It was about the middle of September in the year 1816 that I embarked
with Mr. Budge in a little sloop bound to St. Lucia and Martinico,
after having resided in Grenada nearly four years. We had a few other
passengers, one of whom was a French gentleman named Chambord, who had
fought a duel with an Englishman in St. Lucia a few months before. This
duel grew out of a fierce dispute in relation to the battle of Waterloo,
and the comparative merit, in a military point of view, of Napoleon and
Wellington. The Frenchman, being an adroit swordsman, got the best of
the argument by running his antagonist through the body, and leaving him
senseless, and apparently lifeless, on the field. He made his escape to
Grenada. Having learned that the champion of Wellington was in a fair
way to recover from his wound, he was now on his return to his home.
We tarried but a short time at St. Lucia, merely lying off and on at
the mouth of the port of Castries, or Carenage, which is one of the most
beautiful and safe harbors in that part of the world; the entrance being
so narrow that two ships cannot pass through it abreast; but inside, the
extent of the harbor and depth of water are sufficient to furnish good
anchorage and shelter from hurricanes for a large fleet of ships of the
largest class.
On arriving at St. Pierre I found a fearful hurricane had raged in
that quarter only a week or ten days before. The wind, blowing from the
eastward directly into the open roadstead with irresistible fury, had
driven every vessel in port ashore on the beach. The ship Cato,
of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, having all her cargo discharged, and
presenting a large surface of hull to the wind and the waves, was found,
after the tempest had subsided, high and dry in one of the streets, in a
condition which precluded the possibility of getting her into the water,
and was broken up. Others were launched on "ways" constructed for the
purpose; while some sustained but little injury, and were easily got
afloat. One English brig, built of the red cedar of Bermuda, a material
greatly in favor at that time on account of its remarkable resistance to
DECAY, was crushed like an egg-shell the moment it struck the shore, and
the fragments were strown along the beach.
At the time I arrived at St. Pierre the yellow fever was prevailing to
an alarming extent among the inhabitants. The same epidemic prevailed
in Point Petre, Guadaloupe, and the numerous immigrants from France,
in some cases whole families, who sought those shores with the hope of
improving their condition, were cut off by this terrible disease soon
after their arrival. Some cases of yellow fever appeared among the
shipping in St. Pierre, and nearly every one proved fatal, showing
the malignant type of the disease. Great alarm was manifested lest the
epidemic should spread among the vessels, and sweep off whole crews, and
I subsequently learned that these apprehensions were realized.
I engaged lodgings on shore, and was there an eye witness to the ravages
of this plague of the West Indies. Young and healthy men, full of hope
and gayety, with rich prospects in the future, were visited by this grim
messenger soon after they set their feet on those shores; and few, very
few, recovered. Death was doing a mighty business at Martinico at that
time; and during my brief stay I listened to many a thrilling tale of
hopes blighted, ties of affection sundered, and sorrows awakened by the
remorseless action of the "King of Terrors." The strong man was cut down
while boasting of his strength; and youth, beauty, or worth furnished no
protection from the attack of this West India pestilence.
After my long residence in Grenada I had no fear of yellow fever in
Martinico; and in several cases at my boarding house I was able
to render valuable assistance. I was now anxious to get temporary
employment of some kind, or procure a passage to the United States. I
was every day getting nearer the bottom of my purse; and I trembled at
the idea of finding myself penniless in the town of St. Pierre. I could
hardly hope to meet with the sympathy and kindness from the Frenchmen of
Martinico that I found in Grenada among the natives of Scotland.
Owing to the shipwrecks, caused by the hurricane, there was no want of
seamen; and I could not even get an opportunity to work my passage to
an American port before the mast. I had been so long in the West Indies
that I had lost the distinguishing marks of a Yankee. And my broad
accent, my swarthy complexion, my unseamanlike costume, adapted to the
climate, all seemed to contradict my statement that I was an American
sailor.
At Martinico I fell in with an Englishman, Captain William Parker, who
had resided in the islands for many years, and was thoroughly
acquainted with the trade in that part of the globe. He was then making
preparations to engage in a sort of wholesale smuggling business,
and had obtained possession, by hook or by crook, of two registers of
American vessels. One was a BONA FIDE register of a privateer which had
been captured during the war, and the other a forgery neatly executed
by an artist in Martinico, having the signatures and seals duly arranged
and perfected, but leaving blank the description of the vessel.
