University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.

The following morning, eight of the names that stood
first on the prison-roll were called off, to know if the men
would consent to work a liberated Swedish brig to New
York. I was one of the eight, as was Jack Mallet and
Barnet. Wilcox, one of those who had gone with us to
Bermuda, had died, and the rest were left on the island. I
never fell in with Leonard Lewis, Littlefield, or any of the
rest of those chaps, after I quitted the prison. Lewis, I

think, could not have lived long; and as for Littlefield, I
heard of him, afterwards, as belonging to the Washington 74.

The Swede, whose name was the Venus, was lying at the
end of Marchinton's wharf, a place that had been so familiar
to me in boyhood. We all went on board, and I was not
sorry to find that we were to haul into the stream immediately.
I had an extraordinary aversion to Halifax, which
my late confinement had not diminished, and had no wish
to see a living soul in it. Jack Mallet, however, took on
himself the office of paying my sister a visit, and of telling
her where I was to be found. This he did contrary to my
wishes, and without my knowledge; though I think he
meant to do me a favour. The very day we hauled into the
stream, a boat came alongside us, and I saw, at a glance,
that Harriet was in it. I said a few words to her, requesting
her not to come on board, but promising to visit her that
evening, which I did.

I stayed several hours with my sister, whom I found living
with her husband. She did not mention my father's name
to me, at all; and I learned nothing of my other friends, if
I ever had any, or of my family. Her husband was a tailor,
and they gave me a good outfit of clothes, and treated me
with great kindness. It struck me that the unaccountable
silence of my father about us children, had brought my sister
down in the world a little, but it was no affair of mine;
and, as for myself, I cared for no one. After passing the
evening with the family, I went on board again, without
turning to the right or left to see a single soul more. Even
the Frasers were not visited, so strong was my dislike to
have anything to do with Halifax.

The Venus took on board several passengers, among
whom were three or four officers of the navy. Lieutenant
Rapp, and a midshipman Randolph were among them, and
there were also several merchant-masters of the party. We
sailed two days after I joined the brig, and had a ten or
twelve days' passage. The moment the Venus was alongside
the wharf, at New York, we all left, and found ourselves
free men once more. I had been a prisoner nineteen months,
and that was quite enough for me for the remainder of my
life.

We United States' men reported ourselves, the next day,

to Captain Evans, the commandant of the Brooklyn Yard,
and, after giving in our names, we were advised to go on
board the Epervier, which was then fitting out for the Mediterranean,
under the command of Captain Downes. To
this we objected, however, as we wanted a cruise ashore,
before we took to the water again. This was a lucky decision
of ours, though scarcely to be defended as to our views:
the Epervier being lost, and all hands perishing, a few
months later, on her return passage from the Straits.

Captain Evans then directed us to report ourselves daily,
which we did. But the press of business at Washington
prevented our cases from being attended to; and being destitute
of money, while wages were high, we determined,
with Captain Evans' approbation, to make a voyage, each,
in the merchant service, and to get our accounts settled on
our return. Jack Mallet, Barnet and I, shipped, therefore,
in another brig called the Venus, that was bound on a sealing
voyage, as was thought, in some part of the world where
seals were said to be plenty. We were ignorant of the
work, or we might have discovered there was a deception
intended, from the outfit of the vessel. She had no salt
even, while she had plenty of cross-cut saws, iron dogs,
chains, &c. The brig sailed, however, and stood across the
Atlantic, as if in good earnest. When near the Cape de
Verds, the captain called us aft, and told us he thought the
season too far advanced for sealing, and that, if we would
consent, he would run down to St. Domingo, and make an
arrangement with some one there to cut mahogany on shares,
with fustick and lignum-vitæ. The secret was now out;
but what could we poor salts do? The work we were asked
to do turned out to be extremely laborious; and I suppose
we had been deceived on account of the difficulty of getting
men, just at that time, for such a voyage. There we were,
in the midst of the ocean, and we agreed to the proposal,
pretty much as a matter of course.

