Hurricane Hurry

W.H.G. Kingston

"Hurricane Hurry"

Chapter One.

My birth, parentage, and education.—Make the acquaintance of Tom Rockets.—Sent to sea on board the Folkstone cutter, Anno 1764.—Numerous voyages.—My friends and I appear on the quarter-deck of the Torbay, 74.—Join the Falcon.—My only duel.—Adventures in the West Indies.—The Carib war.—Boat capsized.—Fate of her crew.—Appointed to the Wolf.

On the north-east side of the street, about midway between the fish and flesh markets in the seaport town of Falmouth, and at about the silent and solemn hour of thirty-six minutes past one by my father’s watch, on the morning of the 28th day of December, of the year of grace 1752, His Gracious Majesty George the Second being King of Great Britain and Ireland, (it is necessary in important matters to be particular). I was introduced with the usual forms and ceremonies into the ancient family of the Hurrys, as the undoubted child of my father Richard and my mother Joan, the ninth, and as it subsequently proved, the last of their promising offspring. On the 29th day of the January following, the Reverend Edward Walmsley, rector of the parish, baptised me by the names of Hurricane, with the addition of Tempest, which were selected by my parents, after numberless consultations, in compliment to my maternal grand-uncle, Sir Hurricane Tempest, Alderman of Bristol, though it did not appear from his remark when informed of the occurrence that it was likely to benefit in the remotest manner from the delicate attention which had been paid him.

My early days were not remarkable, I got through the complaints incident to childhood in a manner satisfactory to my mother and the doctor, while my elder brothers and sisters took very good care that I should not be spoilt by over-indulgence. My brothers, as they advanced towards manhood, were sent into various professions, and as none of them had chosen the sea, it was decided, without my opinion being asked, that I should be made an offering to Neptune.

That I might be prepared for my future calling, I was sent to reside with my brother-in-law Jack Hayfield, in the neighbourhood of Bideford, North Devon, to allow me the vast benefit of attending the school of worthy Jeremiah Sinclair, kept over the marketplace in that far-famed maritime town. I still love the recollection of the old place, with its steep streets, its broad quays, and its bridge of many arches; to my mind a more picturesque bridge does not exist in all the world, nor, when the tide is in, a prettier river. On the bosom of that river I gained my first practical experience of affairs nautical, and many a trip I made down to Appledore with my schoolfellow Ned Treggellis, in a boat which, had not a special providence watched over us, would speedily have consigned us to the muddy bottom of the stream. An oar served us as a rudder, another as a mast, with a piece of sacking as a sail spread on a condemned boat-hook, while one of us was constantly employed in baling out the water which came in through leaks unnumbered—a state of affairs we had learned to consider normal to our craft.

From Sinclair’s school, in order to receive the finishing-touches to my education, I was removed to old Allen’s well-known Mathematical Academy in Cold Harbour.

It is just possible that I might have reaped some amount of benefit from the mental provender served out in those nurseries of genius, but unfortunately for me Jack’s appreciation of the advantages of knowledge was such that he considered the time squandered devoted to its acquisition. Frequently, therefore, when I was supposed by my good sister Mary, his wife, to be on my way to school, I had been waylaid by him, and was employed with another boy in setting springles, marking woodcocks, or in some other equally intellectual pastime. Whatever I may now think about the matter, I was then convinced that Brother Jack was one of the kindest and best fellows in the world; and when I fell asleep in my chair during the evening, my somnolency was attributed to the assiduity with which I had applied to my studies during the day. I have since then had not a little reason to regret honest Jack’s ignorance and my own folly in listening to his persuasions.

My frequent companion on the occasions I have spoken of was Tommy Rockets, the son of a poor widow who lived near Jack’s house. He was somewhat younger than myself and small for his age, but a sharp, intelligent little fellow, though amusingly ignorant of affairs in general. His chief employment was acting the part of a scarecrow by frightening birds from the cornfields, and running on errands into Bideford for any of the neighbours, by which means he enabled his mother to eke out her scanty pittance. I used to share with him my school pasty, and now and then I saved a piece of bread and cheese, or I would bring him a cake or a roll from Bideford. He never failed to carry a portion to his mother, sharp-set as he always was himself. The poor fellow soon conceived a strong affection for me; and when I was going off to sea he cried bitterly at the thoughts of parting from me. I also had a regard for him, and, forgetting how small and young he was, I took it into my head that I would carry him with me. We were sitting on a grassy bank under a tree, with a series of undulating hills and the blue ocean beyond, when I broached the subject.

“Would’st like to come to sea with me, Tom?” said I broadly.

“What, to them furrin parts across the water?” he asked, pointing seaward with his chin. “No; I’d bee afeared, Master Hurricane, I would. What makes you go now?”

“To fight the Frenchmen, of course,” I replied. “It’s peace just now, they say, though I thought we were always at war with the French; but it won’t last long, that’s one comfort.”

“Well, now, I’d rather stay at home with mother than go and fight the furriners—that I would,” said Tommy, with much simplicity.

“Oh, you’ve no spirit, boy!” I replied, with a look of contempt. “Wouldn’t you like, now, to be sailing round the world with Commodore Byron, who’ll fill his ships with rubies, and pearls, and gold, and precious stones, and all sorts of things. Why, Tommy, you would come back with more riches in your waistcoat-pocket than you ever thought to possess in your life.”

Tommy’s eyes sparkled as I spoke. “What, enough to make my mother a lady!” he exclaimed. “Well, then, Master Hurricane, if so be you can take me to them parts, when I’m big enough I’ll go with ye.”

“Well, we’ll see about it,” said I, with a patronising air; “but it is not all gold-picking, remember. There’s plenty of fighting and prize-taking besides. You’ve heard speak of Admiral Hawke?”

“No,” said Tommy, “I ne’er did.”

“I’d have given my right hand to have been with him when he beat the French in Quiberon Bay. That was a glorious day for old England, let me tell you.” I was able to expatiate on the subject, as the last time I was at home my father read me a full account of the battle which took place in 1759, the year preceding the death of his Majesty George the Second, and about five years before the time of which I am now speaking. It was the most memorable action of my early days. The French fleet was commanded by Monsieur de Conflans, whom a short time before a violent gale had compelled to take shelter in Brest harbour, while the English had anchored in Torbay. The two fleets were about equal. After cruising for some time the enemy again took shelter in Quiberon Bay, on the coast of Bretagne, in France, where they were pursued by the English. A strong gale had sprung up and a heavy sea was running, but, undaunted, the brave Hawke stood on. The Frenchmen hoped to lead his fleet to destruction among the rocks and shoals of that dangerous coast. Unwilling to fight, yet too late to escape, the French admiral, when he saw the English approach, was compelled to make sail. Hawke pursued them and ordered his pilots to lay him alongside the Soleil Royal, which bore the flag of the French admiral. The Thesée, a seventy-four-gun ship, ran between them, and a heavy sea entering her ports, she foundered. The Superbe, another Frenchman, shared the same fate. Several other French ships struck their colours; many were driven on shore, among which was the flag-ship, which was set on fire and destroyed. A great number of the French were killed, but the English lost only one lieutenant and thirty-nine men killed, and about two hundred wounded. But I must not stop to describe the gallant actions which occurred during my boyhood. Lord Anson, one of the most experienced of navigators, died two years only before I went to sea. Captain Byron sailed that same memorable year, when my country first had the benefit of my services, on his voyage of discovery into the pacific, and returned in 1766. Captains Wallis and Carteret sailed on exploring voyages at the same time. I happened to have heard of Mr Cook, but it was not till many years after this that he became known to fame as one of the most talented and scientific of English navigators; indeed, he did not return from his great voyage till eleven years after this. He lost his life in his last voyage in 1779.