With these registers, valuable documents, in his estimation, having cost
him no trifling sum, it was his wish to proceed to New York, and with
the aid of some unscrupulous capitalist, purchase an English schooner,
answering nearly to the description in the register of the privateer;
or, failing in that, procure an English vessel of any kind suitable, and
fill up the blanks with a description of the same in the other American
register. Then with two captains, one English and one American, each
acting as mate alternately, and with a crew who could be confided in, HE
PROPOSED TO CARRY ON A DIRECT TRADE WITH THE ENGLISH ISLANDS, securing
all the advantages, in the way of port charges and duties, of an
American vessel in an American port and an English vessel in an English
port! A few voyages successfully performed on this plan, he plausibly
urged, would be productive of immense profit to all concerned.
Parker was desirous that I would embark with him in this enterprise,
and act as the nominal American commander. But I had an instinctive
repugnance to proceedings of such an underhand, unlawful character. This
of itself would have been enough to lead me to reject his proposition;
and furthermore I had no confidence in the man, or his ability to carry
his project into operation. I thanked Parker for his friendly offer, and
the COMPLIMENT it conveyed, but declined to enter into any engagement
of the kind. Whether he succeeded in carrying his project into effect I
never learned; but the same plan was successfully put into execution by
an enterprising rogue about the same time, who undertook to run a vessel
between Baltimore and Barbadoes, carrying out flour and bringing back
coffee and sugar. He performed two trips successfully, but on the third
got into trouble. One of the crew, who had been unadvisedly punished for
insubordination, gave information to the authorities in Barbadoes, which
put a period, for a time at least, to his enterprising pursuits.
A few days before I landed in St. Pierre, the brig Betsey, Captain
Blackler, arrived in the harbor from Marseilles. A large portion of her
cargo was discharged, and Captain Blackler concluded to send the brig
with the remaining portion, consisting of wine im casks, to New Orleans,
while he remained behind to transact important business for the owner
of the brig, William Gray, of Salem. Accordingly the mate, Mr. Adams, an
intelligent and highly deserving young man, belonging to Marblehead,
was placed in charge, and the mate of the unfortunate ship Cato, which
forsook her proper element to explore the streets of St. Pierre, and
could not get back, was engaged as mate of the Betsey.
I applied to Captain Blackler for a passage to New Orleans. The
brig was fully manned, with six stout, able-bodied seamen before
the mast, and cook, mate, and captain, nine in all. Captain Blackler
demanded forty dollars for a passage in the cabin; by no means an
exorbitant charge. Nevertheless this was a poser, as after paying for
my board, I had only twenty dollars remaining. This matter, however, was
satisfactorily settled by a COMPROMISE, a happy way of getting rid of a
difficulty. I proposed to advance twenty dollars before quitting
Martinico, and give an obligation for twenty more when the brig should
arrive at New Orleans; and he agreed to the proposition. But HOW I
should raise twenty dollars on reaching New Orleans, was a question I
could not answer, and did not like to consider. I strove hard to
convince myself I should never be called upon for payment, or if called
upon, that fortune would favor me by furnishing, in some way, the means.
Captain Blackler was a gentleman much respected and esteemed. He was a
good specimen of an American shipmaster. When we got under way he came
on board, apparently in good health and spirits, to bid us farewell.
I shook hands with him as he stepped over the side. He gave some final
instructions to Mr. Adams, who had assumed the command of the Betsey.
They mutually wished each other continued health and prosperity,
expressed a hope to meet before long in Marblehead, and parted NEVER
TO MEET AGAIN! Before another week had passed they were both summoned
before their God. It was afterwards ascertained that Captain Blackler
was attacked by yellow fever a few days after the brig left Martinico,
and was quickly added to the numerous band of victims to that disease.
