The ship Charity was lying in the harbor of Porto Cabello, but under
seizure of the Spanish government. Captain Moncrieff, Mr. Campbell,
and myself, with no longer a home in the pilot-boat, transferred our
quarters to the ship. The officers took up their abode in the cabin,
while I was thrown on the hospitalities of the forecastle. The
prize-master of the pilot-boat honored me with a pressing invitation to
join the crew of the felucca, assuring me there was "good picking"
along the coast, and he would put me in the way of doing well. I felt
flattered by his good opinion; but under the circumstances thought
proper to decline the invitation.
The ship Charity was a vessel of about three hundred and fifty tons
burden, moored at this time in the centre of the harbor, awaiting the
decision of the Admiralty Court. The ship was commanded by a man of very
ordinary capacity. The mate was a mere sailor, wanting in intelligence
and worth, and a fit associate for the captain. The ship and her
valuable cargo were actually n charge of the supercargo, a Mr. Parker,
of New York, who was also part owner. He resided on shore and seldom
visited the ship. It was at his instance I found an asylum in the
Charity along with the officers of the pilot-boat.
The crew of the Charity consisted of some eight or ten men, Dutchmen,
Swedes, and Italians, as brutal and ignorant a set of men as it was ever
my misfortune to fall in with. With such officers and such a crew, it
may be imagined there was little discipline on board. Liquor could be
easily obtained; and drunken rows and fighting among themselves, and
occasionally with the captain or mate, were of frequent occurrence. None
of the crew gave me a welcome when I went on board, and I saw at once
there could be no good fellowship between us. I found a space in the
forecastle for my chest, and in that warm climate it mattered little
where I slept. I performed my duties regularly with the crew, and for
the first two days led an unsocial, almost a solitary life, in the midst
of a large ship's company. Captain Moncrieff, like an honest man, paid
me the month's pay to which I was entitled, in advance. This money
I kept about my person, and carefully concealed from every one the
prosperous sate of my finances. I was thus enabled to indulge in little
comforts which, to some extent, counterbalanced the inconveniences to
which I was subjected.
On the morning of the third day after I had taken up my quarters in the
ship, another person was received on board in accordance with a mandate
from the supercargo. His name was Frederick Strictland. He was an
Englishman, a veritable cockney, about nineteen or twenty years of
age, a strong-built and rather good-looking young man. His countenance,
although intelligent, was not prepossessing; there was a sort of
nameless expression about the eye which repelled confidence and invited
suspicion. But it was no time for me to entertain prejudices which might
be unfounded, or indulge in surmises unfavorable to the character of my
new shipmate. He could talk English, and talk it well. He was the
victim of misfortune, being destitute of friends and money in a strange
country. Finding ourselves accidentally thrown together in the same
ship, it is not remarkable that we became constant companions from the
commencement of our acquaintance, and intimate friends.
Strictland's story was calculated to excite compassion. His father was
a respectable trader in London, and Frederick had been a clerk in his
counting room. He frankly acknowledged he had been a little wild and
extravagant, and having expressed a desire to go abroad, his father
allowed him to proceed to Curacoa on a visit to a brother in that
island. His brother received him coldly and could not or would not find
him employment. He induced him to take passage for Porto Cabello, with
assurances that he would there find some desirable means of getting a
living. Disappointed in this, and having spent the little money given
him by his brother, and sold or pawned the greater part of his clothing,
his next project was to proceed to the United States, and he applied
to Mr. Parker for a passage in the only American vessel in port. He was
told that the ship might not leave the harbor for months, if ever. But
as he was suffering from want, he was permitted to make it his home
until he could find some other resource. I did not allow myself to doubt
the truth of any portion of Strictland's narrative. I confided to him
the particulars of my own situation. We conversed freely in regard to
the future, and formed a resolution to keep together, and embrace the
first opportunity of getting to the United States.
When I had been about a week in Porto Cabello, I was attacked by a
severe and dangerous illness. I suffered severe pains incessantly, which
deprived me of sleep. I was losing my strength daily, and at length,
without any relaxation of the symptoms, was hardly able to crawl about
the ship. I received no sympathy or medical aid from the captain or
mate, and could not even obtain a little rice or gruel, or any other
food than the coarse viands that were served out to the ship's company.
Strictland was with me whenever he could be spared from his regular
duties, and gave me encouragement and aid. But I could not conceal from
myself that my illness was becoming a serious matter. I accidentally
heard two or three of the crew conversing about my sickness one day,
and, to my great consternation, they came to the conclusion that I was
rapidly sinking, and they would soon be rid of my company.
"Yaw," muttered in thick guttural tones a thick-headed Dutchman, who had
manifested towards me particular dislike, "in one or TWO days more,
at farthest, we shall help to carry him ashore in a wooden box." And a
pleasant smile for a moment lighted up his ugly features.
