The next day I found myself transferred on board the United States
corvette _Pocahuntas_, of twenty guns, and one hundred and fifty men,
including officers, marines, and petty officers. I found that she was
bound to the North Seas; to look after the interests of the United
States fisheries. She was strongly built and strengthened, so as to
contend with the bad weather she might expect to meet, and the loose ice
she was also likely to encounter. I shall describe her more
particularly by and by.
The day after I had become one of the crew, while I was below, I was
informed that a person was alongside inquiring for me. I looked over
the side, and there I saw, as I expected, Captain Dean and Mary. They
came on deck, and Mary was very nearly throwing her arms about my neck
and kissing me, while her father took both my hands and held them in
his.
"I owe everything to you, Peter," he said, and the tears stood in his
eyes--"my life and property, and more, the safety of this dear child;
and I do feel most cruelly not being able to make you any return. In
England the sovereign would have given you a free pardon to a certainty;
here, in such a case as yours, we have no one to appeal to. I have
introduced myself to your captain, and, as he seems a kind man, I trust
he will interest himself in you. I beg to offer you an outfit, which I
have brought on board; and I fear that there is little else I can do for
you. When you come back I shall be on the look-out for you, and then
you must fulfil your promise of sailing with me. Make yourself a
thorough seaman in the meantime, and I think I can promise you very soon
the command of a ship."
Mary joined in, and entreated me first to take care of myself, and then
to come back to Charleston to rejoin them.
"You know, Peter, I shall be nearly grown up by that time," she said, in
her sweet, innocent, and lively manner, though she was half crying at
the time. "Then, you know, if you become first mate, I shall be able to
act as father's second mate; so we shall have quite a family party on
board the dear old ship."
Thus we talked on, joking often through our sorrows, till it was time
for my friends to go on shore. With heavy hearts we parted. Had we
been able to see the future, haw much heavier would they have been! I
found in the chest which they had brought me numberless little things,
which all told of sweet Mary's care and forethought. I had just time to
write a few hasty lines to my family, but the letter never reached home.
While I was in prison, and my fate uncertain, I dared not write.
The next morning, at break of day, the boatswain's whistle roused me
from my slumbers, and his gruff voice was heard bawling out, "All hands
up anchor," followed with another pipe of "Man the capstan."
To a person accustomed to the merchant service, where, from the few
hands which can be employed, the duty must be carried on slowly and
cautiously, the work on board a man-of-war appears as if done almost by
magic. The rapidity and certainty of action is gained only by great
arrangement, method, and practice. Every man on board has his proper
post and particular duties; and all are accustomed to listen for and
obey the signal of command, be it the human voice, the boatswain's pipe,
a peculiar flag, or the report of a great gun or musket. The crew are
separated into two divisions, with their respective officers: these
divisions are called watches--the starboard and larboard--because one
does duty, or watches, while the other rests below.
On important occasions, when greater strength is required, or it is
necessary to shorten sail in a hurry, or danger is apprehended, both
watches, or all hands, are called. Thus, getting under weigh, or going
into harbour, or at divisions and quarters, all hands are at their
proper posts at the same time. Each top has its proper crew, who are
known as fore-top men, main-top men, and mizzen-top men, whose duty is
to tend the sails above them. On deck there are the sheet-anchor men
stationed on the forecastle, whose duty is to tend the head-sails,
anchors, etcetera, and consequently the most trustworthy veterans are
selected for the office. In what is called the waist, or the centre of
the ship, the landsmen and least skilful of the crew are placed. They
have to pull and haul with the marines, and to clean the decks, and to
do various ignoble duties below. From the part of the ship where they
are stationed, they are called waisters. The after-guards are stationed
on the quarter-deck, and have to tend the spanker and other after-sails,
and to haul the main brace.
The officers are divided into commissioned officers, namely, the captain
and the lieutenants, the master, surgeon, and purser; the warrant
officers, who are boatswain, gunner, and carpenter, and the midshipmen;
and, lastly, the petty officers, who have their rating given them on
board ship by the captain or first lieutenant, and may be equally
disrated by them.
