As well as I can remember, it was on New Year’s Day, 1862, that I
went aboard the _Nashville_.
I reported to the officer of the deck, and told him that I had been
ordered by Captain Pegram to come aboard for duty. I was turned
over to the boatswain, who told me to go down into the “foksle.”
Up to this time I was supposed to be, what I appeared to be, a
sailor. As a matter of fact my experience in nautical affairs had
been confined to sailing miniature yachts on the Serpentine in
Hyde Park, but I thought I had considerable theoretical knowledge
obtained from the romances of Marryatt and Chamier, and Dana’s
excellent book: “_Two Years Before the Mast_.”
Following my conductor, Mr. Sawyer, I tumbled down the “companion,”
and found myself in as pleasant a place for being uncomfortable, as
any one could desire.
The foksle, or forecastle, was about ten feet long, about five
feet six inches high, and about ten feet broad aft, and six feet
forward. The lack of height was an advantage to me, as when the
vessel rolled I could hold on with my head and have my hands at
liberty. On each side of the forecastle were the bunks or “rabbit
hutches” for the crew. In the centre was a small table supported
against the windlass bitt, a heavy piece of timber which passed
through the forecastle. Around the bitt were hung a number of
one-pronged forks, notched knives, and battered spoons, matching
each other in only one thing--dirt. Twelve o’clock or “eight bells”
rang, and the crew came down to dinner. There were but eight
seamen on the _Nashville_, and they represented almost as many
different nations. There was an Irishman, and a Belgian, a North
Carolinian and a Swede, a fat Cockney Englishman and a Frenchman,
a Scotchman and a Spaniard. I found them to be mean, treacherous
and obscene, and I shall say no more about them than is absolutely
necessary. The dinner on the first day will serve as a sample of
our usual diet, and of the crew’s habitual behavior. First, there
was a scramble for the knives, forks and spoons; then a greasy
boy brought down a large dish containing roast beef and potatoes,
and dumped it on the deck. The men clustered around the dish. One
of them seized the meat with his left hand, hacked off a large
piece with the dull knife in his right, clutched a handful of
potatoes out of the dish, and then retired to a quiet corner with
his prey. Each of the others did the same. When my turn came I had
no appetite, and, until I left Southampton, my custom was to make
up in town for my enforced abstinence aboard ship. The food was
good in itself, and there was plenty of it, but it was wretchedly
served, as I have mentioned. A bunk was assigned me, but I did not
sleep much that first night. The next morning I went to Mr. Sawyer,
the boatswain, and asked him for something to do. He proceeded
to question me, found that I knew nothing of a sea-faring life,
and told me very frankly that I was not worth my salt. However,
he furnished me with a bucket and some soap, and told me to go to
work and scour the paint. When I had amused myself with this for
some hours, I was given a rag and told to polish up the brass-work.
This ended, I occupied myself in sweeping decks and cleaning out
spittoons. This was about the daily routine of my life on the
_Nashville_. Usually only one man was on watch at night, and this
part of the duty I found reasonably pleasant, as I could ensconce
myself in the pilot house and read a novel to pass away the time,
when I was not required on deck. The officers, especially the
younger ones, were not particularly careful to return aboard at the
appointed time, and I suppose that the dignified Solicitor of the
Western Union Telegraph Company, Mr. Clarence Cary, has forgotten
how I have connived at his slipping aboard, over the rail, when he
had stayed in town longer than was good for him. Every day or two
I was allowed to go ashore in the evening, and, leaving my sailor
garb behind me, I led, for a few hours, a pleasant life in town.
Mr. Sawyer, the boatswain, was very indignant one night, because he
took off his hat and made me a profound bow, fancying that I was
some distinguished visitor.
I think it was early in January, 1862, that a little commotion
was caused by the report that the United States sloop-of-war
_Tuscarora_ had anchored in Southampton Water, and that Captain
Craven, who was in command, had announced his intention to take the
_Nashville_ into either New York or Boston. Neither of these ports
was our destination. Besides the eight seamen on the _Nashville_,
we had about thirty firemen and coal-heavers, and in officers we
were particularly rich, having, besides the Captain and Executive
Officer, a Sailing-master, Purser, Doctor and seven Midshipmen. The
men went ashore as often as they could obtain leave, or steal off
unobserved, and the _Tuscarora’s_ men did the same.
There was a Music Hall at Southampton in those days, known as
the “Rainbow” or the “Wheat Sheaf,” which, being cheap and warm,
was a favorite resort with us. The entertainment was not of a
high order, but it answered the purpose. The sympathies of the
Southampton people were unquestionably with the Confederates,
and the _Tuscarora’s_ men were thought very little of. They had
a hard time of it. When they went to the “Rainbow,” any of the
_Nashville’s_ men who happened to be there was sure to call out
for the “Bonnie Blue Flag” or “Dixie,” which was instantly played
with the full force of the small orchestra, amid the hurrahs of the
audience. But if the _Tuscarora’s_ men ventured to suggest “Yankee
Doodle” or “Hail Columbia,” they were hooted down incontinently.
Consequently, fights were frequent, and, as the newspapers were
friendly to us, the “Yankees” were always the aggressors, and
were always the unfortunates to be locked up for the night, and
lectured and fined by the magistrate in the morning. I must admit
that we generally brought on the row ourselves, but, when it was
over, and the wrong men had been put in the station house, we had
the satisfaction of going down to the _Nashville_, singing lustily
and giving cheer after cheer for the Southern Confederacy and Jeff
Davis.
In the meantime, Captain Pegram had been in correspondence with the
English Government, with regard to the threatening attitude of the
_Tuscarora_, and it was announced officially that neither vessel
would be allowed to leave Southampton within twenty-four hours
after the departure of the other. This was kind, for, although
there were many rumors concerning our armament, we really had but
two guns, (12 pound Blakeley’s) which had been lent to Captain
Pegram by Governor Pickens, of South Carolina. Soon rumors came
that we were about to sail in real earnest, and popular curiosity
was so stimulated that crowds of persons came down from London to
take a look at “the pirate.” Many of them were disappointed at our
peaceful appearance, but most of them agreed that the vessel was
appropriately painted black. The _Nashville_ was now hauled to the
outer dock, and the authorities were notified that we were ready
to sail. The appointed day was February 3, 1862, and thousands of
persons, including many of our warm Southampton friends, thronged
the docks. Amid cheers and waving handkerchiefs and cordial
Godspeeds, the _Nashville_, at about half-past 3 o’clock in the
afternoon, under a full head of steam, glided out into Southampton
Water. Passing rapidly down the channel, the Confederate flag
flying at the fore and mainmast, we saw lying off Osborne our old
enemy, the _Tuscarora_, with steam up, but alongside was lying the
British frigate _Shannon_, fully prepared to have a word to say, if
Captain Craven should attempt to sail before the appointed time.
This was some comfort to us, and we were soon gently rising and
falling on the waves of the broad Atlantic.
I will give, at this place, some verses that I wrote at the time,
and which used to be sung aboard. The air, as well as I remember,
was very much like one that I had heard at the “Rainbow.”