University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

I NEVER knew what became of the four Hamiltons that
were picked up by the Julia's boat, though I suppose they
were put in some other vessel along with their shipmates;
nor did I ever learn the particulars of the loss of this schooner,
beyond the fact that her topsail-sheets were stoppered, and
her halyards racked. This much I learned from the men
who were brought on board the Julia, who said that their
craft was ready, in all respects, for action. Some seamen
have thought this wrong, and some right; but, in my
opinion, it made but little difference in such a gust as that
which passed over us. What was remarkable, the Julia,
which could not have been far from the Scourge when we
went over, felt no great matter of wind, just luffing up, and
shaking her sails, to be rid of it!

We lay only one night off the mouth of the Niagara.
The next morning the squadron weighed, and stood out in
pursuit of the English. The weather was very variable,
and we could not get within reach of Sir James all that
day. This was the 9th of August. The Scourge had gone
down on the night of the 7th, or the morning of the 8th, I
never knew which. On the morning of the 10th, however,
we were under the north shore, and to windward of John
Bull. The Commodore now took the Asp, and the Madison
the Fair American, in tow, and we all kept away, expecting
certainly a general action. But the wind shifted, bringing
the English to windward. The afternoon was calm; or
had variable airs. Towards sunset, the enemy was becalmed
under the American shore, and we got a breeze
from the southward. We now closed, and at 6 formed our
line for engaging. We continued to close until 7, when

the wind came out fresh at S. W., putting John again to
windward.

I can hardly tell what followed, there was so much manœuvring
and shifting of berths. Both squadrons were
standing across the lake, the enemy being to windward, and
a little astern of us. We now passed within hail of the
commodore, who gave us orders to form a new line of battle,
which we did in the following manner. One line, composed
of the smallest schooners, was formed to windward,
while the ships, brig, and two heaviest schooners, formed
another line to leeward. We had the weathermost line,
having the Growler, Lieutenant Deacon, for the vessel next
astern of us. This much I could see, though I did not understand
the object. I now learn the plan was for the
weather line to engage the enemy, and then, by edging
away, draw them down upon the lee line, which line contained
our principal force. According to the orders, we
ought to have rather edged off, as soon as the English
began to fire, in order to draw them down upon the commodore;
but it will be seen that our schooner pursued a very
different course.

It must have been near midnight, when the enemy began
to fire at the Fair American, the sternmost vessel of our
weather line. We were a long bit ahead of her, and did
not engage for some time. The firing became pretty smart
astern, but we stood on, without engaging, the enemy not
yet being far enough ahead for us. After a while, the four
sternmost schooners of our line kept off, according to orders,
but the Julia and Growler still stood on. I suppose the
English kept off, too, at the same time, as the commodore
had expected. At any rate, we found ourselves so well up
with the enemy, that, instead of bearing up, Mr. Trant
tacked in the Julia, and the Growler came round after us.
We now began to fire on the headmost ships of the enemy,
which were coming on towards us. We were able to lay
past the enemy on this tack, and fairly got to windward of
them. When we were a little on John Bull's weather bow,
we brailed the foresail, and gave him several rounds, within
a pretty fair distance. The enemy answered us, and, from
that moment, he seemed to give up all thoughts of the vessels

to leeward of him, turning his whole attention on the
Julia and Growler.

The English fleet stood on the same tack, until it had got
between us and our own line, when it went about in chase
of us. We now began to make short tacks to windward;
the enemy separating so as to spread a wide clew, in order
that they might prevent our getting past, by turning their
line and running to leeward. As for keeping to windward,
we had no difficulty—occasionally brailing our foresail, and
even edging off, now and then, to be certain that our shot
would tell. In moderate weather, the Julia was the fastest
vessel in the American squadron, the Lady of the Lake
excepted; and the Growler was far from being dull. Had
there been room, I make no doubt we might have kept clear
of John Bull, with the greatest ease; touching him up with
our long, heavy guns, from time to time, as it suited us. I
have often thought that Mr. Trant forgot we were between
the enemy and the land, and that he fancied himself out at
sea. It was a hazy, moonlight morning, and we did not see
anything of the main, though it turned out to be nearer to
us than we wished.

