 | CHAPTER IX. Ned Myers, or, A life before the mast |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
The three who had escaped ran, for a quarter of a mile,
in the woods, when we brought up, and took a drink. Hearing
no more firing, or any further alarm, we now consulted
as to our future course. There were some mills at the head
of the bay, about four miles from the guard-house, and I led
the party thither. We reached the place towards morning, and
found a berth in them before any one was stirring. We hid
ourselves in an old granary; but no person appeared near
the place throughout the next day. We had put a little
bread and a few herrings in our hats, and on these we subsisted.
The rum cheered us up, and, if rum ever did good,
I think it was to us on that occasion. We slept soundly,
with one man on the look-out; a rule we observed the whole
time we were out. It stopped raining in the course of the
day, though the weather was bitter cold.
Next night we got under way, and walked in a direction
which led us within three miles of the town. In doing this,
we passed the Prince's Lodge, a place where I had often
been, and the sight of which reminded me of home, and of
my childish days. There was no use in regrets, however,
and we pushed ahead. The men saw my melancholy, and
they questioned me; but I evaded the answer, pretending
that nothing ailed me. There was a tavern about a league
from the town, kept by a man of the name of Grant, and
Littlefield ventured into it. He bought a small cheese and a
loaf of bread; getting off clear, though not unsuspected.
This helped us along famously, and we pushed on as fast as
we could. Before morning we came near a bridge, on which
there was a sentinel posted, with a guard-house near its end.
To avoid this danger, we turned the guard-house, striking
the river above the bridge. Here we met two Indians, and
fell into discourse with them. Our rum now served us a
better turn than ever, buying the Indians in a minute. We
told these chaps we were deserters from the Bulwark, 74,
and begged them to help us along. At first, they thought
we were Yankees, whom they evidently disliked, and that
them disposed to serve us.
These two Indians led us down to the bed of the river,
and actually carried us beneath the bridge, on the side of
the river next the guard, where we found a party of about
thirty of these red-skins, men, women and children. Here
we stayed no less than three days; faring extremely well,
having fish, bread, butter, and other common food. The
weather was very bad, and we did not like to turn out in it,
besides, thinking the search for us might be less keen after
a short delay. All this time, we were within a few rods of
the guard, hearing the sentinels cry “all's well,” from half-hour
to half-hour. We were free with our rum, and, as
much as we dared to be, with our money. These people
never betrayed us.
The third night we left the bridge, guided by a young
Indian. He led us about two miles up the river, passing
through the Maroon town in the night, after which he left
us. We wished him to keep on with us for some distance
further, but he refused. He quitted us near morning, and
we turned into a deserted log-house, on the banks of the
river, where we passed the day. The country was thinly
populated, and the houses we saw were poor and mean.
We must now have been about five-and-twenty miles from
Halifax.
Our object was to cross the neck of land between the
Atlantic and the Bay of Fundy, and to get to Annapolis
Royal, where we expected to be able to procure a boat, by
fair means if we could, by stealth if necessary, and cross
over to the American shore. We had still a long road before
us, and had some little difficulty to find the way. The
Indians, however, gave us directions that greatly assisted
us; and we travelled a long bit, and pretty fast all that
night. In the morning, the country had more the appearance
of being peopled and cultivated, and I suspected we
were getting into the vicinity of Horton, a place through
which it would be indispensable to pass. The weather became
bad again, and it was necessary to make a halt. Coming
near a log-house, we sent Littlefield ahead to make some
inquiries of a woman who appeared to be in it alone. On
his return, he reported well of the woman. He had told
to pay her if she would let us stay about her premises that
day, and get us something to eat. The woman had consented
to our occupying an out-house, and had agreed to
buy the provisions. We now took possession of the out-house,
where the woman visited us, and getting some money,
she left us in quest of food. We were uneasy during her
absence, but she came back with some meat, eggs, bread,
and butter, at the end of an hour, and all seemed right. We
made two comfortable meals in this out-house, where we
remained until near evening. I had the look-out about noon,
and I saw a man hanging about the house, and took the
alarm. The man did not stay long, however, and I got a
nap as soon as he disappeared. About four we were all up,
and one of us taking a look, saw this same man, and two
others, go into the house. The woman had already told us
that a party of soldiers had gone ahead, in pursuit of three
Yankee runaways; that four had broken prison, but one
had been retaken, and the rest were still out. This left little
doubt that she knew who we were; and we thought it
best to steal away, at once, lest the men in the house should
be consulting with her, at that very moment, about selling
us for the reward, which we know was always four pounds
ahead. The out-house was near the river, and there was a
good deal of brush growing along the banks, and we succeeded
in getting away unseen.