The brig now bore up, and stood for St. Domingo. She
first went in to the city of St. Domingo, where the arrangements
were made, and Spaniards were got to help to cut the
wood, when we sailed for a bay, of which I have forgotten
the name, and anchored near the shore. The trees were
sawed down, about ten miles up a river, and floated to its

bar, across which they had to be hauled by studding-sail
halyards, through the surf; one man hauling two logs at a
time, made into a sort of raft. Sharks abounded, and we
had to keep a bright look-out, lest they got a leg while we
were busy with the logs. I had a narrow escape from two
while we lay at St. Domingo. A man fell overboard, and
I went after him, succeeding in catching the poor fellow. A
boat was dropped astern to pick us up, and, as we hauled
the man in, two large sharks came up close alongside. This
affair had set us drinking, and I got a good deal of punch
aboard. The idea of remaining in the brig was unpleasant
to me, and I had thought of quitting her for some days. A
small schooner bound to America, and short of hands, lay
near us; and I had told the captain I would come and join
him that night. Jack Mallet and the rest tried to persuade
me not to go, but I had too much punch and grog in me to
listen to reason. When all hands aft were asleep, therefore,
I let myself down into the water, and swam quite a cable's-length
to the schooner. One of the men was looking out
for me. He heard me in the water, and stood ready to receive
me. As I drew near the schooner, this man threw me
a rope, and helped me up the side, but, as soon as I was on
the deck, he told me to look behind me. I did so, and there
I saw an enormous shark swimming about, a fellow that
was sixteen or eighteen feet long. This shark, I was told,
had kept company with me as long as I had been in
sight from the schooner. I cannot well describe the effect
that was produced on me by this discovery. When I entered
the water, I was under the influence of liquor, but this
escape sobered me in a minute; so much so, indeed, that I
insisted on being put in a boat, and sent back to the brig,
which was done. I was a little influenced in this, however,
by some reluctance that was manifested to keep me on board
the schooner. I got on board the Venus without being discovered,
and came to a resolution to stick by the craft until
the voyage was up.

We filled up with mahogany, and took in a heavy declload,
in the course of four months, which was a most laborious
process. When ready, the brig sailed for New York.
We encountered a heavy gale, about a week out, which swept
away our deck-load, bulwarks, &c. At this time, the master,

supercargo, mate, cook, and three of the crew, were
down with the fever; leaving Mallet, Barnet and myself, to
take care of the brig. We three brought the vessel up as
far as Barnegat, where we procured assistance, and she
arrived safe at the quarantine ground.

As soon as we got pratique, Mallet, Barnet and myself,
went up to town to look after our affairs, leaving the brig
below. The owners gave us thirty dollars each, to begin
upon. We ascertained that our landlord had received our
wages from government, and held it ready for us, sailor
fashion. I also sold my share in the Venus' voyage for one
hundred and twenty dollars. This gave me, in all, about
five hundred dollars, which money lasted me between five
and six weeks! How true is it, that “sailors make their
money like horses, and spend it like asses!” I cannot say
this prodigal waste of my means afforded me any substantial
gratification. I have experienced more real pleasure
from one day passed in a way of which my conscience could
approve, than from all the loose and thoughtless follies, in
which I was then in the habit of indulging when ashore, of
a whole life. The manner in which this hard-earned gold
was thrown away, may serve to warn some brother tar of
the dangers that beset me; and let the reader understand the
real wants of so large a body of his fellow-creatures.

On turning out in the morning, I felt an approach to that
which seamen call the “horrors,” and continued in this
state, until I had swallowed several glasses of rum. I had
no appetite for breakfast, and life was sustained principally
by drink. Half of the time I ate no dinner, and when I did,
it was almost drowned in grog. Occasionally I drove out
in a coach, or a gig, and generally had something extra to
pay for damages. One of these cruises cost me forty dollars,
and I shall always think I was given a horse that sailed
crab-fashion, on purpose to do me out of the money. At night,
I generally went to the play, and felt bound to treat the landlord
and his family to tickets and refreshments. We always
had a coach to go in, and it was a reasonable night that cost
me only ten dollars. At first I was a sort of “king among
beggars;” but as the money went, Ned's importance went
with it, until, one day, the virtuous landlord intimated to
me that it would be well, as I happened to be sober, to over-haul

our accounts. He then began to read from his books,
ten dollars for this, twenty dollars for that, and thirty for the
other, until I was soon tired, and wanted to know how much
was left. I had still fifty dollars, even according to his account
of the matter; and as that might last a week, with
good management, I wanted to hear no more about the items.