All hands were now turning to windward; the two
schooners still edging off, occasionally, and firing. The
enemy's shot went far beyond us, and did us some mischief,
though nothing that was not immediately repaired. The
main throat-halyards, on board the Julia, were shot away,
as was the clew of the mainsail. It is probable the enemy
did not keep his luff, towards the last, on account of the land.

Our two schooners kept quite near each other, sometimes
one being to windward, sometimes the other. It happened
that the Growler was a short distance to windward of us,
when we first became aware of the nature of our critical
situation. She up helm, and, running down within hail,
Lieutenant Deacon informed Mr. Trant he had just sounded
in two fathoms, and that he could see lights ashore. He
thought there must be Indians, in great numbers, in this
vicinity, and that we must, at all events, avoid the land.
“What do you think we had best do?” asked Lieutenant
Deacon. “Run the gauntlet,” called out Mr. Trant. “Very
well, sir: which shall lead?” “I'll lead the van,” answered
Mr. Trant, and then all was settled.

We now up helm, and steered for a vacancy among the
British vessels. The enemy seemed to expect us, for they
formed in two lines, leaving us room to enter between them.
When we bore up, even in these critical circumstances, it
was under our mainsail, fore-top-sail, jib, flying-jib, and foresail.
So insufficient were the equipments of these small
craft, that we had neither square-sail nor studding-sails on
board us. I never saw a studding-sail in any of the schooners,
the Scourge excepted.

The Julia and Growler now ran down, the former leading,
half a cable's-length apart. When we entered between
the two lines of the enemy, we were within short canisterrange,
and got it smartly on both tacks. The two English
ships were to leeward, each leading a line; and we had a
brig, and three large, regular man-of-war schooners, to get
past, with the certainty of meeting the Wolfe and Royal
George, should we succeed in clearing these four craft. Both
of us kept up a heavy fire, swivelling our guns round, so as
not to neglect any one. As we drew near the ships, however,
we paid them the compliment of throwing all the heavy
shot at them, as was due to their rank and size.

For a few minutes we fared pretty well; but we were no
sooner well entered between the lines, than we got it, hot
and hard. Our rigging began to come down about our ears,
and one shot passed a few feet above our heads, cutting both
topsail-sheets, and scooping a bit of wood as big as a thirty-two
pound shot, out of the foremast. I went up on one side,
myself, to knot one of these sheets, and, while aloft, discovered
the injury that had been done to the spar. Soon after,
the tack of the mainsail caught fire, from a wad of one of
the Englishmen; for, by this time, we were close at it. I
think, indeed, that the nearness of the enemy alone prevented
our decks from being entirely swept. The grape and
canister were passing just above our heads like hail, and the
foresail was literally in ribands. The halyards being gone,
the mainsail came down by the run, and the jib settled as
low as it could. The topsail-yard was on the cap, and the
schooner now came up into the wind.

All this time, we kept working the guns. The old man
went from one gun to the other, pointing each himself, as it
was ready. He was at the eighteen when things were getting

near the worst, and, as he left her, he called out to her
crew to “fill her—fill her to the muzzle!” He then came
to our gun, which was already loaded with one round, a
stand of grape, and a case of canister shot. This I know,
for I put them all in with my own hands. At this time, the
Melville, a brig of the enemy's, was close up with us, firing
upon our decks from her fore-top. She was coming up on
our larboard quarter, while a large schooner was nearing us
fast on the starboard. Mr. Trant directed our gun to be
elevated so as to sweep the brig's forecastle, and then he
called out, “Now's the time, lads—fire at the b—s! fire
away at 'em!” But no match was to be found! Some one
had thrown both overboard. By this time the brig's jib-boom
was over our quarter, and the English were actually
coming on board of us. The enemy were now all round us.
The Wolfe, herself, was within hail, and still firing. The
last I saw of any of our people, was Mallet passing forward,
and I sat down on the slide of the thirty-two, myself, sullen
as a bear. Two or three of the English passed me, without
saying anything. Even at this instant, a volley of bullets
came out of the brig's fore-top, and struck all around me;
some hitting the deck, and others the gun itself. Just then,
an English officer came up, and said—“What are you doing
here, you Yankee?” I felt exceedingly savage, and answered,
“Looking at your fools firing upon their own men.”
“Take that for your sauce,” he said, giving me a thrust
with his sword, as he spoke. The point of the cutlass just
passed my hip-bone, and gave me a smart flesh-wound. The
hurt was not dangerous, though it bled freely, and was some
weeks in healing. I now rose to go below, and heard a hail
from one of the ships—the Wolfe, as I took her to be.
“Have you struck?” demanded some one. The officer who
had hurt me now called out, “Don't fire into us, sir, for I'm
on board, and have got possession.” The officer from the
ship next asked, “Is there anybody alive on board her?”
To which the prize-officer answered, “I don't know, sir;
I've seen but one man, as yet.”