We went down to the margin, under the bank, and pursued
our way along the stream. Before it was dark we
came in sight of the bridge, for which we had been travelling
ever since we left the other bridge, and were sorry to
see a sentry-box on it. We now halted for a council, and
came to a determination to wait until dark, and then advance.
This we did, getting under this bridge, as we had
done with the other. We had no Indians, however, to comfort
and feed us.
I had known a good deal of this part of the country when
a boy, from the circumstance that Mr. Marchinton had a
large farm, near a place called Cornwallis, on the Bay,
where I had even spent whole summers with the family.
This bridge I recollected well; and I remembered there was
a ford a little on one side of it, when the tide was out. The
not dare to steal a boat here, lest we should be caught in one
of the bores, as they are called, when the tide came in. It
was now half ebb, and we resolved to wait, and try the
ford.
It was quite dark when we left the bridge, and we had a
delicate bit of work before us. The naked flats were very
wide, and we sallied out, with the bridge as our guide. I
was up to my middle in mud, at times, but the water was
not very deep. We must have been near an hour in the
mud, for we were not exactly on the proper ford, of course,
and made bad navigation of it in the dark. But we were
afraid to lose sight of the bridge, lest we should get all adrift.
At length we reached the firm ground, covered with mud
and chilled with cold. We found the road, and the village
of Horton, and skirted the last, until all was clear. Then
we took to the road, and carried sail hard all night. Whenever
we saw any one, we hid ourselves, but we met few
while travelling. Next morning we walked until we came
to a deserted saw-mill, which I also remembered, and here
we halted for the day. No one troubled us, nor did I see
any one; but Littlefield said that a man drove a herd of
cattle past, during his watch on deck.
I told my companions that night, if they would be busy,
we might reach Cornwallis, where I should be at home. We
were pretty well fagged, and wanted rest, for Jack is no
great traveller ashore; and I promised the lads a good snug
berth at Mr. Marchinton's farm. We pushed ahead briskly,
in consequence, and I led the party up to the farm, just as
day was dawning. A Newfoundland dog, named Hunter,
met us with some ferocity; but, on my calling him by name,
he was pacified, and began to leap on me, and to caress me.
I have always thought that dog knew me, after an absence
of so many years. There was no time to waste with dogs,
however, and we took the way to the barn. We had wit
enough not to get on the hay, but to throw ourselves on a
mow filled with straw, as the first was probably in use.
Here we went to sleep, with one man on the look-out. This
was the warmest and most comfortable rest we had got since
quitting the island, from which we had now been absent
eight or nine days.
We remained one night and two days in this barn. The
workmen entered it often, and even stayed some time on the
barn-floor; but no one seemed to think of ascending our
mow. The dog kept much about the place, and I was greatly
afraid he would be the means of betraying us. Our provisions
were getting low, and, the night we were at the farm,
I sallied out, accompanied by Barnet, and we made our way
into the dairy. Here we found a pan of bread, milk, cheese,
butter, eggs, and codfish. Of course, we took our fill of
milk; but Barnet got hold of a vessel of sour cream, and
came near hallooing out, when he had taken a good pull at
it. As we returned to the barn, the geese set up an outcry,
and glad enough was I to find myself safe on the mow again,
without being discovered. Next day, however, we overheard
the men in the barn speaking of the robbery, and complaining,
in particular, of the uselessness of the dog. I did not
know any of these persons, although a young man appeared
among them, this day, who I fancied had been a playfellow
of mine, when a boy. I could not trust him, or any one
else there; and all the advantage we got from the farm, was
through my knowledge of the localities, and of the habits of
the place.