All this time, I was separated from my old shipmates,
being left comparatively among strangers. Jack Mallet had
gone to join his friends in Philadelphia, and Barnet went
south, whither I cannot say. I never fell in with either of
them again, it being the fate of seamen to encounter the
greatest risks and hardships in company, and then to cut
adrift from each other, with little ceremony, never to meet
again. I was still young, being scarcely two-and-twenty
and might, even then, have hauled in my oars, and come to
be an officer and a man.

As I knew I must go to sea, as soon as the accounts were
balanced, I began to think a little seriously of my prospects.
Dissipation had wearied me, and I wanted to go a voyage
of a length that would prevent my falling soon into the same
course of folly and vice. I had often bitter thoughts as to
my conduct, nor was I entirely free from reflection on the
subject of my peculiar situation. I might be said to be without
a friend, or relative, in the world. “When my hat was
on, my house was thatched.” Of my father, I knew nothing;
I have since ascertained he must then have been
dead. My sister was little to me, and I never expected to
see her again. The separation from all my old lakers, too,
gave me some trouble, for I never met with one of them
after parting from Barnet and Mallet, with the exception of
Tom Goldsmith and Jack Reilly. Tom and I fell in with
each other, on my return from St. Domingo, in the streets
of New York, and had a yarn of two hours, about old times.
This was all I ever saw of Tom. He had suffered a good
deal with the English, who kept him in Kingston, Upper
Canada, until the peace, when they let him go with the rest.
As for Reilly, we have been in harbour together, in our old
age, and I may speak of him again.

Under the feelings I have mentioned, as soon as the looks
of my landlord let me know that there were no more shot in
the locker, I shipped in a South Sea whaler, named the Edward,

that was expected to be absent between two and three
years. She was a small vessel, and carried only three
boats. I got a pretty good outfit from my landlord, though
most of the articles were second-hand. We parted good
friends, however, and I came back to him, and played the
same silly game more than once. He was not a bad landlord,
as landlords then went, and I make no doubt he took
better care of my money than I should have done myself.
On the whole, this class of men are not as bad as they seem,
though there are precious rascals among them. The respectable
sailor landlord is quite as good, in his way, as
one could expect, all things considered.

The voyage I made in the Edward was one of very little
interest, the ship being exceedingly successful. The usage
and living were good, and the whaling must have been good
too, or we never should have been back again, as soon as
we were. We went round the Horn, and took our first
whale between the coast of South America and that of New
Holland. I must have been present at the striking of thirty
fish, but never met with any accident. I pulled a mid-ship
oar, being a new hand at the business, and had little else to
do, but keep clear of the line, and look out for my paddle.
The voyage is now so common, and the mode of taking
whales is so well known, that I shall say little about either.
We went off the coast of Japan, as it is called, though a
long bit from the land, and we made New Holland, though
without touching. The return passage was by the Cape of
Good Hope and St. Helena. We let go our anchor but
once the whole voyage, and that was at Puna, at the mouth
of the Guayaquil river, on the coast of Chili. We lay there
a week, but, with this exception, the Edward was actually
under her canvass the whole voyage, or eighteen months.
We did intend to anchor at St. Helena, but were forbidden
on account of Bonaparte, who was then a prisoner on the
Island. As we stood in, we were met by a man-of-war
brig, that kept close to us until we had sunk the heights, on
our passage off again. We were not permitted even to send
a boat in, for fresh grub.

