CHAPTER I

This ebook was created in honour of Distributed Proofreaders

20th Anniversary.

TWENTY YEARS AT SEA

OR

LEAVES FROM MY OLD LOG-BOOKS

BY

FREDERIC STANHOPE HILL

[Illustration]

BOSTON AND NEW YORK

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY

The Riverside Press, Cambridge

1893

Copyright, 1893,

BY FREDERIC STANHOPE HILL.

_All rights reserved._

_The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A._

Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.

TO MY WIFE,

TO WHOSE SUGGESTION THE PUBLICATION OF THESE

EPISODES IN A BUSY LIFE IS MAINLY DUE,

I dedicate this book.

INTRODUCTION

In the old days, fifty years ago, when I first went to sea, it was the

custom in fine weather, in most ships, after supper had been leisurely

discussed and pipes lighted, for both watches to gather on the

forecastle deck to listen to the yarns of some old tar, or to join in

one of the many ballads with a rattling chorus, in which the exploits

of Dick Turpin, Claude Duval, or some other dashing knight of the road

were set forth in glowing terms and endless verses.

Many an evening, when a boy, I have coiled myself up on the deck,

close to the windlass bitts, with my jacket rolled up under my head

as a pillow, and have listened with eager interest to those tough

yarns, while the good ship, with every inch of canvas, from courses to

moonsails, drawing, gently rose and fell with rhythmic motion, as she

ploughed her way through the long rolling swells of the broad Pacific.

A hundred feet above our heads, the tapering point of the skysail mast

swayed; in the heavens about us blazed the brilliant constellations of

the southern hemisphere; beneath us the waves gently swished as the

sharp forefoot clave them asunder, and the story-teller droned on with

his tales of peril by storm and wreck, or, perchance, in a lighter

vein, dwelt upon the charms of that lass in some far-away port who

loved a sailor.

That was indeed the poetry of sea life! But like everything else that

is pleasant in this world, the hour in which we enjoyed it was brief

and it came to an end, often in the very midst of the most exciting

episode of a story, with the harsh cry from the quarter deck: “Strike

eight bells! Set the watch, and lay aft here and heave the log!”

I here propose, in my turn, as though sitting on the windlass bitts, to

give some chapters from my old log-books, which, however, are somewhat

more veracious than many of the stories often told in that way. For

barring a little--a very little--license, such as must be allowed any

old barnacle-back when he starts out to spin a yarn, these sketches

may be considered very truthful pictures of a sailor’s life fifty years

ago, and veritable experiences in the navy during our civil war.

Such as they are, then, I offer these sea stories to my young friends

for their approval, premising by saying that a few of the sketches

have already appeared in the “Youth’s Companion” and in the “Cambridge

Tribune.”

F. STANHOPE HILL.

CAMBRIDGE, 1893.

CONTENTS

PART I

IN THE MERCHANT SERVICE PAGE

I. HOW I WENT TO SEA 3

II. MY FIRST VOYAGE 24

III. THE MUTINY 40

IV. NOT BORN TO BE DROWNED 54

V. A “SHANGHAEING” EPISODE 64

VI. TO CALIFORNIA BEFORE THE GOLD

DISCOVERY 77

VII. RECAPTURING A RUNAWAY 93

VIII. CHASED BY PIRATES 115

PART II

IN THE NAVAL SERVICE

I. THE OUTBREAK OF THE CIVIL WAR 137

II. A NIGHT ATTACK BY A CONFEDERATE

RAM 148

III. THE PASSAGE OF THE FORTS AND THE

CAPTURE OF NEW ORLEANS 162

IV. ON TO NEW ORLEANS 178

V. CHASING A BLOCKADE RUNNER 191

VI. A NARROW ESCAPE 205

VII. A SUCCESSFUL STILL HUNT 220

VIII. CATCHING A TARTAR 230

IX. THE NAVAL TRAITOR 240

X. HUNTING FOR BUSHWACKERS 254

XI. THE END OF THE STRUGGLE 271

TWENTY YEARS AT SEA

PART I

IN THE MERCHANT SERVICE

CHAPTER I

HOW I WENT TO SEA

It was a blazing hot morning of the first week in September, 1842.

The sun was pouring down with the fierce heat that so often marks the

departing days of our Northern summers, and the evil smells in the

filthy gutters of the southern section of Brooklyn were more than

usually noxious.

A Knickerbocker ice-wagon had stopped at the corner beer saloon,

and the sturdy, blue-shirted driver was carrying in a great block

of ice, while the children of the tenement overhead were picking up

the fragments from behind the wagon. Across the street, half a dozen

frowsy, tow-headed boys were striving to drive an unwilling goat,

harnessed to a soap-box on wheels, in which was seated one of their

number, and the little wretches were cheerfully beating the unfortunate

animal with a piece of iron hoop, when it stopped, to bleat forth its

complaint.

A marine in blue uniform coat and white trousers, on duty at the Navy

Yard gate, hard by, walked his beat, keeping close to the grateful

shade of the high brick wall of the inclosure, and covertly watching

the struggle between the children and the goat. The corporal of the

guard lounged on a bench beneath the wooden porch of the guard-house,

deeply interested in the morning paper.

Two persons, evidently strangers, came down the street, stopped

hesitatingly at the gate, and asked a question of the corporal.

“The Bombay, is it?” said the marine. “You will find her at the

dock near the shears. Keep down that path to the right, pass the

commandant’s house, then take the first turn to the left, and you will

see her.”

The elder of the two strangers, who thanked the corporal, was a grave,

respectable, middle-aged man, with the general appearance of a trusted

bookkeeper in some mercantile house, as indeed he was; his companion,

evidently under his charge, was a bright-looking lad of thirteen,

dressed in a blue sailor suit, with a tarpaulin hat with long ribbons

hanging down his back. The boy’s fair skin and delicate appearance,

however, indicated very plainly that he could not have had a very

extended experience as a sailor.

Following the directions given them, the man and the boy soon reached

the dock, where a good-sized merchant ship was moored, taking on board

the cargo that filled the wharf.

Here we paused. I say we, for the boy was the writer, who is about to

tell you his life story; and his companion was Mr. Mason, my uncle’s

bookkeeper, sent over from New York to see me safely bestowed on board

the good ship Bombay for my first voyage to sea.

“Well, Robert,” said Mr. Mason, “here we are; and now, before I take

you on board, I am instructed by your uncle to ask you for the last

time if you still persist in your resolution of going to sea. It is a

hard life, lad, and I almost wonder that you should desire to undertake

it. Come! take my advice; it is not yet too late: hadn’t you better

turn around and go back? there is no harm done yet.”

“You are very kind, Mr. Mason, and I thank you for what you have said;

but I shan’t change my mind. We will go on board, if you please.”

But before leaving the wharf, as I shall have a long story of my sea

life to tell, suppose I go back a bit and explain how I came to be

starting out for myself in this manner at such a tender age.

I was always a delicate lad, and had never been very strong, after

I recovered from a fever that brought me well-nigh to death’s door

several years before, and I had never cared much for the usual out-door

sports of boyhood. Then I had an untiring passion for reading; and

when I could curl myself up in a big arm-chair with dear old “Robinson

Crusoe” or “Midshipman Easy,” I was perfectly happy, and forgot all the

world in the adventures of one hero and the frolics of the other.

I have no doubt that my favorite books had something to do with it;

for by the time I reached the age of thirteen and had been in the High

School a couple of years, I had firmly decided in my own mind that

I would be a sailor and nothing else. I had not lived in a seaport,

and knew nothing of ships or sailors except what I had gathered from

reading, and there seemed to be no very good reason for this decision.

But it was just possible that my old grandfather, who was a famous sea

captain in his day, had transmitted to me a strain of his sailor blood,

rather than my poet father; so instead of fitting for college or going

into a counting-room, my parents at last consented that I should go to

sea.

My seafaring books had prepared me to expect hardships in the merchant

service that I would not find in the navy, and I was boy enough to be

thoroughly alive to the attractions of a middy’s uniform and dirk, for

they wore dirks in those days; so when it appeared that a midshipman’s

warrant might possibly be obtained for me by family influence, I was

very anxious to enter the navy. This was before the establishment of

the Naval Academy in 1843, and when midshipmen were appointed and sent

at once to sea.

But my father wisely said: “No; let Robert try one year in the merchant

service, and then if he finds a sea life distasteful he can easily

abandon it, without any breach of good faith. But if he enters the

navy, he will not feel the same liberty to resign, nor indeed have the

opportunity of doing so, until after the expiration of a three years’

cruise.”

So it was settled that I should enter as a boy on board the ship

Bombay, Leonard Gay, master, bound from New York to Rio Janeiro with a

cargo of naval stores for the Brazil squadron. The ship was owned by a

relative of ours.

How well I remember one fine summer day, fifty years ago, going down on

Commercial Street in Boston with my father to order my outfit. I never

pass along there now and inhale the mingled odors of tarred rigging,

salt fish and New England rum, that seem perennial in that locality,

that this important visit to the outfitter is not recalled. The mist

of half a century of years rolls back, and I, a grave, gray-haired,

somewhat rheumatic old man, seem for a moment a light-hearted boy again.

My father had been directed to the establishment of an old sailor

turned tradesman, quite an original character in his way, and very

well known in those days for his good wares and honest dealing. He was

instructed to provide me with everything necessary for a voyage to the

tropics and a winter on the English coast; and while my father was

discussing the requisites for such a cruise with the proprietor, I was

taking in the strange surroundings of the shop, so novel to a boy just

down from Vermont.

It was a small, irregular shaped store, very low studded, which had

enabled the old fellow to avail himself of the beams, from which hung

specimens of his wares, all of them new to me. Upon one hook was a

complete suit of oil clothing, southwester (as the head covering is

called) and all, dangling and swaying about in the summer breeze and

looking very much indeed like some mutinous tar or heavy weather

pirate expiating his nautical crimes upon a gallows. Brilliant red

flannel shirts were stacked up in great piles upon the shelves,

and formidable sea boots overflowed from boxes ranged beneath the

counter; gay bandanna handkerchiefs and glossy black silk neckerchiefs

were temptingly displayed in the showcase; while on one side was a

miscellaneous assortment of ironmongery utterly strange to me at that

time, that I afterward came to know better as marline-spikes, prickers,

fids, palms and sail needles, and sheath knives and belts.

Jack’s lass had not been forgotten; for in the window were hung, as

a special attraction, certain printed handkerchiefs with pictorial

representations of the “Sailor’s Farewell,” the “Jolly Tar’s True

Love,” and other subjects of a sentimental character. In the rear

of the store was an old-fashioned desk, with a fly-blown calendar

hanging above it, and a ship’s chronometer ticking away in its case on

one side; while above it, hung a spy-glass in brackets, and upon the

shelf were an odd looking mahogany case and a ponderous leather-bound

volume. These I came to know better, subsequently, as a sextant and the

sailors’ _vade mecum_, “Bowditch’s Epitome of Navigation.”

This collection interested me amazingly, but I was soon called upon

to select my “chist,” as the dealer called the gayly painted box he

exhibited for my inspection. It was dark blue with vermilion trimmings,

and had green-covered “beckets,” as the handles are called. This one,

he said, “was neat and not gaudy, and had a secret till where a feller

could stow away his tobacco and his ditty box,” which he seemed to

think a very important consideration. This ditty box, by the way, is

not, as one might well suppose, a special receptacle for ballads, but

is for the thread, needles, buttons, etc., which are such necessaries

on a long voyage, where every man is perforce his own tailor.

Into my chest were packed, under the advice of the proprietor, an

assortment of red flannel shirts and drawers, with thick woolen

stockings for cold weather and blue drilling trousers and white duck

frocks for the tropics. Stout shoes and sea boots and a full suit

of oil-clothes were provided for rainy weather, and two suits of

blue cloth went in--one for ordinary wear of satinet, the other of

broadcloth, with brass anchor buttons, for a Sunday go-ashore suit.

These, with a tin cup and plate, a spoon, and fork for my mess, and a

belt and sheath knife, completed the outfit, to which the dealer added,

as a gratuity or “lanyap,” as he called it, a dozen clay pipes, a pound

package of smoking tobacco, and a bundle of matches, “to make the fit

out reglar.”

These gifts, rather scorned at the time, came in good play at a later

date, and gained me many desired favors with my future shipmates.

By the time my chest was filled, locked, and the key deposited in my

pocket, I was full of excitement and crazy to have it sent home for

my mother’s inspection. The business completed by paying the bill,

we returned home to Summer Street, where we were staying for a week

with my uncle, and I answered every ring at the bell myself until the

anxiously expected box was at last received.

Nothing then would do but I must try everything on for my cousin’s

delectation, and the entire afternoon was devoted to a series of dress

rehearsals with the different costumes. Poor, dear, little mother!

many a tear she shed that night as she repacked those strange, rough

garments that were to take the place in the future of the delicately

made clothing it had been her pride and joy to fashion for her dearly

loved boy.

The days now flew swiftly while I made my farewell visits to friends

and relations, and my chest was filled in every corner with their last

offerings. These, in most cases, took the form of rich cakes, mittens,

or comforters for my neck; but I well remember an eccentric uncle

bringing down a pair of dueling pistols as his parting gift, to the

great horror of my mother, but to my infinite delight, as all boys can

well understand.

Under the excitement of these preparations I had kept my courage up

very bravely, but I almost broke down when the time came for parting

and my mother clasped me in her arms in an agony of grief, exclaiming,

“I cannot let him go from me!”

But when I was at last in the cars and had really started off on my

journey, I felt that I must put aside all childish feelings and show

myself a man and an American sailor. I had insisted upon traveling in

full sea rig, and I wore my new blue suit, with white shirt and black

silk neckerchief tied in a sailor’s knot, and a shiny tarpaulin hat,

with long streaming ribbons hanging down my neck. I was, in fact, a

veritable nautical dandy.

As I was only thirteen and small for my age, I have no doubt I

presented rather a noticeable appearance. At any rate I know that

quite a number of passengers spoke to me very pleasantly on board the

Sound boat; and as I was walking through the saloon an old lady called

me to her, and, after asking me no end of questions, gave me a kiss and

a warm, motherly hug, rather to my mortification, I must confess.

The day after my arrival in New York I was sent over to the Brooklyn

Navy Yard with my uncle’s bookkeeper to report for duty, and here we

were.

As I walked up the Bombay’s gang-plank a rough looking man in his shirt

sleeves eyed me rather sharply, and said, “Well, youngster, what do

_you_ want?”

“I wish to see the captain, sir.”

“What do you want of him? The captain isn’t on board, but I am the

mate.”

“I am Robert Kelson, sir, and I am sent to go to sea in this ship. Mr.

Mason, here, has a letter to the captain.”

At this juncture my companion interposed and explained the matter to

the mate, giving him the letter to the captain, and then, evidently

very much disgusted at our reception, endeavored again to dissuade me

from my project; but I would not listen to him, and, shaking his hand,

bade him good-by and accompanied him on shore.

When I returned the mate said: “Go down in the steerage; you will find

your chest there; it came early this morning; get those longshore togs

off and put on your working clothes. Then come up here, and I will find

something for you to do.”

I looked about, not discovering anything answering at all to my idea of

a stairway, when the mate, evidently understanding my dilemma, shouted:

“You Jim! come here and take this greenhorn down into the steerage and

show him his chest, and be quick about it! do you hear? Don’t you two

boys stay loafing down there spinning yarns!”

I had never been spoken to so roughly before in my life, and for a

moment I half regretted that I had not listened to Mr. Mason’s advice;

but it was now too late, so I choked down a sob and followed Jim into

that portion of the between decks from the mainmast aft which was

called the steerage.

My companion informed me that I was to sleep and mess there with him

and the ship’s carpenter. After looking about for a time we discovered

my chest, half hidden beneath a pile of sails, and proceeded to pull it

out to the light.

“What in thunderation have you got in this dunnage barge?” said Jim, as

he sat down on the hatch coaming and looked at my beloved chest, half

in admiration at its brilliant coloring and half in scorn at its size

and weight. “Why, it weighs pretty nigh half a ton, and it’s big enough

to hold a fit-out for a three years’ v’y’ge!”

