clog upon your prayers. I too had a father--that picture was his,” he
continued, falling on his knees before the venerable old man, “and you
must be--you are my noble-minded, my much-injured brother.”
Oh, what a meeting was this! Animosity had long since subsided, and the
word “brother” revived all the attachment of their boyish days.
What need of saying more? they knelt together; and whilst without the
storm raged, within the cottage
“The peace of God, beyond expression sweet,
Filled every being humbled at his feet.”
They rose, and the stranger--stranger now no longer--was received
into the circle with delight. A man entered the room, announcing
that several of the seamen who had been saved from the wreck were
waiting outside the house, to know if they might take shelter in
some outbuildings. The kind-hearted mother would not permit this,
but succoured them under the same roof with her children, and gave
them plentiful refreshment. The stranger went amongst them, and they
instantly rose from their repast with the utmost respect. From them
he learned that the whole of the remaining portion of the crew and
passengers had quitted the ship. About thirty had perished; but the
rest, nearly forty in number, were safe on land. Another man now
entered, and addressed the stranger as Sir William Russell. Yes! he was
great, he was wealthy; and from that hour his influence and his wealth
were devoted to the promotion of the happiness and welfare of the
FISHERMAN’S FAMILY.
FOOTNOTES
[3] The Seven Stones are dangerous rocks lying between the Scilly Isles
and the Land’s End.
[4] A small bird, like a swallow, that is scarcely ever seen
except previously to or during a gale of wind. It is viewed with a
superstitious feeling by seamen, who call it “Mother Carey’s Chicken.”
[5] Salvage is a sum of money allowed to individuals who are
instrumental in saving a ship from being wrecked.
THE RED FLAG AT THE FORE.
“Come, sit thee down by me, love; come, sit thee down by me,
And I will tell thee many a tale of the dangers of the sea,--
Of the perils of the deep, love; when the stormy tempests roar,
And the raging billows wildly dash upon the groaning shore.
The skies are flaming red, love, the skies are flaming red,
And darkly rolls the mountain wave, and curls its monstrous head;
Whilst clouds and ocean blending, and loud howls the bitter blast,
And the daring tar, ’twixt life and death, clings to the shattered mast.”
Never shall I forget my emotions on first ascending the side of
the ship, in which I commenced my career as a sailor. It was just
about the time when Nelson and the Nile was the universal theme of
conversation; our theatres echoed to the shouts of “Rule Britannia,”
and the senate-house rang with plaudits for the achievements of naval
valour. But ah! how few who rejoiced in the triumphs of victory, gave
one thought to the hardships, privations, and oppressions under which
the gallant seaman laboured. Boy-like, I thought it was a jovial life;
and when standing on the deck, with the British ensign floating at the
peak, and the bull-dogs (cannon) peeping from their port-holes, I felt,
“ay, every inch a hero.” Besides, there was my handsome uniform, with
bright gilt buttons bearing the impress of the anchor, and my dirk,
just long enough to spit a partridge, swinging like a cook’s skewer by
my side, and a leathern belt with two fierce lions’ heads in front,
and that summit of a school-boy’s ambition, the cocked hat and gold
rosettes. What child of twelve years could resist the temptation! So
I e’en kissed my poor mother, who used to compare the rattling of the
rain, as it ran down the spout into the water-butt, to the roaring
of the waves, and for whom gilded buttons and cocked-up hats had no
charms,--shook my father by the hand, as he gave me the bill for my
outfit, to make me (by calculating the expense) more careful of my
clothes,--threw my arms round the neck of my weeping sister, who slyly
thrust something into my waistcoat pocket, which I afterwards found
was all her own private little store of cash,--and away I started with
glory in my eye, to leave “home, sweet home” far, far behind me.
The ship which I was going to join, was a fine dashing frigate,
commanded by a friend of my father’s friend, to whom I received the
most handsome recommendations. I say friend of my father’s friend,
for such he was represented to me; but the fact is, my worthy dad was
a freeman of no contemptible borough, besides holding a considerable
influence over a certain number of _independent_ voters, and one
of the candidates, whilst canvassing for the general election, had
declared that “I was cut out for a sailor,”--that “he had interest at
the Admiralty,” and made no doubt that by diligence and attention I
should soon carry the “red flag at the fore.” I thought so too; but
what the “red flag at the fore” meant, I was just as ignorant as I was
of cuckoo-clock making. Nevertheless, it sounded well, the candidate
became an M. P., and I was sent on board a stranger amongst strangers,
and about as much patronised as a widow’s pig upon a village green.
