University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

Jack Mallet had long known my history. He was
my confidant, and entered into all my feelings. The night
we went to duty on board the transport, a boat was lying
alongside of the ship, and the weather being thick, it afforded
a good opportunity for gratifying my longing. Jack and
myself got in, after putting our heads together, and stole off
undetected. I pulled directly up to the wharf of Mr. Marchinton,
and at once found myself at home. I will not pretend
to describe my sensations, but they were a strange
mixture of apprehension, disquiet, hope, and natural attachment.
I wished much to see my sister, but was afraid to
venture on that.

There was a family, however, of the name of Fraser, that
lived near the shore, with which I had been well acquainted,
and in whose members I had great confidence. They were
respectable in position, its head being called a judge, and
they were all intimate with the Marchintons. To the Frasers,
then, I went; Jack keeping me company. I was
afraid, if I knocked, the servant would not let me in, appearing,
as I did, in the dress of a common sailor; so I
opened the street-door without any ceremony, and went
directly to that of the parlour, which I entered before there
was time to stop me. Jack brought up in the entry.

Mrs. Fraser and her daughter were seated together, on a
settee, and the judge was reading at a table. My sudden
apparition astonished them, and all three gazed at me in
silence. Mr. Fraser then said, “In the name of heaven,
where did you come from, Edward!” I told him I had
been in the American service, but that I now belonged to an
English transport that was to sail in the morning, and that
I had just come ashore to inquire how all hands did; particularly
my sister. He told me that my sister was living,
a married woman, in Halifax; that Mr. Marchinton was
dead, and had grieved very much at my disappearance;
that I was supposed to be dead. He then gave me much
advice as to my future course, and reminded me how much
I had lost by my early mistakes. He was particularly

anxious I should quit my adopted country, and wished me
to remain in Halifax. He offered to send a servant with
me to find my sister, but I was afraid to let my presence be
known to so many. I begged my visit might be kept a
secret, as I felt ashamed of being seen in so humble circumstances.
I was well treated, as was Jack Mallet, both of
us receiving wine and cake, &c. Mr. Fraser also gave me
a guinea, and as I went away, Mrs. Fraser slipped a pound
note into my hand. The latter said to me, in a whisper—
“I know what you are afraid of, but I shall tell Harriet of
your visit; she will be secret.”

I staid about an hour, receiving every mark of kindness
from these excellent and respectable people, leaving them to
believe we were to sail in the morning. When we got
back to the transport no one knew of our absence, and nothing
was ever said of our taking the boat. The Regulus
did not sail for twenty hours after this, but I had no more
communication with the shore. We got to sea, at last, two
transports, under the convoy of the Pictou.

During the whole passage, we eight prisoners kept a sharp
look-out for a chance to get possession of the ship. We
were closely watched, there being a lieutenant and his boat's
crew on board, besides the Canadians, the master, mate, &c.
All the arms were secreted, and nothing was left at hand,
that we could use in a rising.

About mid passage, it blowing fresh, with the ship under
double-reefed topsails, I was at the weather, with one of the
Canadians at the lee, wheel. Mallet was at work in the larboard,
or weather, mizen chains, ready to lend me a hand.
At this moment the Pictou came up under our lee, to speak
us in relation to carrying a light during the night. Her
masts swung so she could not carry one herself, and her
commander wished us to carry our top-light, he keeping near
it, instead of our keeping near him. The schooner came
very close to us, it blowing heavily, and Mallet called out,
“Ned, now is your time. Up helm and into him. A couple
of seas will send him down.” This was said loud enough
to be heard, though all on deck were attending to the
schooner; and, as for the Canadian, he did not understand
English. I managed to get the helm hard up, and Mallet
jumped inboard. The ship fell off fast; but the lieutenant,

who was on board as an agent, was standing in the companion-way
with his wife, and, the instant he saw what I had
done, he ran aft, struck me a sharp blow, and put the helm
hard down with his own hands. This saved the Pictou,
though there was a great outcry on board her. The lieutenant's
wife screamed, and there was a pretty uproar for a
minute, in every direction. As the Regulus luffed-to, her
jib-boom-end just cleared the Pictou's forward rigging, and
a man might almost have jumped from the ship to the
schooner, as we got alongside of each other. Another minute,
and we should have travelled over His Majesty's
schooner, like a rail-road car going over a squash.

