TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Footnote anchors are denoted by [number], and the footnotes have been
placed at the end of the book.
A superscript is denoted by ^x or ^{xx}, for example ESQ^R.
The warship USS _Syren_ is referred to as _Siren_ throughout the
book (except for the title page); this has not been changed.
Some minor changes to the text are noted at the end of the book.
THE
MAGAZINE OF HISTORY
WITH
NOTES AND QUERIES
Extra Number--No. 9
COMPRISING
THIRTY YEARS FROM HOME, OR A VOICE
FROM THE MAIN DECK: BEING THE
EXPERIENCE OF SAMUEL LEECH.
WILLIAM ABBATT
EAST 25th STREET, ⁂ ⁂ NEW YORK
1909
[Illustration: THIS REPRESENTATION OF THE U. S. FRIGATE UNITED
STATES, STEPHEN DECATUR ESQ^R COMMANDER, CAPTURING HIS BRITANNIC
MAJESTY’S FRIGATE MACEDONIAN, JOHN S. CARDEN ESQ^R COMMANDER
_Is respectfully inscribed to Captain Stephen Decatur his Officers
and Gallant Crew by their devoted humble Servant_
James Webster.]
THIRTY YEARS FROM HOME
OR
A VOICE FROM THE
MAIN DECK
BEING THE EXPERIENCE OF
SAMUEL LEECH
WHO WAS FOR SIX YEARS IN THE BRITISH AND AMERICAN
NAVIES: WAS CAPTURED IN THE BRITISH FRIGATE _MACEDONIAN_:
AFTERWARDS ENTERED THE AMERICAN NAVY,
AND WAS TAKEN IN THE UNITED STATES BRIG _SYREN_, BY
THE BRITISH SHIP _MEDWAY_ :: :: :: ::
BOSTON
PUBLISHED BY TAPPAN & DENNET
114 WASHINGTON STREET
1843
NEW YORK
Reprinted
WILLIAM ABBATT
1909
(Being Extra No. 9 of THE MAGAZINE OF HISTORY with Notes and Queries)
PREFACE
I have often been solicited, by my personal friends, to commit the
incidents of my life to paper. It was thought that they contained
sufficient interest to command public attention. At any rate, there
is a novelty in the fact of an unlettered sailor’s appearance before
the public, detailing the secrets of the naval Main Deck. The Quarter
Deck has long and often told its own story, and has given its own
coloring to naval life. Here, however, is a voice from the main deck,
revealing life in a man of war as it appears to the sailor himself.
As such, this work has some claim on the attention of the public.
I have endeavored to state facts as they were when I was a sailor,
and in the ships to which I belonged. My object is to give a true
picture. That, I have done, as far as a remarkably strong memory
enabled me. I kept no journals, and consequently some slight mistakes
in names, dates and places, may be found in my book; but I have been
careful to state nothing as _facts_, of which I was not certain.
That the naval service has improved since I belonged to it, is, I
believe, universally admitted. I rejoice at it. Still, it is not yet
what it should be. If this work should, in any degree, stir up the
public mind to amend the condition of seamen, I shall feel gratified,
and fully repaid for the labor of placing these facts on record.
With many prayers that the perusal of these pages may do good, I
leave the reader to pursue his way along the track of my experience:
assuring him, that what may afford him pleasure to read, has cost me
much pain to suffer.
SAMUEL LEECH.
RECOMMENDATIONS
_From the Hon. Erastus Corning._
ALBANY, N. Y., December 3, 1842.
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:
I have known and have had intercourse with Mr. Samuel Leech, for
the last twenty years, and have always found him honorable in his
dealings, and consider him entitled to the confidence of the public
as a man of strict integrity.
ERASTUS CORNING.
The undersigned, being acquainted with Mr. Samuel Leech, the author
of the following work, do cheerfully vouch for his moral and
Christian character; and assure the public, that the interesting
volume, which he here presents to the world, may be relied upon as
an honest statement of facts, with which the writer was personally
conversant; and as having no fellowship whatever with those
fictitious tales of the sea, which, under the garb and professions
of truth, have been proffered to the reading community.
CHARLES ADAMS,
_Principal Wes. Academy._
JOHN BOWERS,
_Pastor Cong. Church, Wilbraham, Mass._
WILBRAHAM, May 4, 1843.