There are slight variations in the British and United States navies; but
the latter has adhered very closely to the customs of the former; and
however republican our well-beloved cousins may be on shore, afloat they
wisely carry out the principles of an absolute monarchy in the most
perfect manner.
There are certain general duties in which all hands are engaged, and in
which each has a number. Thus a man has one number at mess, another at
quarters, and another at divisions. Discipline is everything on board a
man-of-war. Without it such a mass of people could not possibly be
moved together, and all would be confusion and constant disaster. There
must be a head to command, either worn by the captain or first
lieutenant. If the latter is a good seaman, all may go well in spite of
the incapacity of his superior; but a clever captain will never submit
to have a stupid first, so that it is seldom that the office of first
lieutenant is held by other than a good seaman. It would take up too
much space were I to attempt to describe all the grades and offices on
board a man-of-war. It will suffice when I state that every man has his
proper place, and that one follows the other in rank, down to the lowest
rated officer. I was rated as an able seaman, which I considered a high
honour, considering the little knowledge I felt myself to possess, and
was placed in the after-guard. I had to take my trick at the helm,
which I was also glad of, as it enabled me to perfect myself in
steering.
The commander, Captain Gierstien, was a man who had seen much of the
world, and was, I have reason to believe, a very good seaman; so was Mr
Stunt, the first lieutenant, who was a disciplinarian of the most rigid
school; and certainly the ship was in very good order as a man-of-war.
But there was a sad want of any of the milder influences which govern
human beings. Kind words and considerate treatment were not to be
found. This I soon discovered; and it seemed as if a leaden weight were
attached to my heart. Strict regulations, the cat, and fear did
everything. How the second lieutenant, Mr Dunning, contrived to gain
his rank I do not know, for he was nothing at all of a practical seaman
but then he spouted poetry, and wrote verses in praise of freedom; and
this talent, I conclude, had gained him his appointment, though, by the
bye, the verses appeared to be very bad.
There were several of my own messmates with whom I became intimate.
Though rough in manner, they were kind of heart; and I will say of two
or three of them, that all their sentiments were such as no gentleman
need have been ashamed of possessing. I found them both agreeable and
instructive companions; and I was glad to enjoy their friendship, the
more from the very want of kindly feelings which prevailed generally
throughout the ship. Andrew Thompson was my greatest chum. He was a
true-hearted seaman, every inch of him. He had been all his life at
sea, and had had his eyes open, as the saying is, all the time. He used
to take great delight in describing the countries he had visited, and
the ports and harbours in which he had brought up, as also in giving me
instruction in all branches of seamanship.
My other friend was called Terence O'Connor, an Irishman, as his name
betokens, with all the good qualities generally ascribed to the natives
of that country. He liked me, as being a countryman, in the first
place; and secondly, because I liked him. He was still young, and had
nothing of the Mentor about him, like Thompson. He was brave, and true
as steel. I should not say that he was a first-rate seaman; but he was
active and energetic, and he knew how to obey--indeed, he was a capital
hand to have as a mate.
There was also an English lad I liked much, Tom Stokes by name. He was
not very bright, and he used to be sadly bullied by the crew; but as I
was strong, could and did protect him, and his gratitude won my regard.
He had been tolerably well educated; and being fond of reading, with a
retentive memory, he possessed a good deal of information. Left an
orphan, without a friend in the world, he had come to sea; and quitting
his ship at Charleston, he had entered on board the Pocahuntas. I
mention these three of my shipmates for reasons which will hereafter be
seen. I had several other friends, whom I liked more perhaps than Tom
Stokes, and as much as O'Connor, but I need not describe them.
We had fine weather on first putting to sea, and had thus time to let
everything shake into its place before a gale came on. It was early in
the year, but for some reason or other we were ordered to get northward
as fast as we could. For the first week we had calms, and then the wind
came ahead, so that our progress was very slow. Instead of running
through the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, we were to keep on the eastern coast
of Newfoundland, and to approach the northern shore of Labrador.