I sold my voyage in the Edward for two hundred and
fifty dollars, and went back to my landlord, in Water street.
Of course, everybody was glad to see me, a sailor's importance

in such places being estimated by the length of his
voyage. In Wall street they used to call a man “a hundred
thousand dollar man,” and in Water, “an eighteen
months, or a two years' voyage man.” As none but
whalers, Indiamen, and Statesmen could hold out so long,
we were all A. No. 1, for a fortnight or three weeks. The
man-of-war's-man is generally most esteemed, his cruise
lasting three years; the lucky whaler comes next, and the
Canton-man third. The Edward had been a lucky ship,
and, insomuch, I had been a lucky fellow. I behaved far
better this time, however, than I had done on my return
from St. Domingo. I kept sober more, did not spend my
money as foolishly or as fast, and did not wait to be kicked
out of doors, before I thought of getting some more. When
I shipped anew, I actually left a hundred dollars behind me
in my landlord's hands; a very extraordinary thing for
Jack, and what is equally worthy of notice, I got it all
again, on my next return from sea.

My steadiness was owing, in a great measure, to the following
circumstances. I fell in with two old acquaintances,
who had been in prison with me, of the names of
Tibbets and Wilson. This Tibbets was not the man who
had been sent to Bermuda with me, but another of the same
name. These men had belonged to the Gov. Tompkins privateer,
and had received a considerable sum in prize-money,
on returning home. They had used their money discreetly,
having purchased an English prize-brig, at a low price, and
fitted her out. On board the Tompkins, both had been
foremost hands, and in prison they had messed in our bay,
so that we had been hail-fellows-well-met, on Melville
Island. After getting this brig ready, they had been to the
West Indies in her, and were now about to sail for Ireland.
They wished me to go with them, and gave me so much
good advice, on the subject of taking care of my money,
that it produced the effect I have just mentioned.

The name of the prize-brig was the Susan, though I forget
from what small eastern port she hailed. She was of
about two hundred tons burthen, but must have been old
and rotten. Tibbets was master, and Wilson was chief-mate.
I shipped as a sort of second-mate, keeping a
watch, though I lived forward at my own request. We

must have sailed about January, 1818, bound to Belfast.
There were fourteen of us, altogether, on board, most of
us down-easters. Our run off the coast was with a strong
north-west gale, which compelled us to heave-to, the sea
being too high for scudding. Finding that the vessel laboured
very much, however, and leaked badly, we kept off
again, and scudded for the rest of the blow. On the whole,
we got out of this difficulty pretty well. We got but two
observations the whole passage, but in the afternoon of the
twenty-third day out, we made the coast of Ireland, close
aboard, in thick weather; the wind directly on shore, blowing
a gale. The brig was under close-reefed topsails, running
free, at the time, and we found it necessary to haul up.
We now discovered the defects of old canvass and old rigging,
splitting the fore-topsail, foresail, and fore-topmast-staysail,
besides carrying away sheets, &c. We succeeded in hauling
up the foresail, however, and I went upon the yard and
mended it, after a fashion. It was now nearly night, and
it blew in a way “to need two men to hold one man's hair
on his head.” I cannot say I thought much of our situation,
my principal concern being to get below, with some
warm, dry clothes on. We saw nothing of the land after
the first half-hour, but at midnight we wore ship, and came
up on the larboard tack. The brig had hardly got round
before the fore-tack went, and the foresail split into ribands.
We let the sail blow from the yard. By this time, things
began to look very serious, though, for some reason, I felt
no great alarm. The case was different with Tibbets and
Wilson, who were uneasy about Cape Clear. I had had a
bit of a spat with them about waring, believing, myself,
that we should have gone clear of the Cape, on the starboard
tack. This prevented them saying much to me, and
we had little communication with each other that night. To
own the truth, I was sorry I had shipped in such a craft.
Her owners were too poor to give a sea-going vessel a proper
outfit, and they were too near my own level to create
respect.

The fore-topsail had been mended as well as the foresail,
and was set anew. The sheets went, however, about two
in the morning, and the sail flew from the reef-band like a
bit of muslin torn by a shop-boy. The brig now had nothing

set but a close-reefed main-topsail, and this I expected,
every minute, would follow the other canvass. It rained,
blew tremendously, and the sea was making constant
breaches over us. Most of the men were fagged out, some
going below, while others, who remained on deck, did, or
could do, nothing. At the same time, it was so dark that
we could not see the length of the vessel.