DAVID PATTEN,
_Pastor, Providence, R. I._
REUBEN RANSOM,
_Presiding Elder, Springfield Dis. N. E. C._
HENRY CHASE,
_Preacher to Seamen, N. Y._
PREFACE
Narratives of service, a century ago, written by private soldiers,
are rare, but such by common sailors are almost unknown.
Samuel Leech’s narrative “Thirty Years from Home, a voice from
the Main-Deck” is a unique book, and now scarce. It is a valuable
contribution to our history, giving a sailor’s experience in both
British and American navies, and being the sole account by a British
seaman of the capture of the _Macedonian_ by the _United States_, in
1812.
The revelations he makes of the cruel treatment of their men by
British naval officers are unfortunately matched by the similar
account of life on the same frigate _United States_, then under
command of “_Captain Claret_” in 1843-44, given by Herman Melville
in his remarkable book “White Jacket, or the World in a Man of War.”
Though he is writing of an era thirty years later than Leech’s, the
picture is equally distressing.
Leech also gives almost as bad a character to Captain David Porter
(father of the late Admiral David D. Porter) as to the British
tyrants.
It should be recorded in this connection, that flogging was abolished
in the United States navy in 1851, through the efforts of Commodore
Robert P. Stockton.
The book has never been reprinted before since its original
appearance (1843.)
EDITOR.
--The late Rear Admiral S. R. Franklin (_Memories of a Rear
Admiral_, 1898), who was midshipman on the _United States_ when
Herman Melville was of the crew, says _Captain Claret_ was Captain
James Armstrong, and the _Commodore_ Thomas Ap Catesby Jones. He
adds: “Melville’s _White Jacket_ had more influence in abolishing
corporal punishment in the Navy than anything else. A copy of it
was placed on the desk of every member of Congress, and was a most
eloquent appeal to the humane sentiment of the country.”
A VOICE FROM THE MAIN DECK
CHAPTER I
Were it not that the most common of all inquiries, respecting every
man who comes before the public, is, “who is he? whence did he
proceed? who were his parents?” &c., I would not detain the reader
with any account of my humble ancestors and their circumstances.
But, since men naturally expect this information, and would hence
consider my narrative imperfect without it, I shall take the liberty
to introduce them.
My father’s occupation was that of _valet de chambre_ to Lord William
Fitzroy, son of the Duke of Grafton. My recollections concerning him
are few and indistinct, as he died while I was yet scarcely three
years old. One little incident alone reminds me of wearing a mourning
dress as a memento of sorrow for his death. Returning from the parish
church in Walthamstow, I observed the larger boys amusing themselves
by swinging across the rails of the fences; endeavoring to join in
their amusement, my hands slipped, and falling into a muddy ditch, I
nearly finished my course, ere it was well begun, by a violent death.
A benevolent stranger, however, rescued me, and once safe, my grief
for the sad condition of my little black frock was excessive and
inconsolable. A trifling cause for sorrow, to be sure, yet men and
women often grieve for causes equally contemptible.
Although my personal remembrances of my father’s death are so
indistinct, yet the frequent mention made of him by my mother, has
left the pleasing impression on my mind that he died a Christian. “I
have thought of my numerous sins, but God has forgiven them all. Be
not troubled, for the Lord will provide for you and your children.
You need not fear to leave me, for I am not alone; God is with me,
though you are out of the room,” were among his dying expressions;
when, after fourteen months endurance of the pains which accompany a
slow consumption, he approached “that bourne from which no traveller
returns.” I expect to find my honored father in heaven.
Wanstead, in Essex, about seven miles from the great metropolis
of England, was the town, and 1798 the year, of my birth. Were it
necessary to designate the place more particularly, it might be said
that the part of Wanstead where I first struggled into being, was
called Nightingale Place; a most musical name, conferred in honor of
the nightingales which abounded in the vicinity.