As I deemed it advisable to placate Jim at the outset, I unlocked

the chest, and hunting out one of the plum-cakes, divided it with my

comrade, who watched this proceeding with ill-concealed anxiety and

interest.

“Well, by gosh, you’re a lucky feller; how many more of these ’ere

you got, anyhow? Lem’me look at your knife,” as my new sheath knife

turned up; “what did you give for that knife? I got mine down by Fulton

Market for a quarter, and I’ll bet it’s as good as yours! Yes, sir!”

he shouted, in response to an imperative call from the mate above;

“I’m coming right along!” And he half choked himself in his effort

to swallow the rich cake as he said, “Look here, young feller, you’d

better hurry up too; old Bowker will give you rats if you don’t get on

deck mighty quick!”

I put on my second best suit, all too good, as it proved, for what

was expected of me, and hurried on deck. Mr. Bowker hunted up a

scraper, which is a triangular piece of steel with a wooden handle, and

initiated me into its use in scraping the pitch from a portion of the

decks that had lately been calked; and this, the first real work I had

ever done in my life, was also my first lesson in “the sailor’s art.”

At noon Jim and I were “knocked off,” as stopping work is termed, and

told to go to the galley and carry the dinner down into the steerage.

Jim seized the kid, a small wooden tub containing a rough piece of

boiled beef, and left me to bring the “spuds,” as he called the

potatoes. While the cook, who was as black as the ace of spades, was

fishing these out of the coppers, he looked me over critically and

said, “Wot’s yo’ name, boy?”

“Robert Kelson,” I replied.

“Look yere, boy, we don’t pomper no boys here wid no ‘Roberts.’ Yo’

name’s Bob ’board dis ship; you understand? Now, Bob, is dis yo’ fust

voyage to sea?”

“Yes.”

“Co’se it is; any one can see dat. Well, Bob, if you ’haves yo’se’f and

don’t cut up monkey shines, like dat boy Jim does, I no doubt you’ll

get on very well. But you mus’n’t ’spect to be pompered. I reckon you

done had too much ob dat a’ready by yo’ looks. Now you go ’long down

and eat yo’ dinner, and den you come up and pick dis chicken fer me,

and I gwine gib you dese tapioca puddin’ scrapin’s fer yo’ dessert. I

likes yo’ looks, and I gwine stand friend to you, boy!”

I had learned at boarding-school the lesson that it is a good thing to

be friends with the cook, so I assented to this proposal and went below

with the potatoes.

“Chips,” as the carpenter is called on shipboard, although we boys were

not permitted to take this liberty, was a gaunt, red-headed, surly,

opinionated Dane, a good mechanic and a splendid seaman, but anything

but an agreeable messmate. As I came down he hailed me: “Vot, in de

name of Heffen, you been doin’ all dis time wid dose potatoes, you

boy? You ’spose I am goin’ to wait all day for my dinner while you’re

gorming ’round the galley, you lazy hound? If you try any of your games

on me, my lad, I’ll warm you up wid a fathom of rattlin’ stuff!” and

so he grumbled on, while I endeavored to explain that the cook had

detained me.

“Vell, don’t you do it again; that’s all,” and he picked out the best

of the potatoes and cut off the choicest part of the beef, leaving me

the fat, which I detested, for my share.

After we had finished eating this meal, which nothing but a healthy

young appetite, strengthened by my morning’s unaccustomed work, could

have rendered endurable, I was instructed by Jim that it was the duty

of the new boy to carry up the pots and pans to the galley to be

washed, and Chips told me to hurry up and bring him a light for the

pipe he was then industriously filling for an after-dinner smoke.

I submitted to these orders with an ill grace; and when I had seated

myself on the spare spars lashed by the side of the galley, with the

cook, whom I instinctively felt was a friend, I put the case to him and

asked his advice.

“Now, Bob,” said he, “I tole you I gwine to be yo’ friend, and I means

what I said. I done tuck yo’ measure, my son, soon’s you come on board,

and I know’d you’se a quality youngster immegitely. You’se different

breed o’ dog fum dat low-down Jim, and dat’s why I tole you dat you

wasn’t gwine to be pompered here, cos I wanted to prepare you fer what

was comin’. Bob, you’se like a young bar; yo’ trouble’s all befo’ you.

But you des keep a quiet tongue in yo’ head, and watch out wid yo’ eyes

open, and learn all you can, and ’fore you know it you’ll be jest as

good as any ob ’em!”

“Yes, cook, that’s all right, but I can’t let Jim impose on me, you

know.”

The old darky grinned from ear to ear. “Dat’s so, honey! Blood will

tell, sho’s you born, and you’se got some of what my ole marse used to

call ‘diwine ’flatus’; wotever dat is, dat belongs to quality folks

and always fotches ’em on top ob de heap. So if dat Jim runs you

_too_ hard, why I ’speck you’se duty bound to take yo’ own part.

You know wot de good S’marikan said: ’Ef de Farisee hit you on one

cheek, you hit him on de udder.’ Now Bob, here’s yo’ pudden’, and don’t

let de mate see you eatin’ it on deck.”

The doctor, as the cook is always called on board ship, had been a

plantation darkey, and possessed that keen insight peculiar to his race

in certain matters. He recognized at once that I was of gentle birth,

and attached himself to me from the first. He was my firm friend as

long as we were shipmates together, and many a surreptitious pot of

coffee in the morning watch and plate of “menavalins” from the cabin

table I owed to his kind offices during the voyage.

For the remainder of the week I was kept busily engaged from early

morning until dark, so that I was only too glad to crawl into my

hammock soon after our simple evening meal each day, and I was not

sorry when at last our hold was filled, our hatches calked down, and

a gang of riggers bent our sails, and we were ready for sea. Then one

afternoon our crew was brought down by a shipping-master, a tug came

alongside, we cast off our fasts from the Navy Yard wharf, and steamed

down the bay.

As all my good-bys had been made in Boston, I experienced no particular

feelings of regret as we passed down the harbor and bay, and at last

made sail, cast off the tug, dropped the pilot, and saw Sandy Hook

light sink away below the horizon. I had indeed no time for much

sentiment; for as the good ship began to rise and fall to the long

ocean swell, increased by the strong breeze that was blowing from the

southeast, I soon became oblivious to everything, for I was quickly in

the agony of seasickness.

Meanwhile the wind was freshening, and, the top-gallant sails having

been taken in, the ship was plunging into the head beat sea and

creaking and groaning in what seemed to me a very ominous manner. I had

already paid my _devoirs_ to Neptune several times until I was

fearfully weak; and the last time, as I came from the lee rail, I fell

prone into a convenient tub that contained a large coil of rope--the

main topsail halyards, as it proved, unfortunately.

Just then a stronger flaw of wind struck the ship, and the mate, coming

into the waist, shouted out: “All hands stand by to reef topsails! Let

go the topsail halyards! Clew down and haul out the reef-tackles! Be

sharp, men! Be sharp!”

The words were meaningless to me, but I saw a form near me casting off

a rope from a belaying pin over my head; there was a whizzing sound; I

was thrown from the tub into the air with great violence, and I knew

nothing further!

CHAPTER II

MY FIRST VOYAGE

When I returned to consciousness I could not at first imagine where I

was, but the creaking and groaning of the ship as she labored in the

heavy seaway and the abominable smell of bilge water soon brought me to

a realizing sense of the fact that I was in my hammock in the steerage.

After some mental effort I recollected that I had been thrown from the

tub in which I had been sitting on deck, though how or why this had

happened I could not understand. But I was too deathly seasick just

then to care to follow out this train of thought, and I languidly dozed

and wondered whether we should all go to the bottom together in this

gale. I fancy I rather hoped we might thus end the matter with the

least personal exertion, and that death under existing circumstances

would prove a happy release.

But I was recalled to myself by the cook, coming softly up to my

hammock with a shaded light and gazing down at me with evident interest.

“Robert,” said he, for the first and last time calling me by my full

name, “is you come to yo’se’f, honey, sure enough?”

I moaned, as a reply.

“Oh, I reckon you’se all right now, Bob! De ole man says dere’s no

bones broke, and ef dat is so I specs you come out first-rate soon’s

yo’ stummick’s done settle down. But you certainly did have a mighty

narrer squeak! Whatever put it into yo’ head, boy, to squat down into

dat topsail halyard tub? It’s a clean wonder you didn’t get carried

chock up to de main-top! Well, I don’t reckon you ever try dat seat

again in a hurry. Now, honey, you drink dis ’ere pot of cabin tea, and

den go to sleep, and by ter-morrow you’ll be as bright as a button.”

Any one who remembers a first voyage can imagine what I suffered in

that abominable hole, alone and uncared for, save for the friendly

ministrations of that poor negro cook, during the next three days. I

really believe I should have died from mere exhaustion if it had not

been for the little delicacies he smuggled down to me. But fortunately

there is an end to seasickness, and on the third day the captain

condescended to remember that I was on board, and that he had not seen

me since he had examined me after my involuntary feat of ground and

lofty tumbling. So down he came into the steerage, and by his order I

was carried up on deck into the pure, fresh air, where I soon rallied;

and before another day I was myself again, or nearly so, at any rate.

During my illness the ship had been prepared for sea by work that is

always done by the crew the first few days out from port. This consists

in securing the anchors in board, lashing the spare spars on deck, and

clearing away all rubbish that has accumulated in port. Then there is

“chafing gear” to be put on aloft and a thousand odd jobs to be done

that no one but a sailor can understand, all of them very necessary on

a long voyage, however.

The Bombay was, for those days, a good sized ship of about six hundred

tons register, but she would seem a mere tender by the side of the

marine monsters of the present time. Her crew included twelve men and

two boys, with captain, two mates, carpenter, cook, and steward. The

men had been, as usual, divided into two watches, and I had fallen into

the mate’s, or port watch. “It was Hobson’s choice” in my case, as Mr.

Bowker delicately remarked in informing me of my station. It was very

evident that I was not, as yet, considered a very valuable acquisition

to his force.

“Now look here, you Bob,” said the mate one fine afternoon when I was

barely convalescent, “you’ve been playing seasick passenger about long

enough. It’s time you began to be of some use on board and to earn your

grub. I’m going to be doctor myself! Look up aloft there, my lad; do

you see that royal yard?”

I looked up, as he bade me, at the royal masthead, where the yard

seemed to me to be about five hundred feet above the deck where we

stood.

“Yes sir, I see it.”

“Very well, now suppose you waltz up there and take a closer look at

it! It’s going to be a very familiar road for you this voyage, and

you had better make yourself acquainted with the way at once;” and he

smiled at his wit, which I failed to appreciate just then.

The ship was on the wind, with all sail set and drawing well, and she

was reasonably steady; but as I gazed aloft the mast was sweeping about

in a very dazing manner, and the rigging away up there seemed to me

about the size of a fishing line. Remember, I had never been aloft in

my life! I hesitated.

“Well, Bob, I am waiting for you, but I shan’t wait very long, my son;”

and he picked up a piece of rattling stuff, a cord about the thickness

of one’s finger, and ostentatiously swayed it to and fro.

I saw that he meant business, and I started on the trip at once. I

have been aloft, since that beautiful afternoon, many times in howling

gales of wind to close-reef topsails. I have crawled out to storm furl

a sail in a typhoon in the Straits of Sunda when the force of the wind

pinned me to the yard and I felt that every moment might be my last. I

went through that hell of fire in the old Richmond, astern of Farragut

in the Hartford, when we passed Forts Jackson and St. Philip below New

Orleans, but I am sure that I have never since experienced the abject

fear I endured that day before I reached the Bombay’s royal yard!

But I stuck to it and I accomplished the task at last, and my first

lesson in seamanship, and the severest one, was past. Perhaps some

of my readers may think that I magnify the undertaking, but, as I

have said, I was a country lad, and in those days boys did not have

gymnasiums, as they have now, to prepare them for such tests.

“Very well done, Bob, for a first attempt,” said the mate laughingly,

as I reached the deck and busied myself in getting my trousers pulled

down my legs after my frantic struggle aloft; “but I thought you would

have squeezed all the tar out of the royal backstay, you gripped it so

savagely. Oh, you’ll make a sailor yet, lad, or I’ll know the reason

why. Now go forward and turn the grindstone for the carpenter.”

From that day on I was kept constantly in practice in going aloft, and

was soon given the main royal to loose and furl; so that in my watch on

deck no other person was ever sent aloft for that purpose, and what had

been but a few weeks before such a terrible task, became mere play to

me.

Meanwhile we were making our southing all the time, and in due course

we approached the equator. Here both Jim and I were subjected to the

usual horse-play that in those days marked the event of “crossing the

line,” a custom now almost obsolete.

Neptune, represented by one of the men, came on board over the bows

rigged out in a wig of tow, with a long beard, carrying as a trident

a pair of grains, a kind of four-pronged fish spear. He asked us

neophytes if we would promise never to eat brown bread when we could

get white, unless we liked it better; never to kiss the maid when we

could kiss the mistress, unless she were the prettier, and a lot more

of such nonsense. As we attempted to reply one of the attendants forced

a brush dipped in tar and ashes into our mouths, and they ended up

by pulling away the board on which we were seated, thus giving us a

ducking in a large tub of salt water.

However, the mate would not permit the men to go too far with us;

so we at last escaped from our tormentors, and from that time were

forever “free of the line” and at liberty to exercise our ingenuity in

torturing other greenhorns when we had the opportunity.

I have failed to mention that our only passenger was a young

passed-midshipman going out to join the Brazil squadron. His name was

Clemson, and he was a general favorite fore and aft. Some years later

he was drowned while striving to rescue one of his brother officers at

the time of the loss of the United States brig Somers, capsized in the

Gulf of Mexico. A handsome monument was afterward erected to his memory

in the grounds of the Naval Academy at Annapolis.

As the days slipped along I was steadily gaining in the knowledge of my

profession. On fine days, when there was little wind, I was sent to the

wheel and taught to steer; at odd times I learned the mystery of making

short and long splices and the various knots and “bends.” From the

drudgery of turning the winch I was gradually promoted to making spun

yarn myself, as well as plain and French sennit and other stuffs used

in such quantities on board ship. Sometimes I was set at work ripping

up old sails with the sailmaker’s gang; again at cleaning out paint

pots and brushes in the paint-room, and I was taught how to handle a

brush and lay on paint evenly. A boy at sea thus really serves an

apprenticeship at several trades, and a good sailor is, or should be, a

seaman, a rigger, a sailmaker, and a painter; he is in reality a “Jack

of all trades.”

Kept busily engaged in this way, it was not strange that the time

slipped by so quickly, and it did not seem long when, on the

fifty-eighth day from New York, we made the land on the starboard bow,

which proved to be Pernambuco, and five days afterward we sighted the

Sugar Loaf, which rises abruptly twelve hundred feet from the sea at

the entrance to the bay of Rio de Janeiro, one of the finest and most

picturesque harbors in the world.

As soon as our anchor was dropped in the lower bay, we were surrounded

by a fleet of boats of curious construction filled with jabbering

negroes and native Brazilians, but none were permitted to come on board

until after we had been inspected by the customs officer. He was a very

great man indeed, who came alongside in a barge, with a wooden awning

over the stern, flying a large Brazilian flag. This boat was pulled by

twelve coal-black Congo negroes, naked from the waist up, who rose to

their feet at every stroke, and fell back on the thwarts with a kind of

rhythmic grunt that they gave in unison.

The officer was a shriveled-up little Brazilian, looking like a cross

between a chimpanzee and a parrot, with his wizened face and gorgeous

uniform of green and yellow--the bilious colors of the Brazilian

Empire. After satisfying all the formalities, we were permitted to have

the natives on board, and they came with great bunches of bananas, bags

of luscious oranges and fragrant pineapples, and other tropical fruits

in bewildering variety, and at what seemed absurdly low prices.

