1.
A stormy night, the foaming waves,
In crested might, the good ship braves;
She seeks in vain the rest she craves,
Surging o’er dead seamen’s graves,
While still is heard, o’er tempest’s swell,
Thy low deep tones, O! warning bell.
2.
The masts are gone, the timbers creak,
All work of mortal hands is weak;
“Oh, God! Oh, God! she’s sprung a leak,”
Each eye is dimmed and blanched each cheek,
And on each ear, a funeral knell,
Falls the note of the tolling bell.
3.
The boats are swamped; in wild despair
Men cry aloud or bend in prayer;
The poor ship groans, shrieks fill the air;
A moment--and the ocean’s bare.
But still is heard, as seamen tell,
When souls are lost, that warning bell.
While the gale was at its height the engine broke down, and sail
was made to keep the vessel’s head to the wind. The storm began
to subside, and on the morning of the eighth day the wind had
lulled. The waves still ran high, and for the first time I saw the
beautiful effect of the dashing of the spray over the rail of the
vessel, forming miniature rainbows arching to the deck and glowing
and glittering with prismatic colors.
I suppose I ought to say at this point that I was very sea-sick on
the first day out, but, as Bo’sun Sawyer was constantly after me
to do some of the drudgery he had in mind for me, I had no time to
indulge in the pleasures of sea-sickness and recovered entirely in
less than twenty-four hours.
I had one very narrow escape during the gale. Crossing the
hurricane deck, I was thrown off my feet by a sudden lurch of the
vessel and went whirling to leeward. One of my feet caught in the
rail as I was lurching overboard, and this was all that saved my
Confederate career from being brought to an untimely end.
When the weather grew fine, the crew were ordered out for drill,
and from the recesses of the hold our hidden armament was produced.
It consisted of about twenty rusty smoothbore muskets. The muskets
were given to the sailors and firemen, who were then drilled in
the manual of arms by one of the officers. There was a good deal
of difference of opinion as to what the commands meant, and the
whole affair was very much of a burlesque, as every now and then a
sudden lurch of the vessel would send three or four of the squad
staggering down to leeward. When the command was given, Ready!
Aim! and every musket was levelled at our instructor’s head, the
startled officer called out hastily: “For Heaven’s sake, men, don’t
point your guns at me! They are loaded!” The warning was not given
too soon, for, as they were dismissed, two of the men rolled into
the scuppers, their pieces going off with a very ugly report. That
was the first and the last of the drilling.
Although he had made no sign, Captain Pegram had not forgotten me.
When we had been out seven or eight days, the Master-at-arms went
to the boatswain and told him that I and a man named Lussen were to
take one of the staterooms on the hurricane deck. This was paradise
to me, for I had there every convenience that I required, and could
escape from the loathsome company of the rest of the crew. Lussen
was a singular character. He was evidently a thoroughly instructed
sea-faring man and a good navigator. He had his sextant with him.
According to his own account he had been an officer in the Navy of
one of the South American Republics, and expected on reaching the
Confederacy to get an appointment in the Confederate service. Being
a very intelligent man, pleasing in his manners and not at all
coarse, he was a welcome room-mate and an acceptable companion. Our
separation from the rest of the crew did not strengthen the men’s
kindly feeling for us, and they lost no opportunity of showing
their spite and their disgust. One thing they insisted on, and
that was that we should go down to the forecastle for our meals.
A favorite dish once or twice a week was plum-duff, but the plums
were so scarce that one of the men said that he could hear one plum
singing this little song to another:
Here am I! Where are you?
Tell me where to find you.
In a letter that I wrote to my mother from Bermuda, I described our
change of quarters as follows: “Our state-room on the upper deck
has two bunks and a toilet stand, and is very prettily painted.
Through the windows we can look at the open sea. What a contrast
to the den that we did inhabit! When work is over I can have the
blessedness of being alone. More than this: one of the Midshipmen
told me that he heard Captain Pegram and Mr. Bennett talking about
me, and Captain Pegram said he was very much pleased with my
conduct.”