Two years subsequently to my father’s demise, my mother became an
inmate of the family of Lady Francis Spencer, daughter of the Duke of
Grafton, and wife of Lord Spencer. As a consequence of this event,
I was deprived of a mother’s care and consigned to the charge of my
aunt Turner, whose family amounted to the very respectable number
of twenty-two sons and two daughters. The transfer of a child from
the care of its parent to that of another person, may appear, at
first sight, to be a very unimportant incident; but trifling as it
seems, it often exerts an influence which very materially changes
the destiny of the child: it was so in my case. Most of my cousins
were sailors, and some of them were constantly returning home,
bringing, with true sailors’ munificence, the pleasing and curious
productions of distant climes as presents to their parents and
friends; then, seated round the bright hearth-side, they used to tell
of wild adventures and hair-breadth escapes, spinning out the winter
evening’s tale to the infinite delight of their willing listeners.
Poor fellows! three of them died at sea; two more, John and Richard,
perished in the ill-fated _Blenheim_, a seventy-four gun ship of the
British navy, which went down off the Cape of Good Hope, with seven
hundred as brave men on board as ever trod a plank. Notwithstanding
these sad recollections, and though none perceived it, my three
years’ residence among these “sailors bold” decided the nature of my
future calling; it captivated my imagination and begat a curiosity,
which ultimately led me to make my “home upon the bounding deep.”
An orphan is ever exposed to changes. The loss of either parent
calls for a degree of sympathy and kindness from others, which
they are rarely willing to expend except on their own. Such is the
almost universal selfishness of human nature. My experience affords
a verification of the truthfulness of the remark. For some cause or
other, it became inconvenient for me to remain with my kind aunt
Turner, and my next home was with a widowed aunt, at Wanstead, where
I did not meet with the same kindness of treatment. The breaking of
a cup, or any of the thousand-and-one offences found in the list of
juvenile defects, was sure to bring upon me the infliction of the
rod; and, what was equally painful, my most economical aunt exacted
the full payment for all these losses from the little pocket money
I obtained by holding a horse, running errands, or as new-year and
Christmas presents; thus gratifying her temper and her covetousness
at once, besides embittering, to some extent, the boyish hours of my
unfortunate self.
There is no evil in the management of children to be more deprecated
than that species of treatment which tends to destroy their
happiness. Correction for obvious faults, in a proper manner, is
essential to their proper moral training; but a habit of incessantly
scolding them for every little accident or offence, only serves to
excite the growth of evil passions and to make them dislike their
home; things to be avoided as much as Scylla and Charybdis by the
careful mariner. The influence of such mal-treatment follows the
child through life, like an evil genius, materially affecting his
views of life and the temper of his mind. For aught that now occurs
to me, but for this unkindness, my early predilection for the sea
would have died within me; while, as it was, I panted to enjoy
the freedom my fancy painted in its pictures of sailor life. To
add to my sorrows, my mother removed my sister, who had been my
cheerful companion and true friend, to a lady’s school at Woodstock,
in Oxfordshire, for the twofold purpose of affording her greater
literary advantages, and of being able to see her more frequently.
Several incidents occurred during my abode here, which tended to
increase my growing desire. A smart, active sailor, over six feet
in height, and well-proportioned, one day presented himself at my
aunt’s door. He told us he had been to America, where he had seen a
young man named George Turner, who was her nephew and my cousin. He
proceeded to tell many fine stories about him, and at last inquired
if she should not like to see him, and if she should know him.
“I don’t know as I should,” said my aunt, “he has been away so long.”
“Well, then,” replied he, “I am George Turner!”
This fine, bold seaman, then, was my own cousin, son to my aunt
Turner; he had been eleven years at sea, and, after visiting his
parents, took this method of surprising his aunt. Most likely he
has made this adventure the subject of many a forecastle yarn since
then. While he remained he was so jolly, so liberal, and so full of
pleasant stories, that I began to feel quite sure that sailors were
noble fellows.
We were also favored with a visit from an uncle, then visiting Europe
from the West Indies. He was one of two brothers, who were educated
at Greenwich for the navy. One of them had entered the British navy,
and by dint of merit and hard service rose to the possession of a
commission in the service, but ultimately perished at sea. This one
had chosen the merchant service, but afterwards settled at Antigua.
He took me with him to London, and carried me over the West India
docks; he being well acquainted with many of the captains, they
treated me with playful attention, inquiring if I did not wish to
be a cabin-boy, and the like. When I returned to Wanstead, it was
with a stronger desire than ever to be a sailor. My uncle went to
Trinidad, and died shortly after.