The brig Betsey was about two hundred and twenty tons burden; a clump,
dull-sailing craft, of rather venerable appearance, with no pretensions
to youth or beauty, having braved the dangers of the seas for thirty
years; nevertheless she was now apparently as sound, safe, and tight as
any vessel that crossed the ocean. Captain Adams was a worthy man, of an
amiable character, who had been educated to his business; and the mate,
Mr. Ricker, had been commander of a ship, and was strongly
recommended as an able and faithful officer. The crew were Americans,
resolute-looking, powerful fellows, in robust health. There had been
no sickness on board during the voyage; and all of them, including the
captain and mate, were rejoiced to leave the island of Martinico. As the
mountains faded in the distance they fancied they had left the yellow
fever far behind, and congratulated each other on their good fortune.
Our route, as will be seen by examining a chart or a map, was a
remarkably interesting one. It extended through the Caribbean Sea, where
the trade winds blow unceasingly from the eastward, in a direction south
of some of the most beautiful and picturesque islands in the world, as
Porto Rico, St. Domingo, and Cuba, and ranged along in sight of Jamaica
and the Caymans, then rounded Cape Antonio, once the notorious haunt
of pirates, and entered the Gulf of Mexico. Leaving the harbor of St.
Pierre under such auspices, I anticipated a delightful trip and being a
passenger, with no duties to perform, and no responsibility resting on
my shoulders, I was prepared to enjoy the POETRY of a seafaring life.
The night following our departure there was a gentle breeze from
the eastward, the sea was smooth, and everything in the atmosphere,
on the ocean, or in the vessel gave promise of a pleasant passage. I
remained on deck that night until twelve o'clock, in conversation with
Captain Adams. He seemed in a particularly pleasant and communicative
mood; spoke of his past life, which had been but little clouded with
misfortune, and indulged in the most cheerful anticipations with regard
to the future.
The next day I learned that one of the seamen, named James Smith,
belonging to Wiscasset, in Maine, was unable, from illness, to do his
duty. I found that Smith was not a favorite with the crew, being a lazy
fellow, who would act the part of an "old soldier" when an opportunity
offered. As he did not seem very sick, and some thought he was feigning
illness to avoid work, no alarm was excited in consequence.
There was a man on board the Betsey whose name was Gaskell; a tall,
stalwart fellow, belonging to Greenbush, New York. He showed in his
words and actions that he was unprincipled, a thorough reprobate, whose
soul had been case-hardened in crime. This man ridiculed the illness of
Smith; tried to rouse him from his berth in the half-deck; declared that
he was "shamming Abraham," and threatened him with a rope's end
unless he gave over skulking. Gaskell spoke of the mortality among the
Frenchmen in Martinico, and this furnished him with an inexhaustible
source of amusement. Indeed, human suffering, lingering death by
shipwreck or disease, always moved him to mirth and laughter. And yet he
was not deficient in intellect and education; but had used them for evil
purposes. He was coarse, sensual, intemperate, and terribly profane.
He boldly avowed a disbelief in a God, and sneered at the idea of
punishment for crime in the future. He loved to talk of the yellow
fever; he set that fearful disease at defiance, and said he never
enjoyed himself so gloriously as he had done the year previously at
Savannah, when the yellow fever was sweeping off the crews of the
shipping in that port by hundreds, and he found employment as a
carpenter, and cleared ten dollars a day by making coffins for the
"Yankee" sailors. I felt from the outset that this Gaskell was a
bad man, and a further knowledge of him confirmed my impression and
increased my disgust.
In the course of the day I visited the half-deck, at the request of
Captain Adams, to examine the condition of Smith. I found him in a
feverish state, languid, his spirits much depressed, and with a slight
headache. At the time I had no suspicion that he was visited with yellow
fever, the disease appeared in so mild a form. Some medicine was given
him, and it was expected that in a day or so he would recover his
health.
The next morning, being the third day after leaving Martinico, I was
awakened soon after daybreak by a succession of groans which came from
the captain's stateroom. I entered the room, and was greatly alarmed at
finding Captain Adams laboring under a severe attack of illness. He
was seized with pains in the head and back, accompanied with scorching
fever. His pulsations were strong, quick, and irregular. He said he
must have caught a violent cold the night before, by remaining on
deck without his coat or hat. I did not contradict him; but I had seen
persons in a similar condition, and I knew he was suffering from yellow
fever in its most alarming form.
