We sailed from Gottenburg one morning about the first of September,
1817, bound to Boston. Having been long absent from my home without
intercourse of any description with my friends and relations, and having
seen during that period striking exemplifications of the caprices of
fortune, having experienced "many ups and downs," the downs, however,
being decidedly in the majority, I felt a strong desire, a yearning,
to return once more to my friends in New England. I was convinced there
were worse places in the world than my own dear native land, and far
worse people than those among whom my lot had been cast in childhood.
It was on a Saturday we sailed from Gottenburg. It had been Captain
Allen's intention to sail on the previous Thursday, but he was
unexpectedly detained. On Friday morning all the arrangements were
completed; the brig was ready for sea, the wind was fresh and fair,
but not a step was taken towards getting under weigh. Indeed our worthy
captain plumply told Mr. Bowen that NO CONSIDERATION COULD INDUCE HIM TO
GO TO SEA ON A FRIDAY! The crew, one and all, as well as the mate,
were amused at this exhibition of weakness, which did not increase
the respect for his character; for ALL sailors are not superstitious,
although they are proverbially regarded as such.
Petersen, the prisoner, who was brought on board in irons, bore no
resemblance in personal appearance to the ferocious, ill-looking,
big-whiskered ruffian, whose image is conjured up by the mention of
the word "pirate." On the contrary he was a gentle-looking youth,
only nineteen years of age, of a slight figure, pale complexion, and a
pleasant, prepossessing countenance. He spoke English fluently, and by
his conduct, intelligence, and plausible representations, soon won the
favor of every man on board. He declared that he did not participate
in the mutiny; that it was planned without his knowledge; that when the
murders were committed he was asleep in the forecastle, and fear for
his own life induced him to accept a share of the money and endeavor to
conceal the crime.
His story was believed by Captain Allen and others, and he was relieved
from his handcuffs every morning, and allowed to leave his quarters in
the half-deck and range the vessel, mix with the sailors and assist in
the performance of the various duties; and he showed himself an active,
obedient, and intelligent seaman. He often expressed a wish that his
trial should take place; he was confident of an acquittal, and longed to
be once more at liberty.
I may as well state here that the trial of the mutineers of the
Plattsburg, viz., Williams, Rog, Frederick, Petersen, and White took
place on the 28th of December, 1818, before the U.S. Circuit Court, in
session at Boston, Justice Story presiding. They were defended by able
counsel, but convicted on circumstantial evidence, corroborated by the
direct testimony of Samberson and Onion. It appeared on the trial that
the mild and amiable-looking Petersen was one of the most forward and
active of the mutineers. It was he who gave the signal for action by
crying "Sail, ho!" and he subsequently assisted in throwing overboard
the mate and murdering the captain.
The execution of these pirates was appointed for the 21st of January,
1819, but on the ground that the time between the sentence and
execution, twenty-four days, was too short to allow the criminals to
make their peace with God, a respite was granted until the 18th of
February. On that day they were placed in a wagon, and a procession
was formed of an imposing character, which, after passing through Court
Street, State Street, India Street, and Milk Street to the Main street,
now Washington street, proceeded to "the town land on boston Neck,"
where the execution took place in presence of twenty thousand people.
These men died a terrible death, in a strange land, far from their
homes and kindred. Although such number witnessed the execution, few
sympathized with them in their sufferings, for all acknowledged that
their sentence was just. Their execution, doubtless, acted as an
impressive warning to others, and restrained desperate ruffians from the
commission of desperate deeds.
In all ages, crimes of a dark dye when committed on the ocean, have been
regarded as exhibiting a more depraved character in the criminal than
crimes of a similar description committed on the land. At sea there are
no constables or police officers, no magistrates or good citizens ready
and willing to aid in preserving the peace of society, protecting life
and property when endangered, and in arresting a rogue or murderer. For
this reason laws relating to mutiny, piracy, and murder on the seas are
punishable with death. In many atrocious cases it is difficult, perhaps
impossible, to obtain proof sufficient to convict the offender; but
whenever a violator of those laws, whether a principal or accessory, is
arrested, tried, and convicted, THE PUNISHMENT SHOULD BE SURE TO
FOLLOW. The certainty of punishment is a mighty preventive to crime.
