During the various scenes, dangers and wanderings of these years
of my youth, I had not forgotten the home of my boyhood; and, now
that I was becoming somewhat settled in my prospects, I wrote an
affectionate letter to my mother. After a delay of several months, I
received two letters in reply, one from my mother, and the other from
my sister. That from my mother is inserted in this narrative, for the
purpose of exhibiting to the young reader, who may fancy that his
parents feel no very great interest in his welfare, another instance
of the deep, undying love of a mother’s heart.
BLADEN, December 23, 1818.
My dearly beloved Child:--
I cannot describe the sensations I felt when I received a letter
from your dear hands. It was the greatest pleasure I have enjoyed
since you left me. I have never been sorry but once since you
left, and that has been ever since; but I hope the Almighty has
ordered it all for the best. I have never forgotten to pray for
you morning, night, and many times in the day, though I talked
very little about you to any one, because I did not wish to make
any one else uncomfortable. But that God, who knows the secrets of
all hearts, sees how sincerely thankful I am because he has been
pleased to hear my prayers that I might hear from you again; for
I was fearful I never should. But now I have great hopes that the
blessed Lord will protect you, and spare our lives to see each
other again.
My dear child, you have not stated how you came to be separated
from the crew when the ship was taken, nor how you have been
employed since. You must be the best judge whether it will be safe
for you to venture home. It would be a great pleasure for me to
see you, but if there is danger of bad consequences, on account
of your having been in the service against your country, and if
any bad consequence should follow your coming home, it would make
me more unhappy than I have ever been yet. If there is no danger,
I should be very happy to have you come home and learn a trade;
as, thank God, I have it in my power to do something for you; and
nothing shall be wanting to make you comfortable, that I can do.
You say it may be one or two years before you come; but pray come
the first opportunity, as you will be gladly received by us all. If
it is a want of money that prevents you from coming, and you cannot
work your passage, perhaps you can get one by showing the captain
of some ship my letter, and he may depend on being paid as soon as
you arrive in England. If neither will do, send me word; and if
there is any place in London where your passage money can be paid,
I will pay it there for you. You are right in supposing yourself
twenty-two years of age on the nineteenth of March (1819). Your
sister Maria is twenty. She is grown a fine young woman; I am happy
to say is very steady and thoughtful; though not of a very strong
constitution. She is at service in London. She has written to you,
and I hope you will receive her letter with this.
* * * * *
I hope, my dear child, you will not fail to come home. Send me all
the particulars of your life, at the first opportunity. I am afraid
you have gone through a great deal of trouble and hardship since
I saw you. But the merciful Lord has been pleased to bring you
through the whole, and He is able to carry you through more, if you
put your trust in Him. It gave me great comfort to hear that you
are so well disposed, as I am sure you are, from the spirit of your
letter; it was more pleasure to me than if you had gained all the
riches in the world. I wish I was as well acquainted with religion
as yourself; but I will try to make a better use of my time, and
should it please God to let you come home, I hope you will be the
means of great good to me.
There are a number of Methodist meetings about us. The people
who live in our yard are very strict ones. I never disliked the
Methodists; I think they have a great gift of religion. I sent
your letter to Lady Churchill, formerly Lady Francis Spencer.
Both Lord and Lady Churchill were glad to hear from you, and are
your well-wishers. The Duke and Duchess of Marlborough are both
dead. Blenheim is much altered for the worse, since his son has
become Duke. Lord Francis, that was, makes a very good master; and
when the Duke died, he left Blenheim. His country house is in the
forest. Your father is his carpenter in the timber yard; he has
filled this situation six weeks. He comes home every Saturday; and
next spring they are going to place me and the children in a lodge
near him. We hope to have the happiness of seeing you there.
* * * * *
It is eight years the twelfth of last July, since you left us.
* * * Your father, brothers and sisters all join with me in hearty
prayers to Almighty God, that his blessing may be upon you; and if
it is his blessed will, we shall see you again; if it is not, we
must be resigned to what is fitting for us, and pray that we may
all meet in heaven, where all tears shall be wiped away. That God
may bless you, my dear child, is the sincere prayer of
Your ever loving mother,
SUSAN NEWMAN.
