As I cast my eyes over these pages, and see how small a portion of my
life they embrace, I feel like one who, having a long journey before
him, perceives that some more speedy means of travel must be adopted, if
he ever hope to reach his destination. With the instinctive prosiness of
age I have lingered over the scenes of boyhood, a period which, strange
to say, is fresher in my memory than many of the events of few years
back; and were I to continue my narrative as I have begun it, it would
take more time on my part, and more patience on that of my readers, than
are likely to be conceded to either of us. Were I to apologise to my
readers for any abruptness in my transitions, or any want of continuity
in my story, I should perhaps inadvertently seem to imply a degree of
interest in my fate which they have never felt; and, on the other
hand, I would not for a moment be thought to treat slightingly the very
smallest degree of favour they may feel disposed to show me. With these
difficulties on either hand, I see nothing for it but to limit myself
for the future to such incidents and passages of my career as most
impressed themselves on myself, and to confine my record to the events
in which I personally took a share.
Santron and I sailed from New York on the 9th of February, and arrived
in Liverpool on the 14th of March. We landed in as humble a guise as
need be. One small box contained all our effects, and a little leathern
purse, with something less than three dollars, all our available wealth.
The immense movement and stir of the busy town, the din and bustle
of trade, the roll of waggons, the cranking clatter of cranes and
windlasses, the incessant flux and reflux of population, all eager and
intent on business, were strange spectacles to our eyes as we loitered
houseless and friendless through the streets, staring in wonderment at
the wealth and prosperity of that land we were taught to believe was
tottering to bankruptcy.
Santron affected to be pleased with all--talked of the _beau pillage_ it
would afford one day or other; but in reality this appearance of riches
and prosperity seemed to depress and discourage him. Both French and
American writers had agreed in depicting the pauperism and discontent of
England, and yet where were the signs of it? Not a house was untenanted,
every street was thronged, every market filled; the equipages of the
wealthy vied with the loaded waggons in number; and if there were not
the external evidences of happiness and enjoyment the gayer population
of other countries display, there was an air of well-being and comfort
such as no other land could exhibit.
Another very singular trait made a deep impression on us. Here were
these islanders with a narrow strait only separating them from a land
bristling with bayonets. The very roar of the artillery at exercise
might be almost heard across the gulf, and yet not a soldier was to
be seen about! There were neither forts nor bastions. The harbour, so
replete with wealth, lay open and unprotected, not even a gunboat or
a guardship to defend it! There was an insolence in this security that
Santron could not get over, and he muttered a prayer that the day might
not be distant that should make them repent it.
He was piqued with everything. While on board ship we had agreed
together to pass ourselves for Canadians, to avoid all inquiries of the
authorities! Heaven help us! The authorities never thought of us. We
were free to go or stay as we pleased. Neither police nor passport
officers questioned us. We might have been Hoche and Massena for aught
they either knew or cared. Not a _mouchard_ tracked us; none even looked
after us as we wont. To me this was all very agreeable and reassuring;
to my companion it was contumely and insult. All the ingenious fiction
he had devised of our birth, parentage, and pursuits, was a fine romance
inedited, and he was left to sneer at the self-sufficiency that would
not take alarm at the advent of two ragged youths on the quay of
Liverpool.
‘If they but knew who we were, Maurice,’ he kept continually muttering
as we went along--‘if these fellows only knew whom they had in their
town, what a rumpus it would create! How the shops would close! What
barricading of doors and windows we should see! What bursts of terror
and patriotism! _Par St. Denis_, I have a mind to throw up my cap in the
air and cry ‘_Vive la République!_’ just to witness the scene that would
follow.’ With all these boastings, it was not very difficult to restrain
my friend’s ardour, and to induce him to defer his invasion of England
to a more fitting occasion, so that at last he was fain to content
himself with a sneering commentary on all around him; and in this
amiable spirit we descended into a very dirty cellar to eat our first
dinner on shore.
