal this attack. I came near following Jack Dove to the grave; but God, in His mercy, spared me from such an end. It is not possible for one who has never experienced the effects of his excesses, in this particular form, to get any correct notions of the sufferings I endured. Among other conceits, I thought the colour which the tar usually leaves on seamen’s nails, was the sign that I had the yellow fever. This idea haunted me for days, and gave me great uneasiness. In short, I was like a man suspended over a yawning chasm, expecting, every instant, to fall and be dashed to pieces, and yet, who could not die.
For some time after my recovery, I could not bear the smell of liquor; but evil companions lured me back to my old habits. I was soon in a bad way again, and it was only owing to the necessity of going to sea, that I had not a return of the dreadful malady. When I shipped in the Delaware, I had left my watch, quadrant, and good clothes, to the value of near two hundred dollars, with my present landlord, and he now restored them all to me, safe and sound. I made considerable additions to the stock of clothes, and when I again went to sea, left the whole, and more, with the same landlord.
Our plan of going back to the Brandywine was altered by circumstances; and a party of us shipped in the Monongahela, a Liverpool liner, out of Philadelphia. The cabin of this vessel was taken by two gentlemen, going to visit Europe, viz.: Mr. Hare Powell and Mr. Edward Burd; and getting these passengers, with their families, on board, the ship sailed. By this time, I had pretty much given up the hope of preferment, and did not trouble myself whether I lived forward or aft. I joined the Monongahela as a forward hand, therefore, quite as well satisfied as if her chief mate.
We left the Delaware in the month of August, and, a short time out, encountered one of the heaviest gales of wind I ever witnessed at sea. It came on from the eastward, and would have driven us ashore, had not the wind suddenly shifted to south-west. The ship was lying-to, under bare poles, pressed down upon the water in such a way that she lay almost as steady as if in a river; nor did the force of the wind allow the sea to get up. A part of the time, our lee lower yard-arms were nearly in the water. We had everything aloft, but sending them down was quite out of the question. It was not possible, at one time, for a man to go aloft at all. I tried it myself, and could with difficulty keep my feet on the ratlins. I make no doubt I should have been blown out of the top, could I have reached it, did I let go my hold to do any work.
We had sailed in company with the Kensington, a corvette belonging to the Emperor of Russia, and saw a ship, during the gale, that was said to be she. The Kensington was dismasted, and had to return to refit, but we did not part a rope-yarn. When the wind shifted, we were on soundings; and, it still continuing to blow a gale, we set the main-topsail close-reefed, and the foresail, and shoved the vessel off the land at the rate of a steam-boat. After this, the wind favoured us, and our passage out was very short. We stayed but a few days in Liverpool; took in passengers, and got back to Philadelphia, after an absence of a little more than two months. The Kensington’s report of the gale, and of our situation, had caused much uneasiness in Philadelphia, but our two passages were so short, that we brought the news of our safety.
I now inquired for the Brandywine, but found she had sailed for the Mediterranean. It was my intention to have gone on board her, but missing this ship, and a set of officers that I knew, I looked out for a merchantman. I found a brig called the Amelia, bound to Bordeaux, and shipped in her before the mast.
The Amelia had a bad passage out. It was in the autumn, and the brig leaked badly. This kept us a great deal at the pumps, an occupation that a sailor does anything but delight in. I am of opinion that pumping a leaky ship is the most detestable work in the world. Nothing but the dread of drowning ought to make a man do it, although some men will pump to save their property. As for myself, I am not certain I would take twenty-four hours of hard pumping to save any sum I shall probably ever own, or ever did own.
After a long passage, we made the Cordovan, but, the wind blowing heavy off the land, we could not get in for near a fortnight. Not a pilot would come out, and if they had, it would have done us no good. After a while, the wind shifted, and we got into the river, and up to the town. We took in a return cargo of brandy, and sailed for Philadelphia. Our homeward-bound passage was long and stormy, but we made the capes, at last. Here we were boarded by a pilot, who told us we were too late; the Delaware had frozen up, and we had to keep away, with a South-east wind, for New York. We had a bad time of it, as soon as night came on. The gale increased, blowing directly into the bight, and we had to haul up under close-reefed topsails and reefed foresail, to claw off the land. The weather was very thick, and the night dark, and all we could do was to get round, when the land gave us a hint it was time. This we generally did in five fathoms water. We had to ware, for the brig would not tack under such short canvass, and, of course, lost much ground in so doing. About three in the morning we knew that it was nearly up with us. The soundings gave warning of this, and we got round, on what I supposed would be the Amelia’s last leg. But Providence took care of us, when we could not help ourselves. The wind came out at north-west, as it might be by word of command; the mist cleared up, and we saw the lights, for the first time, close aboard us. The brig was taken aback, but we got her round, shortened sail, and hove her to, under a closed-reefed main-topsail. We now got it from the north-west, making very bad weather. The gale must have set us a long way to leeward, as we did not get in for a fortnight. We shipped a heavy sea, that stove our boat, and almost swept the decks. We were out of pork and beef, and our fire-wood was nearly gone. The binnacle was also gone. As good luck would have it, we killed a porpoise, soon after the wind shifted, and on this we lived, in a great measure, for more than a week, sometimes cooking it, but oftener eating it raw. At length the wind shifted, and we got in.
I was no sooner out of this difficulty, than a hasty temper got me into another. While still in the stream, an Irish boatman called me a “Yankee son of a—–,” and I lent him a clip. The fellow sued me, and, contriving to catch me before I left the vessel, I was sent to jail, for the first and only time in my life. This turned out to be a new and very revolting school for me. I was sent among as precious a set of rascals as New York could furnish. Their conversation was very edifying. One would tell how he cut the hoses of the engines at fires, with razor-blades fastened to his shoes; another, how many pocket-books he and his associates had taken at this or that fire; and a third, the mariner of breaking open stores, and the best mode of disposing of stolen goods. The cool, open, impudent manner in which these fellows spoke of such transactions, fairly astounded me. They must have thought I was in jail for some crime similar to their own, or they would not have talked so freely before a stranger. These chaps seemed to value a man by the enormity and number of his crimes.
At length the captain and my landlord found out where I had been sent, and I was immediately bailed. Glad enough was I to get out of prison, and still more so to get out of the company I found in it. Such association is enough to undermine the morals of a saint, in a week or two. And yet these fellows were well dressed, and well enough looking, and might very well pass for a sort of gentlemen, with those who had seen but little of men of the true quality.
I had got enough of law, and wished to push the matter no farther. The Irishman was sent for, and I compromised with him on the spot. The whole affair cost me my entire wages, and I was bound over to keep the peace, for, I do not know how long. This scrape compelled me to weigh my anchor at a short notice, as there is no living in New York without money. I went on board the Sully, therefore–a Havre liner–a day or two after getting out of the atmosphere of the City Hall. They may talk of Batavia, if they please; but in my judgement, it is the healthiest place of the two,
Our passages, out and home, produced nothing worth mentioning, and I left the ship in New York. My wages went in the old way, and then I shipped in a schooner called the Susan and Mary, that was about to sail for Buenos Ayres, in the expectation that she would be sold there. The craft was a good one, though our passage out was very long. On reaching our port, I took my discharge, under the impression the vessel would be sold. A notion now came over me, that I would join the Buenos Ayrean navy, in order to see what sort of a service it was. I knew it was a mixed American and English affair, and, by this time, I had become very reckless as to my own fate. I wished to do nothing very wrong, but was incapable of doing anything that was very right.
My windfall carried me on board a schooner, of eight or ten guns, called the Suradaha. I did not ship, making an arrangement by which I was to be left to decide for myself, whether I would remain in her, or not. Although a pretty good craft, I soon got enough of this service. In one week I was thoroughly disgusted, and left the schooner. It is well I did, as there was a “_revolution_” on board of her, a few days later, and she was carried up the river, and, as I was told, was there sunk. With her, sunk all my laurels in that service.
The Susan and Mary was not sold, but took in hides for New York. I returned to her, therefore, and we sailed for home in due time. The passage proved long, but mild, and we were compelled to run in, off Point Petre, Gaudaloupe, where we took in some provisions. After this, nothing occurred until we reached New York.
I now shifted the name of my craft, end for end, joining a half-rigged brig, called the Mary and Susan. I gained little by the change, this vessel being just the worst-looking hooker I did ever sail in. Still she was tight, strong enough, and not a very bad sailing vessel. But, for some reason or other, externals were not regarded, and we made anything but a holiday appearance on the water. I had seen the time when I would disdain to go chief-mate of such a looking craft; but I now shipped in her as a common hand.
We sailed for Para, in Brazil, a port nearly under the line, having gunpowder, dry-goods, &c. Our passage, until we came near the coast of South America, was good, and nothing occurred to mention. When under the line, however, we made a rakish-looking schooner, carrying two topsails, one forenoon. We made no effort to escape, knowing it to be useless. The schooner set a Spanish ensign, and brought us to. We were ordered to lower our boat and to go on board the schooner, which were done. I happened to be at the helm, and remained in the Mary and Susan. The strangers ordered our people out of the boat, and sent an armed party in her, on board us. These men rummaged about for a short time, and then were hailed from their vessel to know if we promised well. Our looks deceived the head man of the boarders, who answered that we were _very_ poor. On receiving this information, the captain of the schooner ordered his boarding party to quit us. Our boat came back, but was ordered to return and bring another gang of the strangers. This time we were questioned about canvass, but got off by concealing the truth. We had thirty bolts on board, but produced only one. The bolt shown did not happen to suit, and the strangers again left us. We were told not to make sail until we received notice by signal, and the schooner hauled her wind. After standing on some time, however, these gentry seemed indisposed to quit us, for they came down again, and rounded to on our weather-beam. We were now questioned about our longitude, and whether we had a chronometer. We gave the former, but had nothing like the latter on board. Telling us once more not to make sail without the signal, the schooner left us, standing on until fairly out of sight. We waited until she sunk her topsails, and then went on our course.
None of us doubted that this fellow was a pirate. The men on board us were an ill-looking set of rascals, of all countries. They spoke Spanish, but we gave them credit for being a mixture. Our escape was probably owing to our appearance, which promised anything but a rich booty. Our dry-goods and powder were concealed in casks under he ballast, and I suppose the papers were not particularly minute. At any rate, when we get into Para, most of the cargo went out of our schooner privately, being landed from lighters. We had a passenger, who passed for some revolutionary man, who also landed secretly. This gentleman was in a good deal of concern about the pirates, keeping himself hid while they were near us.
Chapter XVI.
Our passage from Para was good until the brig reached the latitude of Bermuda. Here, one morning, for the first time in this craft, Sundays excepted, we got a forenoon watch below. I was profiting by the opportunity to do a little work for myself, when the mate, an inexperienced young man, who was connected with the owners, came and ordered us up to help jibe ship. It was easy enough to do this in the watch, but he thought differently. As an old seaman, I do not hesitate to say that the order was both inconsiderate and unnecessary; though I do not wish to appear even to justify my own conduct, on the occasion. A hasty temper is one of my besetting weaknesses, and, at that time, I was in no degree influenced by any considerations of a moral nature, as connected with language. Exceedingly exasperated at this interference with our comfort, I did not hesitate to tell the mate my opinion of his order. Warming with my own complaints, I soon became fearfully profane and denunciatory. I called down curses on the brig, and all that belonged to her, not hesitating about wishing that she might founder at sea, and carry all hands of us to the bottom of the ocean. In a word, I indulged in all that looseness and profanity of the tongue, which is common enough with those who feel no restraints on the subject, and who are highly exasperated.
I do think the extent to which I carried my curses and wishes, on this occasion, frightened the officers. They said nothing, but let me curse myself out, to my heart’s content. A man soon wearies of so bootless a task, and the storm passed off, like one in the heavens, with a low rumbling. I gave myself no concern about the matter afterwards, but things took their course until noon. While the people were at dinner, the mate came forward again, however, and called all hands to shorten sail. Going on deck, I saw a very menacing black cloud astern, and went to work, with a will, to discharge a duty that everybody could see was necessary.
