The Project Gutenberg eBook, Tales of an Old Sea Port, by Wilfred Harold Munro

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TALES OF AN OLD SEA PORT

A GENERAL SKETCH OF THE HISTORY OF BRISTOL, RHODE ISLAND, INCLUDING, INCIDENTALLY, AN ACCOUNT OF THE VOYAGES OF THE NORSEMEN, SO FAR AS THEY MAY HAVE BEEN CONNECTED WITH NARRAGANSETT BAY: AND PERSONAL NARRATIVES OF SOME NOTABLE VOYAGES ACCOMPLISHED BY SAILORS FROM THE MOUNT HOPE LANDS

BY

WILFRED HAROLD MUNRO

OF BROWN UNIVERSITY

PRINCETON UNIVERSITY PRESS
PRINCETON

LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

1917

Copyright, 1917, by
Princeton University Press

Published November, 1917
Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

TALES OF AN OLD SEA PORT

INTRODUCTION: OLD BRISTOL

From the earliest days of the Plymouth Colony the name Mount Hope Lands has been applied to the peninsula in Narragansett Bay of which Bristol, Rhode Island, is the chief town. The history of this town is more crowded with notable incident than that of any other in New England. First and most picturesque is the story of the Norsemen. Around Mount Hope the legends of the Norsemen cluster, shadowy, vague, elusive, and yet altogether fascinating. Only legends they are and must remain.

After the lapse of a thousand years of changing climates and of varying shores no man can definitely locate the Vinland of the Vikings. Many have attempted to do so, and, like the late Professor E. N. Horsford,[1] have established their theses to their own satisfaction and the satisfaction of the present dwellers in their Vinland, but they have not succeeded in convincing any one else. One of the latest writers[2] approaching the subject without local prejudice, and judging of the past by the ever changing present, will have it that the physical conditions of the lands around Narragansett Bay in the eleventh century were such as to make it more than probable that the “Hop” of the Norsemen is the Mount Hope of today.[3] In his conclusions all good Bristolians, yea more, all good Rhode Islanders, cheerfully join. Scandinavian writers insist that the name “Mount Hope” is of Norse origin. They assert that it is only an English spelling of the Indian name Montop, or Monthaup, and they are probably correct in their assertion. The Indians had no written language and our Pilgrim ancestors spelled the Indian words as they pleased, sometimes in half a dozen ways upon the same page. They go on to say that the termination “hop” was the name which Thorfinn and his companions gave to this region when they wintered here in 1008, and they bring forward the old Norse sagas to prove it. This is the story as the sagas tell it:

In the year of Our Lord 1000 the Norsemen first visited the shores of Vinland. They came from Greenland, a hundred years and more after their countrymen had discovered and colonized Iceland. Their ship was an open boat from fifty to seventy-five feet long, similar to the one dug from the sands at Sandefjord, Norway, in 1880, which is preserved in the museum of the university at Christiania. It was propelled by oars and had a short mast amidships on which was spread a small square sail. Both mast and sail were used only when the wind was fair. They came creeping along from headland to headland, seldom venturing out of sight of land in the unfamiliar seas. The mariner’s compass was then unknown, except perhaps to the Chinese, and the art of propelling a boat against the wind by “tacking” had not been developed, unless possibly by those same Chinese. It would have been impossible to tack in one of the Viking ships. In the first place the sail area was too small and in the second place the steering was all done from one side. A long steering oar was fastened upon a fulcrum about two feet long on the right side of the boat, the steer-board, starboard side. On one tack the oar would have been useless because submerged, on the other equally useless because it could not go deep enough to “grip” the water. To men accustomed to the icy Arctic seas, voyages southward held out no terrors; they were only pleasant summer excursions.

Thirty-five men made up the party and their leader was Leif Ericson. His purpose was to explore the coasts which his countryman, Biarni Heriulfson, had seen several years before, when in attempting to cross from Iceland to Greenland adverse winds had driven him to lands lying far to the south, possibly the island of Newfoundland. Leif was sailing in Biarni’s ship which he had bought for the voyage. The first shores sighted they conjectured to be those which Biarni had seen. They offered no attractions. The explorers called the country Helluland, the Land of Broad Stones, and passed on to Markland, the Land of Woods, which may have been Nova Scotia. A few more days brought them to an island where they noticed a peculiar sweetness in the dew. They may have been the first “Off Islanders” to land upon Nantucket, which is noted for its honey-dew. Following the coast they came to a place “where a river flowed out of a lake.” The region was inviting but the tide was low and the explorers were obliged to wait until high water before they could pass over the broad shallows into the lake beyond. Here they disembarked and erected temporary habitations which soon gave place to permanent dwellings when they determined to winter at that place. The new houses were easily constructed from the stones which abundantly covered the fields as they do even to this day.

The place seemed a paradise to the hardy voyagers. Fish of many kinds leaped from the waters of the river and bay. Salmon larger than any they had before seen were especially abundant. Many wild animals roamed through the forests, as the deer wander through the woods and pastures of Rhode Island at the present time. The denizens of the frigid zone rightly imagined that cattle might easily find provender throughout the winter, in a climate so soft and mild. They experienced no severe cold; “no snow fell and the grass did not wither much.” They had chanced upon one of the mild winters with which we are occasionally favored. Three or four times in the last thirty years the Mount Hope Lands have known seasons when there were but few snow storms and those slight, seasons when in the sheltered nooks of the forest the grass did not wither much. The next party encountered “real New England weather,” and doubtless objurgated Leif’s party for romancing concerning the climate. “The equality in length of days was greater than in Iceland or Greenland. On the shortest day the sun remained above the horizon from 7.30 to 4.30.”[4]

The dwellings having been completed, Leif divided his men into two parties in order to explore the country. One party was to remain at home while the other went abroad, and the exploring party was always to return at nightfall. Especial charge was given the men to keep together. The fear of the unknown was a marked characteristic of the Dark Ages, even among the Norsemen who dreaded no human foes. One of the party was a German, Tyrker by name, a kind of foster father of Leif. He was missing one night when the explorers came home and Leif at once started in search of him with a party of twelve men. They were soon met by Tyrker, whom they welcomed with great joy. But the man acted most strangely. At first he spoke only in German, his mother tongue, and rolled his eyes and made strange facial contortions when they did not understand what he said. After a time the Norse language came back to him and he explained his queer behavior. He had chanced upon some wild grapes and the memories his discovery brought back were too much for him. Whether he had found some of the fox-grapes which are still so common in New England, or whether, as Professor Fernald conjectures, the fruit was either a wild currant or a rock cranberry, we can not know; but the adventurers were immensely pleased at his discovery. They filled the “long boat,” which was carried with them as a tender, with the dried fruit, when in the early spring they returned to Brattahlid, their home port. Because of the grapes the name Vinland was given to the region.

The return of Leif and the account his sailors gave naturally caused intense excitement in that quiet community. In the spring of 1002 Thorvald Ericson, taking his brother’s ship and probably some of Leif’s crew as guides, sailed on another voyage to Vinland. His object was to make a more thorough exploration of the country. Thirty men made up Thorvald’s party. Nothing is told of their voyage until they reached Leif’s booths in Vinland. There they laid up their ship and remained quietly through the winter, living by hunting and fishing. The next year was spent in exploring the lands to the south. The second summer they turned their steps northward and in this northern expedition Thorvald was killed in a battle with the natives. His comrades buried him on the headland where he had proposed to settle. “There you shall bury me,” he told them after he had received his death wound, “and place a cross at my head and another at my feet, and the place shall be called Crossness ever after.” The winter of 1004-5 was passed in Leifsbooths gathering cargo for the return voyage. In the spring they sailed back to Greenland carrying large quantities of grapes as their companions had done. Because of Thorvald’s death the accounts of his voyage are probably more meagre than they otherwise would have been.

In 1007 the most important of the Norse expeditions sailed from Greenland. Its leader was Thorfinn Karlsefni. Thorfinn was both seaman and merchant. Sailing from Iceland to Greenland on a trading voyage, he had wintered at Brattahlid and there married his wife Gudrid. Naturally there had been much talk of Vinland the Good during the long Arctic winter and in the spring an expedition to explore the new country was fitted out. It consisted of three ships manned by one hundred and sixty men. With it went Gudrid and six other women, for it was proposed to colonize the land. Thorfinn spent the winter amid great hardships, caused by cold and lack of food, on what may have been one of the islands of Buzzard’s Bay. There his son Snorri was born, as far as we know the first child of European parents born upon the shores of the American continent. In the spring, coming at last to the place “where a river flowed down from the land into a lake and then into the sea,” they waited for the high tide, as Leif had done, sailed into the mouth of the river and called the place Hop.[5] On the lowlands about them were self-sown fields of grain; on the high ground the wild grapes grew in great profusion. Deer and other wild animals roamed through the forests. The brooks as well as the bay were filled with fish. They dug pits upon the beach before the high tide came and when the tide fell the pits were leaping with fish. Just so today flounders may be caught along the Narragansett shores. The booths that Leif’s party had put up could not accommodate the new comers and additional houses were built inland above the lake. No snow fell during the winter. The cattle they had brought with them needed no protection and lived by grazing. None of the privations of the previous winter were experienced, and all things went well until the Skraelings, or natives, appeared. At first the Skraelings came only for trading. They wished to exchange skins for goods, being especially anxious to obtain little strips of scarlet cloth, and willingly giving a whole skin for the smallest strip. The Norsemen benevolently attempted to satisfy the desires of all by tearing the cloth into smaller and yet smaller pieces as the supply diminished. While the bartering was going on one of the bulls Thorfinn had brought with him appeared upon the scene, bellowing loudly. Thereupon the savages rushed to their canoes and paddled away as quickly as possible. A month later they reappeared, this time not to barter but to fight. In the combat that followed two Northmen fell and many of the Skraelings were killed. This battle convinced Thorfinn that the lands though excellent in quality would be undesirable for a colony by reason of the hostility of the natives. He therefore turned his keels northward and returned to Greenland in 1010.

From this time expeditions to Vinland to procure grapes and timber became frequent. Because they had lost their novelty they ceased to be chronicled. As the saga puts it, “they were esteemed both lucrative and honorable.” One noteworthy one is given in the “Antiquitates Americanae,” that of Freydis and her husband Thorvald. The tale of Freydis is a grewsome one. She seems to have been entirely lacking in human sensibilities. Her husband murdered in cold blood all the men of a party that had opposed him but he spared their five women. Freydis seized an axe and brained them all. Possibly their mangled remains may have been buried at the foot of Mount Hope.

Other mention of Vinland is found apart from the Icelandic chronicles. Adam of Bremen in his “Historia Ecclesiastica,” published in 1073, describes Iceland and Greenland and then goes on to say that there is another country far out in the ocean which has been visited by many persons, and which is called Vinland because of the grapes found there. In Vinland, he says, corn grows without cultivation, as he learns from trustworthy Norse sources. This must of course have been the Indian corn, a grain that is hardly possible of cultivation in Europe north of the Alps.

The people of Iceland were more given to the writing of chronicles than were those of the countries of Europe, but unhappily Iceland was a land of volcanoes and eruptions were not infrequent. An eruption of Mount Hecla in 1390 buried several of the neighboring estates beneath its ashes. Perhaps under those ashes may be lying other sagas that may at some time be brought again to light, as in the case of the scrolls of Pompeii. Mention of the lands that Leif discovered is found in the “Annals of Iceland” as late as 1347. The last Bishop of Greenland was appointed in the first decade of the fifteenth century and since that time the colony has never been heard of. Ruins of its houses may still be seen, but of the fate of those who dwelt in them we know nothing.

One witness there still may be to testify to the Norse visits. About thirty-five years ago a rock known by tradition but lost sight of for half a century was rediscovered on the shores of Mount Hope Bay. Upon it is rudely carved the figure of a boat with what may have been a Runic inscription beneath it. The writing was surely not graven by English hands and the Indians had no written language. May not the strange carving have been made by the axe of a Norseman? It is not remarkable that the rock was lost sight of for so many years. The inscription is inconspicuous and the rock is like hundreds of others along the shore. Moreover it was sometimes covered by the high tides of spring and fall. It has recently been removed to a more conspicuous position and may ere long be protected by a fence from the vandalism of the occasional tourist.

Fact and not fancy characterizes the Indian history of the Mount Hope Lands. First upon the scene steps Massasoit, “Friend of the White Man,” ruler of all the region when the Pilgrims of the Mayflower landed upon the shores of Plymouth. Like all the Indian sachems, Massasoit had many places of residence. He moved from one to another as the great barons of the Middle Ages moved from one castle to another, and for the same reason. When provisions became scarce in one place a region where they were more plentiful was sought. One of his villages was unquestionably upon the slope of Mount Hope. Not many weeks after the landing of the Pilgrims Massasoit had paid them a visit in their new settlement. In July, 1621, Edward Winslow and Stephen Hopkins were sent by Governor Bradford to return the visit. Of what happened to this “embassy” and to a second sent some two years later, Winslow presented a very full account, which may be read in very nearly all of the histories of the period. It is one of the most trustworthy and valuable pictures of Indian royal state that have come down to us from colonial days. Winslow found Massasoit occupying a wigwam only a little larger than those of his subjects. The sleeping place was a low platform of boards covered with a thin mat. On this bed, says Winslow, Massasoit placed his visitors, with himself and his wife at one end and the Englishmen at the other, and two more of Massasoit’s men passed by and upon them, so that they were worse weary of the lodging than of the journey. As the sachem had not been apprised of Winslow’s projected visit, he had made no provisions for his entertainment. No supper whatsoever was secured that night, and not until one o’clock of the next afternoon was food to be had. Then two large fish, which had just been shot (with arrows, of course), were boiled and placed before the sachem’s guests, now numbering forty or more besides the two Englishmen.

In 1623 tidings reached Plymouth that Massasoit was sick and likely to die. Edward Winslow was therefore sent to visit him a second time. With him went a young English gentleman who was wintering at Plymouth and who desired much to see the country. His name was John Hampden, a name destined to become famous wherever the English language was spoken. The great John Hampden was born in 1594. He would have been twenty-nine years old at this time. He had as yet done nothing whatever to make himself famous and was a comparatively inconspicuous man, notwithstanding the prominent position his family had held for centuries in England. There is no record of his presence in England at this time. Like Oliver Cromwell he may have been considering a residence in America among men of his own religious faith, and for this reason may have made a preliminary visit to this country. Green, discussing in his “History of the English People” Cromwell’s scheme for emigrating to America, says: “It is more certain that John Hampden purchased a tract of land on the Narragansett.” Most important of all, the name of John Hampden appears in the list of the Charter Members of the Colony of Connecticut.

As long as he lived Massasoit remained the firm friend of the colonists. Upon his death, in 1662, his son Wamsutta (or Alexander) headed the Wampanoag tribe for a year, and then came Philip, Massasoit’s second son. Philip was a foe to the white men, made such by English treatment of his tribe. He was one of the ablest Indian leaders this country has produced, a wonderful organizer, a skillful diplomatist. From tribe to tribe he journeyed, inducing them to rest from their interminable wars and to turn their weapons against the common enemy of all. But for an accident which caused hostilities to begin a little while before the year (1676) Philip had fixed upon, the colonists would have been swept from the land. The war began in 1675, and Capt. Benjamin Church, the conqueror of Philip, wrote an account of it. Benjamin Church was one of our greatest “Indian fighters.” He had lain in their wigwams, he had studied their character. Naturally and inevitably he came at last to the leadership of the colonial forces. When Philip’s plans had all come to naught, the Wampanoag sachem came back to Mt. Hope, to make his last stand and to die. Death came to him from a bullet fired by one of his own men who had taken service in Capt. Church’s company. In 1876, on the two hundredth anniversary of his death, the Rhode Island Historical Society, with appropriate ceremonies, placed a boulder monument on the top of Mt. Hope, with this inscription:

KING PHILIP, AUGUST 12, 1676. O. S.

Beside Cold Spring on the west side of the hill a massive block of granite records that

IN THE MIERY SWAMP 166 FEET W. S. W. FROM THIS SPRING,
ACCORDING TO TRADITION, KING PHILIP FELL,
AUGUST 12, 1676. O. S.

The Mt. Hope lands should have fallen to Plymouth by right of conquest, as they were included in the territory originally granted to that colony. But both the Colony of Massachusetts Bay and the Colony of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations claimed a portion of the spoils. So delegates of the several colonies were sent to argue the case before Charles II. Singularly enough another claimant appeared in the person of John Crowne, a poet. Crowne was a native of Nova Scotia. His father had purchased a large tract of land in that country which had become practically valueless because of the cession of Nova Scotia to the French. He therefore asked that the small tract of land which had lately come into English possession should be turned over to him as a compensation. But Mt. Hope, though belonging to the English Crown, was not to be Crowne land. The Plymouth Colony agents claimed that the tract, comprising almost 7000 acres, part of it good soil and much of it rocky, mountainous and barren, for which they had fought and bled, should be awarded to them, more especially because it would afford to them the seaport which they lacked. Their arguments were convincing and the land was awarded to Plymouth by special grant, January 12, 1680. The king among other things demanded a quit rent annually of seven beaver skins. No other royal grant was made of conquered lands, but conflicting claims necessitated this.