A number of gallant actions were fought at the end of the war, sufficient to fire the ardour of any youth of spirit to whom they were recounted. Captain Hood’s capture of the Warwick, a sixty-gun ship, which had been taken from the English, was one of the most celebrated. At this time, however, she carried but thirty-six guns, with 300 men, including a company of soldiers. Captain Hood attacked her in the Minerva frigate of thirty-two guns and 220 men, and after an hour’s fight, with a heavy sea running, both ships having lost their masts, he captured her and took her to Spithead. A still more remarkable action was that of the Bellona and Brilliant, Captains Faulkner and Loggie, and a French ship of the line and two heavy frigates, which resulted in the capture of the first and the flight of the latter. There were also numerous actions fought between packets and privateers, and other small craft, with the enemy, which seldom failed to add to the honour and glory of our country. Though ignorant of other lore, I greedily devoured all the accounts I could find of these events, and having once made up my mind that the sea was to be my profession, I resolved, when opportunities should occur, to imitate them to the best of my power.

But to return to my friend Tommy. Just before I sailed I went to pay his mother a visit. I found the widow sitting, as was her wont, knitting at her window, waiting for her son’s return. I went not empty-handed, for besides my pasty, which I had saved, I had bought a loaf and a lump of cheese and a bundle of lollipops at Bideford. First presenting her with these treasures and emptying my pockets of the very small amount of cash they contained, I opened the business I had at heart. Poor Mrs Rockets burst into tears when I asked her to let her Tommy go to sea with me.

“Oh, Master Hurricane!” said she, “I feel all your kindness to a poor creature like me and my boy, and I would not deny you anything, but, oh, sir, he is my only child, my only comfort in life, and I cannot part with him!”

All the arguments I could use and the brilliant hopes I held out were of no avail for a long time, till at last, with a sad voice, she consented, when he grew bigger, should he then show a strong wish to go to sea, to allow him to accompany me.

I met Tommy on my way home and told him that he must make haste and grow big that he might go to sea and fill his pockets with pearls and diamonds for his widowed mother. In many a dream which I had thus conjured up, both by day and night, did the poor lad indulge as he was scaring off the crows in the fields or lying on his humble pallet in his thatched-roof hut near Bideford.

It was at Whitsuntide of the year 1764, I then numbering eleven summers, that I was placed on the books of the Folkstone cutter, commanded by a particular friend of my father’s, Lieutenant Clover; the amount of learning I possessed on quitting school just enabling me to read a chapter in the Bible to my old blind grandmother (on my mother’s side), who lived with us, and to tell my father how many times a coachwheel of any diameter would turn round in going to Penryn. Having received my father’s and mother’s blessing and a sea-chest, which contained a somewhat scanty supply of clothes, a concise epitome of navigation, an English dictionary, and my grandmother’s Bible—the only gift of value the kind old lady had it in her power to bestow—I was launched forth into the wide world to take my chance with the bustling, hard-hearted crowd which fills it. I was speedily removed from the cutter into his Majesty’s packet the Duncannon, Captain Charles Edwards, in which vessel I crossed the Atlantic for the first time; and after visiting Madeira and several of the West India Islands I returned to Falmouth on the eve of Christmas, 1767. I next joined the Duke of York, Captain Dickenson, in which vessel I made no less than sixteen voyages to Lisbon. As, however, I had grown very weary of the packet service, I was not sorry to be paid off and to return once more home, if not with a fuller purse, at all events, a better sailor than when I left it. I was not long allowed to enjoy the luxury of idleness before my father got me appointed to the Torbay, seventy-four, commanded by Captain Walls, who was considered one of the smartest officers in the service, and I was taught to expect a very different sort of life to that which I had been accustomed to in the slow-going packet service. There were several youngsters from the neighbourhood of Falmouth, who had never before been to sea, who were appointed to the same ship. One of them, my old messmate poor Dick Martingall, used to speak of the unsophisticated joy with which his old mother, in her happy simplicity, announced to him the fact of his appointment. She came to his bedside long before the usual hour of rising and awoke him.

“Richard, my dear son, Richard!” she said; “get up, thou art made for ever!”

“What am I made, mother?” he asked with astonishment, rubbing his eyes, which were still full of sleep.

“Oh, my boy, my dear boy!” replied the good lady, her countenance beaming with satisfaction, “thou art made a midshipman!”

Alas! little did his poor old mother dream of the sea of troubles into which her darling boy was about to be launched, what hardships and difficulties he was doomed to encounter, “the snubs that patient raids from their superiors take,” or she would not have congratulated herself on the event, or supposed that by his being made a midshipman he was made for ever. Yet in his case it was so far true, poor fellow, that he was never made anything else, as he was carried out of the world by fever before he had gained a higher step in rank.

The tailors in Falmouth and its neighbourhood who were employed in fitting us out were delightfully innocent of all notion of what a midshipman’s uniform should really be, and each one seemed to fancy that he was at liberty to give full scope to the exuberance of his taste. Their models might have been taken from the days of Benbow, or rather, perhaps, from the costumes of those groups who go about disguised at Christmas-time enacting plays in the halls of the gentry and nobility, and are called by us west-country folks “geese-dancers.” As we met on board the cutter which was to carry us to Plymouth we were not, I will allow, altogether satisfied with our personal appearance, and still less so when we stepped on the quarter-deck of the seventy-four, commanded by one of the proudest, most punctilious men in the service, surrounded by a body of well-dressed, dashing-looking officers.

Tom Peard first advanced, as chief and oldest of our gang, with a bob-wig on his head surmounted by a high hat bound by narrow gold lace, white lapels to his coat, a white waistcoat, and light-blue inexpressibles with midshipman’s buttons. By his side hung a large brass-mounted hanger, while his legs were encased in a huge pair of waterproof boots. I followed next, habited in a coat all sides radius, as old Allen would have said, the skirt actually sweeping the deck, and so wide that it would button down to the very bottom. My white cuffs reached half way up the arm to the elbow; my waistcoat, which was of the same snowy hue, reached to my knees, but was fortunately concealed from sight by the ample folds of my coat, as were also my smallclothes. I had on white thread stockings, high shoes and buckles, and a plain cocked hat—a prodigiously long silver-handled sword completing my costume.

Dick Martingall’s and Tom Paynter’s dresses wore not much less out of order, giving them more the appearance of gentlemen of the highway than of naval officers of respectability. One had a large brass-mounted sword once belonging to his great-grandfather, a trooper in the army of the Prince of Orange; the other, a green-handled hanger, which had done service with Sir Cloudesley Shovel.