We gathered in the canvass as fast as we could; but, before we could get through, and while I was lending a hand to furl the foresail, the squall struck the brig. I call it a squall, but it was more like the tail of a hurricane. Most of our canvass blew from the gaskets, the cloth going in ribands. The foresail and fore-topsail we managed to save, but all our light canvass went. I was still aloft when the brig broached-to. As she came up to the wind, the fore-topmast went over to leeward, being carried away at the cap. All the hamper came down, and began to thresh against the larboard side of the lower rigging. Just at this instant, a sea seemed to strike the brig under her bilge, and fairly throw her on her beam-ends.
All this appeared to me to be the work of only a minute. I had scrambled to windward, to get out of the way of the wreck, and stood with one foot on the upper side of the bitts, holding on, to steady myself, by some of the running rigging. This was being in a very different attitude, but on the precise spot, where, two or three hours before, I had called on the Almighty to pour out his vials of wrath upon the vessel, myself, and all she contained! At that fearful instant, conscience pricked me, and I felt both shame and dread, at my recent language. It seemed to me as if I had been heard, and that my impious prayers were about to be granted. In the bitterness of my heart, I vowed, should my life be spared, never to be guilty of such gross profanity, again.
These feelings, however, occupied me but a moment. I was too much of a real sea-dog to be standing idle at a time like that. There was but one man before the mast on whom I could call for anything in such a strait, and that was a New Yorker, of the name of Jack Neal. This man was near me, and I suggested to him the plan of getting the fore-topmast staysail loose, notwithstanding the mast was gone, in the hope it might blow open, and help the brig’s bows round. Jack was a fellow to act, and he succeeded in loosening the sail, which did blow out in a way greatly to help us, as I think. I then proposed we should clamber aft, and try to get the helm up. This we did, also; though I question if the rudder could have had much power, in the position in which the brig lay.
Either owing to the fore-top-mast staysail, or to some providential sea, the vessel did fall off, however, and presently she righted, coming up with great force, with a heavy roll to windward. The staysail helped us, I feel persuaded, as the stay had got taut in the wreck, and the wind had blown out the hanks. The brig’s helm being hard up, as soon as she got way, the craft flew round like a top, coming up on the other tack, in spite of us, and throwing her nearly over again. She did not come fairly down, however, though I thought she was gone, for an instant.
Finding it possible to move, I now ran forward, and succeeded in stopping the wreck into the rigging and bitts. At this time the brig minded her helm, and fell off, coming under command. To help us, the head of the spencer got loose, from the throat-brail up, and, blowing out against the wreck, the whole formed, together, a body of hamper, that acted as a sort of sail, which helped the brig to keep clear of the seas. By close attention to the helm, we were enabled to prevent the vessel from broaching-to again, and, of course, managed to sail her on her bottom. About sunset, it moderated, and, next morning, the weather was fine. We then went to work, and rigged jury-masts; reaching New York a few days later.
Had this accident occurred to our vessel in the night, as did that to the Scourge, our fate would probably have been decided in a few minutes. As it was, half an hour, in the sort of sea that was going, would have finished her. As for my repentance, if I can use the term on such an occasion, and for such a feeling, it was more lasting than thorough. I have never been so fearfully profane since; and often, when I have felt the disposition to give way to passion in this revolting form, my feelings, as I stood by those bitts, have recurred to my mind–my vow has been remembered, and I hope, together, they did some good, until I was made to see the general errors of my life, and the necessity of throwing all my sins on the merciful interposition of my Saviour.
I was not as reckless and extravagant, this time, in port, as I had usually been, of late years. I shipped, before my money was all gone, on board the Henry Kneeland, for Liverpool, viâ New Orleans. On reaching the latter port, all hands of us were beset by the land-sharks, in the shape of landlords, who told us how much better we should be off by running, than by sticking by the ship. We listened to these tales, and went in a body. What made the matter worse, and our conduct the less excusable, was the fact, that we got good wages and good treatment in the Henry Kneeland. The landlords came with two boats, in the night; we passed our dunnage down to them, and away we went, leaving only one man on board. The very next day we all shipped on board the Marian, United States’ Revenue Cutter, where I was rated a quarter-mate, at fifteen dollars a month; leaving seventeen to obtain this preferment!
We got a good craft for our money, however. She was a large comfortable schooner, that mounted a few light guns, and our duty was far from heavy. The treatment turned out to be good, also, as some relief to our folly. One of our Henry Kneelands died of the “horrors” before we got to sea, and we buried him at the watering-place, near the lower bar. I must have been about four months in the Marion, during which time we visited the different keys, and went into Key West. At this place, our crew became sickly, and I was landed among others, and sent to a boarding-house. It was near a month before we could get the crew together again, when we sailed for Norfolk. At Norfolk, six of us had relapses, and were sent to the hospital; the cutter sailing without us. I never saw the craft afterwards.
I was but a fortnight in the hospital, the disease being only the fever and ague. Just as I came out, the Alert, the New York cutter, came in, and I was sent on board her. This separated me from all the Henry Kneelands but one old man. The Alert was bound south, on duty connected with the nullification troubles; and, soon after I joined her, she sailed for Charleston, South Carolina. Here a little fleet of cutters soon collected; no less than seven of us being at anchor in the waters of South Carolina, to prevent any breach of the tariff laws. When I had been on board the Alert about a month, a new cutter called the Jackson, came in from New York, and being the finest craft on the station, our officers and crew were transferred to her in a body; our captain being the senior of all the revenue captains present.
I must have been at least six months in the waters of South Carolina, thus employed. We never went to sea, but occasionally dropped down as far as Rebellion Roads. We were not allowed to go ashore, except on rare occasions, and towards the last, matters got to be so serious, that we almost looked upon ourselves as in an enemy’s country. Commodore Elliott joined the station in the Natchez sloop-of-war, and the Experiment, man-of-war schooner, also arrived and remained. After the arrival of the Natchez, the Commodore took command of all hands of us afloat, and we were kept in a state of high preparation for service. We were occasionally at quarters, nights, though I never exactly knew the reasons. It was said attacks on us were anticipated. General Scott was in the fort, and matters looked very warlike, for several weeks.
At length we got the joyful news that nullification had been thrown overboard, and that no more was to be apprehended. It seems that the crews of the different cutters had been increased for this particular service; but, now it was over, there were more men employed than Government had needed. We were told, in consequence, that those among us who wished our discharges, might have them on application.
I had been long enough in this ‘long-shore service, and applied to be discharged, under this provision. My time was so near out, however, that I should have got away soon, in regular course.
I now went ashore at Charleston, and had my swig, as long as the money lasted. I gave myself no trouble about the ship’s husband, whose collar-bone I had broken; nor do I now know whether he was then living, or dead. In a word, I thought only of the present time; the past and the future being equally indifferent to me. My old landlord was dead; and I fell altogether into the hands of a new set. I never took the precaution to change my name, at any period of my life, with the exception, that I dropped the Robert, in signing shipping-articles. I also wrote my name Myers, instead of Meyers, as, I have been informed by my sister, was the true spelling. But this proceeded from ignorance, and not from intention. In all times, and seasons, and weathers, and services, I have sailed as Ned Myers; and as nothing else.
It soon became necessary to ship again; and I went on board the Harriet and Jesse, which was bound to Havre de Grace. This proved to be a pleasant, easy voyage; the ship coming back to New York filled with passengers, who were called Swiss; but most of whom, as I understand, came from Wurtemberg, Alsace, and the countries on the Rhine. On reaching New York, I went on to Philadelphia, to obtain the effects I had left there, when I went out in the Amelia. But my landlord was dead; his family was scattered; and my property had disappeared. I never knew who got it; but a quadrant, watch, and some entirely new clothes, went in the wreck. I suppose I lost, at least, two hundred dollars, in this way. What odds did it make to me? it would have gone in grog, if it had not gone in this manner.
I staid but a short time in Philadelphia, joining a brig, called the Topaz, bound to Havana. We arrived out, after a short passage; and here I was exposed to as strong a temptation to commit crime, as a poor fellow need encounter. A beautiful American-built brig, was lying in port, bound to Africa, for slaves. She was the loveliest craft I ever laid eyes on; and the very sight of her gave me a longing to go in her. She offered forty dollars a month, with the privilege of a slave and a half. I went so far as to try to get on board her; but met with some difficulty, in having my things seized. The captain found it out; and, by pointing out to me the danger I ran, succeeded in changing my mind.
I will not deny, that I knew the trade was immoral; but so is smuggling; and I viewed them pretty much as the same thing, in this sense. I am now told, that the law of this country pronounces the American citizen, who goes in a slaver, a pirate; and treats him as such; which, to me, seems very extraordinary. I do not understand, how a Spaniard can do that, and be no pirate, which makes an American a pirate, if he be guilty of it. I feel certain, that very few sailors know in what light the law views slaving. Now, piracy is robbing, on the high seas, and has always been contrary to law; but slaving was encouraged by all nations, a short time since; and we poor tars look upon the change, as nothing but a change in policy. As for myself, I should have gone in that brig, in utter ignorance of the risks I ran, and believing myself to be about as guilty, in a moral sense, as I was when I smuggled tobacco, on the coast of Ireland, or opium in Canton. [15]
As the Topaz was coming out of the port of Havana, homeward bound, and just as she was abreast of the Moro, the brig carried away her bobstay. I was busy in helping to unreeve the stay, when I was seized with sudden and violent cramps. This attack proved to be the cholera, which came near carrying me off. The captain had me taken aft, where I was attended with the greatest care. God be praised for his mercy! I got well, though scarcely able to do any more duty before we got in.
A short voyage gives short commons; and I was soon obliged to look out for another craft. This time I shipped in the Erie, Captain Funk, a Havre liner, and sailed soon after. This was a noble ship, with the best of usage. Both our passages were pleasant, and give me nothing to relate. While I was at work in the hold, at Havre, a poor female passenger, who came to look at the ship, fell through the hatch, and was so much injured as to be left behind. I mention the circumstance merely to show how near I was to a meeting with my old shipmate, who is writing these pages, and yet missed him. On comparing notes, I find he was on deck when this accident happened, having come to see after some effects he was then shipping to New York. These very effects I handled, and supposed them to belong to a passenger who was to come home in the ship; but, as they were addressed to another name, I could not recognise them. Mr. Cooper did not come home in the Erie, but passed over to England, and embarked at London, and so I failed to see him.
In these liners, the captains wish to keep the good men of their crews as long as they can. We liked the Erie and her captain so much, that eight or ten of us stuck by the ship, and went out in her again. This time our luck was not so good. The passage out was well enough, but homeward-bound we had a hard time of it. While in Havre, too, we had a narrow escape. Christmas night, a fire broke out in the cabin, and came near smothering us all, forward, before we knew anything about it. Our chief mate, whose name was Everdy,[16] saved the vessel by his caution and exertions; the captain not getting on board until the fire had come to a head. We kept everything closed until an engine was ready, then cut away the deck, and sent down the hose This expedient, with a free use of water, saved the ship. It is not known how the fire originated. A good deal of damage was done, and some property was lost.
Notwithstanding this accident, we had the ship ready for sea early in January, 1834. For the first week out, we met with head winds and heavy weather; so heavy, indeed, as to render it difficult to get rid of the pilot. The ship beat down channel with him on board, as low as the Eddystone. Here we saw the Sully, outward bound, running up channel before the wind. Signals were exchanged, and our ship, which was then well off the land, ran in and spoke the Sully. We put our pilot on board this ship, which was doing a good turn all round. The afternoon proving fair, and the wind moderating, Captain Funk filled and stood in near to the coast, as his best tack. Towards night, however, the gale freshened, and blew into the bay, between the Start Point and the Lizard, in a heavy, steady manner.