I now went down below. First, I got a bandage on my
wound, to stop the bleeding, and then I had an opportunity
to look about me. A party of English was below, and
some of our men having joined them, the heads were knock

ed out of two barrels of whiskey. The kids and bread-bags
were procured, and all hands, without distinction of country,
sat down to enjoy themselves. Some even began to sing,
and, as for good-fellowship, it was just as marked, as it
would have been in a jollification ashore.

In a few minutes the officer who had hurt me jumped
down among us. The instant he saw what we were at, he
sang out—“Halloo! here's high life below stairs!” Then
he called to another officer to bear a hand down and see the
fun. Some one sung out from among ourselves to “dowse
the glim.” The lights were put out, and then the two officers
capsized the whiskey. While this was doing, most of
the Englishmen ran up the forward hatch. We Julias all
remained below.

In less than an hour we were sent on board the enemy's
vessels. I was carried to the Royal George, but Mr. Trant
was taken on board the Wolfe. The Growler had lost her
bowsprit, and was otherwise damaged, and had been forced
to strike also. She had a man killed, and I believe one or
two wounded.[1] On board of us, not a man, besides myself,
had been touched! We seemed to have been preserved by
a miracle, for every one of the enemy had a slap at us, and,
for some time, we were within pistol-shot. Then we had
no quarters at all, being perfectly exposed to grape and
canister. The enemy must have fired too high, for nothing
else could have saved us.

In July, while I still belonged to the Scourge, I had been
sent with a boat's crew, under Mr. Bogardus, on board an
English flag of truce that had come into the Harbour.
While in this vessel, our boat's crew were “hail-fellows-well-met”
with the Englishmen, and we had agreed among
us to take care of each other, should either side happen to
be taken. I had been on board the Royal George but a
short time, when two of these very men came up to me with
some grog and some grub; and next morning they brought

me my bitters. I saw no more of them, however, except
when they came to shake hands with us at the gang-way, as
we were leaving the ship.

After breakfast, next morning, we were all called aft to
the ward-room, one at a time. I was pumped as to the
force of the Americans, the names of the vessels, the numbers
of the crews, and the names of the commanders. I
answered a little saucily, and was ordered out of the ward-room.
As I was quitting the place, I was called back by
one of the lieutenants, whose appearance I did not like from
the first. Although it was now eight years since I left Halifax,
and we had both so much altered, I took this gentleman
for Mr. Bowen, the very midshipman of the Cleopatra, who
had been my schoolmate, and whom I had known on board
the prize-brig I have mentioned.

This officer asked me where I was born. I told him New
York. He said he knew better, and asked my name. I
told him it was what he found it on the muster-roll, and that
by which I had been called. He said I knew better, and
that I should hear more of this, hereafter. If this were my
old schoolfellow, he knew that I was always called Edward
Robert Meyers, whereas I had dropped the middle name,
and now called myself Myers. He may not, however, have
been the person I took him for, and might have mistaken
me for some one else; for I never had an opportunity of
ascertaining any more about him.

We got into Little York, and were sent ashore that evening.
I can say nothing of our squadron, having been kept
below the whole time I was on board the Royal George. I
could not find out whether we did the enemy any harm, or
not, the night we were taken; though I remember that a
sixty-eight pound carronade, that stood near the gang-way
of the Royal George, was dismounted, the night I passed
into her. It looked to me as if the trucks were gone. This
I know, that the ship was more than usually screened off;
though for what reason I will not pretend to say.

At York, we were put in the gaol, where we were kept three
weeks. Our treatment was every way bad, with the exception
that we were not crowded. As to food, we were kept
“six upon four” the whole time I was prisoner.[2] The bread

was bad, and the pork little better. While in this gaol, a
party of drunken Indians gave us a volley, in passing; but
luckily it did us no harm.