The impulses of that false philanthropy which seems to flourish in the
present age, can never be more injuriously indulged than by persevering
and unscrupulous efforts to influence the press and rouse public
opinion in favor of setting aside the verdict of a jury, and snatching a
red-handed murderer on the high seas from the gallows.
Nothing particularly remarkable occurred during our passage home. It
was in the season of the year when severe gales are met with on the
Atlantic, but the brig Joseph proved a good sea boat, tight as a drum,
and could lie to or scud without danger of being overwhelmed by the
combing waves. On this passage a little incident occurred off the Orkney
Islands, that will convey some idea of the dangers to which those are
subjected whose home is on the ocean.
We were lying to in a gale. The wind blew fiercely in flaws, and there
was a high and turbulent sea running. The brig was at times uneasy,
and in the pauses of the gale rolled heavily to windward as well as to
leeward. Orders were given to send down the fore-top-gallant mast.
I hastened with alacrity aloft for that purpose, and had reached the
cross-trees, when in a lull of the tempest, the brig, lying in the
trough of the sea, lurched fearfully to windward. I grasped firmly one
of the top-gallant shrouds above the cross-trees, but the rope being old
and decayed, parted in the horn of the cross-trees BENEATH MY HANDS.
I clung, with a desperate grasp, to the rope, but was thrown out with
a jerk in an angle of forty-five degrees with the horizon, and when
the brig suddenly righted I attained for a few seconds a horizontal
position, and to an observer on deck must have looked not unlike a
spread eagle burgee at half-mast. If I had relinquished my grasp at that
moment I should have been thrown into the sea some thirty feet from the
vessel's side, and a full period would have been put to the adventures
of Hawser Martingale. But, notwithstanding the muscles of my arms were
severely wrenched, I was fortunately able to retain my grasp. The next
moment the action of gravitation, together with the roll to leeward,
threw me back with terrific force against the topmast rigging, which
I eagerly seized, and then rejoicing at my lucky escape from a great
danger, and regardless of the bruises I had received, I went on with my
work.
On the passage homeward I often indulged in reflections in regard to my
future position in life; and while walking the deck at night loved to
let my fancy roam and picture castles in the air, which, I fondly hoped,
might at some future day be actually constructed. My highest ambition
was to gain, as rapidly as possible, a thorough knowledge of my
business, procure the command of a good ship, and by my own labors,
acquire a competence before age should weaken the faculties or diminish
a relish for society; and then, residing in my own house with a small
piece of land attached which I could cultivate with my own hands, and
within a few miles of the metropolis of New England, surrounded by
a pleasant neighborhood, and enjoying domestic happiness in all its
purity, gently sail down the stream of life.
This was not an extravagant dream. Yet the chances were at times
terribly against its fulfilment. But I never despaired, and fully
believed that if Providence should grant me life and continued health,
THE CASTLE WOULD BE BUILT. In the darkest hours I kept a bright lookout
ahead, far ahead for the cheerful and safe harbor which imagination had
so often portrayed. And the dream has been realized almost precisely
as it appeared to me in my youthful days; and I have enjoyed for many
years, in the retirement which my fancy painted, as much happiness as
usually falls to the lot of man in this checkered life, with a strong
hope,
"When the brief voyage in safety is o'er,
To meet with loved friends on the far distant shore."
About forty days after leaving Gottenburg we reached the Grand Bank of
Newfoundland, and crossed it in latitude of forty-four degrees. We
fell in with many fishing vessels riding at anchor in thirty fathoms
of water, the hardy crews of which, rigged out in their "boots and
barvels," were busily engaged in their useful but arduous occupation.
When on the centre of the bank, the fog which had previously obscured
objects at a distance, was suddenly swept away, and we counted from the
deck seventy-four schooners at anchor, besides several which were under
sail.
The Bank of Newfoundland is of enormous extent, reaching some two
hundred and fifty miles into the Atlantic, from the southern part of
Newfoundland and islands in that vicinity. Its southern extremity is in
about forty-two degrees of latitude, and fifty degrees west longitude
from Greenwich. The depth of water varies from twenty-five to fifty
fathoms. The Bank is in the direct track of vessels bound to and from
Europe, and many sad disasters have occurred to the fishermen, while
lying at anchor in rough weather in a dense fog. In some instances they
have been run down, crushed to fragments, by large ships under full
sail, and every one of the crew has perished.