Notwithstanding the earnestness of my mother’s spirit, breathed out
so ardently for my return in this letter, I dared not risk myself on
British soil. Her expression of sorrow, if bad consequences should
ensue, had its weight in determining me to remain; but a conversation
with the celebrated Lorenzo Dow, who had recently returned from his
English tour, settled the question. He said he had seen four men
hung, who, like me, had been in the service of some other country,
after deserting from their own. This was quite sufficient; for, much
as I longed to visit the homes of my childhood, I had no disposition
to do it with a gallows suspended over my head. I therefore wrote
my mother, that, not having a regular discharge from the navy, it
would be best for me to continue where I was; but I begged them to
seriously think of emigrating themselves; since my father-in-law,
being an excellent carpenter, could do well in New England. Alas! it
was not for him ever to consider of this proposition; for, when my
letter arrived, they were performing the sad obsequies of death over
his breathless corpse. A prevailing fever had terminated a life of
fifty-seven years, after a sickness of two weeks. My mother, now a
widow the second time, after twelve years of pleasant union with her
last husband, thought it unfitting, at her time of life, to venture
across the ocean; and therefore all my plans for collecting my
relatives on American soil, were blasted in the bud.
Perhaps, after following me through the changes of my life at sea,
the reader may feel a little interest in knowing how I succeeded
as landsman. He has seen me escaping the breakers that met me on
my first approach to the shore; and now, if his patience be not
entirely exhausted, he may pursue my fortunes a little further.
He left me, when my episode about home led him away from the
thread of the narrative, busily at work as a filer of steel-yards,
at Mansfield, Conn. From thence, I returned to Ashford, where I
continued a year or two. At last, doubting the stability of my
employer, and fearing lest what he owed me might be lost, I took up
the whole in the shape of a wagon and a stock of steel-yards; then,
purchasing a horse, I travelled from place to place to sell them; and
in this manner got into a business which I have followed more or less
ever since. After acquiring, by economy and diligence, a few hundred
dollars, I opened a small store in Mansfield, with the intention of
leading a still more settled life; though about that time my mind was
strongly exercised with a desire to devote myself to the religious
benefit of seamen. My sense of unfitness for so great a work, at last
prevailed; and I proceeded with my plans of worldly business.
The days of which I write were those on which the bright star of
temperance had scarcely shone. Ministers, deacons, Christians, all
used the deadly drinks. Was it surprising, therefore, that I, but
so short a time before a rum-loving sailor, fell into the common
current, and became a rum-seller? No, it was not strange! but it was
a strange, a glorious display of restraining grace, that prevented me
from being drawn into the snare I was thus thoughtlessly spreading
for the poor drunkard.
But even in those early days of temperance, I was not without
my trials of mind in respect to the unholy traffic. Once, when
at Hartford, making purchases for my store, of which rum formed
no inconsiderable article, I accidentally heard of a lecture on
temperance, to be delivered at Dr. Hawes’s[29] church. This was the
first discourse on the subject I ever heard. The speaker excited
a deep interest in my mind, as he told of the origin of rum, its
primary costliness and rank among medicines, of the growth of
distilleries, the consequent decline in its price, and the attending
spread of drunkenness. So deadly a plot against the peace of the
world, he said, could only have been contrived in hell.
This discourse fell like a light on some dark opaque; it illuminated
my understanding, disturbed my conscience. No sleep visited my eyes
that night. Duty said, “Send back your team without rum in the
morning.” Fear of men, public opinion, interest said, “No. Every
other store-keeper sells it, and so may you.” The latter argument
prevailed. Conscience was rebuked; the rum went to my store.
Shortly after this struggle, I married a member of the Methodist
church in Hartford. We removed to Somers, Connecticut, where I
continued to sell rum, though, as before, with great caution and
with much inward struggling of mind. At last I could hold out no
longer, and in spite of the example of ministers, (some of whom often
drank, though sparingly, at my house,) in spite of the sneers of the
scornful, and of the fear of loss to my trade, I gave it up! It was
for the poor, untaught sailor to set the example of sacrifice to the
store-keepers of Somers. Three others imitated me in a short time.