Often have I seen a set of geese-dancers compelled to make a hurried flight before the hot poker of some irate housekeeper disturbed in her culinary operations, and much in the same way did we four aspirants for naval honours beat a precipitate retreat from the deck of the Torbay as, with a stamp of his foot, our future captain ordered us to be gone and instantly to get cut down and reduced into ordinary proportions by the Plymouth tailors.

As may be supposed, the operation was almost beyond the skill of even the most experienced master of the shears, and we were all of us compelled, much to our dismay, to furnish ourselves for the most part with new suits. On our return on board, however, we were complimented on our appearance; and as our tailor agreed to receive payment from our first instalment of prize-money, we were perfectly content with the arrangement.

After spending a few months in channel cruising—the Torbay being ordered to lay as guard-ship at Plymouth—such a life not suiting my fancy, I quitted her and joined his Majesty’s sloop of war Falcon, captain Cuthbert Baines, fitting out for the West India station.

As in those days I kept no regular journal, I have only a few scattered notes written in an old log-book to guide me in my account of the events of that period of my career. A few are still vivid in my memory as when they first occurred, but many have escaped me altogether, or appear like the fleeting phantoms of a dream of which it is impossible to describe the details. I must therefore be allowed to pass rapidly over that early portion of my naval life and go on to the time when I had passed my examination for a lieutenant’s commission and trod the quarter-deck as a master’s mate.

On the Falcon’s leaving Portsmouth we touched at Falmouth or our way down channel, when I had the opportunity of taking leave of my family—with some of them, alas! it was an eternal farewell. This is one of the seaman’s severest trials; he knows from sad experience that of the many smiling faces he sees collected round the domestic hearth some will too surely be missing on his return, wanderers, like himself, far, far away, or gone to their final resting-place.

We made a stay of a few days at Madeira, and without any occurrence worthy of note reached English Harbour, Antigua, October 21st, 1771, where we found lying several ships of war under the flag of Rear-Admiral Mann.

I have not hitherto mentioned the names of my messmates. Among others, there were William Wilkins, John Motto, Israel Pellew (see note), and Alexander Dick. We were a jovial set and generally pulled well together; but on one occasion the apple of discord was thrown in among us, and Alexander Dick, the surgeon’s mate, and I fell to loggerheads in consequence of some reflections I thoughtlessly cast on the land of his nativity—to the effect, as far as my recollection serves me, that nothing better was to be found there as food for the people than sheeps’ heads and boiled bagpipes; to which he retorted by asserting that we west-country folks were little better than heathens and had no more manners than blackamoors. As neither of us would retract what we had said, it was decided that our dispute could alone be settled by mortal combat. Pistols, we were aware, were the most gentlemanly weapons to be employed on such occasions; but we found that it would be impossible to obtain them in a hurry without to a certainty betraying our intentions. It was therefore settled by our seconds and ourselves that we should decide the knotty question with our hangers as soon as we could manage to get on shore after reaching port. All four of us therefore, having got leave the morning after our arrival, left the ship soon after daybreak in a shore-boat and pulled off to a retired part of the harbour. Here we landed, and telling our black boatmen to wait our return, we walked away arm-in-arm to a spot where we thought no one would observe us. Having thrown off our coats and tucked up our shirt-sleeves, the word was given, and, drawing our hangers, we advanced towards each other with furious passes, as if nothing but the death of one of us could satisfy the rancour of our enmity, and yet at that very moment I believe neither of us recollected the origin of our quarrel. Dick first gave me a cut on the shoulder, which so excited my fury that I was not long in returning the compliment by bestowing a slash across his arm, which made him wince not a little, but before I could follow it up he had recovered his guard. In a moment I was at him again, and as we were neither of us great masters of the noble art of self-defence, we kept hewing and slashing away at each other in a most unscientific manner for several minutes, till we were both of us covered with gashes from head to foot, and the blood was flowing copiously down into our very shoes. At last, from very weariness and loss of blood, we dropped the points of our swords as if by mutual consent. Our seconds now stepped forward.

“Hurry, my good fellow,” said my second, “one thing I see clearly. This matter cannot be settled satisfactorily with cold steel—it’s too much like the custom of piccarooners. We must wait till we can get hold of pistols, and arrange the affair in a gentlemanly way. That’s my opinion, and I daresay you and Mr Dick will agree with me.” In honest truth, both my antagonist and I were in such a condition that we were perfectly ready to agree to any arrangement which would prevent the necessity of continuing the painful operation we had both been inflicting on each other. All four of us therefore sat down on the sands, and Dick, pulling out some lint and bandages from his pockets, our seconds, under his directions, bound up our wounds. When this at length was done we found it, however, impossible to get on our coats again. We were therefore obliged to carry them over our shoulders as we walked to the boats. When the Negro boatmen saw our pale faces and halting gait, as with difficulty we stepped into the boat, they grinned from ear to ear, full well guessing what had occurred, and doubtlessly thinking, as will, I suspect, my readers, that we were very great fools for our pains. Ay, truly we were far worse than fools, for in obedience to the customs of sinful men we had been disobeying the laws of God, and committing a very great crime as well as a very great folly, but we did not think so then, nor did I till very many years afterwards.

Our intentions had not been kept so secret but that they had become known on board, and, our appearance on our return fully corroborating the truth of the reports which had been going about, we were put under arrest by Captain Baines, who then sent for us, to know the cause of our quarrel. We explained it as well as we could; but, as may be supposed, we neither of us had a very good case to make out. “Well, gentlemen,” said our commander, “this is a point I do not wish to decide myself, but I shall leave it to the arbitration of the gun-room officers, and to their decision you must bow.” The next day, therefore, the gun-room officers held a court, and, feeling very stiff and very sore, and looking, I doubt not, very foolish—though we did our best to appear like heroes—we stood before them. Having both of us pleaded our cause, it was decided that we had no business to use the language we had employed, and that we were both in the wrong. We were in consequence ordered to shake hands, and be friends, or else to look out for squalls. Had we possessed more sense, this we might have done before we had cut each other half to pieces, not to speak of spoiling a shirt and a pair of breeches apiece. Thus ended the first and only duel in which I was ever engaged, and Dick and I from that time forward became very good friends.

About this time, some serious disputes having arisen with the Caribs of Saint Vincent, who had become very troublesome to the settlers, the British Government formed the design of removing them altogether from the island and of placing them on some part of the mainland, where they might enjoy their own manner of life without interfering with civilised people. To effect this object an expedition was sent to the island under the command of Major-General Dalrymple, consisting of two regiments from America and various bodies of troops collected from the other islands and from on board all his Majesty’s ships of war on the station. At this distance of time of course I cannot pretend to be able to give any minute description of the details of the affair. I know that there were some gentlemen who acted as commissioners who went on shore to try and arrange matters with the Caribs; but the savages, after agreeing to terms, not showing any intention to abide by them, the troops were ordered to land. It was very easy to give the order, but not so easy to execute it, for at the time there happened to be an unusually heavy surf breaking on the shore. It would have been wiser in my humble opinion to have waited till the surf had gone down, or to have selected some other spot for disembarkation to that fixed on; but, strange to say, the authorities did not happen to ask my opinion, simply, I suppose, because I was a midshipman, and the landing commenced. The boats, pulled by the seamen and crowded with soldiers, made for the shore. Some reached it in safety by taking the proper moment to dash through the surf, but others were not so fortunate. One boat from our ship had put off; the men in high spirits at the thought of a brush with the Niggers, as they called the unfortunate Caribs. I was watching them from the deck as they approached the shore, when a heavy roller went tumbling in after them. The men saw it coming and pulled for their lives, but it was too quick for them, and catching the boat turned her over as if she had been a mere cockleshell. In an instant some thirty poor fellows were struggling in the surf. Many sunk at once, others made way for the shore, but they had a remorseless enemy on the watch for them, and several, with a shriek of agony which reached almost to the ears of those on board the Falcon, were drawn under by those monsters of the deep, the voracious sharks. Others, when nearly touching the sand, were washed out again by the reflux of another roller following up the first. It was doubly sad, because before it was possible to send any help to them their fate was sealed. Several other boats met with a like accident, and before the troops were all landed a large number both of seamen and soldiers were lost. The survivors formed on the beach and then advanced rapidly into the country, where the Caribs were drawn up in strong force to receive them.