Every one on board, fore and aft, invested in fruit, and we sat up

late into the night to devour it, for it seemed that we could never be

satisfied. Fifty years ago tropical fruits were not hawked about the

streets of Boston as they are to-day, and I do not think that I had

ever seen a banana before. So that after two months of salt-beef diet

these delicacies were thoroughly appreciated.

The day after our arrival was Sunday; and after washing down decks in

the morning and cleaning all the brass-work about the ship, a duty

that especially devolved upon Jim and myself, we were informed by the

mate that the port watch was to have liberty on shore for the day.

How I did crow over Jim when this order was promulgated, for Jim was in

the starboard watch, who were to remain on board, while we fortunate

“larbowlins” were to pass the day amid the wonders of the strange city

that looked so attractive from our deck.

Jim took occasion to upset some dirty water over my newly cleaned

shoes while I was getting dressed, and then laughed spitefully at my

discomfiture. This was by no means the first unpleasant trick Jim had

served me since we left New York, and I had heretofore borne everything

patiently; but this was the last straw that broke the camel’s back. So

we decided, after considerable mutual recrimination, to settle the feud

then and there comfortably in the retirement of the steerage.

I had gained immensely in physical strength during the past two months,

yet Jim was still rather the larger boy of the two; but I sailed in and

succeeded, at last, in giving him about the most thorough trouncing

he had ever had in his life. When he cried “enough” and I hauled off

to repair damages, I caught a glimpse of the old cook gazing in an

interested manner down the hatchway at the affray. He grinned and shook

his head approvingly. “Didn’t I tole you so?” he said as he vanished.

After re-cleaning my shoes and effacing all evidences of the passage at

arms from my face, I arrayed myself, for the first time since I came

on board, in my best blue suit, and, topping it off with a new white

sennit hat, I took my seat in the boat and was rowed on shore with the

others of the port watch.

We passed through a great fleet of ships of all nations at anchor,

gayly dressed in flags, among which the bright American ensign largely

predominated,--for in those days our flag was found in every foreign

port,--and were speedily deposited upon the landing stage, and made our

way on shore.

Here a strange scene was presented. The plaza was filled with people

of all shades of color, from the Congo African to the pure white

Europeans, scattered here and there. All were in their Sunday best,

and with the fondness of the negroes for the most brilliant colors, the

brightest reds and yellows were everywhere seen. All were chattering in

Portuguese in the most animated manner; and as every one seemed to be

talking at once it was indeed a very babel.

While I looked about me a tall, willowy mestizo girl came along

carrying a tray upon her head, which at first I supposed contained

some very elaborate confectionery; but to my astonishment, upon closer

inspection I found she was bearing a little dead infant, dressed in

white and covered with flowers. She was on her way to the Campo Santo,

as I learned, to have it buried, and carried it, as they carried

everything, very naturally upon her head. At the cemetery the bodies of

the poor were piled each day in a long pit, which at night was filled

with quicklime and closed up.

Strolling about, I came to a square with a large cathedral, near the

Imperial Palace. While I looked around me a gay carriage, with six

horses and outriders and a brilliant cavalry escort, came dashing up,

and the youthful Emperor, Dom Pedro II., then scarce twenty years

old, alighted and passed into the church. This was the same Dom Pedro

who a few years since visited the United States so unostentatiously

and who was such an admirer of our country and of our countrymen and

countrywomen. He died in exile a year or two ago, poor fellow!

As this was my first glimpse of royalty, it was, of course, very

interesting, and I deemed myself quite fortunate at having seen this

spectacle on my first day ashore. After the grandees had passed into

the church, I continued on my tour of inspection, and soon came to the

Rua de Ouvidor, where the jewelers had their shops. Here the show of

diamonds so lavishly displayed recalled to my mind the stories I had

read in the Arabian Nights; and as I passed into the adjoining Rua

Direta I was equally charmed with the wondrous feather flowers, for

which Brazil was then so noted.

But by this time, boylike, my appetite was asserting itself, and

I began to look about for something more satisfying than diamonds

and feather flowers. I had been eating oranges and bananas in the

market-place, but these trifles didn’t count for much, and I felt an

overpowering desire for a good square meal. But I could not speak a

single word of Portuguese, and those now about me evidently spoke no

English, so I was in rather a bad way.

I walked on and on; but as I had passed into the residential quarter of

the city I could see nothing looking at all like a restaurant, and I

became a little uneasy for fear I might lose my way. At this juncture

I saw a very sweet-looking old lady standing in a doorway watching me

as I approached her. I hesitated, half paused, and she spoke to me in

Portuguese.

I shook my head to indicate that I could not understand, and, in

despair resorting to pantomime, pointed to my mouth to show that I was

hungry.

“Poor little fellow!” said she in English to a little girl by her side;

“he must be dumb!”

Oh, what a relief it was to hear those words! Did my own language ever

before sound so sweet! I hastened to convince the lady of her error,

and to ask her where I could find a restaurant.

“Why, bless your soul, you dear little midget, come in and dine with

me! Whatever brought such a wee fellow as you all alone to Brazil?”

I attempted to decline this hearty invitation of my countrywoman, as

she proved to be, but it was of no avail, and I was taken in and dined;

and later, when it turned out that Mrs. ---- was an old friend of my

uncle in Boston, I was given a very charming drive in the suburbs, and

finally returned in great state, soon after sunset, to the landing

stage with my new friends. Before leaving the kind lady made me promise

to call upon her again when I next came ashore.

CHAPTER III

THE MUTINY

I had been kept so late by my kind entertainer that I found, by inquiry

of the boat-keeper of a man-of-war cutter at the landing stage, that

the Bombay’s boat with the liberty men had been gone for nearly an

hour; and the coxswain, seeing my dilemma, called in a shore boat

pulled by a couple of darkeys, who agreed to take me off to my ship for

a few reis.

As we neared the Bombay I saw evidences of unusual commotion on board,

and observed a signal of distress hoisted in the mizzen rigging. We

pulled alongside, and scrambling on deck I discovered what was the

trouble.

Among the naval stores which composed our cargo were six hundred

barrels of whiskey. In those days liquor was served out as a daily

ration in the United States Navy, but the practice did not prevail in

the merchant service, liquor being allowed on board but few ships, and

it was served as a ration in no American vessels.

Sailors have always been noted for their ingenuity in stealing liquor;

and to keep this out of his men’s reach, our captain had stored the

barrels in the fore and after runs, or lowest part of the lower hold.

The sailors were aware of this, and on this Sunday had found their

opportunity.

Mr. Bowker, the chief mate, and the port watch were on shore, and

Captain Gay had gone on board another ship, the Angier, to pass the day

and dine with her commander. This left Mr. Daniels, the second mate, in

charge. He was a rather easy-going young man, and soon retired to his

stateroom to enjoy the quiet day in reading an interesting novel.

Chips, the carpenter, after smoking a pipe, went to sleep in his bunk,

and the crew found little difficulty in taking from his chest such

tools as they wished. With these the starboard watch proceeded to cut

a hole through the forecastle deck, and succeeded so well that by

dinner-time they had broken out the upper tier of stores and exposed

the barrels of whiskey.

The cargo they removed they piled up carefully in the quarters of

the absent port watch, filling their side of the forecastle up to the

carlines.

Not satisfied with broaching one barrel for immediate use, they

providently decided to lay in a stock for future consumption, and to

this end hoisted three barrels of whiskey up into the forecastle, and

concealed them underneath their berths.

They then restored the remainder of the cargo to its place, and

refitted the deck planks so carefully as scarcely to leave a trace of

their work.

After dinner the watch settled down to the business of drinking and

carousing. When at five o’clock in the afternoon Mr. Daniels, having

finished his novel, came forward to call away the boat to bring the

liberty men on board, he was startled at finding the entire watch drunk

and inclined to be very quarrelsome.

He at once sent the carpenter and the boy Jim in the dingey on board

the Angier to state the case to our captain, and he accepted the offer

of Captain Edson to send the Angier’s boat for our liberty men. The two

captains then came at once on board the Bombay, in the dingey. The

arrival, an hour later, of the liberty men, who were also drunk, made

matters worse, instead of better, for the two watches fell to fighting

in the forecastle.

This was the disturbance that was going on when I arrived on board.

Captain Gay, who was one of the old-time sea captains and a very “taut

hand” with his crews, ordered the second mate to go down into the

forecastle and bring up any rum he might find there. He supposed, of

course, that the liquor the men had obtained had been smuggled on board

from the bumboat.

Mr. Daniels went down with a very ill grace, I thought. The forecastle

was just then a very lion’s den, and he did not stay long, but came up

with a rush through the hatchway with a bleeding nose and puffed eyes.

When he could regain his breath, he exclaimed: “Captain Gay, they’ve

got a barrel of whiskey there on tap, and they are fighting over it

like a lot of wild Indians! It was all I could do to get out of the

forecastle alive!”

“A barrel! What do you mean?”

“It’s just so, sir; there is a barrel on tap, and they are drinking it

out of their pint cups! I am almost sure it is one of the barrels from

the hold, but how on earth they got it out I can’t imagine. The hatches

haven’t been opened to-day; that I will swear to!”

This was certainly a very bad state of affairs, and Captain Gay felt

that he must take summary action. Going to the cabin, he returned with

four revolvers and gave one each to the officers and to the carpenter.

Then looking down the hatch, he shouted, “Men, come on deck at once,

every one of you!”

A howl of derision was the only reply.

“I will give you five minutes to get up here, or I’ll come down there

and find out the reason why!” he cried.

They simply yelled defiantly in drunken chorus.

“Come along, Mr. Bowker,” said the captain. “You and I will start these

fellows up. Mr. Daniels, you and the carpenter put the irons on them as

they come up the hatchway!”

The captain and mate bravely started down the hatchway, revolvers in

hand. They were taking desperate chances. It was no small thing for two

men, even with arms in their hands, to face a dozen sailors, maddened

with drink, at close quarters, in a hand-to-hand encounter such as

this must needs be. But those old-time skippers were accustomed to

rough-and-tumble fights, and they never shirked an encounter of the

kind, even at long odds.

Jim and I had gone forward to see the outcome of the affair, and we

were, of course, in a high state of excitement as the captain and mate

disappeared below.

For several minutes there was a terrible confusion of voices in the

forecastle, and then a sound of blows and oaths, followed by the sharp

crack of a pistol shot. Then a brief pause, followed by a renewal of

the uproar. Another shot was fired, and almost immediately the captain

appeared on the ladder, struggling with a stalwart fellow who had

grasped the pistol by the barrel, and was striving to get possession of

it.

The carpenter leaned over the scuttle and struck the sailor a heavy

blow on the head with a pair of iron handcuffs, whereupon the fellow

let go his grasp of the pistol and fell heavily down the ladder. The

captain then came up, bleeding from a cut on the side of his face,

evidently the result of a blow, and with his clothing fairly torn to

shreds. Mr. Bowker quickly followed, in an even worse condition, and

without his pistol, which he had lost in the affray.

Mr. Daniels pulled over the scuttle and slipped in the hatch-bar; and,

feeling that the wild beasts were at least caged, our side called a

parley.

“I shot one of the scoundrels in the arm,” said the captain. “Did your

shot take effect, Mr. Bowker?”

“I think so, sir; but I am not sure of it. They closed in on me so I

could not very well see.”

I happened just then to glance through a port and saw a boat coming

alongside. “Here’s a boat with some officers, sir,” I reported.

The captain went to the gangway and received a Brazilian officer who

came on board. Looking curiously at the captain’s disordered condition,

he said, “I am sent by the port captain to inquire what trouble you are

in, as you have a distress signal flying.”

The captain explained and the lieutenant went forward to investigate.

Mr. Bowker opened the scuttle, and the officer called down in his

broken English, “Mariners, I command that you come on deck at once!”

“Who are you, monkey-face?” shouted a man from below. “Get out of this,

or we will serve you worse than we did old Bowker!” At the same time

a pistol shot whistled ominously past the young lieutenant, while a

chorus of oaths and yells saluted him.

“But, captain,” said the young man, “this is truly a mutiny! I must

report to my commanding officer and obtain further assistance.” And he

hurried to his boat and left the ship.

By this time it was growing dark, and affairs were in a very bad state

for the night. The two captains consulted together as to the best

course to pursue. As discipline had now become almost a dead letter

in the ship, we all gathered aft, having first secured the forward

hatchway, and several propositions were discussed by the officers.

“Captain Gay,” said Captain Edson, “if you take my advice you will not

allow the authorities to interfere in the matter, at this stage of the

mutiny at least. If they undertake to settle it they will put you to

no end of trouble and expense, and possibly delay your voyage. I have

had some experience with them in a similar affair. I would at least

exhaust my own resources first.”

“That is good advice, as far as the Brazilians are concerned,” replied

Captain Gay, “but what shall I do with those wild men down in the

forecastle?”

“Come below and we will talk over a plan by ourselves, where we haven’t

quite so many listeners,” said Captain Edson, as he glanced at my

companion Jim, who, with mouth and ears both wide open, was pushing

forward to catch every word.

They went below, and Mr. Bowker, now that the excitement was over for

the moment, found time to give us his attention; and we were set at

work cleaning up the decks, securing the boats, and making all snug for

the night.

In a short time the steward brought up an order to the mate to take the

Angier’s boat and go on board the Brazilian man-of-war Independenzia,

with Captain Gay’s compliments, and to say that we should not require

any assistance that night, but should be glad to have the police boat

sent in the morning to take the prisoners on shore. Before going the

mate was directed to see that the forward hatch was well lashed down

and that a kedge anchor was put on it as an additional precaution

against its being lifted off by a combined effort of the men below.

As the “prisoners” were as yet a long way from being secured, we were

all very much mystified by this message from the captain, and the mate

remarked to Mr. Daniels in my hearing that he “thought the old man had

better catch his chickens before he counted them.”

But all the same, he obeyed the order, and we went down into the

steerage to supper, there to discuss the mutiny in all its various

aspects. When the Angier’s boat returned, Captain Edson went back to

his own ship.

That night the mates and the carpenter kept the anchor watches between

them, and the crew long before midnight succumbed to the effects of the

liquor, and were all quiet in the forecastle.

The next morning we were aroused at daylight, and for once found the

captain on deck as early as any one. Jim and I were sent off at once in

the dingey to bring Captain Edson on board, who came, bringing with him

a mysterious package of something that smelled very much like matches.

Captain Gay received him at the gangway; and after they had drunk a cup

of coffee, they both went forward with the mates and the carpenter,

who to his and our surprise was ordered to bring: his broad-axe with

him. The captain then looked about carefully, and at last directed the

carpenter to cut a hole through the deck planks something more than a

foot square, between the beams. The carpenter was rather astonished,

but obeyed orders, and the chips at once began to fly.

The captain then went to the galley and returned with an iron pot, to

which he attached a line, and Captain Edson poured the contents of his

package into the kettle. By this time the hole was cut through the deck.

“Stand by to open the scuttle, Mr. Bowker,” said the captain. “Now,

men,” he called down, as the hatch was opened carefully, “are you

coming up like men, or shall I make you come up like sheep?”

The crew greeted this request with shouts and oaths. Many of them had

waked and were again drinking the liquor.

The captain closed the hatch and called out, “Cook, bring me a

shovelful of live coals here!”

The cook came with the hot coals, which he put, as directed, into the

pot.

As the dense white smoke of the burning brimstone in the vessel curled

up, the captain lowered the pot through the hole in the deck, keeping

it close up to the beams and out of reach of the men below, and then

placed two wet swabs over the hole, so that none of the fumes could

escape above.

Flesh and blood could not endure the suffocating vapors that

immediately filled the forecastle. In less than five minutes there was

a terrific rush up the ladder, and a violent effort was made to raise

the hatch, which was prevented by the lashings and the heavy kedge

anchor.

“Stand by, now, all of you!” cried the captain to the mates, “and clap

the handcuffs on them as I let them through, one at a time!”

He opened one door of the scuttle, through which the first man

precipitated himself. He was at once secured and the door was closed.