The lieutenant now denounced us, and we prisoners were
all put in irons. I am merely relating facts. How far we
were right, I leave others to decide; but it must be remembered
that Jack had, in that day, a mortal enmity to a British
man-of-war, which was a little too apt to lay hands on all
that she fell in with, on the high seas. Perhaps severe moralists
might say that we had entered into a bargain with the
captain of the Regulus, not to make war on him during the
passage; in answer to which, we can reply that we were
not attacking him, but the Pictou. Our intention, it must
be confessed, however, was to seize the Regulus in the confusion.
Had we been better treated as prisoners, our tempers
might not have been so savage. But we got no good
treatment, except for our own work; and, being hedged in
in this manner, common sailors reason very much as they
feel. We were not permitted to go at large again, in the
Regulus, in which the English were very right, as Jack
Mallet, in particular, was a man to put his shipmates up to
almost any enterprise.

The anchor was hardly down, at Bermuda, before a signal
was made to the Goliah, razée, for a boat, and we were sent
on board that ship. This was a cruising vessel, and she
went to sea next morning. We were distributed about the
ship, and ordered to go to work. The intention, evidently,
was to swallow us all in the enormous maw of the British
navy. We refused to do duty, however, to a man; most
of our fellows being pretty bold, as native Americans. We
were a fortnight in this situation, the greater part of the time
playing green, with our tin pots slung round our necks. We

did so much of this, that the people began to laugh at us, as
real Johnny Raws, though the old salts knew better. The
last even helped us along, some giving us clothes, extra grog,
and otherwise being very kind to us. The officers treated
us pretty well, too, all things considered. None of us got
flogged, nor were we even threatened with the gangway.
At length the plan was changed. The boatswain was asked
if he got anything out of us, and, making a bad report, we
were sent down to the lower gun-deck, under a sentry's
charge, and put at “six upon four,” again. Here we remained
until the ship went into Bermuda, after a six weeks' cruise.
This vessel, an old seventy-four cut down, did not answer,
for she was soon after sent to England. I overheard her
officers, from our berth near the bulkhead, wishing to fall in
with the President, Commodore Rodgers—a vessel they fancied
they could easily handle. I cannot say they could not,
but one day an elderly man among them spoke very rationally
on the subject, saying, they might, or they might not,
get the best of it in such a fight. For his part, he did not
wish to see any such craft, with the miserable crew they had
in the Goliah.

We found the Ramilies, Sir Thomas Hardy, lying in
Bermuda roads. This ship sent a boat, which took us
on board the Ardent, 64, which was then used as a prison-ship.
About a week before we reached this vessel an
American midshipman got hold of a boat, and effected his
escape, actually making the passage between Bermuda and
Cape Henry all alone, by himself.[1] In consequence of this
unusual occurrence, a bright look out was kept on all the
boats, thus defeating one of our plans, which was to get off
in the same way. When we reached the Ardent, we found
but four Americans in her. After we had been on board
her about a week, three men joined us, who had given
themselves up on board English men-of-war, as native
Americans. One of these men, whose name was Baily,
had been fourteen years in the English service, into which
he had been pressed, his protection having been torn up before
his face. He was a Connecticut man, and had given

himself up at the commencement of the war, getting three
dozen for his pains. He was then sent on the Halifax station,
where he gave himself up again. He received three
dozen more, then had his shirt thrown over his back and
was sent to us. I saw the back and the shirt, myself, and
Baily said he would keep the last to be buried with him.
Bradbury and Patrick were served very much in the same
manner. I saw all their backs, and give the remainder of
the story, as they gave it to me. Baily and Bradbury got
off in season to join the Constitution, and to make the last
cruise in her during this war. I afterwards fell in with
Bradbury, who mentioned this circumstance to me.

It is good to have these things known, for I do believe the
English nation would be averse to men's receiving such
treatment, could they fairly be made to understand it. It
surely is bad enough to be compelled to fight the battles of
a foreign country, without being flogged for not fighting
them when they happen to be against one's own people. For
myself, I was born, of German parents, in the English territory,
it is true; but America was, and ever has been, the
country of my choice, and, while yet a child, I may say, I
decided for myself to sail under the American flag; and, if
my father had a right to make an Englishman of me, by
taking service under the English crown, I think I had a
right to make myself what I pleased, when he had left me
to get on as I could, without his counsel and advice.