The enemy, having the advantage of a knowledge of the country, chose their own ground for encountering our troops, and, truth to say, generally had the best of it. I do not wish to enlarge on the subject. I know that we gained very little honour and glory, but, after losing a considerable number of men, some from the bullets of the enemy and others from sunstrokes, the troops were ordered to embark again. Afterwards we heard that the Caribs were allowed to remain in possession of their rights. I suspect, however, that they did not retain them for any long period after this time.

I remember nothing of any particular importance happening to me till August, 1772, when we were lying in English Harbour, Antigua, in company with his Majesty’s ships Chatham, Sea-horse, and Active. I have good reason to remember the harbour well. It is small, but very pretty. The inner part is encircled by hills of various shapes and sizes, the outer is formed by a rocky ridge, with a fort on it guarding the narrow entrance. The capital, Saint Johns, is at the other side of the island, so that we were not able to get there as often as we wished. With little or no warning one of the most terrific hurricanes I ever encountered came down upon us, and before we could get our topmasts housed our masts went by the board, and at the same instant breaking from our anchors we were all driven on shore together. It was a case in which seamanship was of no avail, for before we could make any preparations to avert the evil the catastrophe had occurred. The same blast levelled with the ground all the stores and houses in the dockyard, as also the Naval Hospital and all the dwelling-houses and other buildings which it encountered in its course. Before we could attempt to heave the ships off we were obliged to clear them of everything, down to the very kelson, and even then we could not move them till we applied the most powerful purchases which could be invented. The Falcon had received so much injury that we were compelled to heave her down to repair her before she was fit for sea. While this operation was going forward I had the misfortune to break my right knee-pan, and for very long it was doubtful whether I should ever again have the free use of my leg. For sixteen weeks I remained in hospital, but at length, to my great satisfaction, was pronounced fit for duty.

I was now no longer a mere youngster, and had seen already a considerable amount of service. Early in 1773 I was appointed acting-lieutenant of the Falcon by Vice-Admiral Parry, who had superseded Admiral Mann. I now assumed the lieutenant’s uniform and walked the deck with no little amount of pride, hoping to be confirmed in my rank when at the expiration of her time on the station my ship should return to England. The change from a midshipman’s berth to the gun-room was very considerable, and as I shone away in what the Orlopians term white boot-tops, I was looked upon by them, with no little amount of envy. I was doomed, however, in this respect to suffer disappointment. In August, 1774, the Falcon returned home, the captain, the lieutenant of marines, another midshipman, and myself, being the only officers on board who had left England in her—the rest having died or changed into other ships. I must mention the kindness I ever received from Captain Baines while I remained with him. After I left the Falcon I served in the Folkstone cutter stationed at Bideford, and then joined the Wolf sloop of war, Captain Hayward. In the space of a few months I attended the funerals of his wife, his child, and lastly of himself. On quitting the Wolf I began what I may look upon as a new era in my life, and it is therefore a fitting period to commence a fresh chapter.

Note. Afterwards Sir Israel Pellew, the brother of the famous Lord Exmouth.

Chapter Two.

Commencement of the American War of Independence.—Appointed to the Orpheus frigate.—Causes of the war.—Sail in company with the Chatham for Halifax, Nova Scotia.—Stormy passage in mid-winter.—Lose sight of Chatham.—Lose masts.—The captain keeps at it.—Rig jury-masts.—A succession of gales.—Get in at last.—Our captain gains great credit.

I had enjoyed the otium cum dignitate of a midshipman’s life on shore scarcely more than six weeks when, in September, 1775, the shrill bugle-blast of war sounded the knell of the piping tunes of peace; and I received the very satisfactory intelligence that I was rated as master’s mate on board the Orpheus frigate, of fifty-two guns, Captain Hudson, then fitting for sea with all possible despatch at Plymouth, and destined for the North American station. I had hoped to have been confirmed in my rank as a lieutenant; but, disappointed in this, I was too glad under present circumstances to get afloat on any terms.

The peace which had now lasted for nearly ten years was thus abruptly terminated by the outbreak into open rebellion of the North American colonies, which led on to their Declaration of Independence. I was never anything of a politician, and I must confess that at that period of my existence I troubled myself very little about the rights of the case, though even then I had a lurking idea that the colonists were not quite the ragamuffins some people would have had us suppose. They had no fancy, it appeared, to pay taxes without having a voice as to the employment of their money or interest in the objects on which it was expended. The British Government and the upper classes generally at home had always treated the inhabitants of the colonies as if they considered them an inferior race, and almost beyond the pale of civilisation. This conduct had naturally caused much discontent and ill feeling, and made the colonists more ready to resent and oppose any attempt to curtail their rights and privileges. What was called the Stamp Act met with the first organised opposition. The Government offices were in many places pulled down, while the Governor of New York and other promoters of the Act were burnt in effigy. Many influential colonists then bound themselves to make use of no articles on which duties had been levied; while the people of Boston, proceeding a step farther, rather than pay the duty imposed by the British Government, threw into the sea the cargoes of several ships sent there by the East India Company laden with tea. This proceeding of the inhabitants of Boston induced the British Government to send General Gage, with an army, to take up his quarters there, with the intention of coercing them.

The belief that arbitrary Government was about to be established throughout the colonies made the people in every direction rise in arms. A rebel force, consisting of several thousand men, began to collect in the neighbourhood of the above-mentioned city. Petition after petition and remonstrance after remonstrance had been sent over to England in vain. The great Lord Chatham and the famous Mr Edmund Burke had pleaded the cause of the patriots with all the mighty eloquence they possessed; but without altering the resolution of the King or the Government. The celebrated Dr Franklin, already well known in England and America as a philosopher as well as a statesman, had come over to England to plead the cause of his countrymen, but had returned hopeless of effecting his object. What treatment, after this, could the colonists expect, if they yielded to the dictates of the mother-country?

The crisis at length arrived. There was at Concord, near Boston, a large magazine of military stores. General Gage sent a force to destroy it. The patriots collected in considerable numbers to oppose the British troops, and drove them back, with a heavy loss, into the city. This engagement, though little more than a skirmish, was called the Battle of Lexington. If its results were to be taken into consideration, few battles have been of more importance. Brethren had shed each other’s blood. Both parties were exasperated beyond control. The patriots felt their power; the royalists burned to wipe out the disgrace their arms had received. General Gage now regularly fortified Boston, which was in its turn besieged by the rebels. The whole continent was up in arms. Another successful enterprise had been undertaken by a leader of irregulars, who had seized the Ports of Ticonderoga and Crown Point, which gave the patriots the command of Lake George and the head of Lake Champlain, always recognised as the keys of Canada.