All the medical skill I possessed was put in requisition; but the
captain grew worse, and before night he was aware of the true character
of the disease, and seemed to feel there was no chance for his recovery.
I strove to minister consolation and inspire him with hope, but in vain.
He acknowledged that life had charms of the most attractive description;
fortune had favored him beyond his expectations; he had relations and
friends whom he dearly loved; and there was one bright being in his
native town to whom he had plighted his vows of affection, and to whom
he hoped to have been united for life if Providence had willed his
return. But he was resigned to the will of the Almighty. He did not even
murmur at the fate which he knew awaited him. He prayed to his God to
pardon the sins he had committed, and looked forward with hope to a
glorious immortality.
The breeze had been light and the sea remarkably smooth since we left
St. Pierre; and the brig, steering to the north-west, had made slow
progress. On the morning after the captain was taken sick we expected to
be in sight of Porto Rico; and Captain Adams asked Mr. Ricker, the mate,
if any land was in sight. The mate thoughtlessly replied, "'The Dead
Man's Chest' can just be seen off deck." This was the English name of a
small island, or cluster of rocks, some five or six miles south of Porto
Rico, resembling in appearance a coffin, and called, in Spanish, "Moxa
del Muerta."
Captain Adams remarked, in a soliloquizing strain, "The Dead Man's
Chest? Already in sight? Well, it will soon be wanted; I am ready."
The sufferings of this excellent man were intense. The pains in his head
and back kept increasing; yet his mind was tranquil, and he retained
command of his mental faculties until the last moment of his life.
During his illness he expressed kindness for others, and made
suggestions to the mate about sailing the brig and carrying on the work.
As he grew weaker, he gave explicit directions to Mr. Ricker in regard
to the duties which would devolve upon him at his death, and intrusted
me with a solemn message to his dearest friends, which I afterwards
faithfully delivered.
On the third day after the fever commenced the BLACK VOMIT set in.
This is generally regarded as a fatal symptom, being almost always the
precursor of death. But the fortitude of the captain never for a
moment forsook him. He was sustained in that dread hour by a guiltless
conscience and a steadfast, deep-rooted, religious principle.
A few hours after this alarming prognostic made its appearance, he died,
while I was bathing his forehead; and a prayer hung upon his lips,
even as the spirit left the earthly tabernacle. He died as became
a Christian; and his features in death were tranquil as those of a
sleeping infant.
His body was soon afterwards brought on deck, where the whole ship's
company were assembled. The funeral rites were simple, but solemn
and impressive; and far away from the friends of his youth, with
no heart-stricken relatives to gather around the coffin, and form a
mournful procession to the grave, and hallow the burial spot with the
tears of affection, the mortal remains of our worthy commander were
launched into the deep. They were committed, not to the silent tomb,
but to that vast burial place, that "God's Acre" of almost illimitable
extent, where deep caves, and recesses invisible to mortal eye, have
served for ages as the last resting place of myriads of human beings,
cut off untimely, without warning note of preparation, from the hopes
and disappointments, the joys and sorrows, of this world; where, without
headstone or monument, inscription or epitaph, to mark the place, with
only the rushing winds to mourn their departure, and the murmuring waves
to chant their requiem,
"After life's fitful fever, they sleep well."
It is remarkable that in no part of the world, in any age, has the sea
been selected as a burial place for the dead. Indeed, the idea of being
drowned at sea, or dying on shipboard to be intombed in the fathomless
ocean, is so abhorrent to many individuals that it is with fear and
trembling they trust themselves on the water. It was a belief of the
ancients, that to insure happiness hereafter, the dead body of a human
being must be covered with earth; otherwise the departed spirit would
never enter the Elysian Fields, but wander restless on the nether banks
of Styx, in full view of delights and joys which it could never expect
to realize.
Mr. Ricker, the mate, now took command of the brig. This man possessed
a warm and affectionate heart, and was deeply moved by the death of
the captain. He wept aloud when the interment took place, and sought to
alleviate his grief by copious draughts of spirituous liquors. He wept
and drank himself to sleep while reclining on a hen-coop. In a few hours
he awoke, and wept again; then told the cook to bring the brandy bottle,
which soon acted as an opiate, and banished his sorrows. He pursued this
course, crying and drinking for more than a week; and during the greater
part of this time, while I was witnessing scenes of sadness and death
enough to chill the stoutest heart, he incapacitated himself, by
intoxication, from performing his duties as commander of the ill-fated
vessel.
