THE CROSSING
There were curious events in the voyage of Jack and Solomon. The date
of the letter above referred to would indicate that they sailed on or
about the eleventh of October, 1773. Their ship was _The Snow_ which
had arrived the week before with some fifty Irish servants, indentured
for their passage. These latter were, in a sense, slaves placed in
bondage to sundry employers by the captain of the ship for a term of
years until the sum due to the owners for their transportation had been
paid--a sum far too large, it would seem.
Jack was sick for a number of days after the voyage began but Solomon,
who was up and about and cheerful in the roughest weather, having spent
a part of his youth at sea, took care of his young friend. Jack tells
in a letter that he was often awakened in the night by vermin and every
morning by the crowing of cocks. Those days a part of every ship was
known as "the hen coops" where ducks, geese and chickens were confined.
They came in due time through the butcher shop and the galley to the
cabin table. The cook was an able, swearing man whose culinary
experience had been acquired on a Nantucket whaler. Cooks who could
stand up for service every day in a small ship on an angry sea when the
galley rattled like a dice box in the hands of a nervous player, were
hard to get. Their constitutions were apt to be better than their art.
The food was of poor quality, the cooking a tax upon jaw, palate and
digestion, the service unclean. When good weather came, by and by, and
those who had not tasted food for days began to feel the pangs of
hunger the ship was filled with a most passionate lot of pilgrims. It
was then that Solomon presented the petition of the passengers to the
captain.
"Cap'n, we're 'bout wore out with whale meat an' slobgollion. We're
all down by the head."
"So'm I," said the Captain. "This 'ere man had a good recommend an'
said he could cook perfect."
"A man like that kin cook the passengers with their own heat," said
Solomon. "I feel like my belly was full o' hot rocks. If you'll let
me into the galley, I'll right ye up an' shift the way o' the wind an'
the course o' the ship. I'll swing the bow toward Heaven 'stead o'
Hell an' keep her p'inted straight an' it won't cost ye a penny.
They's too much swearin' on this 'ere ship. Can't nobody be a
Christian with his guts a-b'ilin'. His tongue'll break loose an' make
his soul look like a waggin with a smashed wheel an' a bu'sted ex. A
cook could do more good here than a minister."
"Can you cook?"
"You try me an' I'll agree to happy ye up so ye won't know yerself.
Yer meat won't be raw ner petrified an' there won't be no insecks in
the biscuit."
"He'll make a row."
"I hope so. Leave him to me. I'm a leetle bit in need o' exercise,
but ye needn't worry. I know how to manage him--perfect. You come
with me to the galley an' tell him to git out of it. I'll do the rest."
Solomon's advice was complied with. The cook--Thomas Crowpot by
name--was ordered out of the galley. The sea cook is said to be the
father of profanity. His reputation has come down through the ages
untarnished, it would seem, by any example of philosophical moderation.
Perhaps it is because, in the old days, his calling was a hard one and
only those of a singular recklessness were willing to engage in it.
_The Snow's_ cook was no exception. He was a big, brawny, black Yankee
with a claw foot look in his eyes. Profanity whizzed through the open
door like buckshot from a musket. He had been engaged for the voyage
and would not give up his job to any man.
"Don't be so snappish," said Solomon. Turning to the Captain he added:
"Don't ye see here's the big spring. This 'ere man could blister a
bull's heel by talkin' to it. He's hidin' his candle. This ain't no
job fer him. I say he orto be promoted."
With an outburst still profane but distinctly milder the cook wished to
know what they meant.
Solomon squinted with his rifle eye as if he were taking careful aim at
a small mark.
"Why, ye see we passengers have been swearin' stiddy fer a week," he
drawled. "We're wore out. We need a rest. You're a trained swearer.
Ye do it perfect. Ye ortn't to have nothin' else to do. We want you
to go for'ard an' find a comf'table place an' set down an' do all the
swearin' fer the hull ship from now on. You'll git yer pay jest the
same as if ye done the cookin'. It's a big job but I guess ye're ekal
to it. I'll agree that they won't nobody try to grab it. Ye may have
a little help afore the mast but none abaft."
