I returned to the interior of the island in fine spirits, and commenced making the necessary arrangements for my departure. In due time, having received information from Mr. Budge that his sloop would sail on a certain day, I took leave of my numerous friends, bade farewell to the plantations; to the lonely glens and deep gorges in the mountains, which for me, had many charms, and took the "Grand Etang" route for the capital. I could not bid adieu to my kind Scotch friends without emotion. Several of them expressed an intention to visit the United States before the lapse of many years, perhaps to settle there for life, and promised to look me up. But I have never seen them since. With the sight of a Scotchman, however, is associated many pleasing recollections; and a Scotch accent has ever sounded grateful in my ear since I left the shores of Grenada.

During my residence in Grenada my duties were neither arduous nor difficult. Had I complied with the advice of friends and remained, I might have succeeded as a planter, and led for a number of years a lazy, monotonous, vegetative kind of life. Nevertheless, my stay was not unproductive of advantages. I found much to interest and occupy an inquiring mind; and my situation gave me an opportunity to gratify a thirst for information, to gain an intimate knowledge of tropical life, usages, and productions which has often since proved of signal service. I was brought into communication with people of different nations, different characters, and different modes of thinking; of different politics, philosophy, and religion; all of which has a tendency to eradicate or weaken early prejudices, liberalize opinions, and inculcate charitable views of human nature. While such a relation with people of other countries can never diminish the feeling of patriotism in a well-balanced mind, it will lead a persons to discover, acknowledge, and respect, in other communities and other nations, much that is good and worthy of commendation.

After paying my debts and supplying a few pressing wants I found remaining in my pocket fifty Spanish dollars. I had emerged from a state of poverty and dependence. I was rich, having the means, without much doubt, of procuring a passage from Martinico to some port in the United States.



Chapter XXXI. SORROWFUL SCENES

It was about the middle of September in the year 1816 that I embarked with Mr. Budge in a little sloop bound to St. Lucia and Martinico, after having resided in Grenada nearly four years. We had a few other passengers, one of whom was a French gentleman named Chambord, who had fought a duel with an Englishman in St. Lucia a few months before. This duel grew out of a fierce dispute in relation to the battle of Waterloo, and the comparative merit, in a military point of view, of Napoleon and Wellington. The Frenchman, being an adroit swordsman, got the best of the argument by running his antagonist through the body, and leaving him senseless, and apparently lifeless, on the field. He made his escape to Grenada. Having learned that the champion of Wellington was in a fair way to recover from his wound, he was now on his return to his home.

We tarried but a short time at St. Lucia, merely lying off and on at the mouth of the port of Castries, or Carenage, which is one of the most beautiful and safe harbors in that part of the world; the entrance being so narrow that two ships cannot pass through it abreast; but inside, the extent of the harbor and depth of water are sufficient to furnish good anchorage and shelter from hurricanes for a large fleet of ships of the largest class.

On arriving at St. Pierre I found a fearful hurricane had raged in that quarter only a week or ten days before. The wind, blowing from the eastward directly into the open roadstead with irresistible fury, had driven every vessel in port ashore on the beach. The ship Cato, of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, having all her cargo discharged, and presenting a large surface of hull to the wind and the waves, was found, after the tempest had subsided, high and dry in one of the streets, in a condition which precluded the possibility of getting her into the water, and was broken up. Others were launched on "ways" constructed for the purpose; while some sustained but little injury, and were easily got afloat. One English brig, built of the red cedar of Bermuda, a material greatly in favor at that time on account of its remarkable resistance to DECAY, was crushed like an egg-shell the moment it struck the shore, and the fragments were strown along the beach.

At the time I arrived at St. Pierre the yellow fever was prevailing to an alarming extent among the inhabitants. The same epidemic prevailed in Point Petre, Guadaloupe, and the numerous immigrants from France, in some cases whole families, who sought those shores with the hope of improving their condition, were cut off by this terrible disease soon after their arrival. Some cases of yellow fever appeared among the shipping in St. Pierre, and nearly every one proved fatal, showing the malignant type of the disease. Great alarm was manifested lest the epidemic should spread among the vessels, and sweep off whole crews, and I subsequently learned that these apprehensions were realized.

I engaged lodgings on shore, and was there an eye witness to the ravages of this plague of the West Indies. Young and healthy men, full of hope and gayety, with rich prospects in the future, were visited by this grim messenger soon after they set their feet on those shores; and few, very few, recovered. Death was doing a mighty business at Martinico at that time; and during my brief stay I listened to many a thrilling tale of hopes blighted, ties of affection sundered, and sorrows awakened by the remorseless action of the "King of Terrors." The strong man was cut down while boasting of his strength; and youth, beauty, or worth furnished no protection from the attack of this West India pestilence.

After my long residence in Grenada I had no fear of yellow fever in Martinico; and in several cases at my boarding house I was able to render valuable assistance. I was now anxious to get temporary employment of some kind, or procure a passage to the United States. I was every day getting nearer the bottom of my purse; and I trembled at the idea of finding myself penniless in the town of St. Pierre. I could hardly hope to meet with the sympathy and kindness from the Frenchmen of Martinico that I found in Grenada among the natives of Scotland.

Owing to the shipwrecks, caused by the hurricane, there was no want of seamen; and I could not even get an opportunity to work my passage to an American port before the mast. I had been so long in the West Indies that I had lost the distinguishing marks of a Yankee. And my broad accent, my swarthy complexion, my unseamanlike costume, adapted to the climate, all seemed to contradict my statement that I was an American sailor.

At Martinico I fell in with an Englishman, Captain William Parker, who had resided in the islands for many years, and was thoroughly acquainted with the trade in that part of the globe. He was then making preparations to engage in a sort of wholesale smuggling business, and had obtained possession, by hook or by crook, of two registers of American vessels. One was a BONA FIDE register of a privateer which had been captured during the war, and the other a forgery neatly executed by an artist in Martinico, having the signatures and seals duly arranged and perfected, but leaving blank the description of the vessel.

With these registers, valuable documents, in his estimation, having cost him no trifling sum, it was his wish to proceed to New York, and with the aid of some unscrupulous capitalist, purchase an English schooner, answering nearly to the description in the register of the privateer; or, failing in that, procure an English vessel of any kind suitable, and fill up the blanks with a description of the same in the other American register. Then with two captains, one English and one American, each acting as mate alternately, and with a crew who could be confided in, HE PROPOSED TO CARRY ON A DIRECT TRADE WITH THE ENGLISH ISLANDS, securing all the advantages, in the way of port charges and duties, of an American vessel in an American port and an English vessel in an English port! A few voyages successfully performed on this plan, he plausibly urged, would be productive of immense profit to all concerned.

Parker was desirous that I would embark with him in this enterprise, and act as the nominal American commander. But I had an instinctive repugnance to proceedings of such an underhand, unlawful character. This of itself would have been enough to lead me to reject his proposition; and furthermore I had no confidence in the man, or his ability to carry his project into operation. I thanked Parker for his friendly offer, and the COMPLIMENT it conveyed, but declined to enter into any engagement of the kind. Whether he succeeded in carrying his project into effect I never learned; but the same plan was successfully put into execution by an enterprising rogue about the same time, who undertook to run a vessel between Baltimore and Barbadoes, carrying out flour and bringing back coffee and sugar. He performed two trips successfully, but on the third got into trouble. One of the crew, who had been unadvisedly punished for insubordination, gave information to the authorities in Barbadoes, which put a period, for a time at least, to his enterprising pursuits.

A few days before I landed in St. Pierre, the brig Betsey, Captain Blackler, arrived in the harbor from Marseilles. A large portion of her cargo was discharged, and Captain Blackler concluded to send the brig with the remaining portion, consisting of wine im casks, to New Orleans, while he remained behind to transact important business for the owner of the brig, William Gray, of Salem. Accordingly the mate, Mr. Adams, an intelligent and highly deserving young man, belonging to Marblehead, was placed in charge, and the mate of the unfortunate ship Cato, which forsook her proper element to explore the streets of St. Pierre, and could not get back, was engaged as mate of the Betsey.

I applied to Captain Blackler for a passage to New Orleans. The brig was fully manned, with six stout, able-bodied seamen before the mast, and cook, mate, and captain, nine in all. Captain Blackler demanded forty dollars for a passage in the cabin; by no means an exorbitant charge. Nevertheless this was a poser, as after paying for my board, I had only twenty dollars remaining. This matter, however, was satisfactorily settled by a COMPROMISE, a happy way of getting rid of a difficulty. I proposed to advance twenty dollars before quitting Martinico, and give an obligation for twenty more when the brig should arrive at New Orleans; and he agreed to the proposition. But HOW I should raise twenty dollars on reaching New Orleans, was a question I could not answer, and did not like to consider. I strove hard to convince myself I should never be called upon for payment, or if called upon, that fortune would favor me by furnishing, in some way, the means.

