As we lay waiting for our final orders, a report reached us that
a large English brig of war, called the _Nimrod_, lay in a cove
somewhere near Boston bay. Upon this information, our officers
planned a night expedition for the purpose of effecting her capture.
Our intended mode of attack was to run close alongside, pour a
broadside upon her, and then, without further ceremony, board her,
cutlass in hand. So we took in our powder, ground up our cutlasses,
and towards night got under weigh. A change in the wind, however,
defeated our designs, and we put into Salem harbor, with no other
result than the freezing of a man’s fingers, which happened while we
were furling our sails. Thus ended our first warlike expedition in
the _Siren_.
Shortly after this affair, we received orders to start on a cruise
to the coast of Africa, and, in company with the _Grand Turk_,[19]
a privateer, set sail from Salem. Passing the fort, we received the
usual hail from the sentry, of “Brig ahoy! where are you bound to?”
To this salutation the first lieutenant jocosely answered, “There,
and back again, on a man of war’s cruise.” Such a reply would
not have satisfied a British soldier; but we shot past the fort
unmolested. After two days we parted company with the _Grand
Turk_, and by the aid of a fair wind soon found ourselves in the
Gulf Stream; where, instead of fearing frozen fingers, we could go
bare-footed and feel quite comfortable.
We now kept a sharp look-out at the mast-head, but met with nothing
until we reached the Canary Islands, near which we saw a boat-load of
Portuguese, who, coming alongside, talked in their native tongue with
great noise and earnestness, but were no more intelligible to us than
so many blackbirds.
While off the African coast, our captain died. His wasted body was
placed in a coffin, with shot to sink it. After the service had been
read, the plank on which the coffin rested was elevated, and it
slipped into the great deep. The yards were braced round, and we were
under weigh again, when, to our surprise and grief, we saw the coffin
floating on the waves. The reason was, the carpenter had bored holes
in the top and bottom; he should have made them only in the top.
After the funeral, the crew were called aft, and the first
lieutenant, Mr. Nicholson,[20] told us that it should be left to
our decision whether he should assume the command and continue the
cruise, or return home. We gave him three hearty cheers, in token of
our wish to continue the cruise. He was a noble-minded man, very kind
and civil to his crew; and the opposite, in every respect, to the
haughty, lordly captain with whom I first sailed in the _Macedonian_.
Seeing me one day with rather a poor hat on, he called me aft and
presented me with one of his own, but little worn. “Good luck to
him,” said I, in sailor phrase, as I returned to my messmates; “he
has a soul to be saved.” We also lost two of our crew, who fell
victims to the heat of the climate.
One morning the cry of “Sail ho!” directed our attention to a strange
sail, which had hove to, with her courses hauled up. At first, we
took her for a British man-of-war brig. The hands were summoned to
quarters, and the ship got ready for action. A nearer approach,
however, convinced us that the supposed enemy, was no other than our
old friend, the _Grand Turk_. She did not appear to know us; for no
sooner did she see that our craft was a brig of war, than, supposing
us to belong to Johnny Bull, she crowded all her canvas, and made the
best of her way off. Knowing what she was, we permitted her to escape
without further alarm.
The first land we made was Cape Mount. The natives came off to a
considerable distance in their canoes, clothed in nothing but a piece
of cloth fastened round the waist, and extending downward to the
feet. As we approached the shore, we saw several fires burning; this,
we were told, in the broken English spoken by our sable visitors,
was the signal for trade. We bought a quantity of oranges, limes,
cocoanuts, tamarinds, plantains, yams and bananas. We likewise took
in a quantity of cassava, a species of ground root, of which we made
tolerable pudding and bread; also a few hogs and some water.
We lay here several days looking out for any English vessels that
might come thither for purposes of trade.
Meanwhile, we began to experience the inconvenience of a hot climate.
Our men were all covered with blotches or boils, probably occasioned
by so sudden a transition from extreme cold to extreme heat. What
was worse than this, was the want of a plentiful supply of water. In
the absence of this, we were placed on an allowance of two quarts
per diem, to each man. This occasioned us much suffering; for, after
mixing our Indian for puddings, our cassava for bread, and our whisky
for grog, we had but little left to assuage our burning thirst. Some,
in their distress, drank large quantities of sea water, which only
increased their thirst and made them sick; others sought relief in
chewing lead, tea-leaves, or anything which would create moisture.