The first thing was to ware off shore; after which, we were compelled to take in nearly all our canvass. The gale continued to increase, and the night set in dark. There were plenty of ports to leeward, but it was ticklish work to lose a foot of ground, unless one knew exactly where he was going. We had no pilot, and the captain decided to hold on. I have seldom known it to blow harder than it did that night; and, for hours, everything depended on our main-top-sail’s standing, which sail we had set, close-reefed. I did not see anything to guide us, but the compass, until about ten o’clock, when I caught a view of a light close on our lee bow. This was the Eddystone, which stands pretty nearly in a line between the Start and the Lizard, and rather more than three leagues from the land. As we headed, we might lay past, should everything stand; but, if our topsail went, we should have been pretty certain of fetching up on those famous rocks, where a three-decker would have gone to pieces in an hour’s time in such a gale.
I suppose we passed the Eddystone at a safe distance, or the captain would not have attempted going to windward of it; but, to me, it appeared that we were fearfully near. The sea was breaking over the light tremendously, and could be plainly seen, as it flashed up near the lantern. We went by, however, surging slowly ahead, though our drift must have been very material.
The Start, and the point to the westward of it, were still to be cleared. They were a good way off, and but a little to leeward, as the ship headed. In smooth water, and with a whole-sail breeze, it would have been easy enough to lay past the Start, when at the Eddystone, with a south-west wind; but, in a gale, it is a serious matter, especially on a flood-tide. I know all hands of us, forward and aft, looked upon our situation as very grave. We passed several uneasy hours, after we lost sight of the Eddystone, before we got a view of the land near the Start. When I saw it, the heights appeared like a dark cloud hanging over us, and I certainly thought the ship was gone. At this time, the captain and mate consulted together, and the latter came to us, in a very calm, steady manner, and said–“Come, boys; we may as well go ashore without masts as with them, and our only hope is in getting more canvass to stand. We must turn-to, and make sail on the ship.”
Everybody was in motion on this hint, and the first thing we did was to board fore-tack. The clews of that sail came down as if so many giants had hold of the tack and sheet. We set it, double-reefed, which made it but a rag of a sail, and yet the ship felt it directly. We next tried the fore-topsail, close-reefed, and this stood. It was well we did, for I feel certain the ship was now in the ground-swell. That black hill seemed ready to fall on our heads. We tried the mizen-topsail, but we found it would not do, and we furled it again, not without great difficulty. Things still looked serious, the land drawing nearer and nearer; and we tried to get the mainsail, double-reefed, on the ship. Everybody mustered at the tack and sheet, and we dragged down that bit of cloth as if it had been muslin. The good ship now quivered like a horse that is over-ridden, but in those liners everything is strong, and everything stood. I never saw spray thrown from a ship’s bows, as it was thrown from the Erie’s that night. We had a breathless quarter of an hour after the mainsail was set, everybody looking to see what would go first. Every rope and bolt in the craft was tried to the utmost, but all stood! At the most critical moment, we caught a glimpse of a light in a house that was known to stand near the Start; and the mate came among us, pointed it out, and said, if we weathered _that_, we should go clear. After hearing this, my eyes were never off that light, and glad was I to see it slowly drawing more astern, and more under our lee. At last we got it on our quarter, and knew that we had gone clear! The gloomy-looking land disappeared to leeward, in a deep, broad bay, giving us plenty of sea-room.
We now took in canvass, to ease the ship. The mainsail and fore-topsail were furled, leaving her to jog along under the main-topsail, foresail, and fore-topmast staysail. I look upon this as one of my narrowest escapes from shipwreck; and I consider the escape, under the mercy of God, to have been owing to the steadiness of our officers, and the goodness of the ship and her outfit. It was like pushing a horse to the trial of every nerve and sinew, and only winning the race under whip and spur. Wood, and iron, and cordage, and canvass, can do no more than they did that night.
Next morning, at breakfast, the crew talked the matter over. We had a hard set in this ship, the men being prime seamen, but of reckless habits and characters. Some of the most thoughtless among them admitted that they had prayed secretly for succour, and, for myself, I am most thankful that _I_ did. These confessions were made half-jestingly, but I believe them to have been true, judging from my own case. It may sound bravely in the ears of the thoughtless and foolish, to boast of indifference on such occasions; but, few men can face death under circumstances like those in which we were placed, without admitting to themselves, however reluctantly, that there is a Power above, on which they must lean for personal safety, as well as for spiritual support. More than usual care was had for the future welfare of sailors among the Havre liners, there being a mariners’ church at Havre, at which our captain always attended, as well as his mates; and efforts were made to make us go also. The effect was good, the men being better behaved, and more sober, in consequence.
The wind shifted a day or two after this escape, giving us a slant that carried us past Scilly, fairly out into the Atlantic. A fortnight or so after our interview with the Eddystone we carried away the pintals of the rudder, which was saved only by the modern invention that prevents the head from dropping, by means of the deck. To prevent the strain, and to get some service from the rudder, however, we found it necessary to sling the latter, and to breast it into the stern-post by means of purchases. A spar was laid athwart the coach-house, directly over the rudder, and we rove a chain through the tiller-hole, and passed it over this spar. For this purpose the smallest chain-cable was used, the rudder being raised from the deck by means of sheers. We then got a set of chain-topsail sheets, parcelled them well, and took a clove hitch with them around the rudder, about half-way up. One end was brought into each main-chain, and set up by tackles. In this manner the wheel did tolerably well, though we had to let the ship lie-to in heavy weather.
The chain sheets held on near a month, and then gave way. On examination, it was found that the parcelling had gone under the ship’s counter, and that the copper had nearly destroyed the iron. After this, we mustered all the chains of the ship, of proper size, parcelled them very thoroughly, got another clove hitch around the rudder as before, and brought the ends to the hawse-holes, letting the bights fall, one on each side of the ship’s keel. The ends were next brought to the windlass and hove taut. This answered pretty well, and stood until we got the ship into New York. Our whole passage was stormy, and lasted seventy days, as near as I can recollect. The ship was almost given up when we got in, and great was the joy at our arrival.
As the Erie lost her turn, in consequence of wanting repairs, most of us went on board the Henry IVth, in the same line. This voyage was comfortable, and successful, a fine ship and good usage. On our return to New York most of us went back to the Erie, liking both vessel and captain, as well as her other officers. I went twice more to Havre and back in this ship, making four voyages in her in all. At the end of the fourth voyage our old mate left us, to do business ashore, and we took a dislike to his successor, though it was without trying him. The mate we lost had been a great favourite, and we seemed to think if he went we must go too. At any rate, nearly all hands went to the Silvie de Grasse, where we got another good ship, good officers, and good treatment. In fact, all these Havre liners were very much alike in these respects, the Silvie de Grasse being the fourth in which I had then sailed, and to me they all seemed as if they belonged to the same family. I went twice to Havre in this ship also, when I left her for the Normandy, in the same line. I made this change in consequence of an affair about some segars in Havre, in which I had no other concern than to father another man’s fault. The captain treated me very handsomely, but my temperament is such that I am apt to fly off in a tangent when anything goes up stream. It was caprice that took me from the Silvie de Grasse, and put me in her sister-liner.
I liked the Normandy as well as the rest of these liners, except that the vessel steered badly. I made only one voyage in her, however, as will be seen in the next chapter.
Chapter XVII.
I had now been no less than eight voyages in the Havre trade, without intermission. So regular had my occupation become, that I began to think I was a part of a liner myself. I liked the treatment, the food, the ships, and the officers. Whenever we got home, I worked in the ship, at day’s work, until paid off; after which, no more was seen of Ned until it was time to go on board to sail. When I got in, in the Normandy, it happened as usual, though I took a short swing only. Mr. Everdy, our old mate in the Erie, was working gangs of stevedores, riggers, &c., ashore; and when I went and reported myself to him, as ready for work in the Normandy again, he observed that her gang was full, but that, by going up-town next morning, to the screw-dock, I should find an excellent job on board a brig. The following day, accordingly, I took my dinner in a pail, and started off for the dock, as directed. On my way, I fell in with an old shipmate in the navy, a boatswain’s-mate, of the name of Benson. This man asked me where I was bound with my pail, and I told him. “What’s the use,” says he, “of dragging your soul out in these liners, when you have a man-of-war under your lee!” Then he told me he meant to ship, and advised me to do the same. I drank with him two or three times, and felt half persuaded to enter; but, recollecting the brig, I left him, and pushed on to the dock. When I got there, it was so late that the vessel had got off the dock, and was already under way in the stream.
My day’s work was now up, and I determined to make a full holiday of it. As I went back, I fell in with Captain Mix, the officer with whom I had first gone on the lakes, and my old first-lieutenant in the Delaware, and had a bit of navy talk with him; after which I drifted along as far as the rendezvous. The officer in charge was Mr. M’Kenny, my old first-lieutenant in the Brandywine, and, before I quitted the house, my name was down, again, for one of Uncle Sam’s sailor-men. In this accidental manner have I floated about the world, most of my life–not dreaming in the morning, what would fetch me up before night.
When it was time to go off, I was ready, and was sent on board the Hudson, which vessel Captain Mix then commanded. I have the consolation of knowing that I never ran, or thought of running, from either of the eleven men-of-war on board of which I have served, counting big and little, service of days and service of years. I had so long a pull in the receiving-ship, as to get heartily tired of her; and, when an opportunity offered, I put my name down for the Constellation 38, which was then fitting out for the West India station, in Norfolk. A draft of us was sent round to that ship accordingly, and we found she had hauled off from the yard, and was lying between the forts. When I got on board, I ascertained that something like fifty of my old liners were in this very ship, some common motive inducing them to take service in the navy, all at the same time. As for myself, it happened just as I have related, though I always liked the navy, and was ever ready to join a ship of war, for a pleasant cruise.
Commodore Dallas’s pennant was flying in the Constellation when I joined her. A short time afterwards, the ship sailed for the West Indies. As there was nothing material occurred in the cruise, it is unnecessary to relate things in the order in which they took place. The ship went to Havana, Trinidad, Curaçoa, Laguayra, Santa Cruz, Vera Cruz, Campeachy, Tampico, Key West, &c. We lay more or less time at all these ports, and in Santa Cruz we had a great ball on board. After passing several months in this manner, we went to Pensacola. The St. Louis was with us most of this time, though she did not sail from America in company. The next season the whole squadron went to Vera Cruz in company, seven or eight sail of us in all, giving the Mexicans some alarm, I believe.
But the Florida war gave us the most occupation. I was out in all sorts of ways, on expeditions, and can say I never saw an Indian, except those who came to give themselves up. I was in steamboats, cutters, launches, and on shore, marching like a soldier, with a gun on my shoulder, and precious duty it was for a sailor.
The St. Louis being short of hands, I was also drafted for a cruise in her; going the rounds much as we had done in the frigate. This was a fine ship, and was then commanded by Captain Rousseau, an officer much respected and liked, by us all. Mr. Byrne, my old shipmate in the Delaware, went out with us as first-lieutenant of the Constellation, but he did not remain out the whole cruise.
Altogether I was out on the West India station three years, but got into the hospital, for several months of the time, in consequence of a broken bone. While in the hospital, the frigate made a cruise, leaving me ashore. On her return, I was invalided home, in the Levant, Captain Paulding, another solid, excellent officer. In a word, I was lucky in my officers, generally; the treatment on board the frigate being just and good. The duty in the Constellation was very hard, being a sort of soldier duty, which may be very well for those that are trained to it, but makes bad weather for us blue-jackets. Captain Mix, the officer with whom I went to the lakes, was out on the station in command of the Concord, sloop of war, and, for some time, was in charge of our ship, during the absence of Commodore Dallas, in his own vessel. In this manner are old shipmates often thrown together, after years of separation.
In the hospital I was rated as porter, Captain Bolton and Captain Latirner being my commanding officers; the first being in charge of the yard, and the second his next in rank. From these two gentlemen I received so many favours, that it would be ungrateful in me not to mention them. Dr. Terrill, the surgeon of the hospital, too, was also exceedingly kind to me, during the time I was under his care.
As I had much leisure time in the hospital, I took charge of a garden, and got to be somewhat of a gardener. It was said I had the best garden about Pensacola, which is quite likely true, as I never saw but one other.