I had never been further on the road between Halifax and
Annapolis, than to Cornwallis. The rest of the distance
was unknown to me, though I was familiar with the route
which went out of Cornwallis, and which was called the Annapolis
road. It was a fine star-light evening, and we made
good headway. We all felt refreshed, and journeyed on full
stomachs. We did not meet a soul, though we travelled
through a well-settled country. The next morning we halted
in a wood, the weather being warm and pleasant. Here we
slept and rested as usual, and were off again at night. Littlefield
pinned three fowls as we went along, declaring that
he intended to have a warm mess next day, and he got off
without discovery. About four o'clock in the morning, we
fell in with a river, and left the highway, following the banks
of the stream for a short distance. It now came on to blow
and rain, with the wind on shore, and we saw it would not
do to get a boat and go out in such a time. There was a
rising ground, in a thick wood, near us, and we went up the
hill to pass the day. We had seen two men pulling ashore
this boat, and shape our course down stream to the Bay, as
soon as it moderated. From the hill, we could overlook the
river, and the adjacent country. We saw the fishermen
land, take their sail and oars out of the boat, haul the latter
up, turn her over, and stow their sails and oars beneath her.
They had a breaker of fresh water, too, and everything
seemed fitted for our purposes. We liked the craft, and,
what is more, we liked the cruise.
We could not see the town of Annapolis, which turned
out to be up-stream from us, though we afterwards ascertained
that we were within a mile or two of it. The fishermen
walked in the direction of the town, and disappeared.
All we wanted now was tolerably good weather, with a fair
wind, or, at least, with less wind. The blow had driven in
the fishermen, and we thought it wise to be governed by
their experience. Nothing occurred in the course of the
day, the weather remaining the same, and we being exposed
to the rain, with no other cover than trees without leaves.
There were many pines, however, and they gave us a little
shelter.
At dusk, Littlefield lighted a fire, and began to cook his
fowls. The supper was soon ready, and we eat it with a
good relish. We then went to sleep, leaving Barnet on the
look-out. I had just got into a good sleep, when I was
awoke by the tramp of horses, and the shouting of men.
On springing up, I found that a party of five horsemen were
upon us. One called out—“Here they are—we 've found
them at last.” This left no doubt of their errand, and we
were all retaken. Our arms were tied, and we were made
to mount behind the horsemen, when they rode off with us,
taking the road by which we had come. We went but a
few miles that night, when we halted.
We were taken the whole distance to Halifax, in this
manner, riding on great-coats, without stirrups, the horses
on a smart walk. We did not go by Cornwallis, which, it
seems, was not the nearest road; but we passed through
Horton, and crossed the bridge, beneath which we had
waded through the mud. At Horton we passed a night.
We were confined in a sort of a prison, that was covered
with mud. We did not like our berths; and, finding that
actually worked our way through them, and got fairly out.
Littlefield, who was as reckless an Irishman as ever lived,
swore he would set fire to the place; which he did, by returning
through the hole we had made, and getting up into
a loft, that was dry and combustible. But for this silly act,
we might have escaped; and, as it was, we did get off for
the rest of the night, being caught, next morning, nearly
down, again, by the bridge at Windsor.
This time, our treatment was a good deal worse, than at
first. A sharp look-out was kept, and they got us back to
Halifax, without any more adventures. We were pretty
well fagged; though we had to taper off with the black hole,
and bread and water, for the next ten days; the regular
punishment for such misdemeanors as ours. At the end of
the ten days, we were let out, and came together again.
Our return brought about a great deal of discussion; and,
not a little criticism, as to the prudence of our course. To
hear the chaps talk, one would think every man among
them could have got off, had he been in our situation; though
none of them did any better; several having got off the
island, in our absence, and been retaken, within the first
day or two. While I was in prison, however, I remember
but one man who got entirely clear. This was a privateers-man,
from Marblehead; who did get fairly off; though he
was back again, in six weeks, having been taken once more,
a few days out.
We adventurers were pretty savage, about our failure;
and, the moment we were out of the black hole, we began
to lay our heads together for a new trial. My idea was, to
steer a different course, in the new attempt; making the best
of our way towards Liverpool, which lay to the southward,
coastwise. This would leave us on the Atlantic, it was
true; but our notion was, to ship in a small privateer, called
the Liverpool, and then run our chance of getting off from
her; as she was constantly crossing over to the American
coast. As this craft was quite small, and often had but few
hands in her, we did not know but we might get hold of the
schooner itself. Then there was some probability of being
put in a coaster; which we might run away with. At all
events, any chance seemed better to us, than that of remaining
or until we got to be grey-headed. I remembered, when the
Ville de Milan was brought into Halifax; this was a year, or
two, before I went to sea; and yet here were some of her
people still, on Melville Island!