Never did we feel more delighted than when our boat’s crew announced
the discovery of a pool of fine clear water. We received it with
greater satisfaction than ever prodigal did tidings of the death of
some rich old relative, to whose well-laden purse he was undisputed
heir. We could have joined in the most enthusiastic cold-water song
ever sung by either hermit or Washingtonian.[21]
While cruising along the coast, we one night perceived a large ship
lying at anchor near the shore. We could not decide whether she was
a large merchantman or a man of war; so we approached her with the
utmost caution. Our doubts were soon removed, for she suddenly loosed
all her sails and made chase after us. By the help of their glasses,
our officers ascertained her to be an English frigate. Of course, it
was folly to engage her; so we made all the sail we could carry, beat
to quarters, lighted our matches, and lay down at our guns, expecting
to be prisoners of war before morning. During the night we hung out
false lights, and altered our course; this baffled our pursuer; in
the morning she was no more to be seen.
The next sail we made was not so formidable. She was an English
vessel at anchor in the Senegal river. We approached her and hailed.
Her officer returned an insolent reply, which so exasperated our
captain that he passed the word to fire into her, but recalled it
almost immediately. The countermand was too late; for in a moment,
everything being ready for action, we poured a whole broadside into
our unfortunate foe. The current carried us away from the stranger.
We attempted to beat up again, but our guns had roused the garrison
in a fort which commanded the river; they began to blaze away at us
in so expressive a manner, that we found it prudent to get a little
beyond the reach of their shot, and patiently wait for daylight.
The next morning we saw our enemy hauled close in shore, under
the protection of the fort, and filled with soldiers. At first,
it was resolved to man the boats and cut her out; but this, after
weighing the subject maturely, was pronounced to be too hazardous an
experiment, and, notwithstanding our men begged to make the attempt,
it was wisely abandoned. How many were killed by our hasty broadside,
we never learned, but doubtless several poor fellows were hurried to
a watery and unexpected grave, affording another illustration of the
_beauty_ of war. This affair our men humorously styled “the battle of
Senegal.”
After visiting Cape Three Points, we shaped our course for St.
Thomas. On our way, we lost a prize through a display of Yankee
cunning in her commander. We had hoisted English colors; the officer
in command of the stranger was pretty well versed in the secrets of
false colors, and in return he ran up the American flag. The bait
took: supposing her to be American, we showed the stars and stripes.
This was all the merchantman desired. It told him what we were, and
he made all possible sail for St. Thomas. We followed, crowding every
stitch of canvas our brig could carry; we also got out our sweeps and
swept her along, but in vain. The merchantman was the better sailer,
and succeeded in reaching St. Thomas, which, being a neutral port,
secured her safety. Her name was the _Jane_, of Liverpool. The next
morning, another Liverpool merchantman got into the harbor, unseen
by our look-out until she was under the protection of the laws of
neutrality.
Our next business was to watch the mouth of the harbor, in the hope
of catching them as they left port. But they were too cautious to run
into danger, especially as they were expecting a convoy for their
protection, which might make us glad to trust more to our canvas than
to our cannon.
Shortly after this occurrence, we made another sail standing in
towards St. Thomas. Hoisting English colors, our officers also
donning the British uniform, we soon came near enough to hail her;
for, not doubting that we were a British brig, the merchantman made
no effort to escape us. Our captain hailed her, “Ship ahoy!”
“Halloa!”
“What ship is that?”
“The ship _Barton_.”
“Where do you belong?”
“To Liverpool.”
“What is your cargo?”
“Red-wood, palm oil and ivory.”
“Where are you bound to?”
“To St. Thomas.”
Just at that moment our English flag was hauled down, and, to the
inexpressible annoyance of the officers of the _Barton_, the stars
and stripes supplied its place.
“Haul down your colors!” continued Captain Nicholson.
The old captain, who, up to this moment, had been enjoying a
comfortable nap in his very comfortable cabin, now came upon deck
in his shirt sleeves, rubbing his eyes, and looking so exquisitely
ridiculous, it was scarcely possible to avoid laughing. So surprised
was he at the unexpected termination of his dreams, he could not
command skill enough to strike his colors; which was accordingly done
by the mate. As they had two or three guns aboard, and as some of the
men looked as if they would like to fight, our captain told us, if
they fired to not “leave enough of her to boil a tin pot with.” After
this expressive and _classical_ threat, we lowered our boats and took
possession of this our first prize.