At the end of three weeks, we received a haversack
apiece, and two days' allowance. Our clothes were taken
from us, and the men were told they would get them below;
a thing that happened to very few of us, I believe. As for
myself, I was luckily without anything to lose; my effects
having gone down in the Scourge. All I had on earth was
a shirt and two handkerchiefs, and an old slouched hat, that
I had got in exchange for a Scotch cap that had been given
to me in the Julia. I was without shoes, and so continued
until I reached Halifax. All this gave me little concern;
my spirits being elastic, and my disposition gay. My great
trouble was the apprehension of being known, through the
recollections of the officer I have mentioned.

We now commenced our march for Kingston, under the
guard of a company of the Glengarians and a party of
Indians. The last kept on our flanks, and it was understood
they would shoot and scalp any man who left the ranks.
We marched two and two, being something like eighty prisoners.
It was hard work for the first day or two, the road
being nothing but an Indian trail, and our lodging-places
the open air. My feet became very sore, and, as for food,
we had to eat our pork raw, there being nothing to cook in.
The soldiers fared no better than ourselves, however, with
the exception of being on full allowance. It seems that our
provisions were sent by water, and left for us at particular
places; for every eight-and-forty hours we touched the lake
shore, and found them ready for us. They were left on the
beach without any guard, or any one near them. In this
way we picked up our supplies the whole distance.

At the dépôt, Mr. Bogardus and the pilot found a boat,
and managed to get into her, and put out into the lake.
After being absent a day and night, they were driven in by
rough weather, and fell into the hands of a party of dragoons
who were escorting Sir George Prevost along the lake

shore. We found them at a sort of tavern, where were the
English Governor and his escort at the time. They were
sent back among us, with two American army officers, who
had fallen into the hands of the Indians, and had been most
foully treated. One of these officers was wounded in the
arm.

The night of the day we fell in with Sir George Prevost,
we passed through a hamlet, and slept just without it. As
we entered the village the guard played Yankee Doodle,
winding up with the Rogue's March. As we went through
the place, I got leave to go to a house and ask for a drink
of milk. The woman of this house said they had been expecting
us for two days, and that they had been saving their
milk expressly to give us. I got as much as I wanted, and
a small loaf of bread in the bargain, as did several others
with me. These people seemed to me to be all well affected
to the Americans, and much disposed to treat us kindly.
We slept on a barn floor that night.

We were much provoked at the insult of playing the
Rogue's March. Jack Reilly and I laid a plan to have our
revenge, should it be repeated. Two or three days later
we had the same tune, at another village, and I caught up
a couple of large stones, ran ahead, and dashed them through
both ends of the drum, before the boy, who was beating it,
knew what I was about. Jack snatched the fife out of the
other boy's hand, and it was passed from one to another
among us, until it reached one who threw it over the railing
of a bridge. After this, we had no more music, good or
bad. Not a word was said to any of us about this affair,
and I really think the officers were ashamed of themselves.

After a march of several days we came to a hamlet, not
a great distance from Kingston. I saw a good many geese
about, and took a fancy to have one for supper. I told Mallet
if he would cook a goose, I would tip one over. The
matter was arranged between us, and picking up a club I
made a dash at a flock, and knocked a bird over. I caught
up the goose and ran, when my fellow-prisoners called out
to me to dodge, which I did, behind a stump, not knowing
from what quarter the danger might come. It was well I
did, for two Indians fired at me, one hitting the stump, and
the other ball passing just over my head. A militia officer

now gallopped up, and drove back the Indians who were
running up to me, to look after the scalp, I suppose. This
officer remonstrated with me, but spoke mildly and even
kindly. I told him I was hungry, and that I wanted a warm
mess. “But you are committing a robbery,” he said. “If
I am, I 'm robbing an enemy.” “You do not know but it
may be a friend,” was his significant answer. “Well, if I
am, he'll not grudge me the goose,” says I. On hearing
this, the officer laughed, and asked me how I meant to cook
the goose. I told him that one of my messmates had promised
to do this for me. He then bade me carry the goose
into the ranks, and to come to him when we halted at night.
I did this, and he gave us a pan, some potatoes, onions, &c.,
out of which we made the only good mess we got on our
march. I may say this was the last hearty and really palatable
meal I made until I reached Halifax, a period of several
weeks.