This unexpected proposition calmed the cook. The prospect of full pay
and nothing to do pleased him. He surrendered.
An excellent dinner was cooked and served that day. The lobscouse made
of pork, fowl and sliced potatoes was a dish to remember. But the
former cook got a line of food calculated to assist him in the
performance of his singular duty. Happiness returned to the ship and
Solomon was cheered when at length he came out of the galley. Officers
and passengers rendered him more homage after that than they paid to
the rich and famous Mr. Girard who was among their number. That day
this notice was written on the blackboard:
"Thomas Crowpot has been engaged to do all the swearing that's
necessary on this voyage. Any one who needs his services will find him
on the forward deck. Small and large jobs will be attended to while
you wait."
2
Often in calm weather Jack and Solomon amused themselves and the other
passengers with pistol practise by tossing small objects into the air
and shooting at them over the ship's side. They rarely missed even the
smallest object thrown. Jack was voted the best marksman of the two
when he crushed with his bullet four black walnuts out of five thrown
by Mr. Girard.
In the course of the voyage they overhauled _The Star_, a four-masted
ship bound from New York to Dover. For hours the two vessels were so
close that the passengers engaged in a kind of battle. Those on _The
Star_ began it by hurling turnips at the men on the other ship who
responded with a volley of apples. Solomon discerned on the deck of
the stranger Captain Preston and an English officer of the name of Hawk
whom he had known at Oswego and hailed them. Then said Solomon:
"It's a ship load o' Tories who've had enough of Ameriky. They's a
cuss on that tub that I helped put a coat o' tar an' feathers on in the
Ohio kentry. He's the one with the black pipe in his mouth. I don't
know his name but they use to call him Slops--the dirtiest,
low-downdest, damn Tory traitor that ever lived. Helped the Injuns out
thar in the West. See that 'ere black pipe? Allus carries it in his
mouth 'cept when he's eatin'. I guess he goes to sleep with it. It's
one o' the features o' his face. We tarred him plenty now you hear to
me."
That evening a boat was lowered and the Captain of _The Snow_ crossed a
hundred yards of quiet sea to dine with the Captain of _The Star_ in
the cabin of the latter. Next day a stiff wind came out of the west.
All sail was spread, the ships began to jump and gore the waves and
_The Star_ ran away from the smaller ship and was soon out of sight.
Weeks of rough going followed. Meanwhile Solomon stuck to his task.
Every one was sick but Jack and the officers, and there was not much
cooking to be done.
Because he had to take off his coat while he was working in the galley,
Solomon gave the precious letter into Jack's keeping.
Near the end of the sixth week at sea they spied land.
"We cheered, for the ocean had shown us a tiger's heart," the young man
wrote. "For weeks it had leaped and struck at us and tumbled us about.
The crossing is more like hardship than anything that has happened to
me. One woman died and was buried at sea. A man had his leg broken by
being thrown violently against the bulwarks and the best of us were
bumped a little.
"Some days ago a New Yorker who was suspected of cheating at cards on
the complaint of several passengers was put on trial and convicted
through the evidence of one who had seen him marking a pack of the
ship's cards. He was condemned to be carried up to the round top and
made fast there, in view of all the ship's company for three hours and
to pay a fine of two bottles of brandy. He refused to pay his fine and
we excommunicated the culprit refusing either to eat, drink or speak
with him until he should submit. Today he gave up and paid his fine.
Man is a sociable being and the bitterest of all punishments is
exclusion. He couldn't stand it."
About noon on the twenty-ninth of November they made Dover and anchored
in the Downs. Deal was about three miles away and its boats came off
for them. They made a circuit and sailed close in shore. Each boat
that went out for passengers had its own landing. Its men threw a rope
across the breakers. This was quickly put on a windlass. With the
rope winding on its windlass the boat was slowly hauled through the
surge, its occupants being drenched and sprinkled with salt water.