"You'll want your Flushing jacket and trousers, not forgetting worsted
socks and gloves, my boy, when you get there," said Thompson, who gave
me this information. "You've never felt anything like the cold, nor
seen anything like the fogs, to be found in those parts."
He told me that few Europeans had settled on the coast of Labrador; but
that some Moravian missionaries were stationed at four or five spots,
for the purpose of converting the Esquimaux to Christianity. "Those
must be Christians, indeed, to my mind, who will go and live in such a
climate, for the sake of teaching their religion to the ignorant
heathen, who would not otherwise have a chance of having the truths of
the gospel preached to them," he observed; and I agreed with him. "I've
been told," he continued, "that during the winter the thermometer often
falls 30 degrees below the freezing point; and though the houses of the
missionaries are heated by stoves, the windows and walls are covered all
the time with ice, and the bed-clothes freeze to the walls. Rum is
frozen in the air as rapidly as water, and rectified spirits soon become
thick like oil. From December to June the sea is so completely frozen
over that no open water is to be seen. Once some of the missionaries
ventured, in February, to visit some Esquimaux forty miles distant, and
although wrapped in furs, they were nearly destroyed. Their eyelids
froze together, so that they were continually obliged to pull them
asunder, and, by constantly rubbing, prevent their closing; while one of
them had his hands frozen and swollen up like bladders. During their
short summer, however, the heat is excessive; and mosquitoes, in swarms,
infest the air."
"I hope we shall not have long to remain in those regions," I remarked.
"I hope not," said Thompson; "but who can tell? Ships, when they get
into the ice, cannot always get out again, and some have been frozen up
for several years together; yet, by proper precautions, few of the
people on board have died, and at length have returned to their friends
and country."
"It must be very dreary work, Andrew, having nothing but the ice and
snow to look at for such a length of time together," I remarked.
"I'll tell you what, Peter, when you have lived as long as I have, you
will discover, I hope, that it is not what one sees on the outside, so
much as what is in the inside of a man, which makes him happy and
contented, or the contrary," said Andrew. "Now I have met several men,
who have passed two winters running in those regions, when the sun was
not to be seen for months together, and ice and snow was all around
them; but the captain and officers being kind, and doing everything to
amuse them and to take care of their health, they assured me they never
enjoyed themselves more in their lives."
"I would rather not try it in our present ship."
"Nor would I, Peter," said Andrew; and the subject dropped.
"What an odd name they have given to our ship!" I remarked one day,
when Tom Stokes was near; "I cannot think where it comes from."
"Oh, I can tell you, Peter," said Tom, sitting down close to me. "I
read some time ago a history of North America, and I remember meeting
with the name of Pocahuntas. You must know that she was an Indian
princess, that is to say, she was the daughter of a powerful chief
inhabiting that part of the country which is now the State of Virginia.
A small body of English, had settled there, with a governor, a handsome
young man, placed over them. They were cultivating the ground and
building houses in fancied security, when the Indians attacked them,
killed some, and carried off others, among whom was the governor, as
prisoners. It was the custom of the Indians to torture their prisoners
in the most dreadful way before killing them. Such was to be the lot of
the governor; but, fortunately for him, he was seen by Pocahuntas, who
instantly fell in love with him, and interceded for his life with her
father. The prayer was granted, on condition that he would become her
husband. He was too glad to accept his life on such terms; for the
young lady was very beautiful, and he would thereby form an alliance
with a very powerful tribe, and secure his countrymen from further
molestation. He became much attached to his beautiful and faithful
bride; and, having succeeded in converting her to Christianity, he
married her according to the rites of the Church. From this union
sprung some of the most respectable and wealthy families of the State."
I thanked Tom for his story, and agreed that the Princess Pocahuntas
ought to be held in reverence by all true Virginians. Our conversation
was interrupted by the cry of "All hands, shorten sail!" We sprung on
deck. A heavy gale had come on, and the ship was heeling over to her
scuppers under it. I was aloft in an instant, helping to reef the
mizzen-topsail; the topgallant-sails and courses had been clewed up.
