Every Man Will Do His Duty (61 page)

Nothing material transpired until we reached the Maranilla Reef, when, on the morning of the 21st, we fell in with an English frigate. Fortunately for us, we were to the windward, or she would have crippled us, being within gun-shot. All sail was made on the schooner; the chase continued throughout the whole day; and at sunset we had not gained in distance more than one mile; the reason of this, however, was owing to a strong breeze which obliged us to “reef down,” the frigate carrying top-gallantsails during the whole day When night set in, under its cover we altered our course and eluded the vigilance of the enemy, for in the morning nothing was to be seen from the mast-head. This was the first chase; and, although I had great confidence in the judgment and ability of Captain N. as a schooner-sailer, yet I had not so much in the sailing of the schooner; but was informed by the captain that her best play was before the wind. It was not long before we had a fair trial of her speed in that way; for on the 25th, at 8 in the morning, we fell in with an English sloop-of-war, about two miles to the windward. As there was no possibility of escaping her on a wind, it blowing a strong breeze at the time, we kept away right before the wind, so as to bring the sails of the sloop-of-war all on one mast; in this way, we beat her easily without setting our squaresail. In this, the second chase, our confidence in the speed of the schooner became very much strengthened.

The weather now became boisterous, with almost continual westerly gales, and it might be said that we were literally under water one half of the time. It was a rare thing, even with a moderate breeze, to see a dry spot on our decks when under a press of canvass, and it was often the same thing below; but, more especially, the condition of the forecastle was such that the men had usually to “turn in wet, and turn out smoking.”

We were now reaching up toward the Grand Banks, and, as that was the usual track for outward-bound vessels, we expected to fall in with cruisers; and, consequently, kept a good look-out. In this we were not mistaken; for on the 5th of November, while scudding under a reefed foresail in a westerly gale, we fell in with an English seventy-four, about a mile ahead of us, lying to on the starboard tack. In order to get clear of her, it was necessary to haul up, the schooner holding a better wind than the seventy-four; the latter soon dropped to leeward; but another difficulty now arose; a frigate was seen broad upon the weather quarter, bearing down for us, under a press of canvass. It was evident that our situation was a critical one; for, if we bore away before the wind, we must necessarily close in with the seventy-four, and receive her fire; so the only alternative, therefore, left us was to keep away four points, and, if possible, pass to the windward of the seventy-four. Setting every rag of canvass that the schooner would bear, careening her lee gunwales to the water, she became now so labor-some that it was necessary to throw the lee guns overboard. This service was immediately performed; and to our no small satisfaction she bounded over the tremendous sea with ease, and her speed was sensibly increased. It was not certain, however, that we could pass to windward of the seventy-four,—at least, it was not probable that we should pass her out of gun-shot; and, to increase our troubles at this juncture, another sail was made on our starboard bow, standing for us on the larboard tack. No alternative was now left us, but to cross the bows of the seventy-four, and take the chance of her fire. It was the work of a few minutes, as we had closed in with her, and it became evident that we should not pass more than half gun-shot off. The seventy-four, perceiving our predicament, kept away; but it was too late; she was now on our quarter. We received her fire without damage, and in the next ten minutes had a reefed squaresail set, and our noble craft was running off at the rate of twelve knots. It became now a stern-chase, for already had the vessel to windward, which proved to be a sloop-of-war, kept away, and under a press of canvass was bearing down upon our beam. This was a hard chase, for we soon altered the bearings of the frigate and seventy-four; but it was not until sunset that we brought the sloop-of-war in our wake, about two miles’ distance astern. The next morning, the gale had increased, and the sea had risen to such a height that scudding became dangerous; it was, therefore, determined to bring the schooner up to the wind. No evolution on board of a vessel, especially in a sharp schooner, is fraught with so much hazard as bringing her to the wind in a heavy gale. The greatest care is necessary by watching the rolling seas, which are generally three in number, after which it is proportionally smooth for a few seconds; occasionally, in these intervals, the wind lulls;
advantage must then be taken, such sail as the vessel will bear must be set and well secured, and then she should be brought to the wind by easing her helm to leeward. This was done with our craft in a seaman-like manner; a balanced-reefed foresail was set, the sheet bowsed taut aft, and a tackle hooked on to the clew, and it bowsed nearly amidships with the helm two and a half points to leeward. She rode in this way nearly head to the sea, forging ahead two knots, and not making more than two and a half points lee-way. This was the first time that I had seen a craft of this description hove to, and I was perfectly astonished; for she rode as easy and safely as if she had been in a harbor; this easy motion, however, was owing, in a good degree, to the management of Captain N. In the hands of one who does not understand managing a craft of this description, they are the most uncomfortable, as well as uneasy, vessels that float the ocean.