Plymouth Colony at once placed the lands on the market, and September 14, 1680, sold them for $1,100 to four men of Boston, John Walley, Nathaniel Byfield, Stephen Burton and Nathaniel Oliver. The first three of these became residents of the town they founded. Of them, Byfield was the ablest and most distinguished. He came of good stock. His father was of the Westminster Assembly of Divines. His mother was sister of Juxon, bishop of London and later archbishop of Canterbury, who was a personal friend of Charles I, and attended that ill fated monarch upon the scaffold. Byfield was the wealthiest of the settlers. He had one residence upon Poppasquash near the head of that peninsula, and one upon what is now Byfield Street in the south part of the town. He was a man of unusual ability and large wealth. He was also a man of great liberality in all his dealings with the town. His public service was continuous and distinguished. His liberal mind resisted the insane fanaticism of the people during their delusion on the subject of witchcraft, and in his will he left a bequest “to all and every minister of Christ of every denomination in Boston.” He lived forty-four years in Bristol, only leaving the town when his advanced age made the greater comforts of Boston necessary.

John Walley was also of good stock, his father being rector of one of the London churches. In 1690 he commanded the land forces of William Phipps in the expedition against Canada. He also, in his old age, was forced by disease to seek a more luxurious abode in Boston. Stephen Burton was said to have been a graduate of Oxford. He was undoubtedly the most scholarly man of the four proprietors. Oliver, a rich Bostonian, never resided in Bristol but sold his share to Nathan Hayman, another wealthy Boston merchant.

With men like these as sponsors for the new settlement, it was not difficult to secure settlers. The most noted among them was Benjamin Church, the Indian fighter already mentioned. Capt. Church built a house upon Constitution Street. (Church Street was not named in his honor. Upon that street stood the edifice which gave it its name, the building in which the members of the Church of England worshipped. There were many streets named for a like reason in colonial days.) He was the first representative of the town in the general court of Plymouth Colony and was many times elected to public office. In his later years he made his home in Little Compton, whence many of his descendants drifted back to Bristol. Because the town was to be the seaport of Plymouth Colony, many of the descendants of the Mayflower Pilgrims naturally came to dwell within its borders. In choosing Bristol for its name, the settlers cherished a hope that, as in the case of its English namesake, it would become the great city upon the west. Boston on the east shore was the London of Massachusetts.

The new town was laid out on a liberal scale, with side streets crossing each other at right angles, and a spacious “common” in the center of the settlement. The grand articles stipulated that all houses should be two stories high, with not less than two good rooms on a floor. As most of the settlers could not well spare the time, if they had the means, for building a house with four rooms upon a floor, the “camelopard” type of dwelling was much in evidence. This presented a goodly appearance to the eye of him who stood directly in front, but degenerated greatly when one shifted his position, the roof sloping severely and persistently down to a woodpile. One chimney was deemed sufficient for a house. We should deem such a one more than sufficient. If of brick it was about fourteen feet square; if of stone, about twenty feet. All the chimneys had immense fireplaces, into which a man could sometimes walk without stooping, and all were admirably adapted to keep a house cold. The rooms were abominably drafty, and the high backed settle was an absolute necessity. A great pile of logs might be blistering the faces while the snow was drifting in through the cracks upon the backs.

The first house built is still standing just north of the town bridge. Deacon Nathaniel Bosworth was its builder, an ancestor of those who own it today. Only the southwestern part of the present structure was the work of Deacon Bosworth. The best house was naturally that of Byfield. It was two stories high, with a barn roof, and was nearly square, thirty by thirty-eight feet. It was torn down in 1833, and a hard job the destroyers had. The chimney stood in the center of the house. It was built of imported bricks held together by mortar mixed with shell lime. This mortar had become hard as stone. When the chimney was overthrown it fell to the ground almost unbroken, as an oak tree would fall. Byfield had another house at the head of the harbor on Poppasquash. In each room were deep fireplaces, across which ran an oaken beam a foot square. One winter morning the owner of the house was surprised, when he came down stairs, to find the house even colder than usual. The front door was open and the floor was covered with snow drifts. As the door was never locked the phenomenon interested him but little, and he hastened out to feed his cattle. One ox was missing and the farmer went back to the house to organize a searching party, but as he opened the door and turned his eyes toward the fireplace, he changed his plans. There lay the huge creature tranquilly chewing the cud of complete contentment. It had found the door ajar, pushed it open and established itself comfortably upon the still warm ashes.

The town was founded for “purposes of trade and commerce” and early its sails began to whiten the seas. Naturally the first commerce was coastwise only. Then vessels sought the ports of the West Indies and Spanish Main, laden most frequently with that bulb whose fragrance lingers longest in the nostrils, the onion. The culture of this vegetable was one of the three things for which the town was noted for more than two centuries.

There once dwelt in Bristol a man named Sammy Usher, who was noted for his irascibility not less than for his caustic tongue. One day a visitor from Brown University was introduced to him. This young man, though a sophomore, was yet somewhat fresh, and Sammy did not like him. He said, “Mr. Usher, I hear that Bristol is noted for three things, its geese, girls and onions. What do you do with them all?” “Oh,” said Usher, “we marry our girls as soon as they grow up, we ship our onions to Cuba, and we send our geese to college.” The first recorded shipment, however, was not of onions. November 6, 1686, Byfield placed a number of his horses on board the Bristol Merchant bound for Surinam. Possibly they may have been of the Narragansett pacer breed for which the south county was so long famous. Very early in the town’s history, sails were turned to the coast of Africa. The voyage was the most hazardous that could be taken, but the returns from a successful venture were enormous. There was profit on each leg of the voyage. The first leg was from the home port, with the hold filled with casks of New England rum and small crates of trinkets. One cask was ordinarily enough to secure a slave, but before the cargo was complete, all hands were likely to be down with coast fever. When the crew were again strong enough to work the vessel, the “middle passage” to the West Indies was made, and the live freight, which had been handled with as great care as are the cattle on the Atlantic transports today, was exchanged for casks of molasses. Then came the last leg of the voyage. The molasses was carried to Bristol to be converted into rum. This trade the town shared with Newport and Providence.

No stigma whatever was attached to the slave traffic as carried on in the seventeenth century and for the greater part of the eighteenth. The voyages, while always dangerous, were not always profitable. The vessels engaged in them were ordinarily small; sometimes they were sloops of less than a hundred tons. A fleet of them could be stowed away in the hold of a Lusitania. They had to be small and of light draft in order to run up the shallow rivers to whose banks their human cargo was driven. Lying at anchor in the stifling heat, with no wind to drive away the swarming insect life, the deadly coast fever would descend upon a ship, and, having swept away half its crew, leave those who survived too weak to hoist the sails. The captains were, for the most part, God fearing men, working hard to support their families at home. One piously informs his owners that “we have now been twenty days upon the coast and by the blessing of God shall soon have a good cargo.” The number of negroes taken on board a ship was never large until the trade was declared to be piratical. Then conditions changed horribly. It did not pay to take more on board than could be delivered in the West Indies in prime condition. They were not packed more closely than were the crews of the privateers of whom we shall read later on.

Naturally not a few slaves found their way to Bristol. When the first slave was brought there we do not know. Nathaniel Byfield, in his will, gives directions for the disposition of his “negro slave Rose, brought to Bristol from the West Indies in the spring of 1718.” Quickly they became numerous. The census of 1774 records 114 blacks in a total population of 1209, almost one-tenth. At first they lived on the estates of their owners, and were known by his name, if they had any surname. After the Revolutionary War, when slavery had been abolished (mainly because it was unprofitable), they gathered into a district by themselves on the outskirts of the town. This region was called “Gorea” from that part of the coast of Africa with which the slave traders were most familiar. It continued to be known as such until the buildings of the great rubber works crowded it out of existence in the early ’70s of the last century.

Naturally and inevitably the town became involved in the contest that resulted in the independence of America. The affair of the Gaspee was the first in which her people participated. The Gaspee was an armed schooner stationed in Narragansett Bay for the prevention of smuggling. Smuggling was as much in vogue in American waters as in the waters surrounding the British Isles, and was regarded with no more disfavor in one case than in the other. The commander of the vessel was Lieutenant Thomas Duddington, a man who was entirely lacking in tact, and who carried himself with such haughty arrogance as to make himself most obnoxious. One day while chasing one of the packet sloops that plied between New York and Providence, he ran aground on Namquit (now Gaspee) Point. His “chase” escaped and carried the joyful tidings of his plight to Providence. At once drummers were sent through the streets proclaiming the situation of the vessel, and calling for volunteers to destroy her before the next high tide. Eight long boats were furnished by John Brown, the leading merchant of the town, which were quickly filled by a rejoicing band. No attempt at disguise was made by those who took part in the expedition, but the oars were muffled to enable the boats to make the attack without being seen. As they drew near the vessel, a little after midnight, they were joined by a whaleboat containing a party from Bristol under the command of Captain Simeon Potter.[6]

Their approach was discovered by the watch upon the Gaspee, and as the boats dashed forward they were fired upon from the schooner. The fire was at once returned by the attacking party, and the vessel was boarded and captured after a short but desperate struggle. In this struggle Lieutenant Duddington was wounded, though not seriously. The crew were captured, bound and set on shore. The vessel was set on fire and completely destroyed. Then, having been entirely successful in their expedition, the boats rowed joyfully homeward. Those who took part in the exploit made no effort to conceal it and some of them even boasted of what they had done. The British Government at once offered a large reward for information that would lead to the conviction of the bold offenders. Some of them were among the foremost men in the Colony and almost every one knew their names, the name of Abraham Whipple especially being on the lips of all the people, but no man of any character could be found to testify against them and none of them were ever brought to trial. The affair took place on June 10, 1772. It was the first contest in which British blood was shed in an expedition openly organized against the forces of the mother country, and it differed from all the other preliminary encounters because of the character of those engaged in it. Other outbreaks were the work of an irresponsible mob. Crispus Attucks, for instance, who fell in the so called Boston Massacre, was a mulatto and the men whom he led were of his type. But some of the leading men of Rhode Island sat on the thwarts of the nine boats, and their boldness seems almost incredible to us of the present day. It shows that while public sentiment at Newport and New York and the other great seats of commerce along the coast may have favored the king, the people of the Providence Plantations were already prepared to sever their relations with England.

The only “lyric” to commemorate the affair came from the pen of Captain Thomas Swan of Bristol, one of those who took part in it. His effusion has never appeared in any history of American literature, for good and sufficient reasons, but it is printed in full in Munro’s “History of Bristol.” The participation of the Bristol men in the Gaspee affair is often denied by “out of town” people. I have no doubt respecting the matter. My own grandmother, born in 1784, the daughter of a soldier of the Revolution who was born in 1762 and lived until 1821, and whose grandfather, born in 1731, lived until 1817, firmly believed in it. She had had opportunities for talking the subject over with two generations who were living on June 10, 1772.

In January, 1881, Bishop Smith of Kentucky, born in Bristol in 1794 and a graduate of Brown in 1816, wrote to me calling my attention to a slight difference between the “Swan Song,” as I had given it in my “History of Bristol,” and a version pasted upon the back of a portrait of Thomas Swan’s father by Thomas Swan himself. Capt. Swan was Bishop Smith’s uncle. The Bishop wrote, “I should not have troubled you on so inconsiderable a point had not the tradition in our family been that the Bristol boat was manned by men in the disguise of Narragansett Indians.”

When Bishop Smith penned those lines several men were living in Bristol who had heard the story from Captain Swan’s own lips. He delighted in telling it and was accustomed to give the names of Bristol participants. Those names had unhappily escaped the memory of his auditors. The correspondence on the subject of the Gaspee, which occurred during the Revolutionary War between Abraham Whipple and Captain Sir James Wallace, the commander of the British naval forces in Narragansett Bay, is worthy of another reproduction:

Wallace to Whipple:

“You, Abraham Whipple, on the 10th June, 1772, burned his Majesty’s vessel, the Gaspee, and I will hang you at the yard arm.—James Wallace.”

Whipple to Wallace:

“To Sir James Wallace; Sir; Always catch a man before you hang him.—Abraham Whipple.”

On October 7, 1775, the town was bombarded by a British fleet. The squadron consisted of three ships of war, one bomb brig, one schooner and some smaller vessels, fifteen sail in all. They had sailed up from Newport under the command of Sir James Wallace. A boat’s crew was sent on shore to demand sheep from the town. As they were not forthcoming, the boat returned to the ship and shortly afterward the whole fleet began “a most heavy cannonading, heaving also shells and ‘carcasses’ into the town.” (Carcasses were vessels bound together with hoops and filled with combustibles.) Singularly enough, no one was killed, though many buildings were struck by balls. The next morning the sheep demanded were furnished and the fleet sailed away. An epidemic of dysentery was raging at the time, seventeen persons having died within a fortnight; and the fact that at least one hundred sick persons would have to be removed if the cannonading was resumed influenced the town committee to provide the supply demanded. One life, however, went out because of the bombardment. The Rev. John Burt, the aged pastor of the Congregational Church, had for a long time been sick and feeble. When the air was filled with missiles he fled from his house, no one seeing him, and wandered away, weak and bewildered. The next morning, as he did not appear in the meeting house at the hour of service, his congregation went out to seek him. They found at last him lying dead upon his face in a field of ripened corn.

About three years later, on Sunday, May 25, 1778, most of the houses in the center of the town were burned by the British. Five hundred British and Hessian soldiers landed on the “West Shore,” marched quickly through Warren to the Kickamuit River, and there burned seventy or more flat-boats that had been gathered together by the colonists for the purpose of making an expedition against the enemy. The raiders set fire to some buildings in Warren and then proceeded along the main road to Bristol, making prisoners of the men found in the farm houses standing near the highway. A force of perhaps three hundred militia had been hastily gathered at Bristol to oppose them. But, as is almost always the case, the number of the marauding troops was greatly exaggerated and the American commanding officer did not deem himself strong enough to oppose them. Withdrawing in the direction of Mount Hope he left the town to their mercy. The torch was first applied to Parson Burt’s house, which stood near the Congregational Meeting House.

Mr. Burt had died during the bombardment, as has been before related, but he had been fearless in his denunciation of royal tyranny during his life and his house was burned as a warning. Then the other buildings southward along the main street were set on fire, including the residence of Deputy Governor Bradford, this last being the finest house in town. One of the Governor’s negro servants had just begun his dinner when he saw the flames bursting forth. He was quite equal to the occasion. Running to the burying ground on the Common, not far away, he seated himself, frying pan in hand, upon a tombstone and calmly finished his meal. Thirty or more buildings were burned, among them being the edifice of the Church of England, Saint Michael’s Church. This last structure was destroyed through a mistake, the incendiaries supposing that they were burning the Dissenters’ Meeting House. The sexton of Saint Michael’s refused to believe that his church was burned. “It can’t be,” he said, “for I have the key in my pocket.” From this time until the close of the war the tread of marching feet was heard almost daily. The soldiers, however, were only militiamen summoned hastily together to defend their homes. They were poorly drilled and still more poorly armed, the kind of soldier that springs to arms at an instant’s call. The immediate danger having passed, they returned to their farms and their workshops.

Until October 25, 1779, when the British forces left Newport, the fortunes of those who dwelt upon the Mount Hope Lands were hazardous in the extreme. Lafayette had established his headquarters in the north part of the town but was soon forced to remove them to “a safer place behind Warren.” The peninsula was so easily accessible that raids upon its shores were frequent. One result of the marauding expeditions was the cutting down of the forests that had lined the shores of Narragansett Bay. This was especially notable in the case of the island of Prudence, just at the mouth of Bristol harbor. Today the island is almost treeless, no attempt at reforestation having been made. The people of Bristol were wise in their generation and now from the harbor the town seems to nestle in a forest.

The winter of 1779-80 was one of the most severe ever known in the Colonies. For six weeks the bay was frozen from shore and the ice extended far out to sea. Wood in most of the towns sold for $20 a cord. The prices of all kinds of provisions soared in like manner. Corn sold for four silver dollars a bushel and potatoes for two dollars. What their prices were in the depreciated Rhode Island paper currency we can only imagine. While the bay was still frozen some of the barracks on Poppasquash, that had been used by the French allies, were moved across the harbor on the ice. One of them is still used as a dwelling house. It stands on the west side of High Street just north of Bradford. From 1774 to 1782 the population of the town decreased 14.6 per cent. More noteworthy still, in that same period the percentage of decrease in the case of the blacks was more than thirty per cent.

In 1781 the town was first honored by the presence of George Washington. He passed through it on his way to Providence. It was a great day for the people of the place. They all turned out to greet the hero, standing in double lines as he rode through the streets. “Marm” Burt’s school children were especially in evidence. This lady was the widow of the Parson Burt who had died during the bombardment. She had sustained herself since her husband’s death by keeping a “dame’s school.” To impress the occasion upon the minds of her pupils she made them learn these lines:

“In seventeen hundred and eighty-one

I saw General Washington.”

Imagine the General’s emotions as he heard them singing the verse, at the top of their voices of course, as he passed.

Washington afterward made several visits to the town. In 1793 he spent a week at the home of Governor Bradford, at “the Mount,” Bradford being then a member of the United States Senate. The Bradford house is still standing.

Rhode Island was the last of the “Old Thirteen” to adopt the Federal Constitution. Then as always she chafed at the domination of Massachusetts. Because Bristol had been a part of Massachusetts before it became a part of Rhode Island it was still greatly influenced by the ideas of the “Bay Colony.” When in 1788 the question of adopting the Constitution was submitted to the people of Rhode Island, Bristol and Little Compton (which had also been a part of Massachusetts) were the only towns in which a majority in favor of the adoption was obtained. A great celebration took place in 1790 when the State became a member of the United States of America.

At once the energy which had lain dormant during the Revolutionary War revived. Commerce again became active. Evidence of this was manifested by the building of new distilleries. One, erected by the leading firm of ship owners, was opened in 1792. They were preparing for a renewal of the trade with Africa. For thirty-five years thereafter two hundred gallons of rum were here each day distilled. At one time five distilleries were in active operation. The last of them closed its doors in 1830, the business having ceased to be profitable.