The wind was about north-west, and blew very cold. The leaden waves
rose sullenly on every side, topped with hissing foam, and every instant
they leaped higher and higher, as if lashing themselves into fury. The
twilight of evening was just giving way to the gloom of night. I never
remember a more dismal-looking close to a day.
We had managed to close-reef the mizzen-topsail; but the main-topsail,
which was more difficult to manage, was still bulging out above the
yard, the hands on which it threatened every instant to strike off, as
the ship, with desperate force, kept plunging her bows into the opposing
seas.
"Come, bear a hand with that main-topsail there," exclaimed Mr Stunt
through his speaking-trumpet, "or--"
What he was going to say I know not, for at that instant there arose the
fearful cry of "A man overboard!--a man overboard!"
It sounded like the knell of a fellow-being. Captain Gierstien was on
deck. I was near him.
"If I lower a boat I shall lose some other brave fellows," he exclaimed
aloud, though he was speaking to himself.
"We'll gladly risk our lives to save him, sir," cried two or three who
were near him; "it's O'Connor--it's Terry O'Connor!"
"So would I," escaped from my lips. I had at all events intended to
have volunteered to go in the boat.
"Down with the helm! Back the main-topsail!" exclaimed the captain in
the same breath. "Stand by to lower a boat; but hold fast. Can any of
you see or hear him?" The ship was hove to, and all hands stood peering
into the loom and trying to catch a sound of a voice. O'Connor was a
first-rate swimmer, and he was not a man to yield to death without a
struggle--that we knew.
It must be understood that, though several sentences were spoken, not
thirty seconds had elapsed after he had struck the water before the
order to heave the ship to was given. She was also going but slowly
through the water, though, from the way she was tumbling about, a
landsman might have supposed she was moving at a great rate.
"Does any one see him?" asked the captain. Alas in that dark night even
the sharpest eyes on board could not discern so small an object as a
man's head floating amid those troubled waters.
"Does any one see him?" There was a dead silence. The hopelessness of
the case struck a chill through all our hearts. Two minutes--three--
passed away. We continued from all parts of the ship peering into the
darkness--some to windward, others to leeward, and others a stern. Now
I thought I saw something, but it was the dark top of a wave under the
glistening foam. Five minutes had elapsed since the accident. Long
before this the ship must have left him far astern, and he must have
sunk beneath those heavy waves. Such was the feeling gaining possession
of many.
Again the captain made the final inquiry, "Does any one yet see him?"
An ominous silence gave the sad response. "Then it is hopeless waiting
longer. Fill the main-topsail. Up with the helm."
Scarcely had the captain uttered these words in a loud voice, than a
hand in the main-top hailed the deck with the words, "I hear a voice
from down to leeward, sir."
I had heard it also, I was certain. It was O'Connor's manly voice. It
was not a shriek, the death-wail of a struggling wretch, but a bold,
nervous hail.
"Hold fast then with the main-topsail braces," cried the captain. There
was no need of that order, by the bye. "Keep the helm down. Stand by
to lower the starboard quarter boat." It was the lee one.
"Volunteers, away!" Several sprung to the falls. I was among the
first; so was Tom Derrick, an active young topman. He leaped into the
bow as the boat was being lowered; I into the stern to unhook the after
falls; the rest of the volunteer crew followed. The boat was lifting
and pitching with fearful violence alongside, to the great risk of being
swamped. Poor Derrick stood up to clear the falls, I believe, or to
fend off the bow of the boat from the ship's side. I saw his figure in
an erect position for an instant--the boat's bow pitched into the sea--
the next instant he was gone. In vain the man close to him tried to
grasp him--he went down like a shot; not a cry was heard, not a sign of
him was again seen.
There was no time to be lost, if we would save O'Connor. Every moment
the fury of the gale was increasing. Our oars were out, and over the
foaming sea we pulled in the direction whence the voice had come. The
ship rose towering astern of us, her dark masts lifting and falling
against the leaden sky. By her we guided our course. We thought we
must have reached the spot where O'Connor should have been.