The fish on this Bank are chiefly cod, and have been taken in incredible
numbers by the crews of vessels built and fitted out for this purpose,
for more than two hundred years; and in times past this fishery has
proved a certain source of income, and sometimes of wealth, to bold and
enterprising men. But for a number of years this business has not been
so profitable as formerly, and not so many vessels have been employed.
It has been intimated by evil-disposed persons that the capital stock
of the Bank is getting reduced, and that it will ere long fail to
make discounts or pay dividends. But such rumors are the offspring of
calumny; the Bank is undoubtedly sound, has a solid bottom, and its
treasures and resources are inexhaustible.
The fishermen of the Grand Bank, in "days lang syne," belonged chiefly
to Marblehead and Cape Ann. They were a bold, hardy, sinewy set of
men, inured to fatigue and reckless of danger, cheerful in their
dispositions, impatient under restraint, fond of what they considered
good living, ready with a joke or yarn on all occasions, and not a
little inclined to superstition. Indeed the fishing vessels on the Bank,
if we are to credit the tales told years ago, were often favored by the
presence of death warnings, mysterious noises, ghosts, and apparitions.
Sounds were heard and sights seen on board fishing vessels on the Bank,
which filled the stoutest hearts with fear and wonder, and would even
astonish the most inveterate spiritualist of the present day.
On shore the fishermen were a jolly set of fellows, social in their
dispositions, not given to vicious indulgences, but somewhat careless of
their earnings, regarding their resources as inexhaustible as "the fish
in the sea." They married early, made kind and affectionate husbands,
and were, in almost every case, blessed with a numerous offspring;
indeed, Marblehead fishermen of sixty years of age would remind a person
of the Bible patriarchs for the number of their descendants. Their
wives, fresh, blooming, spirited, and good-humored, were grandmothers
at six and thirty, great grandmothers at fifty-four, and great great
grandmothers at the age of seventy-four!
The fishermen were patriotic, too. They were dear lovers of their
country and its institutions, and prided themselves on their attachment
to democracy. In the war of the revolution the citizens of Marblehead
and Gloucester, and Cape Cod, no longer able to pursue their accustomed
vocations, joined the armies which fought for freedom, and rendered
important services on the land as well as on the ocean. In the latest,
and, we trust, THE LAST, war with Great Britain, they came forward
almost to a man, to assist in manning our frigates and privateers; and
no class of men rendered better services, or could be more confidently
relied on when deeds of daring were to be performed, than the
whole-hearted and hard-handed fishermen of Massachusetts Bay.
As a nursery for seamen for our merchant ships in time of peace, the
fishing business has proved of immense advantage to the country, and
that policy may justly be regarded as suicidal on the part of the
national government which would throw barriers in the way of its
success.
To those who are familiar with the extent and geographical position
of the Grand Bank of Newfoundland, it may seem surprising, perhaps
incredible, that fishing vessels have been known to seek for it, day
after day, in vain. Yet that such occurrences have taken place in "olden
times" is an established fact. But to the honor of our fishermen it may
be said that such blunders in plain navigation have been exceedingly
rare, and as much owing to a free circulation of the fiery liquid, which
addles men's brains, as to sheer ignorance.
Many years ago a schooner sailed from Gloucester bound to the Grand
Bank, in charge of a thick dunderhead of a skipper, and a crew of
about equal mental calibre. In putting up the stores the grog was not
forgotten. Indeed it was regarded as a necessary on shipboard, as a
shrewd counsellor in difficulty and danger, a friendly consoler when
borne down by misfortune, and a cheerful companion in prosperity, which
could not be too often embraced.
The schooner met with head winds before she reached the meridian of Cape
Sable, and was beating about for several days between Cape Sable and
St. George's Bank. At length the wind hauled to the southward, and the
skipper put the schooner's head to the north-east, and let her run,
making a fair wind of it. On the following day, towards night, he got
soundings in twenty fathoms. "Hallo!" shouted the skipper, "what a lucky
fellow I am; I have hit the broadest and shoalest part of the Bank the
first time of trying! I verily believe I could hit a nun buoy if it was
anchored in any part of the ocean. But never mind, boys, let us freshen
the nip; we'll stand well on to the Bank, then let go the kellock, and
haul up the cod!"