Then it was re-opened, and the crew were let out one by one until the

whole twelve lay handcuffed on the deck in a row. The last men were

scarcely able to crawl up, so dense were the noxious fumes in the

forecastle.

When the work was completed, Captain Gay walked up and down the deck

in a high state of glee at the entire success of his experiment, and

addressed the captives as he passed:

“Oh, you are a precious lot of scoundrels, aren’t you? You thought you

had the weather-gage of me, did you? I think you will sing a different

tune when you find yourselves in the calaboose! I have more than half a

mind to give you a round dozen apiece before I send you there, just to

warm myself up this morning! But I won’t soil my fingers with you, you

drunken brutes, much as I should enjoy it! Mr. Bowker, signal for the

police boat, and send these fellows off as quickly as possible and let

us be rid of them!”

He turned aft, and went down to breakfast with Captain Edson.

When the police boat came, the officer was greatly surprised at

finding so large a number of prisoners awaiting him. They were taken

on shore; and after remaining in the city prison until we sailed, they

were, as we subsequently learned, released, and were shipped by a

whaler who came in short of hands.

Our captain picked up another crew without much difficulty, and we went

on unlading. We then took on board a cargo of coffee and carried it to

New Orleans, where we loaded with cotton for Liverpool.

CHAPTER IV

NOT BORN TO BE DROWNED

The next voyage of the Bombay was to Mobile for a cargo of cotton, to

be carried to Liverpool. It was the custom in those days for ships of

any great size to discharge and take in their cargoes in the lower bay.

The city is on the Mobile River, fully twenty-five miles above the

entrance to the lagoon-like bay, cut off from the Gulf of Mexico by a

narrow isthmus, upon the point of which the lighthouse stands.

The Bombay came to Mobile in ballast, so there was no cargo to

discharge, very much to our satisfaction, as everything had to be

loaded into large lighters, which made hard work for the crew.

Captain Gay, as was the custom, went up to the city as soon as the

ship was safely anchored, to superintend the work of the brokers in

obtaining freight, and to forward the cotton to the ship with all

possible expedition. The chief mate remained on board in charge of the

ship.

Of all the dismal holes I had ever seen, the lower bay of Mobile was

the worst. The low shores are either alluvial mud or clear sand; there

were no trees, no inhabitants but a very few ignorant fishermen, and

absolutely nothing to relieve the monotony of life on shipboard,

divested even of the excitement that is found when at sea in the

changes of wind and weather, and the making and taking in sail that

follows calm or storm.

We were supposed to be in port, and Jack dearly loves his “Sunday

liberty,” with its attendant run ashore; but here no one cared to go on

shore on Sundays or any other day, merely to wander about in the sand,

half devoured by mosquitoes, and without a living soul to exchange

a word with. Then, to make it even more disagreeable, as the bay is

unprotected, and it was in the winter season, we were compelled to

stand anchor watches at night, and keep our sails bent in readiness to

slip our anchors and work off shore if a norther should strike us.

I have since lain at anchor off some very inhospitable and

uninteresting shores, but I do not remember anything more detestable

than life in Mobile Bay in 1844, unless, indeed, it was my blockading

experience outside of that same bay in 1862, of which you will hear

before you finish this volume.

Our only relaxation was crabbing. For this sport we took old iron

hoops and wove upon them coarse nets of heavy twine, the meshes being

very open. In these nets we fastened three or four pounds of the

most ancient and malodorous salt beef we could find in the harness

casks,--and these pieces could be scented the length of the ship. At

night, the nets, heavily weighted, were thrown overboard with a stout

line attached to them, and allowed to sink to the bottom.

The next morning we hauled the nets in, and rarely failed to find from

one to half a dozen enormous hard-shelled crabs entangled in the meshes

of each net and viciously fighting with each other. The result of these

contests was frequently seen in an unfortunate crab minus half of his

legs.

But the pleasure of crab-fishing soon palled upon us, and not even

a hardened sailor’s stomach could endure a steady diet of these

crustaceans. So, after the first week the crab nets were neglected,

and we were forced into spending our few hours of leisure in sleep, an

unfailing resource for a sailor.

However, the first lighter laden with cotton soon came down from

Mobile, and with it a gang of stevedores who were to stow this precious

cargo. At that time freights to Liverpool were quoted at “three

half-pence a pound,” which represented the very considerable sum of

fifteen dollars a bale. So it was very much to the interest of our

owners to get every pound or bale squeezed into the ship that was

possible.

The cotton had already been subjected to a very great compression at

the steam cotton presses in Mobile, which reduced the size of the bales

as they had come from the plantations fully one half. It was now to

be forced into the ship, in the process of stowing by the stevedores,

with very powerful jackscrews, each operated by a gang of four men,

one of them the “shantier,” as he was called, from the French word

_chanteur_, a vocalist. This man’s sole duty was to lead in the

rude songs, largely improvised, to the music of which his companions

screwed the bales into their places. The pressure exerted in this

process was often sufficient to lift the planking of the deck, and the

beams of ships were at times actually sprung.

A really good shantier received larger pay than the other men in the

gang, although his work was much less laborious. Their songs, which

always had a lively refrain or chorus, were largely what are now called

topical, and often not particularly chaste. Little incidents occurring

on board ship that attracted the shantier’s attention were very apt

to be woven into his song, and sometimes these were of a character to

cause much annoyance to the officers, whose little idiosyncrasies were

thus made public.

One of their songs, I remember, ran something like this:--

“Oh, the captain’s gone ashore,

For to see the stevedore.

CHORUS: Hie bonnie laddie, and we’ll all go ashore.

“But the mate went ashore,

And got his breeches tore,

Hie bonnie laddie,” etc.

As Mr. Bowker had returned to the ship the day before, after a visit to

the lighthouse, with his best broadcloth trousers in a very dilapidated

condition, this personal allusion to the unfortunate incident, shouted

out at the top of their hoarse voices by “Number One” gang was, to say

the least, painful. We boys, however, thought the sentiment and the

verse equally delightful.

The second lighter of cotton was towed down to us by quite a large

high-pressure steamer, the Olive Branch, that was going on to Pass

Christian with passengers. After dinner that day, Mr. Bowker, who was

in an unusually amiable mood, called out, “You, Bob, take Charlie with

you in the dingey, and go on board that steamer, and see if you can’t

get me some newspapers.”

Charlie was the new boy, the successor to Jim, who had unostentatiously

departed from the ship, “between two days,” in Liverpool, last voyage.

As Charlie was my junior, I took a great and not unnatural pleasure in

making him as uncomfortable as possible when an opportunity presented.

So I hauled the dingey up at once to the gangway, and, rousing

Charlie up from his unfinished dinner, started off for the steamer.

I had already become quite a good boatman, but this was a novel

experience for me, and indeed it was quite a delicate matter to lay

a small boat safely alongside one of those great side wheel steamers

while she was still in motion,--for the Olive Branch had not anchored,

but had only stopped her engines and was slowly drifting.

As I approached the steamer I saw a man standing well forward of the

wheel-house with a line ready to throw to us, and I headed the boat for

him. As we came within good distance we tossed in our oars, the line

was thrown, Charlie caught it, but stumbled and fell, and in a moment

the dingey had capsized, and we were in the water and under the wheel

of the steamer!

Unfortunately I had never learned to swim; and as I was heavily clad I

went down in the cold salt water of the bay like a stone, and for a few

seconds experienced all the agonies of drowning!

Then I rose and, as I came to the surface, found myself among the

“buckets” of the great wheel of the steamer, which were green and

slimy with river moss, and as slippery as ice. By a tremendous physical

effort I succeeded in getting astride of one of these buckets, and

obtained a precarious position of comparative safety, as I thought at

first.

But, to my horror, I was scarcely out of the water when the wheel

commenced very slowly revolving. The terror of that moment I shall

never forget. The recollection of it returns to me now, after all these

years, and in my bad attacks of nightmare I sometimes fancy myself

clinging again with desperation to a slowly revolving wheel, drenched,

shivering with cold, and expecting each moment a horrible death!

In my agony I shouted aloud; but, inclosed on all sides as I was by

the wheel-box, I felt sure that my cries could not be heard. In the

darkness of this prison box the wheel slowly, very slowly revolved,

carrying me up toward the top of the cover, where I fully expected to

be ground to pieces; or if perchance I escaped that fate, I knew that

I would be drowned when I was drawn under the water in the fearful

suction beneath the wheel.

Escape seemed impossible, but frantic with fear I again shouted at the

top of my shrill young voice till my lungs seemed ready to burst. Then

the wheel stopped. There was a pause; I heard the noise of hurried feet

upon the wheel-box above me, a trap door was opened, and the blessed

light of day came struggling in.

I saw a man looking earnestly down into the darkness of the space

beneath him, and I tried to call out, but my voice seemed paralyzed,

and, for the moment, I could not make a sound.

Neither seeing nor hearing anything, the man rose from his knees and

was about to close the trap-door, when I made another effort, and,

thank God, a faint cry burst from my parched throat.

The man paused, then sprang upon the wheel, picked me up in his arms,

and I fainted dead away!

After what seemed a long time, although, as I was told, it was but a

few minutes, I recovered consciousness to find myself stretched out

on a mattress, covered with a blanket, and surrounded by a number of

kind-hearted women. The passengers had seen the boat upset and noticed

my sudden disappearance. Charlie, who could swim like a fish, was

picked up, and declared that I was drowned. Indeed, he “saw me go down

and never come up again.”

By the merest chance the captain had not started the steamer ahead. If

that had been done I should, of course, have been killed.

My clothes were soon dried in the engine-room, the dingey and her oars

had been recovered, a generous bag of fruit and cake was packed for me

by the sympathetic ladies, and we returned to the Bombay.

As I came up over the side, Mr. Bowker greeted me with, “Where have you

been all this time, Bob?”

I explained to him my narrow escape from a dreadful death, to which he

cheerfully responded:--

“Well, Bob, you certainly were not born to be drowned; look sharp to

it, lad, that you do live to be hanged!”

CHAPTER V

A “SHANGHAEING” EPISODE

The next three years of my life at sea were but a repetition of the

first three months of my experience, with a slight change in the scene

of the incidents and a natural increase in my knowledge of seamanship.

For when I returned to Boston in the Bombay from Liverpool, at the end

of my first year of probation, and the opportunity was again presented

to me of going into the navy as midshipman, I declined the offer of my

own free will.

My views had changed during the past year, for I had learned how slow

promotion was in the naval service, and I had seen in our squadron in

Brazil gray-haired lieutenants who were vainly hoping for one more step

before going on the retired list. In fact, Farragut, who entered the

navy as a midshipman in 1810, had passed through the War of 1812, and

after thirty-one years’ service was still a lieutenant in 1841.

During my year at sea my dear mother had died, my home was broken up,

and when my cousin, who owned the Bombay, promised me that I should

have the command of one of his ships when I was twenty-one, if I proved

myself competent, I decided to stay where I was.

I received my first promotion to the position of second mate, when I

was barely seventeen years of age, and a very proud youngster I was

when I heard myself called “Mr.” Kelson, for the first time on the

quarter-deck of the old Bombay, where less than four years before I had

made my appearance as a green boy.

We were lying at this time at the levee in New Orleans, not far from

Bienville Street, and abreast of the old French Market. The Bombay was

the inner vessel of three in the tier, and formed a portion of the tow

just made up by the tugboat Crescent City, and we were only waiting for

our crew, soon to be brought on board by the boarding-house runners and

the shipping-master.

There was a fine old custom that prevailed in New Orleans in those

days of bringing the crew on board at night, at the last moment,

comfortably drunk, counting them as received, and bundling them into

their berths in the forecastle, to sleep off the fumes of their

debauch. And by the next morning, when the ship would be down the river

at the Belize, the tugboat was cast off, and then, and not until then,

would the ship’s crew be needed to make sail and clear up the decks for

sea.

It was the duty of the junior officer to receive and count the men

as they came on board ship in every stage of intoxication. Some were

brought over the gangway, absolutely helpless, by two stalwart runners;

and when the ship’s quota had been duly delivered in the forecastle the

shipping and boarding-house masters received a month’s advance pay for

each man.

Whatever else might be said against this system, it certainly had the

merit of simplicity; for as the voyage to Liverpool rarely exceeded

thirty or thirty-five days, it was quite customary for the men to “jump

the ship” in Liverpool as soon as she was docked, and, having little or

no wages due them, they were cared for by another set of boarding-house

sharks, who kept them during a very brief carouse in the “Sailor’s

Paradise,” as Liverpool was then called, and then quietly bundled them

on board of another ship, bagging their advance pay, after the fashion

of their New Orleans brothers in iniquity.

All this, however, is but the prelude to my little story. That

Christmas eve in 1845 I, as second mate, stood at the starboard gangway

of the old Bombay, crammed to her upper deck beams with cotton, and

with a deck load beside, and had checked off thirteen men drunk and

semi-drunk, as they came on board in squads of two and three.

“Now then, Mr. Kelson,” said the chief mate, as he came up from the

cabin, “have we got these men all aboard yet?”

“Only thirteen yet, Mr. Ackley,” I responded, looking at my list by the

light of the lantern hanging in the main rigging. “But here comes the

shipping-master, sir.”

“Where in thunder is that other man, Thompson?” said the mate. “The old

man is as savage as a meat-axe down in the cabin, and you had better

not see him till we have got our full complement on board.”

“Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Ackley,” replied the shipping-master.

“Here’s Dago Joe, now, coming with his man. Well, Joe, you almost

missed your chance. They are just ready to cast off the breast lines.

What have you got in your handcart?”

“Oh, Mis’ Thompson, he reglar ole’ shellback, he is. He boad wid me

six week. Came here bossun of de Susan Drew. You’ll ’member dis feller

soon’s you see him. He say he won’t ship less’n sixteen dollar mont’.

Dat’s de advance I giv’ him, ’cos I know Mis’ Ackley like good sailor

man.”

“Why, he looks as though he were dead,” said I, peering at the prone

body in the cart.

“Who, he? Oh no, sir; he been takin’ lil’ drop too much dis evenin’,

but he be ol’ right ’fore mawnin’. Oh, he sober fust-class sailor man.

’Sure you of dat, Mis’ Ackley!”

At this moment our towboat gave an impatient whistle, and Captain Gay

came up from the cabin, two steps at a time.

“Mr. Ackley, what _are_ we waiting for? The tow has been made up

for an hour, and we ought to have been a dozen miles down the river by

this time!”

“The last man has just come on board, sir,” replied the mate, “and I

shall cast off at once.”

“Be sharp about it then, sir!”

“Aye, aye, sir. Go forward, Mr. Kelson, and see to those head lines;

take the cook, steward, and carpenter with you to haul them in. You,

Joe, tumble that man of yours into the forecastle and get ashore

yourself, or you’ll have a chance to take a trip down to the Southwest

Pass! Let go the breast lines! Stand by forward!”

We cast off, the tugboat steamed ahead, the strong current struck us

on the starboard bow, we slowly turned, and went on our way down the

river, leaving the long line of twinkling lights of the Crescent City

behind us.

The next morning at daylight the chief mate and I, after serious

difficulties, succeeded in “rousing out” our befuddled crew, and then

commenced clearing up decks and getting ready for making sail, for we

were nearly abreast of Pilot Town, and would soon be over the bar.

Thirteen hard-looking subjects presented themselves from the

forecastle, after some little time, but where was the fourteenth? A

diligent search of the men’s quarters was at last rewarded by the

discovery of the missing man--but such a man! A wretched-looking,

frowsy-headed little creature, bandy-legged and narrow chested, a most

unmistakable landsman, dressed in thin, blue cottonade trousers with

a long-skirted, threadbare alpaca coat, buttoned over a calico shirt;

with no waistcoat, or hat, and with well-worn lasting shoes on his

feet. Trembling, blear-eyed, wild with evident astonishment at his

surroundings, this unfortunate wretch was haled up before the mate by

the carpenter, who had found him still asleep under one of the berths,

hidden behind a large sea chest.

“Who the devil are you?” said Mr. Ackley roughly, looking

contemptuously at the man, shivering in the chill of the early morning.