The most important thing, however, that occurred to me while in the hospital, was a disposition that suddenly arose in my mind, to reflect on my future state, and to look at religious things with serious eyes. Dr. Terrill had some blacks in his service, who were in the habit of holding little Methodist meetings, where they sang hymns, and conversed together seriously. I never joined these people, being too white for that, down at Pensacola, but I could overhear them from my own little room. A Roman Catholic in the hospital had a prayer-book in English, which he lent to me, and I got into the habit of reading a prayer in it, daily, as a sort of worshipping of the Almighty. This was the first act of mine, that approached private worship, since the day I left Mr. Marchinton’s; if I except the few hasty mental petitions put up in moments of danger.
After a time, I began to think it would never do for me, a Protestant born and baptised, to be studying a Romish prayer-book; and I hunted up one that was Protestant, and which had been written expressly for seamen. This I took to my room, and used in place of the Romish book. Dr. Terrill had a number of bibles under his charge, and I obtained one of these, also, and I actually got into the practice of reading a chapter every night, as well as of reading a prayer, also knocked off from drink, and ceased to swear. My reading in the bible, now, was not for the stories, but seriously to improve my mind and morals.
I must have been several months getting to be more and more in earnest on the subject of morality, if not of vital religion, when I formed an acquaintance with a new steward, who had just joined the hospital. This man was ready enough to converse with me about the bible, but he turned out to be a Deist, Notwithstanding my own disposition to think more seriously of my true situation, I had many misgivings on the subject of the Saviour’s being the Son of God. It seemed improbable to me, and I was falling into the danger which is so apt to beset the new beginner–that of self-sufficiency, and the substituting of human wisdom for faith. The steward was not slow in discovering this; and he produced some of Tom Paine’s works, by way of strengthening me in the unbelief. I now read Tom Paine, instead of the bible, and soon had practical evidence of the bad effects of his miserable system. I soon got stern-way on me in morals; began to drink, as before, though seldom intoxicated, and grew indifferent to my bible and prayer-book, as well as careless of the future. I began to think that the things of this world were to be enjoyed, and he was the wisest who made the most of his time.
I must confess, also, that the bad examples which I saw set by men professing to be Christians, had a strong tendency to disgust me with religion. The great mistake I made was, in supposing I had undergone any real change of heart. Circumstances disposed me to reflect, and reflection brought me to be serious, on subjects that I had hitherto treated with levity; but the grace of God was still, in a great degree, withheld from me, leaving me a prey to such arguments as those of the steward, and his great prophet and master, Mr. Paine.
In the hospital, and that, too, at a place like Pensacola there was little opportunity for me to break out into my old excesses; though I found liquor, on one or two occasions, even there, and got myself into some disgrace in consequence. On the whole, however, the discipline, my situation, and my own resolution, kept me tolerably correct. It is the restraint of a ship that alone prevents sailors from dying much sooner than they do; for it is certain no man could hold out long who passed three or four months every year in the sort of indulgencies into which I myself have often run, after returning from long voyages. This is one advantage of the navy; two or three days of riotous living being all a fellow _can_ very well get in a three years’ cruise. Any man who has ever been in a vessel of war, particularly in old times, can see the effect produced by the system, and regular living of a ship. When the crew first came on board, the men were listless, almost lifeless, with recent dissipation; some suffering with the “horrors,” perhaps; but a few weeks of regular living would bring them all round; and, by the end of the cruise, most of the people would come into port, and be paid off, with renovated constitutions. It is a little different, now, to be sure, as the men ship for general service, and commonly serve a short apprenticeship in a receiving vessel, before they are turned over to the sea-going craft. This brings them on board the last in a little better condition than used to be the case; but, even now, six months in a man-of-war is a new lease for a seaman’s life.
I say I got myself into disgrace in the hospital of Pensacola, in consequence of my habit of drinking. The facts were as follows, for I have no desire to conceal, or to parade before the world, my own delinquencies; but, I confess them with the hope that the pictures they present, may have some salutary influence on the conduct of others. The doctor, who was steadily my friend, and often gave me excellent advice, went north, in order to bring his wife to Pensacola. I was considered entitled to a pension for the hurt which had brought me into the hospital, and the doctor had promised to see something about it, while at Washington. This was not done, in consequence of his not passing through Washington, as had been expected. Now, nature has so formed me, that any disgust, or disappointment, makes me reckless, and awakens a desire to revenge myself, on myself, as I may say. It was this feeling which first carried me from Halifax; it was this feeling that made me run from the Sterling; and which has often changed and sometimes marred my prospects, as I have passed through life. As soon as I learned that nothing had been said about my pension, this same feeling came over me, and I became reckless. I had not drawn my grog for months, and, indeed, had left off drinking entirely; but I now determined to have my fill, at the first good opportunity. I meant to make the officers sorry, by doing something that was very wrong, and for which I should be sorry myself.
I kept the keys of the liquor of the hospital. The first thing was to find a confederate, which I did in the person of a Baltimore chap, who entered into my plan from pure love of liquor. I then got a stock of the wine, and we went to work on it, in my room. The liquor was sherry, and it took nine bottles of it to lay us both up. Even this did not make me beastly drunk, but it made me desperate and impudent. I abused the doctor, and came very near putting my foot into it, with Captain Latimer, who is an officer that it will not do, always, to trifle with. Still, these gentlemen, with Captain Bolton, had more consideration for me, than I had for myself, and I escaped with only a good reprimand. It was owing to this frolic, however, that I was invalided home–as they call it out there, no one seeming to consider Pensacola as being in the United States.
When landed from the Levant, I was sent to the Navy Yard Hospital, Brooklyn. After staying two or three days here, I determined to go to the seat of government, and take a look at the great guns stationed there, Uncle Sam and all. I was paid off from the Levant, accordingly, and leaving the balance with the purser of the yard, I set off on my journey, with fifty dollars in my pockets, which they tell me is about a member of Congress’ mileage, for the distance I had to go. Of course this was enough, as a member of Congress would naturally take care and give himself as much as he wanted.
When I got on board the South-Amboy boat, I found a party of Indians there, going to head-quarters, like myself. The sight of these chaps set up all my rigging, and I felt ripe for fun. I treated them to a breakfast each, and gave them as much to drink as they could swallow. We all got merry, and had our own coarse fun, in the usual thought less manner of seamen. This was a bad beginning, and by the time we reached a tavern, I was ready to anchor. Where this was, is more than I know; for I was not in a state to keep a ship’s reckoning. Whether any of my money was stolen or not, I cannot say, but I know that some of my clothes were. Next day I got to Philadelphia, where I had another frolic. After this, I went on to Washington, keeping it up, the whole distance. I fell in with a soldier chap, who was out of cash, and who was going to Washington to get a pension, too; and so we lived in common. When we reached Washington, my cash was diminished to three dollars and a half, and all was the consequences of brandy and folly. I had actually spent forty-six dollars and a half, in a journey that might have been made with ten, respectably!
I got my travelling companion to recommend a boarding-house, which he did. I felt miserable from my excesses, and went to bed. In the morning, the three dollars and a half were gone. I felt too ill to go to the Department that day, but kept on drinking–eating nothing. Next day, my landlord took the trouble to inquire into the state of my pocket, and I told him the truth. This brought about a pretty free explanation between us, in which I was given to understand that my time was up in that place. I afterwards found out I had got into a regular soldier-house, and it was no wonder they did not know how to treat an old salt.
Captain Mix had given me a letter to Commodore Chauncey, who was then living, and one of the Commissioners. I felt pretty certain the old gentleman would not let one of the Scourges founder at head-quarters, and so I crawled up to the Department, and got admission to him. The commodore seemed glad to see me; questioned me a good deal about the loss of the schooner, and finally gave me directions how to proceed. I then discovered that my pension ticket had actually reached Washington, but had been sent back to Pensacola, to get some informality corrected. This would compel me to remain some time at Washington. I felt unwell, and got back to my boarding-house with these tidings. The gentleman who kept the house was far from being satisfied with this, and he gave me a hint that at once put the door between us. This was the first time I ever had a door shut upon me, and I am thankful it happened at a soldier rendezvous. I gave the man all my spare clothes in pawn, and walked away from his house.
I had undoubtedly brought on myself a fit of the “horrors,” by my recent excesses. As I went along the streets, I thought every one was sneering at me; and, though burning with thirst, I felt ashamed to enter any house to ask even for water. A black gave me the direction of the Navy Yard, and I shaped my course for it, feeling more like lying down to die, than anything else. When about half-way across the bit of vacant land between the Capitol and the Yard, I sat down under a high picket-fence, and the devil put it into my head, that it would be well to terminate sufferings that seemed too hard to be borne, by hanging myself on that very fence. I took the handkerchief from my neck, made a running bow-line, and got so far as to be at work at a standing bow-line, to hitch over the top of one of the poles of the fence.
I now stood up, and began to look for a proper picket to make fast to, when, in gazing about, I caught sight of the mast-heads of the shipping at the yard, and of the ensign under which I had so long served! These came over me, as a light-house comes over a mariner in distress at sea, and I thought there must be friends for me in that quarter. The sight gave me courage and strength, and I determined no old shipmate should hear of a blue-jacket’s hanging himself on a picket, in a fit of the horrors. Casting off the bowlines, I replaced the handkerchief on my neck, and made the best of my way towards those blessed mast-heads, which, under God’s mercy, were the means of preventing me from committing suicide.
As I came up to the gate of the yard, the marine on post sung out to me, “Halloo, Myers, where are you come from? You look as if you had been dragged through h–, and beaten with a soot-bag!” This man, the first I met at the Navy Yard, had been with me three years in the Delaware, and knew me in spite of my miserable appearance. He advised me to go on board the Fulton, then lying at the Yard, where he said I should find several more old Delawares, who would take good care of me. I did as he directed, and, on getting on board, I fell in with lots of acquaintances. Some brought me tea, and some brought me grog. I told my yarn, and the chaps around me laid a plan to get ashore on liberty that night, and razée the house from which I had been turned away. But I persuaded them out of the notion, and the landlord went clear.
Alter a while, I got a direction to a boarding-house near the Yard, and went to it, with a message from my old shipmates that they would be responsible for the pay. But to this the man would not listen; he took me in on my own account, saying that no blue-jacket should be turned from _his_ door, in distress. Here I staid and got a comfortable night’s rest. Next day I was a new man, holy-stoned the decks, and went a second time to the Department.
All the gentlemen in the office showed a desire to serve and advise me. The Pension Clerk gave me a letter to Mr. Boyle, the Chief Clerk, who gave me another letter to Commodore Patterson, the commandant of the Navy-Yard. It seems that government provides a boarding-house for us pensioners to stay in, while at Washington, looking after our rights. This letter of Mr. Boyle’s got me a berth in that house, where I was supplied with everything, even to washing and mending, for six weeks. Through the purser, I drew a stock of money from the purser at New York, and now began, again, to live soberly and respectably, considering all things.
The house in which I lived was a sort of half-hospital, and may have had six or eight of us in it, altogether. Several of us were cripples from wounds and hurts, and, among others, was one Reuben James, a thorough old man-of-war’s man, who had been in the service ever since he was a youth. This man had the credit of saving Decatur’s life before Tripoli; but he owned to me that he was not the person who did it. He was in the fight, and boarded with Decatur, but did not save his commander’s life. He had been often wounded, and had just had a leg amputated for an old wound, received in the war of 1812, I believe. Liquor brought him to that.