The patriots had by this time formed a regular Government. Each of the colonies had sent delegates to a general assembly held at Philadelphia, to which the name of the Congress was given. The Congress had authorised the formation of an army and had appointed as Commander-in-chief a gentleman of Virginia of good repute, Colonel George Washington. He was well known as a bold leader in frontier warfare against the Indians, and had also seen service against the French; besides this, he was a man of the highest moral qualities, which had gained him the respect of his fellow-colonists.

The event which had induced the Government to despatch my ship and others so hurriedly to the North American station was the battle of Bunker’s Hill, the news of which had just been received. The engagement itself would not have been of much consequence had it not proved that the rebels were resolved to fight it out to the last. The Americans, besieging Boston, had fortified a height above the city called Bunker’s Hill. General Gage resolved to dislodge them and to endeavour to raise the siege. Our troops, after much hard fighting and considerable loss, claimed the victory, having driven the enemy from the heights; but the Americans quickly rallied, and, many reinforcements coming up, the city was more closely invested than ever.

I frequently heard the subject of the rebellion discussed by my friends during my stay at home, and I cannot say that generally their sympathies were in favour of the colonists. A few took the view of the case entertained by Lord Chatham, Mr Burke, and a small band of enlightened men in advance of their age; but they mostly sided with the King and the Tories, and considered that the presumption of the colonists must be put down with a high hand. They little knew of what stuff the descendants of the Pilgrim Fathers—the sturdy Puritans, the dashing Cavaliers, the prim Quakers, and of many other classes whom persecution, poverty, or their crimes, had driven from Europe—were made, as I had full many opportunities afterwards of discovering. A just and judicious policy which at once would have granted all the rights the colonists demanded would have preserved the dignity of the mother-country and saved oceans of bloodshed; but it was ordained otherwise. The falsehood of traitors had taught our too credulous King to disbelieve in the loyalty as well as the courage of his trans-Atlantic subjects; and his ministers, in spite of all the warnings and the earnest entreaties of the colonists, persisted in forcing on them their obnoxious measures. I must again repeat, that at the time I allude to I did not see things in the serious light in which I have described them. It would never do if midshipmen were to turn politicians; still, I could not help hearing what others said on the subject, and I had plenty of time to think of what I had heard. The general cry was—“Crush the audacious rascals! Put down the traitorous villains with a strong hand! What, venture to disobey the authority of their lawful master and sovereign, King George? They will soon learn reason at the point of the sword!” Such were the sentiments shared by most on board, as well as throughout the army and fleet.

Had it not been for this outbreak of war, I had proposed volunteering to sail with Captain Cook, who had just then returned from his famous voyage in the Resolution with Captain Furneaux, who commanded the Adventure; and it was reported that he was about to start on another and still more important expedition, which he actually did on the following year.

During my stay on shore I had gone over to see my sister Mary and my brother-in-law, Jack Hayfield. Jack was the same good-natured, thoughtless creature as before, and had done as little to better himself as he had to improve me. I made inquiries for Tommy Rockets, whom I found was still at home, so I set out to see him and his mother, not forgetting what I knew would prove a welcome present to the poor woman. I found her looking more careworn and poverty-stricken than ever. She did not know me when I entered her cottage, for I was much grown and thoroughly sun-burnt.

“Well, dame,” said I, “how goes the world with you?” She looked at me hard, surprised that a stranger should make such an inquiry; then, suddenly recognising me, she sprang up, and in her joy was about, I believe, to kiss me as she would have done Tommy, when, recollecting herself, she took my hand, which I put out, and pressed it warmly. After I had told her somewhat of my adventures I asked her whether she would allow Tommy to accompany me the next time I went to sea. The poor woman turned pale at the question, but at last gasped out—

“If the lad wishes it, if it’s for his good, I dare not say him nay—but, oh, Master Hurricane, you’ll look after him—you’ll befriend him—you’ll protect him—he’s my only child, and he’s very simple and ignorant of the world’s ways.” I promised her that I would do my best for him, though I warned her he must trust to his own good conduct; and soon after Tommy came in. I saw at a glance that he had the stuff in him to make a sailor. He had grown into a stout, broad-shouldered lad, though still rather short, with fists big enough to fell an ox, a round, bullet head covered with curly hair, and a thoroughly honest, good-natured countenance, not wanting in intelligence, though a snubby nose, small eyes, and thickish lips formed his features. He had a strong struggle in his bosom, I saw, before he could make up his mind to tell his mother that he would accept my offer; but he could do little for their mutual support while he remained on shore, and I left him attempting to comfort her by telling her of the wealth with which he would ere long return to her.

As soon as I got my appointment I sent directions to Tom to join me at Plymouth, with a small sum to fit him out, being very certain that he would at once be taken on board. I had a wide round of farewell visits to pay to numerous friends who had been kind to me during my stay on shore. They all wished me plenty of prize-money and rapid promotion, but I cannot say that I had much expectation of getting either. I was much concerned at this time at observing the state of my father’s spirits. His worldly affairs were, I suspected, not flourishing, though, as he did not speak to me about them, I could not venture to make any inquiries of him on the subject. I could only cherish the hope that if I did realise a sailor’s dream and make any prize-money I might be able to render him some assistance. My poor mother’s health also was failing, weakened, as it long ago had been, by cares and responsibilities of her numerous family. With a heart therefore more full of misgivings than usual, I bade them and those of my brothers and sisters who remained at home farewell, and, with a chest rather more amply supplied with necessaries than when I first went to sea, I set off for my ship then lying at Hamoze, and joined her on the 15th of October, 1775. I was, as I fully expected, successful in getting Tommy Rockets rated as a landsman on board, and though, poor fellow, he at first looked very much like a fish out of water, and a very odd fish too, I saw that it would not be long before he would be perfectly at home on his new element.

As soon as he had been entered and had become one of the ship’s company, I told him to go aloft, to give him some experience before we got to sea. “What, to the top of them big sticks that grow out of the ship? They be plaguey high, Master Hurricane!” said he, looking up doubtingly, at the same time preparing to swarm up by the foremast itself. When he found that he might go up by the shrouds he seemed to think it a very easy matter, and before many days were over he could go aloft as quickly as any lad in the ship. I got an old seaman, Nol Grampus, who had sailed with me in two ships before, to look after him and to put him up to his duty, which, to do him justice, he was very anxious to learn. A little help of this sort to a lad when he first goes to sea is of great service to him in many ways; it gives him encouragement, it saves him from many a cuff and harsh word, and makes a seaman of him much sooner than he would otherwise become. On the 16th of the month we went into the Sound, where the remainder of the officers joined. By frequently sending press-gangs on shore we got together our ship’s company, but we had yet to learn the stuff they were made of. I was truly glad to find two or three old shipmates on board. One of them was Gerrard Delisle, my greatest friend. We had gone afloat at the same time and were exactly the same age and standing, though, I must confess, he was vastly my superior in education and ability. He had all the gallantry and impetuosity of an Irishman, with a warm heart full of generous feelings, and at the same time the polish of a man of the world, not always to be obtained in a cock-pit. Another friend of mine was Noel Kennedy, also a master’s mate. He was a Scotchman of good family, of which he was not a little proud. His pride in this respect was an amiable failing, if failing it was, for his great anxiety was to shed honour on his name. Among my other messmates were John Harris Nicholas, Richard Ragget, John Drew. A great pet of ours was little Harry Sumner—one of the smallest midshipmen who ever came to sea. Left an orphan, without a connexion bound to him by the ties of blood, the poor child had been sent afloat by his guardians as the simplest mode they could devise of disposing of him. The event was happy for him, for he soon found many more friends on board than he ever would on shore, and in a short time there was not a man of the ship’s company who would not have risked his life to shield him from injury. As I shall have to mention the officers and my other messmates in the course of my narrative I need not here describe them.