In the first quarter of the last century two great religious revivals transformed the town. They began in Saint Michael’s Church in the rectorship of Bishop Griswold. The town then numbered about two thousand inhabitants, almost all of whom were more or less connected with the sea. The first among the laymen to take part in the movement was a sea captain who had just returned from a voyage to the Island of Trinidad. Before he left Bristol, the unwonted fervor of Bishop Griswold’s sermons and discourses had turned his thoughts toward the attainment of the holier and higher life, whose glories the bishop was ever placing before his people. The awful solemnity of the ocean had completed the lesson. On Saturday night he returned from his voyage. The next day, when the bishop had finished his sermon, the emotions that stirred the soul of the sailor entirely overcame the modesty that usually kept him back from the public notice. Rising from his seat, he went forward to the old wine-glass pulpit in which the preacher was yet standing, and conversed with him earnestly for a few moments, while the congregation looked on with amazement at the unusual interruption. With that benignant smile which marked his gentle nature, Bishop Griswold assented to the request that was preferred; and placing his hand upon the shoulder of the eager enthusiast, he turned to the congregation and said: “My friends, Captain —— wishes to tell you what the Lord has done for his soul.” Then the quiet sailor told the congregation the story of the change that had been wrought in him; told it without a thought of the unusual part he was assuming; told it in the simplest words, with no attempt at eloquence or effect, but with the wondrous power of God’s love so plainly before his eyes that the minds of all his hearers went with him upon the sea, and felt the struggle which had brought his soul out of darkness into light. Never, even, had the inspired words of their pastor stirred the people of St. Michael’s Church more strongly. When he ceased there was hardly a dry eye in the congregation. Only a few well chosen words did the bishop add to intensify the lesson, and then dismissed his people with the usual benediction.

From that day the revival became general. Through the town it spread, until the minds of all were turned to thoughts of the life that was to come. The sound of the workman’s hammer was unheard for a season, the horses stood idle in their stalls, the noise of merry laughter ceased as the crowds of serious worshippers poured onward to the churches. For days these remarkable scenes were to be witnessed; their effect could be observed for years.

The second revival came in 1820. Like the first it began in Saint Michael’s Church. It lasted for about three months. The first meeting was held in a private house. The Rev. Dr. Stephen H. Tyng, writing sixty years later, said: “It was with unbounded surprise that I went into the house at the hour appointed. It was crowded in every room, staircase and entry, as if some unusually crowded funeral were there. But for ministering to this people, hungry for the bread of life, I was there alone. They had placed a Bible and Prayer-book on the first landing of the stairs. The people were crowded above me and below me, as far as my eye could reach, in the most eager attention to the Word. It was the most solemn assembly I had ever seen, and its impression upon my mind and memory was overwhelming and abiding. But this was the commencement of months of work of a similar description, and from this day we had a similar meeting appointed for every evening. These were held in various rooms and houses throughout the town. The evening meetings were usually held in the Academy Hall. My whole time for about three months was given up to this one work. Three times every day I was engaged in addressing different assemblies in different parts of the town and of the surrounding country, and in conversing with awakened and anxious persons connected with these meetings. Such a scene in human society as Bristol then displayed, I had never imagined. The whole town was given up to this one work. The business of the world was for a time suspended. The stores were in many instances closed, as if the whole week were a Sabbath.”

As in the former case the work spread through all the churches. Crowds came from surrounding towns to gaze upon the remarkable spectacle the town afforded. Such revivals would now be impossible. The busy manufacturing town of today would pay slight attention to exhortations to which the ears that were accustomed to tales of horrible disaster upon the ocean lent ready attention. Moreover, the descendants of the old colonial stock are comparatively few in number, and the new foreign element which forms the great majority of the population is not to be moved by religious appeals as were those whose lives were dominated by Puritan traditions.

The maritime element always furnished the most picturesque part of the Bristol story. Until half a century ago the boys of the town had the names of the famous ships and the exploits of the most famous captains at the tongue’s end. The most noted captains were Simeon Potter, John De Wolf and James De Wolf, of whom detailed accounts will be given later. We idealized those seamen, especially Simeon Potter. One sailor who was not a captain but a ship’s surgeon had had a most remarkable experience. He was an inveterate smoker and his inordinate use of the weed once saved his life. He was shipwrecked upon a cannibal island in the Pacific ocean. His fellow sufferers were all eaten by their captors. Because he was so flavored with tobacco, he was not deemed fit to be eaten at once by the savage epicures, and so lived to be rescued. He was also a most profane man. One day after a long attack of fever, which had wasted him almost to a skeleton, he ventured out for a walk. Unfortunately, he had not noted the wind. He wore a long cloak and the wind was fair and heavy. Having once started before it, he was not able to stop, but went on, gathering speed and scattering profanity, until friendly arms at last rescued him, entirely exhausted except as to his supply of oaths. Depraved boys when caught smoking sometimes brought forward his case in extenuation of their own crime.

Boyish sports before the introduction of baseball in the “early ’60s” were largely nautical. As a matter of course every boy learned to swim almost as soon as he learned to walk. Before his anxious mother had really begun to worry about him he was diving from a bowsprit or dropping from a yard arm. One man whom I know still regards a forced swim of about half a mile which he took from an overturned skiff, at the age of nine, as the most delightful episode of his career. (He forgot to tell his mother about it until a considerable time, i.e., the swimming season, had elapsed.) One of the amusements of that olden time was unique. When we were about ten years old we were wont, as soon as school was dismissed, to hasten down to the wharves, “swarm” up the rigging of some of the vessels lying there, and having reached the point where the shrouds stopped, to “shin up” the smooth topmast and place our caps upon the caps of the masts. The one who got his cap on a mast first was of course the best boy. Singularly enough, I never remember to have proclaimed to my parents the proud occasions when I was “it.” My great chum in those days was Benjamin F. Tilley, who died quite recently, an Admiral in the United States Navy and one of the best loved officers in the service. When he was in Providence a few years ago, in command of the gunboat Newport, we indulged largely in reminiscences of our boyhood, and among other things “shinned” up those masts again. Very strangely Tilley could not remember that he had ever proclaimed to his parents that he was “it.” Modest always were the Bristol boys in the days of my youth. Looking back upon these episodes with the added knowledge fifty years have brought, I feel sure that if I had told my father of my prowess, he would have said in his quiet way, “Perhaps you would better not say anything to your mother about it,” and would have gone away chuckling. He had been “it” himself. For we boys were simply exemplifying the traditions of our race. We were only doing what our forebears had done for generations.

In the earliest years of the town the names of streets in cities across the ocean were more familiar to its inhabitants than were those of the towns of the other Colonies. In 1690 fifteen of its vessels were engaged in foreign commerce, and the number of such vessels steadily increased until the Revolutionary War. When that struggle broke out fifty hailed from the port. Add to this the number of craft of every description engaged in the coasting trade and one can easily imagine the crowded condition of the harbor. Ship building was at one time a prominent industry. Statistics are not readily accessible but we know that from 1830 to 1856 sixty vessels were here built and rigged. After 1856 none of any importance were constructed until, in 1863, the Herreshoffs began to send from their yard the yachts that were to “show their heels” to all rivals. The decline of commerce dates from the revival of the whale fishery. In the earliest colonial days whales were captured along the coasts of New England by means of boats sent out from the shore whenever one of the great fishes came in sight. This was not infrequently. (It was a whale cast up on the shore that saved Thorfinn Karlsefni from starvation when the Norsemen made their second visit to Vinland.) In the year 1825 the first whaler was fitted out for a cruise. The venture was unusually successful and other ships were quickly placed in commission. In 1837 the arrival of sixteen vessels “from a whaling cruise” is recorded on the books of the Custom House. The most noted of those whalers was the General Jackson, prize of the privateer Yankee. Of her more anon. In 1837 the Bristol whaling fleet numbered nineteen ships.

The bell which summoned the operatives of the first cotton mill to their work really sounded the death knell of the shipping industry. The man whose maritime ventures had been most profitable was quick to recognize the fact. James De Wolf was the first of Bristolians to transfer his capital from ships to factories. With the building of mills agriculture began to decline though for more than half a century onions and other vegetables continued to be exported to the West India Islands. The erection of the great buildings of the National Rubber Company completed the transformation of the town.

Very different is the place from the old Puritan town of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; very different indeed from the Bristol of sixty years ago. Sixty years ago the Puritan traditions still dominated. This fact was especially evident on Sunday. That day was observed with the strictness of the old Puritan Sabbath. Worldly amusements were frowned upon. Every one was expected to go to church in the morning, and a very large proportion of the population attended a second religious service in the afternoon or evening. If golf had been known no one would have ventured to play it. Social ostracism would have followed any attempt at a match game of ball. The only foreign element was the Irish. Very nearly all the Irish had been born on “the old sod.” Today the Irish element is almost the dominant one and the descendants of the first immigrants are as thoroughly American in their ideals and sentiments as are those who trace their ancestry to the Founders of 1680. Sixty years ago there were perhaps a dozen names upon the tax lists that were not derived from the British Isles. No foreign tongue except the Spanish of the frequent Cuban visitors was heard upon the streets. Today the Italian language is everywhere heard and Italian names fill the pages of the directory. With the Italians have come also Canadian French and Portuguese. Walking over the “Common” one day not long ago I passed three groups of men and boys and heard from them not one word of English. One group was Italian, another French, the third Portuguese.

In the olden days the business was transacted along the wharves on Thames Street. That street was crowded with drays loaded with the products of every land, while sailors of all nations lounged about the water front. Today a sailor is a rare sight. The commerce has vanished and not a vessel of any size hails from the port. Even the pronunciation of the name of the street by the water has been changed and most of the dwellers upon that thoroughfare do not know that they are living upon the “Tems” street of our fathers. By day even in summer the streets of the town are almost empty, except for the visitors, and half the people are at work in the factories. But there is immense life in the place yet. The population is increasing by leaps and bounds and the wealth per capita is increasing in the same way. When the great mill wheels cease to turn, a hurrying throng of operatives crowds the highways. Although they are now for the most part alien in speech and thought, their children, born in the old colonial port, will grow up imbued with the spirit of the place and will be Americans, Americans without the hyphen. The old seafaring spirit still exists, though mightily transformed. No longer do Bristol sails whiten far distant seas, no longer do the argosies bring into the harbor the products of India, the silks of China and Japan. From the port today go forth vessels of a very different type. They lack the capacious holds of the olden days but they carry sails larger than any the old captains ever dreamed of. Their business is not to carry merchandise; they sail forth from Narragansett Bay to lead the yachting fleets of the world.

PART I
SIMEON POTTER AND THE PRINCE CHARLES OF LORRAINE

1—SIMEON POTTER

Most famous among the names of the old sea captains of Bristol is that of Simeon Potter. For almost half a century Potter was the most conspicuous figure in the town in which he was born. He was also one of the influential men in the Colony and State of Rhode Island for a large part of that time.

Simeon Potter was born in Bristol in the year 1720. His father was not a man of fortune and the boy’s education was almost entirely neglected. His letters, even in advanced age, are those of an illiterate man who, apparently, had never attempted to remedy the deficiencies of his youth. Perhaps this is not to be wondered at. He went forth from Bristol an humble sailor lad whose only possessions were a sound body and an imperious will. After a comparatively few years spent upon the ocean he returned to his native town with a purse overflowing with riches, a man to be looked up to for the rest of his life.

His wealth was acquired in “privateering,” and tales of his captures upon the sea, and especially of his wild marauding descents upon foreign coasts, were familiar as household words to the ears of the Bristolians of three-quarters of a century ago. Those tales lost nothing in the telling and in them Potter came to be endowed with attributes he never possessed. This was especially the case with his stature. Like Charlemagne he continued to grow taller with each fifty years after his death. He came in time to be pictured as a giant in size and strength, a man whose success was largely due to the might of his arm, and not to any especial mental ability. It was not until the narrative which follows had been brought to light that we were able to see him as he really was, a slight man. Possibly his great wealth rather than an overpowering personality may have been the cause of his large influence. His fortune was estimated at a quarter of a million dollars, which was an enormous sum for those days.

He plunged gladly into the conflicts of the turbulent age, and by a happy chance came forth from them all without serious injury. When wars ceased his restless energy forced him into constant litigations; he seemed never to be happy unless he had some legal contest on his hands. His intense pride had much to do with this. Like many self-made men he could brook no opposition; he exacted from his townsmen the deference invariably rendered by seamen to the quarter-deck, and never forgot that his success was due to his own unaided efforts. Very soon after the Prince Charles had returned from the raid upon Oyapoc it was visited by some officers from a British man-of-war then lying in the harbor of Newport. They were greatly pleased with the trim, man-o’-war appearance of the privateer and expressed their approbation of its commander. Unfortunately they did so with a patronizing condescension that was exceedingly galling to the young captain. When at last one of them ventured to ask “why he did not apply to his Majesty for a commission as the king would undoubtedly give him a larger and better ship” he could no longer contain himself. “When I wish for a better ship I will not ask his Majesty for one, I will build one myself,” he said, and, turning on his heel, left the Englishman wondering what he could have said that seemed so offensive.

Potter left the sea and came back to Bristol to live just after the town had been transferred from Massachusetts to Rhode Island. He was first chosen to represent the town in the General Assembly in 1752, and from that time until the Revolution, when he had become an Assistant, an office corresponding to that of a Senator today, his voice was continually heard in the colonial councils. After the war had really begun his zeal (though not his pugnacity) seems to have waned and he ceased to take an active part in the affairs of either town or State. Possibly the larger ability, the increasing influence and the more striking personality of his townsman, Governor William Bradford, may have had something to do with Potter’s retirement from participation in public life.

However that may be, when the contest that was to result in the independence of the United Colonies began he plunged into it with immense delight. These lines in his own handwriting, preserved to the present day by a descendant of one of his sisters (he left no children), show clearly his mental attitude at that time:

I love with all my heart

The independent part.

To obey the Parliament

My conscience wont consent.

I never can abide

To fight on England’s side.

I pray that God may bless

The great and Grand Congress.

This is my mind and heart

Though none should take my part

The man thats called a Tory

To plague is all my glory.

How righteous is the cause

To keep the Congress laws!

To fight against the King

Bright Liberty will bring.

Lord North and England’s King

I hope that they will swing.

Of this opinion I

Resolve to live and die

His participation in the destruction of the Gaspee has been already described. When the office of Major-General of the Rhode Island Colonial Forces was created his zeal and energy had so impressed his fellow members of the General Assembly that he was chosen to fill it. His tenure of office must have been brief. In 1776 he had been chosen Assistant (Assistants were elected by the vote of all the freemen of the Colony), but he did not present himself at many meetings of the Assembly. In fact so neglectful was he of his duties that a vote was passed requesting his reasons for absenting himself, and demanding his attendance at the next session. Undoubtedly the increased taxes had something to do with it. He was the wealthiest citizen of Bristol and one of the richest men in the Colony, and the possession of money was his chief delight. He could not bear to see it taken away from him even though the independence of the Colonies might thereby be assured. (One day a young nephew was talking with him and lamenting his apparent lack of success. “How, Captain Potter,” said he, “shall I go to work to make money?” “Make money,” said Potter, “make money! I would plow the ocean into pea porridge to make money.”)

In 1777 his name appears for the last time in the Colonial Records. At the Town Meeting held in Bristol in May of that year “Colonel Potter was chosen Moderator, but after the usual officers were elected he withdrew and refused to serve any longer.” A tax collector’s account was then presented showing that he had neglected to pay all his taxes. Three years later, May 10, 1780, it was voted in Town Meeting “That the Assessors make enquiry and make report to the town at the adjournment of the meeting, what part of Colonel Potter’s taxes remain unpaid, and that Mr. Smith, the collector, be desired to apply to the Assessors of the town of Swansey to know at what time said Potter began to pay taxes in said town, and what part of his personal estate has been rated from time to time in said town.” Although he still retained his household in Bristol he had taken up his residence in Swansey, where the rate of taxation was considerably less than that of Bristol. In that Massachusetts town he continued, nominally, to reside for the rest of his life. Notwithstanding his residence in another State he still continued a member of Saint Michael’s Church. In 1792 a vote of the Vestry was passed, thanking him for painting the church edifice, and for other benefactions, and in 1799 he presented a bell (with a French inscription) to the parish. His name headed the list of vestrymen from 1793 until his death. He died, at the age of eighty-six, February 20, 1806, leaving no children. His estate was by will divided among his nine sisters and their descendants. All the beneficiaries did not fare alike. He had his favorites and his strong prejudices. As is almost always the case popular estimate had exaggerated the value of his property. Instead of a quarter of a million, less than half that amount was divided among his heirs. The inventory showed that he had made a great many “wildcat” investments.

From his house on Thames Street the old captain was borne to his last resting place in the burying-ground upon the Common. It was the most impressive funeral the town had witnessed. All the people turned out to see the long procession, and to take part in it. The privateering exploits of his early life were again retold, the innumerable legal battles of his later days were again recounted. Full of strife and tumult were the centuries in which his life had been passed, stormy and passionate his own career had been. He was perhaps the last, he was certainly the most successful, of the old sea captains who, as English subjects, had sailed forth from Narragansett Bay to make war as privateersmen upon the foes of Great Britain. But among those who followed his corpse to its final resting place were men who in less than a decade were to sail out from Bristol harbor in a little private armed vessel whose success as a privateer was to surpass his wildest imaginings, a vessel that was to collect from English merchants a tribute many times exceeding that which he had exacted from the enemies of England. The story of that vessel will be told in the last chapter of this book.