I now went aft to speak to Tibbets, telling him I thought
it was all over with us. He had still some hope, as the bay
was deep, and he thought light might return before we got
to the bottom of it. I was of a different opinion, believing
the brig then to be within the influence of the ground-swell,
though not absolutely within the breakers. All this time
the people were quiet, and there was no drinking. Indeed,
I hardly saw any one moving about. It was an hour after
the conversation with Tibbets, that I was standing, holding
on by the weather-main-clew-garnet, when I got a glimpse
of breakers directly under our lee. I sung out, “there's
breakers, and everybody must shift for himself.” At the
next instant, the brig rose on a sea, settled in the trough,
and struck. The blow threw me off my feet, though I held
on to the clew-garnet. Then I heard the crash of the foremast
as it went down to leeward. The brig rolled over on
her beam-ends, but righted at the next sea, drove in some
distance, and down she came again, with a force that threatened
to break her up. I bethought me of the main-mast,
and managed to get forward as far as the bitts, in order to
be out of its way. It was well I did, as I felt a movement
as if her upper works were parting from the bottom. I was
near no one, and the last person I saw, or spoke to on board,
was Tibbets, who was then standing in the companion-way.
This was an hour before the brig struck.

There might have been an interval of half a minute between
the time I reached the windlass, and that in which
I saw a tremendous white foaming sea rolling down upon
the vessel. At this ominous sight, I instinctively seized the
bitts for protection. I can remember the rushing of the
water down upon me, and have some faint impressions of
passing through a mass of rigging, but this is all. When
I came to my senses, it was in an Irish mud-cabin, with an
old woman and her daughter taking care of me. My head

was bandaged, and most of the hair had been cut off in front.
I was stiff and sore all over me. Fortunately, none of my
bones were broken.

The account given me of what had passed, was this. I
was found by the old man, who lived in the hut, a fisherman
and the husband of my nurse, with some other persons, lying
on my face, between two shelves of rock. There was nothing
very near me, not even a bit of wood, or a rope. Two
lads that belonged to the brig were found not far from me,
both alive, though both badly hurt, one of them having had
his thigh broken. Of the rest of the fourteen souls on board
the Susan, there were no traces. I never heard that even
their bodies were found. Tibbets and Wilson had gone with
their old prize, and anything but a prize did she prove to me.
I lost a good outfit, and, after belonging to her about three
weeks, here was I left naked on the shores of Ireland. I
am sorry to say, my feelings were those of repining, rather
than of gratitude. Of religion I had hardly a notion, and I
am afraid that all which had been driven into me in childhood,
was already lost. In this state of mind, I naturally
felt more of the hardships I had endured, than of the mercy
that had been shown me. I look back with shame at the
hardness of heart which rendered me insensible to the many
mercies I had received, in escaping so often from the perils
of my calling.

It was three days after the wreck, before I left my bed.
Nothing could have been kinder than the treatment I received
from those poor Irish people. Certainly no reward was before
them, but that which Heaven gives the merciful; and
yet I could not have been more cared for, had I been their
own son. They fed me, nursed me, and warmed me, without
receiving any other return from me than my thanks. I
staid with them three weeks, doing nothing on account of
the bruises I had received. The Susan's had been a thorough
wreck. Not enough of her could be found, of which
to build a launch. Her cargo was as effectually destroyed
as her hull, and, to say the truth, it took but little to break
her up. As for the two lads, I could not get as far as the
cabin in which they had been put. It was two or three
miles along the coast, and, having no shoes, I could not
walk that distance over the sharp stones. Several messages

passed between us, but I never saw a single soul that belonged
to the brig, after the last look I had of Tibbets in the
companion-way.