The place was filled with sailors, who, far from indulging in the
well-known careless gaiety of their class, seemed morose and sulky,
talking together in low murmurs, and showing unmistakable signs of
discontent and dissatisfaction. The reason was soon apparent; the
pressgangs were out to take men off to reinforce the blockading force
before Genoa, a service of all others the most distasteful to a seaman.
If Santron at first was ready to flatter himself into the notion that
very little persuasion would make these fellows take part against
England, as he listened longer he saw the grievous error of the opinion,
no epithet of insult or contempt being spared by them when talking of
France and Frenchmen. Whatever national animosity prevailed at that
period, sailors enjoyed a high preeminence in feeling. I have heard that
the spirit was encouraged by those in command, and that narratives
of French perfidy, treachery, and even cowardice, were the popular
traditions of the sea-service. We certainly could not controvert the
old adage as to ‘listeners,’ for every observation and every anecdote
conveyed a sneer or an insult on our country. There could be no reproach
in listening to these unresented, but Santron assumed a most indignant
air, and more than once affected to be overcome by a spirit of
recrimination. What turn his actions might have taken in this wise I
cannot even guess, for suddenly a rush of fellows took place up the
ladder, and in less than a minute the whole cellar was cleared, leaving
none but the hostess and an old lame waiter along with ourselves in the
place.
‘You’ve got a protection, I suppose, sirs,’ said the woman, approaching
us; ‘but still I’ll advise you not to trust to it overmuch; they’re in
great want of men just now, and they care little for law or justice when
once they have them on the high-seas.’
‘We have no protection,’ said I; ‘we are strangers here, and know no
one.’
‘There they come, sir; that’s the tramp,’ cried the woman; ‘there’s
nothing for it now but to stay quiet and hope you ‘ll not be noticed.
Take those knives up, will ye,’ said she, flinging a napkin towards me,
and speaking in an altered voice, for already two figures were darkening
the entrance, and peering down into the depth below, while turning to
Santron she motioned him to remove the dishes from the table--a service
in which, to do him justice, he exhibited a zeal more flattering to his
tact than his spirit of resistance.
‘Tripped their anchors already, Mother Martin?’ said a large-whiskered
man, with a black belt round his waist; while, passing round the tables,
he crammed into his mouth several fragments of the late feast.
‘You wouldn’t have ‘em wait for you, Captain John,’ said she, laughing.
‘It’s just what I would, then,’ replied he. ‘The Admiralty has put
thirty shillings more on the bounty, and where will these fellows get
the like of that? It isn’t a West India service, neither, nor a coastin’
cruise off Newfoundland, but all as one as a pleasure-trip up the
Mediterranean, and nothing to fight but Frenchmen. Eh, younker, that
tickles your fancy,’ cried he to Santron, who, in spite of himself, made
some gesture of impatience.
‘Handy chaps, those, Mother Martin; where did you chance on’em?’
‘They’re sons of a Canada skipper in the river yonder,’ said she calmly.
‘They aren’t over like to be brothers,’ said he, with the grin of one
too well accustomed to knavery to trust anything opposed to his own
observation. ‘I suppose them’s things happens in Canada as elsewhere,’
said he, laughing, and hoping the jest might turn her flank. Meanwhile
the press leader never took his eyes off me, as I arranged plates and
folded napkins with all the skill which my early education in Boivin’s
restaurant had taught me.
‘He is a smart one,’ said he, half musingly. ‘I say, boy, would you like
to go as cook’s aid on board a king’s ship? I know of one as would just
suit you.’
‘I’d rather not, sir; I’d not like to leave my father,’ said I, backing
up Mrs. Martin’s narrative.
‘Nor that brother, there; wouldn’t he like it?’
I shook my head negatively.
‘Suppose I have a talk with the skipper about it,’ said he, looking at
me steadily for some seconds. ‘Suppose I was to tell him what a good
berth you ‘d have, eh?’
‘Oh, if he wished it, I’d make no objection,’ said I, assuming all the
calmness I could.