“Vere you vos takin’ me?” inconsequently replied the man, staring about

him. “I want to go by my home. Lisbeth must ogspect me. Please stop the

boat, lieber Herr; I must go home!”

“He’s got ’em bad, sir,” said the carpenter; “that New Orleans whiskey

is mean stuff, sure. He’s got the ’trimmins, sir!”

“Who shipped you, you measly dog?” shouted the mate, paying no

attention to the carpenter. “Come, speak up, or I’ll lather the hide

off of you! Who shipped you I say?” raising a rope in a threatening

manner.

“Please, goot gentleman, don’t strike me! I vant to go home. Lisbeth

must ogspect me long ago. Why did you bring me here, goot gentleman?”

“I’ll ‘goot gentleman’ you! Here, Chips, take this fellow and put him

under the head pump. Freshen him up a bit, and then I’ll warm him with

a rope’s end and see if I can’t get some sense into him!”

The carpenter and one of the crew dragged the struggling man forward,

and held him while one of the boys, delighted at the opportunity,

pumped the cold river water over the poor creature, whose screams were

drowned in the rough merriment of the sailors.

I look back at this scene now, as I record it, and at many others,

even worse, that followed during the next month, and wonder if we were

all--officers and men--brutes, in “those fine old days” of the Black

Ball liners and the Liverpool trade!

Poor Shang--that was the name that fell to him in playful allusion to

the fact that he had been made a victim to the “Shanghaeing” process,

as it was called--had been drugged and brought on board helpless by

Dago Joe to make up our full complement.

When we came to choose watches that evening Shang fell to me; he was

left until the last, and Mr. Achley said, “Well, Mr. Kelson, you

allowed Joe to bring this duffer on board, and its only fair that you

should take him in your watch. _I_ don’t want him!”

Shang, as I found out by questioning him, had gone out that

Christmas Eve in New Orleans to buy a few little presents for their

Christmas-tree. He was a poor journeyman tailor, a German who had come

to this country from his native village of Pyrmont, several years ago,

had married a fellow-countrywoman, Lisbeth, and they had one child,--a

crippled girl, Greta,--whom the little man loved with his whole heart;

and for her he had gone out to purchase something with his scanty,

hard-earned wages, paid him that day.

He had stepped into a beer saloon for “_ein glas bier_,” as he

said, had drunk it, felt drowsy, and--“Gott in Himmel, gnädiger Herr,

nothing more know I more till I find myself in this strange ship! When

think you, sir, we will get there--where we go--is it perhaps far?”

When I told poor Shang the real facts of the case, and that it would be

months before he could again see his Lisbeth and Greta, the poor fellow

was dumb with horror, and I almost feared he would make away with

himself.

I did the best I could to make life endurable for the poor wretch. An

old thick suit of mine he deftly made over for himself, and some of his

shipmates helped him out with a few other clothes. But, even with the

best intention, I could not make a sailor of poor Shang,--it was not in

him, for he was a most helpless lubber,--and that was the misery of it.

He had been shipped and entered on our ship’s articles as an able

seaman, and Joe had received sixteen dollars of monthly wages on his

account. Our crew was short, at best, the winter voyage was a stormy

one, and poor Shang could not be favored.

Mr. Ackley seemed to have taken an unconquerable dislike to the man

from the first, and led him a dog’s life, beating him unmercifully

several times for his shortcomings. Aloft he must go, though he clung

helplessly to the ratlines in an agony of terror.

“You alone are goot to me, lieber Herr,” said the poor fellow. “I

know you cannot help me more, but how can I live it? I know that I

shall perish before we get there! Ach, lieber Gott, vot become of my

lieblinge! Aber des Himmels Wege; sind des Himmels Wege!”

At last the long voyage was nearly at an end. Cape Clear was in sight

one night as I came up to take the watch at midnight, and a very

pleasant sight it was to all of us. There was a stiff all-sail breeze

from the southward, and we were laying our course fairly up channel.

I was looking over the quarter-rail at the light, now well abeam, as

Shang came aft and drew near me.

“Is it then true, mein Herr, as they say, that we are almost there?”

“Yes, Shang, we are now almost there. If this breeze holds we will be

in Liverpool day after to-morrow. And then,” I added, as I saw how

anxiously he listened to me, “you can ship as a landsman, perhaps, and

get back to Lisbeth and little Greta.”

“Gott sei dank,” he murmured, as he reverently lifted his hat, “if they

have but live all this time.”

I endeavored to reassure the poor fellow, and then, as the breeze was

freshening, I took in the topgallant sails, and later, finding the wind

still increasing, called Captain Gay, who ordered all hands called and

a single reef put in the topsails.

The watch below tumbled up, the yards were clewed down, reef-tackles

hauled out, and both watches went aloft to the fore-topsail. As my

station as second mate was at the weather earing, I was, of course,

first aloft, and had just passed my earing and sung out, “Haul out

to leeward,” when I noticed, to my great surprise, that the man next

inside of me on the yard was Shang, who usually on such occasions was

discreetly found in the bunt.

“Why, Shang,” said I, “you are really getting to be a sailor.”

“Ach, mein Herr,” said he cheerfully, “ich bin so glücklich und so

frölich, now that I am really so near there and that I shall so soon

see Lisbeth”--

A strong gust of wind struck us; there was a vicious slat of the sail

that sent the heavy canvas over our heads; the ship made a desperate

roll and a plunge into the rising sea, and then, as we all clung

closely for our lives, the sail bellied out and filled again,--but the

man next me was gone from the yard!

In the pitchy darkness of the moonless night he had fallen into the

sea, and without a cry he was swept into eternity.

Poor Shang’s earthly troubles were forever ended!

CHAPTER VI

TO CALIFORNIA BEFORE THE GOLD DISCOVERY

In 1846, while the Mexican War was in progress, it was decided by

President Polk, acting upon the advice of Secretary of the Navy George

Bancroft, to send a volunteer regiment around Cape Horn to California

for the occupation of that country, then a province of Mexico. In

pursuance of this scheme a commission as colonel was given to a Mr.

Thomas Stevenson, a well-known New York politician and a stanch

Democrat, and he was authorized to raise and equip a full regiment

of one thousand men, to be known as the First Regiment of California

Volunteers.

It was found that three ships would be required to transport the

regiment with its commissary stores and ammunition; and the Thomas H.

Perkins, of which I was at the time second mate, was one of the three

vessels chartered for the purpose. Accordingly we hauled into a berth

at the Brooklyn Navy Yard in September, 1846, and commenced taking in

a cargo of military stores in the lower hold, while the between decks

were fitted up with berths to accommodate three hundred and fifty men.

Having completed this work, we were towed into the East River, and

there three full companies, H, I, and K, with a portion of Company F,

were sent on board from their camps on Governor’s Island. We were also

notified that Colonel Stevenson and his headquarters staff would take

up their quarters on board our ship for the voyage out, which gave us

the distinction of being the flagship.

The men of the regiment were a tough lot of fellows. “Stevenson’s

Lambs,” as they had been nicknamed, were recruited in and about the

Five Points and the worst purlieus of the notorious Fourth Ward, and

from the very first they gave their officers no end of trouble.

The officers, moreover, were but a shade better; for with the exception

of the colonel’s son, Captain Matthew Stevenson, who was a West

Pointer, and the staff officers, who were of the better class, the

great majority of the company officers were mere ward politicians,

elected by their men to their positions, and having little idea of

military discipline.

The colonel had to come on board secretly at night to avoid arrest for

debt, and one energetic deputy sheriff actually chased us down the

harbor in an ineffectual attempt to serve a writ upon this impecunious

officer.

We sailed, after many delays, very suddenly at last, under imperative

orders from Washington, on the last day of September, in company

with the ships Loo Choo and Susan Drew, carrying the remainder of

the regiment, and all of us under the convoy of the United States

sloop-of-war Preble. As she was a very dull sailer, however, we never

saw her after the first day, as we ran her out of sight that night.

We had a pleasant run down to Rio Janeiro, where we put in for water

and fresh provisions. Here one of the wild freaks of the Lambs was

displayed.

Captain Lippitt, of Company K, was, in contrast to the other officers,

quite a disciplinarian. He was not a New Yorker, but came from

Vermont, where he had superintended a military school; and neither of

these facts commended him to the consideration of his men, with whom he

was very unpopular. His company had abused their uniforms shamefully

during the voyage, and had been especially careless in losing their

dress hats overboard.

These hats were not so comfortable as the fatigue caps, and there

was little doubt that, in many instances, the men lost the hats with

intent. In preparation for making a suitable appearance in Rio, Captain

Lippitt had found a couple of hatters in the regiment, and with

infinite labor had managed to have ninety new dress hats made for his

company, and they had been served out a few days before we made the

land. He took great pride in the success of this effort, and bragged in

a mild manner to his brother officers of the fine appearance his men

would make.

The day we entered the bay of Rio the entire company appeared on deck

in their new headgear, rather to the surprise of the captain, who had

not given orders for full dress; but, attributing it to a desire on the

part of his men to appear well, he made no comment.

As we passed under the walls of the fort which guards the entrance to

the bay, where all ships are hailed as they come in, Company K at a

concerted signal sprang into the rigging or upon the rail, and, giving

three wild cheers, every man threw his new hat overboard!

The Bay of Rio de Janeiro was alive with nearly one hundred military

hats bobbing about in a most absurd manner, while the walls of the fort

were at once crowded with Brazilian soldiers attracted by this most

astonishing performance.

Captain Lippitt was speechless with rage and amazement, the colonel and

the other officers could not restrain their laughter; and as they could

not very well punish an entire company for a bit of fun, the matter was

allowed to pass with a reprimand and a stoppage of the value of the

hats from the men’s pay. But Captain Lippitt was not permitted to hear

the last of the “battle of the hats” for the remainder of the voyage.

In Rio the three ships of our fleet met for the first time since we had

parted company after leaving New York. One company of the regiment from

each ship was given liberty on shore daily, and the Brazilian police

probably never had such severe duty before in their lives. Fancy three

hundred New York Fourth Ward roughs adrift in a quiet foreign city,

entirely unprepared for their proper reception!

It was little wonder that at last a formal protest was entered with the

American Minister, Mr. Wise, against the depredations of these reckless

fellows, and a request was made that no more shore liberty be granted

them. It was doubtless an immense relief to the authorities, who

afforded us every facility for expediting our work, when the supplies

were all on board and they had seen the last of the “_Soldados Norte

Americanos_.”

We parted company with our consorts with the understanding that we

should rendezvous at Valparaiso. Off the Rio de la Plata we had a very

heavy blow, but after that enjoyed unusually pleasant weather until we

got into the latitude of Cape Horn, where, although it was December,

which is summer at the antipodes, we encountered a succession of severe

gales from the northwest, right in our teeth, which drove us far to the

southward, and against which we could make no headway.

On Christmas Day we were in latitude 60° 05′ S. The cold was intense,

it was blowing heavily, and we were plunging into a headbeat sea,

close on the wind, under double reefs, when the thrilling cry, “Man

overboard!” was heard. The ship was at once hove to, every one rushed

on deck, and there, on the weather quarter, the figure of a man

was seen rising and falling on the crest of the dark green waves.

Fortunately as he passed astern some one had thrown an empty chicken

coop overboard, which, drifting near him, he had managed to get hold

of, and to this he was clinging for dear life.

Captain Arthur at once called for volunteers for the whaleboat, which

swung on the port quarter, and a good crew was speedily selected. I was

put in charge, and, watching a favorable opportunity, she was partially

lowered, with us seated in her, and then the falls were let go by the

run, so that as she struck the water they unreeved, for it would have

been impossible in such a seaway to unhook the blocks.

We drifted clear of the quarter overhang, which was the great danger,

and then, directed by signals from the ship, pulled in the direction

of the unfortunate man, who more than half the time was out of sight to

us in the boat, as he went down in the hollow of the great waves.

It was severe work forcing the boat through the rough water in the very

teeth of the gale, for the ship had drifted well to leeward of the man

before we got the boat lowered; but my men gave way with a hearty good

will, and we at last had the satisfaction of reaching the man, who was

almost exhausted, as well as frozen, and dragging him in, he fell prone

in the bottom of the boat.

It was not so difficult to return to the ship, as we had the wind

astern; but it was an exceedingly delicate and dangerous operation to

hook on and hoist the boat in, and we were nearly swamped in doing it.

Loud cheers greeted us from more than three hundred throats as we came

alongside, and the boat falls were stretched out and manned by all the

men that could get hold of the ropes. The surgeon of the regiment was

at hand, and poured nearly a gill of raw brandy down the man’s throat,

and he was taken below, wrapped in a blanket, and thoroughly rubbed

until the suspended circulation was once more restored. The next day

he was up and about the decks again, very thankful for his escape from

a great peril.

Within twenty-four hours the wind veered around to the southward, and

we soon passed the Horn and ran up into the South Pacific, exchanging

the Antarctic ice for the blue skies and summer weather of the tropics.

In a couple of weeks we reached Valparaiso, where we remained until, a

few days later, we were joined by our consorts, when profiting by our

experience in Rio Janeiro, but a small number of men were permitted to

go on shore each day.

We left Valparaiso January 15, 1847, and, after an uneventful run up

the coast, sighted the Farallones, off the Bay of San Francisco, on the

5th of March.

Then all was excitement; for we had heard nothing of the condition of

affairs in California since leaving New York six months before, and we

did not know what reception we might encounter.

We stood in past the heads, since known as the Golden Gates, and ran

up the lower bay, when suddenly we saw displayed, from a staff, on

the Presidio, the American flag, and we then knew that we were among

friends. A few minutes later we sighted the fleet at anchor, with our

country’s flag flying from the peaks of the ships, and we ran up and

anchored off the little hamlet of Yerba Buena, as what is San Francisco

was then called, after a voyage of one hundred and fifty-five days.

Commodore Stockton, in the frigate Congress, was then in command of

the naval forces, and the sloop-of-war Portsmouth, Captain Montgomery,

was also in the harbor. A few weeks later Commodore McKean came over

from China in the Razee Independence; and as our two consorts arrived

a week after us, and General Kearney reached Monterey with a force

of dragoons, overland, it will be seen that the United States was in

overpowering force in California.

We discharged our government stores, carrying them ashore in our

boats and landing them on the beach near Clark’s Point, in the manner

described by Dana in his “Two Years Before the Mast;” for everything

was very primitive at Yerba Buena in those days, and it would have

required a very vivid imagination to conceive that the bay would within

a lifetime be lined with wharves, and that a superb city of several

hundred thousand inhabitants was to replace the cluster of half a dozen

adobe houses we saw before us.

Our cargo out, we took in a sufficient quantity of sand ballast, and in

June sailed for Manila. Within a week after getting off the coast of

California, we struck the southeast trades, and had a most delightful

run across the Pacific Ocean, the wind scarcely varying a couple

of points for six weeks, when we sighted Guam, one of the Ladrone

Islands. As scurvy had made its appearance among our crew, Captain

Arthur decided to anchor and lay in a supply of fruit and vegetables.

The natives soon came off to us with quantities of limes, yams, and

cocoanuts, which they gladly exchanged for any articles of hardware we

could spare.

The following day we got under weigh and stood to the westward for the

Straits of St. Bernardino. At midnight breakers were seen close on the

weather bow. We wore ship instantly to the eastward and hauled close on

the wind for an hour and a quarter, the wind not permitting us to lay

better than east half south. At 1.45 A. M. we tacked to the

southward, and hoped to weather this reef, which we had not found set

down on our chart; but at 3.15 breakers were again seen on the weather

bow too near to allow us to tack. We accordingly wore, and when before

the wind the ship struck under the forefoot and remained stationary.

The wind was S. S. E., and fortunately the water was as smooth as a

mill-pond.

We furled all sails, and I was sent by Captain Arthur in the cutter to

sound around the ship. I found the eastern edge of the reef on which we

lay to be very steep, with shelves projecting beyond each other as it

deepened. These edges were of very sharp and ragged coral, descending

so rapidly as scarcely to allow room to lay an anchor on.