After being about three weeks in the Ardent, we eight
prisoners were sent on board the Ramilies, to be tried as
Englishmen who had been fighting against their king. The
trial took place on board the Asia, 74, a flag-ship; but we
lived in the Ramilies, during the time the investigation was
going on. Sir Thomas Hardy held several conversations
with me, on the quarter-deck, in which he manifested great
kindness of feeling. He inquired whether I was really an
American; but I evaded any direct answer. I told him,
however, that I had been an apprentice, in New York, in
the employment of Jacob Barker; which was true, in one
sense, as Mr. Barker was the consignee of the Sterling, and
knew of my indentures. I mentioned him, as a person
more likely to be known than Captain Johnston. Sir Thomas
said he had some knowledge of Mr. Barker; and, I

think, I have heard that they were, in some way, connected.
This was laying an anchor to-windward, as it turned out, in
the end.

We were all on board the Asia, for trial, or investigation,
two days, before I was sent for into the cabin. I was very
much frightened; and scarce knew what I said, or did. It is
a cruel thing to leave sailors without counsel, on such occasions;
though the officers behaved very kindly and considerately
to me; and, I believe, to all of us. There were
several officers seated round a table; and all were in swabs.
They said, the gentleman who presided, was a Sir Borlase
Warren, the admiral on the station.[2] This gentleman,
whoever he was, probably saw that I was frightened. He
slewed himself round, in his chair, and said to me; “My
man, you need not be alarmed; we know who you are, and
what you are; but your apprenticeship will be of great service
to you.” This was not said, however, until Sir Thomas
Hardy had got out the story of my being an apprentice in
Jacob Barker's employ, again, before them all, in the cabin.
I was told to send for a copy of my indentures, by one of
the white-washed Swedes, that sailed between Bermuda and
New York. This I did, that very day. I was in the cabin
of the Asia, half an hour, perhaps; and I felt greatly relieved,
when I got out of it. It was decided, in my presence, to
send me back among the prisoners, on board the Ardent.
The same decision was made, as to the whole eight of us,
that had come on in the Regulus.

When we got back to the Ramilies, Sir Thomas Hardy
had some more conversation with me. I have thought, ever
since, that he knew something about my birth, and of my
being the prince's godson. He wished me to join the British
service, seemingly, very much, and encouraged me with the
hope of being promoted. But, it is due to myself, to say, I
held out against it all. I do not believe America had a
truer heart, in her service, than mine; and I do not think an
English commission would have bought me. I have nothing

to hope, from saying this, for I am now old, and a cripple;
but, as I have sat down to relate the truth, let the truth be
told, whether it tell for, or against me.

We were now sent back to the Ardent; where we remained
three weeks, or a month, longer. During this time
we got our papers from New York; I receiving a copy of
my indentures, together with the sum of ten dollars; which
reached me through Sir Thomas Hardy, as I understood.
Nothing more was ever said, to any of the eight, about their
being Englishmen; the whole of us being treated as prisoners
of war. Prisoners arrived fast, until we had four hundred
in the Ardent. The old Ruby, a forty-four, on two decks,
was obliged to receive some of them. Most of these prisoners
were privateersmen; though there were a few soldiers, and
some citizens that had been picked up in Chesapeake Bay.
Before we left Bermuda, the crew of a French frigate was
put into the Ardent, to the number of near four hundred
men. In the whole, we must have had eight hundred souls,
and all on one deck. This was close stowage, and I was
heartily glad when I quitted the ship.

Soon after the French arrived, four hundred of us Americans
were put on board transports, and we sailed for Halifax,
under the convoy of the Ramilies. A day or two after
we got out, we fell in with an American privateer, which
continued hovering around us for several days. As this
was a bold fellow, frequently coming within gun-shot, and
sporting his sticks and canvass in all sorts of ways, Sir
Thomas Hardy felt afraid he would get one of the four
transports, and he took all us prisoners into the Ramilies.
We staid in the ship the rest of the passage, and when we
went into Halifax it was all alone, the four transports having
disappeared. Two of them subsequently got in; but I
think the other two were actually taken by that saucy
fellow.

The prisoners, at first, had great liberty allowed them, on
board the Ramilies. On all occasions, Sir Thomas Hardy
treated the Americans well. A party of marines was stationed
on the poop, and another on the forecastle, and the
ship's people had arms; but this was all the precaution that
was used. The opportunity tempted some of our men to
plan a rising, with a view to seize the ship. Privateer