The reader will remember that the night the Scourge went down I received a severe blow from her jib-sheet blocks. A lump soon formed on the spot where the injury had been inflicted, and it had continued to increase until it was now as large as my fist, or even larger. I showed this lump to James, one day, and he mentioned it to Dr. Foltz, the surgeon who attended the house. The doctor took a look at my arm, and recommended an operation, as the lump would continue to increase, and was already so large as to be inconvenient. I cannot say that it hurt me any, though it was an awkward sort of swab to be carrying on a fellow’s shoulder. I had no great relish for being carved, and think I should have refused to submit to the operation, were it not for James, who told me he would not be carrying Bunker Hill about on _his_ arm, and would show me his own stump by way of encouragement. This man seemed to think an old sailor ought to have a wooden leg, or something of the sort, after he had reached a certain time of life. At all events, he persuaded me to let the doctor go to work, and I am now glad I did, as everything turned out well. Doctor Foltz operated, after I had been about a week under medicine, doing the job as neatly as man could wish. He told me the lump he removed weighed a pound and three quarters, and of course I was so much the lighter. I was about a month, after this, under his care, when he pronounced me to be sea-worthy again.
I now got things straight as regards my pension, for the hurt received on board the Constellation. It was no great matter, only three dollars a month, being one of the small pensions; and the clerks, when they came to hear about the hurt, for which Dr. Foltz had operated, advised me to get evidence and procure a pension for _that_. I saw the Secretary, Mr. Paulding, on this subject, and the gentlemen were so kind as to overhaul their papers, in order to ascertain who could be found as a witness. They wrote to Captain Deacon, the officer who commanded the Growler; but he knew nothing of me, as I never was on board his schooner. This gentleman, however, wrote me a letter, himself, inviting me to come and see him, which I had it not in my power to do. I understand he is now dead. Mr. Trant had been dead many years, and, as for Mr. Bogardus, I never knew what became of him. He was not in the line of promotion, and probably left the navy at the peace. In overhauling the books, however, the pension-clerk came across the name of Lemuel Bryant. This man received a pension for the wound he got at Little York, and was one of those I had hauled into the boat when the Scourge went down. He was then living at Portland, in Maine, his native State. Mr. Paulding advised me to get his certificate, for all hands in the Department seemed anxious I should not go away without something better than the three dollars a month. I promised to go on, and see Lemuel Bryant, and obtain his testimony.
Quitting Washington, I went to Alexandria and got on board a brig, called the Isabella, bound to New York, at which port we arrived in due time. Here I obtained the rest of my money, and kept myself pretty steady, more on account of my wounds, I fear, than anything else. Still I drank too much; and by way of putting a check on myself, I went to the Sailor’s Retreat, Staten Island, and of course got out of the reach of liquor. Here I staid eight or ten days, until my wounds healed. While at the Retreat, the last day I remained there indeed, which was a Sunday, the physician came in, and told me that a clergyman of the Dutch Reformed Church, of the name of Miller, was about to have service down stairs, and that I had better go down and be present. To this request, not only civilly but kindly made, I answered that I had seen enough of the acts of religious men to satisfy me, and that I believed a story I was then reading in a Magazine, would do me as much good as a sermon. The physician said a little in the way of reproof and admonition, and left me. As soon as his back was turned, some of my companions began to applaud the spirit I had shown, and the answer I had given the doctor. But I was not satisfied with myself. I had more secret respect for such things than I was willing to own, and conscience upbraided me for the manner in which I had slighted so well-meaning a request. Suddenly telling those around me that my mind was changed, and that I _would_ go below and hear what was said, I put this new resolution in effect immediately.
I had no recollection of the text from which Mr. Miller preached; it is possible I did not attend to it, at the moment it was given out; but, during the whole discourse, I fancied the clergyman was addressing himself particularly to me, and that his eyes were never off me. That he touched my conscience I know, for the effect produced by this sermon, though not uninterruptedly lasting, is remembered to the present hour. I made many excellent resolutions, and secretly resolved to reform, and to lead a better life. My thoughts were occupied the whole night with what I had heard, and my conscience was keenly active.
The next morning I quitted the Retreat, and saw no more of Mr. Miller, at that time; but I carried away with me many resolutions that would have been very admirable, had they only been adhered to. How short-lived they were, and how completely I was the slave of a vicious habit, will be seen, when I confess that I landed in New York a good deal the worse for having treated some militia-men who were in the steamer, to nearly a dozen glasses of hot-stuff, in crossing the bay. I had plenty of money, and a sailor’s disposition to get rid of it, carelessly, and what I thought generously. It was Evacuation-Day, and severely cold, and the hot-stuff pleased everybody, on such an occasion. Nor was this all. In passing Whitehall slip, I saw the Ohio’s first-cutter lying there, and it happened that I not only knew the officer of the boat, who had been one of the midshipmen of the Constellation, but that I knew most of its crew. I was hailed, of course, and then I asked leave to treat the men. The permission was obtained, and this second act of liberality reduced me to the necessity of going into port, under a pilot’s charge. Still I had not absolutely forgotten the sermon, nor all my good resolutions.
At the boarding-house I found a Prussian, named Godfrey, a steady, sedate man, and I agreed with him to go to Savannah, to engage in the shad-fishery, for the winter, and to come north together in the spring. My landlord was not only ill and poor, but he had many children to support, and it is some proof that all my good resolutions were not forgotten, that I was ready to go south before my money was gone, and willing it should do some good, in the interval of my absence. A check for fifty dollars still remained untouched, and I gave it to this man, with the understanding he was to draw the money, use it for his own wants, and return it to me, if he could, when I got back. The money was drawn, but the man died, and I saw no more of it.
Godfrey and I were shipped in a vessel called the William Taylor, a regular Savannah packet. It was our intention to quit her as soon as she got in–by running, if necessary. We had a bad passage, and barely missed shipwreck on Hatteras, saving the brig by getting a sudden view of the light, in heavy, thick weather. We got round, under close-reefed topsails, and that was all we did. After this, we had a quick run to Savannah. Godfrey had been taken with the small-pox before we arrived, and was sent to a hospital as soon as possible. In order to prevent running, I feigned illness, too, and went to another. Here the captain paid me several visits, but my conscience was too much hardened by the practices of seamen, to let me hesitate about continuing to be ill. The brig was obliged to sail without me, and the same day I got well, as suddenly as I had fallen ill.
I was not long in making a bargain with a fisherman to aid in catching shad. All this time, I lived at a sailor boarding-house, and was surrounded by men who, like myself, had quitted the vessels in which they had arrived. One night the captain of a ship, called the Hope, came to the house to look for a crew. He was bound to Rotterdam, and his ship lay down at the second bar, all ready for sea. After some talk, one man signed the articles; then another, and another, and another, until his crew was complete to one man. I was now called on to ship, and was ridiculed for wishing to turn shad-man. My pride was touched, and I agreed to go, leaving my fisherman in the lurch.
The Hope turned out to be a regular down-east craft, and I had been in so many flyers and crack ships as to be saucy enough to laugh at the economical outfit, and staid ways of the vessel. I went on board half drunk, and made myself conspicuous for such sort of strictures from the first hour. The captain treated me mildly, even kindly; but I stuck to my remarks during most of the passage. I was a seaman, and did my duty; but this satisfied me. I had taken a disgust to the ship; and though I had never blasphemed since the hour of the accident in the way I did the day the Susan and Mary was thrown on her beam-ends, I may be said to have crossed the Atlantic in the Hope, grumbling and swearing at the ship. Still, our living and our treatment were both good.
At Rotterdam, we got a little money, with liberty. When he last was up, I asked for more, and the captain refused it. This brought on an explosion, and I swore I would quit the ship. After a time, the captain consented, as well as he could, leaving my wages on the cabin-table, where I found them, and telling me I should repent of what I was then doing. Little did I then think he would prove so true a prophet.
Chapter XVIII.
I had left the Hope in a fit of the sulks. The vessel never pleased me, and yet I can now look back, and acknowledge that both her master and her mate were respectable, considerate men, who had my own good in view more than I had myself. There was an American ship, called the Plato, in port, and I had half a mind to try my luck in her. The master of this vessel was said to be a tartar, however, and a set of us had doubts about the expediency of trusting ourselves with such a commander. When we came to sound around him, we discovered he would have nothing to do with us, as he intended to get a crew of regular Dutchmen. This ship had just arrived from Batavia, and was bound to New York. How he did this legally, or whether he did it at all, is more than I know, for I only tell what I was told myself, on this subject.
There was a heavy Dutch Indiaman, then fitting out for Java, lying at Rotterdam. The name of this vessel was the Stadtdeel–so pronounced; how spelt, I have no idea–and I began to think I would try a voyage in her. As is common with those who have great reason to find fault with themselves, I was angry with the whole world. I began to think myself a sort of outcast, forgetting that I had deserted my natural relatives, run from my master, and thrown off many friends who were disposed to serve me in everything in which I could be served. I have a cheerful temperament by nature, and I make no doubt that the sombre view I now began to take of things, was the effects of drink. It was necessary for me to get to sea, for there I was shut out from all excesses, by discipline and necessity.
After looking around us, and debating the matter among ourselves, a party of five of us shipped in the Stadtdeel. What the others contemplated I do not know, but it was my intention to double Good Hope, and never to return. Chances enough would offer on the other side, to make a man comfortable, and I was no stranger to the ways of that quarter of the world. I could find enough to do between Bombay and Canton; and, if I could not, there were the islands and all of the Pacific before me. I could do a seaman’s whole duty, was now in tolerable health and strength, and knew that such men were always wanted. Wherever a ship goes, Jack must go with her, and ships, dollars and hogs, are now to be met with all over the globe.
The Stadtdeel lay at Dort, and we went to that place to join her. She was not ready for sea, and as things moved Dutchman fashion, slow and sure, we were about six weeks at Dort before she sailed. This ship was a vessel of the size of a frigate, and carried twelve guns. She had a crew of about forty souls, which was being very short-handed. The ship’s company was a strange mixture of seamen, though most of them came from the north of Europe. Among us were Russians, Danes, Swedes, Prussians, English, Americans, and but a very few Dutch. One of the mates, and two of the petty officers, could speak a little English. This made us eight who could converse in that language. We had to learn Dutch as well as we could, and made out tolerably well. Before the ship sailed, I could understand the common orders, without much difficulty. Indeed, the language is nothing but English a little flattened down.
So long as we remained at Dort, the treatment on board this vessel was well enough. We were never well fed, though we got enough food, such as it was. The work was hard, and the weather cold; but these did not frighten me. The wages were eight dollars a month;–I had abandoned eighteen, and an American ship, for this preferment! A wayward temper had done me this service.
The Stadtdeel no sooner got into the stream, than there was a great change in the treatment. We were put on an allowance of food and water, in sight of our place of departure; and the rope’s-end began to fly round among the crew we five excepted. For some reason, that I cannot explain neither of us was ever struck. We got plenty of curses, in Low Dutch, as we supposed; and we gave them back, with interest, in high English. The expression of our faces let the parties into the secret of what was going on.
It is scarcely necessary to add, that we English and Americans soon repented of the step we had taken. I heartily wished myself on board the Hope, again, and the master’s prophecy became true, much sooner, perhaps, than he had himself anticipated. This time, I conceive that my disgust was fully justified; though I deserved the punishment I was receiving, for entering so blindly into a service every way so inferior to that to which I properly belonged. The bread in this ship was wholesome, I do suppose, but it was nearly black, and such as I was altogether unused to. Inferior as it was, we got but five pounds, each, per week. In our navy, a man gets, per week, seven pounds of such bread as might be put on a gentleman’s table. The meat was little better than the bread in quality, and quite as scant in quantity. We got one good dish in the Stadtdeel, and that we got every morning. It was a dish of boiled barley, of which I became very fond, and which, indeed, supplied me with the strength necessary for my duty. It was one of the best dishes I ever fell in with at sea; and I think it might be introduced, to advantage, in our service. Good food produces good work.
As all our movements were of the slow and easy order, the ship lay three weeks at the Helvoetsluys, waiting for passengers. During this time, our party, three English and two Americans, came to a determination to abandon the ship. Our plan was to seize a boat, as we passed down channel, and get ashore in England. We were willing to run all the risks of such a step, in preference of going so long a voyage under such treatment and food. By this time, our discontent amounted to disgust.