"You lie, you heartless vagabond!" I exclaimed, giving a loose to my
indignation; "you won't get rid of me so easily as you think. I
will live and laugh at you yet, were it only to disappoint your
expectations."
Nevertheless, the opinion which my unsympathizing shipmates thus
volunteered came over me like an electric shock. It sounded in my
ears like a sentence of death. I crawled along the lower deck into the
forecastle, and from the bottom of my chest took a small looking-glass
which I had not used for weeks. I saw the reflection of my features,
and started back aghast. The transformation was appalling. The uncombed
locks, the sunken eyes, the pallid, fleshless cheeks, the sharp
features, and the anxious, agonized expression caused by continual pain,
all seemed to have been suddenly created by the spell of some malignant
enchanter. I did not venture to take a second look, and no longer
wondered at the gloomy prediction of my companions.
The next day I found myself growing worse, and the pain increasing; and,
notwithstanding my determination to recover and falsify the prediction
of my unfeeling shipmates, I should undoubtedly have followed the dark
path which thousands of my young countrymen, sick and neglected in a
foreign land, had trod before, had I not received aid from an unexpected
quarter. I was crawling along the main deck, near the gangway, when Mr.
Parker, the supercargo, came on board. As he stepped over the gunwale,
my appearance, fortunately for me, arrested his attention. He inquired
my name, examined my condition, and seemed greatly shocked at the brutal
neglect I had experienced. He told me to be of good courage; that it was
not yet too late to arrest the progress of my disease. He commenced his
healing operations by administering a copious dose of laudanum, which
immediately relieved my pain and threw me into a refreshing sleep.
He furnished me with other medicines, ordered me food suitable to my
condition, and in a few days, owing to his humanity, care, and skill, I
no longer suffered excepting from debility.
When Porto Cabello was recaptured by the Spaniards, in 1812, there was a
number of French families in the place, who, having sympathized with the
Patriots, received an intimation that their presence would be no
longer tolerated; that they must shift their quarters forthwith. They
accordingly purchased a small schooner, called "La Concha," put all
their movable property on board, procured a French captain and mate, and
prepared to embark for St. Bartholomew. When I heard of the expedition,
two men were required to complete the crew. I conferred with Strictland;
we both regarded it as an opportunity too favorable to be neglected,
imagining that if we could reach St. Bartholomew, a neutral port, there
would be no difficulty in getting a passage to the United States. We
lost no time in calling on the captain, and offered to work our passage
to St. Bartholomew an offer which was gladly accepted.
I expended a few of my Spanish dollars in providing necessaries for our
voyage, which might be of two or three weeks' duration, and when the
time appointed for the departure of the schooner arrived, we bade
farewell to the Charity, and in a few hours, while sailing close-hauled
on a wind to the northward, beheld the fortifications at the mouth of
the harbor lessening in the distance.
The entrance to the harbor of Porto Cabello was once the theatre of one
of the most gallant exploits recorded in the annals of naval warfare. A
mutiny took place on board the British frigate Hermione, in 1799, while
on the West India station, in consequence, it was said, of the harsh
treatment which the crew received. The officers were murdered and thrown
overboard. Captain Pigot, who commanded the frigate, after receiving
several wounds, retreated to his cabin, and defended himself desperately
with his dirk until he was bayoneted by the mutineers.
The frigate, thus taken possession of, was carried into Porto Cabello
and delivered up to the Spanish authorities; Spain at that time being at
war with Great Britain. The red-handed mutineers dispersed, and many of
them subsequently returned to their native country, but were from time
to time arrested, tried by court martial, and executed.
Indeed, no pains or expense were spared by the British government to
bring these mutineers to punishment. They were sought for in every part
of the world; hunted out of their hiding-places, and hanged. No false
philanthropy interfered in their behalf, and threw obstacles in the
swift and sure career of justice. Very few, if any, escaped the terrible
punishment due to their crimes MUTINY AND MURDER ON THE HIGH SEAS. The
effect of the EXAMPLE, which is the object of capital punishment was
most salutary. No mutiny has occurred in the British navy since that
time.
The Hermione was regarded as a lawful prize by the Spaniards,
notwithstanding the extraordinary manner by which the ship fell into
their hands. She was refitted; a crew of four hundred men, including
marines, were put on board, and, ready for a cruise, she lay at anchor
near the entrance of the harbor and within musket shot of the principal
fortifications, which mounted two hundred cannon.