Not to me, but to the grace of God, be the glory of my decision and
resolution. I can assure the modern rum-seller, whose lashed and
tortured soul still cleaves to the rum barrel and the toddy stick,
for the sake of the profit, that I have ever regarded that act as
among the best of my life.
Finding my present residence ill adapted to a successful prosecution
of business, I closed up my concerns, and removed to Wilbraham,
Mass., the place of my present abode; a pleasant town, but which is
rendered more so by the very superior opportunities it affords for
the education of children, in its most excellent and flourishing
academy.
Here my life glided pleasantly and quietly along, affording no
incidents worthy of special record. Happiness presided at my domestic
board, prosperity accompanied my temporal enterprises, and religion
reigned as the ruling genius over the whole. My ways were committed
unto the Lord, and he directed my steps; for which I praise him with
my whole heart.
In this delightful manner several years fled away; when, my business
having led me, on one occasion, to New York, I heard that my old
ship, the _Macedonian_, was in port. Animated with that regard for an
old ship, which always inspires a genuine seaman, I went on board.
She was so altered, I scarcely recognised her. Change, with an
unsparing hand, had remodeled the decks and cabins, so that I felt
somewhat lost where once every timber was familiar. This was rather
a disappointment; however, I stood on the spot where I had fought in
the din of battle; and with many a serious reflection recalled the
horrors of that dreadful scene. The sailors, on witnessing the care
with which I examined every thing, and supposing me to be a landsman,
eyed me rather closely. Seeing their curiosity, I said, “Shipmates, I
have seen this vessel before to-day: probably before any of you ever
did.”
The old tars gathered round me, eagerly listening to my tale of
the battle, and they bore patiently, and with becoming gravity,
the exhortation to lead a religious life, with which I closed my
address. They appeared to be very susceptible of religious feeling;
as, indeed, sailors are generally. Should any doubt this fact, let
them hear the Rev. Mr. Chase, in New York, or Rev. E. T. Taylor,
in Boston, in whose usually crowded houses of worship, the face
of the rough, weather-beaten son of the ocean may be seen bedewed
with penitential tears; especially at the church of the latter
gentleman--than whom none know better how to adapt discourse to a
sailor’s soul.
During the flight of these years a constant correspondence had been
kept up between me and my mother. She had constantly urged me to
revisit my native land. To remove the last obstacle, she addressed a
letter to Lady Churchill, to ascertain if I might safely return. She
sent her the following note, the original of which is still in my
possession:
Lower Brook Street, Nov. 7, 1821.
MRS NEWMAN,--
I consulted my brother William upon the subject on which you wished
for advice, as neither Lord C. nor myself could undertake to
answer your inquiry; and I am glad to hear from him the following
explanation in reply: “There is nothing to prevent Mrs. Newman’s
son from coming home; for when the war was terminated, he was safe,
even if he had entered into the enemy’s service; but he will of
course forfeit the pay and any prize money due to him.”
* * * * *
I am, much yours,
F. CHURCHILL.
This note relieved me of all fear, but now it had become no small
undertaking for me to go to Europe. To go alone would be very
expensive; but to take my family, consisting now of a wife and three
children, was much more so. Hence, I put it off year after year,
still writing and begging them to visit me. When the late lamented
Dr. Fisk[30] was in England, he visited my mother and brother, and
related to them some of the facts in my life, which he had often
heard me mention. She sent me two silver table spoons, which had
belonged to my father, by the Doctor’s hands. My mother wrote about
this visit of that “great, good man” with evident satisfaction.
At last, I received a letter from home, which decided me to undertake
the often postponed and long delayed voyage to my native land.
This letter stated that there was a young man in Albany, with whose
friends they were all well acquainted, and that he was about to
visit his mother. I found this gentleman, whose name was William
Warrington, and agreed to join him with my family in his intended
voyage. This agreement made, we set about making preparations for the
undertaking. If the reader desires to know the events of that visit,
he must consult the ensuing chapter.
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