officers were at the head of this scheme, which was communicated
to me, among others, soon after the plot was laid.
Most of the prisoners knew of the intention, and everybody
seemed to enter into the affair with hearty good-will. Our
design was to rise at the end of the second dog-watch, overcome
the crew, and carry the ship upon our own coast. If
unable to pass the blockading squadrons, we intended to run
her ashore. The people of the Ramilies outnumbered us by
near one-half, and they had arms, it is true; but we trusted
to the effect of a surprise, and something to the disposition
of most English sailors to get quit of their own service.
Had the attempt been made, from what I saw of the crew,
I think our main trouble would have been with the officers
and the marines. We were prevented from trying the experiment,
however, in consequence of having been betrayed
by some one who was in the secret, the whole of us being
suddenly sent into the cable tiers and amongst the water
casks, under the vigilant care of sentinels posted in the
wings. After that, we were allowed to come on deck singly,
only, and then under a sentinel's charge. When Sir
Thomas spoke to us concerning this change of treatment,
he did not abuse us for our plan, but was mild and reasonable,
while he reminded us of the necessity of what he was
doing. I have no idea he would have been in the least
injured, had we got possession of the ship; for, to the last,
our people praised him, and the treatment they received,
while under his orders.

Before we were sent below, Sir Thomas spoke to me
again, on the subject of my joining the English service. He
was quite earnest about it, and reasoned with me like a
father; but I was determined not to yield. I did not like
England, and I did like America. My birth in Quebec was
a thing I could not help; but having chosen to serve under
the American flag, and having done so now for years, I did
not choose to go over to the enemy.

At Halifax, fifteen or twenty of us were sent on board the
old Centurion, 44, Lord Anson's ship, as retaliation-men.
We eight were of the number. We found something like
thirty more in the ship, all retaliation-men, like ourselves.
Those we found in the Centurion did not appear to me to
be foremast Jacks, but struck me as being citizens from

ashore. We were well treated, however, suffering no other
confinement than that of the ship. We were on “six upon
four,” it is true, like other prisoners, but our own country
gave us small stores, and extra bread and beef. In the way
of grub, we fared like sailor kings. At the end of three
weeks, we eight lakesmen were sent to Melville Island,
among the great herd of prisoners. I cannot explain the
reason of all these changes; but I know that when the gate
was shut on us, the turnkey said we had gone into a home
that would last as long as the war lasted.

Melville is an island of more than a mile in circumference,
with low, rocky shores. It lies about three miles from the
town of Halifax, but not in sight. It is connected with the
main by a bridge that is thrown across a narrow passage
of something like a quarter of a mile in width. In the centre
of the island is an eminence, which was occupied by the
garrison, and had some artillery. This eminence commanded
the whole island. Another post on the main, also,
commanded the prisoners' barracks. These barracks were
ordinary wooden buildings, enclosed on the side of the island
with a strong stone wall, and on the side of the post on the
main, by high, open palisades. Of course, a sufficient guard
was maintained.

It was said there were about twelve hundred Americans
on the island, when I passed the gate. Among them were
a few French, some of whom were a part of the crew of the
Ville de Milan, the ship that had been taken before I first
left Halifax; or more than eight years previously to this time.
This did, indeed, look like the place's being a home to a
poor fellow, and I did not relish the circumstance at all.
Among our people were soldiers, sailors, and 'long-shoremen.
There was no difference in the treatment, which, for
a prison, was good. We got only “six upon four” from the
English, of course; but our own country made up the difference
here, as on board the Centurion. They had a prison
dress, with one leg of the trowsers yellow and the other blue,
&c.; but we would not stand that. Our agent managed the
matter so that we got regular jackets and trowsers of the
true old colour. The poor Frenchmen looked like peacocks
in their dress, but we did not envy them their finery.

I had been on the island about a fortnight, when I was

told by Jack Mallet that a woman, whom he thought to be
my sister, was at the gate. Jack knew my whole history,
and came to his opinion from a resemblance that he saw
between me and the person who had inquired for me. I
refused to go to the gate, however, to see who it was, and
Jack was sent back to tell the woman that I had been left
behind at Bermuda. He was directed to throw in a few
hints about the expediency of her not coming back to look
for me, and that it would be better if she never named me.
All this was done, I getting a berth from which I could see
the female. I knew her in a moment, although she was
married, and had a son with her, and my heart was very
near giving way, especially when I saw her shedding
tears. She went away from the gate, however, going up
on the ramparts, from which she could look down into the
prison-yard. There she remained an hour, as if she wished
to satisfy her own eyes as to the truth of Jack's story; but I
took good care to keep out of her sight.