He stood on for a couple of hours, when greatly to his mortification
and amazement, he found his schooner floundering and thumping on a sand
bank. She soon knocked a hole in her bottom, and the crew with great
difficulty made their escape to land, which was not far off. Even then
the skipper was disposed to believe ha had found an island on the Bank
which had never before been discovered; and it was hard work to convince
him that he was cast away on the Isle of Sable!
Another case is said to have occurred of clumsy navigation on the part
of one of our Marblehead skippers. The tale is traditionary, but no less
authentic on that account.
The fishing schooner Codhook was ready for a trip to the Grand Bank for
a cargo of the deposits, when the skipper, a faithful, skilful, hardy
old fisherman, as is the case with most of this valuable class of men,
was taken sick, and compelled reluctantly to relinquish the voyage. It
became necessary to find a skipper, and as it was a busy season, it was
not an easy matter to procure the right kind of a man. After a time,
however, it was concluded that nothing better could be done than to
appoint old Jonas Hardhead skipper for this single trip.
Jonas, or "Uncle Jonas," as he was familiarly called, had been to sea
during the greater part of his life, but for the last few years had been
engaged occasionally in the fishing business; and when he could be kept
sober he was a valuable fisherman, for few could endure more hardship,
or haul up the cod faster than Uncle Jonas. He also boasted of his skill
in navigation, and according to his own story could handle a quadrant or
even a sextant as adroitly as a marlinspike. It was finally settled that
he should act as skipper on this voyage, provided he would promise to
keep sober. Jonas gave the pledge with alacrity, although his feelings
seemed hurt that his sobriety was doubted; he even declared that he was
never otherwise than sober in his life; and was forthwith inducted into
office.
In order to aid him in keeping his promise to the owners, Uncle Jonas
took with him on board some ten or a dozen bottles of "old Jamaica," a
beverage which he dearly loved; and although he seldom got absolutely
drunk when on shore, it was rarely the case that he went to bed sober.
He had no doubt of his qualifications to perform well his duty as
skipper, and was determined to have a jovial time at all events.
He had a quadrant and a Bowditch's Navigator, as well as a chart of the
Atlantic Ocean and of the American coast. But all this machinery was of
little use to Uncle Jonas. Indeed he secretly despised book-learning,
regarding it as a humbug, and relied upon his experience and judgment in
navigating his vessel. He was aware that by steering a course east,
or east half south, and running in that direction for several days, he
would strike the broadside of the Grand Bank, which he expected to
know by the color of the water, the soundings, the many birds, and the
fishing vessels at anchor. He also supposed that when he returned with
a glorious fare, a westerly course would fetch some part of the coast,
when he should certainly fall in with vessels, and easily ascertain the
where-away of Boston Bay, with all of which coast he was familiar.
The schooner Codhook left the wharf with a roaring north-wester, and
in order to secure a lucky cruise Uncle Jonas treated himself and his
companions, a jolly set of fellows also, with a stiff glass of grog.
He afterwards drank to a fair wind, to a continuance of the breeze,
and repeated this operation so often, that what little knowledge and
judgment he could boast of when he left the wharf, insensibly oozed
away; and for nearly a week his mental faculties were a great deal below
par. In the meantime the wind blew a fresh breeze from the westward
without intermission, and the old schooner rolled and wallowed along
with nearly all sail set, at a tremendous rate, and actually crossed the
Bank on the fifth day after leaving port. But the weather was foggy, and
the eyes of the skipper were dim. No change was observed in the water,
no birds or fishing vessels were seen.
Onward the schooner went, with all sail spread to the wind, like a new
Flying Dutchman, until the seventh day after leaving port, when the wind
began to abate a little and haul to the southward. The horizon was now
clear, and Uncle Jonas began to look out for vessels, and expressed a
decided opinion that he was nearly up with the Bank. The sun went
down and no fishing vessels were seen under sail or at anchor. He was
confident they would be visible on the following day, and in order that
his vision might be clearer, he swallowed a strong potation before he
turned in.