Captain Blackler was a gentleman much respected and esteemed. He was a good specimen of an American shipmaster. When we got under way he came on board, apparently in good health and spirits, to bid us farewell. I shook hands with him as he stepped over the side. He gave some final instructions to Mr. Adams, who had assumed the command of the Betsey. They mutually wished each other continued health and prosperity, expressed a hope to meet before long in Marblehead, and parted NEVER TO MEET AGAIN! Before another week had passed they were both summoned before their God. It was afterwards ascertained that Captain Blackler was attacked by yellow fever a few days after the brig left Martinico, and was quickly added to the numerous band of victims to that disease.

The brig Betsey was about two hundred and twenty tons burden; a clump, dull-sailing craft, of rather venerable appearance, with no pretensions to youth or beauty, having braved the dangers of the seas for thirty years; nevertheless she was now apparently as sound, safe, and tight as any vessel that crossed the ocean. Captain Adams was a worthy man, of an amiable character, who had been educated to his business; and the mate, Mr. Ricker, had been commander of a ship, and was strongly recommended as an able and faithful officer. The crew were Americans, resolute-looking, powerful fellows, in robust health. There had been no sickness on board during the voyage; and all of them, including the captain and mate, were rejoiced to leave the island of Martinico. As the mountains faded in the distance they fancied they had left the yellow fever far behind, and congratulated each other on their good fortune.

Our route, as will be seen by examining a chart or a map, was a remarkably interesting one. It extended through the Caribbean Sea, where the trade winds blow unceasingly from the eastward, in a direction south of some of the most beautiful and picturesque islands in the world, as Porto Rico, St. Domingo, and Cuba, and ranged along in sight of Jamaica and the Caymans, then rounded Cape Antonio, once the notorious haunt of pirates, and entered the Gulf of Mexico. Leaving the harbor of St. Pierre under such auspices, I anticipated a delightful trip and being a passenger, with no duties to perform, and no responsibility resting on my shoulders, I was prepared to enjoy the POETRY of a seafaring life.

The night following our departure there was a gentle breeze from the eastward, the sea was smooth, and everything in the atmosphere, on the ocean, or in the vessel gave promise of a pleasant passage. I remained on deck that night until twelve o'clock, in conversation with Captain Adams. He seemed in a particularly pleasant and communicative mood; spoke of his past life, which had been but little clouded with misfortune, and indulged in the most cheerful anticipations with regard to the future.

The next day I learned that one of the seamen, named James Smith, belonging to Wiscasset, in Maine, was unable, from illness, to do his duty. I found that Smith was not a favorite with the crew, being a lazy fellow, who would act the part of an "old soldier" when an opportunity offered. As he did not seem very sick, and some thought he was feigning illness to avoid work, no alarm was excited in consequence.

There was a man on board the Betsey whose name was Gaskell; a tall, stalwart fellow, belonging to Greenbush, New York. He showed in his words and actions that he was unprincipled, a thorough reprobate, whose soul had been case-hardened in crime. This man ridiculed the illness of Smith; tried to rouse him from his berth in the half-deck; declared that he was "shamming Abraham," and threatened him with a rope's end unless he gave over skulking. Gaskell spoke of the mortality among the Frenchmen in Martinico, and this furnished him with an inexhaustible source of amusement. Indeed, human suffering, lingering death by shipwreck or disease, always moved him to mirth and laughter. And yet he was not deficient in intellect and education; but had used them for evil purposes. He was coarse, sensual, intemperate, and terribly profane. He boldly avowed a disbelief in a God, and sneered at the idea of punishment for crime in the future. He loved to talk of the yellow fever; he set that fearful disease at defiance, and said he never enjoyed himself so gloriously as he had done the year previously at Savannah, when the yellow fever was sweeping off the crews of the shipping in that port by hundreds, and he found employment as a carpenter, and cleared ten dollars a day by making coffins for the "Yankee" sailors. I felt from the outset that this Gaskell was a bad man, and a further knowledge of him confirmed my impression and increased my disgust.

In the course of the day I visited the half-deck, at the request of Captain Adams, to examine the condition of Smith. I found him in a feverish state, languid, his spirits much depressed, and with a slight headache. At the time I had no suspicion that he was visited with yellow fever, the disease appeared in so mild a form. Some medicine was given him, and it was expected that in a day or so he would recover his health.

The next morning, being the third day after leaving Martinico, I was awakened soon after daybreak by a succession of groans which came from the captain's stateroom. I entered the room, and was greatly alarmed at finding Captain Adams laboring under a severe attack of illness. He was seized with pains in the head and back, accompanied with scorching fever. His pulsations were strong, quick, and irregular. He said he must have caught a violent cold the night before, by remaining on deck without his coat or hat. I did not contradict him; but I had seen persons in a similar condition, and I knew he was suffering from yellow fever in its most alarming form.

All the medical skill I possessed was put in requisition; but the captain grew worse, and before night he was aware of the true character of the disease, and seemed to feel there was no chance for his recovery. I strove to minister consolation and inspire him with hope, but in vain. He acknowledged that life had charms of the most attractive description; fortune had favored him beyond his expectations; he had relations and friends whom he dearly loved; and there was one bright being in his native town to whom he had plighted his vows of affection, and to whom he hoped to have been united for life if Providence had willed his return. But he was resigned to the will of the Almighty. He did not even murmur at the fate which he knew awaited him. He prayed to his God to pardon the sins he had committed, and looked forward with hope to a glorious immortality.

The breeze had been light and the sea remarkably smooth since we left St. Pierre; and the brig, steering to the north-west, had made slow progress. On the morning after the captain was taken sick we expected to be in sight of Porto Rico; and Captain Adams asked Mr. Ricker, the mate, if any land was in sight. The mate thoughtlessly replied, "'The Dead Man's Chest' can just be seen off deck." This was the English name of a small island, or cluster of rocks, some five or six miles south of Porto Rico, resembling in appearance a coffin, and called, in Spanish, "Moxa del Muerta."

Captain Adams remarked, in a soliloquizing strain, "The Dead Man's Chest? Already in sight? Well, it will soon be wanted; I am ready."

The sufferings of this excellent man were intense. The pains in his head and back kept increasing; yet his mind was tranquil, and he retained command of his mental faculties until the last moment of his life. During his illness he expressed kindness for others, and made suggestions to the mate about sailing the brig and carrying on the work. As he grew weaker, he gave explicit directions to Mr. Ricker in regard to the duties which would devolve upon him at his death, and intrusted me with a solemn message to his dearest friends, which I afterwards faithfully delivered.

On the third day after the fever commenced the BLACK VOMIT set in. This is generally regarded as a fatal symptom, being almost always the precursor of death. But the fortitude of the captain never for a moment forsook him. He was sustained in that dread hour by a guiltless conscience and a steadfast, deep-rooted, religious principle.

A few hours after this alarming prognostic made its appearance, he died, while I was bathing his forehead; and a prayer hung upon his lips, even as the spirit left the earthly tabernacle. He died as became a Christian; and his features in death were tranquil as those of a sleeping infant.

His body was soon afterwards brought on deck, where the whole ship's company were assembled. The funeral rites were simple, but solemn and impressive; and far away from the friends of his youth, with no heart-stricken relatives to gather around the coffin, and form a mournful procession to the grave, and hallow the burial spot with the tears of affection, the mortal remains of our worthy commander were launched into the deep. They were committed, not to the silent tomb, but to that vast burial place, that "God's Acre" of almost illimitable extent, where deep caves, and recesses invisible to mortal eye, have served for ages as the last resting place of myriads of human beings, cut off untimely, without warning note of preparation, from the hopes and disappointments, the joys and sorrows, of this world; where, without headstone or monument, inscription or epitaph, to mark the place, with only the rushing winds to mourn their departure, and the murmuring waves to chant their requiem,

"After life's fitful fever, they sleep well."

It is remarkable that in no part of the world, in any age, has the sea been selected as a burial place for the dead. Indeed, the idea of being drowned at sea, or dying on shipboard to be intombed in the fathomless ocean, is so abhorrent to many individuals that it is with fear and trembling they trust themselves on the water. It was a belief of the ancients, that to insure happiness hereafter, the dead body of a human being must be covered with earth; otherwise the departed spirit would never enter the Elysian Fields, but wander restless on the nether banks of Styx, in full view of delights and joys which it could never expect to realize.

Mr. Ricker, the mate, now took command of the brig. This man possessed a warm and affectionate heart, and was deeply moved by the death of the captain. He wept aloud when the interment took place, and sought to alleviate his grief by copious draughts of spirituous liquors. He wept and drank himself to sleep while reclining on a hen-coop. In a few hours he awoke, and wept again; then told the cook to bring the brandy bottle, which soon acted as an opiate, and banished his sorrows. He pursued this course, crying and drinking for more than a week; and during the greater part of this time, while I was witnessing scenes of sadness and death enough to chill the stoutest heart, he incapacitated himself, by intoxication, from performing his duties as commander of the ill-fated vessel.