At length we got all our passengers on board. These consisted of a family, of which the head was said to be, or to have been, an admiral in the Dutch navy. This gentleman was going to Java to remain; and he took with him his wife, several children, servants, and a lady, who seemed to be a companion to his wife. As soon as this party was on board, the wind coming fair, we sailed. The Plato went to sea in company with us, and little did I then think, while wishing myself on board her, how soon I should be thrown into this very ship–the last craft in which I ever was at sea. I was heaving the lead as we passed her; our ship, Dutchman or not, having a fleet pair of heels. The Stadtdeel, whatever might be her usage, or her food, sailed and worked well, and was capitally found in everything that related to the safety of the vessel. This was her first voyage, and she was said to be the largest ship out of Rotterdam.
The Stadtdeel must have sailed from Helvoetsluys in May, 1839, or about thirty-three years after I sailed from New York, on my first voyage, in the Sterling. During all this time I had been toiling at sea, like a dog, risking my health and life, in a variety of ways; and this ship, with my station on board her, was nearly all I had to show for it! God be praised! This voyage, which promised so little, in its commencement, proved, in the end, the most fortunate of any in which I embarked.
There was no opportunity for us to put our plans in execution, in going down channel. The wind was fair, and it blew so fresh, it would not have been easy to get a boat into the water; and we passed the Straits of Dover, by day-light, the very day we sailed. The wind held in the same quarter, until we reached the north-east trades, giving us a quick run as low down as the calm latitudes. All this time, the treatment was as bad as ever, or, if anything, worse; and our discontent increased daily. There were but one or two native Hollanders in the forecastle, boys excepted; but among them was a man who had shipped as an ordinary seaman. He had been a soldier, I believe; at all events, he had a medal, received in consequence of having been in one of the late affairs between his country and Belgium. It is probable this man may not have been very expert in a seaman’s duty, and it is possible he may have been drinking, though to me he appeared sober, at the time the thing occurred which I am about to relate. One day the captain fell foul of him, and beat him with a rope severely. The ladies interfered, and got the poor fellow out of the scrape; the captain letting him go, and telling him to go forward. As the man complied, he fell in with the chief mate, who attacked him afresh, and beat him very severely. The man now went below, and was about to turn in, as the captain had ordered,–which renders it probable he had been drinking,–when the second mate, possibly ignorant of what had occurred, missing him from his duty, went below, and beat him up on deck again. These different assaults seem to have made the poor fellow desperate. He ran and jumped into the sea, just forward of the starboard lower-studdingsail-boom. The ship was then in the north-east trades, and had eight or nine knots way on her; notwithstanding, she was rounded to, and a boat was lowered–but the man was never found. There is something appalling in seeing a fellow-creature driven to such acts of madness; and the effect produced on all of us, by what we witnessed, was profound and sombre.
I shall not pretend to say that this man did not deserve chastisement, or that the two mates were not ignorant of what had happened; but brutal treatment was so much in use on board this ship, that the occurrence made us five nearly desperate. I make no doubt a crew of Americans, who were thus treated, would have secured the officers, and brought the ship in. It is true, that flogging seems necessary to some natures, and I will not say that such a crew as ours could very well get along without it. But we might sometimes be treated as men, and no harm follow.
As I have said, the loss of this man produced a great impression in the ship, generally. The passengers appeared much affected by it, and I thought the captain, in particular, regretted it greatly. He might not have been in the least to blame, for the chastisement he inflicted was such as masters of ships often bestow on their men, but the crew felt very indignant against the mates; one of whom was particularly obnoxious to us all. As for my party, we now began to plot, again, in order to get quit of the ship. After a great deal of discussion, we came to the following resolution:
About a dozen of us entered into the conspiracy. We contemplated no piracy, no act of violence, that should not be rendered necessary in self-defence, nor any robbery beyond what we conceived indispensable to our object. As the ship passed the Straits of Sunda, we intended to lower as many boats as should be necessary, arm ourselves, place provisions and water in the boats, and abandon the ship. We felt confident that if most of the men did not go with us, they would not oppose us. I can now see that this was a desperate and unjustifiable scheme; but, for myself, I was getting desperate on board the ship, and preferred risking my life to remaining. I will not deny that I was a ringleader in this affair, though I know I had no other motive than escape. This was a clear case of mutiny, and the only one in which I was ever implicated. I have a thousand times seen reason to rejoice that the attempt was never made, since, so deep was the hostility of the crew to the officers,–the mates, in particular,–that I feel persuaded a horrible scene of bloodshed must have followed. I did not think of this at the time, making sure of getting off unresisted; but, if we had, what would have been the fate of a parcel of seamen who came into an English port in ship’s boats? Tried for piracy, probably, and the execution of some, if not all of us.
The ship had passed the island of St. Pauls, and we were impatiently waiting for her entrance into the Straits of Sunda, when an accident occurred that put a stop to the contemplated mutiny, and changed the whole current, as I devoutly hope, of all my subsequent life. At the calling of the middle watch, one stormy night, the ship being under close-reefed topsails at the time, with the mainsail furled, I went on deck as usual, to my duty. In stepping across the deck, between the launch and the galley, I had to cross some spars that were lashed there. While on the pile of spars, the ship lurched suddenly, and I lost my balance, falling my whole length on deck, upon my left side. Nothing broke the fall, my arms being raised to seize a hold above my head, and I came down upon deck with my entire weight, the hip taking the principal force of the fall. The anguish I suffered was acute, and it was some time before I would allow my shipmates even to touch me.
After a time, I was carried down into the steerage, where it was found necessary to sling me on a grating, instead of a hammock. We had a doctor on board, but he could do nothing for me. My clothes could not be taken off, and there I lay wet, and suffering to a degree that I should find difficult to describe, hours and hours.
I was now really on the stool of repentance. In body, I was perfectly helpless, though my mind seemed more active than it had ever been before. I overhauled my whole life, beginning with the hour when I first got drunk, as a boy, on board the Sterling, and underrunning every scrape I have mentioned in this sketch of my life, with many of which I have not spoken; and all with a fidelity and truth that satisfy me that man can keep no log-book that is as accurate as his own conscience. I saw that I had been my own worst enemy, and how many excellent opportunities of getting ahead in the world, I had wantonly disregarded. Liquor lay at the root of all my calamities and misconduct, enticing me into bad company, undermining my health and strength, and blasting my hopes. I tried to pray, but did not know how; and, it appeared to me, as if I were lost, body and soul, without a hope of mercy.
My shipmates visited me by stealth, and I pointed out to them, as clearly as in my power, the folly, as well as the wickedness, of our contemplated mutiny. I told them we had come on board the ship voluntarily, and we had no right to be judges in our own case; that we should have done a cruel thing in deserting a ship at sea, with women and children on board; that the Malays would probably have cut our throats, and the vessel herself would have been very apt to be wrecked. Of all this mischief, we should have been the fathers, and we had every reason to be grateful that our project was defeated. The men listened attentively, and promised to abandon every thought of executing the revolt. They were as good as their words, and I heard no more of the matter.
As for my hurt, it was not easy to say what it was. The doctor was kind to me, but he could do no more than give me food and little indulgencies. As for the captain, I think he was influenced by the mate, who appeared to believe I was feigning an injury much greater than I had actually received. On board the ship, there was a boy, of good parentage, who had been sent out to commence his career at sea. He lived aft, and was a sort of genteel cabin-boy He could not have been more than ten or eleven years old but he proved to be a ministering angel to me. He brought me delicacies, sympathised with me, and many a time did we shed tears in company. The ladies and the admiral’s children sometimes came to see me, too, manifesting much sorrow for my situation; and then it was that my conscience pricked the deepest, for the injury, or risks, I had contemplated exposing them to. Altogether, the scenes I saw daily, and my own situation, softened my heart, and I began to get views of my moral deformity that were of a healthful and safe character.
I lay on that grating two months, and bitter months they were to me. The ship had arrived at Batavia, and the captain and mate came to see what was to be done with me. I asked to be sent to the hospital, but the mate insisted nothing was the matter with me, and asked to have me kept in the ship. This was done, and I went round to Terragall in her, where we landed our passengers. These last all came and took leave of me, the admiral making me a present of a good jacket, that he had worn himself at sea, with a quantity of tobacco. I have got that jacket at this moment. The ladies spoke kindly to me, and all this gave my heart fresh pangs.
From Terragall we went to Sourabaya, where I prevailed on the captain to send me to the hospital, the mate still insisting I was merely shamming inability to work. The surgeons at Sourabaya, one of whom was a Scotchman, thought with the mate; and at the end of twenty days, I was again taken on board the ship, which sailed for Samarang. While at Sourabaya there were five English sailors in the hospital. These men were as forlorn and miserable as my self, death grinning in our faces at every turn. The men who were brought into the hospital one day, were often dead the next, and none of us knew whose turn would come next. We often talked together, on religious subjects, after our own uninstructed manner, and greatly did we long to find an English bible, a thing not to be had there. Then it was I thought, again, of the sermon I had heard at the Sailors’ Retreat, of the forfeited promises I had made to reform; and, more than once did it cross my mind, should God permit me to return home, that I would seek out that minister, and ask his prayers and spiritual advice.
On our arrival at Samarang, the mate got a doctor from a Dutch frigate, to look at me, who declared nothing ailed me. By these means nearly all hands in the ship were set against me, but my four companions, and the little boy fancying that I was a skulk, and throwing labour on them. I was ordered on deck, and set to work graffing ring-bolts for the guns. Walk I could not, being obliged, literally, to crawl along the deck on my hands and knees. I suffered great pain, but got no credit for it. The work was easy enough for me, when once seated at it, but it caused me infinite suffering to move. I was not alone in being thought a skulk, however. The doctor himself was taken ill, and the mate accused him, too, very much as he did me, of shirking duty. Unfortunately, the poor man gave him the lie, by dying.
I was kept at the sort of duty I have mentioned until the ship reached Batavia again. Here a doctor came on board from another ship, on a visit, and my case was mentioned. The mate ordered me aft, and I crawled upon the quarter-deck to be examined. They got me into the cabin, where the strange doctor looked at me. This man said I must be operated on by a burning process, all of which was said to frighten me to duty. After this I got down into the forecastle, and positively refused to do anything more. There I lay, abused and neglected by all but my four friends. I told the mate I suffered too much to work, and that I must be put ashore. Suffering had made me desperate, and I cared not for the consequences.
Fortunately for me, there were two cases of fever and ague in the ship. Our own doctor being dead, that of the admiral’s ship was sent for to visit the sick. The mate seemed anxious to set evidence against me, and he asked the admiral’s surgeon to come down and see me. The moment this gentleman laid eyes on me, he raised both arms, and exclaimed that they were killing me. He saw, at once, that I was no impostor, and stated as much in pretty plain language, so far as I could understand what he said. The mate appeared to be struck with shame and contrition; and I do believe that every one on board was sorry for the treatment I had received. I took occasion to remonstrate with the mate, and to tell him of the necessity of my being sent immediately to the hospital. The man promised to represent my case to the captain, and the next day I was landed.
My two great desires were to get to the hospital and to procure a bible. I did not expect to live; one of my legs being shrivelled to half its former size, and was apparently growing worse; and could I find repose for my body and relief for my soul, I felt that I could be happy. I had heard my American shipmate, who was a New Yorker, a Hudson river man, say he had a bible; but I had never seen it. It lay untouched in the bottom of his chest, sailor-fashion. I offered this man a shirt for his bible; but he declined taking any pay, cheerfully giving me the book. I forced the shirt on him, however, as a sort of memorial of me. Now I was provided with the book, I could not read for want of spectacles. I had reached a time of life when the sight begins to fail, and I think my eyes were injured in Florida. In Sourayaba hospital I had raised a few rupees by the sale of a black silk handkerchief, and wanted now to procure a pair of spectacles. I sold a pair of boots, and adding the little sum thus raised to that which I had already, I felt myself rich and happy, in the prospect of being able to study the word of God. On quitting the ship, everybody, forward and aft, shook hands with me, the opinion of the man-of-war surgeon suddenly changing all their opinions of me and my conduct.