I renewed my trade as soon as out of the Black Hole,
but did not give up the idea of escaping. Leonard Lewis
and Jack Mallet were the only men we let into the secret.
They both declined joining us; Mallet on account of his
dread of the water, and Lewis, because certain he could not
outlive the fatigue; but they wished us good luck, and aided
us all they could. With Johnson we would have no further
concern.
The keepers did not ascertain the means by which we had
left the barracks, though they had seen the cut pickets of
course. We did not attempt, therefore, to cut through again,
but resolved to climb. The English had strengthened the
pickets with cross-pieces, which were a great assistance to
us, and I now desire to express my thanks for the same.
We waited for a warm, but dark and rainy night in May,
before we commenced our new movement. We had still
plenty of money, I having brought back with me to prison
forty crowns, and having driven a thriving trade in the interval.
We got out through the bars, precisely as we had
done before, and at the very same window. This was a
small job. After climbing the pickets, either Littlefield or
Barnet dropped on the outside, a little too carelessly, and
was overheard. The sentinel immediately called for the
corporal of the guard, but we were in the water, swimming
quite near the bridge, and some little distance from the guard-house
on the main. There was a stir on the island, while
we were in the water, but we all got ashore, safe and unseen.
We took to the same woods as before, but turned south instead
of west. Our route brought us along by the waterside,
and we travelled hard all that night. Littlefield pretended
to be our guide, but we got lost, and remained two
days and nights in the woods, without food, and completely
at fault as to which way to steer. At length we ventured
out into a high-way, by open day-light, and good luck threw
an old Irish seaman, who then lived by fishing, in our way.
deserters from a vessel of war, and he seemed to like us all
the better for it. He had served himself, and had a son
impressed, and seemed to like the English navy little better
than we did ourselves. He took us to a hut on the beach,
and fed us with fish, potatoes, and bread, giving us a very
comfortable and hearty meal. We remained in this hut
until sunset, receiving a great deal of useful advice from the
old man, and then we left him. We used some precaution
in travelling, sleeping in the woods; but we kept moving
by day as well as by night, and halting only when tired,
and a good place offered. We were not very well off for
food, though we brought a little from the fisherman's hut,
and found quantities of winter-berries by the way-side.
We entered Liverpool about eight at night, and went immediately
to the rendezvous of the privateer, giving a little
girl a shilling to be our guide. The keeper of the rendezvous
received us gladly, and we shipped immediately. Of
course we were lodged and fed, in waiting for the schooner
to come in. Each of us got four pounds bounty, and both
parties seemed delighted with the bargain. To own the
truth, we now began to drink, and the next day was pretty
much a blank with us all. The second day, after breakfast,
the landlord rushed into our room with a newspaper in his
hand, and broke out upon us, with a pretty string of names,
denouncing us for having told him we were deserters, when
we were only runaway Yankees! The twelve pounds troubled
him, and he demanded it back. We laughed at him,
and advised him to be quiet and put us aboard the privateer.
He then told us the guard was after us, hot-foot, and that it
was too late. This proved to be true enough, for, in less
than an hour an officer and a platoon of men had us in
custody. We had some fun in hearing the officer give it to
the landlord, who still kept talking about his twelve pounds.
The officer told him plainly that he was rightly served, for
attempting to smuggle off deserters, and I suppose this was
the reason no one endeavoured to get the money away from
us, except by words. We kept the twelve pounds, right or
wrong.
We were now put in a coaster, and sent to Halifax by
water. We were in irons, but otherwise were well enough
Halifax, several hours, and were visited by a great many
officers. These gentlemen were curious to hear our story,
and we let them have it, very frankly. They laughed, and
said, generally, we were not to be blamed for trying to get
off, if their own look-outs were so bad as to let us. We did
not tell them, however, by what means we passed out of the
prison-barracks. Among the officers who came and spoke
to us, was an admiral, Sir Isaac Coffin. This gentleman
was a native American, and was then in Halifax to assist
the Nantucket men, whom he managed to get exchanged.
His own nephew was said to be among them; but him he
would not serve, as he had been captured in a privateer.