‘That chap ain’t your brother--and he’s no sailor neither. Show me your
hands, youngster,’ cried he to Santron, who at once complied with the
order, and the press captain bent over and scanned them narrowly. As he
thus stood with his back to me, the woman shook her head significantly,
and pointed to the ladder. If ever a glance conveyed a whole story
of terror hers did. I looked at my companion as though to say, ‘Can I
desert him?’ and the expression of her features seemed to imply utter
despair. This pantomime did not occupy half a minute. And now, with
noiseless step, I gained the ladder, and crept cautiously up it. My
fears were how to escape those who waited outside; but as I ascended I
could see that they were loitering about in groups, inattentive to all
that was going on below. The shame at deserting my comrade so nearly
overcame me, that, when almost at the top, I was about to turn back
again. I even looked round to see him; but, as I did so, I saw the press
leader draw a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and throw them on the
table. The instincts of safety were too strong, and with a spring I
gained the street, and, slipping noiselessly along the wall, escaped the
‘lookout.’ Without a thought of where I was going to, or what to do, I
ran at the very top of my speed directly onwards, my only impulse being
to get away from the spot. Could I reach the open country I thought
it would be my best chance. As I fled, however, no signs of a suburb
appeared; the streets, on the contrary, grew narrower and more
intricate; huge warehouses, seven or eight storeys high, loomed at
either side of me; and at last, on turning an angle, a fresh sea-breeze
met me, and showed that I was near the harbour. I avow that the sight of
shipping, the tall and taper spars that streaked the sky of night, the
clank of chain-cables, and the heavy surging sound of the looming hulls,
were anything but encouraging, longing as I did for the rustling leaves
of some green lane; but still, all was quiet. A few flickering lights
twinkled here and there from a cabin window, but everything seemed sunk
in repose.
The quay was thickly studded with hogsheads and bales of merchandise, so
that I could easily have found a safe resting-place for the night, but
a sense of danger banished all wish for sleep, and I wandered out,
restless and uncertain, framing a hundred plans, and abandoning them
when formed.
So long as I kept company with Santron, I never thought of returning to
‘Uncle Pat’; my reckless spendthrift companion had too often avowed
the pleasure he would feel in quartering himself on my kind friend,
dissipating his hard-earned gains, and squandering the fruits of all his
toil. Deterred by such a prospect, I resolved rather never to revisit
him than in such company. Now, however, I was again alone, and all my
hopes and wishes turned towards him. A few hours’ sail might again bring
me beneath his roof, and once more should I find myself at home. The
thought was calming to all my excitement; I forgot every danger I had
passed through, I lost all memory of every vicissitude I had escaped,
and had only the little low parlour in the ‘Black Pits’ before my mind’s
eye, the wild, unweeded garden, and the sandy, sunny beach before the
door. It was as though all that nigh a year had compassed had never
occurred, and that my life at Crown Point and my return to England were
only a dream. Sleep overcame me as I thus lay pondering, and when I
awoke the sun was glittering in the bright waves of the Mersey, a fresh
breeze was flaunting and fluttering the half-loosened sails, and
the joyous sounds of seamen’s voices were mingling with the clank of
capstans, and the measured stroke of oars.
It was full ten minutes after I awoke before I could remember how I came
there, and what had befallen me. Poor Santron, where is he now? was my
first thought, and it came with all the bitterness of self-reproach.
Could I have parted company with him under other circumstances, it would
not have grieved me deeply. His mocking, sarcastic spirit, the tone of
depreciation which he used towards everything and everybody, had gone
far to sour me with the world, and day by day I felt within me the
evil influences of his teachings. How different were they from poor
Gottfried’s lessons, and the humble habits of those who lived beneath
them! Yet I was sorry, deeply sorry, that our separation should have
been thus, and almost wished I had stayed to share his fate, whatever it
might be.