I had never seen a ship,--I had never seen the sea; and when the wide
ocean burst upon my view, rolling its mighty billows in majectic
grandeur, I began to think that they were not the most pleasant things
in life to play with, particularly for such a little fellow as myself;
but, when the stupendous bulwarks of Britain appeared, as they lay at
anchor in the bay, with their shining sides reflected on the waves and
their bright ensigns flashing in the sun, fear gave way to admiration,
and I began to sing--
“I’m a jolly roving tar,
Fearing neither wound nor scar,
And many a tightish breeze then have I seen.”
But, bless your heart! I had seen nothing then; nevertheless, I thought
of the “red flag at the fore,” and as the boat lightly skimmed the
surface of the dark blue waters, a feeling of honest pride swelled
in my little breast;--henceforth I was to be devoted to my king and
country.
The first-lieutenant received me very graciously. The wonders
which every where presented themselves almost overwhelmed me with
astonishment and delight. But, alas! this was not of long duration; for
a youngster about my own age accompanied me to the cockpit, where I
was to take up my abode. The dark cavern which formed the mess-berth,
where a ray of daylight never entered, seemed rather horrible to my
imagination, and the motley group of all ages from ten to twenty-five
that filled it, did not inspire me with much confidence.
At the door stood a stout negro, scarcely visible except by his white
teeth and his rolling eyes, which strongly reminded me of Robinson
Crusoe’s monster in the cave, and a little sprig of a midshipman
was venting imprecations on him for not having the dinner ready.
Surrounding a table inside the berth, which was illumined by two
_dwarf_ candles, that appeared as if they had never reached their
proper growth, sat eight or ten small officers, employed in various
ways. One was playing a difficult piece of music on the flute, with the
notes placed before him, propped up by a quart bottle; a companion, to
annoy and ridicule him, had put his pocket comb between two pieces of
paper, and applying it to his mouth, produced a sound more execrable
than the bagpipes, yet still endeavouring to imitate the tune. Two
youths in the farthest corner had quarrelled, and were settling their
disputes in a boxing-match. Another seemed totally abstracted from
the scene, and leaning his elbows on the table, was contemplating the
miniature of a fair-haired girl, whose mild blue eyes beamed with love
and constancy. On the opposite side of the table two youngsters, with
a treatise on seamanship before them, were arguing in no very gentle
terms on their own proficiency in naval tactics. At the head of the
table an old master’s-mate was exercising his authority in preserving
peace; but as he was engaged at the same time in mixing a good _stiff_
glass of grog, his orders were either disregarded or laughed at. But
there was one pale-faced lad, with a countenance full of intellectual
expression, whom I shall never forget. He sat by himself, with a small
writing desk before him, and on it lay a letter, the writer of which,
not satisfied with filling up each page with black ink, had crossed
the lines with red, and this letter he was endeavouring to answer. The
noise had disturbed him, for sheet after sheet had been torn up, and
lay in a pile by his side. He looked at the combatants, and a gentle
murmur escaped him; he turned to the musicians, and a smile lighted up
his features; he cast his eyes towards the youth whose thoughts were
with the pole-star of his affections, and a shade of melancholy sat
upon his brow. At this moment he caught sight of me, as I stood at
the door, undetermined whether to advance or recede, and his hand was
instantly extended. He closed his desk, remarking that “his sister must
wait another day,” and--but why need I recount every particular?--from
that hour we were friends.
Ay, how often when the pale moon at midnight has thrown her silver
beams upon the bosom of the wave, or when the star-gemmed canopy of
heaven has glistened with its myriads of glories, have we two stood
together holding sweet converse on the past, and picturing bright
scenes of future fame. Yes! hand in hand, we have stood like brothers
talking of those sweet spots, endeared by every tie of fond regard,
where first we revelled in our infancy. Yet, oh God!--the vision is
even now before me--when I beheld that pale-faced youth struggling in
the agonies of death,--those features full of mild benevolence, still
more deadly in their hue and hideous in convulsive writhings,--the
hand that I had so often pressed with real unabated friendship, dyed
in the lifestream from his heart, as he worked his fingers in the deep
wound that dismissed his noble spirit! It was in action, when rage and
vengeance lashed the passions into fury. Yes! there he fell, and the
ocean was his grave.