They made their way to the inn of The Three Kings where two men stood
watching as they approached. One of them Jack recognized as the man
Slops with the black pipe in his mouth.
"That's him," said the man with the black pipe pointing at Solomon,
whereupon the latter was promptly arrested.
"What have I done?" he asked.
"You'll learn directly at 'eadquarters," said the officer.
Solomon shook hands with Jack and said: "I'm glad I met ye," and turned
and walked away with the two men.
Jack was tempted to follow them but feeling a hidden purpose in
Solomon's conduct went into the inn.
So the friends parted. Jack being puzzled and distressed by the swift
change in the color of their affairs. The letter to Doctor Franklin
was in his pocket--a lucky circumstance. He decided to go to London
and deliver the letter and seek advice regarding the relief of Solomon.
At the desk in the lobby of The Three Kings he learned that he must
take the post chaise for Canterbury which would not be leaving until
six P.M. This gave him time to take counsel in behalf of his friend.
Turning toward the door he met Captain Preston, who greeted him with
great warmth and wished to know where was Major Binkus.
Jack told the Captain of the arrest of his friend.
"I expected it," said Preston. "So I have waited here for your ship.
It's that mongrel chap on The Star who got a tarring from Binkus and
his friends. He saw Binkus on your deck, as I did, and proclaimed his
purpose. So I am here to do what I can to help you. I can not forget
that you two men saved my life. Are there any papers on his person
which are likely to make him trouble?"
"No," said Jack, thinking of the letter lying safely in his own pocket.
"That's the important thing," Preston resumed. "Binkus is a famous
scout who is known to be anti-British. Such a man coming here is
supposed to be carrying papers. Between ourselves they would arrest
him on any pretext. You leave this matter in my hands. If he had no
papers he'll be coming on in a day or two."
"I'd like to go with you to find him," said Jack.
"Better not," Preston answered with a smile.
"Why?"
"Because I suspect you have the papers. They'll get you, too, if they
learn you are his friend. Keep away from him. Sit quietly here in the
inn until the post chaise starts for Canterbury. Don't let any one
pick a quarrel with you and remember this is all a sacred confidence
between friends."
"I thank you and my heart is in every word," said Jack as he pressed
the hand of the Captain. "After all friendship is a thing above
politics--even the politics of these bitter days."
3
He sat down with a sense of relief and spent the rest of the afternoon
reading the London papers although he longed to go and look at the
fortress of Deal Castle. He had tea at five and set out on the mail
carriage, with his box and bag, an hour later. The road was rough and
muddy with deep holes in it. At one point the chaise rattled and
bumped over a plowed field. Before dark he saw a man hanging in a
gibbet by the roadside. At ten o'clock they passed the huge gate of
Canterbury and drew up at an inn called The King's Head. The landlady
and two waiters attended for orders. He had some supper and went to
bed. Awakened at five A.M. by the sound of a bugle he arose and
dressed hurriedly and found the post chaise waiting. They went on the
King's Road from Canterbury and a mile out they came to a big, white
gate in the dim light of the early morning.
A young man clapped his mouth to the window and shouted:
"Sixpence, Yer Honor!"
It was a real turnpike and Jack stuck his head out of the window for a
look at it. They stopped for breakfast at an inn far down the pike and
went on through Sittingborn, Faversham, Rochester and the lovely valley
of the River Medway of which Jack had read.
At every stop it amused him to hear the words "Chaise an' pair," flying
from host to waiter and waiter to hostler and back in the wink of an
eye.
Jack spent the night at The Rose in Dartford and went on next morning
over Gadshill and Shootershill and Blackheath. Then the Thames and
Greenwich and Deptfort from which he could see the crowds and domes and
towers of the big city. A little past two o'clock he rode over London
bridge and was set down at The Spread Eagle where he paid a shilling a
mile for his passage and ate his dinner.
Such, those days, was the crossing and the trip up to London, as Jack
describes it in his letters.