While thus swayed by different impulses, now thinking of my old home at
Crown Point, now of Uncle Pat’s thatched cabin, and again of Santron, I
strolled down to the wharf, and found myself in a considerable crowd of
people, who were all eagerly pressing forward to witness the embarkation
of several boatfuls of pressed seamen, who, strongly guarded and ironed,
were being conveyed to the _Athol_ tender, a large three-master, about a
mile off, down the river. To judge from the cut faces and bandaged heads
and arms, the capture had not been effected without resistance. Many of
the poor fellows appeared more suited to a hospital than the duties of
active service, and several lay with bloodless faces and white lips, the
handcuffed wrists seeming a very mockery of a condition so destitute of
all chance of resistance.
The sympathies of the bystanders were very varied regarding them. Some
were full of tender pity and compassion; some denounced the system as
a cruel ‘and oppressive tyranny; others deplored it as an unhappy
necessity; and a few well-to-do-looking old citizens, in drab shorts
and wide-brimmed hats, grew marvellously indignant at the recreant
poltroonery of ‘the scoundrels who were not proud to fight their
country’s battles.’
As I was wondering within myself how it happened that men thus coerced
could ever be depended on in moments of peril and difficulty, and
by what magic the mere exercise of discipline was able to merge the
feelings of the man in the sailor, the crowd was rudely driven back by
policemen, and a cry of ‘Make way,’ ‘Fall back there,’ given. In the
sudden retiring of the mass I found myself standing on the very edge
of the line along which a new body of impressed men were about to pass.
Guarded front, flank, and rear, by a strong party of marines, the poor
fellows came along slowly enough. Many were badly wounded, and walked
lamely; some were bleeding profusely from cuts on the face and temples;
and one, at the very tail of the procession, was actually carried in
a blanket by four sailors. A low murmur ran through the crowd at the
spectacle, which gradually swelled louder and fuller till it burst forth
into a deep groan of indignation, and a cry of ‘Shame I Shame!’ Too much
used to such ebullitions of public feeling, or too proud to care for
them, the officer in command of the party never seemed to hear the angry
cries and shouts around him; and I was even more struck by his cool
self-possession than by their enthusiasm. For a moment or two I was
convinced that a rescue would be attempted. I had no conception that so
much excitement could evaporate innocuously, and was preparing myself
to take part in the struggle when the line halted as the leading files
gained the stairs, and, to my wonderment, the crowd became hushed and
still. Then, one burst of excited pity over, not a thought occurred to
any to offer resistance to the law, or dare to oppose the constituted
authorities. How unlike Frenchmen! thought I; nor am I certain whether I
deemed the disparity to their credit!
‘Give him a glass of water!’ I heard the officer say, as he leaned over
the litter; and the crowd at once opened to permit some one to fetch
it. Before I believed it were possible to have procured it, a tumbler of
water was passed from hand to hand till it reached mine, and, stepping
forwards, I bent down to give it to the sick man. The end of a coarse
sheet was thrown over his face, and as it was removed I almost fell over
him, for it was Santron. His face was covered with a cold sweat, which
lay in great drops all over it, and his lips were slightly frothed. As
he looked up I could see that he was just rallying from a fainting-fit,
and could mark in the change that came over his glassy eye that he had
recognised me. He made a faint effort at a smile, and, in a voice barely
a whisper, said, ‘I knew thou’d not leave me, Maurice.’
‘You are his countryman?’ said the officer, addressing me in French.
‘Yes, sir,’ was my reply.
‘You are both Canadians, then?’
‘Frenchmen, sir, and officers in the service. We only landed from an
American ship yesterday, and were trying to make our way to France.’
‘I’m sorry for you,’ said he compassionately; ‘nor do I know how to help
you. Come on board the tender, however, and we’ll see if they’ll not
give you a passage with your friend to the Nore. I’ll speak to my
commanding officer for you.’
This scene all passed in a very few minutes, and before I well knew how
or why, I found myself on board of a ship’s longboat, sweeping along
over the Mersey, with Santron’s head in my lap, and his cold, clammy
fingers grasped in mine. He was either unaware of my presence or too
weak to recognise me, for he gave no sign of knowing me; and during our
brief passage down the river, and when lifted up the ship’s side, seemed
totally insensible to everything.