These facts became known to Captain Hamilton, who commanded the British
frigate Surprise, cruising on the coast, and that gallant officer
conceived the daring design of boarding the Hermione with a portion
of his crew, and cutting her out in spite of opposition, while she was
lying under the guns of this heavy fortification. Such an enterprise
could only have been conceived by a man of unusual intrepidity; but it
was planned with a degree of prudence and cool calculation which insured
success.
After having well observed the situation of the frigate, Captain
Hamilton with one hundred men left the Surprise in boats soon after
midnight on the 25th of October, 1800. On approaching the Hermione the
alarm was given by the frigate's launch, which, armed with a twenty-four
pounder, was rowing guard around the ship. After beating off the launch,
Captain Hamilton, at the head of fifty chosen men, armed chiefly with
cutlasses, boarded the Hermione on the bows. As soon as he and his
bold companions obtained foothold, the boat's crews cut the cables and
commenced towing the Hermione into the offing. Thus, while the battle
was raging on the ship's decks, she was rapidly towed further from the
batteries which had now commenced firing, and nearer to the Surprise,
which ship stood close into the harbor.
A bloody contest for the possession of the ship took place on her decks.
The Spaniards fought bravely; but the English, forming a front across
the main deck after they got possession of the forecastle, drove them
aft, where, after a desperate struggle on the quarter-deck or poop, the
Dons were all killed or driven overboard. The fight was still continued
on the gun-deck, where a dreadful carnage took place; and it was only
after an obstinate combat of an hour and a half from the commencement
of the action, that the Spaniards called for quarter, being entirely
subdued.
In this action the British had no men killed, and only fourteen wounded
among whom was Captain Hamilton, who fought boldly at the head of his
men. The Spaniards had ninety-seven men wounded, most of them severely,
and one hundred and nineteen killed! It would thus seem that while
the courage of both parties was about equal, the English had a vast
superiority in physical power. The Spaniards, unable to oppose to their
fierce enemies other than a feeble resistance, bravely SUBMITTED TO BE
KILLED; and the English sailors hacked and hewed them down until they
cried for quarter.
The little La Concha, in which I was now embarked, was a dull-sailing
vessel with poor accommodations, but crowded with living beings; and
when beneath the deck, they were necessarily stowed away in the most
miscellaneous manner, resembling herrings packed in a barrel. In
addition to the officers and crew, we had about thirty passengers, men,
women, and children, exiles from the land of their adoption; driven
forth by the hand of power to seek a place of refuge in unknown
countries. In this case, there was a great loss of property as well as
of comfort, and the future must have presented to this little band of
exiles an uninviting picture.
The feelings of people born in any other land than France, would have
been deeply affected by such a change; and unavailing regrets, bitter
complaints, and gloomy speculations in regard to the future, would have
cast a cloud over their spirits, and repressed aught like gayety or
cheerfulness during the passage. But our passengers were truly French;
and "VIVE LA BAGATELLE" was their motto. Although subjected to many
inconveniences during a long and tedious passage, and deprived of
comforts to which they had been accustomed, yet without resorting for
consolation to the philosophy of the schools, there was no murmuring at
their unhappy lot. They seemed not merely contented, but gay; they even
made a jest of their misfortunes, indulged in practical jokes, fun, and
frolic, and derived amusement from every occurrence which took place.
On this passage, Strictland, who entertained the prejudices of his
nation against the French, lost no opportunity to manifest his contempt
of the passengers, and commented on their proceedings in a manner
ill-natured and unjust.
He more than once exhibited a surliness and incivility in his demeanor,
which is supposed to be a prominent feature in the character of a burly
Briton; and was far from being a favorite with any of the passengers
or the captain. On more than one occasion a misunderstanding occurred
between Strictland and myself, and at one time it approached an open
rupture.
We were both familiar with Smollet's "Adventures of Roderick Random,"
and compared ourselves, with our rambles about the world in quest of
a living, to the hero of that celebrated work and his faithful friend
Strap; with this difference, however, that while each of us applied to
himself the part of Roderick, neither was willing to assume the humble
character of the honest but simple-minded Strap. In the course of our
discussion Strictland lost his temper, and indulged in language towards
myself that I was not disposed to pass lightly over. The next morning,
the little uninhabited island of Orchilla being in sight, the wind
light and the weather pleasant, the boat was launched, and the mate with
several passengers, urged by curiosity, embarked, and were pulled ashore
by Strictland and myself. While the other parties were rambling about,
making investigations, we, more pugnaciously inclined, retired to a
short distance from the shore, and prepared to settle all our disputes
in a "bout at fisticuffs," an ungentlemanly method of settling a
controversy, but one which may afford as much SATISFACTION to the
vanquished party as a sword-thrust through the vitals, or pistol bullet
in the brain.