On the next morning not a vessel of any description was in sight, and
the skipper, confident that the Bank could not be far off, concluded to
sound. The deep-sea lead was thrown, but he got no bottom with ninety
fathoms of line. "Wheugh!" exclaimed Uncle Jonas, "what has become of
the Bank?"
The wind now blew merrily from the south-west, and merrily sailed the
schooner; Uncle Jonas keeping a sharp look-out for fishing vessels,
and sounding every six hours. Ten days passed away, and he began to be
alarmed, and expressed fears that the Bank had failed, refused payments,
sunk, or cleared out! He continued, however, to consult his Jamaica
friend, and sought its advice and assistance in his perplexity. It is
singular that in times of difficulty and danger, when a clear head is
particularly necessary, men who have charge of property, and the lives
of their fellow-men, are prone to consult the rum bottle, which always
produces an effect precisely the reverse of what is desired.
At length, on the twelfth day of the passage, Uncle Jonas, whose
patience was nearly exhausted, saw a large number of gannets and gulls;
the water was remarkably chilly, and seemed to have a tinge of green.
"Aha," said the skipper, "I have got you at last." But he could not see
any fishing vessels, or obtain bottom with ninety fathoms of line.
On the following morning, however, much to his gratification, he
obtained soundings in sixty fathoms of water. "There," exclaimed the
skipper triumphantly to his men, "you more than insinuated that I was
no navigator, but I have carried the ship straight to the Grand Bank in
fine style. We will stand on until we get thirty fathoms of water, and
then go to work like men."
His companions acknowledged their error, asked pardon for doubting
his infallibility, and promised never again to question his ability to
navigate a vessel to any part of the globe.
But, much to the surprise and disappointment of Uncle Jonas, the water
did not shoal, but rather deepened as he kept along to the eastward.
He again became bewildered, and could hardly help admitting that there
might be some mistake in the matter, as he never found such deep water
on the Bank before. He repeatedly swept the horizon with his glass,
hoping to conjure up some vessel, and procure definite information in
regard to his whereabouts. In the afternoon he saw a ship approaching
from the eastward, and his heart was gladdened at the sight. He hauled
the schooner on a wind, hoisted his colors, and prepared to speak the
ship. She proved to be the packet ship James Monroe, Captain Wilkinson,
bound from Liverpool to New York. Uncle Jonas eagerly inquired of the
captain of the ship if he had fallen in with any fishing vessels on his
passage.
"Ay, ay," was the reply; "I saw a number of them in the Irish Channel."
"Irish Channel!" echoed the skipper, with a howl of agony. "Why, where
are we, my good fellow; do tell us where we are."
"We are about thirty-five miles south-south-east of Cape Clear, and on
the Nymph Bank!"
Uncle Jonas dashed his trumpet to the deck, and sprang perpendicularly
four feet by actual measurement so true, it is, that astonishment
prompts a man instinctively to extraordinary gymnastic exercises!
The skipper was in an awkward dilemma. He had gone across the Atlantic,
with a fair and fresh breeze, safely and expeditiously enough; but he
cherished strong doubts whether his skill in navigation would suffice
to carry him back. He explained the case candidly to Captain Wilkinson,
who, after a hearty laugh at the expense of Uncle Jonas, consented to
furnish him with a navigator. He accordingly put a young man on board
the schooner who was a proficient in the art of navigation an art
with which the commander of a vessel on the ocean should be somewhat
familiar.
As a preliminary step, the new captain caused the remainder of the
"Jamaica" to be thrown overboard, and every thing else which was akin to
it. Uncle Jonas begged hard to retain it as a solace under trouble; but
he was overruled by the new navigator, and also the crew, all of whom
felt mortified at the result of the trip thus far, and overboard it
went. The head of the schooner was got round to the westward, her sails
were trimmed to the breeze, and the schooner jogged along quietly in the
wake of the ship until the latter was out of sight.
In due time, that is, in about thirty-five days after having spoken the
ship James Monroe, for the wind was westerly nearly the whole time, the
schooner Codhook reached the Grand Bank. Neither the navigator nor the
crew would consent to remain there any great length of time indeed, for
various reasons, all were anxious to return to Marblehead. In about
a fortnight afterwards they reached the port from which they started,
after an absence of about two months, having had a glorious cruise, but
bringing home a slender fare.