The scene of uproar, noise, and confusion on board the _Athol_ is
far beyond my ability to convey. A shipwreck, a fire, and mutiny, all
combined, could scarcely have collected greater elements of discord. Two
large detachments of marines, many of whom, fresh from furlough, were
too drunk for duty, and were either lying asleep along the deck, or
riotously interfering with everybody; a company of Sappers _en route_
to Woolwich, who would obey none but their own officer, and he was still
ashore; detachments of able-bodied seamen from the _Jupiter_, full of
grog and prize-money; four hundred and seventy impressed men, cursing,
blaspheming, and imprecating every species of calamity on their captors;
added to which, a crowd of Jews, bumboat women, and slop-sellers of all
kinds, with the crews of two ballast-lighters, fighting for additional
pay, being the chief actors in a scene whose discord I never
saw equalled. Drunkenness, suffering, hopeless misery, and even
insubordination, all lent their voices to a tumult, amid which the words
of command seemed lost, and all effort at discipline vain.
How we were ever to go to sea in this state, I could not even imagine.
The ship’s crew seemed inextricably mingled with the rioters, many of
whom were just sufficiently sober to be eternally meddling with the
ship’s tackle; belaying what ought to be ‘free,’ and loosening what
should have been ‘fast’; getting their fingers jammed in blocks, and
their limbs crushed by spars, till the cries of agony rose high
above every other confusion. Turning with disgust from a spectacle so
discordant and disgraceful, I descended the ladders, which led, by many
a successive flight, into the dark, low-ceilinged chamber called the
‘sick bay,’ where poor Santron was lying in, what I almost envied,
insensibility to the scene around him. A severe blow from the hilt of a
cutlass had caused a concussion of the brain, and, save in the momentary
excitement which a sudden question might cause, left him totally
unconscious. His head had been already shaved before I descended, and
I found the assistant-surgeon, an Irishman, Mr. Peter Colhayne,
experimenting a new mode of cupping as I entered. By some mischance
of the machinery, the lancets of the cupping instrument had remained
permanently fixed, refusing to obey the spring, and standing all
straight outside the surface. In this dilemma, Peter’s ingenuity saw
nothing for it but to press them down vigorously into the scalp, and
then saw them backwards the whole length of the head--a performance the
originality of which, in all probability, was derived from the operation
of a harrow in agriculture. He had just completed a third track when I
came in, and, by great remonstrance and no small flattery, induced him
to desist. ‘We have glasses,’ said he, ‘but they were all broke in
the cock-pit; but a tin porringer is just as good.’ And so saying, he
lighted a little pledget of tow, previously steeped in turpentine, and,
popping it into the tin vessel, clapped it on the head. This was meant
to exhaust the air within, and thus draw the blood to the surface--a
scientific process he was good enough to explain most minutely for my
benefit, and the good results of which he most confidently vouched for.
‘They’ve a hundred new conthrivances,’ said Mr. Colhayne, ‘for doing
that simple thing ye see there. They’ve pumps, and screws, and hydraulic
devilments as much complicated as a watch that’s always getting out of
order and going wrong; but with that ye’ll see what good ‘twill do him;
he’ll he as lively as a lark in ten minutes.’
The prophecy was destined to a perfect fulfilment, for poor Santron, who
lay motionless and unconscious up to that moment, suddenly gave signs
of life by moving his features, and jerking his limbs to this side and
that. The doctor’s self-satisfaction took the very proudest form. He
expatiated on the grandeur of medical science, the wonderful advancement
it was making, and the astonishing progress the curative art had made
even within his own time. I must own that I should have lent a more
implicit credence to this paean if I had not waited for the removal
of the cupping-vessel, which, instead of blood, contained merely the
charred ashes of the burnt tow, while the scalp beneath it presented
a blackened, seared aspect, like burnt leather. Such was literally
the effect of the operation; but as from that period the patient began
steadily to improve, I must leave to more scientific inquirers the task
of explaining through what agency, and on what principles.