Potter was most noted for his raid upon the coast of French Guiana of which an account follows. He was captain of a typical American privateer when Narragansett Bay was noted throughout the Colonies as a nursery of privateersmen. Rhode Island furnished more privately armed vessels for the service of the mother country during the eighteenth century than did any other American Colony. From the year 1700 to the Revolution at least one hundred and eighty such ships sailed out from its ports. They were long and narrow, crowded with seamen for their more speedy handling, and manœuvered with a skill that placed the slower ships of the French and Spaniards entirely at their mercy. They carried long guns which enabled them to disable their adversaries at a distance, thus preventing their enemies from inflicting any damage in return. Because built for speed they were of light construction. A broadside from a man-of-war would have gone crashing through their hulls and sent them at once to the bottom of the sea, but the seamanship of their captains always kept them out of reach of such a broadside. Their greatest danger was from the gales that drove them upon a rocky coast. Then no skill of their captains could save them. Their slight frames were quickly broken to pieces, sometimes with the loss of every man on board. The Prince Charles of Lorraine was wrecked upon the rocks of Seaconnet Point not long after the voyage herein described.

The kind of warfare in which they engaged would not now be regarded as honorable, yet it was then approved by all nations. Not only did they seek prizes upon the ocean; a descent upon the coast of the enemy, a plundering of a rich town especially if it was undefended, was an exploit from which they derived the liveliest satisfaction. They preferred that kind of an expedition, for, as was always the case with private armed ships, their aim was simply to acquire wealth for themselves, not to inflict unprofitable damage upon their adversaries. Privateering was only a species of legalized piracy as far as these raids were concerned. Happily the ruthless bloodshed and the outrages which characterized the raids of the buccaneers and other pirates were never charged against sailors on the legally commissioned private armed ships. Their trade was brutal but they carried it on with the approbation of their fellow men because it was a custom that had prevailed from time immemorial.

Very rarely have records of their raids been preserved, more rarely still accounts written by their victims. The one which follows was discovered and made public some three-quarters of a century ago by Bishop Kip of California. At the sale of a famous library in England he purchased a set of the “Letters of Jesuit Missionaries from 1650-1750,” bound in fifty or more volumes. In 1875 he published a volume containing translations of the letters relating especially to American history. From this volume, which has long been out of print, the following account is taken.

The owners of the Prince Charles of Lorraine were Sueton Grant, Peleg Brown and Nathaniel Coddington, Jr., of Newport. Simeon Potter of Bristol was her captain, and Daniel Brown of Newport was her lieutenant. Among the Bristol men on the privateer were Mark Anthony De Wolf (founder of the family destined to become most famous in the history of the town), clerk; Benjamin Munro, master; Michael Phillips, pilot; William Kipp and Jeffrey Potter, the last being probably an Indian slave of Potter. Upon her return from her cruise Captain Potter was summoned before an admiralty court, having been accused of certain high handed, not to say illegal proceedings. Among other things he was charged with having fired upon a Dutch vessel while his ship was lying at anchor in Surinam, Dutch Guiana. He proved to the satisfaction of the court that he had fired upon the Dutch ship at the request of the Captain of the Port, in order to “bring her to,” his own ship being between the vessel and the fort at the time and so preventing the fire of the fort. The admiralty judge decided that Potter had not been guilty of the offences charged, and that he had shown zeal and enterprise worthy of commendation and imitation. The trial proceedings combined with Father Fauque’s narrative give a complete history of the cruise.

The privateer sailed from Newport September 8, 1744, and arrived at “Wiopock, twelve leagues to the windward of Cyan,” October 28. Up to that time she had taken no prizes. Upon his arrival Potter took thirty-two men and made a descent upon the town. They reached it at midnight and were at once fired upon by its garrison, Captain Potter receiving a bullet in his left arm. Of course they took the fort; garrisons in the tropics were never equal to privateersmen as fighters. They took some twenty prisoners (the other defenders having promptly fled), six cannon and from sixty to seventy small arms. They remained at Wiapock twelve days while they sacked the town, taking from it everything of value. Some of the company were sent up the river to plunder plantations. All things taken were carried to Barbadoes and there condemned as French property, with the exception of some slaves detained at Surinam and some personal property which Potter sold at a “vandue” on his ship. Having stripped Wiapock (the name of the place was Oyapoc but American and English captains were never strong on spelling) to their hearts’ content, they sailed to “Cyann” (Cayenne) and dropped anchor at that place November 11. There they tarried four or five days, during which they sent plundering expeditions up the river. One of these came to grief on a shoal. The twelve men who manned the boat were attacked by one hundred and thirty soldiers, three of them were killed, four were wounded and the others carried to Cyann fort as prisoners. Thereupon Potter sent a flag of truce to propose an exchange of prisoners. The exchange was arranged and among those returned by the Americans was “a priest,” Father Fauque. Then the Prince Charles sailed to Surinam well satisfied with what had been accomplished. At Surinam Captain Potter gave an entertainment to two English merchants and some masters of ships that were at anchor in the port. Seamen of that day were not always total abstainers and after the banquet the “vandue” was had of which mention has already been made. The prices obtained for the plunder were doubtless satisfactory for the most part to the sellers, but not in all cases. The goods sold “to the value of thirty or forty pieces of eight.” They belonged to the “company” and the captain purchased many of them on his own account thereby furnishing cause for the suit brought against him on his return to Rhode Island, from which suit he came out triumphant. Immediately after the sale the seamen demanded their share of the proceeds. Captain Potter told them they were still in debt to the owners for advances made and as his arguments were enforced by a drawn sword they were admitted to be valid.

In his testimony before the admiralty court the Indian, Jeffrey Potter, was more specific as to the plunder secured at Wiapock than any other witness. He testified that they took seven Indians and three negroes, twenty large spoons or ladles, nine large ladles, one gold and one silver hilted sword, one gold and one silver watch, two bags of money, quantity uncertain; chests and trunks of goods, etc., gold rings, buckles and buttons, silver candlesticks, church plate both gold and silver, swords, four cannon, sixty small arms, ammunition, provisions, etc. But the wealth secured on this raid could not have been very great. French Guiana at the present time has a population of only 30,000, of whom 12,500 live at Cayenne. The number of people then living at Oyapoc was much smaller than the population of today. The town burned by the marauding expedition sent up the river contained not more than seventy houses, and anyone who has visited the countries lying along the north coast of South America knows that “the wealth of the tropics” is a wild figure of speech as far as the house furnishings are concerned.

Equally wild are some of the accounts of the raid. One writer states that “there can be no doubt that in this cruise Captain Potter and his command invaded and desolated 1500 miles of the enemy’s territory; that on the Spanish Main in his march he visited churches and dwellings, and brought from the field of his exploits large amounts of booty.” This writer was but repeating the tale as it had been told him in his childhood. He had never deemed it necessary to verify it. If he had considered the matter he would have realized that French Guiana is not a part of the Spanish Main at all, and a glance at the map would have shown him that between Cayenne and the mouth of the Orinoco River, where technically the “Spanish Main” begins, lie the hundreds of miles of coastline of Dutch and British Guiana. No privateer of the size of the Prince Charles could possibly have carried provisions and water sufficient for such a cruise if the expedition had been made in the vessel itself, and no ship’s crew of the size of that which Potter commanded could, by any stretch of the imagination, have made such a journey overland. Moreover no mention whatever of the Spanish Main, or of booty except that obtained at Cyann and Wiapock, is to be found in the records of the admiralty court. The statement affords an excellent illustration of the astounding growth of popular traditions.

2—LETTER OF FATHER FAUQUE

Letter of Father Fauque, Missionary of the Society of Jesus, to Father ——, of the same Society, containing an Account of the Capture of Fort d’Oyapoc by an English pirate.[7]

At Cayenne, the 22d of December, 1744.

My Reverend Father,—The peace of our Lord be with you! I will make you a partaker of the greatest happiness I have experienced in my life, by informing you of the opportunity I had of suffering something for the glory of God.

I returned to Oyapoc on the 25th of October last. Some days afterwards, I received at my house Father d’Autilhac, who had returned from his mission to Ouanari, and Father d’Huberlant, who is settled at the confluence of the rivers Oyapoc and Camoppi, where he had formed a new mission. Thus we found ourselves, three missionaries, together; and we were enjoying the pleasure of a reunion, so rare in these countries, when divine Providence, to try us, permitted the occurrence of one of those wholly unexpected events which in one day destroyed the fruit of many years’ labor. I will relate it, with all the attending circumstances.

Scarcely had war been declared between France and England, when the English were sent from North America to cruise among the islands to the leeward of Cayenne. They determined to touch there, in the hope of capturing some vessel, pillaging some dwellings, and above all, of obtaining some news of the “Senau,” which was lost not long since near the river Maroni. Having gone too far south, and the water giving out, they approached Oyapoc to obtain some. We should have been naturally informed of it, either by the Indians, who go out frequently to hunt or fish, or by the guard, which our commander had prudently posted upon a mountain at the mouth of the river, whence they could see to the distance of three or four leagues. But, on the one hand, the Aroüas Indians, who came from Mayacorè to Ouanari, having been seized by the English, gave them information of the little colony of Oyapoc, of which they were ignorant, and on which they had no designs when leaving their own country. On the other hand, the sentinels who were on guard, and who should have been our security, themselves acted as guides to those who surprised us. Thus every thing united to cause us to fall into the hands of these pirates.[8]

Their chief was Captain Simeon Potter, a native of New England, fitted out to cruise with a commission from Williems Guéene, Governor of Rodelan,[9] and commanding the vessel “Prince Charles of Lorraine,” of ten cannon, twelve swivel-guns, and a crew of sixty-two men. They cast anchor on the 6th of November, and began taking in water at the mountain d’Argent. (This is the name of the country on the inner side of the bay formed by the river d’Oyapoc.) On the 7th, their long-boat, returning to the ship, saw a canoe of Indians, which was coming from Cape Orange. (This is the cape which forms the other point of the bay.) The English pursued them, frightened them by a discharge of their gun, seized them, and carried them on shipboard. The next day, having seen a fire during the night on another mountain, which is called Mount Lucas, they sent and seized two young men who were placed there as sentinels. They might have had time to come and inform us; but one of them, a traitor to his country, did not wish to do so.

After having in this way learned the situation, the force, and generally everything which related to the post of Oyapoc, they determined to surprise it. They attempted the enterprise in the night, between the 9th and 10th. But, fearing lest daylight might overtake them before their arrival, they turned back, and kept themselves concealed during all the day of the 10th. The following night they took their measures better. They arrived a little after the setting of the moon, and, guided by the two young Frenchmen, they landed about a hundred yards from the fort of Oyapoc.

The sentinel at first took them for Indians or negroes, who came and went at all hours during the night. He challenged them, but they made no reply, and he then at once concluded they were enemies. Every one woke up in surprise; but the English were within the place before any one had time to collect his thoughts. For myself, who was living outside the fort, and was roused by the first cry of the sentinel, having opened my door, I saw them file by in great haste; and, not being myself perceived, I immediately ran to awaken our Fathers.

So unexpected a surprise in the middle of a dark night, the weakness of the post, the few soldiers there to defend it (for there were not at that time more than ten or twelve men), the frightful shouts of a multitude which we supposed, as was natural, more numerous than it really was, the vivid and terrible fire which they kept up with their guns and pistols on entering the place,—all these things induced each one, by a first impulse of which he was not himself master, to take to flight, and conceal himself in the woods which surrounded us. Our commander, however, fired and wounded in the left arm the English captain, a young man about thirty years of age. What is singular, the captain was the only one wounded on either side.

Our two missionaries, however, who had no spiritual charge at this post, and one of whom, through his zeal and friendship, wished to remain at my place, pressed by my solicitations, took refuge in the depths of the forest, with some Indians of their attendants and all our servants. For myself, I remained in my house, which was distant from the fort about a hundred yards, having resolved to go first to the church to consume the consecrated wafer, and afterwards to carry spiritual aid to the French, supposing that some of them had been wounded there; as I thought, certainly not without reason, after having heard so much firing of guns, that our people had made some resistance.

I went out, therefore, to execute the first of these projects; when a negro servant, who, through goodness of heart and fidelity (rare qualities among the slaves), had remained with me, represented to me that I would certainly be discovered, and they would not fail to fire at me in the first heat of the contest. I yielded to these reasons, and, as I only remained to render to my flock all the services demanded by my ministry, I felt scruples at uselessly exposing myself, and determined to wait until break of day to show myself.

You can easily imagine, my Reverend Father, what a variety of emotions agitated me during the remainder of that night. The air ceaselessly resounded with cries and shouts and yells, and with the discharge of guns and pistols. Presently I heard the doors and windows of the houses opened, and the furniture overthrown with a great crash; and, as I was sufficiently near to distinguish perfectly the noise they made in the church, I was suddenly seized with an inward horror in the fear lest the Holy Sacrament might be profaned. I would have given a thousand lives to prevent this sacrilege; but there was not time. Nevertheless, to hinder it by the only way which remained to me, I inwardly addressed myself to Jesus Christ, and earnestly prayed Him to guard His adorable Sacrament from the profanation which I feared. What took place was in a way so surprising that it may reasonably be regarded as a miracle.

During all this tumult, my negro, who was perfectly aware of the danger we were running, and who had not the same reason with myself for this voluntary exposure, frequently proposed to me to take to flight. But I was unable to do so. I knew too well the obligations of my office; and I could only wait for the moment when it would be in my power to go to the fort, and see in what state were the French soldiers, the greater part of whom I supposed to be either dead or wounded. I said, therefore, to the slave that on this occasion he was his own master; that I could not force him to remain with me; but that, nevertheless, I should be pleased if he did not abandon me. I added that, if he had any grievous sin on his conscience, it would be best for him to confess it, to be prepared for any contingency, since he was not certain but what they might take away his life. This conversation made an impression on him, so that he recovered courage and remained firm.

As soon as day dawned, I ran to the church, creeping through the underwood; and, although they had sentinels and marauders on every side, I had the good fortune not to be seen. As I entered the sacristy, which I found open, tears filled my eyes when I saw the cupboard for the vestments and linen, where also I kept the chalice and the sacred vessels, broken open and shattered, and many of the vestments scattered here and there. I went into the choir of the church, where I saw the altar half uncovered, and the cloths thrown together in a heap. I examined the tabernacle, and found they had not noticed a little piece of cotton, which I was accustomed to place at the opening of the lock to prevent the ravers from getting into it. (This is an insect very common in the islands, which only comes out at night, and is very similar to the gadfly.) I supposed that the door was also broken open; but, placing my hand upon it, I found that it had not been touched. Overcome with wonder and joy and thankfulness, I took the key which these heretics had had under their hands. I opened it with reverence, and partook of the Sacrament, very uncertain whether I should ever again have that blessing; for what has not a man of my profession to fear from pirates, and these pirates, too, being English?

After I had thus received the Sacrament, I fell on my knees to return thanks; and I told my negro to go in the mean while into my chamber, which was near at hand. He went there; but, in returning, was seen and arrested by a sailor. The slave begged for mercy, and the Englishman did not do him any harm. I showed myself then at the door of the sacristy, and immediately saw that I was aimed at. It was necessary, therefore, to surrender; so I came forward, and we took together the way to the fort. When we entered the place, I saw every face expressing the greatest joy, each one congratulating himself that they had captured a priest.

The first one who approached me was the captain himself. He was a man small in stature, and not in any respect differing from the others in dress. He had his left arm in a sling, a sabre in his right hand, and two pistols in his belt. As he was acquainted with some words of French, he told me “that I was very welcome; that I had nothing to fear, as no one would attempt my life.”

In the mean while, M. de Lage de la Landerie, Writer of the king, and our storekeeper, having appeared, I asked him in what condition were our people, and if many of them were killed or wounded. He answered me that they were not; that of our soldiers he had seen only the sergeant and one sentinel, and that on neither side was any one wounded but the English captain alone, in whose power we now were. I was delighted to learn that our commander, the officers, and their soldiers, had sufficient time to escape; and as by this fact the reasons which had induced me to remain no longer existed, and as my personal ministry was not necessary, I should have much preferred being at liberty, and, could I have done so, would have retreated. But I could not longer dream of that; and at that very moment two of our soldiers, who were found concealed, were seized, and increased the number of our prisoners.

At length dinner-time came. I was invited, but I certainly had no inclination to eat. I knew that our soldiers and the two missionary Fathers were in the depth of the forest, without clothes, food, or aid. I had no news of them, nor was I able to procure any. This reflection overwhelmed me; it was necessary, however, to accept their repeated invitations, which seemed to me to be sincere.

Scarcely had the meal commenced, when I saw arriving the first plunder they had made at my house. It was natural that I should be moved. Indeed, I showed it; so that the captain said to me, as an excuse for himself, that the King of France had first declared war against the King of England, and that in consequence of it the French had already taken, pillaged, and burned an English post named Campo, near Cape Breton, and that several persons, including children, had been smothered in the flames.

I answered him that, without wishing to enter into the detail of the affairs of Europe, our respective kings being to-day at war, I did not take it amiss; but was only surprised that he should have come to attack Oyapoc, which was not worth the trouble.[11] He replied that he himself exceedingly regretted having come here, as this delay might cause him to miss two merchant vessels, richly loaded, which were on the point of sailing from the harbor of Cayenne. I then said to him that, since he saw for himself how inconsiderable was this post, and that he had scarcely any thing to gain from it, I prayed him to accept a reasonable ransom, for my church, myself, my negro, and every thing belonging to me. This proposition was reasonable, but was, nevertheless, rejected. He wished that I should treat with him for the fort and all its dependencies. But I bade him observe that this was not a fit proposition to make to a simple priest; that, besides, the Court of France had so little regard for the post that recent news from Paris had apprised us that it would be abandoned as soon as practicable. “Well,” said he, in a spiteful way, “since you do not wish to entertain my proposition, we must continue our depredations, and make reprisals for all that the French have done against us.”

