During the siege of Acre, Daniel Bryan, an old seaman and captain of the
fore-top, who had been turned over from the Blanche into sir Sidney
Smith’s ship Le Tigré, repeatedly applied to be employed on shore; but,
being an elderly man and rather deaf, his request was not acceded to. At
the first storming of the breach by the French, one of their generals
fell among the multitude of the slain, and the Turks, in triumph, struck
off his head, and, after mangling the body with their sabres, left it a
prey to the dogs, which in that country are of great ferocity, and rove
in herds. In a few days it became a shocking spectacle, and when any of
the sailors who had been on shore returned to their ship, inquiries were
constantly made respecting the state of the French general. To Dan’s
frequent demands of his messmates why they had not buried him, the only
answer he received was, “Go and do it yourself.” One morning having
obtained leave to go and see the town, he dressed himself as though for
an excursion of pleasure, and went ashore with the surgeon in the
jolly-boat. About an hour or two after, while the surgeon was dressing
the wounded Turks in the hospital, in came honest Dan, who, in his
rough, good-natured manner, exclaimed, “I’ve been burying the general,
sir, and now I’m come to see the sick!” Not particularly attending to
the tar’s salute, but fearing that he might catch the plague, which was
making great ravages among the wounded Turks, the surgeon immediately
ordered him out. Returning on board, the cockswain asked of the surgeon
if he had seen old Dan? It was then that Dan’s words in the hospital
first occurred, and on further inquiry of the boat’s crew they related
the following circumstances:--
The old man procured a pick-axe, a shovel, and a rope, and insisted on
being let down, out of a port-hole, close to the breach. Some of his
more juvenile companions offered to attend him. “No!” he replied, “you
are too young to be shot yet; as for me, I am old and deaf, and _my_
loss would be no great matter.” Persisting in his adventure, in the
midst of the firing, Dan was slung and lowered down, with his implements
of action on his shoulder. His first difficulty was to beat away the
dogs. The French levelled their pieces--they were on the instant of
firing at the hero!--but an officer, perceiving the friendly intentions
of the sailor, was seen to throw himself across the file:
instantaneously the din of military thunder ceased, a dead, solemn
silence prevailed, and the worthy fellow consigned the corpse to its
parent earth. He covered it with mould and stones, placing a large stone
at its head, and another at its feet. The unostentatious grave was
formed, but no inscription recorded the fate or character of its
possessor. Dan, with the peculiar air of a British sailor, took a piece
of chalk from his pocket, and attempted to write
“HERE YOU LIE, OLD CROP!”
He was then, with his pick-axe and shovel, hoisted into the town, and
the hostile firing immediately recommenced.
A few days afterwards, sir Sidney, having been informed of the
circumstance, ordered old Dan to be called into the cabin.--“Well, Dan,
I hear you have buried the French general.”--“Yes, your honour.”--“Had
you any body with you?”--“Yes, your honour.”--“Why, Mr. ---- says you
had not.”--“But I had, your honour.”--“Ah! who had you?”--“God Almighty,
sir.”--“A very good assistant, indeed. Give old Dan a glass of
grog.”--“Thank your honour.” Dan drank the grog, and left the cabin
highly gratified. He was for several years a pensioner in the royal
hospital at Greenwich.
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