Santron’s condition, although no longer dangerous, presented little hope
of speedy recovery. His faculties were clouded and obscured, and the
mere effort at recognition seemed to occasion him great subsequent
disturbance. Colhayne, who, whatever may have been his scientific
deficiencies, was good-nature and kindness itself, saw nothing for him
but removal to Haslar, and we now only waited for the ship’s arrival at
the Nore to obtain the order for his transmission.
If the _Athol_ was a scene of the wildest confusion and uproar when
we tripped our anchor, we had not been six hours at sea when all was a
picture of order and propriety. The decks were cleared of every one
not actually engaged in the ship’s working, or specially permitted to
remain; ropes were coiled, boats hauled up, sails trimmed, hatches down,
sentinels paced the deck in appointed places, and all was discipline and
regularity. From the decorous silence that prevailed, none could have
supposed so many hundred living beings were aboard, still less, that
they were the same disorderly mob who sailed from the Mersey a few short
hours before. From the surprise which all this caused me I was speedily
aroused by an order more immediately interesting, being summoned on
the poop-deck to attend the general muster. Up they came from holes and
hatchways, a vast host, no longer brawling and insubordinate, but quiet,
submissive, and civil. Such as were wounded had been placed under the
doctor’s care, and all those now present were orderly and servicelike.
With a very few exceptions they were all sailors, a few having already
served in a king’s ship. The first lieutenant, who first inspected
us, was a grim, greyheaded man past the prime of life, with features
hardened by disappointment and long service, but who still retained an
expression of kindliness and good-nature. His duty he despatched with
all the speed of long habit--read the name, looked at the bearer of it,
asked a few routine questions, and then cried ‘Stand by,’ even ere the
answers were finished. When he came to me he said--
‘Abraham Hackett. Is that your name, lad?’
‘No, sir. I ‘m called Maurice Tiernay.’
‘Tiernay, Tiernay,’ said he a couple of times over. ‘No such name here.’
‘Where’s Tiernay’s name, Cottle?’ asked he of a subordinate behind him.
The fellow looked down the list--then at me--then at the list again--and
then back to me, puzzled excessively by the difficulty, but not seeing
how to explain it.
‘Perhaps I can set the matter right, sir,’ said I. ‘I came aboard along
with a wounded countryman of mine--the young Frenchman who is now in the
sick bay.’
‘Ay, to be sure; I remember all about it now,’ said the lieutenant, ‘You
call yourselves French officers?’ ‘And such are we, sir.’
‘Then how the devil came ye here? Mother Martin’s cellar is, to say the
least of it, an unlikely spot to select as a restaurant.’
‘The story is a somewhat long one, sir.’
‘Then I haven’t time for it, lad,’ he broke in. ‘We’ve rather too much
on hand just now for that. If you ‘ve got your papers, or anything to
prove what you assert, I’ll land you when I come into the Downs, and
you’ll, of course, be treated as your rank in the service requires. If
you have not, I must only take the responsibility on myself to regard
you as an impressed man. Very hard, I know, but can’t help it. Stand
by.’
These few words were uttered with a most impetuous speed; and as all
reply to them was impossible, I saw my case decided and my fate decreed,
even before I knew they were under litigation.
As we were marched forwards to go below, I overheard an officer say to
another--
‘Hay will get into a scrape about those French fellows; they may turn
out to be officers, after all.’
‘What matter?’ cried the other. ‘One is dying; and the other Hay means
to draft on board the _Téméraire_. Depend upon it, we’ll never hear more
of either of them.’
This was far from pleasant tidings; and yet I knew not any remedy for
the mishap. I had never seen the officer who spoke to me ashore since we
came on board. I knew of none to intercede for me; and as I sat down on
the bench beside poor Santron’s cot, I felt my heart lower than it
had ever been before. I was never enamoured of the sea-service; and
certainly the way to overcome my dislike was not by engaging against
my own country; and yet this, in all likelihood, was now to be my fate.
These were my last waking thoughts the first night I passed on board the
_Athol_.