Had he been captured in a man-of-war, or a merchant-man,
he would have done all he could for him; but, as it was, he
let him go to Dartmoor—at least, this was the story in the
prison. The old gentleman spoke very mildly to us, and
said he could not blame us for attempting to escape. I do
not think he had ever heard of the twelve pounds; though
none of the navy officers were sorry that the privateer's-men
should be punished. As for us, we considered them
all enemies alike, on whom it was fair enough to live in a
time of war.
We were sent back to the island, and were quarantined
again; though it was for twenty days, this time. When we
got pratique, we learned that some one had told of the manner
in which we got out of prison, and cross-bars had been
placed in all the windows, making them so many “nine of
diamonds.” This was blocking the channel, and there was
no more chance for getting off in that way.
A grand conspiracy was now formed, which was worthy
of the men in prison. The plan was to get possession of
Halifax itself, and go off in triumph. We were eighteen
hundred prisoners in all; though not very well off for officers.
About fifty of us entered into the plan, at first; nor
did we let in any recruits for something like six weeks.
A Mr. Crowninshield, of Salem, was the head man among
us, he having been an officer in a privateer. There were a
good many privateer officers in the prison, but they were
berthed over-head, and were intended to be separated from
us at night. The floor was lifted between us, however, and
came down at night, and lent us a hand with the work.
The scheme was very simple, though I do not think it
was at all difficult of execution. The black-hole cells were
beneath the prison, and we broke through the floor, into one
of them, from our bay. A large mess-chest concealed the
process, in the day-time. We worked in gangs of six, digging
and passing up the dirt into the night-tubs. These
tubs we were permitted to empty, every morning, in a tide's
way, and thus we got rid of the dirt. At the end of two
months we had dug a passage, wide enough for two abreast,
some twenty or thirty yards, and were nearly ready to
come up to the surface. We now began to recruit, swearing
in each man. On tho whole, we had got about four
hundred names, when the project was defeated, by that
great enemy which destroys so many similar schemes,
treachery. We were betrayed, as was supposed by one of
our own number.
Had we got out, the plan was to seize the heights of the
island, and get possession of the guns. This effected, it
would have been easy to subdue the guard. We then
would have pushed for Citadel Hill, which commanded Halifax.
Had we succeeded there, we should have given John
Bull a great deal of trouble, though no one could say what
would have been the result. Hundreds would probably
have got off, in different craft, even had the great plan
failed. We were not permitted to try the experiment, however,
for one day we were all turned out, and a party of
English officers, army and navy, entered the barracks, removed
the mess-chest, and surveyed our mine at their
leisure. A draft of six hundred was sent from the prison
that day, and was shipped for Dartmoor; and, by the end
of the week, our whole number was reduced to some three
or four hundred souls. One of the Julias went in this draft,
but all the rest of us were kept at Halifax. For some reason
or other, the English seemed to keep their eyes on us.
I never gave up the hope of escaping, and the excitement
of the hope was beneficial to both body and mind. We
were too well watched, however, and conversation at
night was even forbidden. Most of the officers were gone,
and this threw me pretty much on my own resources. I
fell at the breech of my gun, at Little York, and whom I
afterwards hauled into the Scourge's boat, got off, very early
after our arrival at Halifax. He made two that got quite
clear, instead of the one I have already mentioned. Bryant's
escape was so clever, as to deserve notice.
One day a party of some thirty soldiers was called out
for exchange, under a capitulation. Among the names was
that of Lemuel Bryant, but the man happened to be dead.
Our Bryant had found this out, beforehand, and he rigged
himself soldier-fashion, and answered to the name. It is
probable he ascertained the fact, by means of some relation
ship, which brought him in contact with the soldier previously
to his death. He met with no difficulty, and I have never
seen him since. I have heard he is still living, and that he
receives a pension for the hurt he received at York. Well
does he deserve it, for no man ever had a narrower chance
for his life.
Nothing new, worthy of notice, occurred for several
months, until one evening in March, 1815, we heard a
great rejoicing in Halifax; and, presently, a turnkey appeared
on the walls, and called out that England and America
had made peace! We gave three cheers, and passed
the night happy enough. We had a bit of a row with the
turnkeys about locking us in again, for we were fierce for
liberty; but we were forced to submit for another night.
| CHAPTER IX. Ned Myers, or, A life before the mast | |