A very pleasant piece of intelligence greeted me soon after these
incidents; it was nothing less than my removal from the care of my
unkind aunt to the roof of my mother. Weary of her widowhood, she
had again become a wife. My new parent was a widower with one son; a
carpenter by occupation, in the employ of the Duke of Marlborough.
Great was my joy when this fact was communicated to my young mind. I
hailed it as a deliverance from bondage, and with beaming eyes and
cheerful face hurried to bid adieu to my classmates in the day and
in the Sunday school--a sad proof of the unfitness of my aunt for
her task; since a child properly treated, will love its _home_ too
well to quit it without a tear; and if parents and guardians wish to
prevent their children from being wanderers and stragglers through
the wide world, let me bid them exert the utmost effort to make their
home pleasant. Throw a charm round it, make it enchanted ground,
cause it to become, in the language of a living poet,
“The fairy ring of bliss”
and then your children will love it too well to wander.
But I was now about to leave Wanstead, and, although delighted to
be rid of the surveillance of a cross old relation, there were some
things which threw an air of sadness occasionally over my mind.
There were many pleasant associations connected with the place; its
beautiful park, with herds of timid deer grazing under its tall oaks,
upon whose green old heads the sun had shone for centuries; the
venerable mansion, seated like a queen amid the sylvan scene; the old
parish church, with its gorgeously painted windows, to which I had
often walked on the Sabbath with my fellow-scholars in the Sabbath
school, and beside whose deep-toned organ I had sat listening to
the learned priest; the annual hunt at Easter, in which I had often
joined the crew of idle lads that gave chase to the distracted deer;
and the pleasant walks, made cheerful by the songs of innumerable
birds, in Epping forest, were all to be left--perhaps forever.
This thought made me somewhat sad, but it was swallowed up in the
joy I felt when my mother appeared to conduct me to Bladen, some
sixty miles from London, which was the place of her abode since her
marriage.
Behold me then, gentle reader, seated with my mother on the outside
of a stage-coach, with some ten fellow-passengers. The stage-coach
of England is quite a different vehicle from the carriage known by
that name in America. True, it is drawn by four horses, and it runs
on four wheels, but here the likeness ends; instead of being built
to carry twelve persons inside, it carries but six, while outside it
has seats for twelve. Three or four passengers ride very comfortably
behind, in what is called the basket, which is the territory of the
guard, as the boot before is of the coachman. All mail coaches, and
all others travelling in the night, carry a guard, or an armed man,
for the purpose of protecting the coach from the attacks of footpads
or highway robbers.
The dullness of our journey was somewhat relieved, after a long
season of silence, by the distress of an unfortunate passenger, who,
falling asleep, nodded so violently, that his hat, supposing it was
receiving notice to quit, very unceremoniously took leave of the
skull it covered, and plunged into the mud. The outcry of the poor
passenger, who was soon waked by the wind sporting amid his hair, and
his unavailing requests to stop the stage, put us all into good humor
with ourselves and with each other.
We had another source of relief in the antics of a wild, hair-brained
sailor. From spinning yarns, which looked amazingly like new
inventions, he would take to dancing on the roof of the coach; at the
foot of a hill he would leap off, and then spring up again with the
agility of a monkey, to the no small amusement of the passengers.
The more I saw of this reckless, thoughtless tar, the more enamored
I became with the idea of a sea life; and thus this journey to my
mother’s new abode was another link in the chain that decided my
future destiny in the drama of life. How strangely and imperceptibly
do small events tend to unexpected results. A match may fire a city
and lay desolate the work of ages; a single leak may sink a bark
and carry desolation to a hundred firesides--and trifles in the
daily scenes of human life, give character to our immortality. We
cannot, therefore, too carefully watch the influence of small events,
especially on young minds.
At Woodstock, famed in the annals of England as the scene of the
loves of King Henry and Rosamond Clifford, we quitted our stage
companions, and proceeded on foot to Bladen, two miles distant.