On the 30th, the moment we had cast off the lighters from alongside, we sailed for North America in company with the Chatham, bearing the flag of Rear-Admiral Shouldham, who was going out to take the chief command on that station. The wind continuing fair and the weather fine, we, on the following day, lost sight of the English shore, which many on board were destined never to see again—none of us, until months and months had passed by.

Things had begun to shake a little into their places and the officers and ship’s company to know something of each other by the time that we had got about three hundred leagues to the westward of Scilly. Instead, however, of keeping to the southward, where we might have found a continuance of fine weather, our captain, in his anxiety quickly to reach the scene of action, notwithstanding the advanced season of the year, ordered a northerly course to be steered. The consequence was that we had soon work to try the mettle of all hands. By noon on the 6th of November we fell in with a gale of wind which would as effectually have blown up the Houses of Parliament as would Guido Faulks and his barrels of gunpowder, if it could have got under them. Sail was shortened and all was made snug aloft in time, hat below many an article took a voyage which terminated in total shipwreck to itself or neighbours.

“Here comes a combing sea in a vengeance!” exclaimed Delisle, seizing hold of little Harry to save him from being by chance washed away. We were standing aft on the quarter-deck. On came the watery mountain with its curling crest of snowy foam, and, striking the ship with terrific force and with a noise like thunder, broke over the starboard chesstree, deluging the decks forward and carrying away a fine cutter off the larboard skidds, with some of the rails and carlings of the head.

“Where are we going to, Mr Delisle?” exclaimed little Harry, as he clung to his arm with a look of very natural terror in his countenance.

“To Halifax, in Nova Scotia, I hope,” answered Gerrard, laughing. “Where else should you think?”

“I thought we might be going to the bottom,” answered the poor boy with perfect simplicity; “but I’m not afraid, you know.”

“No reason why you should be, Harry,” answered Delisle. “The old barkie will have to swim through many a worse sea than this, let me tell you—so remember, my boy, you are never in future to begin to be afraid till you see the rest of us turn pale.”

Little Harry promised obedience, and he had before long ample opportunities of proving his nerves. The seamen, as they hurried about the decks, shook the water in showers, like Newfoundland dogs from their shaggy coats; and in a short time we had things put as much to rights as circumstances would allow.

The gale continued all night, but ceased on the following evening without having committed further damage, and from that time till the morning of the tenth we had tolerably fine weather. It then fell a stark calm, but there was an ominous cold-grey silky look in the sky which I did not like. The captain was constantly on deck, anxiously scanning the horizon, and Jonathan Flood, our old master, kept his weather-eye open, as if apprehensive of evil.

“Vary fine weather this, Mr Hurry,” said Andrew Macallan, our surgeon’s mate, who had come to sea for the first time. “Just a wee bit more wind to waft us on our way to the scene of action, and we may well be content.”

“Wait a bit, doctor, and we shall have wind enough and to spare,” replied I.

It was not long before my words were verified—though just after that the appearance of coming bad weather wore off, and even the captain and master seemed to think that a moderate breeze was all we had to look for. We were lying with our topsails on the caps and courses hauled up, when, without a moment’s warning, a gust of wind with the force of a hurricane laid the ship on her beam-ends.

“Up with the helm!” shouted the captain, who had that instant come on deck. “Brace round the foreyards—trice up—brail up the after sails!”

The helm was put up, but before the canvas could be handed, with claps like thunder, the main-topmast-staysail and jib were blown from the bolt-ropes, the topsails and courses were flying in shreds from the yards, the topsail sheets, clew-lines and bunt-lines were carried away, as were also the main-clew garnets, bunt-lines and leech-lines, while a more tremendous sea than I had ever before beheld got up as if by magic.

The ship, however, happily answered her helm and flew before the gale, which at the same time kept freshening and shifting round to every point of the compass.

All we could now do was to scud, and that every instant, as the wind and sea increased, became more and more dangerous. To bring her to under present circumstances was impossible—indeed, deprived of all means of handing the sails, we were helpless; and by this time every one of them was flying aloft in tattered streamers, adding not a little to the impetuous rate at which the gale drove us onward.

The seas, each apparently overtopping the other, kept following up astern, and before long one broke aboard us, deluging the decks and sweeping everything before it.

“Hold on! hold on for your lives, my men!” shouted the captain as he saw it coming.

Few needed the warning. When for a short time all was again clear we looked round anxiously to ascertain that none of our shipmates had been carried overboard. By next to a miracle all were safe. The carpenter and his crew were called aft to secure the stern ports and to barricade the poop with all the planks and shores they could employ, but to little purpose. The huge dark-green seas, like vast mountains upheaved from their base by some Titan’s power, came following up after us, roaring and hissing and curling over as if in eager haste to overwhelm us, their crests one mass of boiling foam. As I stood aft I could not help admiring the bold sweep of the curve they made from our rudder-post upwards, as high it seemed as our mizen-top, the whole a bank of solid water, with weight and force enough in it to send to the bottom the stoutest line-of-battle-ship in the Navy. The taste we got occasionally of their crests, as they now and then caught us up, was quite enough to make me pray that we might not have the full flavour of their whole body.

No one on board had thought all this time of the Chatham, and when at length we did look out for her she was nowhere to be seen. It was probable that she was in as bad a plight as ourselves, so that neither of us could have rendered the other assistance. Hour after hour passed without any improvement in the weather. Every instant we expected something worse to befall us. To remain below was out of the question, as at any moment we might be wanted. To keep the deck was scarcely possible, without the risk of being frozen to death or carried overboard. Matters were bad enough in the daytime, but when darkness came on and we went plunging away amid showers of snow and sleet and bitter frost, with the cold north-west wind howling after us, I thought of what the friends of some of our delicately-nurtured young gentlemen would say if they could see us, and, for my own part, often wished myself by the quiet fireside of the humblest cottage in old England. We did our best to look after little Harry Sumner, and got him stowed away carefully in his hammock, where we told him to lie still till he was wanted. There was no object in allowing him to remain on deck, where he could not be of use and was very likely to get injured.

“I’ll do as you tell me, Mr Hurry,” said he. “But I’m not afraid of the sea or the wind—if it were not for the bitter, bitter cold I would rather be on deck, I would indeed.”