Smith was still lingering under the attack of a disease which we now knew to be yellow fever. He was gradually growing worse. Others of the crew were also visited by this dreadful pestilence, and the deck of the brig resembled one of the fever wards of a hospital. The groans of the poor fellows were enough, one would think, to create sympathy in the coldest bosom. But they had no effect upon Gaskell, excepting to excite derision; and when he spoke to his sick or dying shipmates with a ribald jest on his lips, and a scornful grin on his features, I longed to fell him to the deck. I rebuked him for his want of feeling, and suggested that, proud as he was of his strength and immunity from sickness, he might, notwithstanding, become an object of sympathy to his shipmates, and need their assistance. The answer I received was a boisterous laugh, as if the idea was too absurd to be entertained.

Many years have passed since these events occurred, but even now I cannot recur to them without a feeling of sadness. And no one, not familiar with such scenes, can form an idea of the distress which a mortal sickness produces on board a ship at sea. The captain had died, and the mate, who should have taken his place, was constantly in a state of beastly intoxication. Three of the crew were struggling with yellow fever, and, to add to our troubles, Gaskell made his way into the hold, and broached a cask of wine; and those who were not sick followed the example of the mate, and got drunk, and drowned in vociferous shouts and songs the groans of their suffering shipmates. Under these circumstances, I had no alternative but to take on myself the responsibility of navigating and sailing the vessel. And while proceeding along the fruitful shores of St. Domingo, and the picturesque coast of Jamaica, I passed whole nights on deck, engaged in tending the sick, trimming the sails, and steering the brig. It was truly fortunate that the wind continued light and the weather pleasant.

Smith, who was the first man taken sick, did not recover. His illness gradually increased; for several days his mind wandered, but he was not troublesome, and died on the tenth day after we left St. Pierre. On the day of the captain's death, a young man, belonging to Connecticut, was seized with a fever, and died five days afterwards in a state of delirium. His case required constant care and attention, as he made more than one attempt to throw himself overboard, in order, as he believed, to embrace his parents and friends in his own native village. Two others were taken alarmingly ill, but after suffering severely for several days gradually recovered. The cook, a stout black fellow, inured to warm climates, rendered me great assistance in taking care of the sick. But on the morning on which we beheld the mountains of Jamaica he also was visited by yellow fever. The symptoms were alarming, and there seemed no prospect of his recovery; but on the third day of his sickness, AND AFTER THE BLACK VOMIT HAD COMMENCED, and while I sat watching by his berth, expecting that in a few minutes he would breathe his last, he seemed to revive, and I put some rice-water to his lips. He swallowed a small quantity; the terrible forerunner of a speedy dissolution disappeared, and from that moment his strength gradually increased, the fever left him, and before we reached New Orleans he had recovered.

While the cook was still dangerously ill, one morning early, as we were slowly sailing along towards the Grand Cayman, Gaskell came crawling up the steps leading to the half-deck, and tottered along towards me. I was appalled at the change which a single night had made in his appearance. The defiant, rollicking ruffian no longer stood before me; the sneer was no longer on his countenance, his eyes no longer sparkled with mischief, and his language was not interlarded with disgusting profanity. His eyes were glassy, his cheeks ghastly pale, and a cold sweat, produced by FEAR, stood on his forehead. The workings of suffering and terror were imprinted on his features, and he looked as if twenty years had been added to his life in one short night.

And he had cause for alarm; the yellow fever had fastened upon him with a vice-like grasp, and he felt it in his inmost soul. The man was a coward, after all. He thought himself secure from the scourge, and put on a mask of defiance. He now knew that he had deceived himself, and all his daring vanished. HE WAS AFRAID OF DEATH; AND THE DREADFUL CONVICTION WAS FORCED UPON HIM THAT HIS DYING HOUR WAS AT HAND.

In tremulous accents, Gaskell described the symptoms of the disease. The shooting pains in his head, neck, and shoulders were insufferable, and he entreated me to do something, any thing, to relieve the pain, and restore him to health. He urged me to bleed him, which I undertook, and opened a vein in each arm, but the blood would not flow; the vital current seemed to be congealed by fear. He then begged me to bathe his back with camphor and opodeldoc, and although I knew the operation would produce no effect, I consented to his wishes, and for more than an hour rubbed his back as he desired, and bathed his head with vinegar and lime juice.

But the disease could not be removed. It seized upon his vitals, and he rapidly grew worse. His pains were great, but his mental agonies were greater. For worlds I would not suffer what that man suffered while rushing into the fearful embraces of death. His mind was clear and unclouded, while madness would have been mercy. His life had been loose and depraved. He had been guilty of many crimes, and in the day of death the stings of conscience pierced him to the soul. His evil deeds came back to him in that hour; they were stamped on his heart as with a red-hot iron. I tried to console him, but in vain. He would not listen when I spoke of death, and fiercely motioned me away when I attempted to read aloud a chapter from the Bible. He said but little; but what he did say were words of bitterness and despair. He declared, with an awful oath, that he would not die, and struggled fiercely for life to the last. I never shall forget the wild and ghastly countenance and distorted features of that dying man, who, only a few days before, while in the full flush of health, declared, with a diabolical grin, that he feared neither God nor man.

The fever had now run its race, but our ship's company was greatly reduced in number and in strength. The captain and three of the seamen had been committed to the waves, and others had not fully recovered from the effects of the fever. Mr. Ricker was the only person on board, with the exception of myself, who had entirely escaped. Whether drunkenness acted, in his case, as a preventive, I will not undertake to say; neither will I advise any one to try the hazardous experiment.

We were now in sight of the Isle of Pines, fourteen days having elapsed since we sailed from Martinico, when I observed indications of one of those severe gales not unusual in the Gulf of Mexico and vicinity, and known at "northers." Light-handed as we were, and without an efficient head, I was aware that our situation was a critical one. I then felt justified in doing what I should have done sooner; I threw overboard every drop of spirit I could find, and then applied myself to rouse Mr. 'Ricker from his drunken inactivity; I explained to him my apprehensions of a gale of wind, and the necessity for making preparation for the coming tempest. This brought him to his senses; and after grumbling somewhat at the loss of his liquor, and taking a deep draught of water, he entered with energy on the sphere of his duties.

Ricker was a man of large stature and great physical strength. He was also a thorough seaman, and, when not stupefied with liquor, was an active, energetic man. By his powerful aid, and under his direction, the brig was soon put in a condition to withstand the heavy gale from the north, which soon came upon us, and completely ventilated the steerage and cabin, which had so long been the depository of a pestilential atmosphere. The "norther" lasted two days, the greater part of which time we were lying to, under a close-reefed main-topsail; and when the gale abated, we found ourselves further north than at its commencement, and not far from Cape St. Antonio, the western extremity of Cuba, a fact which illustrates in a striking manner, the force of the current which at certain times sets north, like a sluice-way, between Cuba and Yucatan, into the Gulf of Mexico, and is the origin of the Gulf Stream.

We entered the Gulf of Mexico, and with a fair breeze sailed for "the Balize." In a few days we struck soundings near the mouth of the Mississippi, and soon fell in with the turbid waters that are swept far out to sea by the strength of the current of that mighty river. We steered for a lighthouse, constructed of granite, on the eastern extremity of a point, and which, resting on a quagmire, was hardly completed before it assumed an attitude resembling the leaning tower of Pisa, and in six months afterwards it took a horizontal position. It is hardly necessary to say it was never lighted. We took a pilot and entered the river by the Balize or "South-east Pass," which was the deepest channel at that time, and navigable only for vessels drawing not more than fifteen feet of water, and, by dint of hard labor, steam towboats being then unknown, worked our way to the city of New Orleans.