The gale lasted twelve hours, after which it moderated, and we bore away to the eastward; the wind continued blowing until the 9th of November, when we entered the famous Bay of Biscay. The weather now became moderate, with a smooth sea, and we were all elated with the prospect of reaching our port of destination in safety. We were the more confirmed in this hope, because, at the close of the day on the 13th of November, we were within half a day’s sail of Bourdeaux, and fully expected, with a moderate breeze, to make Cordovan lighthouse early next morning. Alas! how soon are the brightest prospects frustrated! At sunset that evening, it fell away calm, and nothing was to be seen from the mast-head; not a breath of air or “cat’s paw” was felt during the whole of the night. The conversation which I had with Jack Evans, in the ship
Oromo,
on the night previous to the action, was irresistibly brought to my recollection. It was a night similar to this; and, although it might have been a superstitious feeling, yet I could not shake it off, and a secret foreboding agitated my mind, and kept it in a state of the deepest anxiety and suspense. When the morning dawn broke forth, conviction came, and suspense was at an end; for there lay a ship and two brigs, with English ensigns flying at their peaks. Flight was now impossible, for it was a dead calm; and resistance was entirely useless, for we lay at the mercy of their whole broadsides. Our ensign was hoisted, but we well knew, to our great mortification, it must soon be hauled down in unresisting humility.

The ship first opened her battery upon us, followed by one of the brigs. The rest is soon told. The American ensign was struck, and in twenty minutes they had possession of this valuable vessel and cargo. So strong was my presentiment of some coming disaster that I had taken the precaution during the night to sew up in a flannel shirt all the money I had, consisting of seventeen doubloons, and then put it on. It was well I did so, for these
vessels proved to be three Guernsey privateers. The ship mounted eighteen guns, with seventy men; the two brigs each mounted fourteen guns, with fifty men. After getting possession of the schooner, they robbed us of almost every thing they could lay their hands upon. Our crew were distributed among the three vessels; the captain, myself, and two men, were put on board the ship. The schooner was manned and ordered to the Island of Guernsey; after which the privateers separated to cruise on different stations. The destination of the ship, from what I understood, was to cruise on the coasts of Spain and Portugal. The captain and myself received good treatment; for, after we had reported to the captain of the privateer the loss of our clothing, he ordered a search to be made for them, and all were recovered, as they happened to be on board of the ship. They were very much elated with their success and assured us that the first licensed ship they fell in with, we should be released.

Three days after our capture, while standing on a wind, the cry of “Sail ho!” was heard from the mast-head, bearing on the lee beam. The ship was kept off, until the strange sail could be clearly made out. It proved to be a large rakish-looking schooner, evidently American by the set of her masts, cut of the sails, and color of the canvass. It was immediately suggested to us by the captain of the ship that there was another fine prize, and I was requested to look at her with the glass. I soon discovered that she was a man-of-war of some description and intimated as much to him; he was soon confirmed in this opinion, for the strange sail kept her wind and manifested no disposition to get out of the way. When the ship had gotten within two miles of the schooner, she hauled her wind and made every preparation for action.

Both vessels were under a press of canvass, standing on a wind on the larboard tack; but the schooner, lying a point higher than the ship, gained up to windward; and although she did not forge ahead quite so fast as the ship, yet she was not more than a mile and a half astern, exactly in the wake of the ship, at sunset. Night came on; and under its cover the course of the ship was altered, in order, if possible, to elude the one in pursuit. I now perceived that all on board were very much alarmed, especially the captain. The crew, for the most part, were a set of raw greenhorns, and the captain well knew that no dependence could be placed in them. At 10 o’clock, the wind dying away to a perfect calm, all hands were at their quarters, and the strictest look-out was kept. Our vessel now made sure that they had gotten clear of the schooner, for the night was very dark and cloudy; but, to their great surprise, at half past ten, there she was, not more than two musket-shots off. It was a night of deep suspense to all, and especially to us. The captain of the ship was aware that the schooner would not engage in the
night; consequently every advantage was taken of the wind to get clear of her, but it was all in vain. At daylight, in the morning, the schooner was about a mile astern; the ship at this time was under a cloud of sail, but it was soon perceived that the enemy came up with her.