Our road lay through Blenheim or Woodstock park, which we entered
through the triumphal arch, a spacious portal, erected to the memory
of John, Duke of Marlborough, by Sarah, his duchess. On entering the
park, which is nearly twelve miles in circumference, one of the most
beautiful prospects imaginable disclosed itself. Blenheim Palace,
which is among the most magnificent piles of architecture in England,
appeared in front; on the left were to be seen a part of the village
of Woodstock, and on the right a broad and spacious lake, crossed by
a superb bridge;[1] a lofty column on the rising ground, erected in
honor of John, Duke of Marlborough, on which is the statue of that
noble warrior; a delightful valley, hills, plantations, herds of deer
feeding, shady groves and ancient trees, all conspired to render the
scene enchantingly beautiful.
Blenheim Palace, or Castle, was built at the public expense, in
the reign of Queen Anne, and was given, with its annexed demesnes,
in concurrence with the voice of parliament, to John, Duke of
Marlborough, as a testimony of royal favor and national gratitude
for his successes over the French and Bavarians; particularly for his
victory at Blenheim, on the banks of the Danube, on the 2d of August,
1704.
Crossing the park towards Bladen, we were met by my father-in-law,[2]
who received me with a kindness which prepossessed me at once in his
favor; he conducted us home, where, to my no small gratification, I
met my sister.
My father-in-law appeared to be in comfortable circumstances. He
resided in a very neat house, built of stone, shaded by a noble
apricot tree, and ornamented with a small but pretty garden. This,
together with another similar tenement, was his own property. To add
to my satisfaction, I perceived that he was very kind to my mother,
and also to myself. She one day expressed a desire to have the cold
stone floor of the kitchen removed, and boarded instead; my father,
at considerable expense, gratified her wish; this assured me of his
regard for her comfort.
With the village itself, I was equally well pleased. Though
containing few houses, it was delightfully pleasant. Fine farms,
with large flocks of quiet sheep grazing on their hill-sides;
expansive fields, surrounded with fragrant hawthorn hedges; and old
farm-houses, with their thatched roofs, and massive wheat ricks, met
the pleased eye on all sides; while cultivated gardens and numerous
wild flowers, especially the modest cowslip and humble violet,
scented the air and perfumed the breeze. Thus far, perhaps, Bladen
was equal to Wanstead; but in its moral aspects it was inferior.
There was far less regard for the Sabbath; less attention to the
moral culture of the young, than at the latter place. That blessed
institution, which has vivified and renewed the church, which has
filled her with the vigorous pulsations of youth--from which, as
from some prolific nursery, she has obtained the plants, which now
stand on her mountain-tops like the tall cedars of Lebanon--the
modest, unassuming Sabbath school was not there. Consequently, the
Sabbath was spent in roaming about the fields, in amusements, in
visiting, in taking excursions to a place called Ramsden, some seven
miles distant. True, there was a parish church, with two clergymen
belonging to its altars, but there was service only once every
Sunday within its ancient walls. During Lent, however, both priests
and people were more religious; the church was better attended; the
children were examined as to their knowledge of the church catechism!
They were even excited to diligence in committing it to memory by
the inducement of reward. A Bible and two prayer books were given to
the lads who excelled in answering the questions. At the first Lent
examination after my coming to Bladen, the Bible, the highest prize,
was awarded to me, and the second year the minister assigned me the
task of hearing the others recite--a striking proof of the benefit
of Sunday school instruction; it gave me both a moral and mental
superiority over all my compeers in the little village of Bladen.
This special attention to religion only lasted during the term of
Lent; when, with a return to the use of meat, the people returned to
the neglect of the Sabbath.
The inhabitants of Bladen were very social in their habits. They held
an annual feast, called Bladen feast, to which they invited their
friends from other towns; it commenced on Sabbath and continued three
days. Eating, drinking, talking, fortune-telling, gambling, occupied
three days of wassail and jollity; after which the visitors returned
to their respective towns, and the people to their occupations. The
neighboring villages gave similar feasts in their turn. They were
occasions of much evil and folly.
My time flew very rapidly and pleasantly away for two or three years,
until, like most children, I began to sigh for deliverance from the
restraints of home. I had already left school, and for some time,
being now about thirteen years of age, had been employed in the
pleasure-grounds of Blenheim Palace. This, however, was too tame a
business for a lad of my spirits. I had heard tales of the sea from
my cousins; my mother had filled my mind with the exploits of my
grandfather; my imagination painted a life on the great deep in the
most glowing colors; my mind grew uneasy; every day, my ordinary
pursuits became more and more irksome, and I was continually talking
about going to sea; indeed, I had made myself unhappy by being so
discontented.