Uncle Jonas was laughed at until the day of his death; but he always
warded off the ridicule by declaring that no fishing schooner had ever
before reached Cape Clear from Massachusetts Bay in fourteen days from
leaving port!
We crossed the Grand Bank in the brig Joseph, and proceeded on our way
towards Cape Cod. But meeting with south-west winds after passing the
Isle of Sable, we were forced to the northward on the coast of Nova
Scotia. Here we were enveloped in fogs of a density which seemed
appalling. Unable to obtain a meridian observation of the sun, and swept
about by unknown currents, we were uncertain of our latitude, and more
than once came near wrecking the brig on that dangerous iron-bound
shore.
After beating to windward a few days, the wind hauled us to the
southward and eastward, the fog towards noon, to a very considerable
extent, dispersed, and Captain Allen obtained a meridian altitude of the
sun, the horizon being as he erroneously thought, well defined. Having
thus determined the latitude to his satisfaction, he ordered the brig
to be steered about west-south-west, which, he supposed, would carry us
round Cape Sable, clear of all danger.
This cape is well known as the southern extremity of Nova Scotia,
a dangerous point, on which, notwithstanding the lighthouse on its
extremity, many vessels have been wrecked, and a countless number of
lives have been lost. The fog again gathered around the brig soon after
the sun had passed the meridian, and became so dense that for several
hour it was impossible to perceive any object, even at the distance
of twenty yards from the vessel. But Captain Allen, confident in the
correctness of his latitude by observation, manifested no anxiety, and
kept the brig on her course, without ordering any particular lookout,
which, indeed, would hardly have been of use, or using the lead.
There was a steady breeze, and the brig was going through the water
at the rate of six or seven knots, when, just as the shades of evening
began to fall, the thick curtain, which had hitherto surrounded us on
every side, was suddenly lifted. The fog vanished as if at the will
of an enchanter; and, to the consternation of Captain Allen and every
person on board, we discovered craggy ledges of rock rising out of the
water directly ahead and on either side, and not a quarter of a mile
off!
We were running directly on Cape Sable. It was a narrow escape. The brig
was immediately put round on the other tack, and we clawed off from
the land with all possible speed, shuddering at the idea of the dangers
which in the fog-darkness had surrounded us, and truly grateful for our
preservation.
The fogs on our coast are a great impediment in the way of navigation.
They screen from view the lighthouses in the night, and the headlands
in the daytime, and are often the cause of perplexity and dismay even to
the most skilful navigator, and have led to the destruction of thousands
of vessels. The philosopher, who, stimulated by the spirit which led
Professor Espy to attempt to control the storms, change the density of
the atmosphere, and produce rain in times of drought, should succeed in
placing in the hands of the navigator the means of dispelling fogs at
will when navigating a dangerous coast, would indeed be a benefactor to
sailors, and deserve the richest tribute of gratitude.
As we approached the shores of Massachusetts, having been six weeks at
sea, every person on board was anxious to obtain a sight of land
once more, notwithstanding our vessel was stanch and strong and our
provisions and water abundant. There is always a pleasant excitement
among a ship's company at the prospect of soon terminating a voyage. We
drew towards Cape Cod, and one night when the soundings indicated
that we were not far from the shore, a good look-out was kept from the
topsail yard for the light; but no light was visible through the night.
Soon after daybreak, the LIGHTHOUSE, right ahead, was plainly seen from
the deck with the naked eye, being not more than five or six miles off.
Whether the light had been allowed to expire through inattention on the
part of an unfaithful keeper, or a thick haze had collected over the
land and veiled it from the view of vessels in the offing, as was
suggested by some good-natured individuals, was never known.
All was now bustle and excitement. The land was in sight; the "highlands
of Cape Cod" were plainly visible; the wind was north-east, and every
thing indicated that we should be safely anchored in Boston harbor, or
hauled snugly in, alongside the wharf, before another night.
It is pleasant to witness the exuberance of spirits on such an occasion.