The captain appeared to regret the course things had taken, and was willing to do all he could to make me comfortable. My wages were left in a merchant’s hands, and I was to receive them could I quit this island, or get out of the hospital. I was to be sent to Holland, in the latter case, and everything was to be done according to law and right. The reader is not to imagine I considered myself a suffering saint all this time. On the contrary, while I was thought an impostor, I remembered that I had shammed sickness in this very island, and, as I entered the hospital, I could not forget the circumstances under which I had been its tenant fifteen or twenty years before. Then I was in the pride of my youth and strength; and, now, as if in punishment for the deception, I was berthed, a miserable cripple, within half-a-dozen beds of that on which I was berthed when feigning an illness I did not really suffer. Under such circumstances, conscience is pretty certain to remind a sinner of his misdeeds.
The physician of the hospital put me on very low diet and gave me an ointment to “smear” myself with, as he called it; and I was ordered to remain in my berth. By means of one of the coolies of the hospital, I got a pair of spectacles from the town, and such a pair, as to size and form, that people in America regard what is left of them as a curiosity. They served my purpose, however, and enabled me to read the precious book I had obtained from my north-river shipmate. This book was a copy from the American Bible Society’s printing-office, and if no other of their works did good, this must be taken for an exception. It has since been placed in the Society’s Library, in memory of the good it has done.
My sole occupation was reading and reflecting. There I lay, in a distant island, surrounded by disease, death daily, nay hourly making his appearance, among men whose language was mostly unknown to me. It was several weeks before I was allowed even to quit my bunk. I had begun to pray before I left the ship, and this practice I continued, almost hourly, until I was permitted to rise. A converted Lascar was in the hospital, and seeing my occupation, he came and conversed with me, in his broken English. This man gave me a hymn-book, and one of the first hymns I read in it afforded me great consolation. It was written by a man who had been a sailor like myself, and one who had been almost as wicked as myself, but who has since done a vast deal of good, by means of precept and example. This hymn-book I now read in common with my bible. But I cannot express the delight I felt at a copy of Pilgrim’s Progress which this same Lascar gave me. That book I consider as second only to the bible. It enabled me to understand and to apply a vast deal that I found in the word of God, and set before my eyes so many motives for hope, that I began to feel Christ had died for me, as well as for the rest of the species. I thought if the thief on the cross could be saved, even one as wicked as I had been had only to repent and believe, to share in the Redeemer’s mercy. All this time I fairly pined for religious instruction, and my thoughts would constantly recur to the sermon I had heard at the Sailor’s Retreat, and to the clergyman who had preached it.
There was an American carpenter in the Fever Hospital, who, hearing of my state, gave me some tracts that he had brought from home with him. This man was not pious, but circumstances had made him serious; and, being about to quit the place, he was willing to administer to my wants He told me there were several Englishmen and one American in his hospital, who wanted religious consolation greatly, and he advised me to crawl over and see them; which I did, as soon as it was in my power.
At first, I thought myself too wicked to offer to pray and converse with these men, but my conscience would not let me rest until I did so. It appeared to me as if the bible had been placed in my way, as much for their use as my own, and I could not rest until I had offered them all the consolation it was in my power to bestow. I read with these men for two or three weeks; Chapman, the American, being the man who considered his own moral condition the most hopeless. When unable to go myself, I would send my books, and we had the bible and Pilgrim’s Progress, watch and watch, between us.
All this time we were living, as it might be, on a bloody battle-field. Men died in scores around us, and at the shortest notice. Batavia, at that season, was the most sickly; and, although the town was by no means as dangerous then as it had been in my former visit, it was still a sort of Golgotha, or place of skulls. More than half who entered the Fever Hospital, left it only as corpses.
Among my English associates, as I call them, was a young Scotchman, of about five-and-twenty. This man had been present at most of our readings and conversations, though he did not appear to me as much impressed with the importance of caring for his soul, as some of the others. One day he came to take leave of me. He was to quit the hospital the following morning. I spoke to him concerning his future life, and endeavoured to awaken in him some feelings that might be permanent, he listened with proper respect, but his answers were painfully inconsiderate, though I do believe he reasoned as nine in ten of mankind reason, when they think at all on such subjects. “What’s the use of my giving up so soon,” he said; “I am young, and strong, and in good health, and have plenty of sea-room to leeward of me, and can fetch up when there is occasion for it. If a fellow don’t live while he can, he’ll never live.” I read to him the parable of the wise and foolish virgins, but he left me holding the same opinion, to the last.
Directly in front of my ward was the dead-house. Thither all the bodies of those who died in the hospital were regularly carried for dissection. Scarcely one escaped being subjected to the knife. This dead-house stood some eighty, or a hundred, yards from the hospital, and between them was an area, containing a few large trees. I was in the habit, after I got well enough to go out, to hobble to one of these trees, where I would sit for hours, reading and meditating. It was a good place to make a man reflect on the insignificance of worldly things, disease and death being all around him. I frequently saw six or eight bodies carried across this area, while sitting in it, and many were taken to the dead-house, at night. Hundreds, if not thousands, were in the hospital, and a large proportion died.
The morning of the day but one, after I had taken leave of the young Scotchman, I was sitting under a tree, as usual, when I saw some coolies carrying a dead body across the area. They passed quite near me, and one of the coolies gave me to understand it was that of this very youth! He had been seized with the fever, a short time after he left me, and here was a sudden termination to all his plans of enjoyment and his hopes of life; his schemes of future repentance.
Such things are of frequent occurrence in that island, but this event made a very deep impression on me. It helped to strengthen me in my own resolutions, and I used it, I hope, with effect, with my companions whose lives were still spared.
All the Englishmen got well, and were discharged. Chapman, the American, however, remained, being exceedingly feeble with the disease of the country. With this poor young man, I prayed, as well as I knew how, and read, daily, to his great comfort and consolation, I believe. The reader may imagine how one dying in a strange land, surrounded by idolaters, would lean on a single countryman who was disposed to aid him. In this manner did Chap man lean on me, and all my efforts were to induce him to lean on the Saviour. He thought he had been too great a sinner to be entitled to any hope, and my great task was to overcome in him some of those stings of conscience which it had taken the grace of God to allay in myself. One day, the last time I was with him, I read the narrative of the thief on the cross. He listened to it eagerly, and when I had ended, for the first time, he displayed some signs of hope and joy. As I left him, he took leave of me, saying we should never meet again. He asked my prayers, and I promised them. I went to my own ward, and, while actually engaged in redeeming my promise, one came to tell me he had gone. He sent me a message, to say he died a happy man. The poor fellow–happy fellow, would be a better term–sent back all the books he had borrowed; and it will serve to give some idea of the condition we were in, in a temporal sense, if I add, that he also sent me a few coppers, in order that they might contribute to the comfort of his countrymen.
Chapter XIX.
About three months after the death of Chapman, I was well enough to quit the hospital. I could walk, with the aid of crutches, but had no hope of ever being a sound man again. Of course, I had an anxious desire to get home; for all my resolutions, misanthropical feelings, and resentments, had vanished in the moral change I had undergone. My health, as a whole, was now good. Temperance, abstinence, and a happy frame of mind, had proved excellent doctors; and, although I had not, and never shall, altogether, recover from the effects of my fall, I had quite done with the “horrors.” The last fit of them I suffered was in the deep conviction I felt concerning my sinful state. I knew nothing of Temperance Societies–had never heard that such things existed, or, if I had, forgot it as soon as heard; and yet, unknown to myself, had joined the most effective and most permanent of all these bodies. Since my fall, I have not tasted spirituous liquors, except as medicine, and in very small quantities, nor do I now feel the least desire to drink. By the grace of God, the great curse of my life has been removed, and I have lived a perfectly sober man for the last five years. I look upon liquor as one of the great agents of the devil in destroying souls, and turn from it, almost as sensitively as I could wish to turn from sin.
I wrote to the merchant who held my wages, on the subject of quitting the hospital, but got no answer. I then resolved to go to Batavia myself, and took my discharge from the hospital, accordingly. I can truly say, I left that place, into which I had entered a miserable, heart-broken cripple, a happy man. Still, I had nothing; not even the means of seeking a livelihood. But I was lightened of the heaviest of all my burthens, and felt I could go through the world rejoicing, though, literally, moving on crutches.
The hospital is seven miles from the town, and I went this distance in a canal-boat, Dutch fashion. Many of these canals exist in Java, and they have had the effect to make the island much more healthy, by draining the marshes. They told me, the canal I was on ran fifty miles into the interior. The work was done by the natives, but under the direction of their masters, the Dutch.
On reaching the town, I hobbled up to the merchant, who gave me a very indifferent reception. He said I had cost too much already, but that I must return to the hospital, until an opportunity offered for sending me to Holland. This I declined doing. Return to the hospital I would not, as I knew it could do no good, and my wish was to get back to America. I then went to the American consul, who treated me kindly. I was told, however, he could do nothing for me, as I had come out in a Dutch ship, unless I relinquished all claims to my wages, and all claims on the Dutch laws. My wages were a trifle, and I had no difficulty in relinquishing them, and as for claims, I wished to present none on the laws of Holland.
The consul then saw the Dutch merchant, and the matter was arranged between them. The Plato, the very ship that left Helvoetsluys in company with us, was then at Batavia, taking in cargo for Bremenhaven. She had a new cap tain, and he consented to receive me as a consul’s man. This matter was all settled the day I reached the town, and I was to go on board the ship in the morning.
I said nothing to the consul about money, but left his office with the expectation of getting some from the Dutch merchant. I had tasted no food that day, and, on reaching the merchant’s, I found him on the point of going into the country; no one sleeping in the town at that season, who could help it. He took no notice of me, and I got no assistance; perhaps I was legally entitled to none. I now sat down on some boxes, and thought I would remain at that spot until morning. Sleeping in the open air, on an empty stomach, in that town, and at that season, would probably have proved my death, had I been so fortunate as to escape being murdered by the Malays for the clothes I had on. Providence took care of me. One of the clerks, a Portuguese, took pity on me, and led me to a house occupied by a negro, who had been converted to Christianity. We met with a good deal of difficulty in finding admission. The black said the English and Americans were so wicked he was afraid of them; but, finding by my discourse that I was not one of the Christian heathen, he altered his tone, and nothing was then too good for me. I was fed, and he sent for my chest, receiving with it a bed and three blankets, as a present from the charitable clerk. Thus were my prospects for that night suddenly changed for the better! I could only thank God, in my inmost heart, for all his mercies.
The old black, who was a man of some means, was also about to quit the town; but, before he went, he inquired if I had a bible. I told him yes; still, he would not rest until he had pressed upon me a large bible, in English, which language he spoke very well. This book had prayers for seamen bound up with it. It was, in fact, a sort of English prayer-book, as well as bible. This I accepted, and have now with me. As soon as the old man went away, leaving his son behind him for the moment, I began to read in my Pilgrim’s Progress. The young man expressed a desire to examine the book, understanding English perfectly. After reading in it for a short time, he earnestly begged the book, telling me he had two sisters, who would be infinitely pleased to possess it. I could not refuse him, and he promised to send another book in its place, which I should find equally good. He thus left me, taking the Pilgrim’s Progress with him. Half an hour later a servant brought me the promised book, which proved to be Doddridge’s Rise and Progress. On looking through the pages, I found a Mexican dollar wafered between two of the leaves. All this I regarded as providential, and as a proof that the Lord would not desert me. My gratitude, I hope, was in proportion. This whole household appeared to be religious, for I passed half the night in conversing with the Malay servants, on the subject of Christianity; concerning which they had already received many just ideas. I knew that my teaching was like the blind instructing the blind; but it had the merit of coming from God, though in a degree suited to my humble claims on his grace.
In the morning, these Malays gave me breakfast, and then carried my chest and other articles to the Plato’s boat. I was happy enough to find myself, once more, under the stars and stripes, where I was well received, and humanely treated. The ship sailed for Bremen about twenty days after I got on board her.