They continued, therefore, to transport from our houses furniture, clothes, provisions, all with a disorder and confusion that was remarkable. What gave me the deepest pain was to see the sacred vessels[12] in these profane and sacrilegious hands. I collected myself for a moment, and, awakening all my zeal, I told them what reason and faith and religion inspired me to say in the most forcible manner. With words of persuasion I mingled motives of fear for so criminal a profanation. The example of Belshazzar was not forgotten; and I am able to say to you with truth, my Reverend Father, that I saw many moved, and disposed to return these articles to me; but cupidity and avarice prevailed, and on the same day all the silver was packed up and carried aboard the vessel.[13]

The captain, more susceptible of feeling than all the others, as he had always seemed to me, told me that he would willingly yield to me what he was able to return, but that he had no control over the will of the others; that all the crew having part in the booty, he was not able, as captain, to dispose of any but his own share; but that he would do all that was in his power to induce the others to agree to what I proposed. This was to pay them at Cayenne, or at Surinam (a Dutch colony, which was not far distant, and where, they told me, they wished to go), or even in Europe by bills of exchange, for the value of the silver in the sacred vessels. But he was not able to obtain any thing.

Some time afterwards, the first lieutenant asked me, through an interpreter, “what induced me to surrender myself to them?” I replied to him, “that the persuasion I was under that some of our soldiers had been wounded had determined me to remain for their relief.” “And did you not fear being killed?” he added. “Yes, without doubt,” I said; “but the fear of death is not capable of stopping a minister of Jesus Christ, when he should discharge his duty. Every true Christian is obliged to sacrifice his life rather than commit a sin; and I should have thought that I was guilty of a very great one, if, having charge of souls in my parish, I had entirely abandoned them in their peril. You know, indeed,” I continued, “you Protestant people, who pride yourselves so much on reading the Scriptures, that it is only the hireling shepherd who flees before the wolf when he attacks the sheep.” At this discourse they looked at one another, and seemed to me to be entirely astonished. This lesson is, without doubt, something a little different from that of their pretended Reformation.

For myself, I was all the while uncertain with regard to my own fate, and I saw that I had every thing to fear from such people. I addressed myself, therefore, to the holy guardian angels, and I began a Novena[14] in their honor, not doubting but they would cause something to turn to my advantage. I prayed them to assist me in this difficult emergency in which I found myself; and I should say here, to give a higher sanction to this devotion, so well known and so established in the usage of the Church, what I have recognized in my own particular case, that I have received each day the signal blessings of God, through the intercession of these heavenly spirits.

However, as soon as night approached,—that is to say, towards six o’clock, for that is the time at which the sun sets here during the whole year,—the English drum commenced beating. They assembled on the Place, and posted their sentinels on all sides. That being done, the rest of the crew, as long as the night lasted, did not cease eating and drinking. For myself, I was constantly visited in my hammock, since they feared, without doubt, that I would try to escape. In this way they were mistaken; for two reasons detained me. The first was, that I had given them my parole, by which I had again constituted myself their prisoner, and I could not go out of their hands except by means of exchange or ransom. The second was, that, as long as I remained with them, I had some slight hope that I might recover the sacred vessels, or at least the vestments and other furniture of my church. As soon as it was day, the pillage recommenced, with the same confusion and the same disorder as the day before. Each carried to the fort whatever happened to fall into his hands, and threw it down in a pile. One arrived wearing an old cassock; another in a woman’s petticoat; a third with the crown of a bonnet on his head. It was the same with those who guarded the booty. They searched in the heap of clothes, and when they found any thing which suited their fancy,—as a peruke, a laced chapeau, or a dress,—they immediately put it on, and made three or four turns through the room, with great satisfaction, after which they resumed their fantastical rags. They were like a band of monkeys or of savages, who had never been away from the depths of the forest. A parasol or a mirror, the smallest article of furniture a little showy, excited their admiration. This did not surprise me, when I learned that they had scarcely any communication with Europe, and that Rodelan was a kind of little republic, which did not pay any tribute to the King of England, which elected its own governor every year, and which had not even any silver money, but only notes for daily commerce; for this is the impression I gained from all they told me.[15]

In the evening, the lieutenant informed himself of every thing which related to the dwellings of the French along the river,—how many there were of them, at what distances they were, how many inhabitants each had, &c. Afterwards, he took with him ten men, and one of the young Frenchmen who had already served as guide to surprise us; and, after having made all the necessary preparations, they set out, and went up the river. But they found nothing, or very few articles, because the colonists, having been warned by our fugitives, had placed all their effects in concealment, and particularly their negroes, who, more than any thing else, excited the cupidity of the English. Finding themselves thus disappointed in their hopes, they spent their anger on the buildings, which they burned, without, however, injuring the plantations. This, however, caused us to suspect that they had some intentions of returning.

As to those of us who were in the fort, we spent this night very much like the preceding,—the same agitations, the same excesses on the part of our enemies, and the same disquietude on our part. The second lieutenant, who was left in command, did not lose sight of me, fearing, without doubt, that I wished to profit by the absence of the captain and the first lieutenant to make my escape. I had a great deal of difficulty in reassuring them on this point, and could not convince them. People of this kind, accustomed to judge others by themselves, are not able to imagine that an honorable man, that a priest, was able and obliged to keep his parole in such a case.

When the day dawned, he seemed a little less uneasy on my account. Towards eight o’clock, they all placed themselves at table; and, after a miserable repast, one of them attempted to enter into a controversy with me. He put many questions to me about Confession, about the worship which we gave to the Cross, to images, &c. “Do you confess your parishioners?” he presently asked me.

“Yes,” I replied, “whenever they come to me; but they do not do so as often as they should, or as I could wish them, for the zeal I have for the salvation of their souls.”

“And do you really think,” he added, “that their sins are remitted as soon as they have declared them to you?”

“No, assuredly,” I said to him; “a mere confession is not sufficient to produce this. It is necessary that it should be accompanied by a true sorrow for the past and a sincere resolution for the future, without which auricular Confession will have no efficacy to blot out sins.”

“And as to the images and the Cross,” he replied, “do you think that the prayer would be equally efficacious without this, which is the external of religion?”

“The prayer is good, without doubt,” I answered him; “but permit me to ask you, with regard to yourself, why in families do they preserve the portraits of a father, a mother, or their ancestors? Is it not principally to awaken their own remembrances in thinking of the benefits they have received from them, and to animate them to follow their good examples? For it is not exactly the picture which they honor, but it brings back to them all which it represents. In the same manner, you need not imagine that we Roman Catholics adore the wood or the brass; but we use it to nourish, so to say, our devotion. For how could a reasonable being remain unaffected while beholding the figure of a God dying on the Cross for His love to us? What effect may not be produced on the soul and the heart by the image of a martyr who is giving his life for Jesus Christ?”

“Oh, I do not understand it so,” said the Englishman to me; and I well knew from his manner that their ministers deceive them in telling them that the Papists, as they call us, superstitiously reverence and adore the Cross and the images, valuing them for themselves.[16]

I was anxiously waiting for the return of those who had been to visit the dwellings, when they came to me to say that it was necessary I should go on board the ship, as Captain Potter wished to see me and speak with me. I had done every thing in my power by urging, soliciting, and representing, as earnestly as I was able, all the reasons I had for not embarking so soon. But I could gain nothing, and I was obliged to obey in spite of myself. The commander of the party on shore, who, in the absence of the others, was the second lieutenant, when I came to speak to him on this point, taking hold of his tongue with one hand, and with the other making a semblance of piercing or cutting it, gave me to understand that, if I said any more, I might expect bad treatment. I had reason to think that he was annoyed at the strong and pathetic address I had made with regard to the profanation of the ornaments of the church and the sacred vessels.

We embarked, therefore, towards three o’clock in the afternoon, in a canoe; and, although the ship was not much more than three leagues distant (the captain having now caused it to enter the river), we nevertheless only reached it in about eight hours, in consequence of the remissness of the rowers, who were constantly drinking. When at a great distance I saw the hull of the vessel by the light of the moon, it seemed to me to be entirely out of the water. It had, indeed, run aground on the shore, and had only a depth of three feet of water. This was the occasion of great alarm to me; for I imagined that this might be the fault of my negro, whom they had selected as one of the pilots, and I thought that the captain had sent to seek me to make me bear the penalty which my slave merited, or at least that I should perish with the others in case the ship should be wrecked. What confirmed me for some time in this sad supposition was the little degree of welcome I received; but I have since been informed that there was no design in this, and that the cold reception which alarmed me was caused by the fact that they were all busy in working the vessel, to relieve themselves as soon as possible from the uncomfortable position in which they were.

As soon as our canoe had reached the ship, I saw descending and coming to me a young man, who murdered the French language in some little attempt to speak it, and who took my hand, kissed it, and informed me that he was an Irishman and a Roman Catholic. He even made the sign of the Cross, which he did indifferently well; and he added that, in right of his office as second gunner, he had a berth which he wished to give me, and that, if any one should take it into his head to show me the least disrespect, he well knew how to avenge it. This introduction, though shared in by a man who seemed to be very drunk, did not fail to tranquillize me somewhat. He gave me his hand, to aid me in climbing up to the deck by means of the ropes. Scarcely had I mounted thither when I encountered my negro. I asked him at once why he caused the ship to run aground, and was reassured when he told me that it was the fault of the captain, who was obstinate in holding his course in the middle of the river, although he had repeatedly told him that the channel ran near the shore. At the same time the captain appeared on the quarter-deck, and told me, with great coldness, to go down into the cabin, after which he continued to devote himself to working the vessel.

My Irishman, however, did not leave me, but, sitting at the door, renewed his protestations of good-will, assuring me always that he was a Roman Catholic; that he wished to confess before I left the ship; that he had formerly received the Sacrament, &c. And, as in all his conversation, he constantly mingled invectives against the English nation, they made him leave me, forbidding him to speak with me for the future, under penalty of chastisement. He received this with a very bad grace; swearing, blustering, and protesting that he would speak with me in spite of them.

However, he went away; and scarcely had he gone when another came, as drunk as the first, and, like him, too, an Irishman. He was the surgeon, who at first addressed me with some Latin words,—Pater, misereor. I attempted to reply to him in Latin; but I soon found that these words constituted the whole of his knowledge of the language; and, as he was no better acquainted with French, we could hold no conversation together.

In the mean while it grew late, and I felt sleepiness pressing on me, having scarcely closed my eyes during the preceding nights. I did not know where to go to obtain a little repose. The ship was so careened over that it was necessary to be continually fastened to prevent one’s self rolling. I wanted to lie down in one of the three berths; but I did not dare, for fear some one would immediately force me to leave it. The captain saw my embarrassment, and, touched with the miserable figure we made, sitting on the chests,—the storekeeper and myself,—he told us we could lodge in the berth at the bottom of the cabin. He even added, politely, that he regretted not being able to give one to each, but his ship was too small to do so. I very willingly accepted his offer, and we arranged for ourselves as well as we could on a pile of rags.

Notwithstanding all the disquietudes of my situation, I was drowsy from weariness, and during the night slept half the time. Being half the time awake, I perceived that the vessel had begun moving. It insensibly floated; and, to prevent it from afterwards settling down again, they drove two yard-arms into the mud, one on each side, which should hold the hull of the vessel in equilibrium.

As soon as day came, and it was necessary to take some nourishment, I had a new source of torment, for the water was so offensive that I was not able even to taste it. The Indians and negroes, who certainly are not at all fastidious, preferred to drink the water of the river, however muddy and brackish it may be. I inquired, therefore, of the captain why he did not procure other water, since very near this was a spring, to which I was accustomed to send to procure the water I used at the fort. He made no reply, thinking, perhaps, that I wished to lead him into some ambush. But, after having thoroughly questioned the French, the negroes, and the Indians, whom he had taken prisoners, he determined to send the long-boat to land, with my slave. It made many trips during that and the following days; so that we all had the pleasure of having good water, although many scarcely used it, preferring the wine and rum which they had on the deck at will.

I ought, however, to say in commendation of the captain that he was entirely sober. He even frequently expressed to me the pain he felt at the excesses of his crew, to whom, according to the custom of these pirates, he was obliged to allow an abundance of liberty. He made me afterwards a disclosure, which was sufficiently pleasant.

“Monsieur,” he said to me, “do you know that tomorrow, being the fifth of November, according to our method of computation” [for we French people count it to be the fifteenth], “the English have a great festival?”

“And what is the festival?” I asked him.

“We burn the Pope,” he answered, laughing.

“Explain to me,” I said; “what is this ceremony?”

“They dress up in a burlesque style,” he said, “a kind of ridiculous figure, which they call the Pope, and which they afterwards burn, while singing some ballads; and all this is in commemoration of the day when the Court of Rome separated England from its communion.[17] To-morrow,” he continued, “our people who are on shore will perform this ceremony at the fort.”

After a while, he caused his pennon and flag to be hoisted. The sailors manned the yard-arms, the drum was beaten, they fired the cannon, and all shouted, five times, “Long live the King!” This having been done, he called one of the sailors, who, to the great delight of those who understood his language, chanted a very long ballad, which I judged to be the recital of all this unworthy story. You see in this, my Reverend Father, an instance which fully confirms what all the world knew before, that heresy always pushes to an extreme its animosity against the visible Head of the Church.

During the night a large boat came to us, manned by rowers. The captain, who was always on his guard, and who was not able to lay aside the idea that our people were seeking to surprise him, caused them immediately to clear the decks. They at once fired their swivel-gun; but the boat, having made its signal, all was again quiet. It was the lieutenant, who had been to plunder the dwellings along the river. He reported that he had only visited two or three plantations, which he had found entirely deserted. He added that he was going to ascend the river again, to consign every thing to the flames. In fact, after having supped and had sufficient consultation with his principal, he departed again. I asked permission to go with him as far as the fort to look for my papers, but it was refused me. However, to soften a little the pain which this denial gave me, Captain Potter promised that he himself would go thither with me. I therefore summoned up my patience, and endeavored by a little sleep to repair the loss of the preceding night; but it was useless. The noise, the confusion, and the bad smells did not allow me to close my eyes.

On Sunday morning, I waited to see some religious service, for up to this time I had not recognized any mark of Christianity; but every thing went on as usual, so that I could not refrain from showing my surprise. The captain told me “that in their sect each one worshipped God in his own way; that they had among them, as elsewhere, the good and the bad; and that ‘he who acted right would be approved.’” At the same time he took out of his chest a book of devotion; and I noticed that, during this day and the following Sunday, he occasionally looked at it.[19] As he always seemed to me to be very reasonable, I took pains, from time to time, to introduce into my conversation some word of controversy or of morality, which he received very well, having explained to him by the interpreters what he did not himself understand. He even told me one day “that he did not wish longer to pursue the business of privateering; that God might to-day give him property, which, perhaps, might shortly be taken away from him by others; that he was well aware he should take nothing away with him in dying; but, nevertheless, I should not expect to find more piety in a French, or even in a Spanish, privateer than I saw in his ship; because these sorts of armaments were scarcely compatible with the exercises of devotion,” I confess to you, my Reverend Father, that I was astonished to hear such sentiments in the mouth of an American Huguenot[20]; for every one knows how entirely this part of the world is removed from the kingdom of God and every thing which can lead to it. I have often exhorted him to pray the Lord for light, and that He would not allow him to die in the darkness of heresy, in which he had the misfortune to be born and brought up.

As the boats were constantly going and coming, from the shore to the vessel and from the vessel to the shore, transporting the pillage, one came that very evening, bringing a French soldier and five Indians. He was one of our soldiers, who, fifteen days before, had been to seek the Indians to engage them to work, and, not knowing that the English were masters of the fort, had run into their hands. I represented to Captain Potter that, as the Indians were free among us, he neither ought to nor could take them prisoners, particularly as they had not been found with arms in their hands. But he answered me “that this kind of people were used for slaves in Rodelan, and that he should take them thither in spite of all that I could say.” He has, in fact, carried them away, with the Aroüas whom he had first captured in the Bay of Oyapoc. Perhaps he has a fancy to return to this country, and intends to use these miserable beings in making his descent on the coast, or perhaps he will release them at Surinam.

I had, nevertheless, on Monday morning, reminded him of the promise he had made me that he would take me on shore; but he was not then able to do any thing, and I was obliged to content myself with fair words, so that I despaired of ever again visiting my old home. On Tuesday, however, he came to me to say that, if I wished to go to the fort, he would take me. I most willingly accepted the offer; but, before I embarked, he strongly recommended to me not to attempt flight, because, he assured me, I would be stopped by the discharge of a gun. I reassured him on that point, and we set out.

The commander of the boat was the second lieutenant, the same who had threatened to cut my tongue; and, as I complained to the captain, who had, without doubt, spoken to him about it, he made the strongest apologies on that point to me while on the way, and showed me a thousand acts of politeness.

Before I was scarcely aware of it, we arrived at our destination; and immediately I saw all those who were guarding the fort come to the landing, some with guns and others with swords, to receive me. Little accustomed to good faith, perhaps, they were always afraid that I should escape from them, in spite of all that I was able to say to quiet them on my account.