But to return to my introduction. Almost at the same moment that I
entered the berth, a quarter-master came down and inquired if Mr.
Moriarty was below. A fine handsome young man, about two-and-twenty,
immediately answered in the affirmative. “Here’s a letter for you,
sir,” said the quarter-master, “with the Admiralty seal on the back,
and a direction full of sheep-shanks and long splices on the face of
it.”
“Ay! ay! Johnson,” replied the young officer, “the old story I
suppose:--‘the door of promotion is shut,’ and by and by I dare say
they will send me word that the key’s lost. But let us see, you old
sea-dragon, and don’t stand turning it over and over there, like a
Lapland witch at her incantations!”
The veteran was examining the letter with rather an inquisitive eye;
for his other eye was on an equally inquisitorial visit to a full
bottle of rum that stood upon the table, and he hesitated to give up
his charge to the young officer, who I now perceived had his right arm
in a sling in consequence, as I afterwards learned, of a wound received
in the battle of Aboukir.
“Cantations or no cantations, sir,” replied the old quarter-master,
“this here letter weighs heavy, and I have been close-hauled for these
two days past; and it’s dry work, sir, that tack and half tack.”
“Well, well, Johnson,” rejoined the midshipman, “you want a glass of
grog, and you shall have it; so, steward, give him one, d’ye hear. And
now hand over the scrawl.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” said Johnson, “and if it arn’t freighted with a pair of
white lapels--put some more rum in, you black angel!--then call old
Johnson a lubber, that’s all.” Moriarty laughed; but it was evident
that he took the letter with some degree of tremour, especially as one
of the youngsters jocosely addressed him as _Lieutenant_ Moriarty.
“Hold your prating, simpleton,” said he, “you wont find commissions so
plentiful when you come to my age, unless you happen to be a stray slip
of nobility, or have strong parliamentary interest to back you.”
The old quarter-master had been wrangling with the black steward for
another drop, and then holding up his grog, exclaimed, “Your health,
Lieutenant Moriarty! and I hope I shall live to see you carry ‘the red
flag at the fore.’”
“With all my heart, Johnson,” replied Moriarty, his eyes sparkling
with pleasure, for the letter was now unfolded; “and see, here is the
first step up the ratlines sure enough; whether I shall ever reach the
mast-head or not is another thing.”
It was an order from the Admiralty to go on shore and receive his
commission, and every one crowded round him full of congratulations.
I cannot say but I felt a little jealous about the “red flag at the
fore,” for I considered _that_ as my exclusive right, though utterly
ignorant of what it meant. But I was soon enlightened upon the subject,
for being naturally communicative, I mentioned my expectations of
getting “the red flag at the fore” during dinner, and several of the
little midshipmen nearly choked themselves with laughing at me. I
then learned that the “red flag at the fore” was the distinction of
a vice-admiral of the red; a station that not more than one officer
in five thousand ever attained, and even then only through very
distinguished merit or peculiar good fortune. Nevertheless, I was
nothing daunted, and the “red flag at the fore” urged me on.
We sailed a few days afterwards with a convoy for Bombay and China, but
destined to cruise ourselves in the neighbourhood of the Cape of Good
Hope. We had not quitted port more than a week, when we encountered a
very severe gale. It was the first time I had beheld the sea in such
commotion, and the spectacle was awfully grand. The noble ship was
borne like a weed upon the ocean at the mercy of the tempest, which
howled through the rigging so as to deaden the shouts of the seamen
while furling the heavy sails upon the yards. Billow after billow
beat over us, and as the rolling waves dashed up their frothy crests
to heaven, roaring in the wildness of their fury, I could not help
thinking how different the noise was from the comparison of my poor
mother, when she heard the rain patter into the water-butt. The convoy,
too, heavy-laden Indiamen and transports with troops, were scattered in
every direction; but now and then we could distinguish one or two, as
they appeared for a moment on the summit of the foaming surge, like dim
specks upon the verge of the horizon.