The reef was about one mile and a quarter in length from north to

south, and perhaps one hundred and fifty yards in breadth from east to

west, and in the form of a crescent. Its concave side to the eastward

was that on which we lay, nearly in the centre, with our bow pointing

directly over the reef. Under our jib-boom there was but five feet of

water; under the stern eleven feet; under the fore chains fifteen feet

on the port side and thirty feet on the starboard side, and under the

main chains four fathoms on one side and eight fathoms on the other.

Returning and reporting these facts, Captain Arthur had all our boats

hoisted out and a kedge anchor laid under the port quarter in deep

water, and a hawser attached to it and taken to the capstan and hove

taut. The stream anchor was next laid on the starboard bow and its

cable hove taut. All three boats were manned and attached to a tow-line

from the bowsprit end. The jib, spanker, and staysails were loosed

ready for hoisting.

By eleven o’clock the wind veered to the southwest and became squally,

the tide began to flow and the swell to heave. At 11.30 the ship began

to move, but just then the hawser parted. Captain Arthur immediately

ordered the boats to pull away about forty-five degrees abaft the

starboard beam; the breeze freshened and gave a greater impulse to the

strain of the stream cable, and, to our delight, the ship launched off

and got sternway, which, the boats assisting, swung her around on her

heel with her head to the northward.

“Cut away the stream cable, Mr. Kelson!” shouted the captain, half wild

with excitement.

The ship swung so as to bring the wind on the starboard quarter.

“Hoist away on the spanker, put the helm down!” She came to on the

starboard tack. “Hoist away jib, main and main-topgallant staysails! Be

lively, sir!”

Every one bent to the work with a hearty good-will; the good ship

gathered headway; the boats came alongside.

“Aloft, men, and loose topsails and courses!” called out the captain.

The topsails were mastheaded, and the courses set as rapidly as

possible, and we just shaved the reef, not more than five feet from its

knife-like edge. Had we struck broadside on, it would have been the

last of the ship, and, for the matter of that, of us also.

Thank God! we were clear of the reef, losing in the effort our stream

and kedge anchors and a couple of hawsers, which we gladly relinquished

in our joy at this narrow escape from wreck.

We steered N. N. W. between two other long reefs, which broke white as

we passed them, and at last emerged to clear water, and again shaped

our course for the straits. A week later, we anchored at the mouth of

the Pasig in the beautiful Bay of Manila.

The city of Manila, on the island of Luzon, is the capital of the

Philippine Islands, one of the most highly cherished of the Spanish

possessions. It is the residence of the viceroy, who, at this great

distance from home, is in everything but name a reigning monarch, and,

indeed, supports almost as much state as his royal master in Madrid.

The bay is superb, almost as fine as that of Rio de Janeiro, and the

city itself is much more curious and interesting to the traveler than

Rio. The River Pasig divides the city, one portion, which is walled,

being devoted almost exclusively to the palaces of the viceroy and

the archbishop, the Hall of Audience, the military barracks, and

innumerable churches and convents. Outside of the walls, along the

shore of the bay, is the beautiful drive, the Calzada, where all the

fashionable world drive in the cool of the evening, while the bands

play choice selections of operatic music.

On the other side of the river is the residential quarter and the

shops. The population was then about one hundred and fifty thousand, of

which more than three quarters were natives, the ruling class and the

aristocracy being of Spanish birth.

One of the many sights in Manila was the enormous government cheroot

factory, where nearly twenty thousand people, mostly women, are

employed.

We loaded here with hemp and sugar, which we carried home to Boston by

the way of the Cape of Good Hope, having an uneventful passage of one

hundred and sixty-five days to Boston Light.

CHAPTER VII

RECAPTURING A RUNAWAY

I did not long remain as second mate, for the very next voyage

the chief mate was lost overboard one morning from the top of the

poop-house. The watch were about to set the spanker, and Mr. Brown, who

had the watch, was standing very imprudently to leeward of the boom,

when the last turns of the gasket were thrown off and the gaff flying

over struck him in the head with great violence and knocked him over

the quarter-rail.

The ship was at once hove to, and a boat was lowered, but nothing was

seen of him, and the supposition was that he was stunned by the blow

and sunk at once, to rise no more.

So I was promoted to his place; and although full young to assume the

responsibilities attendant upon the position, I managed to satisfy the

captain so well that when we arrived in port I was confirmed in the

place. About a year later I was sent for to go as chief mate in the

Laodicea, another ship belonging to the same firm. In this vessel I

made a voyage to the East Indies.

Early in 1848, while in New York, I received a letter from the owners

requesting me to come on to Boston and take command of the Mystic, a

fine new ship of nearly one thousand tons, lately launched at East

Boston and fitting out for a voyage to Valparaiso.

So my cousin, the owner, had fulfilled his promise, and before I was

twenty-one years of age I was to have command of a fine half-clipper

ship. I wasted no time, but went on to Boston as speedily as possible,

where I found my ship at Commercial Wharf and work already commenced on

her lading.

I at once assumed the command; and as the owners were very anxious to

get the ship to sea in the shortest time possible, I pushed things to

the extent of my ability and secured as officers a Mr. King, whom I had

known for several years as an experienced and thoroughly trustworthy

man, as chief mate, and a Mr. Robinson, whom I did not know personally,

but who brought me such excellent recommendations that I engaged

him on the strength of them, as second mate. That I did not more

closely examine into the character of this man was a very unfortunate

oversight, as it afterward proved.

In due time our cargo was all in, and in addition, seventy thousand

dollars in Spanish dollars, packed in kegs, came on board, which was

to be used on owner’s account for the purchase of a cargo of copper at

Coquimbo. These kegs were stowed away under the immediate direction of

Mr. Robinson, who was in charge of the work, well down in the after run.

As one of the frequent South American revolutions was then in progress

in Chili, my orders from the owners were that if I could not get a

cargo of copper I should go over to China and report to Russell &

Sturgis, who would invest my silver in a cargo of tea for Boston.

On the 5th of December we were ready for sea; and after clearing at the

Custom House and receiving my last orders from my owners, I went on

board and proceeded to sea.

Our run down to Cape Horn was prosperous and very uneventful, and we

had remarkably fine weather. After passing through the Straits of Le

Mar, however, we fell into a heavy gale from the westward, and for

several days laid to under close sail. By the third day of the gale the

sea was running heavily. That day just before noon the clouds lifted,

and Mr. King sent a boy into the cabin to tell me that he thought there

would be an opportunity to get a meridian altitude.

As we had not been able to get an observation for several days, I

hurried on deck with my sextant. Just as I had braced myself against

the port rail, the man at the wheel carelessly let the ship yaw, and

a great wave that must have weighed tons came aboard, smashing the

starboard quarter boat to flinders, dashing in the cabin skylight, and

sweeping the decks in a terrible manner.

By great good fortune I had taken a turn of a rope about my waist to

steady me for getting a sight; and by clinging on with both hands I

managed to retain my position, but Mr. King, who was quite near me, was

washed away and thrown with fearful violence across the deck and into

the lee scuppers.

Fortunately no one was washed overboard, but on investigation we found

that poor Mr. King was seriously injured. Two of his ribs were broken,

and it was evident that he had also received some severe internal

injuries, the extent of which I could not then determine.

He was carefully taken below to his stateroom, and I did all I could

to relieve his sufferings, which were very great. That night the wind

veered and moderated, and we made sail and were soon in the waters of

the Pacific, standing to the westward with favoring winds and smooth

seas.

On the 2d of March, at 9 A. M., we made the Point of Angels,

and, bearing up for the entrance to the Bay of Valparaiso, stood in

and anchored close to the lower batteries. I at once went on shore and

reported to the Aduaña, and then made arrangements to have Mr. King

sent to the hospital.

Going on board again, I told him what I had done and assured him

that it would be necessary to have such careful medical and surgical

attention as he could receive only in a hospital.

“I am perfectly aware of that, Captain Kelson,” said he. “I know that

I can’t stay here on board, and I doubt if I shall ever be much more

use as an officer of a ship; but there is one thing I must do before I

leave the ship, and that is to warn you against putting too much trust

in Mr. Robinson!”

“Why, Mr. King! what is the matter with him? He is a good sailor, and

he appears to carry on the duty very well!”

“Oh yes, sir, he is a good sailor-man; no one can deny that; but I

don’t trust him. He has too much palaver with the men. I am sure there

is something wrong about him. What it is, unfortunately, I don’t

know; I wish I did. But you are a younger man than I am, captain, and

more confiding in your nature. Now I beg of you not to put too much

confidence in Mr. Robinson!”

I thought it quite possible that this was merely prejudice on the part

of my mate, increased by his anxiety at leaving the ship, so to ease

his mind I said: “Oh, well, Mr. King, I will keep my eye on him, and I

shall hope that you will soon be able to return to duty again. Now keep

yourself perfectly quiet and get well as quickly as possible.”

After sending my mate on shore, I made Mr. Robinson, who seemed to be

doing very well, chief mate temporarily, and put one of my best men in

charge of the second mate’s watch. Engaging lighters, I then commenced

discharging my cargo, which, as the goods I had happened to be in

demand, sold rapidly and to excellent advantage. But when it came to

arranging for my cargo of copper, I found that it would be necessary

for me to make a visit to the capital, Santiago, to confer with the

authorities in regard to a permit for export.

Accordingly I made arrangements with my consignees in Valparaiso to

keep an oversight on my ship; and after leaving very strict orders

with Mr. Robinson in regard to the care of the vessel, I started on

horseback for Santiago.

With the positive genius for delay that characterizes Spanish American

officials, I was detained at the capital for several weeks, badgered

about from one department to another; but at last I succeeded in

obtaining the desired permit, and returned to Valparaiso.

As I dismounted from my horse in the courtyard of my hotel, I met my

good friend Don José Altimara. “Ah!” said he, “I am glad that you have

returned. All your goods are sold and well sold. Have you obtained your

permit to export copper?”

I told him of my various trials and final success.

“That is well. But tell me, why have you sent your ship away so

suddenly? I fear you will have trouble with the authorities, as you had

no clearance papers.”

“What do you mean? The Mystic sailed!”

“I mean,” said Don José, “that the Mystic left this port a week ago at

night, and with no notice given at the Aduaña.”

I did not stop for another word, but hurried to the mole to convince

myself that my friend was mistaken, as I was sure he must be. Eagerly I

scanned the bay, searching for my ship, but she was not there! She was

gone; of that there was no manner of doubt. But _where_ could she

have gone? and why should Mr. Robinson have taken such a strange course?

Beyond the slight suspicion created by the vague impressions of Mr.

King, I had found no reason for doubting the probity of this officer.

But I was soon to be enlightened; for as I stood gazing out over the

bay, a rough-looking fellow dressed like a sailor, with a half-healed

scar running transversely across his face, that looked like the mark of

a recent knife wound, touched me on the shoulder to rouse me from my

reverie, and said, “Is this Captain Kelson?”

“Yes, my man,” I replied; “what do you want of me?”

“Well, sir,” said he, with a half sneer, “I think it’s more than likely

you will want something of _me_!”

“What should I want of you, then?”

“Don’t you want to find your ship?”

“Why, what do you know about her?”

“Well, captain, I know _all_ about her, and I am ready to tell you

the whole story; and what is more, I’ll help you to find her.”

“I will pay you well for it, my lad, if you can indeed do so,” I

replied eagerly.

“Well, I don’t object to that, but I shall do it, not so much for love

of you or your money, as to get even with Jack Robinson for the dirty

trick he played me!”

“Jack Robinson! Do you know Mr. Robinson?”

“Aye do I! We were shipmates together in the old Palmetto, of Boston,

three years ago. He didn’t have a handle to his name then. We were both

in the forecastle. You never heard of the Palmetto getting into port,

did you, captain?”

“No; it was supposed that she was lost off Cape Horn, with all hands;

she was never heard from.”

“No; and she never will be. When I have helped you to find the Mystic

and have got square with Jack Robinson, perhaps I may tell you what

became of the Palmetto.”

“Well, never mind about her; what can you tell me about my own ship?”

“I’ll tell you, sir, if you will give me time. Three weeks ago Jack

met me here ashore. I had been beach-combing for six months and I was

dead broke. Jack was flush and paid for the _aguardiente_ like a

man. One day he said, ‘Look here, Charlie, I’ve got a devilish sight

better lay here than we had with the old Palmetto, and an easier job;

do you want to go in with me?’ Naturally I was ready for anything that

promised well; and when Jack took me on board ship, showed me those

kegs down in the after run, and told me they were all full of silver

dollars, I was red hot to get hold of them and ready for anything!”

“You are frank, at any rate.”

The fellow laughed and continued: “Jack told me his plan. It was simple

enough. He wanted me to pick up half a dozen reckless fellows like

myself, who could be depended upon, and who would join us for a fair

price. Then, on the first dark night, we would slip the cable, put to

sea, and carry the Mystic to an island we both know of, that has water

and cocoanuts but no inhabitants,--well, if you must know, the same

place where we laid the old Palmetto’s bones,--and then get rid of the

rest of the crew, according to a clever plan he had, and divide the

spoil between us two!”

“And how comes it, then, that you are here and the ship gone?”

“That is the deviltry that I am coming to. A week ago yesterday we had

everything ready. I had sent aboard half a dozen fellows who were ready

for anything that would put a handful of doubloons in their pockets.

Jack told the old crew that you had ordered these men shipped to help

in loading copper at Coquimbo, and they were pleased at the prospect

of more help in the work. Jack and I were ashore for the last time,

waiting for night to come, so that we could cut the cable and run.

We had both taken our share of grog, but Jack had taken a deal less

than I. That I had noticed, and it ought to have made me suspicious.

At eleven o’clock we started from the _pulqueria_ for the beach;

but as I turned the first corner, Jack dropped a bit behind, and at

the same moment I felt his knife running in between my ribs, and as I

turned he gave me this slash over the head, and I fell in the street

with a shout of ‘Murder!’

“The patrol came along and Jack scuttled off! Well, sir, I was carried

to the hospital, where I have been ever since, and I had a narrow

squeak for it; but I pulled through at last, and now I am ready to

pilot you to Amatavi Island, as soon as you can get something to go in,

to hunt up your ship!”

The fellow’s story carried conviction in the telling; it was verified

by the police, so far as they were concerned, and by old Francisco, in

whose _pulqueria_ all the nefarious business had been planned.

My good friend Altimara, to whom I went with the strange tale, was now

of the greatest assistance in various ways. He found, at my suggestion,

a fast-sailing schooner with a good armament, that had lately returned

to Valparaiso from a smuggling voyage up the coast. She could be

chartered just as she was, manned and all ready for sea, excepting her

stores.

I made the round of my customers; and after stating my desperate

case, they at once settled their various bills for the goods they had

purchased, paying me in silver, in all nearly sixty thousand dollars. I

then laid in a sufficient supply of stores for a voyage of four months;

and obtaining the necessary papers for my vessel from the government

officials, who were all very sympathetic, I took Charlie on board as

pilot, and sailed from Valparaiso with a fair wind, on the 6th of May,

in search of my runaway ship.

I found my schooner all that I could have wished: she was very fast

and easily handled; and the crew, which was largely made up of runaway

men-of-war’s men, were familiar with the use of the great guns and well

drilled in small arms.

I explained to them the object of our voyage and what I hoped and

expected to accomplish, and assured them that if we succeeded in

overhauling and capturing the Mystic, they should receive one hundred

dollars each as prize money, in addition to their wages. But I told

them at the same time that very possibly we might have a sharp fight,

for I knew Mr. Robinson was a desperate man and had everything at stake.

The men cheered at the end of my speech, and promised to go wherever I

led them, and I saw that they meant what they said.

From the description Charlie gave of the island where he said Robinson

had intended taking the Mystic, I found that it laid in latitude 2°

21′ S., longitude 146° 04′ E., and that it was doubtless one of the

Admiralty Islands, which were little known to navigators at that time.