After we had taken a little rest, I asked to go to my house, and they conducted me thither under a strong escort. I began by first visiting the church, to enable me to see for the last time what was its condition. As I was not able to restrain my tears and sighs on seeing the altars overturned, the pictures torn, the sacred stones broken in pieces and scattered on every side, the two principal members of the band said to me “that they were very sorry for all this disorder; that it was done contrary to their intentions by the sailors, the negroes, and the Indians, in the excitement of pillage and the heat of drunkenness, and that they made their apologies to me for it.” I assured them “that it was of God principally; and, first of all, they should ask pardon for such a desecration of His temple, and that they had great reason to fear lest He should avenge Himself, and punish them as they deserved.” I then threw myself on my knees, and made a special confession to God, to the Holy Virgin, and to Saint Joseph, in honor of whom I had set up these altars to excite the devotion of my parishioners; after which I arose, and we went on to my house.

I had five or six persons around me, who most strictly watched all my steps every moment, and, above all, the direction in which I looked. I did not then understand the occasion of all this attention on their part, but I have since learned it. These good people, avaricious to the last extreme, imagined that I had money concealed, and that, when I showed so much anxiety to return to shore, it was to see whether any one had discovered my treasure. We entered the house, then, together; and it was the occasion of sincere sorrow to me, I must confess, to see the frightful disorder in which it was.

It is now nearly seventeen years since I came for the first time to Oyapoc, and began to collect all that was necessary for the foundation of these Indian missions, foreseeing that this section of country, where the savages are so numerous, would furnish a great career for our zeal, and that the parish of Oyapoc would become, as it were, the storehouse of all the other establishments. I had not ceased ever after to be always making better provision, through the charitable cares of one of our Fathers, who wished to be my particular correspondent at Cayenne. God has permitted that one single day should destroy the fruit of so much labor and of so many years, that His holy name might be praised. What gave me most concern was, to know that the three missionaries who remained in that quarter were stripped of every thing, without my having it in my power for the present to procure even the merest necessaries, notwithstanding all the liberality and the good intentions of our Superiors.

At last, after having gone rapidly through all the small apartments, which were used as lodgings for our Fathers when they came to visit me, I entered my study. I found all my books and papers on the ground, scattered, mingled together, and half torn to pieces. I took what I could; but, as they pressed me to finish, I was obliged to return to the fort.

In a few hours afterwards, those arrived who had been to plunder the dwellings; and, after being a little refreshed, they continued their route to the ship, carrying with them what they had pillaged, which, by their own acknowledgment and to their great regret, was inconsiderable.

The next day, all the morning was passed in making up packages, in destroying the furniture which remained in the different houses, and in tearing off the locks and hinges of the doors, particularly those which were made of brass. At last, about mid-day, they set fire to the houses of the inhabitants, which were shortly reduced to ashes, having been only roofed with straw, according to the custom of the country. As I saw that mine would certainly share the same fate, I was very pressing to be conducted thither, that I might recover more of my books and papers than I had hitherto been able to secure. The second lieutenant, who was then in command, made a parade before me of discharging a pistol, which he carried in his belt, and then he immediately loaded it, taking great pains that I should see it. I have since learned why he took so much trouble in this matter. Immediately afterwards, he said to me that, if I wished to go to my house, he would conduct me.

Having reached my house, I went again to look for certain papers; and, as there remained with me only a single sailor, who spoke French, all the others being a little scattered, he said to me, “My Father, all our people are at a distance; save yourself, if you wish.” I was well aware that he wished me to attempt it, and I therefore replied coldly to him “that men of my profession do not know what it is to break their word.” I added “that, if I had wished to take to flight, I could long ago have done so, as there had been many favorable opportunities while they were amusing themselves with pillaging or drinking.”

At length, after having thoroughly searched everywhere without finding any thing more, I informed them that I had finished, and that we could go when it pleased them. Then the lieutenant approached me, with a grave and threatening air, and told me, through the interpreter, “that I must show the place where I had concealed my money, or I would find myself in trouble.” I answered, with that confidence which truth gives, “that I had not concealed any money; that, if I had thought to put any thing in a place of safety, I should have begun with those things that are used at the altar.” “Deny the fact as you will,” the interpreter then replied to me by order of the officer, “we are certain, and cannot doubt it, that you have a large amount of money, for the soldiers who are our prisoners on board have told us so; and yet we have found but very little in your wardrobe. You must, therefore, have concealed it; and, if you do not immediately give it up, take care of yourself. You know that my pistol is not badly loaded.” I fell on my knees, saying “that they were masters of my life, since I was in their hands and at their will; that if, however, they wished to go to that extreme, I begged them to allow me a moment for prayer; that, for the rest, I had no other money than what they had already taken.” At last, after having left me for some time in that position, and looking at each other, they told me to rise and follow them. They took me under the gallery of the house, which was built over a little grove of cocoa-trees, which I had planted like an orchard, and, having made me sit down, the lieutenant also took a chair, and then putting on an air of gayety, he said, “that I had no occasion for fear, as they did not intend to do me any injury; but that it was impossible I had not concealed any thing, since there was sufficient time, as I had seen them from before my door when they came to take the fort.” I replied to him, what I had already said so often, “that we had been so much terrified by the noise they made during the night, with their shouts and cries, and the incessant firing they kept up, that at first we thought of nothing but escaping death by a speedy flight; the more so as we imagined that they had scattered themselves at the same time through all the houses.”

“But, after all,” he replied, “the French prisoners are well acquainted with your means. Why should they have told us that you had plenty of money, if it were not true?”

“Do you not see,” said I, “that they wished to conciliate you, and make their court to you at my expense?”

“No, no,” he continued; “it is because you do not wish to give up your money. I nevertheless assure you, and I give you my word of honor, that you shall have your liberty, and that we will release you here without burning your houses, if you will, after all, show your treasure.”

“It is entirely useless,” I answered him, wearied with all these conversations, “that you follow me up with these earnest appeals. Again, once for all, I have nothing else to say to you but what I have so often repeated.”

He then spoke to the sailor who acted as interpreter, and who had kept his eyes on me during all this interview, to see whither I directed my looks. He then went out to visit my cocoa-grove. I then recalled a little interview I had with the captain, a few days before. I said to him “that, if the sentinels had done their duty, and given us notice of the arrival of the enemy, we would have concealed our most valuable effects.”

“In what place,” he asked me, “would you have hid all these things? Would you have hid them in the ground?”

“No,” I replied; “we would have been contented with carrying them into the woods, and covering them with branches.”

It was, then, for this, that these cunning pirates, who weigh and put together all our words, imagining that I did not have sufficient time to carry very far what I esteemed most precious, were induced, as the last effort of their cupidity and distrust, to make a search under the trees in my garden. But it was impossible that they should find what had never been placed there; so the sailor soon grew tired of searching; and, he having returned, we went together to the fort,—they without any booty, and I with some few of the papers I had collected.

Then for some time they consulted together, and about three o’clock they went to set my house on fire. I prayed them at least to spare the church, and this they promised me. But, notwithstanding, they burned it; and when I complained, they told me that the winds, which that day were very high there, had undoubtedly carried thither some sparks, which had set it on fire. With this answer I was obliged to be contented, leaving to God the time, the care, and the manner of avenging the insult offered to His house. For myself, seeing the flames rising up to the clouds, and having my heart pained with the most lively sorrow, I began to recite the seventy-eighth Psalm, “Deus venerunt gentes,” &c. (“O God, the heathen are come into thine inheritance,” &c.)

At last, after every thing was carried to the boats, we ourselves embarked. It was a little after five o’clock; and the sailors, who were to follow us in two small boats, finished by burning all the buildings of the fort. At length, having rowed out a little into the river, and allowing themselves to clear the shore very slowly with the current, they shouted many times, “Houra,” which is their “Vive le roi,” and their cry of joy. They had not, however, any great occasion to pride themselves on their expedition, since, had it not been for the black treason which delivered us into their hands, they would never have succeeded. Neither was it of any use; because, though they had inflicted a great injury on us, they had themselves derived very little profit from it.

I had expected to find the ship where I left it; but it had already stood off in such a way that we did not arrive there till the night was far advanced; so that they did not discharge their booty until the next day, the morning of the 19th of the month. During the whole of this day they made no progress, although they used their oars, as their sails were useless for want of wind. This delay disquieted me very much, because I wished as soon as possible to know my fate. “Would they leave me at Cayenne?” I said to myself. “Will they carry me to Surinam? Will they take me to Barbadoes? or even as far as New England?” And, as I was occupying myself with these inquiries, lying in my berth, which I was not able to quit on account of my great weakness and the seasickness, which afflicted me terribly, some one came to tell me that they had sent on shore three of our soldiers, with one old Indian, captured in the canoe of the Aroüas, of which I have already spoken. I was a little surprised; and, on asking the captain the reason, he told me that it made so many useless mouths the less.

“And why,” said I, “do you not do the same towards all the other prisoners?”

“It is,” said he, “because I am waiting for a good ransom for the rest of you.”

He would have given a much truer excuse if he had said, that, wishing to make a descent on Cayenne, he was afraid that some of his people might be captured, in which case he wished to have some with whom to make an exchange, which did in reality happen, as we shall see in the end.

The wind having freshened a little in the evening, we continued our voyage through the whole night, and before noon approached Cayenne, off a high rock named Connestable, and which is five or six leagues distant. They had already learned of the disaster which had befallen Oyapoc,—perhaps by a note which a young Indian had written, or perhaps through some inhabitants of Aproakac, who had come to take refuge at Cayenne. But they were ignorant of all the circumstances; and the public, as it commonly happens in such cases, set in circulation many reports, each one more false than the last. Some said that every person at Oyapoc had been massacred, and that I, in particular, had suffered a thousand cruelties. Others published that there were many ships there, and that Cayenne would be obliged to submit to the same fate. What seemed to give a little sanction to the last news was, that the ship which had captured us carried with it three boats, which, with the long-boat, made five vessels. All having sails and looming up, at a distance caused them to make a formidable appearance to those who were on shore.

For myself,—in the persuasion I had that our Fathers, whom I had left in the woods, or some other of the French who had fled, would not fail to go as soon as possible to Cayenne to give them certain intelligence of our sad lot, or at least to forward ample information with regard to it,—I imagined they would send some one to rescue me. But I was deceiving myself, and they were entirely ignorant of every thing that had happened to me. So Friday passed, and the next day we cast anchor very near the Enfant Perdu. This is a rock, distant from the land six thousand and thirteen toises,[21] as it has been exactly measured by M. de la Condamine, member of the Royal Academy of Sciences, on his return from Peru.

Towards nine o’clock in the morning, after a great stir in the ship, I saw two large boats set out, which went to a little river called Macouria, especially to plunder the residence of a certain lady; in revenge, they said, for some grievances which had been previously suffered by the English, who had gone there to purchase syrups. For, my Reverend Father, you must know that in time of peace that nation trades to this place, principally to furnish horses for the sugar plantations.[22] As I saw but thirteen men in each boat, including two Frenchmen, who were to serve as guides, I began from that moment to entertain some hopes of my liberty; because I fully believed, as the weather was very clear, they would see this manœuvre from the land, and not fail to fall upon them. I was thus indulging in these pleasant thoughts when they came to tell me that the boats were about to go first to Couron, which is about four leagues distant from Macouria, to capture there, if possible, Father Lombard, the missionary, who had labored with so much success and for so long a time in Guyane, in the conversion of the Indians. Their object was, that they might exact a ransom for him in conformity with his age and merits.

I leave you to imagine how like the stroke of a thunderbolt news of this kind came upon me, for I was well assured that, if this worthy missionary should be brought on board our ship, he would entirely sink under the fatigue. But Providence, which was not willing to afflict our missions to this extent, defeated their plan. They ran aground on the way, and were obliged to hold to their first design, which was to ravage Macouria alone. They, in fact, arrived there on Sunday morning, and spent that day and the following night in pillaging and destroying the dwelling which was the object of their hate. On Monday morning, after having set fire to the buildings, they returned on board, without having received the least opposition from any one. The negroes were so thoroughly terrified that they did not dare to show themselves, and the French who had been dispatched from Cayenne on Sunday morning had not yet been able to reach there.

During this expedition, those who had remained with me in the ship reasoned each one in accordance with his desires or his fears. Some prophesied a fortunate result to this enterprise, and others wished for it. At length, as each one was thus indulging in his own peculiar views, I saw again a great movement on board of our ship, towards three o’clock in the afternoon. It was caused by the departure of the boatswain, an energetic man, bold and determined, who, in command of nine men only, went in the long-boat to attempt a descent on the coast very near Cayenne, using as his guide a negro, who knew the coast, because he was a native of it. Perhaps also Captain Potter wished to make a diversion, and in that way prevent their sending a force from Cayenne against those of his people who had gone to Macouria.

However that might be, when I first learned the departure of the long-boat I could not doubt but that the Lord wished to relieve me from my captivity, persuaded as I was that, if the first party was not attacked, the second certainly would be. And what I anticipated in reality took place. The ten Englishmen, after having pillaged one of our dwellings, were encountered by a company of French, and entirely defeated. Three were killed on the spot, and seven were made prisoners. On our side there was but one soldier wounded, in the shoulder, by a musket-shot. As to my poor negro, it is surprising that in this fight he was not even wounded. The Lord, without doubt, wished to recompense him for his fidelity to his master. It was from him that they at length learned at Cayenne the particulars of the capture of Oyapoc, and every thing that related to me personally.

We who were on board were exceedingly anxious to learn the result of all these expeditions; but nothing came either from the shore or from Macouria. At last, when the sun began to appear, and it became sufficiently light for us to see at a distance, there was a constant stream of sailors going up to the round-top and coming down, who always reported that they could see nothing. But at nine o’clock, Captain Potter came himself to tell me that he had seen three boats which, leaving Cayenne, had gone in the direction of Macouria, and no doubt were in pursuit of his people. To tranquillize him a little, I answered, “that they might be the boats of the inhabitants, who, after having heard Mass, were returning to their homes.”

“No,” he replied, “those are boats full of people. I have seen them perfectly with my glass, at a distance.”

“Your people,” I suggested, “will perhaps have left the river before the others reach it, and after that there can be no collision.”

“All this does not worry me,” he said. “My people are well armed and full of courage. The fortunes of war must decide it, if the two parties meet.”

“But what do you think of your long-boat?” I asked him.

“I think it is captured,” he said.

“Excuse me,” said I to him, “if I say to you that there was a little temerity in your running the risk of a descent with so small a force. Do you, then, imagine that Cayenne is an Oyapoc?”

“That was far from being my idea,” he answered; “but it is the too great ardor and excessive energy of the boatswain which has caused it. So much the worse for him if he has come to evil! I am, however, sorry for it,” he continued; “for I have a great esteem for him, and he was very necessary to me. He has, without doubt, exceeded my orders; for I had advised him not to land, but only to examine from a short distance as to the most commodious place to disembark.”

After we had thus conferred together for a short time, he caused them to raise the anchor, and approached as near as possible to land and to Macouria. His object was as much to cut off the way for our boats, as to cover his people and shorten the return for them.

Nevertheless, all Sunday passed in great anxiety. Our enemies were aware of the fact that there were three ships in the harbor, because the boats going to Macouria had approached sufficiently near the port to discover them, and they had made the signal agreed upon with Captain Potter. But some had fears lest these vessels might come out and attack the ship during the night. So, about seven o’clock in the evening, they placed two swivel-guns in the windows, besides the twelve which were on deck along the sides of the ship. But the captain was very composed. He told me “that, so far from fearing that they would come and attack him, he, on the contrary, desired it; hoping thus to gain possession of those who should dare to approach him.” He was thoroughly armed as a privateer: sabres, pistols, guns, lances, grenades, balls filled with bitumen and sulphur, grape-shot,—nothing was wanting.

I believe that no one slept that night. However, nothing appeared, either from Macouria or Cayenne, which was the cause of great uneasiness to us all. At length, at eight o’clock in the morning, the captain came to tell me that he had seen a great deal of smoke on the shore at Macouria, and that his people had without doubt set fire to the buildings of Madame Gislet. (This is the name of the lady to whose residence the English had particularly directed their attention.) “I am very sorry,” he added, “for I had expressly forbidden them to burn any thing.” A little while after, they saw from the height of the round-top five canoes or boats, some of which seemed to be pursuing each other. They were our French people, who were giving chase to the English. Captain Potter, an able man in his profession, at once perceived this, and took measures accordingly; for he raised his anchor, and made again a movement to approach them. He called all his people to arms, having at the same time obliged all the prisoners, whether French or English, to descend into the hold. I wished myself to go there also; but he told me I could remain in my cabin, and he would notify me when it was time.

In the midst of this excitement, one of the boats which had come from Macouria drew nigh, as by dint of rowing; and to assure themselves that they were English, those in the vessel raised their pennant and flag and fired a gun, to which the boats having responded by the discharge of a musket, the signal on which they had agreed, tranquillity succeeded this first movement of fear. But there remained as yet one boat behind, which was coming very slowly with the pagaye (a kind of scull, or oar, which the Indians use to row their canoes), and they feared that it would be captured by our boats. No sooner, therefore, had the officer who commanded the first discharged in haste the little they had brought with them, than he hurried back to convoy it. After having conducted it to its destination, and all the little booty they had taken having been embarked in the ship, each one thought of refreshing himself to the utmost for the fatigues of this marauding. Punch, lemonade, wine, brandy, sugar,—nothing was spared. Thus passed the rest of the day and the night of Sunday to Monday.

Among all these successes,—which, however inconsiderable they really might be, were yet occasions of triumph for them,—there remained one great source of chagrin, which was the capture of the long-boat and of the ten men who had landed in it. It became necessary, therefore, to think seriously of some means of rescuing them. For this reason, on Monday morning, after having consulted among themselves and held council after council, they came to find me, to say that, their ship dragging considerably, perhaps on account of the currents, which are very strong in these latitudes, or perhaps because they had only one small anchor remaining, they could not longer hold their anchorage, and they thought, therefore, of going to Surinam, a Dutch colony, twenty-four leagues or thereabouts from Cayenne; but, however, they very much wished to receive first some news of their long-boat and the people who had landed on Saturday.