Chapter XXXII. NEW ORLEANS IN 1817

I have already stated that the owner of the Brig Betsey was Mr. Gray, of Salem, a merchant of great enterprise, probity, and wealth. He soon afterwards removed to Boston, and was known throughout this country and the maritime cities of Europe by the name of "Billy Gray." His agent in New Orleans was Nathaniel Ware. Mr. Ricker explained to him the mournful events which had taken place on the passage from the West Indies, and Mr. Ware exhibited deep sympathy while listening to the tale of suffering. Ricker, prompted by a feeling of gratitude which showed the goodness of his heart, gave me full credit for the services I had rendered during the passage; explained the nature of my connection with the brig, and placed in the hands of Mr. Ware the written obligation I had given Captain Blackler, and which was found among the papers of Captain Adams. This document, which had caused me much anxiety, Mr. Ware returned, along with the twenty dollars I had previously paid towards my passage. He also thanked me for the assistance I had rendered Mr. Ricker, and added something more substantial, in the shape of twenty-five dollars, "as a trifling compensation," he said, "for my services," although, for obvious reasons, he was not aware of their full extent. He suggested that, if I designed to follow the sea, I could remain in the brig on pay, and that the command of the vessel would be given to Mr. Ricker. He further said he would represent my conduct in a favorable light to Mr. Gray, which he did, and years afterwards it was remembered to my advantage. Mr. Ricker himself urged me to remain, and occupy the situation of mate. It was in vain I assured him that my practical knowledge of seamanship was limited, and what little I once knew I had forgotten during my residence in the West Indies. He said he knew me better than I knew myself; he would excuse all imperfections, as he had seamanship enough for both, and to spare. I was not convinced; I had also some misgivings in regard to the weakness which he had exhibited, amid danger and death, on the passage through the Caribbean Sea; and I feared he had contracted a habit which would render any man unfit for a situation involving great responsibilities, not only in relation to property but also of life. Nevertheless, I gladly embraced the opportunity to remain on board for a time. The brig would probably be several weeks in port, and my future course could be guided by circumstances.

The moral condition of New Orleans at this period the year 1816-1817 was deplorable. For vice and immorality, it doubtless bore away the palm from every city in Christendom or heathen lands. Gaming houses, and vile, disgusting receptacles of vice and infamy, were thickly scattered over every part of the city. Midnight brawls and robberies were frequent; and hard-fought fisticuff encounters, sometimes between two individuals, and sometimes between two squads of half a dozen on-a-side, were taking place on the levee, or in its neighborhood, almost every hour in the day.

The population of the city was of the most heterogeneous character. Frenchman and Spaniards, of all complexions, native-born citizens, formed the basis. To them were added a thin sprinkling of Yankees, mostly enterprising business men; and an influx of refugees, adventurers, smugglers, pirates, gamblers, and desperate scoundrels from all parts of the world. The large number of ships waiting for freight, and constantly arriving, furnished a formidable body of sailors, many of them old men-of-war's men, who, keeping themselves well primed with whiskey, were always ready for a set-to, a riot, or a row. And if we add to these the boatmen of the Mississippi, not only those who came down the river in flatboats, but that numerous class, now extinct, of hardy, powerful, reckless, quarrelsome fellows who managed the KEELBOATS, the only craft that could stem the current of the Mississippi before the introduction of steamboat navigation, it will be easily imagined that vice struggled hard to exercise full and uncontrolled dominion over the capital of Louisiana.

Ineffectual efforts were made to repress tumult and establish order. The police regulations were in a wretched condition. The police officers were more inclined to look after the blacks than the whites; and the calaboose was filled every night with unfortunate darkies, who in a humble way were imitating the vices of the more enlightened CASTE. When symptoms of a serious riot appeared, the military were called out. On more than one occasion, the sailors on one side to the number of two or three hundred, and the Kentucky and Tennessee boatmen of equal or superior numbers on the other, were drawn up in battle array, and commenced a desperate contest with hard knuckles, bludgeons, and missiles of every description, revolvers and bowie-knives had not at that time been introduced into such MELEES, when the military made their appearance, and the belligerents were dispersed.

Fighting on the levee became an established custom, and was sometimes resorted to as an exciting pastime. If a couple of "old salts" quarrelled under the stimulus of a glass of grog, instead of bandying words, and pouring into each other a broadside of vulgar epithets, they quietly adjourned to the levee and took it out in hard knocks, and after having fought with desperation, and pummelled each other out of all resemblance to human beings, they would go on board their ship and cheerfully attend to their duties.

One day I watched with no little interest a pitched battle between a wooden-legged sailor and a French stevedore. The sailor, although he was wanting in one of his limbs, was said to be a valuable seaman one who would never shrink from work of any kind. He would go aloft in a gale or in a calm, and lend a hand at reefing or furling as promptly as any man in the ship. His wooden leg was so constructed, with iron machinery, at the extremity, that he could stand on a ratline or a hawse without difficulty. The stevedore, who was a powerful fellow, expected to make short work of the cripple, taking it for granted that Jack could not stand firm on his pins; and indeed, almost at the beginning of the combat, the man with the timber toe was capsized. His opponent, flushed with success, and disregarding the rules of honorable warfare, determined to give Jack a drubbing while he lay sprawling on his back. But as he approached him with mischievous intent, his fist clinched and his eyes flashing fire and fury, Jack watched his opportunity, and gave him two or three kicks with his iron-shod wooden leg in swift succession. They were so strongly and judiciously planted that the astonished Frenchman was compelled to measure HIS length on the ground, from which, to is great pain and mortification, he was unable to rise, and wooden-leg hobbled off with the palm of victory.

The most savage and revolting contest which I witnessed was a "rough and tumble" fight between two Mississippi boatmen. One was a young man, of slight frame, and rather prepossessing appearance; the other was a burly, broad-shouldered ruffian from Tennessee. The quarrel originated in a gaming house, over a pack of cards, and the parties adjourned to the street to settle the matter in regular style. But few words were interchanged. They grasped each other firmly by the waist, and after a severe struggle for the mastery, both fell heavily to the earth, when the real battle commenced. In a close, but not loving embrace, they rolled over and over again. No blows were given; they seemed to be clutching at each other's faces, but their motions were so quick, violent, and spasmodic that I could not see how their hands were occupied. The struggle was soon over; the Kentuckian released himself from the relaxed grasp of his prostrate antagonist, and sprang to his feet. He looked around on the spectators with a smile of triumph, then entered the miniature Pandemonium, apparently without having received injury. His vanquished opponent was assisted to his feet. He was groaning, quivering in every limb, and manifesting symptoms of insufferable agony. I pressed forward, eager to ascertain what injury he had received in this strangely conducted combat, when, to my great horror, I saw the blood streaming from his cheeks, and shuddered as I witnessed other and unmistakable proofs of a successful attempt at gouging.

Nor were these pugnacious propensities, which seemed epidemical, confined to the lowest classes in society. They were manifested by those who moved in a higher sphere, and who, looking with contempt on vulgar fisticuffs and gouging, settled their difficulties satisfactorily according to the established rules of the DUELLO with sword, pistol, or rifle. Hostile meetings on the levee, below the city, where the population was sparse, and no impertinent interruptions could be apprehended, were frequent. Indeed, the intelligence, some pleasant morning, that a duel had just been fought, and one of the parties lamed in the sword arm, or scientifically run through the body with a small sword, or bored through the cranium with a pistol-bullet, excited little attention or remark, excepting among the friends and relatives of the parties.

One duel, however, was fought while I was in New Orleans, which, being attended with some unusual circumstances, caused considerable talk. The principals were a French gentleman and a lieutenant in the navy of the United States. A dispute occurred in a billiard room; the Frenchman used some insolent and irritating language, and, instead of being soundly drubbed on the spot, was challenged by the naval officer. The challenged party selected the small sword as the medium of satisfaction, a weapon in the use of which he was well skilled. The American officer was remonstrated with by his friends on the folly of fighting a Frenchman, a noted duellist, with his favorite weapon, the small sword; it was rushing on certain death. But the challenge had been given, accepted, and the weapons agreed on; there could be no change in the arrangement; and, indeed, the Yankee, who was a fine, determined-looking young fellow, showed no disposition to "back out."

"I may fall in battle," said he, "by the sword or shot of a brave Englishman, but never by a thrust from a spit in the hands of a spindle-shanked Frenchman! Dismiss all fears on my account; I will give this 'PARLEZ-VOUS FRANCAIS' a lesson in fighting he little dreams of."

They met on the duelling ground at the appointed hour. There were more spectators present than usual on such occasions. The Frenchman affected to treat the matter with indifference, and made some frivolous remarks which excited the laughter of his countrymen. Indeed, the chances seemed to be a hundred to one against the lieutenant, who could handle with terrible effect a cutlass or a boarding-pike, but was almost a stranger to a weapon, to excel in the use of which, a man must be as loose in the joints as a posture maker, and as light in the heels as a dancing master. And yet there was something in the cool, resolute, business-like bearing of the Yankee which inspired his friends with some confidence in his success; and they watched the proceedings under an intense degree of excitement.

The parties took their places, assumed the proper attitudes, and crossed swords. The Frenchman grinned with anticipated triumph. It was clear that, confident in his skill, and richly endowed with feline propensities, he intended to amuse himself and the bystanders for a few minutes, by playing with his intended victim. His antagonist, however, stood firm, until the Frenchman, with a nimble caper, changed his ground, when the officer bounded forward, got within the guard of his opponent, and with a thrust, the force of which nothing could withstand, sent his sword, apparently, through the body of the Frenchman to the hilt!