Smith was still lingering under the attack of a disease which we now
knew to be yellow fever. He was gradually growing worse. Others of the
crew were also visited by this dreadful pestilence, and the deck of the
brig resembled one of the fever wards of a hospital. The groans of the
poor fellows were enough, one would think, to create sympathy in the
coldest bosom. But they had no effect upon Gaskell, excepting to excite
derision; and when he spoke to his sick or dying shipmates with a ribald
jest on his lips, and a scornful grin on his features, I longed to fell
him to the deck. I rebuked him for his want of feeling, and suggested
that, proud as he was of his strength and immunity from sickness, he
might, notwithstanding, become an object of sympathy to his shipmates,
and need their assistance. The answer I received was a boisterous laugh,
as if the idea was too absurd to be entertained.
Many years have passed since these events occurred, but even now I
cannot recur to them without a feeling of sadness. And no one, not
familiar with such scenes, can form an idea of the distress which a
mortal sickness produces on board a ship at sea. The captain had died,
and the mate, who should have taken his place, was constantly in a state
of beastly intoxication. Three of the crew were struggling with yellow
fever, and, to add to our troubles, Gaskell made his way into the hold,
and broached a cask of wine; and those who were not sick followed the
example of the mate, and got drunk, and drowned in vociferous shouts
and songs the groans of their suffering shipmates. Under these
circumstances, I had no alternative but to take on myself the
responsibility of navigating and sailing the vessel. And while
proceeding along the fruitful shores of St. Domingo, and the picturesque
coast of Jamaica, I passed whole nights on deck, engaged in tending the
sick, trimming the sails, and steering the brig. It was truly fortunate
that the wind continued light and the weather pleasant.
Smith, who was the first man taken sick, did not recover. His illness
gradually increased; for several days his mind wandered, but he was not
troublesome, and died on the tenth day after we left St. Pierre. On the
day of the captain's death, a young man, belonging to Connecticut,
was seized with a fever, and died five days afterwards in a state of
delirium. His case required constant care and attention, as he made more
than one attempt to throw himself overboard, in order, as he believed,
to embrace his parents and friends in his own native village. Two others
were taken alarmingly ill, but after suffering severely for several
days gradually recovered. The cook, a stout black fellow, inured to warm
climates, rendered me great assistance in taking care of the sick. But
on the morning on which we beheld the mountains of Jamaica he also was
visited by yellow fever. The symptoms were alarming, and there seemed
no prospect of his recovery; but on the third day of his sickness, AND
AFTER THE BLACK VOMIT HAD COMMENCED, and while I sat watching by his
berth, expecting that in a few minutes he would breathe his last, he
seemed to revive, and I put some rice-water to his lips. He swallowed
a small quantity; the terrible forerunner of a speedy dissolution
disappeared, and from that moment his strength gradually increased, the
fever left him, and before we reached New Orleans he had recovered.
While the cook was still dangerously ill, one morning early, as we were
slowly sailing along towards the Grand Cayman, Gaskell came crawling up
the steps leading to the half-deck, and tottered along towards me. I was
appalled at the change which a single night had made in his appearance.
The defiant, rollicking ruffian no longer stood before me; the sneer was
no longer on his countenance, his eyes no longer sparkled with mischief,
and his language was not interlarded with disgusting profanity. His
eyes were glassy, his cheeks ghastly pale, and a cold sweat, produced by
FEAR, stood on his forehead. The workings of suffering and terror were
imprinted on his features, and he looked as if twenty years had been
added to his life in one short night.
And he had cause for alarm; the yellow fever had fastened upon him with
a vice-like grasp, and he felt it in his inmost soul. The man was a
coward, after all. He thought himself secure from the scourge, and put
on a mask of defiance. He now knew that he had deceived himself, and all
his daring vanished. HE WAS AFRAID OF DEATH; AND THE DREADFUL CONVICTION
WAS FORCED UPON HIM THAT HIS DYING HOUR WAS AT HAND.