After taking out as much of her cargo as we desired, just at night
we set her on fire. It was an imposing sight, to behold the antics
of the flames, leaping from rope to rope, and from spar to spar,
until she looked like a fiery cloud resting on the dark surface of
the water. Presently, her spars began to fall, her masts went by the
board, her loaded guns went off, the hull was burned to the water’s
edge, and what, a few hours before, was a fine, trim ship, looking
like a winged creature of the deep, lay a shapeless, charred mass,
whose blackened outline, shadowed in the clear, still waves, looked
like the grim spirit of war lurking for its prey.
This wanton destruction of property was in accordance with our
instructions, “to _sink_, _burn_ and _destroy_” whatever we took from
the enemy. Such is the war-spirit! SINK, BURN and DESTROY! how it
sounds! Yet such are the instructions given by Christian (?) nations
to their agents in time of war. What Christian will not pray for the
destruction of such a spirit?
The crew of the _Barton_ we carried into St. Thomas, and placed
them on board the _Jane_, excepting a Portuguese and two colored
men, who shipped among our crew. We also took with us a fine black
spaniel dog, whom the men called by the name of Paddy. This done, we
proceeded to watch for fresh victims, on which to wreak the vengeance
of the war-spirit.
The next sail we met, was an English brig, called the _Adventure_;
which had a whole menagerie of monkeys on board. We captured and
burned her, just as we did the _Barton_. Her crew were also disposed
of in the same manner. One of them, an African prince, who had
acquired a tolerable education in England, and who was remarkably
polite and sensible, shipped in the _Siren_. His name was Samuel
Quaqua.
We now remained at St. Thomas several days, carrying on a petty
trade with the natives. Our men bought all kinds of fruit, gold dust
and birds. For these things, we gave them articles of clothing,
tobacco, knives, &c. For an old vest, I obtained a large basket of
oranges; for a hand of tobacco, five large cocoanuts: a profitable
exchange on my side; since, although I drew my tobacco of the purser,
I fortunately never acquired the habit of using it; a loss I never
regretted. My cocoanuts were far more gratifying and valuable when we
got to sea, parched with thirst, and suffering for water, than all
the tobacco in the ship.
While in this port, I had to throw myself on the protection of
the officers, to avoid the disposition to abuse which existed in
one of the petty officers. Several of these gentlemen, who messed
together, had a large boy to wait on them. He was unacquainted with
naval usages, and somewhat awkward withal. This led them to oppress
him: they frequently knocked him round, and even ventured to flog
him with a rope’s-end. The poor lad used to cry, and fret about it,
leading quite a miserable life. By some means, it happened that I was
ordered to take his place; and I determined to resist their habit of
punishing their servant; so, one day, when the gunner came below for
his share of the whisky, and found it was gone, his messmates having
drank the whole, and asked me for his whisky, I boldly answered “I
know nothing about it.”
At this, he broke out into a furious passion, declaring that if I did
not find his whisky he would have my heart’s blood.
To this _dignified_ and _manly_ threat I made no reply, but proceeded
forthwith to the first lieutenant, and laid the facts before him. The
gunner was sent for, reprimanded, and threatened with degradation, if
ever he either struck or offered to strike me again. Of course, I had
no further trouble with these would-be tyrants.
The only other difficulty I ever had on board the _Siren_, was with a
young midshipman, who was on his first voyage--who was, in sailor’s
language, “a real green-horn.” He ordered me, one day, to wash his
clothes. I refused, saying it was not my duty. Putting on the air
of a pompous man, he told me it was my duty to obey an officer, and
I should do it. I persisted in resisting this sprig of American
aristocracy, and as I heard no more of it, I suppose he learned that
he was in the wrong.
The effect of my conduct on the gunner was seen a short time
afterwards, in the following little incident, which will also show
the reader the nature of the pranks practised in men of war, by the
hands. The gunner was a very selfish man, and somehow, when we were
on short allowance of water, he contrived to keep a keg filled, which
he kept in a small state-room; and a man might choke before he would
part with a drop. One night, when my throat was parched with thirst,
I met the boatswain’s mate, and said, “If I were minded to play the
rogue, I could hook some water.”
The mate, who was as dry as myself, looked mightily gratified at this
piece of news, and asked, “Where?”
“I have a key that will fit the lock of the room where the gunner
keeps his water keg.”