A coaster passing near the cabin, and it falling calm, the
fisherman went off to her, told my story, and got a passage
for me to Liverpool. I now took my leave of these honest
people, giving them all I had—my sincere thanks—and went
on board the sloop. Here I was well treated, nor did any
one expect me to work. We reached Liverpool the second
day, and I went and hunted up Molly Hutson, the landlady
with whom the crew of the Sterling had lodged, when Captain
B— had her. The old woman helped me to some
clothes, received me well, and seemed sorry for my misfortunes.
As it would not do to remain idle, however, I shipped
on board the Robert Burns, and sailed for New York within
the week. I got no wages, but met with excellent treatment,
and had a very short winter passage. In less than three
months after I left him, I was back again with my old landlord,
who gave me my hundred dollars without any difficulty.
I had sailed with him in the Sterling, and he always seemed
to think of me a little differently from what landlords generally
think of Jack.

A good deal was said among my associates, now, about
the advantages of making a voyage to the coast of Ireland
for the purpose of smuggling tobacco, and I determined to
try my hand at one. Of the morality of smuggling I have
nothing to say. I would not make such a voyage now, if
I know myself; but poor sailors are not taught to make just
distinctions in such things, and the merchants must take
their share of the shame. I fear there are few merchants,
and fewer seamen, man-of-war officers excepted, who will
not smuggle.[1]

I laid out most of my hundred dollars, in getting a new
outfit, and then shipped in a small pilot-boat-built schooner,

called the M'Donough, bound to Ireland, to supply such
honest fellows as my old fisherman with good tobacco, cheap.
Our cargo was in small bales, being the raw material, intended
to be passed by hand. We had seventeen hands
before the mast, but carried no armament, pistols, &c., excepted.
The schooner sailed like a witch, carrying only
two gaff-topsails. We made the land in fourteen days after
we left the Hook, our port being Tory Island, off the north-west
coast of Ireland. We arrived in the day-time, and
showed a signal, which was answered in the course of the
day, by a smoke on some rocks. A large boat then came
off to us, and we filled her with tobacco the same evening.
In the course of the night, we had despatched four or five
more boats, loaded with the same cargo; but, as day approached,
we hauled our wind, and stood off the land. Next
night we went in, again, and met more boats, and the succeeding
morning we hauled off, as before. When we saw
a boat, we hailed and asked “if they were outward bound.”
If the answer was satisfactory, we brailed the foresail and
permitted the boat to come alongside. In this manner we
continued shoving cargo ashore, for quite a week, sometimes
falling in with only one boat of a night, and, at others, with
three or four; just as it might happen. We had got about
two-thirds of the tobacco out, and a boat had just left us, on
the morning of the sixth or seventh day, when we saw a
man-of-war brig coming round Tory Island, in chase. At
this sight, we hauled up close on a wind, it blowing very
fresh. As the English never employed any but the fastest
cruisers for this station, we had a scratching time of it.
The brig sailed very fast, and out-carried us; but our little
schooner held on well. For two days and one night we had
it, tack and tack, with her. The brig certainly gained on
us, our craft carrying a balanced reefed-mainsail, bonnet off
the foresail and one reef in, and bonnet off the jib. The
flying-jib was inboard. At sunset, on the second night, the
brig was so near us, we could see her people, and it was
blowing fresher than ever. This was just her play, while
ours was in more moderate weather. Our skipper got uneasy,
now, and determined to try a trick. It set in dark
and rainy; and, as soon as we lost sight of the brig, we
tacked, stood on a short distance, lowered everything, and
extinguished all our lights. We lay in this situation three
hours, when we stuck the craft down again for Tory Island,
as straight as we could go. I never knew what became of
the brig, which may be chasing us yet, for aught I know,
for I saw no more of her. Next day we had the signal flying
again, and the smoke came up from the same rock, as
before. It took us three days longer to get all the tobacco
ashore, in consequence of some trouble on the island; but
it all went in the end, and went clear, as I was told, one or
two boat-loads excepted. The cargo was no sooner out,
than we made sail for New York, where we arrived in another
short passage. We were absent but little more than
two months, and my wages and presents came to near one
hundred dollars. I never tried the tobacco trade again.