“You’re a brave little fellow, Harry, but we must take care of you for some nobler work, and then I’ve no doubt you’ll give a good account of yourself,” said I. “So now go to sleep and try and get warm.”

Of my own immediate follower and protégé, Tom Rockets, I have said nothing since we came to sea. By the courage and activity he displayed on the present occasion he showed that he was made of the right stuff to form a first-rate seaman, and I had no reason to be ashamed of him.

The whole of that long, weary night did we run on, the gale rather increasing than falling, and when daylight broke over the waste of tumultuous waters the prospect seemed as unpromising as ever. Nothing could be done to get in any of our tattered canvas. The ship remained tight, and that was our chief comfort. At length, on the evening of the 11th, the wind began to drop a little. Everyone was on deck ready to take advantage of any opportunity which might occur for getting the ship into a better condition. Suddenly the wind shifted round to the north-east and dropped considerably. The hands were called aft. A fore-staysail was set on the mizen-mast—the helm was put down and the ship brought-to under it. The most necessary part of the rigging being also replaced, the ship’s company was divided into four watches, and all but the watch on deck were sent below to sleep. Never did weary seamen turn in with a greater good-will, or more require rest.

All hands had ample occupation the next day in unbending the remnants of our tattered canvas from the yards and in replacing it with a new suit of sails fore and aft, in reeving new running rigging, and in repairing the stern frame. All this was done with a tolerably fresh breeze blowing and a pretty heavy sea running, though moderate in comparison to what we had had and to what we were to encounter. This sort of weather continued till the 15th, during which interval we contrived to get things a little to rights. Gale number three now sprung up, and during the whole of it we lay under a balanced mizen. We did not escape, however, without damage, losing the bumkins and the remaining part of the carlings and rails of the head, and a part of the starboard quarter-gallery. The wind lulled again in the evening and continued moderate till the 19th, when it breezed up once more for the fourth time, and by the 21st we were in the centre of a perfect hurricane. Still nothing would induce our captain to run back or to endeavour to make his way across the Atlantic in a more southerly latitude. He had made up his mind that this northerly route was the right one to take, and he was not a man to be diverted from his purpose. The gale had been blowing for some hours, when at about one o’clock in the morning watch, the night being dark as Erebus, the ship pitching heavily into the seas and straining terrifically, Delisle and I were on deck together, endeavouring to pierce with our eyes the thick obscurity into which we were driving. It was much of a time for moralising, considering the showers of snow which ever and anon beat into our faces, the sheets of spray which came aboard and froze as it fell over us, and the biting wind which blew down our throats.

“No unapt picture this, of the life of many of us, Hurry,” said my companion. “Here have we been knocking about for some weeks very much the worse for wear—no nearer our voyage’s end, and utterly unable to say whither we are driving. I doubt much that we have seen the worst yet.” Scarcely had he spoken when a gust stronger than ever struck the ship. We felt her quiver and shake all over, and at the same instant there was a terrific crash forward. I hurried to see what had occurred. The foremast had been carried away about twenty feet above the forecastle, and lay over the lee fore-chains. The captain was on deck in a moment, and all hands were called to clear the wreck. In doing this the main-topmast-stay was cut, and thereby the main-topmast was carried away, severely wounding in its fall nine men. The poor fellows were borne below and placed under the surgeon’s care. The morning came and showed us our sad condition; but the gale had not yet sufficiently shorn us of our pride or tried to the full our captain’s perseverance, for soon after daybreak another gust struck us. I looked up to see what was next to happen. Before me stood our stout mainmast. Then, as if wrenched by a giant’s grasp, the shrouds and stays were torn away, and with a loud crash down it came by the board, crushing the booms, gallows, bits, gangway-rails, and the fore part of the quarter-deck, and staving in the long-boat and a large cutter so as to destroy them completely. The daylight enabled those on deck to stand from under in time to escape injury; but it was a work of time, danger, and difficulty to clear the ship of the wreck, for while we were engaged in it the sea was constantly breaking over us fore and aft, threatening every instant to engulph the ship. At the same time we were in momentary expectation of seeing the mizen-mast share the fate of the other masts. At length, having cleared the wreck, we hoisted a fore-topgallant-sail to the stump of the foremast, which we stayed up as well as we could, and were thereby able to keep the ship once more before the wind, though even then the heavy seas which followed us threatened every moment to break aboard. We were truly in a forlorn condition—with our fore and mainmasts gone, two suits of sails carried away with the exception of the sails on the mizen-mast, the remainder required for jury-sails whenever the weather would allow us to erect jury-masts—with numbers of the crew falling sick from exposure and excessive fatigue, and with a ship strained and battered in every direction. At length, the wind getting round to the westward, with unequivocal reluctance Captain Hudson resolved to bear up, to the very great satisfaction of everybody else on board. We were then four hundred and sixty leagues from the Lizard. For several days more the gale continued, and we were all in expectation of shortly reaching England and getting a thorough refit, when the weather suddenly became more moderate than heretofore. The opportunity was immediately taken of erecting jury-masts, and all hands were employed on this important work. To do this we had to use all the studden-sail-booms and spare spars on board. When completed and set up, they were pronounced to be equal if not superior to any ever before under similar circumstances fitted at sea. The captain looked at them with no little satisfaction, and complimenting the ship’s company on what had been done, called the officers aft, and informed them that he was resolved to attempt once more to reach the coast of America. Had there been a war with France, we should have been eager to get to our station, but as we expected to have little enough to do in putting down the American rebellion, I cannot say that our captain’s announcement was received with any great satisfaction. For several days we made tolerably fair progress, but on the 2nd of December a gale of wind sprang up, and carried away our jury-main-topmast and top-yard, and split the sail from clew to earing. During the whole of this month the weather continued as boisterous as at the commencement. Disaster followed disaster in quick succession. Among others, we lost four top-masts, six topsail-yards, one mainsail and one foresail, two topsails and one fore-topsail, besides which the cover of the arm-chest fell out of the mizen-top, and, striking the gunner, knocked out four of his teeth, broke his shoulder in two places, and cut his right eye in the most shocking manner. He was carried below in great agony, and his life was despaired of. I need not mention any more of the accidents we encountered. It may be supposed that by this time we were in a tolerably forlorn condition, with nearly every yard of our spare canvas expended, and with scarcely a spar remaining to replace our jury-masts, should they be carried away. Unpleasant, however, as was our position, I must say that we respected our captain for his perseverance, though it had become the pretty generally received opinion on board, both fore and aft, that we were destined never to reach our station. All sorts of stories were going the round of the decks. An old woman near Plymouth, Mother Adder-fang she was called, had been heard to declare, two nights before the ship went out of harbour, that not a stick of the Orpheus would ever boil a kettle on English ground. Another was said to have cursed the ship and all on board. Then we had a fine variety of Flying Dutchman’s tales, till the men began to look upon the captain as a sort of Vanderdecken himself, and to fancy, I verily believe, that we were destined ourselves to box about till the day of judgment. Now of course a man of calm sense should be uninfluenced by these sort of tales—we should be well assured that God only knows the future, and that words of anger, uttered by a wicked, ignorant old woman, cannot possibly alter His determination; still, when a man is worn out with fatigue, hardship and hunger, when the gale howls fiercely, and the raging seas appear every instant ready to engulph the ship, he cannot help thinking of the words he has heard and the stories which have been told him, and looking forward with sad forebodings to the future.