We made an excellent run, and at noon on June 30 I found by a good

observation that we were probably about forty miles to the southward

of the island we were seeking; and as we were then making about seven

knots an hour, I felt sure we should sight the land before night. The

excitement of the chase and the preparation for a possible fight had

thus far kept me up, but now that I was so soon to know the result

of this attempt I was making to recover the property of my owners,

and should either reinstate myself in their good opinion or return to

Boston a ruined man, I acknowledge for the first time my courage almost

failed me.

What if, after all, I should be on the wrong track! This fellow might

have deceived me, or, in his turn, might have been deceived by that

craftier villain, my former mate! However, I should soon know the

worst--or the best!

By three o’clock we raised the land bearing N. 31° W., a cluster of

low, flat, woody islands. By four o’clock a large, high island bore N.

18° W., its outline forming a hollow like a saddle. It appeared to be

surrounded with smaller islands on the south and west sides. At the

same time an extensive reef was observed stretching to the southward.

I decided to haul to windward of the south-eastern islet then in sight,

and, by Charlie’s advice, to pass between it and the next island to

the northwest, which he recognized, and where the channel was to all

appearances, perfectly clear and about four or five miles wide.

At 6 P. M. I anchored in six fathoms of water about two miles

from the land, as I did not dare to run in the midst of these reefs at

night. As soon as the men had eaten their supper, I ordered three boats

cleared away and armed, and with muffled oars we all started from the

schooner, my boat, with Charlie as pilot, ahead.

The moon did not rise until late, but there was sufficient light for

us to make our way, and, after four hours’ steady work at the oars,

we gained the entrance to a little land-locked bay at the head of the

channel between the two easternmost islands.

Here we laid on our oars until about three o’clock in the morning, and

then pulled in shore. As we opened up the entrance to the bay I almost

set up a shout of joy; for there, swinging quietly at her anchor, a

cable’s length from shore, was my old ship!

I gathered my three boats together and asked my men if they would

stand by me in an attempt to board the ship. They assured me of their

readiness, and seemed to look upon the whole affair as a good joke.

I warned them not to fire a shot until we were fairly on board, and

then to trust mainly to their cutlasses; for I felt sure we could

surprise the ship at this early hour when the crew would be in their

deepest sleep, and I knew if we once succeeded in getting on board, we

could carry her.

I divided the boats, giving them orders to pull one for the bow,

one for the starboard quarter, while I would board on the port side

amidships, thus taking them in flank if there should be any resistance.

We then pulled quietly into the little bay, and as the tide was running

flood, quickly approached the ship. As I had anticipated, there was no

lookout kept, as they evidently fancied themselves entirely safe from

an attack by sea and the island was uninhabited.

We all kept in range until quite near, then made a dash alongside, and

most of us had actually gained the deck before any alarm was given.

Then it was too late for any organized resistance. I shot the first man

who came up the fore hatch. Charlie cut down another as he appeared

from the cabin companionway, and we then clapped the hatch bar on the

fore scuttle, and, after closing the companionway, we had the whole

party fast as rats in a trap.

In the first moments of exultation that followed our victory I thought

our work was practically accomplished, but I soon learned that although

I had scotched the snake I had not yet killed him. For as I came

aft from seeing the forward hatch barred down, I was saluted by a

well-aimed musket shot that passed through my hat and grazed my scalp,

while at the same time another shot from the same quarter struck poor

Charlie full in the chest, bringing him to the deck with a mortal wound.

“Jack Robinson has made a sure thing of it with me this time, captain.

I saw him as he fired from the skylight,” whispered the poor fellow, as

I kneeled down by his side. “But I have got even with him, Cap., and I

brought you here as I promised you I would!”

But the bullets were flying too thick to spend much time with a

dying man, so I drew him forward out of range of the skylight, from

which they were keeping up a fusillade. As the magazine was in the

after-cabin the pirates, for such of course they were, had the command

of an unlimited supply of ammunition and plenty of arms, and were in a

very difficult position to dislodge.

To add to our annoyance they opened fire on our boats from the ship’s

stern windows. Indeed, it seemed to be a veritable case of capturing

a Tartar, and for a time I was rather nonplussed as to the manner in

which I should reap the fruit of my incomplete victory.

The first thing to do was evidently to protect ourselves from this

galling fire from the cabin skylight. So I stationed two men in the

mizzen rigging with orders to fire down the skylight at any one they

could see, and I then sent two other men aloft; and after cutting the

spanker adrift we let the peak and throat halyards go by the run, and

the heavy sail tumbled down on the skylight, very effectually shutting

the occupants of the cabin out from a sight of the deck.

By this time the men who were barred down in the forecastle were

pleading to be released, shouting out that they surrendered. So we

opened one side of the hatch and allowed them to come out, one at a

time, slipping handcuffs on each man as he appeared.

By the time this had been accomplished the sun had risen, and we felt

the need of some breakfast after our all-night work. The cook was one

of those who came up from the forecastle; and when he found that his

old captain was once again in command of the ship, he was loud in his

expressions of delight. Mr. Robinson, as he said, had led him and the

members of the old crew a dog’s life since he had run away with the

ship, and moreover they had a well-grounded belief that he purposed

dealing foully with them now that he had got the ship safe in this

unknown bay.

The cook bustled about and soon had a savory breakfast ready for us of

fresh fish, of which they had caught an abundance in the bay, with hot

coffee and ship bread, which we thoroughly enjoyed.

I went with a pot of coffee to poor Charlie, thinking he might perhaps

take some; but he was already dead, and I covered him up with a boat

sail and left him at rest.

After breakfast I sent the cook below as a messenger to Mr. Robinson,

offering terms for his surrender. The fellow was intrenched in such a

way as to be able to cause us great annoyance, so I agreed to give him

the ship’s cutter, with her sails and oars, and provisions for himself

and the Valparaiso men. I also offered to land him and these men on the

island unharmed. He was to take no arms with him, but I agreed to leave

a couple of muskets and some ammunition on the reef at the entrance of

the harbor, where he could get them after our departure.

At first he was disinclined to accept these terms and blustered a great

deal, threatening to blow up the ship, with all of us on board, unless

I made a more liberal offer; but I was firm and gave him to understand

that I did not fear his threats and that all the old crew had already

surrendered at discretion. This last news settled the matter, and he

consented to my terms.

I then addressed my old crew and gave them their choice, either to

remain in the ship or to go on shore with the mate. They at once, to a

man, decided to stay by the ship, assuring me that they would be only

too glad to be rid of Mr. Robinson and his Valparaiso beach-combers,

who had tyrannized over them completely.

That afternoon, after giving poor Charlie a sailor’s burial, I got the

schooner into the bay and alongside the Mystic, and transferred the

specie from her hold to my ship’s run, where it was placed by the side

of the other treasure, which had not yet been tampered with.

I then settled the charges for the schooner, paid the men I had hired

their prize money, and, after thanking them for their brave support, we

parted company, the schooner standing to the southward for the coast of

Chili, while I laid my course in the Mystic N. N. W. for Hongkong.

CHAPTER VIII

CHASED BY PIRATES

We made an excellent run over to China after striking into the

southeast trades, and sixty days after leaving the Admiralty Islands we

anchored off Hongkong.

I at once went on shore and reported to Russell & Sturgis, and learned

that we had arrived in a good time. There were very few ships in port,

teas were low in price and very good in quality, and the consignee

said that he could secure me some very desirable chops at reasonable

rates, and that if we had any room remaining after investing my

owner’s silver, that he could fill me up with cargo, on freight, at

remunerative rates.

This was indeed good news, and I proceeded to land my specie, which the

firm at once invested; and after thoroughly cleaning out and fumigating

my hold, a quantity of sampan wood was sent off for dunnage, and we

commenced receiving and storing our cargo of tea.

Soon after my arrival I was visited by Captain Archer, late in command

of the ship Essex, of Salem. Captain Archer had lost his ship a few

months before on a reef while trading among the Fiji Islands, and he

was anxious to obtain a passage home for himself, officers, and crew.

As I was very shorthanded, having lost both my mates, Mr. King and Mr.

Robinson, whose places I had temporarily supplied from my crew, I was

very glad to ship his two officers, and I arranged for his crew to work

their passage home in the Mystic. I had a spare stateroom in the cabin,

which I placed at the disposal of Captain Archer.

He was a veteran shipmaster, and had been in command before I was born,

but he had decided, since his late misfortune in losing his ship, that

this should be his last voyage. He had had many years’ experience in

the Indian Seas, and particularly in the Fijis, where he had traded for

_bèche de mer_, a marine delicacy which the Chinese esteemed so

highly that it was not infrequently sold for its weight in silver.

The captain was full of stories of Thakombau, the savage chief of Bau,

one of the Fiji group. This chief was a most terrible old cannibal,

who, not satisfied with devouring the enemies captured in his raids

on the neighboring islands, frequently ordered the massacre of his

own people, when he was desirous of having a grand feast, and they

were baked and eaten. “Long pig” he facetiously designated his human

sacrifices.

The captain assured me that these dreadful orgies were not, as I had

supposed, religious rites, but were simply for the satisfaction of a

depraved appetite, and that in the gratification of this taste nothing

was sacred.

And yet the captain had succeeded in inspiring a friendship in the

breast of this old savage that had caused him to issue an edict making

the captain strictly taboo, and no native dared to harm him, while the

choicest canoe loads of _bèche de mer_ were brought off to him

for trade. Thakombau actually proposed to make Captain Archer a chief

and to give him the island of Viti for his very own, but the captain

declined the tempting offer.

It must be confessed, however, that this gentle treatment had had

its effect upon the captain, who did not seem to think the cannibal

chief was nearly so much of a brute as he was generally considered by

Europeans.

I can scarcely realize that since that time such a marvelous change

has taken place in the condition of the Fijians. The missionaries

managed to gain a foothold in the islands soon after the time of which

I am writing, and now there are Christian churches in every island of

the group, several thousand professing Christians among the natives,

absolute safety for white residents everywhere, and cannibalism is

utterly unknown!

While the loading of my ship was progressing, in company with Captain

Archer I made a visit to Canton, which is about one hundred miles above

Hongkong. This was only a couple of years after the siege of Canton

by the Triad rebels, and the breaches that had been made by them in

the wall that surrounded Canton, six miles in extent, had not yet been

repaired.

We passed a week at Russell & Sturgis’s hong, and had a very pleasant

time exploring the curious city under the charge of one of his native

clerks, who took us into many of the labyrinths of the “Old City”

not usually penetrated by the Fanquis, as they called their foreign

visitors.

We made many purchases of curios, at prices that would now seem

marvelously low, and returned to Hongkong, at the expiration of our

visit, loaded down with presents for our friends at home.

Our lading was completed and the hatches calked down early in October,

and we sailed on the 10th of the month, in time to take advantage of

the northeast monsoon. We were favored with light winds from N. N. E.

to N. E. after passing the Great Ladrone, and on the 30th entered Banca

Straits, where the wind veered to the southeast and fell very light.

At night we anchored; and as that part of the Malayan coast in those

days bore an unenviable reputation for pirates, I not only maintained

a regular sea watch, but divided the time with Captain Archer, so that

one of us in turn should be on deck all night. And to this precaution,

as it turned out, we owed our subsequent preservation from a great

peril.

Just before daylight Captain Archer came to me, where I was sleeping

on the break of the poop, and aroused me, saying that there were some

suspicious looking sails in sight.

I sprang up, and although it was not yet light I could readily see with

my night glass two proas coming out from under the land a few miles to

the northward.

I at once ordered all hands called, and as the wind had got round

northeast, although still light, I immediately got under weigh and made

all sail. Meanwhile the proas were standing down toward us, and as the

daylight broke it was evident that they were full of men.

The Mystic, as was quite common in those days, carried a couple of

24-pounders, with a fair amount of ammunition, and we had, in addition

to the ship’s muskets, the rifles I had purchased in fitting out the

schooner at Valparaiso, when I started in pursuit of my runaway ship.

So we were unusually well prepared in that direction, and, having

Captain Archer’s crew, we were nearly doubly manned.

Still, so far as force was concerned, we were outnumbered by the Malays

in the proas five to one. For we could see that they fairly swarmed

with men, and it was evident that in a hand-to-hand fight we should

have much the worst of it. It would never do to let them get on board

of us.

“We shall have to fight those devils, Kelson,” said Captain Archer,

“unless the breeze freshens pretty quickly. They are gaining on us hand

over hand; and they are getting out sweeps now, I believe. Yes; by Jove

they are!” he exclaimed, looking through his glass. “It won’t do to

let them get alongside; there are two of them, and they will take us

on both sides and carry us by sheer force of numbers! Hadn’t we better

open the ball?”

“Yes; I think that fellow ahead is already within safe range. You look

out for the ship, and I will try my hand at a shot or two. Now, sir;

luff her up carefully, but don’t get her aback, and I will bring this

gun to bear!”

The old gentleman went aft and took his stand by the wheel. “Put your

helm down, my man; look out, Captain Kelson! Let draw the head sheets!

Meet her with the helm; meet her!”

The Mystic came up in the wind, the head sails flapped; I watched my

chance, got a good sight with the gun, which was loaded with a solid

shot, and pulled the lock-string!

As the smoke blew to leeward I sprang on the rail, and as our ship

payed off and the sails filled, the foremast of the leading proa

snapped off a few feet above the deck and fell overboard with a great

crash, dragging with it the heavy lateen sail!

“Good shot, Kelson!” shouted Captain Archer from the poop; “that fellow

has got his hands full of work and is out of the game for the present!”

And our men set up a hearty cheer at this sudden and unexpected

discomfiture of our adversary.

We supposed that the other proa would heave to and go to the assistance

of her companion, but that evidently was not her intention, for she

passed her without pausing, and with her sweeps out and heavily manned

she bore rapidly down upon us.

I ordered the starboard gun run over on the port side and tried several

shots at the approaching proa, but, although I hit her once, I did not

seem to inflict any very serious damage, so I had both guns loaded with

shrapnel and langridge, and determined to have the fight out at closer

quarters.

Stationing both my officers and the carpenter, who was a splendid shot,

on the quarter-deck with rifles, I ordered them to pick off the men who

seemed to be the leaders, and then waited for the approach of the proa.

When she had crept up within easy rifle range, I luffed the ship up, as

before, and getting a deliberate aim at the crowded deck, depressed the

guns and fired them at the word, both at once, point blank, reloading

and repeating the dose before the smoke of the first discharge had

cleared away.

The effect of this murderous fire, at such close quarters, upon the

crowd massed upon the proa’s deck was terrific, and the slaughter

was frightful. Yet, by some strange chance, the captain, a tall,

vicious-looking Malay, stripped to the waist and waving a naked kreese

to encourage his followers, had escaped uninjured, and was shouting to

his men, to rally them, with the evident intent of boarding us.

Captain Archer had meanwhile filled our ship away, but the wind was

light, and before we had fairly gained headway the proa, with sweeps

out, shot under our starboard quarter, and a grapnel thrown from her

caught in our mizzen channels.

The pirate captain at once sprang forward, and, with his kreese in

his mouth, scrambled up our side, followed by a score of his men, and

gained the poop deck of the ship!

Abandoning our battery, we gathered in the waist, and I called to

the carpenter to pick off the Malay captain. He nodded, and, taking

a careful sight, fired, and the Malayan fell dead among his men. Our

other riflemen were meanwhile dropping those of the proa who had

followed their captain.

Just then the wind freshened, and by great good fortune the proa’s

grapnel disengaged itself and she dropped astern.

Calling upon my men, we made a dash upon the few remaining Malays and

fairly drove them overboard. I then put the helm down, and as we came

round on the other tack and gathered headway, I stood down on the proa,

a good wrap full, and striking her fair and square amidships cut her to

the water’s edge.

Our victory was now complete, and as the first proa, having

disentangled herself from the wreck of her foremast, was coming down,

with sweeps out, to rescue the survivors of her consort, I made all

sail and kept on my course, leaving them to their own devices.