Night came and brought its frowning horrors; a pitchy darkness which
seemed almost palpable to the touch, hung with a funeral gloom above,
whilst the wild waves, lashed by the raging tempest into sparkling
foam, served but to render the blackness of the heavens more dense and
horrible. At the commencement of the gale the wind was dead against
us, and the ship was hove-to under a close-reefed main-topsail; but
towards midnight the wind veered in our favour, and we flew through
the liquid element with astonishing rapidity. The shifting of the gale
had produced a still wilder commotion in the waves, which seemed to be
struggling for the mastery. Wave after wave came raging after us and
threatening to ingulf the frigate; but, like a bird upon the wing, the
gallant vessel lifted to the swell and rushed down the steep abyss,
tracking her path with brilliancy and light.
I cannot say but the spectacle rather terrified me, and more than once
I wished the “red flag at the fore” at the--
“Stop,” says the reader, “and do not conclude the sentence.” But
really, gentle reader, I must; for I was merely going to say that I
wished the “red flag at the fore” at the mast-head, and myself snug in
my own little bed-room with my poor mother to tie my night-cap, and to
tuck me in.
Ossian or Byron, I forget which, says: “Once more upon the waters, yet
once more, and the waves bound beneath me as a steed that knows his
rider;” but I found a vast deal of difference between mounting the
speckled waves and riding my own pretty little piebald pony. Morning
at length appeared; the wind had again changed, and the ship was once
more hove-to. But if the gale of the preceding night had been furious,
it now came with redoubled violence, and the stately vessel which had
so lately steered her course in majesty and pride, lay writhing and
groaning between the billows like the soul of the mighty smuggling with
the last pangs of mortality.
Orders were given to furl the foresail, and about sixty of the best
seamen sprang aloft to execute the command. Already had they extended
themselves upon the yard, and were gathering up the folds of the heavy
canvass, when a tremendous sea came like an Alpine mountain rushing
towards us. As the poor wretch, when the fierce eye of some famished
beast of prey is glaring on him, stands fixed and immovable, so did the
seamen suspend their labours when they saw the waters of destruction
approaching. No human voice could warn them of their danger, no hand
could be outstretched to save. There seemed to be a momentary stillness
in the storm, and a shuddering instinct crept through every spirit,--a
horrible dread of they knew not what.
Still onward rolled the wave; it struck the vessel on the bows, and
threw its ponderous burden on the deck. A crash mingled with a wild
tumultuous yell ensued, and when the spray had cleared, it was found
that the fore-mast had been swept away, and upwards of fifty brave
fellows were buried in the waves. Some still remained entangled in the
rigging; but man after man was washed away till one alone was left. We
could see him--we could speak to him--but only that Power who holds the
tempests in his hands could rescue him from death. There he struggled;
blank despair in every feature, as his strong limbs writhed round
the shattered mast, and with convulsive agony he buffeted the waves.
Of what avail was human strength in such an hour of peril? His hold
relaxed;--it became weaker, and slowly he settled in his watery grave.
I need not describe the effects which such a scene produced upon the
mind of a boy not thirteen years of age, and even at this moment,--so
strong are first impressions,--the crash, the yell, and the agonized
contortions of that drowning man, are present to my mind in all their
horrors.
The wreck was cleared, the storm abated; a jury-mast was erected, and
once more the stately frigate held her way upon the glossy surface of
the azure wave. The first duty was to collect the convoy, and heavy
forebodings of their fate were whispered among the crew. One by one,
however, they gathered round us, showing manifest indications of the
recent storm.
There is something peculiarly interesting to a seaman in the
assembling of ships after a gale of wind; it occasions a sensation
which a landsman can never feel, unless it is that sort of melancholy
satisfaction when friends meet who have surmounted adversity together,
but with the apprehension of similar calamity before them. Several of
the convoy were yet undiscovered, and as the evening was closing in,
the heavy report of a distant gun came booming on the waters. Another
and another followed in rapid succession, and the frigate’s course was
directed towards the spot from whence the sounds proceeded.