Capt. N. and myself were now ordered below, when a running fight commenced, the ship discharging her stern-chasers in quick succession, and the schooner discharging her forward division, which cut away the stern boat and part of her starboard quarter. In half an hour the contest was decided, most of the ship’s crew having deserted their quarters; the British flag was hauled down, and she became a prize to the
Paul Jones
privateer, of New York, mounting eighteen guns, with a complement of one hundred and twenty men. The boats immediately came from the privateer, and the crew of the ship was sent on board the schooner. Now, a scene of plunder and robbery was perpetrated, by the privateer’s crew, which beggars all description; every article of clothing and stores, which they could lay their hands upon, were taken without any ceremony. The crew were a perfect set of desperadoes and outlaws, whom the officers could neither restrain nor command. Capt. N. and myself were now conveyed to the privateer without our clothes, for we had shared the like fate with the crew of the ship, by having our trunks broken open and robbed of all their contents.

The excitement being over, a prize-master and crew were put on board of the ship, and she was ordered to the United States. Capt. N. prevailed with the captain of the privateer to let him proceed in her; but all the arguments I could make use of, to accompany him, were fruitless; so I concluded to make the best of a bad bargain, and was induced, by the persuasions of the captain and the prospect of gain held out to me, to enter as prize-master. The next cruising ground was in the neighborhood of the Western Islands, to which, with all possible despatch, we repaired.

It may not be out of place here to present the reader with a sketch of the characters of the men with whom I was now associated. Capt. T, a man of about thirty-five years of age, was a gentleman in his manners, yet impatient of contradiction; bold and fearless; generally acted with great precipitation, and, consequently, without the exercise of much judgment. Mr. B., the 1st lieutenant, was an educated man, a good seaman, cool and intrepid, and was strongly marked with the protuberance of cause and effect. Mr. J., the 2d lieutenant, was about thirty years of age, an active seaman, with limited education, but was a smart and enterprising officer. Mr. G., the 3d lieutenant, was a young man who did not seem to be designed for the perils of war or the hardships of a sea life; he was amiable, but being limited in his knowledge of seamanship, had very little confidence in himself. I understood, however, that his courage was undoubted. Mr. W., the
sailingmaster, was about fifty years of age, had formerly been captain of a West Indiaman out of Connecticut, a tolerably good seaman and navigator; but he was a low, mean-spirited chap, a kind of anomaly, possessing none of those noble and generous qualities which characterize a sailor—avaricious to the last degree, and would resort to the meanest acts to acquire gain. The prize-masters, six in number (including myself), were a set of jolly fellows, and believed themselves to be superior in rank and talent to any on board except the captain, because they concluded that they would be installed into the office of commander before the cruise was up. Mr. C., lieutenant of marines, was neither soldier nor sailor, had been a sort of country lawyer, and would rather sit down to a good dinner than face an enemy. In going through the drill exercise, he might appropriately be called “Captain Bunker,” of the privateer. The surgeon very much resembled, to my imagination, the apothecary of Shakespeare; he was somewhat advanced in years, and had, in the days of his youth, read physic in a doctor’s office, and listened to some half-dozen lectures in a medical college, and was then dubbed M.D., and let off with a diploma, lancet, and pill-box to practise upon a credulous public. He had obtained some little celebrity by the amputation of a limb; but as he could not subsist upon fame exclusively, being well nigh starved to death for want of practice, he resolved (to use his own expression) to sink or swim by plunging into the turbulent scenes of war. His usual remedy to a sick sailor was a pint of salt water, because, he said, other medicines were too costly to be lavished on a common sailor, and because, he added, it was a safe and easy remedy, always at hand, and cost nothing. On one occasion, the doctor unfortunately fell from the gangway rail on the deck and hurt himself very seriously; a wag of a sailor hove a bucket over the side, and drew up some water, and immediately presented the poor surgeon with a tin-pot full, swearing it was the best medicine that could be given for a wound or fractured limb, “because,” he added, with a broad grin, “it is safe and easy and costs nothing.”