The next day we fell in with a Dutch man-of-war brig, lately out from

Batavia. I reported the affair to her, and she made all sail for the

straits in hopes of capturing the pirates, who, if they were caught,

would have received a short shrift, for the Dutch were very active in

the suppression of piracy in those waters.

The 15th of November we passed through the Straits of Sunda and laid

our course to the westward. The wind continued generally from the

southeast, but it was extremely variable, and on the 18th it increased

to a brisk whole sail breeze, attended with showers and occasional

squalls.

That night the barometer went down in a most astonishing manner and the

sea rose without any seeming cause, for the wind was not heavy, while

the air was close and the temperature unusually sultry.

“What do you think of it, Captain Archer?” said I, as we both looked at

the barometer in the cabin.

“I think we are about to have some nasty weather. It would not

surprise me if we caught the tail end of a typhoon.”

“That is exactly my idea, captain, and I hope you won’t laugh at me

when I tell you that I am going to take in sail and prepare for it!”

“Not a bit of it, my dear fellow. An ounce of prevention may be

worth tons of after care. With such a low barometer as that, you are

justified in doing anything for the safety of your ship.”

I went on deck at once. “Mr. Ireson,” said I to the chief mate, “call

all hands, send down all three of those royal yards, and house the

masts. Take in the main-topgallant sail, close-reef the topsails, and

put a reef in both the courses. And don’t waste any time about it, sir.

The glass is very low and still falling, and I believe that we shall

have some heavy weather before morning.”

The mate looked rather surprised at these orders, but he saw that

I was in earnest and proceeded to carry them out. The wind soon

commenced freshening, but with our double crew the work was speedily

accomplished, and by the time that all was snug the wind had chopped

round and came out howling from the southward and eastward. In

consequence of our timely preparation, however, we were ready for it.

The gale continued to increase, and on the third day we hove to under

close-reefed main-topsail and reefed foresail, under which sail the

ship made good weather, although the sea was running very heavily

indeed.

Just before midnight the wind suddenly fell, and for a few minutes it

was almost calm. It was intensely dark, the sky was as black as night,

not a star was seen through the dense clouds, and the sails flapped in

an ominous manner.

Then, in a moment, as though all the powers of the wind-god had been

loosed, the gale struck us with infernal force, accompanied with

torrents of rain and the most vivid chain lightning, which played about

the ship till it seemed as though she must be on fire; the thunder

pealing like a park of artillery!

The two sails we had set bellied, and with one flap fairly blew out of

the bolt ropes. For a moment I thought the ship would surely founder,

for she went almost on her beam ends, trembled like a live thing, and

then, relieved by the loss of the sails, slowly recovered herself and

came up again to the wind.

I had been in many severe gales in these latitudes, but I had never

experienced anything like the tremendous power of this wind: the waves

were fairly beaten down, which had been running half mast high after

the three days’ heavy gale.

With the aid of a dozen men we succeeded with great difficulty in

getting a stout tarpaulin in the weather mizzen rigging, and this was

quite sufficient to keep the ship’s head to the wind.

One by one every sail in the ship was blown from the yards, although

they were furled, and, in some cases, storm-furled with extra gaskets.

But the wind seemed to cut like a knife, and we could see by the

lightning flashes the long ribbons of canvas streaming out and then

disappearing to leeward. Had I not seen this I would not have believed

it possible.

All of us, officers and men, were lashed to the weather rail,

absolutely helpless, so far as our own exertions were concerned, and

utterly unable to communicate with each other, as no trumpet could

be heard above this wild discord of the winds and waves. No man dared

leave his place lest he should be washed or blown overboard.

At about two o’clock in the morning we shipped a heavy sea, and two

large, full water casks lashed amidships broke adrift and dashed from

side to side, with every roll of the ship, with appalling violence,

threatening to stave in our bulwarks.

It seemed certain death for any one to attempt to secure these casks,

and yet it was equally certain they would do us great mischief if they

were permitted to dash about in this manner.

At last one of them became temporarily blocked by some spare spars and

coils of rope in the lee scuppers, and the carpenter, with a life-line

attached to his waist, succeeded in staving in one of the heads of the

cask, thus rendering it harmless. Watching his opportunity when the

other cask came over to leeward, he was equally fortunate and staved it

also, to our great relief.

The ship, meanwhile, was laboring very heavily, straining and groaning

as she pitched and rolled, as helpless as a log in the heavy trough of

the sea, and it was evident that her seams were opening, as we found on

sounding the well that there was more than a foot of water in the hold.

“Pray God the gale may break with daylight, Kelson,” said Captain

Archer, who was lashed close to me, as he saw the sounding rod drawn up

from the pumps.

“Yes, sir, the old barkey won’t stand many more hours of this hammering

and twisting. If the gale doesn’t break with daylight I fear we shall

never see Boston again!”

With difficulty I worked my way into the cabin, to look at the

barometer we had been consulting so anxiously all night. It had

certainly stopped falling! Yes, and better still, the surface of the

bulb was at last convex! That was at least hopeful. I returned to the

deck and reported the news to my companion.

“Yes,” said he; “I really believe the wind has gone down a bit. It is

scarcely perceptible yet, but I think I can notice a slight difference

for the better. Can’t you sound the pumps again?”

The carpenter again got the sounding rod down, and we anxiously

watched his face by the light of the lantern as he measured the wet

place on the iron.

“The water has only gained a scant inch, sir,” he reported.

That was reassuring; so we waited more hopefully for morning, and as

the first gray light of dawn showed in the east the gale began to

moderate, and by eight o’clock we were able to get about the decks

again and commence to clear up the wreck.

We found, on inspection, that all our sails were blown away with

the exception of the jib and main-trysail. In addition, the three

topgallant masts had been carried away, the head of the mizzen topmast

was gone, and the fore yard was badly sprung in the slings, while the

starboard, or lee quarter boat, had been washed from the davits.

Fortunately we had a new suit of sails below, that I had been keeping

for use in coming on our coast in the winter season. These we got up

and bent; new topgallant masts were fitted and sent aloft from our

spare spars; the fore yard was fished, and by night we were standing on

our course all a-tanto again.

We passed the Cape of Good Hope a couple of weeks later, and on

Christmas Day we anchored in the roads off the island of St. Helena.

Here we sent down the fore yard and bought a new spar on shore and had

the bends calked by carpenters, while we overhauled and refitted our

rigging with the ship’s crew. This work detained us for a week at the

island.

As this was my first visit to St. Helena, I made the usual pilgrimage

to Longwood and to Napoleon’s grave. The remains of the great Emperor

had been removed to France by the Prince de Joinville a few years

before, in 1840, but there were several people on the island who

remembered him perfectly during his residence at Longwood, and it was

very interesting to listen to their stories and personal reminiscences

of General Bonaparte, as they usually called him.

Our repairs completed, we sailed and had a fine run till we came on the

coast, when we encountered some heavy weather and head winds, but at

last we got a favorable slant, and on Washington’s Birthday, February

22, we sighted Cape Ann Light, and the following day anchored off

Commercial Wharf after a voyage of fifteen months, which had been full

of adventure and had more than once promised to be most disastrous in

its outcome. But thanks to divine Providence, I had been enabled to

finish it in safety and with success for myself and my employers.

PART II

IN THE NAVAL SERVICE

CHAPTER I

THE OUTBREAK OF THE CIVIL WAR

In 1859, after seventeen years of almost continuous sea service, for

during all that time I had never been on shore more than two months at

any one time, I determined to abandon the sea and pass the remainder of

my life on shore.

The fact that I had just taken to myself a wife was, no doubt, a very

potent factor in bringing me to this decision, which was strengthened

by a favorable opportunity being presented just then for investing my

savings in a safe commercial enterprise in Boston.

So I fell in with it, rented a nice little house in a pleasant suburb

within sight of the gilded dome of the State House, and there set up my

lares and penates.

At first this radical change from the free and easy habits of a sea

life to the more rigid conventional routine of a mercantile career

rather irked me, but by the end of a year I had shaken down into my new

rôle, and should probably have become reasonably well contented to pass

the remainder of my days in a ’longshore life, had it not been for the

march of events, which, in bringing about the upheaval of a nation,

sent me off on salt water again.

Early in April, 1861, the North was startled by the news of the attack

upon Fort Sumter by the Southern forces, which followed so quickly

after the secession of South Carolina, and on the 19th of the month

the excitement in Boston was sent up to fever heat by the telegrams

announcing the cowardly attack upon the Sixth Massachusetts Regiment by

the Baltimore roughs, on its passage through that city.

The youngsters who are living in these peaceful days cannot possibly

realize the state of public feeling in New England at that time.

Business was practically suspended, and the sole thought of the people

was to avenge the insult to our flag and the murder of our soldier

boys. The enrolling officers worked day and night, and companies and

regiments were raised, equipped, and hurried to the front with amazing

alacrity.

In common with all my friends and neighbors, I, too, was full of

patriotic zeal, and should probably have enlisted in one of the

numerous regiments forming, had not my attention been directed to an

article in the “Boston Transcript” which referred to the great number

of resignations of Southern naval officers that were pouring in on the

Navy Department, and expressed a fear that our navy would be hopelessly

crippled, as the Southern officers predominated so greatly in that

branch of the service.

This gave me an idea, and I at once called upon the late Robert Bennett

Forbes, the public-spirited merchant and shipowner, whose wise counsels

in this exigency had been sought by Mr. Welles, President Lincoln’s

newly appointed Secretary of the Navy.

Mr. Forbes was in his private office, deeply immersed in his private

correspondence, when I called, but he courteously listened to me when

I asked him why the vacancies in the navy could not be filled by the

intelligent and experienced officers of the mercantile marine.

“I have already made such a suggestion to the Secretary of the Navy,

Captain Kelson,” said he, “and I have also sent him a list of a number

of gentlemen whom I consider competent to fill the position of ‘master’

in the navy.”

“Mr. Forbes,” I responded, “will you not include my name in your list?

You know something of my qualifications, I think.”

With the promptitude that was a very notable characteristic of the man,

he turned to his desk and wrote a brief letter to Mr. Welles, which he

handed to me unsealed. “Take that on to Washington, yourself, Captain

Kelson, and to supplement it, get half a dozen others from Boston

shipowners who know you.”

I did as he suggested, and within twenty-four hours was on my way

to Washington. My interview with the Secretary was brief, but to

the point. He read all my letters, asked me a half dozen pregnant

questions, and then, writing a few words on a slip of paper, rang for

a messenger and sent me with him across the corridor to the Bureau

of Detail, where Captain Charles Henry Davis--afterward Rear Admiral

Davis--prepared my appointment as an Acting Master in the United States

Navy.

While the document was sent back to the Secretary for his signature I

took the oath of allegiance, and my orders were at once made out to the

United States steamer Richmond.

Thus quickly was I transformed into an officer in the navy and assigned

to a ship, a fact I could not realize as I walked down the steps of the

building, which I had entered less than an hour before as a private

citizen. But events, both public and private, moved quickly in those

stirring days.

On my way up Pennsylvania Avenue I stopped in at an outfitter’s and

purchased a naval cap, and found an undress blue navy flannel blouse

which fitted me. Upon the shoulders of this garment the tailor attached

the straps of my grade, and, with trousers to match my coat, I returned

to the hotel in time for dinner, a full-fledged officer, rather to the

surprise of the clerk, who had seen me go out a few hours before in

citizen’s costume.

The next morning, in company with a friend, I hired a horse and buggy,

and, obtaining a pass, drove over the “long bridge” and out about ten

miles, to the encampment of our army.

This was but a few weeks before the disastrous battle of Bull Run, but

at the time of the visit our troops were in high feather and felt very

confident that the war was to be only an affair of a few months; a mere

military promenade to Richmond.

All the officers I met seemed so confident of the result that I became

half converted to their theory, and feared that I had made a mistake in

going into the navy for such a brief period as the war was to continue.

The real awakening from our dream came sharply when these same troops,

a month later, were pouring into Washington a beaten, disorganized

rabble!

The following day I went on to New York, where I found the Richmond at

the Brooklyn Navy Yard, and, by a most curious coincidence, at the very

wharf where I had gone on board the Bombay nearly twenty years before.

The Richmond had just arrived from the Mediterranean, whence she had

been recalled by cablegram. After reporting to the executive officer I

obtained a week’s leave of absence and returned to Boston.

During that brief time I made such arrangements as were necessary for

the comfort of my little family and for the proper continuance of my

business, in which there was very little doing just then, and at the

end of the week reported again on board my ship at Brooklyn.

The Richmond was rated as a second-class steam sloop-of-war. She was

pierced for twenty-six guns, but mounted twenty-two 9-inch Dahlgren

guns in broadside. She was almost a new vessel, a good stanch ship

of her class, which included the Hartford, the Brooklyn, and the

Pensacola. She was rather slow, making with favorable conditions about

ten knots under steam. Before the wind or at anchor in a seaway she had

a capacity for rolling beyond that of any ship I ever saw, before or

since. Her performances in that direction a year later, when we were

on the blockade of Mobile, afforded a constant source of interest and

admiration to the entire fleet, but were exceedingly unsatisfactory to

us who were compelled to endure them. She was commanded by Captain John

Pope, and had a complement of nearly four hundred officers and men.

I am thus particular in describing her, for she was to be my home for

the next eventful two years.

Not long after I received my appointment, on June 30, 1861, news

came to Washington of the escape from New Orleans of the Confederate

privateer Sumter, under the command of Captain Rafael Semmes.

This steamer, originally the Havana, had been fitted out by the

Confederate authorities, and although the mouth of the Mississippi was

closely blockaded by the United States steamer Brooklyn, with two other

ships, Semmes watched an opportunity when the Brooklyn was chasing a

decoy vessel off shore, and dashing out, by her superior speed escaped

our fleet.

Three days later, she captured and burned at sea the ship Golden

Rocket, and by July 6 seven more prizes had been taken by this dashing

privateer.

This, of course, created a tremendous excitement throughout the

country, and our government sent every available ship they had in

pursuit of her.

Orders also came to Captain Pope to hasten his preparations for sea,

and on August 3 we sailed under sealed orders, which, when opened at

sea, proved to be directions to make a thorough search for thirty days

through the West India islands for the Sumter, and, failing to fall

in with her, to join the West Gulf Squadron, then commanded by Flag

Officer Mervine.

So we started on what proved to be a wild-goose chase, but which gave

us an opportunity of making a very agreeable cruise, with the constant

excitement of a possible capture that would have brought us no end of

glory.

Among other incidents, we fell in one day with the wreck of Her

Britannic Majesty’s ship Driver, piled up on a reef off Mariquana

Island, with her crew living ashore under tents they had improvised

from the ship’s sails.

We were boarded by her commanding officer, who bore the historic name

of Horatio Nelson. He seemed to be a kind of nautical Mark Tapley,

exceedingly jolly under very trying circumstances, and perfectly at

ease, notwithstanding his ship was a total loss.

In fact, he appeared to look upon that as a mere incident of the

cruise, and declined our offers of assistance, saying he “was all

right, barring the blasted mosquitoes, don’t you know!” He was every

day looking for the arrival of a British man-of-war to take them off,

as he had sent a launch down to Port Royal for assistance.

At last, having nearly exhausted our coal, we steamed into Port

Royal, Jamaica, on August 21, to obtain a fresh supply. Here we met

the Powhatan, Commander David D. Porter, homeward bound after an

ineffectual hunt after the Sumter.

After coaling, our thirty days having expired, we ran down to Key West

and the Dry Tortugas, and stopping for a day off Pensacola at Fort

Pickens, we received orders from the flagship to relieve the Brooklyn

off the Passes of the Mississippi.

We anchored off the Pass à L’Outre, September 13, and soon after, the

Brooklyn and St. Louis sailed for home, and the Niagara for Pensacola,

leaving us with the Vincennes and the Preble to blockade the entrance

to the river.

A week later, we were joined by the little steamer Water Witch, a

vessel that had distinguished herself some years before in the ascent

of the river Amazon. We then settled down to the monotonous and

wearying routine duty that was to be our lot for nearly a year on this

blockade.