“Well,” said he, “give me the key. I will be the rogue, while you
keep watch for the old gunner.”
After drinking all we desired, we locked the door and returned to our
posts, wondering how the gunner would feel when he found that some
one had been practising the arithmetical rule, called reduction, on
his water keg.
The next day the offended gunner threw out sundry hints to his
messmates about his loss, indirectly charging them with the robbery.
This drew down their wrath upon him, and he was compelled to be
content with swallowing his choler, and getting a new lock for his
state-room. In all his rage he never uttered a word to me: he had not
forgotten my appeal to his superiors.
From St. Thomas we proceeded to Angola, where we staid long enough
to clean, paint and refit our brig, from stem to stern. This was the
last port we intended to touch at on the coast of Africa. Our next
anchorage was to be in Boston harbor--at least so we purposed; but
Providence and the British ordered it otherwise.
To accomplish our object, we had to run the gauntlet through the
host of English cruisers that hovered about, like birds of prey,
along both sides of the Atlantic coast. This enterprise appeared
so impossible to my mind, while we lay at Angola, and the fear of
being retaken and hung operated so strongly on my imagination, that,
more than once, I determined to run away and find a refuge among the
Africans; but my better judgment prevailed at last, and I continued
at my post.
Still, I used every possible precaution to escape detection in case
of our capture. In accordance with the custom of our navy at that
period, I let my hair grow long behind. To change my looks more
effectually, instead of tying mine in a cue as the others did, I let
it hang in ringlets all round my face and neck. This, together with
the effect of time, caused me to appear quite a different lad from
what I was, when a boy, on board the _Macedonian_. I also adopted
that peculiarity of dress practised by American men-of-war’s-men,
which consisted in wearing my shirt open at the neck, with the
corners thrown back. On these corners a device was wrought,
consisting of the stars of the American flag, with the British flag
underneath. By these means I hoped to pass for a genuine Yankee,
without suspicion, in case we should fall into English hands.
Having finished our preparations, we left Angola for Boston. We
reached the island of Ascension in safety, where was a post-office
of a truly patriarchal character. A box is nailed to a post near
the shore. Ships that pass send to the box and deposit or take out
letters, as the case may be. This is probably the cheapest general
post-office establishment in the world.
We had scarcely left this island before the cry of “Sail ho!”
arrested every ear. Supposing her to be a large merchantman, we made
towards her; but a nearer approach made it doubtful whether she was
an Indiaman or a man of war. The captain judged her to be the latter,
and tacked ship immediately. He was unwilling to place himself in the
situation of an American privateer, who, mistaking a seventy-four for
a merchantman, ran his ship close alongside, and boldly summoned
her to haul down her colors. The captain of the other ship coolly
replied, “I am not in the habit of striking my colors.” At the same
moment the ports of his ship were opened, and disclosed her long
ranges of guns, yawning over the decks of the privateer. Perceiving
his mistake, the privateer, with admirable tact and good humor,
said, “Well, if you won’t, I will,” and pulling down his bunting,
surrendered to his more powerful foe. To avoid such a mistake as
this, our captain made all sail to escape the coming stranger, which
was now bearing down upon us under a heavy pressure of canvas,
revealing, as she gained upon our little brig, that she bore the
formidable character of a seventy-four gun ship, under English colors.
Of course, fighting was out of the question. It would be like
the assault of a dog on an elephant, or a dolphin on a whale. We
therefore crowded all possible sail, threw our guns, cables, anchors,
hatches, &c., overboard, to increase her speed. But it soon became
apparent that we could not escape. The wind blew quite fresh, which
gave our opponent the advantage: she gained on us very fast. We
shifted our course, in hopes to baffle her until night, when we felt
pretty sure of getting out of her way. It was of no use, she still
gained, until we saw ourselves almost within gun-shot of our opponent.
In this extremity, the captain ordered the quartermaster, George
Watson, to throw the private signals overboard. This was a hard
task for the bold-hearted fellow. As he pitched them into the sea,
he said, “Good-bye, brother Yankee;” an expression which, in spite
of their mortifying situation, forced a smile from the lips of the
officers.