Orders were promptly obeyed; every man moved as if he had been suddenly
endued with a double portion of strength and activity; smiles lighted up
every countenance; the joke and the laugh went round, and even Cato, the
philosophic African, as he stood near his camboose and gazed earnestly
on the barren sands, clapped his hands with glee, exhibited a store of
ivory which would have excited the admiration of an elephant. Even
the old brig seemed to participate in the joyousness that pervaded the
ship's company, and glided along smoothly and rapidly, gracefully and
merrily, as if conscious that a quiet haven and a snug resting place
were at hand.
Passing Race Point we soon came in sight of the "south shore" of
Massachusetts By, the land hallowed by the trials and sufferings of
the Pilgrims. We passed near Cohasset Rocks, dangers, which, it is well
known, have caused the destruction of many a noble ship and in full view
of Boston lighthouse we received a pilot on board.
Pilots should be a happy as well as a useful class of men. When a ship
arrives at the entrance of a harbor, after a long passage, the sight of
a pilot carries joy to every heart. He appears truly in the guise of "a
guide, philosopher, and friend," is warmly welcomed, and treated with
kindness and hospitality. The news is eagerly demanded, friends are
inquired for, and the words which fall from his lips are attentively
listened to, carefully noted, and prized as highly as the sayings of the
Delphic oracles.
The dome of the State House was soon distinctly seen; a conspicuous
object, which seems to rest lightly upon the countless edifices, a mural
crown upon a kingly city. We thridded the narrows, and off Long Island
Head Captain Allen suddenly recollected he had a prisoner under his
charge. Petersen had been released from durance in the morning as usual,
and light-hearted and joyous, had toiled with the crew, apparently
sympathizing in their feelings. Speaking English fluently, and well
acquainted with the harbor, for he had sailed a voyage out of Boston,
it would have been easy for him to slip quietly over the bow and swim
to the shore, where, it is possible, he might have escaped the fearful
punishment that awaited him for his crimes. But he made no effort
to escape, and was now conducted below by the mate, handcuffed, and
confined to his quarters in the half-deck.
We had no sooner anchored off Long Wharf than Captain Allen went ashore,
and in about an hour the United States Marshal, accompanied by a posse
with handcuffs and shackles, came on board and demanded the prisoner.
Petersen was brought on deck and delivered into his hands. But his
countenance had undergone an appalling change within a few hours. He
seemed suddenly to have realized the horrors of his situation. His
features were pale, and his eye seemed glazed with fear as he looked
upon the officers of justice, and, trembling in every limb, was assisted
into the boat. A sense of his guilt, and the terrible consequences, now
seemed to weigh upon his spirits. The penalty exacted by the laws for
the crimes of piracy and murder stared him in the face.
We arrived in Boston on the 24th of October, 1817, having been
fifty-four days on our passage from Gottenburg. I had not accumulated
treasures during my wanderings, but I had improved my constitution,
acquired a habit of resignation and cheerfulness which bade defiance to
the freaks of fortune, gained some knowledge of the world, and rejoiced
in robust health, one of the greatest of earthly blessings, and which as
often cheers and enlightens the condition of the poor man, as his more
fortunate fellow-mortal rolling in riches.
When paid off, I found myself in possession of means to rig myself out
in decent apparel, and provide myself with other exterior appurtenances
of a gentleman; and also to defray my expenses on a visit to my
relations in New Hampshire, from whom I had so long been separated, and
whom I longed to convince by tangible proofs that I was still in the
land of the living. And thus I returned from my wanderings after
an absence of nearly seven years, during which I had witnessed many
eventful scenes, and had studied the page of human nature in various
climes.
Notwithstanding my occasional hard fortune at sea, a seafaring life
still possessed many powerful attractions. I was bound to it by a charm
which I did not attempt to break. Besides, I had put my hand to the
plough and I would not look back. Although I had passed many happy hours
in the forecastle, free from care and responsibility, and associating
with men whose minds, if may be, were uncultivated, but whose heads were
well furnished and whose hearts were in the right place, yet visions of
an important station on "the quarter-deck," at no distant period, were
often conjured up by my imagination; and I resolved that many day
should not pass before I would again brave the perils, share the strange
excitement, and court the joys which accompany life on the sea.