"Be alive, shipmates," said a voice close to us. "In bow oar, and lend
us a hand." It was O'Connor's voice. He was swimming with perfect
composure close to us on the top of a wave, and striking out toward the
bows, so as to avoid the stern. He was with some little difficulty
hauled on board, for he had not a stitch of clothing on with which we
could catch hold of him.
"Thank ye, shipmates all," he exclaimed, as he sprung into the
stern-sheets. "But lend us a jacket, some one, will ye? for it's bitter
cold out of the water, and I've left all mine, do ye see, for Daddy
Neptune, when he wants a new rig-out."
A seaman will joke in the midst of a furious engagement, or at other
moments of the greatest peril; and I believe Terence was truly grateful
to the merciful Providence who had so wonderfully preserved him. We
threw our jackets over him, to shelter him as well as we could, and
pulled back as fast as we were able to the ship. There was a short time
for talking and hearing how it had happened, as may be supposed. We had
great difficulty in getting on board again, and it required extreme
caution to prevent the boat being swamped alongside. At last we reached
the deck, and the boat was hoisted in.
"Why, you haven't got him," said the captain, seeing the same number
come back as had gone away in the boat.
"Yes, sir," we answered; "but poor Derrick has gone;" and we explained
how our other shipmate had been lost. So there was a sigh and a tear
for poor Derrick; and a cheer and congratulations for O'Connor's
preservation.
Our captain ordered O'Connor at once to his hammock, observing that his
nervous system must have received a great shock, and that he need not do
duty for some days, while the surgeon was directed to see to him.
O'Connor very gladly turned in; and the surgeon feeling his pulse,
prescribed a stiff glass of grog, a style of medicine of which sailors
most approve. After he was made comfortable, I went and sat by him, and
congratulated him heartily on his preservation.
"Why, you see, Peter, there's an old saying about a man not being able
to drown who is born to finish his career in another way, in which a
rope plays a prominent part; but I hope that's not true in my case. You
must know, indeed, that when I first struck the water, as I was hove off
the yard, I thought I should escape. When I came to the top again,
after I had sunk some way down, thinks I to myself, there's no use
trying to swim with all this hamper of clothing about me; so the first
thing I did was to cast it all adrift, and to kick off my shoes. I had
some difficulty in getting out of my jacket, but I succeeded by treading
the water with my feet the while. Remember, Peter, always have your
sea-going clothes made loose, so as to be able to throw them off in a
moment. You never know when you may require to be rid of them. When I
was free of my clothes, I thought there would be no use striking out and
wearying myself, to try and regain the ship, because I saw that all I
could do would not bring me up alongside her again; so I threw myself on
my back, with my arms folded on my breast, and lay as quiet as a turtle
basking in the sun of Ascension. You know singing out in the water
tires a man almost as much as struggling with his arms and legs, so I
kept my voice also for when it was wanted. There was no use, you see,
singing out at that time, because I knew that there would be a noise on
board, and people asking who had gone, and where was. I heard a cry of
`A man overboard!' just as I came to the surface. I could see the ship
all the time, and I was glad to find she did not leave me. I don't mean
to say, Peter, but what my feelings were very awful, for I knew the
difficulty and danger of lowering a boat; but I did not think my
shipmates would ever desert me, without trying to pick me up. There I
lay, then, tossing on the seas, and looking at the ship. I hoped I
should be observed, for I heard the captain ask, `Does any one see him?'
I being to leeward of the ship, his voice reached me; but I did not
expect to make any one hear on board. How long the time appeared! At
last I heard the order given to fill the main-topsail. `Now or never,'
I thought; and just as I rose on the summit of a wave, I leaped as high
as I could, and sung out at the very top of my voice. Never did I shout
louder, for it mattered nothing if I burst my lungs, if I was not heard.
How thankful I felt when I heard the order given to lower a boat! My
advice to you, Peter, is, `Always keep your presence of mind, and, while
life remains, never despair.'"