I told them, in reply, “that this was very easy; that it was only necessary to fit out one of the boats which they had taken from us, and to send it to Cayenne with the proposal for an exchange of prisoners.”

“But would they be willing to receive us?” they asked me; “would they not inflict on us some injury? Would they permit us to return?”

It was easy for me to remove doubts which had so little foundation, by telling them, as is the case, “that the law of nations is the same in all countries; that the French did not pride themselves less than the English in observing it; that nothing was so common among civilized people as to see the generals mutually sending heralds-at-arms, trumpeters, or drummers, to carry their terms of agreement; and that, therefore, they need have no fear for those of their crew whom they might send to land.”

After renewed consultations, which they held among themselves, they began to make their proposals, some of which I found to be entirely unreasonable. For example, they wished to have returned to them their boat with all the arms, and to have all the prisoners released, whatever might be their number, in exchange for only four Frenchmen, which was our number.

I answered him, “that I did not think they would accede to this article of war; that, as far as it related to men, the usage is to change them head for head.”

“But, you alone, do you not value yourself as much as thirty sailors?” said one of the crowd to me.

“No, certainly,” I answered; “a man of my profession, in time of war, should not count for any thing.”

“All this is very well for wit,” said the captain; “but, since you take it in that way, I must go and make sail. I am able very well to bear the loss of ten men; it leaves me a large enough crew to continue my voyage.”

Immediately he went out of the cabin to give his orders, and they began working the ship, &c. But, through all this manœuvring, I saw very well that it was only a feint on their part to intimidate me and induce me to offer them two thousand piastres, which they had already demanded for my ransom.

Nevertheless, as I had a great desire to free myself from their hands, although I did not let it appear outwardly, I took occasion to call Captain Potter and say to him, “that he need not be influenced by my views; that he could at any time send a boat to Cayenne to make the proposals which he judged proper, leaving it to Monsieur the Commandant to accept or reject them.” He followed this suggestion, and begged me myself to dictate the letter which he wished written; and this I did, as his secretary, following exactly what he caused me to say.

I also, on my own account, wrote a few words to Monsieur d’Orvilliers and Father de Villeconte (our Superior-General), praying the first to stipulate in the articles of negotiation, if he had an opportunity, that they should return to me every thing in their possession belonging to my church; offering myself to pay as much silver in weight as would equal that of the silver vessels, and a certain sum on which we would agree for the furniture, ornaments, and linen. At the same time, I begged our Father, if this negotiation succeeded, to send me the silver and the necessary balance for the account, by the return of the boat, to the place where the exchange of prisoners was to be made,—that is to say, half-way between the ship and the land.

All these letters being prepared, the boat was dispatched, and they sent in it, as the bearer of these letters, a sergeant who had been made prisoner at Oyapoc. He was ordered to use the utmost diligence; and, as he was an energetic man, we should have had a prompt reply, but the wind and the current were so contrary that they could not make the port of Cayenne. We were all exceedingly disappointed: the English, because they began to be in want of water and their ship drifted again considerably, having only, as I have said, one small anchor, which they were obliged to manage with a grappling-iron; and we Frenchmen, because we were very anxious to regain our liberty. It was necessary, however, to be patient and to resign ourselves to the will of God until He should cause some new way to be opened.

At last, on Wednesday morning, having determined to ask the captain what course he had determined to pursue, I was agreeably surprised by hearing him say “that if I wished to go to Cayenne I was my own master, with the condition that I should cause to be sent back all the English who were prisoners there.”

“That does not depend upon me,” I said to him; “but I will promise to make every effort with Monsieur the Commandant to obtain it.”

After some slight objections, which I easily removed, we wrote a new letter to Monsieur d’Orvilliers, of which I was to be the bearer, and, every thing being ready, we embarked—four French and five English—to go to Cayenne. In taking leave of the captain, I said to him, “that if the war continued, and he or any others of his nation should come to Cayenne, I could not again be made prisoner.” He answered me, “that he knew that already; the custom being not twice to make prisoner of the same person in the course of the same war, at least, unless he should be taken with arms in his hands.”

I then thanked him for his honorable treatment of myself, and, grasping his hand, I said to him: “Monsieur, two things give me pain at this parting. It is not exactly the pillage you have made at Oyapoc, because the French will perhaps return you the same with interest; but it is, in the first place, because we have not both of us the same faith; and in the second place, because your people have not been willing to return to me the furniture of my church on the conditions I proposed, reasonable as they are, for it causes me to fear lest the profanation of what belongs to the temple of the Lord may draw down His anger upon you. I would advise you,” I added, while embracing him, “to pray God each day to enlighten you as to the true way to heaven; for as there is but one God, so there can be but one true faith.” After which I descended into the boat which was to carry us; and immediately I saw all the crew come up on deck, the flag and pennant were hoisted, the gun was fired, and we were many times saluted with “Houras,” to which we replied as often with “Vive le roi.”

Scarcely had we gone a quarter of a league on our way when the ship got under sail, and, toward five o’clock, we lost sight of her. The sea, however, was very rough, and we had only miserable oars to row with, when, to complete our difficulty, our rudder became disabled. A hinge, which was held in its place by a screw below, came out and fell into the sea. We then resorted to the only expedient in our power, that of attaching the ring of the rudder to the stern-post of the boat; but the iron shortly wore off the cord, and we found ourselves in great danger. What increased our fear was, that the night became very dark, and we were far distant from land. We determined, therefore, to anchor until next morning, when we could find out some way to relieve ourselves from this unfortunate condition. As the English appreciated better than we did the peril in which we were, one of them proposed to me to hoist the lantern high up on one of the masts, as a signal for succor. But I represented to him its uselessness, because we were too far distant to be seen, and, besides, no one would dare to come to us in the uncertainty whether we were friends or enemies.

Thus we passed a distressing night, between life and death; and what was very remarkable is, that we had anchored, without knowing it, between two large rocks, which we did not see until day dawned. After having returned thanks to God for having so visibly protected us, we resolved to gain the river, that, if possible, we might repair the boat, or procure another at the neighboring dwellings, or, as a last resource, go by land to Cayenne. But behold! a new accident. As we took down the large mast, not having much strength of crew, they allowed it to go on the opposite side from that on which it should naturally fall. We all thought it would have crushed M. de la Landerie, but happily he had only some slight bruises. We took at that time—the sergeant and myself—one oar to steer, the others each taking one to row; and, aided partly by the wind (for we carried our foremast to enable us to avoid the breakers), and partly by the tide, which began to rise, but, above all, conducted by the Divine Providence which guided us, on the morning of the 26th we entered the little river Macouria, which I have already mentioned. None of us were acquainted with the channel; so that the English themselves earnestly avowed that it was God who had conducted us, safe and sound, in spite of the great dangers.

Our first object was to obtain some means of getting to Cayenne; but this was not an easy matter. In addition to the fact that we could not find a boat or any way of repairing our own, the negroes, who were the only persons left at the dwellings, were so frightened that they did not wish to recognize us. As it had already become known that I was a prisoner, they feared lest the English had sent me ashore as a lure, through my means to entrap the slaves. Nevertheless, after many protestations and prayers and solicitations, I reassured some, who, more courageous than the rest, dared to approach us; and, through their means, we obtained some little refreshment, of which we certainly stood very much in need. For myself, as I was scarcely able to take any nourishment, and for this reason was very weak, I was hardly able to sustain myself.

As soon as each one was a little recruited, I consigned to the negroes the boat, which we left in their care with all the rigging and sails, and we set out on our journey to Cayenne, along the borders of the ocean. We did not wish to go into the interior of the country, for fear of affording our enemies a knowledge of the place, which hereafter might be an injury to us. The night which followed favored my design, and I can say with truth that the five English whom I took with me saw nothing which could be of any service to them, if at any future day, in the course of this war, they should take a fancy to return to us.

It would be difficult, not to say impossible, my Reverend Father, to describe to you what we suffered during this journey of only three or four leagues. As the tide rose, and for that reason we were obliged to make our way over the high ground of the shore, where the sand is very shifting, we sunk into it; and most of us had the greatest difficulty to drag ourselves along, so that I frequently saw the greater part of our party obliged to stop and rest. The English, particularly, being little accustomed to march, found the journey very long, and would have been very willing to be back in their vessel. But it was their fault that they found themselves in such difficulty. In sending us ashore, they themselves knew that the boat in which we embarked was unseaworthy. They should have given me notice of it at the time, and I would have demanded another from the captain.

At last, by dint of encouraging and animating them, we reached the point which the river forms, and which fronts on the roadstead. It was about midnight when we arrived at the dwelling of Madame de Charanville, where the slaves, knowing the good heart and generosity of their mistress, although alone, gave us the best reception they were able, to recompense us for the privations we had suffered. I had taken the precaution to send before us a negro of our party, to remove their fears on our arrival; for without this, we should have run a great risk of not being received, so great was the fright which had everywhere seized on these poor wretches. So good a reception gave great satisfaction to the English, who themselves feared being killed or maltreated by the negroes, which would certainly have happened had I not been with them. For this reason they never left me. At length, after having taken a little rest, as soon as it was day we embarked in a boat we had found, and continued our route to Cayenne.

No sooner had they seen us at a great distance, than they well knew from our white flag that we were the deputies who came to make terms; and they immediately sent down a detachment to the port, who received us at the point of the bayonet and with presented arms, as is the custom on such occasions. All the ramparts which fronted the roadstead, and the rising ground on which the fort is situated, were entirely covered with people. Having directed the sergeant to remain in the boat with all his company until I had spoken to the commandant, I myself landed. The Brother Pittet had recognized me with his glass, at a long distance, and hastened himself to give me his hand.

It was a very consoling spectacle, my Reverend Father, to see all Cayenne coming to meet me. In the streets through which I had passed, there was so great a crowd of people that I had difficulty in making my way. The rich as well as the poor, even all the slaves, pressed around to give me proofs of the pleasure which my restoration to freedom afforded them. Many bathed me with their tears when embracing me. I do not blush to say that I was myself overcome in recognizing such great demonstrations of friendship. A large crowd followed me even into the church, to which I first repaired to return thanks to God for the great blessings He had bestowed upon me, and for which I pray you, my Reverend Father, to give thanks also.

Our Fathers and our Brothers distinguished themselves on this occasion, and extended their charity, in my behalf, as far as it was possible to carry it. As all my clothes were in a pitiable state, they eagerly brought me every thing which was necessary. In this way I realized to the letter the truth of that declaration of our Lord: “Quiconque quittera son père, sa mère, ses frères, pour l’amour de moi, recevra le centuple en ce monde.” (Whosoever shall leave his father, his mother, his brethren, for my sake, shall receive an hundred-fold in this world.)

We often talked together over the evils which might again happen to us, and I was always very much edified at seeing their holy emulation; each one wishing to sacrifice himself to succor the wounded in case of an attack. But I thought that having already had some experience in this matter, and not being able to be again made prisoner during the continuance of this war, I should have the preference, and begin the service in discharging the duties of our ministry. We can, however, hope that neither the one nor the other will be obliged to come forward in this way, but that the victorious arms of the king will shortly bring about a solid and lasting peace. As soon as I had made my report and forwarded my letters to Monsieur d’Orvilliers, who was in retirement in his house on account of the death of Madame his wife, he gave orders that the five English who had come with me should be conducted, with their eyes bandaged, according to custom in such cases, to the guard-house, where they were to be confined; after which, he made the necessary arrangements for sending them back to their ship, with the seven other prisoners whom I have already mentioned, all of whom he was very willing to free, in a great measure through consideration to myself. On the following day, the 28th, they departed during the night in their long-boat, with all the tackle and provisions necessary. We have reason to wish that they should arrive safe in port, because we have written by them to the Governor of Surinam; and I myself on my own account have done so, to endeavor, through his instrumentality, to recover what belonged to my church, on the conditions agreed upon with Captain Potter when we parted. But if I should not succeed in recovering these things, I flatter myself that you, my Reverend Father, would be entirely willing to supply this deficiency by sending me a complete church service, for every thing has been lost.

On my arrival at Cayenne, I had found there the officer who was at Oyapoc when it was taken, and who since then has returned thither with the chief surgeon and a party of soldiers. Since that time, the commandant himself has gone back with the rest of the detachment, to await the orders which the Court shall give with regard to Oyapoc. The fort which we have just lost was built in 1725, under the direction of M. d’Orvilliers, Governor of this colony, and had thus been in existence but nineteen years. We do not know whether the Court will think proper to re-establish it.

It was a great consolation to me to learn that our two missionaries, the Fathers d’Autillac and d’Huberlant, have returned each to his own post, after having entirely got over their fatigues before they went back. They had again much to suffer, until we were able to furnish them with assistance. They write me that the Indians, who had been at first exceedingly frightened, had begun to be reassured, and that they continued to render all the services in their power to the inhabitants who remained in that quarter awaiting the new order.

You see, my Reverend Father, a very long letter, and, perhaps, one a little too long. I should esteem myself happy if it is able to afford you any pleasure, for I had no other object in writing. I am, with respect, in the unity of your holy sacrifices, &c.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The Landfall of Leif, The Problem of the Northmen, The Defences of Norumbega, The Discovery of the Ancient City, Leif’s House in Vinland, etc.

[2] W. H. Babcock, Early Norse Visits to America. Smithsonian Misc. Colls., Vol. 59, No. 19.

[3] Babcock, p. 139.

[4] Astronomical calculations demonstrate that the sun rose and set at the time mentioned, October 17, in Latitude 41°, 24′, 10″, almost exactly that of Narragansett Bay.

[5] In Old Norse the term “Hop” was applied to any inlet, fiord or harbor with a narrow entrance, widening inside not far from the entrance to a larger lake or lagoon into which a river flowed.

[6] The commander of the Prince Charles of Lorraine, of whom we shall write later.

[7] The words used by Father Fauque are “corsaire anglois.”—Trans.

[8] Les corsaires.

[9] Suspecting that Rodelan and Rhode Island were similar enough in sound to mislead Father Fauque, we examined the list of governors of Rhode Island, and found that William Greene was governor in 1744-5. This, therefore, was a Rhode Island privateer.[10] Father Fauque says Captain Potter was “Creole de la Nouvelle Angleterre.” He, of course, means he was a native of New England, and we have thus translated it.—Trans.

[10] The Prince Charles was owned in Newport. See ante, [p. 44].

[11] Very true.—Ed.

[12] Some of these are still preserved in Bristol.—Ed.

[13] See testimony of Jeffrey Potter, ante, [p. 46].—Ed.

[14] A series of devotions extending through nine days.—Trans.

[15] From 1715 to 1786 Rhode Island suffered from the issue of Bills of Credit, or paper money.—Ed.

[16] Nota bene.—Ed.

[17] Either Captain Potter or Father Fauque, in this statement, makes a mistake. On November 5th, in England, they celebrate their escape from the “Gunpowder Plot.” There is in the Prayer-book “A Form of Prayer with Thanksgiving,” which is to be used on that day “for the happy deliverance of King James I. and the Three Estates of England from the most traitorous and blood-intended massacre by Gunpowder; and also for the happy arrival of His Majesty King William on this day, for the deliverance of our church and nation.” The common people call it “Guy Fawkes’ Day.”[18]—Trans.

[18] Guy Fawkes’ Day was observed with great fidelity, as far as noise was concerned, by Bristol boys of the last generation.—Ed.

[19] Captain Potter was a member of St. Michael’s Church, Bristol, and as a good Church of England man was reading his Book of Common Prayer.—Ed.

[20] Potter was not a Huguenot. If Father Fauque had known of the heresies abounding in “Rodelan” his astonishment would have been equalled by his horror.—Ed.

[21] A toise is two yards.—Trans.

[22] “Narragansett Pacers” were greatly in demand in the West Indies, and on the “Spanish Main.”—Ed.

PART II
NORWEST JOHN AND THE VOYAGE OF THE JUNO

1—NORWEST JOHN

John De Wolf was born in Bristol on September 6, 1779. His father, Simon, the third son of Mark Anthony, founder of the Bristol family, was lost at sea with his older brother, Mark, in 1779 or ’80, when his only child was but an infant in arms. He was forced by poverty to begin a seafaring life at the age of thirteen. His great ability quickly manifested itself and at the age of twenty-four he was placed in command of a vessel bound on one of the most fascinating as well as one of the most hazardous voyages known to the commerce of that time, a voyage to the Northwest Coast. The story of his experiences he tells in the pages that follow. For some years after his return to his native town he continued in the Russian-American trade for which the knowledge of the language gained during his stay in Russian territory well qualified him. Having attained the age of forty-eight he retired from the sea and for some years lived, like many retired captains, the life of a farmer, upon the farm occupied for years as a summer home by his relative, the late Bishop Howe of Central Pennsylvania. Thence he moved to a farm at Brighton, Massachusetts, and, leaving that, spent the last years of his life with his daughter, Mrs. Downing, at Dorchester. Very delightful must have been those last years. The daring sailor whose nerves had never failed him in moments of greatest peril on the ocean was a man of tender nature and of a most lovable disposition.