While Jack Mallet was cooking the goose, I went in behind
a pile of boards, attended by a soldier to watch me,
and, while there, I saw an ivory rule lying on the boards,
with fifteen pence alongside of it. These I pinned, as a
lawful prize, being in an enemy's country. The money
served to buy us some bread. The rule was bartered for
half a gallon of rum. This made us a merry night, taking
all things together.

We made no halt at Kingston, though the Indians left us.
We now marched through a settled country, with some
militia for our guards. Our treatment was much better than
it had been, the people of the country treating us kindly.
When we were abreast of the Thousand Islands, Mr. Bogardus
and the pilot made another attempt to escape, and
got fairly off. These were the only two who did succeed.
How they effected it I cannot say, but I know they escaped.
I never saw either afterwards.

At the Long Sault, we were all put in boats, with a Canadian
pilot in each end. The militia staid behind, and
down we went; they say at the rate of nine miles in fifteen
minutes. We found a new guard at the foot of the rapids.
This was done, beyond a doubt, to save us and themselves,
though we thought hard of it at the time, for it appeared to
us, as if they thrust us into a danger they did not like to

run themselves. I have since heard that even ladies travelling,
used to go down these formidable rapids in the same
way; and that, with skilful pilots, there is little or no danger.

When we reached Montreal we were confined in a gaol,
where we remained three weeks. There was an American
lady confined in this building, though she had more liberty
than we, and from her we received much aid. She sent us
soap, and she gave me bandages &c., for my hurt. Occasionally
she gave us little things to eat. I never knew her
name, but heard she had two sons in the American army,
and that she had been detected in corresponding with them.

We remained at Montreal two or three weeks, and then
were sent down to Quebec, where we were put on board of
prison-ships. I was sent to the Lord Cathcart, and most
of the Julia's men with me. Our provisions were very bad,
and the mortality among us was great. The bread was
intolerably bad. Mr. Trant came to see us, privately, and
he brought some salt with him, which was a great relief to
us. Jack Mallet asked him whether some of us might not
go to work on board a transport, that lay just astern of us,
in order to get something better to eat. Mr. Trant said yes,
and eight of us went on board this craft, every day, getting
provisions and grog for our pay. At sunset, we returned
regularly to the Cathcart. I got a second shirt and a pair
of trowsers in this way.

About a fortnight after this arrangement, the Surprise,
32, and a sloop-of-war, came in, anchoring some distance
below the town. These ships sent their boats up to the
prison-ships to examine them for men. After going through
those vessels, they came on board the transport, and finding
us fresh, clean, fed and tolerably clad, they pronounced us
all Englishmen, and carried us on board the frigate. We
were not permitted even to go and take leave of our shipmates.
Of the eight men thus taken, five were native
Americans, one was from Mozambique, one I suppose to
have been an English subject born, but long settled in
America; and, as for me, the reader knows as much of my
origin as I know myself.

We were asked if we would go to duty on board the Surprise,
and we all refused. We were then put in close confinement,

on the berth-deck, under the charge of a sentry.
In a day or two, the ship sailed; and off Cape Breton we
met with a heavy gale, in which the people suffered severely
with snow and cold. The ship was kept off the land, with
great difficulty. After all, we prisoners saved the ship,
though I think it likely the injury originally came from
some of us. The breechings of two of the guns had been
cut, and the guns broke adrift in the height of the gale. All
the crew were on deck, and the sentinel permitting it, we
went up and smothered the guns with hammocks. We
were now allowed to go about deck, but this lasted a short
time, the whole of us being sent below, again, as soon as
the gale abated.

On reaching Halifax, we were all put on board of the
Regulus transport, bound to Bermuda. Here we eight were
thrown into irons, under the accusation of being British
subjects. At the end of twenty-four hours, however, the
captain came to us, and offered to let us out of irons, and
to give us ship's treatment, if we would help in working the
vessel to Bermuda. I have since thought we were ironed
merely to extort this arrangement from us. We consulted
together; and, thinking a chance might offer to get possession
of the Regulus, which had only a few Canadians in
her, and was to be convoyed by the Pictou schooner, we
consented. We were now turned up to duty, and I got the
first pair of shoes that had been on my feet since the Scourge
sunk from under me.

The reader will imagine I had not been in the harbour
of Halifax, without a strong desire to ascertain something
about those I had left behind me, in that town. I was nervously
afraid of being discovered, and yet had a feverish
wish to go ashore. The manner in which I gratified this
wish, and the consequences to which it led, will be seen in
the sequel.