The poor fellow was hurled to the ground by the violence of the shock, and supposed to be mortally wounded. That he was not KILLED outright was certain, for, owing to surprise and grief at this unlooked-for result, the fear of death, or extreme physical pain, he discharged a volley of screams that could be heard a mile off, writhed and twisted his body into all sorts of shapes, and manufactured, gratuitously, a continuous and ever-changing series of grimaces, for which the younger Grimaldi would have pawned his cap and bawble.

The wails and contortions of the wounded man were such, that it was some time before his friends and a surgeon who was present could examine his condition, which appeared deplorable enough. Indeed, an examination seemed hardly necessary, unless for the purpose of gratifying curiosity, as the wretched man, amid his groans and screams, kept repeating, with much emphasis and pathos, the terrible words, "JE SUIS ASSASSINE! JE SUIS ASSASSINE!" (I am killed! I am killed!) But as his voice grew stronger, instead of weaker, at every repetition of the phrase, doubts were entertained of his veracity; and a surgical inspection showed beyond cavil, that he was laboring under a hallucination, and asseverating with needless energy what was not strictly true.

That he was not killed on the spot, however, impaled on a rapier as an unscrupulous entomologist would impale a beetle, could hardly be regarded as the fault of his opponent. The thrust was directed to the place where the centre of the body of the Frenchman should have been, BUT IT WAS NOT THERE. The sword passed only through the muscles of the abdomen, from the right side to the left, perforating his body, it is true, and grazing, but not injuring, the larger intestines. The wound in itself was not a dangerous one, although the disturbance among the bundle of integuments threw the discomfited duellist into almost mortal agony, and led him to believe he was a dead man, while experiencing in his own person a liberal share of the pain he was so ready to inflict on others.



Chapter XXXIII. A VOYAGE TO HAVRE

The Betsey remained some weeks at the levee at New Orleans before Mr. Ware could fix upon a voyage. In the mean time Ricker remained on board as master of the brig; and for several days after our arrival in port his habits were correct and his conduct without reproach. Gradually, however, he strayed from the paths of sobriety. He was of a social turn; frank, honest cheerful, and liberal-minded. He possessed other valuable traits of character; was a good sailor and a skilful navigator, but he could not resist the fascinations of the intoxicating cup.

Intemperance disqualifies a man from employments where the exercise of cool judgment, and clear, undisturbed reasoning faculties are required; and no person addicted to habits of intemperance should be intrusted with the command of a ship, where property to a large amount and lives of incalculable value, are, as it were, given into his hands. If records of disasters could be faithfully (here the page is torn and cannot be read) and unfolded, we should have an appalling list of easy (torn page) quarrels, mutinies, and shipwrecks which have (torn page) caused by intemperance on the part of the (torn page.)

Mr. Ware, the commercial agent of Mr. Gray (torn page) the brig had seen Ricker more than once intoxicated which roused his suspicions that all was not (torn page) unlucky afternoon he found him in a helpless condition, which convinced him that Mr. Ricker, notwithstanding his excellent qualities, was not a (torn page) could be safely given the control of (torn page) the high seas.

Ricker was mortified at losing, through (torn page) the command of the brig. He (torn page) however, of harsh or unjust treatment on the part of Mr. Ware; and consented to remain as mate, promising to refrain entirely from the use of spirituous liquors. The command was given to an officer in the United States navy, Lieutenant Rapp; and in this way I was ousted from the berth which Ricker was so desirous I should fill. There was no longer a home for me in the cabin of the Betsey, and I shipped as an ordinary seaman on board the brig Casket, of New York, Captain Mott, bound on a voyage to Havre.

The Casket was a large and handsome brig, and besides the captain, mate, boatswain, and cook, carried six hands before the mast. The chief mate was a hard-looking customer, somewhat advanced in years, rough in his manners, and profane and coarse in his language. But the captain was a fine-looking man, about thirty years old, rather dignified and reserved. His appearance spoke volumes in his favor, and the crew who joined the ship in New Orleans rejoiced in this opportunity of shipping in a fine vessel, with a whole-souled captain, and bound on a European voyage!

Before we reached the Gulf of Mexico, however, the (torn page) sang a different tune. They found the mate more (torn page) unreasonable, and every way disagreeable, if (torn page) than he looked; and the captain evidently re— (torn page) sailor as a piece of machinery to be wound up (torn page) for the performance of certain duties, but (torn page) human attributes. Whether a heart beat (torn page) bosom, and his head was furnished with (torn page) Mott knew not, neither did he care. The (torn page) of any one of the crew were never (torn page) If a man was sick and incapacitated (torn page) was told, with an oath, to "bear a hand (torn page) not be skulking in the forecastle;" and (torn page) his duties, he was regaled with stern (torn page) language, and sent upon missions at times, and under circumstances, which showed that Captain Mott thought a few sailors, more or less, in the world, were of no manner of consequence.

In former days every Yankee shipmaster was not a live, wide-awake, pushing, driving, web-footed Jehu, who disregarded fogs, was reckless of collisions with ships, fishing vessels, or icebergs, and cared little whether he strained the ship and damaged cargo, provided he made a short passage, as is the case in this enlightened age when "Young America" is in the ascendant. An "old fogy" was occasionally met with, who, being well paid for his services by the month, prided himself more upon the STRENGTH of his ship's sailing than her rapidity. This appears from the following scene which once took place on board a Boston ship:



Captain Jarvis was lying in his berth, dreaming of a long passage and plenty of money at the end of it, when he was awakened by the unwonted noise of water under the counter, giving rise to the suspicion that the officer of the watch was carrying more sail than was expedient. He jumped out of his berth, rushed up the steps, popped his head out of the companion-way, and sharply exclaimed,

"Mr. Popkins, heave the log."

Mr. Popkins: Ay ay, sir!

Captain Jarvis: How fast does the old ship go, Mr. Popkins?

Mr. Popkins: Nine knots, sir!

Captain Jarvis: Nine knots! Julius Caesar! I am astonished. Take in some of that canvas immediately, Mr. Popkins. I can't afford to sail so fast as nine knots.

Mr. Popkins: Ay, ay, sir.

The studding sails were hauled in, and the main royal and fore and mizzen top-gallant sails furled.

Captain Jarvis: How fast does she go now, Mr. Popkins?

Mr. Popkins (after heaving the log.) Seven knots and a half, sir!

Captain Jarvis: Too fast, sir much too fast! Take in more sail. Why, Mr. Popkins, we shall be at the end of our voyage before we know it, at this rate.

Mr. Popkins, with the men of the larboard watch, went to work, and in a few minutes the ship was running along quietly under her three topsails, jib, and spanker.

Captain Jarvis: Throw the log, Mr. Popkins.

Mr. Popkins: She is now going six knots, sir.

Captain Jarvis: Six knots! Very well very well indeed, Mr. Popkins. Always bear in mind that we are not paid by "the run," or the voyage; and six knots is very fair sailing between man and man. It is better to sail strong than to sail fast. Don't let me catch you running off at the rate of nine knots again. Stick to six and you will do, otherwise there will be no wages coming to us when we get home. Do you hear, Mr. Popkins?

Mr. Popkins, gruffly, (he had a sprinkling of Young America in his composition.) Ay, ay, sir!



Although Captain Mott was sometimes deficient in judgment, and on more than one occasion narrowly escaped losing overboard some of the crew, or wrecking the brig, he was, nevertheless, an excellent seaman, managed his vessel with skill, and navigated her with unusual correctness. Not being paid by the month but by primage on the freight, he was a veritable "driver," and lost no opportunity to urge his vessel ahead, even at the risk of starting a butt, springing a spar, or losing a man. Being always willing to work, on hand in any emergency, and never shrinking from danger, I was often a sufferer from his go-ahead instincts, as well as from his arbitrary mandates and unfeeling disposition. And were it not that there is,

"A sweet little cherub which sits up aloft, And looks out for the life of poor Jack,"

I should have become food for fishes long before we reached the longitude of the Western Islands.

One afternoon, before we left the Gulf Stream, a thunder squall arose from the south-east. It came towards us rapidly, as if borne on the wings of the Genius of Storms. Its whole aspect was "wicked" in the extreme, and every man on board knew that prudence required sail to be taken in and preparations made for the reception of the tornado. The captain was on deck, but the boatswain unfortunately remarked, "That squall looks like an ugly customer, sir, and it will soon be necessary to shorten sail."

This remark, made in the most respectful manner, roused the captain's ire. He chose to consider it an unauthorized and impertinent interference on the part of the petty officer; the squall, as well as the boatswain, was denounced in language not often heard in a drawing room, and both were consigned to a hotter place than the craters of Mauna Loa.

The clouds spread over the zenith, the thunder rattled as if it would rend the welkin, the wind began to blow in short-lived puffs, as if making preparations for a regular "blowout;" the men were stationed at the halliards, fore and aft, waiting with intense anxiety the result, and the captain was pacing the quarter-deck, looking as savage as a hungry bull-dog, and determined to show that he was not to be frightened by squibs, but would carry sail in spite of the squall.