As I knew there was little hope of an exchange of prisoners,
I now began to think of the means of making my
escape. Jack Mallet dared not attempt to swim, on account
of the rheumatism and cramps, having narrowly escaped
drowning at Bermuda, and he could not join in our
schemes. As for myself, I have been able to swim ever
since danger taught me the important lesson, the night the
Scourge went down. Money would be necessary to aid me
in escaping, and Jack and I put our heads together, in order
to raise some. I had still the ten dollars given me by Sir
Thomas Hardy, and I commenced operations by purchasing
shares in a dice-board, a vingt et un table, and a quino
table.[3] Jack Mallet and I, also, set up a shop, on a capital
of three dollars. We sold smoked herring, pipes, tobacco,
segars, spruce beer, and, as chances of smuggling it in
offered, now and then a little Jamaica. All this time, the
number of the prisoners increased, until, in the end, we got
to have a full prison, when they began to send them to Eng
land. Only one of the Julias was sent away, however, all
the rest remaining at Melville Island, from some cause I
cannot explain.

I cannot say we made money very fast. On every shilling
won at dice, we received a penny; at vingt et un, the
commission was the same; as it was also at the other
games. New cards, however, brought a little higher rate.
All this was wrong I now know, but then it gave me very
little trouble. I hope I would not do the same thing over
again, even to make my escape from Melville Island, but
one never knows to what distress may drive him.

Some person among the American prisoners—a soldier it
was said — commenced counterfeiting Spanish dollars. I
am afraid most of us helped to circulate them. We thought
it no harm to cheat the people of the canteens, for we knew
they were doing all they could to cheat us. This was prison
morality, in war-time, and I say nothing in its favour;
though, for myself, I will own I felt more of the consciousness
of wrong-doing in holding the shares in the gambling
establishments, than in giving bad dollars for poor rum.
The counterfeiting business was destroyed by one of the
dollars happening to break, as some of the officers were
pitching them; when, on examination, it turned out that
most of the money in the prison was bad. It was said the
people of the canteens had about four hundred of the dollars,
when they came to overhaul their lockers. A good many
found their way into Halifax.

My trade lasted all winter—(that of 1813 — 14,) and by
March I had gained the sum of eighty French crowns.
Dollars I was afraid to hold on account of the base money.
The ice now began to give way, and a few of us, who had
been discussing the matter all winter, set about forming serious
plans to escape. My confederates were a man of the
name of Johnson, who had been taken in the Snapdragon
privateer, and an Irishman of the name of Littlefield. Barnet,
the Mozambique man, joined us also, making four in all.
It was quite early in the month, when we made the attempt.
Our windows were long, and had perpendicular bars of
wrought iron to secure them, but no cross-bars. There was
no glass; but outside shutters, that we could open at our
pleasure. Outside of the windows were sentinels, and there
were two rows of pickets between us and the shore.

I put my crowns in a belt around my waist. Another
belt, or skin, was filled with rum, for the double purpose

of buoying me in the water, and of comforting me when
ashore. At that day, I found rum one of the great blessings
of life; now I look upon it as one of the greatest evils. My
companions made similar provisions of money and rum,
though neither was as rich as myself. I left Mallet and
Leonard Lewis my heirs at law if I escaped, and my trustees
should I be caught. Lewis was a young man of better
origin than most in the prison, and I have always thought
some calamity drove him to the seas. He was in ill health,
and did not appear to be destined to a long life. He would
have joined us, heart and hand, but was not strong enough
to endure the fatigue which we well knew we must undergo,
before we could get clear.

The night selected for the attempt was so cold, dark, and
dismal, as to drive all the sentinels into their boxes. It
rained hard, in the bargain. About eight, or as soon as the
lights were out, we got the lanyards of our hammocks
around two of the window bars, and using a bit of fire-wood
for a heaver, we easily brought them together. This left
room for our bodies to pass out, without any difficulty. Jack
Mallet, and those we left behind, hove the bars straight
again, so that the keepers were at a loss to know how we
had got off. We met with no obstacle between the prison
and the water. The pickets we removed, having cut them
in the day-time. In a word, all four of us reached the shore
of the Island in two or three minutes after we had taken
leave of our messmates. The difficulty lay before us. We
entered into the water, at once, and began to swim. When
I was a few rods from the place of landing, which was quite
near the guard-house, on the main, Johnson began to sing
out that he was drowning. I told him to be quiet, but it was
of no use. The guard on the main heard him, and commenced
firing, and of course we swam all the harder.
Three of us were soon ashore, and, knowing the roads well,
I led them in a direction to avoid the soldiers. By running
into the woods, we got clear, though poor Johnson fell again
into the hands of the enemy. He deserved it for bawling as
he did; it being the duty of a man in such circumstances to
die with a shut mouth.