Little do lads and young men know of the difference between the
comfort of a parent’s roof and the indifference, unkindness, and
trouble they invariably experience, who go out into the world, until
they have made the experiment. They paint everything in bright
colors; they fancy the future to be all sunshine, all sweets, all
flowers, but are sure to be wofully disappointed, when once away
from the fireside of their infancy. Let me advise young people, if
they wish to escape hardships, to be contented, to remain quietly at
home, abiding the openings of Providence, obeying the wishes of their
parents, who not only have their best good at heart, but, however
they may think to the contrary, actually know what is most for their
advantage.
My passion for a seaman’s life was not a little increased by a
soldier, who was sergeant to a company in Lord Francis Spencer’s
regiment of cavalry. Seated by my father’s hearth-side, this old
soldier, who had once been a sailor, would beguile many an evening
hour with his endless tale, while I sat listening in enrapt
attention. My mother, too, heedlessly fanned the flame by her
descriptions of the noble appearance of the ships she had seen when
at Brighton. Besides this, a footman at Blenheim House used to sing
a song called “the poor little sailor boy;” which, although somewhat
gloomy in its descriptions, only served to heighten the flame of
desire within me, until I could think of nothing else, day or night,
but of going to sea.
Finding my desires so strong, my kind-hearted mother mentioned
them to Lady Spencer. Just at that time, her brother, Lord William
Fitzroy, who was then expecting the command of a frigate, and with
whom my departed father had lived as valet, happened to visit
Blenheim, previously to going to sea. Anxious to serve my mother,
Lady Spencer mentioned me to Lord Fitzroy. He sent for me. Trembling
in every joint, I was ushered into his presence. He inquired if I
should like to go to sea. “Yes, my lord, I should,” was my ready
answer. He dismissed me, after some further questionings; but was
heard to say, before he left, that he would take me under his care,
and see to my future advancement.
These dazzling prospects not only well nigh turned my brain, but
decided my parents to send me to sea. To have their son an _officer_
in the navy was an unlooked-for honor; and they now entered into my
plans and feelings with almost as much ardor as myself. Alas! We
were all doomed to learn how little confidence can be placed in the
promises of nobles!
Not long after Lord Fitzroy’s departure, we received a letter stating
the fact of his appointment to his majesty’s frigate _Macedonian_,
which, being out of dock, was rapidly preparing for sea. This
intelligence was the signal for bustle, excitement, preparation,
and I know not what. Friends and gossips constantly crowded in to
administer their gratuitous advice; some predicting, to my infinite
delight, that certainly so smart a boy would make a great man; others
wore very grave countenances, and gave certain expressive shrugs of
the shoulders, while they told of flogging through the fleet, or of
being “seized up” for merely a look or a word; in short, but for a
strong conviction in my own breast that this was all said for effect,
it is doubtful whether they would not have succeeded in deterring me
from my purpose.
At last, after much ado, the long-expected day arrived when I was to
bid farewell to home and friends, to venture abroad upon an unknown
future. It would only vex the reader by its commonplace character,
or I would reveal all the nice little acts of parental, brotherly and
neighborly affection which took place. Suffice it to say, that my
parting was very much the same as that of all other boys of twelve,
when they leave home for the first time--a mixture of hopes and
fears, of tears and smiles, of sunshine and cloud.
Attended by my mother and her infant daughter, on the 12th day
of July, 1810, I turned my back on the quiet hamlet of Bladen.
Henceforth my lot was to be cast amid noise, dissipation, storms
and danger. This, however, disturbed my mind but little; brushing
away a tear, I leaped gaily on to the outside of the coach, and
in a few minutes, enveloped in a cloud of dust, was on my way to
London, filled with the one absorbing idea, “I am going to sea! I
am going to sea!” Should the reader take the trouble to read the
following chapters, he will learn the mishaps, hardships, pleasures
and successes that befell me there; and though my narrative may not
be filled with the witching tales, and romantic descriptions, that
abound in the works of the novelist, it shall at least commend itself
to his notice for its truthfulness.