At that time we were under courses, topsails, top-gallant-sails, and a main-royal; our fore-royal mast was snugly stowed alongside the long-boat on deck, where, at that tempestuous season, the main one should also have been. The order at length was given, "Clew up the main-royal! Let a hand go aloft and furl it."

The sail was clewed up, and in a few seconds I was clinging to the sliding gunter royal mast, and gathering in the canvas, while the captain was denouncing me for a lubber, for not accomplishing impossibilities. The lightning was flashing around ne, and the peals of thunder were deafening; the rain was beginning to fall, and the wind to blow with alarming violence, before I could spill the sail and pass the gaskets. Suddenly I heard a tumultuous noise as of the roar of angry breakers. I cast my eye to windward, and beheld the whole surface of the sea covered with a sheet of snow-white foam. At the same moment I heard the voice of the captain, who was now really alarmed, in a tone which could be heard above the roar of the hurricane, shouting, with frantic energy, "Hard up your helm! Hard up, I say. Let go all the halliards, fore and aft! Haul up the mainsail! Lower away that try-sail! Clew down the top-gallant sails! Why don't you put the helm hard up?"

I was sensible of the danger of my situation, standing on "the hounds" of the top-gallant mast, and almost within reach of the truck, while the brig, with all sail set, was exposed to the fury of this terrible thunder gust. Obeying an irresistible impulse to take care of "number one," I slid down the topmast cross-trees, caught hold of the weather top-gallant backstay, and came on deck much faster than I went aloft! My feet had hardly touched the deck when a gust struck the brig with a fury which I have seldom seen surpassed. It rushed upon us like an avalanche on a hamlet in an Alpine valley. Halliards, sheets, and tacks were let go, but the yards were still braced up, and the sails could not be clewed down. Before the vessel could get before the wind her lee side was buried in the water. The conviction seized every mind that a capsize was inevitable, and there was a general rush towards the weather gunwale, and a desperate clutching at the shrouds. At this critical moment the main-topmast snapped off like a pipe stem, just above the cap, and carried with it the fore-top-gallant mast. The brig righted, fell off before the wind, scudded like a duck, dragging the broken spars, and her sails torn to ribbons; and a cold shudder crept over me when I thought of the appalling danger from which by sliding down the backstay, I had so narrowly escaped.

When we struck soundings off the English Channel, the word was given to the boatswain to bend the cables and get the anchors over the bows. The wind was blowing hard from the northward, with violent squalls and a short head sea, and Captain Mott showed no disposition to reduce the canvas in order to lighten our labors, but carried sail and drove the vessel as if he was running from a pirate. The brig frequently plunged her knight-heads under water, deluging every man on the forecastle with sheets of salt water. In the mean time the captain, and also the mate, dry-shod on the quarter-deck, grinned, and winked at each other, at witnessing our involuntary ablutions, with the mercury at the freezing point, while subjected to this severe course of hydropathic treatment, and doing work which, under ordinary circumstances, could have been accomplished in a few hours.

Reefing a topsail in a gale is an evolution simple in itself; and when the sail is placed by the skill of the officer of the deck in a proper condition, the work aloft can be accomplished in five minutes, even by a bungling crew. But Captain Mott seemed to take pleasure in placing obstacles in the way of the ready performance of any important duty, and held the crew accountable for any extraordinary delay. Thus in reefing topsails, the men were sometimes half an hour on the yard, endeavoring in vain to do a work which his own obstinacy or ignorance rendered impracticable, and he, all the while, cursing and swearing at the crew for their inefficiency, in a style which would have done credit to the leader of a press-gang.

The men, generally, were good seamen, and able and willing to do their work, and with proper treatment would have proved first rate sailors; but it is an old and true saying that bad officers make a bad crew. When a man's best efforts are rewarded with abuse, it is unreasonable to expect that he will perform his various duties with alacrity and cheerfulness. It was customary, at that period, for rum to be served out to the crew, and the minimum allowance, in nearly all American vessels, was a glass of rum at dinner, with an extra glass during exposure to inclement weather, or when engaged in unusually fatiguing labors. This extra glass was generally served out by the steward at the companion-way, and the men were summoned to partake of this indulgence by a call to "splice the main brace."

Captain Mott, however, refused to furnish the crew of the Casket with the usual daily allowance of grog. This refusal, there was reason to believe, was caused, not by a commendable wish to promote temperance, and break up habits of intoxication, but from a desire to gratify a surly and unamiable disposition, and deprive the men of an enjoyment which they highly prized. With such a captain and mate, and regulations of the most arbitrary and stringent character, it may be imagined that the grumbling at hard treatment, and the muttered curses against the inmates of the cabin, were neither few, nor far between.

But the captain, while he refused the DAILY allowance of grog, did not deem it advisable to withhold the usual allowance on Saturday night, when every true sailor loved to meet his shipmates around a flowing bowl, and pass a happy hour in lively conversation, singing sea songs, spinning yarns, and drinking with heartfelt emotion the toast of all others the dearest and best "Sweethearts and Wives."

"Of all the nights that grace the week, There's none can equal this; It binds the mind in friendship's bonds; It heightens social bliss. For though far distant from the land, At home our thoughts shall be, Whilst, shipmates, joining heart and hand Hail Saturday Night at Sea."

No one can imagine the tender, thrilling, and holy associations which cluster round those words, "Sweethearts and Wives," unless he has been long separated from those he loves, a wanderer on a distant sea. That Saturday night toast came home to the bosom of every man who carried a heart beneath a blue jacket. The gallantry of the sailor has often been spoken of. His devotion to woman is proverbial. With few opportunities to mingle in female society, he can, nevertheless, truly estimate its value, and appreciate its advantages. Indeed, I have known old sailors, whose rough and wrinkled visages, blunt and repulsive manners, coarse and unrefined language, were enough to banish gentle Cupid to an iceberg, exhibit the kindest and tenderest feelings when speaking of WOMAN, whom in the abstract they regarded as a being not merely to be protected, cherished, and loved, but also to be adored.

I shall never forget the well-deserved rebuke I once received from a sturdy old tar for an ill-timed comment on a woman's personal appearance. It was in St. Salvador. The captain of a Portuguese ship was going on shore accompanied by his wife. The boat crossed the bows of the ship I was in; the feminine garments attracted the attention of all hands, who suspended their work and gazed upon the charming object as if they beheld something more than mortal. As the boat passed onward, and we resumed labors which the glimpse of a petticoat had interrupted, with a want of gallantry which I trust is foreign to my character, for which I cannot even now account, and of which I was afterwards heartily ashamed, I casually remarked, "Well, there's nothing wonderful about her, after all; she's HOMELY enough, in all conscience!"

"Hawser," said my old shipmate, in a solemn and impressive manner, gracefully waving the marlinspike which he held in his hand, "THERE IS NO SUCH THING IN NATER AS A HOMELY WOMAN!"

"Saturday Night" in olden times was not only devoted to reminiscences of home and affectionate associations, but was also the time selected for indulgence in the songs of the forecastle. After the usual toast, "Sweethearts and Wives," had been drunk with enthusiasm, some one of the crew was called on for a song, and the call was responded to without affected reluctance; and the beams, carlines, and bulkheads of the old forecastle rang again with stirring songs or ballads poured forth from manly and musical throats, in praise of beauty, descriptive of life at sea, recording deeds of heroism, or inculcating lessons of patriotism.

To these songs of the forecastle, sung on the land as well as on the ocean, in beauty's bower as well as in the sailor's sanctuary or the stifled cabin, in days when accompaniments to vocal music were not considered necessary, when the full melodious sound of the human voice, THE NOBLEST MUSIC IN THE WORLD, was not strangled, drowned, or travestied by the noise of the everlasting piano, played with artistic skill to these spirit-stirring songs of the forecastle was commerce indebted for many of the finest and best sailors ever sprinkled with salt water.

The well known songs of "the Bay of Biscay," "Black Eyed Susan," and "Cease, Rude Boreas," once listened to with emotion and delight at the cottage fireside, or the fashionable drawing room, and the many songs long since forgotten of a similar character, written by salt water poets, and sung by mariners at home and abroad, have transformed enthusiastic and adventurous landsmen into sailors by scores, as by the touch of an enchanter's wand. Dibdin did more to man the "wooden walls of old England" with brave and effective men than all the press-gangs that ever infested the banks of the Thames.