The sun went down in glory; its radiance tinged the bosom of the liquid
element, but it never rose again on those whose signals of distress
we heard. They must have seen his last beams arching the heavens with
their golden brightness, and light and hope must have expired to them
for ever.
The wind opposed our progress, and the swell still rolled against us,
though now it was only the heaving of the sea without its breaking
violence. Still we approached nearer to the object of our search, as
the noise of the guns was more distinct, and the flashes were plainly
visible. At length, about midnight, by the help of glasses, a dismasted
ship was distinguished rolling like a log upon the waters. Every nerve
was strained, every effort was made to intimate that assistance was at
hand, and the boats were prepared to give succour, or to snatch from
destruction. The sight was eagerly bent towards the spot where the
clear horizon was broken by the dark object of our good intentions.
Suddenly the curve appeared connected; in vain the eye sought the
vessel in distress; for nothing obstructed the view of sky and ocean,
and “She’s gone! she’s gone!” was simultaneously exclaimed by officers
and men.
Yes! she was gone; and the gallant ship, that had endured the fury
of the tempest, sunk when its wrath was spent. But that tempest had
doubtless shaken her stout frame and rent her joints asunder. Yet it
was hard to perish almost within the grasp of safety.
Hopes were still entertained that some, if not all, had escaped in the
boats. Our own were hoisted out, and having neared the supposed spot,
were immediately despatched. The morning dawned in magnificence and
splendour; the sun rose in glorious majesty, but his earliest beams
glanced on a scattered wreck that told a tale of death. The boats were
actively employed in passing to and fro, but no appearance of human
being could be discerned. The launch was discovered bottom upwards, and
another boat broken nearly in two. The truth was soon disclosed, for
the name, ATLAS, on the stern of the launch, informed us that nearly
two hundred victims had perished in the deep. How the catastrophe had
happened could only be matter for conjecture.
One of our boats fell in with some floating spars, which were lashed
together so as to form a kind of floating raft; and on turning them
over, a scene presented itself that filled every soul with anguish. A
young female apparently about twenty-two, with an infant fastened round
her body, had been secured to the timber,--perhaps the last sad office
of a tender husband, who in the affectionate solicitude of his heart,
had vainly hoped to rescue them from death. They were taken on board
the frigate, sewed up in a hammock, and again consigned to that element
at once their destruction and their grave.
One other ship was still missing; what became of her, I never heard;
but after waiting a proper time, we pursued our way to the island of
St. Jago, the place of rendezvous. A succession of fine weather soon
deadened the remembrance of the past, and by the time of our reaching
the Cape de Verds, the “red flag at the fore” had once more gained the
ascendancy. The novelties which presented themselves at Port Praya, the
oranges, the cocoa-nuts, and above all, the monkeys sporting in their
native cunning unrestrained among the green foliage, were delightful;
whilst the waters in the bay were so clear and transparent, that fish
could be distinctly seen at the depth of from thirty to forty feet
swimming above the silver sand that covered the bottom.
Having refitted and watered, the anchor was once more weighed, and
we again directed our course to the place of destination. At the
latitude appointed, we parted from our convoy, and then were left
alone. Days, weeks passed on, and no sail ever appeared in sight to
change the dull monotony. It was still the same unvaried scene of sky
and ocean, and not unfrequently severe and boisterous weather. At the
end of five weeks, we were gratified by the sight of a ship steering
towards us, and in a few hours had retaken a fine Indiaman, prize to a
French frigate. No time was lost in securing her, but the irreparable
devastation caused by scurvy among our crew, rendered it necessary to
proceed with our recapture to Madras; and thither we hastened.
On our arrival, fresh scenes that appeared like enchantment opened
upon me. The natives on their catamarans, formed of three or four logs
lashed together, dashing without dismay through the tremendous surf
that rolled upon the beach with everlasting roar, and the manners and
habits of the people, filled my young mind with wonder and admiration.
I regret that my first letter to my poor mother is not forthcoming; in
fact, the worthy soul considered it such a concentration of genius and
talent,--I much question whether there was not some little exaggeration
in my descriptions,--that she wore it completely out by carrying it in
her pocket to show to all her friends and neighbours.