Of course, I could do but little on the passage. Whenever I moved along the deck, it was by crawling, though I could work with the needle and palm. A fortnight out, the carpenter, a New York man, died. I tried to read and pray with him, but cannot say that he showed any consciousness of his true situation. We touched at St. Helena for water, and, Napoleon being then dead, had no difficulty in getting ashore. After watering we sailed again, and reached our port in due time.
I was now in Europe, a part of the world that I had little hopes of seeing ten months before. Still it was my desire to get to America, and I was permitted to remain in the ship. I was treated in the kindest manner by captain Bunting, and Mr. Bowden, the mate, who gave me everything I needed. At the end of a few weeks we sailed again, for New York, where we arrived in the month of August, 1840,
I left the Plato at the quarantine ground, going to the Sailor’s Retreat. Here the physician told me I never could recover the use of my limb as I had possessed it before, but that the leg would gradually grow stronger, and that I might get along without crutches in the end. All this has turned out to be true. The pain had long before left me, weakness being now the great difficulty. The hip-joint is injured, and this in a way that still compels me to rely greatly on a stick in walking.
At the Sailor’s Retreat, I again met Mr. Miller. I now, for the first time, received regular spiritual advice, and it proved to be of great benefit to me. After remaining a month at the Retreat, I determined to make an application for admission to the Sailor’s Snug Harbour, a richly endowed asylum for seamen, on the same island. In order to be admitted, it was necessary to have sailed under the flag five years, and to get a character. I had sailed, with two short exceptions, thirty-four years under the flag, and I do believe in all that time, the nineteen months of imprisonment excluded, I had not been two years unattached to a ship. I think I must have passed at least a quarter of a century out of sight of land.[17]
I now went up to New York, and hunted up captain Pell, with whom I had sailed in the Sully and in the Normandy. This gentleman gave me a certificate, and, as I left him, handed me a dollar. This was every cent I had on earth. Next, I found captain Witheroudt, of the Silvie de Grasse who treated me in precisely the same way. I told him I had _one_ dollar already, but he insisted it should be _two_. With these two dollars in my pocket, I was passing up Wall street, when, in looking about me, I saw the pension office. The reader will remember that I left Washington with the intention of finding Lemuel Bryant, in order to obtain his certificate, that I might get a pension for the injury received on board the Scourge. With this project, I had connected a plan of returning to Boston, and of getting some employment in the Navy Yard. My pension-ticket had, in consequence, been made payable at Boston. My arrival at New York, and the shadding expedition, had upset all this plan; and before I went to Savannah, I had carried my pension-ticket to the agent in this Wall street office, and requested him to get another, made payable in New York. This was the last I had seen of my ticket, and almost the last I had thought of my pension. But, I now crossed the street, went into the office, and was recognised immediately. Everything was in rule, and I came out of the office with fifty-six dollars in my pockets! I had no thought of this pension, at all, in coming up to town. It was so much money showered down upon me, unexpectedly.
For a man of my habits, who kept clear of drink, I was now rich. Instead of remaining in town, however, I went immediately down to the Harbour, and presented myself to its respectable superintendant, the venerable Captain Whetten.[18] I was received into the institution without any difficulty, and have belonged to it ever since. My entrance at Sailors’ Snug Harbour took place Sept. 17, 1840; just one month after I landed at Sailors’ Retreat. The last of these places is a seamen’s hospital, where men are taken in only to be cured; while the first is an asylum for worn-out mariners, for life. The last is supported by a bequest made, many years ago, by an old ship-master, whose remains lie in front of the building.
Knowing myself now to be berthed for the rest of my days, should I be so inclined, and should I remain worthy to receive the benefits of so excellent an institution, I began to look about me, like a man who had settled down in the world. One of my first cares, was to acquit myself of the duty of publicly joining some church of Christ, and thus acknowledge my dependence on his redemption and mercy. Mr. Miller, he whose sermons had made so deep an impression on my mind, was living within a mile and a half of the Harbour, and to him I turned in my need. I was an Episcopalian by infant baptism, and I am still as much attached to that form of worship, as to any other; but sects have little weight with me, the heart being the main-stay, under God’s grace. Two of us, then, joined Mr. Miller’s church; and I have ever since continued one of his communicants. I have not altogether deserted the communion in which I was baptized; occasionally communing in the church of Mr. Moore. To me, there is no difference; though I suppose more learned Christians may find materials for a quarrel, in the distinctions which exist between these two churches. I hope never to quarrel with either.
To my surprise, sometime after I was received into the Harbour, I ascertained that my sister had removed to New York, and was then living in the place. I felt it, now, to be a duty to hunt her up, and see her. This I did; and we met, again, after a separation of five-and-twenty years. She could tell me very little of my family; but I now learned, for the first time, that my father had been killed in battle. Who, or what he was, I have not been able to ascertain, beyond the facts already stated in the opening of the memoir.
I had ever retained a kind recollection of the treatment of Captain Johnston, and accident threw into my way some information concerning him. The superintendant had put me in charge of the library of the institution; and, one day, I overheard some visiters talking of Wiscasset. Upon this, I ventured to inquire after my old master, and was glad to learn that he was not only living, but in good health and circumstances. To my surprise I was told that a nephew of his was actually living within a mile of me. In September, 1842, I went to Wiscasset, to visit Captain Johnston, and found myself received like the repentant prodigal. The old gentleman, and his sisters, seemed glad to see me; and, I found that the former had left the seas, though he still remained a ship-owner; having a stout vessel of five hundred tons, which is, at this moment, named after our old craft, the Sterling.
I remained at Wiscasset several weeks. During this time, Captain Johnston and myself talked over old times, as a matter of course, and I told him I thought one of our old shipmates was still living. On his asking whom, I inquired if he remembered the youngster, of the name of Cooper, who had been in the Sterling. He answered, perfectly well, and that he supposed him to be the Captain Cooper who was then in the navy. I had thought so, too, for a long time; but happened to be on board the Hudson, at New York, when a Captain Cooper visited her. Hearing his name, I went on deck expressly to see him, and was soon satisfied it was not my old shipmate. There are two Captains Cooper in the navy,–father and son,–but neither had been in the Sterling. Now, the author of many naval tales, and of the Naval History, was from Cooperstown, New York; and I had taken it into my head this was the very person who had been with us in the Sterling. Captain Johnston thought not; but I determined to ascertain the fact, immediately on my return to New York.
Quitting Wiscasset, I came back to the Harbour, in the month of November, 1842. I ought to say, that the men at this institution, who maintain good characters, can always get leave to go where they please, returning whenever they please. There is no more restraint than is necessary to comfort and good order; the object being to make old tars comfortable. Soon after my return to the Harbour, I wrote a letter to Mr. Fenimore Cooper, and sent it to his residence, at Cooperstown, making the inquiries necessary to know if he were the person of the same family who had been in the Sterling. I got an answer, beginning in these words–“I am your old shipmate, Ned.” Mr. Cooper informed me when he would be in town, and where he lodged.
In the spring, I got a message from Mr. Blancard, the keeper of the Globe Hotel, and the keeper, also, of Brighton, near the Harbour, to say that Mr. Cooper was in town, and wished to see me. Next day, I went up, accordingly; but did not find him in. After paying one or two visits, I was hobbling up Broadway, to go to the Globe again, when my old commander at Pensacola, Commodore Bolton, passed down street, arm-in-arm with a stranger. I saluted the commodore, who nodded his head to me, and this induced the stranger to look round. Presently I heard “Ned!” in a voice that I knew immediately, though I had not heard it in thirty-seven years. It was my old shipmate–the gentleman who has written out this account of my career, from my verbal narrative of the facts.
Mr. Cooper asked me to go up to his place, in the country, and pass a few weeks there. I cheerfully consented, and we reached Cooperstown early in June. Here I found a neat village, a beautiful lake, nine miles long, and, altogether, a beautiful country. I had never been as far from the sea before, the time when I served on Lake Ontario excepted. Cooperstown lies in a valley, but Mr. Cooper tells me it is at an elevation of twelve hundred feet above tide-water. To me, the clouds appeared so low, I thought I could almost shake hands with them; and, altogether, the air and country were different from any I had ever seen, or breathed, before.
My old shipmate took me often on the Lake, which I will say is a slippery place to navigate. I thought I had seen all sorts of winds before I saw the Otsego, but, on this lake it sometimes blew two or three different ways at the same time. While knocking about this piece of water, in a good stout boat, I related to my old shipmate many of the incidents of my wandering life, until, one day, he suggested it might prove interesting to publish them. I was willing, could the work be made useful to my brother sailors, and those who might be thrown into the way of temptations like those which came so near wrecking all my hopes, both for this world, and that which is to come. We accordingly went to work between us, and the result is now laid before the world. I wish it understood, that this is literally my own story, logged by my old shipmate.
It is now time to clew up. When a man has told all he has to say, the sooner he is silent the better. Every word that has been related, I believe to be true; when I am wrong, it proceeds from ignorance, or want of memory. I may possibly have made some trifling mistakes about dates, and periods, but I think they would turn out to be few, on inquiry. In many instances I have given my impressions, which, like those of other men, may be right, or may be wrong. As for the main facts, however, I know them to be true, nor do I think myself much out of the way, in any of the details.
This is the happiest period of my life, and has been so since I left the hospital at Batavia. I do not know that I have ever passed a happier summer than the present has been. I should be perfectly satisfied with everything, did not my time hang so idle on my hands at the Harbour. I want something to occupy my leisure moments, and do not despair of yet being able to find a mode of life more suitable to the activity of my early days. I have friends enough–more than I deserve–and, yet, a man needs occupation, who has the strength and disposition to be employed. That which is to happen is in the hands of Providence, and I humbly trust I shall be cared for, to the end, as I have been cared for, through so many scenes of danger and trial.
My great wish is that this picture of a sailor’s risks and hardships, may have some effect in causing this large and useful class of men to think on the subject of their habits. I entertain no doubt that the money I have disposed of far worse than if I had thrown it into the sea, which went to reduce me to that mental hell, the ‘horrors,’ and which, on one occasion, at least, drove me to the verge of suicide, would have formed a sum, had it been properly laid by, on which I might now have been enjoying an old age of comfort and respectability. It is seldom that a seaman cannot lay by a hundred dollars in a twelvemonth–oftentimes I have earned double that amount, beyond my useful outlays–and a hundred dollars a year, at the end of thirty years, would give such a man an independence for the rest of his days. This is far from all, however; the possession of means would awaken the desire of advancement in the calling, and thousands, who now remain before the mast, would long since have been officers, could they have commanded the self-respect that property is apt to create.
On the subject of liquor, I can say nothing that has not often been said by others, in language far better than I can use. I do not think I was as bad, in this respect, as perhaps a majority of my associates; yet, this narrative will show how often the habit of drinking to excess impeded my advance. It was fast converting me into a being inferior to a man, and, but for God’s mercy, might have rendered me the perpetrator of crimes that it would shock me to think of, in my sober and sane moments.
The past, I have related as faithfully as I have been able so to do. The future is with God; to whom belongeth power, and glory, for ever and ever!
The End.
Footnotes
[1]: The writer left a blank for this regiment, and now inserts it from memory. It is probable he is wrong.
[2]: Edward, Duke of Kent, was born November 2, 1767, and made a peer April 23, 1799; when he was a little turned of one-and-thirty. It is probable that this creation took place on his return to England; after passing some six or eight years in America and the West Indies. He served in the West Indies with great personal distinction, during his stay in this hemisphere.–Editor.
[3]: This is Ned’s pronunciation; though it is probable the name is not spelt correctly. The names of Ned are taken a good deal at random; and, doubtless, are often misspelled.–Editor.
[4]: I well remember using these arguments to Ned; though less with any expectations of being admitted, than the boy seemed to believe. There was more roguery, than anything else, in my persuasion; though it was mixed with a latent wish to see the interior of the palace.–Editor.
[5]: Second-mate.
[6]: 22d–Editor.
[7]: When Myers related this circumstance, I remembered that a Lieutenant-Colonel Meyers had been killed in the affair at Fort George, something in the way here mentioned. On consulting the American official