There was one man on board the Casket who, more than all others, aided to keep the crew cheerful and happy. He was the life and soul of the forecastle. Not all the oppressive and unfeeling acts of the captain, and rough and unjust treatment from the mate, which would naturally excite indignation and a discontented spirit, such as sometimes will lead to insubordination on the part of the crew, followed by the free use of handspikes, rope's ends, and manacles, on the part of the officers, could repress the spirits of Jonas Silvernail, spoil his jokes, or lessen the volume of his hearty and sonorous laugh. Jonas was a native of Hudson, in New York; a young, active, intelligent sailor, who, always good-humored, was never more happy than when singing a sea song, spinning a merry yarn, or playing off a practical joke. Jonas was one of those jovial mortals who seemed determined to make sure of present enjoyment, and let the future take care of itself; to bask in the sunshine of life, while others despondingly wilt in the shade.

Good humor is contagious; and it was owing to the cheerful, contented spirit, infused among the crew of the Casket by Silvernail's example, that they forbore from insolent remonstrances, and wisely resolved to bear the ills they had, rather,

"Than fly to others which they knew not of."

Such a man in the forecastle of a ship and in my seafaring days such men were not rare is a treasure. He lightens the labors of a crew, adds to the harmony and happiness of all on board, shortens a passage, and, as a natural consequence, promotes the interests of the owner.

On one occasion, however, Silvernail's fondness for fun threatened to disturb the harmony which was wont to reign in the forecastle. Among the crew was a big, clumsy Dutchman, through whose thick cranium no joke could penetrate, and whose feet were of proportions as huge as his head, each resembling, in size and shape, a Brazilian catamaran. The men conversing one day of the dangers of the seas, and the best means of preserving life in cases of shipwreck, or when accidentally falling overboard, Hans, who cherished a strong attachment to his own dear person, expressed a regret that he had no cork jacket, by whose aid he could float above the waves.

"Be under no concern on that account," remarked Jonas. "If you were in the water, a cork jacket would be of no more use to you than a pair of curling tongs to Cuffy, the black cook. But don't try to swim. TREAD WATER lustily with those mud scows (pointing to his feet) and you will never go to the bottom."

"You just let my foot alone," said Hans, his face glowing with indignation. "You are always poking fun at my foot, and I don't half like it. My foot is one very good foot, (holding it up, and swaying it backwards and forwards;) just fit to kick an impudent vagabone with and teach him better manners."

"That may be true," said Silvernail, with a provoking grin; "but if you should chance to miss the vagabone, as you call him, YOUR FOOT WOULD FLY OFF!"

This, and the loud laugh from his shipmates, with which it was attended, was more than even the phlegmatic Dutchman could bear. He made a furious pass at Jonas with his much-abused foot, which, if it had taken effect, would have demolished the joker in a twinkling. But Jonas stepped aside, caught the ponderous foot in his hand, and the next moment Hans was sprawling on his back. He arose, breathing guttural but incomprehensible denunciations against his tormentor, who escaped from his clutches by nimbly running up the ratlines to the foretop, where he could safely indulge his merriment over the wrath of the Dutchman.

I was often amused at the ingenious manner in which Jonas managed to get over a difficulty. One day when, with the wind abaft the beam, blowing a strong breeze, we were carrying a main-topmast studding sail, the boatswain very properly undertook to get up a preventer-brace on the weather main yard-arm. A rope was procured, which had already been considerably worn, and the boatswain expressed some apprehension that it was hardly strong enough for the service required. "O," said Jonas in an off-hand, decided manner, "it will hold on until it breaks; and if it was ever so strong it could do no more."

The boatswain appeared favorably struck with the unanswerable logic embraced in the remark, and made no further objection to the rope.

On this voyage I had one source of pleasure, of an elevated character, which was denied to the rest of my shipmates. This was my attachment to books. Before I left New Orleans, I purchased a variety of second-hand volumes; a miscellaneous collection, which enabled me to pass many pleasant hours on our passage to Havre, and at the same time lay in a stock of information which might prove of great value at a future day.

In books I found biographies of good men, whose example fortified my mind against the temptations to vice and immorality, which beset the sailor on every side. They furnished me with an interesting occupation in an idle hour, acted as a solace for disappointment, and a faithful friend and consoler in anxiety and trouble; inspired me with a feeling of emulation, and bade me look forward with hope. Many is the hour when, after a hard day's work, or an exciting scene of peril or suffering, by the dim light of a tallow candle, or a lamp manufactured by my own hands, while others were lamenting their hard fate, or pouring out their indignation in unavailing grumblings, I have, while poring over a book, lost all sense of unhappiness, and been transported far away to other and happier scenes; sometimes exploring with Barrow the inhospitable wastes of Africa; accompanying Christian on his journey to the Celestial City; sympathizing with the good Vicar of Wakefield in his domestic misfortunes; sharing the disquietudes of Rasselas in the "Happy Valley;" tracing, with almost breathless interest, the career of some ancient hero whom Plutarch has immortalized, or lingering over the thrilling adventures and perils of "Sindbad the Sailor."

A sailor before the mast, as well as the inmates of the cabin, has many hours on every voyage, which may be and should be, devoted to reading and study. When a resident of the forecastle, I have by my example, and by urgent appeals to the pride, the ambition, and good sense of my shipmates, induced them to cultivate a taste for reading, and awakened in their minds a thirst for information. Some of these men, by dint of hard study, and a determination, even at a late day, to shake off all profligate habits, and be something more than a common sailor, qualified themselves for a different station, and eventually became respectable shipmasters and merchants.

We lost one of our crew overboard, on this passage, in a manner somewhat singular. He was an Italian, called Antonio, and remarkable for a love of cleanliness a priceless virtue, when not carried to excess. He was continually washing his face and hands, as if to get rid of impurities communicated by the atmosphere. One Sunday afternoon, with a strong breeze on the quarter, the brig was reeling it off at the rate of eight or nine knots, and a rough and turbulent sea was helping her along. Notwithstanding the wind was three or four points abaft the beam, Captain Mott insisted on carrying main-topmast and middle staysails, and occasionally when the vessel was a little off of her course, the main-topmast staysail sheet, which was fastened to a cleat in the main deck, would give a "slat," with great violence. Antonio had just left the helm, and, according to his usual custom, proceeded to draw a bucket of water from alongside, in which to immerse his face and hands. But while he was stooping, in the very act of performing his ablutions, the brig, through the inattention of the helmsman, was run off her course nearly before the wind, the staysails were becalmed and the main-topmast staysail sheet, that is, the rope which kept the sail in its proper position, give a terrible jerk, caught the unfortunate Italian behind, lifted him from his feet, and actually tossed him over the gunwale. The thing was so sudden, he had not time to struggle, or even to scream, as he sank beneath the billows, while the brig swept onward, leaving him far astern. The cry, "A man's overboard!" was instantly raised by those who witnessed the sad event. One man sprang into the weather main shrouds in order to keep an eye on the poor fellow who became a martyr to cleanliness. The helm was put down, the brig rounded to, and sails laid aback. But attempts to rescue him were fruitless. He was not seen after he struck the water.

After having been about forty-five days at sea, we got sight one morning of "the Caskets," in the middle of the English Channel, about thirty miles west of Cape LaHogue, and on the following day entered the harbor of Havre, the seaport of Paris, situated at the mouth of the Seine.



Chapter XXXIV. THE GENERAL ARMSTRONG

Nothing remarkable happened during our stay in Havre, excepting an unpleasant affair in which our good-humored shipmate, Jonas Silvernail, played a principal part. The master of an English brig, an ignorant man, but excessively arrogant and presuming, one day took some of our men to task on the quay, accusing them of having taken a portion of his crew to a grog-shop, where they plied them with liquor until they were drunk, and then left them alone in their glory.

Jonas, in behalf of the crew of the Casket, stoutly but respectfully denied the correctness of the statement, so far as himself or his shipmates were concerned, and was about making an explanation, which must have been satisfactory, when he was interrupted by the excited Briton, who not only gave him the lie direct, but went so far as to define, in coarse and profane language, the particular character of the lie.

Jonas, although a model of subordination on shipboard, nevertheless possessed the spirit of a man, and would not brook abuse or insolence from any one who had no rightful authority over him. His eye sparkled, his lip quivered, and his fingers convulsively contracted, while he remarked, in a tone somewhat emphatic, "When a blackguard gives a gentleman the lie, he is, of course, prepared to defend himself!"

Acting upon this supposition he levelled a blow at the Englishman's face, which laid his cheek open to the bone, and stretched him on the wharf in double-quick time, as flat as a halibut!

Here was a pretty business! The affair looked serious for Jonas, as the Englishman swore vengeance against the Yankee ruffian, if there was any law or justice among a frog-eating people! Jonas was arrested, but by the kind agency of Mr. Beasley, the American consul, he was relieved from restraint on payment of a moderate fine. The choleric Briton was taught a valuable lesson, and in all likelihood put a curb on his tongue ever afterwards when talking to strangers, especially if the stranger happened to be a Yankee!