After exchanging a few left-handed compliments with no decided result,
our pugilistic amusement was interrupted by the unauthorized influence
of two of the passengers, who had been searching for shell-fish among
the rocks. What the result of the contest would have been I will not
venture to conjecture. I was but a tyro in the art, while Strictland
prided himself in his scientific skill, and gave an indication of the
purity of his tastes by boasting of having once acted in the honorable
capacity of bottle-holder to a disciple of the notorious Tom Crib, on a
very interesting public occasion.
After we had been about a fortnight on our passage, daily beating to
windward in the Caribbean Sea, we were fallen in with by a British
sloop-of-war. The sight of this vessel, and a knowledge of her
character, caused a sensation throughout the schooner. Doubts were very
naturally entertained in regard to the treatment the passengers would
receive at the hands of their much-dreaded enemy. They were Frenchmen,
and all the property on board was French property; and notwithstanding
they sailed under Spanish colors, it was predicted by some, who
entertained exaggerated notions of the rapacity of Englishmen and
their hatred of the French, that the flag of Spain would not serve as
a protection; but that their little property would be seized upon, and
themselves detained and confined as prisoners or war. Others, however,
cherished a different opinion, and had confidence in that magnanimity
which has always been claimed by the English as one of their national
attributes.
It was an anxious moment; and a general council of war was held among
the passengers on the deck of the schooner, in which, as at a conclave
of parrots, few seemed to listen while every one was eager to speak.
The consultation, however, produced no result. Indeed, nothing could
be done, excepting to wait, and bow submissively to the decrees of the
conqueror.
My friend and companion, Strictland, was really in greater jeopardy than
either of the Frenchmen. If his name and station had been discovered,
he would have found snug quarters during the term of his natural life;
nothing could have saved him from impressment. The French passengers,
aware of the fact, with the kindest feelings took active measures
to prevent such a misfortune. They changed his name, clad him in
Frenchified garments, bound a many-colored handkerchief around his head,
put a cigarette in his mouth, and cautioned him against replying in his
native tongue to questions that might be asked. Thus travestied, it was
boldly predicted that he would not be taken for an Englishman.
The sloop-of-war sent a boat alongside, commanded by a lieutenant, who
seemed surprised at the singular group by which he was surrounded on
reaching the schooner's deck. To his questions, replies were received
from a dozen different mouths. He was a pleasant, gentlemanly officer
and seemed greatly amused at his reception. At length he inquired for
the captain, and on his being pointed out, addressed his questions
to him, and repressed the officious interference of others until he
received a full explanation of the character of the vessel and the
intent of the voyage. The statements of the captain were confirmed
by papers and documents, which left no doubt of their truth. The
lieutenant, after obtaining all necessary information, returned to the
ship to report the result of his visit. He did not tarry long, and when
he came back relieved the apprehensions of the passengers by assuring
them that the commander of the sloop of war, far from seeking to injure
or embarrass them, felt for their misfortunes and would gladly render
them any assistance in his power. He then went among the passengers,
conversed with them, asked each one his name and country, and took other
means to prevent deception. When he came to Strictland, and asked his
name, the reply was, "Jean Fourchette," in a bold tone.
"Are you a Frenchman?" asked the officer.
"Yes, SIR," was Strictland's reply, in a most anti-Gallican accent.
The officer stared at him for a moment, but without asking more
questions passed on to others.
I felt somewhat apprehensive that the British ship was short-manned, and
that the officer might cast a longing look on me, and consider me worthy
of serving his "most gracious majesty"; in which case I intended to fall
back on my American protection, which I regarded as my richest treasure,
and insist upon going to an English prison rather than sling my hammock
in a man-of-war. But no questions were asked, as I was looked upon as
one of the crew, which, without counting Strictland, consisted of
only three individuals; and the idea of reducing that small number by
impressment was not entertained.
The officer, before he left the schooner, with great glee communicated
to our passengers an important piece of intelligence, which was more
gratifying to British than to French ears. A great and decisive battle
had been fought at Salamanca, in Spain, between the combined armies
under Wellington and the French army under Marmont. It resulted in
the signal defeat of the French marshal, who was severely wounded. The
officer left some English newspapers on board the schooner containing
the details of the battle.
The difficulty which had occurred between Strictland and myself, and
which at one time threatened to sever forever all friendly ties,
was amicably settled before we arrived at St. Bartholomew. Policy
undoubtedly pointed out to the Englishman the importance of continuing
our friendly relations while my money lasted; and he apologized in a
handsome manner for what I considered his rude and uncivil conduct.
Again we became sworn friends and brothers, and resolved that the same
fortune, good or evil, should betide us both.
We arrived at St. Bartholomew about the 20th of September, 1812, and
landed our passengers in good order, well-conditioned, and in tip-top
spirits, after a passage of twenty days.