In tremulous accents, Gaskell described the symptoms of the disease. The
shooting pains in his head, neck, and shoulders were insufferable, and
he entreated me to do something, any thing, to relieve the pain, and
restore him to health. He urged me to bleed him, which I undertook,
and opened a vein in each arm, but the blood would not flow; the vital
current seemed to be congealed by fear. He then begged me to bathe his
back with camphor and opodeldoc, and although I knew the operation would
produce no effect, I consented to his wishes, and for more than an hour
rubbed his back as he desired, and bathed his head with vinegar and lime
juice.
But the disease could not be removed. It seized upon his vitals, and he
rapidly grew worse. His pains were great, but his mental agonies were
greater. For worlds I would not suffer what that man suffered while
rushing into the fearful embraces of death. His mind was clear and
unclouded, while madness would have been mercy. His life had been loose
and depraved. He had been guilty of many crimes, and in the day of death
the stings of conscience pierced him to the soul. His evil deeds came
back to him in that hour; they were stamped on his heart as with a
red-hot iron. I tried to console him, but in vain. He would not listen
when I spoke of death, and fiercely motioned me away when I attempted to
read aloud a chapter from the Bible. He said but little; but what he
did say were words of bitterness and despair. He declared, with an awful
oath, that he would not die, and struggled fiercely for life to
the last. I never shall forget the wild and ghastly countenance and
distorted features of that dying man, who, only a few days before, while
in the full flush of health, declared, with a diabolical grin, that he
feared neither God nor man.
The fever had now run its race, but our ship's company was greatly
reduced in number and in strength. The captain and three of the seamen
had been committed to the waves, and others had not fully recovered from
the effects of the fever. Mr. Ricker was the only person on board, with
the exception of myself, who had entirely escaped. Whether drunkenness
acted, in his case, as a preventive, I will not undertake to say;
neither will I advise any one to try the hazardous experiment.
We were now in sight of the Isle of Pines, fourteen days having elapsed
since we sailed from Martinico, when I observed indications of one of
those severe gales not unusual in the Gulf of Mexico and vicinity, and
known at "northers." Light-handed as we were, and without an efficient
head, I was aware that our situation was a critical one. I then felt
justified in doing what I should have done sooner; I threw overboard
every drop of spirit I could find, and then applied myself to rouse Mr.
'Ricker from his drunken inactivity; I explained to him my apprehensions
of a gale of wind, and the necessity for making preparation for the
coming tempest. This brought him to his senses; and after grumbling
somewhat at the loss of his liquor, and taking a deep draught of water,
he entered with energy on the sphere of his duties.
Ricker was a man of large stature and great physical strength. He was
also a thorough seaman, and, when not stupefied with liquor, was an
active, energetic man. By his powerful aid, and under his direction, the
brig was soon put in a condition to withstand the heavy gale from the
north, which soon came upon us, and completely ventilated the steerage
and cabin, which had so long been the depository of a pestilential
atmosphere. The "norther" lasted two days, the greater part of which
time we were lying to, under a close-reefed main-topsail; and when the
gale abated, we found ourselves further north than at its commencement,
and not far from Cape St. Antonio, the western extremity of Cuba, a fact
which illustrates in a striking manner, the force of the current
which at certain times sets north, like a sluice-way, between Cuba and
Yucatan, into the Gulf of Mexico, and is the origin of the Gulf Stream.
We entered the Gulf of Mexico, and with a fair breeze sailed for
"the Balize." In a few days we struck soundings near the mouth of the
Mississippi, and soon fell in with the turbid waters that are swept
far out to sea by the strength of the current of that mighty river.
We steered for a lighthouse, constructed of granite, on the eastern
extremity of a point, and which, resting on a quagmire, was hardly
completed before it assumed an attitude resembling the leaning tower of
Pisa, and in six months afterwards it took a horizontal position. It
is hardly necessary to say it was never lighted. We took a pilot and
entered the river by the Balize or "South-east Pass," which was the
deepest channel at that time, and navigable only for vessels drawing
not more than fifteen feet of water, and, by dint of hard labor, steam
towboats being then unknown, worked our way to the city of New Orleans.