After having discharged our cargo of cotton, we sailed from Havre in ballast. We encountered a strong head wind in the chops of the Channel, and were beating about for several days. One night we were steering a course about north-north-west, under single-reefed topsails, courses and spanker, with the wind at west, while the fog was so thick that the jib-boom could hardly be seen from the forecastle, and supposed ourselves at least thirty miles to the southward of the Scilly Islands. Jonas and myself, who were walking the main deck, while the boatswain was leaning lazily against the quarter rail, and the captain and mate were sleeping in their berths below, were startled by a dull, moaning sound, which, ever and anon, seemed to come up from under the lee bow. The noise became more distinct. "What can it be?" said I, alarmed.

"I know it now," exclaimed Jonas. "It is the ROTE of the breakers dashing against the rocks, and we must be lively, or we shall soon be in kingdom come. Boatswain!" shouted he, "Breakers! Breakers ahead! Call up the captain!" and hastening forward he made such a noise on the forecastle as to rouse out all hands, who rushed on deck marvellously lightly clad, but prepared to encounter some mighty evil.

The captain was awakened by the word "breakers," a word which sounds ominous in a sailor's ears, and was on deck in a trice. He heard the rumbling noise, the character of which could not be mistaken. "Ready about!": he screamed. "Stations, men! Hard down the helm!"

The brig came up into the wind, the sails shivered, but owing to the head sea or some other cause, she would not come round, and soon gathered stern way. But captain Mott was a good seaman. "Brace round the head yards!" he exclaimed. "Lower away the spanker peak!"

The brig, by the action of the helm, the head sails being thrown aback, fell off rapidly on her heel, and soon gathering headway, barely cleared the dark and rugged cliffs of St. Agnes in the north, which now, as well as the powerful beacon light by which they were surmounted, broke through the dense fog.

It was a narrow escape. Fifteen minutes more would have carried us among the sunken rocks and ledges which are piled together in admirable confusion on the southwest side of the Scilly Isles, and the vessel and all hands would have been among the things which were.

The wind came round to the eastward on the following day, and we shaped our course across the Atlantic, bound for Savannah, whither we arrived, without the occurrence of any remarkable incident, about the first of May, 1817.

Having passed a couple of months in Savannah a few years before, I was aware from personal inspection of the wretchedly low character of the sailor boarding houses in that city; and I shuddered at the idea of passing the few days or weeks of my sojourn in Savannah at one of these "omnium gatherums" of intemperance and iniquity.

I gave to my shipmates such a graphic but faithful description of the sailor boarding houses in Savannah, that the boatswain of the brig, with Jonas Silvernail and William Jones, agreed to join me in trying to secure quarters of a character somewhat more respectable than the dens of iniquity frequented by sailors. We flattered ourselves there would be no difficulty in finding such a boarding house as we wished, knowing there were many mechanics at that time in Savannah, temporary residents, who were accommodated with board in well-regulated families at a reasonable rate, and we saw no reason why we should not be treated with equal favor.

Accordingly, the day after our arrival in port, having received our discharge, we carefully removed from our hands all stains of tar, rigged ourselves out in our neatest apparel, put on our most sober and demure faces, and started off on a cruise after a boarding house. We had received some desultory information from persons we had fallen in with about the wharves, which in a measure influenced our course.

We were not particularly successful in our quest. The simple fact which we could not deny, that "WE WERE SAILORS," was sufficient to bar every door against our entrance. It was in vain we represented ourselves as remarkably staid and sober sailors, possessing amiable dispositions, not given to liquor or rowdyism, and in search of quiet quarters in a respectable family.

To all this the one fatal objection was opposed, "WE WERE SAILORS," and of course could not reasonably expect to be received into any respectable house. No faith was given to our professions of sobriety. The term "sailor" in the minds of those good people was synonymous with "blackguard" or "drunken vagabond." It comprehended everything which was vile or wicked. After applying at more than a dozen different places, and finding the estimate of a sailor's character every where the same, and that exceptions to the general rule in this case were not allowed, we reluctantly abandoned our exploring expedition, disgusted and mortified at finding such unfounded prejudice existing against sailors, whom WE not only believed to be human beings, and entitled to rights, privileges, and indulgences as such, but a class of men which actually included many worthy, honest, well-behaved individuals, as well as those of an opposite character. We could not but doubt the policy as well as justice of a line of conduct which represses every effort on the part of seafaring men to cultivate a self-respect, and elevate themselves in the scale of society; a line of conduct which is calculated to thrust them contemptuously back, and plunge them deeper in the slough from which, perhaps, they are striving to emerge.

In those days there was no "Mariner's House" or "Sailor's Home" established in our large seaports by true philanthropists for the benefit of seamen, where this useful but too long neglected and condemned class might find a quiet, well-regulated, and respectable house, with its doors thrown open to receive them.

We returned, crestfallen and disheartened, to the brig, and passed another night in the forecastle; and the next morning, being compelled to find an asylum on shore, we inspected several of the sailor boarding houses, with a view to select the least objectionable for our temporary home. There was little room for choice. The landlords were all swaggering foreigners; their rooms were filled with a dense effluvia arising from a combination of odors, in which the fumes of tobacco and rum constituted a prominent part; and drinking grog, playing cards and dominoes, swearing, quarrelling, and fighting seemed to be the principal occupation and amusements of the main portion of the boarders.

Such were the scenes I was destined to witness in Savannah; such were the men with whom I was compelled to associate; such were the temptations to which I was subjected, and which few could pass through unscathed; such were MY "schools and schoolmasters" in early life.

After much hesitation and many misgivings, we finally established our quarters at the sign of the "General Armstrong," which was kept by John Hubbard, a tight little Irishman, a regular "broth of a boy," illiterate, not being able to write his name, with a tongue well steeped in blarney, with a conscience as elastic as a piece of India rubber, and a consummate adept in the art of wheedling a sailor out of his money.

The sign which was placed conspicuously over the door of this boarding house was a popular one, and well calculated to attract. It was not intended to represent General Armstrong of revolutionary memory, the avowed author of the treasonable "Newburg Letters," but the American privateer of that name, riding at anchor, and in the act of battling with the British boats in Fayal. Hubbard had been a petty officer in the privateer, and prided himself on the part which he took in that memorable affair, and on which he dearly loved to dwell, to the great admiration of his half-drunken auditors.

The General Armstrong privateer was a brig belonging to New York, mounting a battery of eight long nines and a twenty-four pounder amidships. The brig, a remarkably fast sailing vessel, was commanded by Samuel C. Reid, a young and gallant sailor, who displayed much courage, activity, and skill in harassing the enemies of his country on the high seas, and had been successful in capturing many valuable British ships.

While cruising off the Western Islands in the autumn of 1814, the privateer being short of water, to procure a supply put into Fayal on the morning of the 26th of September. On the afternoon of the same day three English ships-of-war arrived, anchored at the entrance of the harbor, and received from the pilots and fishermen intelligence that the far-famed American privateer General Armstrong was then in port, and lying beneath the guns of the fortifications.

Captain Reid, witnessing the arrival of these ships, did not consider himself altogether safe from attack. He knew that his vessel was particularly obnoxious to the British, who would be likely to disregard neutrality laws, spare no pains, and overcome almost any scruples in order to insure her destruction; also, that Portugal was a feeble power, which existed only by the sufferance and protection of Great Britain. Therefore Captain Reid, instead of relying on international law as a barrier against aggression, determined to rely on himself and the brave men with him; and when the British ships appeared in the offing, he commenced making vigorous preparations for defence. As soon as it was twilight he commenced warping his vessel nearer the shore. This manoeuver was seen from the decks of the English squadron, which consisted of the Plantagenet ship-of-the-line, the Rota frigate, and the Carnation gun-brig; and four boats were immediately sent off, filled with armed men, who pulled directly towards the privateer.

But Captain Reid was watching the movements of the enemy. He ordered his men to pause in their labors, and stand ready to give their visitors a warm reception. When the boats arrived within speaking distance, he hailed, but received no answer; the boats pulled on in gloomy silence. He hailed again, but there was no reply, but the men redoubled their efforts at the oars. Captain Reid, aware there was no time to be lost, hailed a third time, ordering the boats to keep off, or he would fire into them. The boats kept on. The word was given to "FIRE," and a volley of musketry was poured into the densely crowded boats, causing great confusion and killing and wounding a large number of the crews. The fire, however, was returned by the British, and the first lieutenant of the privateer was severely wounded and one man was killed. After a sharp, but severe contest, in which the enemy made desperate attempts to get alongside, the boats hauled off and returned to their respective ships.

Captain Reid knew this was only the beginning of the drama. He encouraged his men, and got in readiness for a more serious engagement. He moored his vessel close to the shore, loaded his large guns to the muzzle with grape and canister, and every musket with bullets and buckshot. His men were all on deck ready and eager to meet the foe.