Of him his granddaughter penned this beautiful picture:[23]

“I never knew a more beautiful old age. Beloved by those of all ages, he had many friends among the young people and was young with them, and his grandchildren were devoted to him. They called him ‘White Grandpa,’ on account of his silvery hair, to distinguish him from my father. They always knew in just what spot in the room to look for candy and fruits which he always had for them, and if there was anything they particularly wanted they were always sure that ‘White Grandpa’ would give it to them. Like so many old people it was hard for him to adapt himself to modern improvements. And especially the new ideas of shipbuilding were not always to his liking. At a window of a room in our summer home, commanding a fine view of Boston harbor, we would often find him holding his spy-glass at arm’s length, and if sometimes we would ask ‘What do you see, Grandpa?’ he would invariably reply, ‘I was looking at those blasted three masted schooners.’”

In the days of his life at sea a three masted schooner was almost unknown, and the schooner rigged vessel was rarely seen except on the American coast of the North Atlantic Ocean. Everywhere else square sails were the rule. Even the “tub” of twenty-five tons on which Captain De Wolf made his voyage of twenty-five hundred miles to Ochotsk was a brig. At his death no naval constructor had dreamed of a five masted schooner, and a seven master would have been deemed impossible. Today all the great colliers carry five or six masts and there is not a square rigger among them. The schooner rig is distinctively American. The first schooner ever constructed is said to have been built in Gloucester, Massachusetts, about the year 1713, by Captain Andrew Robinson. In two centuries it has driven the square rigged ship from the Atlantic coast of North America. In the great ports upon the Pacific coast square sails are still frequent, though they are seen for the most part upon the masts of foreign ships. The schooner rig has conquered even that former home of most rigid conservatism which was opened to the commerce of the world in 1854, by a Rhode Island naval officer, when Commodore M. C. Perry dropped anchor near the little fishing village of Yokohama, Japan. As one passes through the “Inland Sea” today he notes that all the fleet craft skimming over its waves are rigged in the American way. The schooner has driven the slow moving “junk” out of business as far as those waters are concerned.

Captain De Wolf died in Dorchester, on March 8, 1872, aged ninety-two.

2—VOYAGE OF THE JUNO

A VOYAGE TO THE NORTH PACIFIC AND A JOURNEY THROUGH SIBERIA MORE THAN HALF A CENTURY AGO. BY CAPTAIN JOHN D’WOLF. (CAMBRIDGE, 1861)

Preface

My only object in combining the reminiscences and memoranda of my first voyage as a shipmaster into a connected narrative is to leave some slight record of that voyage in my family. Although I am not one of those who regard everything beyond the smoke of their own chimneys as marvellous I think my expedition to the Northwest Coast was made a little remarkable from the circumstance that I met at Norfolk Sound his Excellency Baron von Resanoff, to whom I sold my vessel, and then crossed the Pacific in a little craft of twenty-five tons burden, and after an overland journey of twenty-five hundred miles returned home by way of St. Petersburg. This was a voyage and travels more than half a century ago, and I was probably the first American who passed through Siberia. I know that others have claimed to be the first, and have published descriptions of the country; but I had gone over the same route before any of these claimants were born. I have often regretted that I did not make any note of what I saw, and that I had not the requisite qualifications to write an extended account of it; but business called my thoughts in other directions. I must now be content to give this imperfect sketch, the materials of which are drawn principally from memory.

VOYAGE.

I.

The Ship Juno.—Her Outfit.—And Voyage to the Northwest Coast.

I commenced a seafaring life at the early age of thirteen, and followed it through all its changes, continually rising in rank, until I reached my twenty-fourth year. Then, after a series of long voyages to the eastward of the Cape of Good Hope as chief mate, in the summer of 1804 I returned to my native town, resolved on a short respite of a few months from a close application of eleven years. I had enjoyed this leisure but a little while, however, when my employers, Messrs. Charles, James, and George D’Wolf, purchased a fine ship,[24] called the Juno, of about two hundred and fifty tons burden, and projected a voyage to the Northwest Coast of America to collect furs for the China market. They proposed that I should take the command. I had no expectation of such an offer, since I thought myself too young and inexperienced to enter upon an entirely new branch of trade, and entertained some misgivings of my qualifications for such an enterprise. At the same time I could not so far doubt my abilities as to neglect so advantageous an opportunity, and I therefore accepted the trust.

Having engaged in the undertaking, we lost no time in making the necessary arrangements, in procuring a cargo suitable for traffic, and in preparing the vessel for the voyage. When ready for sea, the Juno and her lading were valued at $35,000. The Juno at that day was considered a crack ship, and her outfit embraced all that was needed for both comfort and convenience. She mounted eight carriage guns, and was otherwise armed in proportion, and when hauled into the stream presented quite a formidable and warlike appearance. Such an equipment was essential in her time for the dangerous business for which she was destined. The crew also would now be considered too large for a craft of the same tonnage,—for it numbered twenty-six men and boys, viz: Samuel G. Newell, First Mate; John A. Thomas, Second Mate; James Moorfield, Clerk; Richard Cammett, Joseph Hooper, Armorers; Thomas Hunt, Boatswain; John Jones, Carpenter; D. Bucklin, E. Bucklin, W. H. Tripp, D. Tatton, J. Stokes, J. Wheeler, W. Foy, J. Marshall, J. D. Cook, W. Phipps, J. Wheesner, J. Powers, S. Patterson, Seamen; J. Hanson, Cook; E. D. Parker, Musician; R. Hitchcock, Tailor; T. Murphy, J. Mahoney, boys. Thus manned and equipped, we took leave of our friends, weighed anchor, and put to sea on the 13th of August, 1804.

Having now fairly embarked again on the ocean, which had become a home to me, I began immediately to attend to those duties which its dangers imposed. Our anchors and cables were soon stowed away, the crew divided, the watch set, and everything prepared for all winds and weathers. We sailed in a southeasterly direction, with light breezes, and for a number of days nothing varied the monotony which the sea wears to those who have been long accustomed to it. On the 20th of September we saw at a distance St. Antonio, one of the Cape de Verde Islands. We then bent our course to the south, and were favored with fine leading winds until we reached that region of the ocean between the northeast and southeast trade-winds, which is doomed to perpetual squalls and calms, thunder, lightning, and rain. This vexatious weather was the source of one advantage, however. It afforded an opportunity for filling our water-casks, which was essential in the long voyage and moderate progress we were making.

On the 9th of November we crossed the equator in longitude 24° W. Fifty-six days to the line! Well, this certainly seems to be a long passage in comparison with those made in more modern times by the straight course pointed out by Lieut. Maury. Yet the difference is not so very extraordinary, when we consider the improvements in the sciences of navigation and naval architecture. Clippers may pursue a route with impunity which was not so safe or practicable for the square-built, seven-knot ships of half a century ago. The straight course was by no means unknown in those days, and it was sometimes followed; but with dull sailing vessels it was necessary to be more cautious, and make their “easting” while in the region of variable winds. That we crossed the Atlantic, in my time, thrice, as it is said, in going to the Cape of Good Hope, I deny. A majority of the passages made by the circuitous track would compare favorably with those made now by the same class of ships, notwithstanding the superior knowledge of winds and currents, and the numerous nautical instruments of which sea-captains avail themselves. At all events, navigation is not now carried on with more, if as much safety as formerly. Inducements are held out, in these go-ahead days, to make quick passages, regardless of ship and cargo, and the interests of the underwriters. Too implicit reliance is placed on instruments and figures at the expense of that most essential point in navigation, a vigilant lookout, and to the neglect of the use of the lead.

October 10th. We fell in with a large Spanish ship from Havana for Rio Janeiro, ninety days out. Being now several degrees in south latitude, the weather was serene and the sea smooth; there was a fine breeze from the southeast. On the 12th, we spoke a Portuguese ship from Oporto, also bound to Rio Janeiro. She had a large number of passengers on board, many of whom were sick, as they were destitute of all kinds of vegetables. I supplied them with potatoes and onions, for which they were very grateful, and presented in return a quantity of Port wine. A continuance of the pleasant weather enabled us to make various repairs in the rigging, which had been drenched and buffeted by incessant tempests to the north of the line. The change seemed to put new life and animation into the whole crew. All hands were actively employed with a good will in their various departments,—the armorers at the forge, the carpenter fitting the boats for service on the coast, the sail-makers upon the sails. Thus the vessel was put in fine condition for meeting the rough gales of Cape Horn. These we began to encounter in lat. 40° S.

November 12th, lat. 48° S., long. 51° W., we fell in with the ship Mary, of Boston, Capt. Trescott, bound to the Northwest Coast of America, and I agreed to keep company with him until we had doubled the Cape. This arrangement could be no impediment to our progress, as our vessels were nearly equal sailors.—November 15th, we saw the Falkland Islands bearing from southeast to southwest, fifteen miles distant. From our longitude we judged ourselves to be nearer the western extremity, but the wind inclining westward compelled us to pass to the eastward of them.—November 19th, the wind from the westward increased to a gale, with a heavy swell, which brought both ships under short sail. At eight, P. M., the Mary bore upon our weather quarter, about two miles distant. At ten, the wind continuing the same, I left the deck, charging the officer of the watch to be careful that we did not approach each other too near. At daylight it was perceived that she had approached us considerably, though she still held a position on the weather quarter at a sufficient distance to be out of danger. But through inattention of the officer on board the Mary to the steering, she was brought under our lee within hail; of this I was not informed by the mate in command on the deck. The Juno was making but slow progress through the water, being under short sail, with a heavy sea running, and obliged to keep close to the wind in order to avoid a collision. In this way, the ship’s headway would be so checked that she would fall off two or three points, regardless of the helm. While thus situated, the Mary was in the act of coming to, and the Juno falling off, when, before either ship had gained sufficient headway to be under quick command of the helm, our whole broadsides came into contact with a crash that made every timber quake. I immediately rushed on deck, and beheld with amazement our perilous situation. In which, spite of all our efforts to get clear, we remained nearly fifteen minutes, cutting and tearing our bulwarks, channels, and plank-sheer, and making sad work with our rigging. Finally we separated, and without apparently sustaining any injury below our plank-sheer.

This may be an uninteresting matter for record to many, but it is one of those casualties which not infrequently occur from a reckless neglect, or a want of ordinary judgment, and yet where no one is willing to acknowledge himself at fault. They show that caution is to be regarded as a cardinal point of practical navigation. I am bold to say, that, if I had been apprised of our proximity, the collision would never have taken place.

When endeavoring to extricate the two ships, Mr. Stetson, first mate of the Mary, while on a poise upon her railing, to save himself from falling overboard, made a leap for the Juno, and landed on her deck. In the course of the day the weather became more moderate, and we put him aboard his own ship and continued our course without attempting to keep company with her. We were favored with mild weather until the 24th, which brought us into lat. 56° S. Here commenced a series of very severe gales from the westward, which continued with unabated violence for ten days. On the 5th of December the wind veered to the southward, which enabled us to make some progress, so that on the 10th I judged myself fairly to the north and west of the Cape, and a fine southwest wind was carrying us fast from it. On the 13th, as luck would have it, we fell in again with our old consort, the Mary, and sailed along with her until the 29th. Being then in lat. 44° S. and long. 85° W., I deemed it expedient to hold a consultation with my officers on the propriety of touching upon the coast of Chili, in preference to the Sandwich Islands, which was our previous intention. This was thought advisable on account of the damage sustained during our boisterous passage of one hundred and thirty-eight days. The copper on the ship’s bottom, which had been worn as thin as paper during a previous long voyage of three years, had now become full of holes, and was torn off in many places by whole sheets. This and other injuries which could not be repaired at sea, in addition to the fact that all our fuel was consumed except that stowed under the cargo, and on this account we had for some time been obliged to dispense with cooking oftener than once a week, induced us to part company again with the Mary, and shape our course for Concepcion. I was well aware of the natural and deep-rooted jealousy of the Spaniards; but while I apprehended trouble on this score, I was determined to find admittance to some port, after having relinquished my original scheme of visiting the Sandwich Islands.

On the 1st of January, 1805, at 2 P. M., we saw land bearing from southeast to northeast, fifteen miles distant, and shortly after the island of St. Maria. At the same time we saw a ship standing out from the shore, which we spoke. She was a whaler from New Bedford. The wind was blowing so hard that we could learn nothing further. At sunset it had died away, and left us still four or five miles off Concepcion. As it was not practicable to make the harbor in the night-time, we tacked ship and stood out from the coast, with a view to holding our situation to the windward until morning, and at midnight we tacked and stood in again. At daybreak, however, we found the current had set us a considerable distance north of our port. I accordingly resolved to make sail for Valparaiso; since that was the principal port in Chili, we had reason to anticipate a better reception than at any place of less note, where our presence might have excited unjust suspicions of unlawful trade. Our sole object was to repair our vessel and obtain supplies for our voyage, and these by the laws of humanity they could not in justice refuse us.

The weather continued remarkably serene and pleasant, with light breezes and frequent calms; and as we coasted along within eight or ten miles of the shore, we had a most splendid view of the Andes, towering far above the clouds. On the morning of the 8th, we entered the bay of Valparaiso. Before we reached a safe anchorage, we were visited by an officer from the Governor, who requested to know who we were, whence we came, and the object of our visit,—all of which I explained to his apparent satisfaction. The boat then returned to the shore with a message to the Governor, while the officer remained on board, saying that he could not suffer us to anchor until he received orders. But before the boat returned, the ship had reached the anchorage ground, and we came to immediately, notwithstanding his remonstrances. The boat brought a peremptory command to leave the bay; but this was out of the question, and so I as peremptorily refused. I was summoned before the Governor to present my papers for examination, and account for my conduct. After examining my invoices and other documents, and listening to a candid explanation of the reasons which induced me to come into port, he was convinced that my destination was the Northwest Coast. I was accordingly permitted to remain until I received further orders from the Governor-General, at St. Jago, to whom a messenger was despatched. In the mean time I was allowed to take on board as much wood and water, and fresh provisions, as I chose. The harbor was too rough and exposed, to make the repairs we needed, and therefore we weighed anchor and sailed for Coquimbo, where we arrived on the 20th, and dropped anchor in six fathoms of water, on the west side of the bay, about eight miles from the town. Here we remained until the 28th, when, having completed our repairs as far as practicable, we put to sea with a fine breeze from the south.

When we reached 4° S. lat., we had series of calms, with pleasant weather, and a very smooth sea. In this neighborhood we saw great numbers of green turtle, and by capturing several we added a delicacy to our larder. February 20th, between 9 and 11 A. M., I obtained several distances of the sun and moon, the mean of which made the long. 108° W.; at meridian, I found we had crossed the equator into north latitude. The wind continued very light and variable until the 4th of March, when it inclined to the northeast. On the 16th, we crossed the Tropic of Cancer. At this point the winds again became variable and squally. On the 7th of April, we had strong gales and threatening sky, with rain at intervals. At 8 P. M. of that date I put the ship under short sail, and hauled upon the wind to the northward, deeming it imprudent to continue on our course through the night, because, by my calculations, we were in the vicinity of land. In the morning the weather moderated, and at 5 A. M. we saw land bearing from north-northeast to east, which proved to be the northern part of Vancouver’s Island. At 2 P. M. we saw Scott’s Island bearing north-northwest, sixteen miles distant. At nightfall the clouds wore an ugly look; so we hauled by the wind to the westward, under short sail. At midnight we had a heavy blow, but it died away by light, and we saw Scott’s Island again; at 9 A. M. it bore south, five miles. The wind beginning again to rise, I determined if possible to make a harbor before night. With this intention I shaped my course for Newettee.

Newettee was a small inlet in the northwestern promontory of Vancouver’s Island, and sheltered from the sea by a long island running nearly east and west. Between the two was a strait, through which we must enter to gain our port. As we drew near the entrance, the wind became very light, and at sunset we were still three miles from it. Being myself entirely unacquainted with the coast, I was inclined to lay off until morning; but my officers were all more or less familiar with it, and so positive of their knowledge that I concluded to proceed. At eight in the evening we crossed the bar at the mouth of the strait, and entered. The wind had fallen now to a dead calm, and left us exposed to a very strong current, which carried us toward an inlet in the island to the north of us; and at the same time it was evident that we were approaching the shore very fast. Nothing could surpass the terrific appearance of the scenery; perpendicular cliffs towered from the water’s edge to a lofty height, against which the sea beat with great violence. The ship getting no steerage-way from her sails, and being in fact entirely unmanageable, we hoisted out our boats to tow. The long-boat, which was of the most consequence, sunk alongside; the yawl and the whaleboat were both got ahead, but were so light that they had very little effect on the vessel. We were now within three rods of a high projecting point, and the soundings showed forty-five fathoms of water. We let go the kedge-anchor to keep the bow off, and it had the desired effect. By great exertions in the boats, assisted in the ship by the application of all the oars we had, we barely succeeded in keeping clear of the rocks, which could now be reached with an oar. As the tide swept us along, we were threatened with destruction by every sea which dashed against them. At length, by the aid of a light air which sprung up, we got out of the irregular current near the shore, and, slipping our cable and leaving our anchor, moved towards the harbor on the south side of the straits. When about two thirds of the way across, I despatched a boat with an officer to find the entrance. The boat not returning in due time, I discharged a musket as a signal. It was answered from a vessel lying within, and shortly after one of the officers came aboard her, and informed us that it was the ship Pearl of Boston, Capt. Ebbets.[25] He very politely offered to pilot us in, and by his assistance we were soon brought safely to anchor in fifteen fathoms of water. This was the 10th of April, 1805.

II.

Newettee and the Natives.—Kygarney.—Norfolk Sound.—Sell Part of my Cargo to the Russians.—Governor Baranoff.—Chatham Straits.—Newettee again.—Return to Chatham Straits.—Trade with the Indians.—On the Rocks.—Sail to Norfolk Sound for Repairs.—Arrival of Resanoff and Party.—The Juno sold to the Russians.—Departure of my Crew for Canton.