The sound of a gun now came booming through the air. It was a signal
for us to heave to, or to look out for consequences. What might
have been, we learned afterwards, for a division of the crew of the
seventy-four had orders to sink us if we made the least show of
resistance. Finding it useless to prolong the chase, our commander
reluctantly ordered the flag to be struck. We then hove to, and our
foe came rolling down upon us, looking like a huge avalanche rushing
down the mountain side to crush some poor peasant’s dwelling. Her
officers stood on her quarter deck, glancing unutterable pride, while
her captain shouted, “What brig is that?”
“The United States brig _Siren_,” replied Captain Nicholson.
“This is his Britannic Majesty’s ship _Medway_!”[22] he answered. “I
claim you as my lawful prize.”
Boats were then lowered, the little brig taken from us, and our crew
transferred to the _Medway_, stowed away in the cable tier, and put
in messes of twelve, with an allowance of only eight men’s rations
to a mess; a regulation which caused us considerable suffering from
hunger. The sight of the marines on board the _Medway_ made me
tremble, for my fancy pointed out several of them as having formerly
belonged to the _Macedonian_. I really feared I was destined to
speedily swing at the yard-arm; it was, however, a groundless alarm.
This event happened July 12, 1814. Only eight days before, we
had celebrated the independence of our country, by dancing and
splicing the main-brace. Now we had a fair prospect of a rigorous
imprisonment. Such are the changes which constantly occur under the
rule of the war-spirit.
The day subsequent to our capture, we were marched to the quarter
deck with our clothes-bags, where we underwent a strict search. We
were ordered to remove our outside garments for this purpose. They
expected to find us in possession of large quantities of gold dust.
What little our crew had purchased was taken from them, with a spirit
of rapacity altogether beneath the dignity of a naval commander.
Our short allowance was a source of much discomfort in this our
prison-ship. But, in the true spirit of sailors, we made even this a
subject of coarse jests and pleasant remark. Some would sit and paint
the luxuries of shore life until our mouths watered at the idea of
soft tack, fried eggs, sausages, and those other delicacies which
go to make up a sailor’s idea of a sensual paradise. Others would
discourse about roast beef, boiled lamb, and caper sauce; to which
some old weather-beaten tar would answer, “Give me the lamb and a
knife and fork, and I will cut capers enough.” This would draw out
peals of laughter, to be followed by various yarns of feasts gone
by, and of sprees enjoyed on liberty and paydays. Thus we beguiled
our time; though, with all our laughing, we could not laugh away the
clamors of our hungry stomachs; and when I took my turn of a few
minutes on deck, the gift of a piece of hard, dry biscuit, afforded
me more gustatory delight, than would the taste of the richest
pound-cake, now that I have an abundance of food.
Enduring this evil, we proceeded on our course. When the _Medway_
arrived at Simon’s Town, about twenty-one miles from the Cape of Good
Hope, we met the _Denmark_, seventy-four, on her way to England, with
prisoners from Cape Town. The captain had hitherto intended to land
us at the latter place, but the presence of the _Denmark_ led him to
change his purpose, and land us at Simon’s Town.
The journey from this place to the Cape was one of great suffering to
our crew. We were received on the beach by a file of Irish soldiers.
Under their escort we proceeded seven miles, through heaps of burning
sand, seeing nothing worthy of notice on the way, but a number of men
busily engaged in cutting up dead whales on the sea-shore.
After resting a short time, we recommenced our march, guarded by
a new detachment of soldiers. Unused to walking as we were, we
began to grow excessively fatigued; and, after wading a stream of
considerable depth, we were so overcome, that it seemed impossible to
proceed any farther. We lay down, discouraged and wretched, on the
sand. The guard brought us some bread, and gave half-a-pint of wine
to each man. This revived us somewhat. We were now placed under a
guard of dragoons. They were very kind, and urged us to attempt the
remaining seven miles. To relieve us, they carried our clothes-bags
on their horses; and overtaking some Dutch farmers, going to the Cape
with broom-stuff and brush, the officer of the dragoons made them
carry the most weary among us in their wagons. It is not common for
men to desire the inside of a prison, but I can assure my readers
we did most heartily wish ourselves there, on that tedious journey.
At last, about nine o’clock, P. M., we arrived at Cape Town, having
left one of our number at Wineburg, through exhaustion, who joined us
the next day. Stiff, sore, and weary, we hastily threw ourselves on
the hard boards of our prison, where, without needing to be soothed
or rocked, we slept profoundly until late the next morning. For a
description of our prison, with what happened to us there, the reader
is referred to the succeeding chapter.