In spite, however, of the raging storm, the battered condition of the ship, and the predictions of disaster, we jolly Orlopians resolved not to be baffled in keeping our Christmas dinner in the accustomed manner as far as circumstances would allow. Our means for so doing were certainly not very extensive, either with regard to our condiments or the utensils for serving them in. The greater part of our crockery had been broken in the previous gales, and all our luxuries had long been consumed. We managed, however, to exhibit a dish of boiled beef at one end of the table, and one of boiled pork at the other, and a tureen of peas-soup and a peas-pudding; while our second course was a plum-pudding of huge dimensions, and solid as a round-shot—the whole washed down with a bowl of punch. Our seats were secured to the deck, and the dishes were lashed to the table, while it required no small amount of ingenuity and rapidity to convey each mouthful from our plates to our mouths. Never did the good ship tumble and roll about more violently than she did on that 25th of December, while we young gentlemen were drinking “sweet-hearts and wives,” and other appropriate toasts. Let my readers picture us to themselves, if they can, as we sat, each member of the mess holding on like grim death to either a dish, or bowl, or can, or mug, endeavouring, often in vain, to keep the contents from spilling, and then to carry a portion of them to his mouth, our voices now clattering away together, now one of us breaking forth into a song, and joined in chorus by the rest, the ship rolling and pitching, the bulkheads creaking and groaning, and the wind howling overhead. The contrast between the picture we presented and the dining-room of a comfortable, well-lighted country-house in England on the same day was not small.

Our condition was not improved when at length the year 1776 commenced. We had expended all our sails with the exception of those actually bent to the yards; of spars we had scarcely one remaining. In consequence also of the great expenditure of provisions and stores, the ship had become so light that she rolled excessively and with so quick and rapid a motion that some of the guns in the galley, drawing their ring-bolts from the side, broke loose, and before they could be secured committed much damage. Added to all this it was announced that our supply of water was very short, and we were put on an allowance of a pint for each person. On these occasions the captain and the smallest boy share alike. If any of us breakfasted or dined in the gun-room or cabin, we carried with us our allowance of water to help make the tea. We were still fully four hundred leagues from the coast, and to all appearances as little likely to make it as we had been a month back. The officers were unanimous in their opinion that we should bear up for the West Indies, but Captain Hudson still resolved to persevere and to endeavour to gain our intended port. Though I, like the rest, was heartily sick of the life we had been enduring, and longed as much as anybody to get into port, I could not help admiring the perseverance and determination of our captain. Grave and anxious as he could not help appearing at times, he did his utmost generally to assume a cheerful countenance, and by words of encouragement to keep up the spirits of the men. As, however, one after the other the people fell sick, and disaster upon disaster overtook us, I more than once, when I went into the cabin, found him sitting pale and silent at the table, with his head resting on his hand, evidently meditating on the responsibilities of his position.

Meantime the men forward were grumbling and evincing no slight mutinous disposition. “Here, old ship, do ye see, have we been boxing about for the best parts of two months, and for what we knows to the contrary, farther off from our port than ever we were,” I heard one of the quartermasters, Jos Lizard, observing to a messmate, another old salt of the same kidney. Old Jos, as he was called, was somewhat of a sea lawyer in his way, though not the less superstitious on that account.

“Well, what’s to be done, mate?” asked his chum, Ben Goff.

“Done!” exclaimed old Jos; “why, I axes, are we to go knocking our heads against Providence, so to speak, till we’ve no water and no grub, and then to rot away, as I’ve heard of a ship’s company doing, and one left to tell about it!”

“No, old salt, I wouldn’t for one wish to do that same; but how’s it to be helped?” asked Goff.

“Helped!” said Lizard, with a look of scorn, “helped! why, let’s go aft to the captain, and tell him our mind. Either we bears up for a port, or let the ship sink at once; it’s only what we must come to at last. We’ll get the rum casks on deck, and have a regular jollification of it first. Then no matter what turns up, we sha’n’t know much about it.”

I well knew the horrible folly seamen are capable of, so I thought it best to put a stopper at once on the precious notion old Jos had got into his head. I therefore presented myself suddenly before the two men. “You’re a couple of donkeys, to talk such nonsense as you’ve just been doing!” I exclaimed, in a contemptuous tone. “Do you think two ignorant old fellows like you know better than the captain what ought to be done? Let me hear no more about it. I am not going to report what I overheard, and if you catch any of the other men talking the game sort of stuff, just let them know what fools they are.” I felt that it would not do to reason with the men, but that I should have a better chance of putting them off this notion by making them feel ashamed of themselves, and this I think I succeeded in doing. I cannot say, however, that I felt very sanguine as to the termination of the voyage.

What the temper of the crew might at length have led to, I don’t know, but at last we got a slant of fair wind and moderate weather, and it was announced that we were within twelve leagues of Cape Sambro, near the entrance of the harbour of Halifax. As may be supposed, there was great rejoicing on board; all our troubles and misfortunes were forgotten, and we fully expected to be in harbour the next day. That night Delisle and I were on deck together. Kennedy also was there, and little Harry Sumner. Mr Gaston, the third lieutenant, had charge of the watch. We were congratulating ourselves on the turn which fortune had made in our favour, when Delisle called my attention to a thick gloom which was gathering over the land. We pointed it out to Mr Gaston, and asked him what it signified.

“That we are going to have another gale, which may drive us farther to the southward than we have hitherto been,” he replied.

Scarcely had he spoken than the first indications of the coming wind reached us—a rising sea and a driving shower of sleet—the helm was put up, and the ship kept before the wind, and then down came the gale upon us, and once more we were driving before it, surrounded by dense sheets of snow, which prevented us from seeing a yard beyond our bowsprit end. Away we went during the whole of the next day and night and the following day, driving madly before the gale. If the ship’s company had before this been full of forebodings of coming ill, it is not surprising that they should now have entirely abandoned all hope of ever again seeing land. On the 25th of January we were eighty leagues from the Cape, and more distressed than ever for masts, spars, sails, provisions, and water. So short, indeed, was our store of the latter necessary that we were now put on an allowance of half a pint a day; so severe also was the frost that we were compelled to throw hot water on the sails when they were furled before we could set them. The men more rapidly than before fell sick day after day, and completely lost their spirits, and it became the fashion when the watch turned out for them to inquire what fresh accident had occurred.

At length one night, as I lay sleeping in my hammock, I was awoke by a terrific noise. I found that the ship was on her beam-ends. There was a rushing of water, a crashing of timbers, a splitting of sails, the howling of wind, the cries and shrieks and stamping of men. I felt certain that the fatal and long-expected stroke had been given, and that I and all on board were about to be hurried into eternity. I have been since in many a hard-fought battle, I have seen death in every form, but I never felt its horrors so vividly as I did on that night. I remained in my hammock without attempting to dress, for I thought that I might as well drown as I was, and I had not the remotest expectation of being saved. Still the water did not reach me, and at length I heard Kennedy’s voice rousing up the idlers to go on deck, and help take the canvas off the ship.

“We’ve been in very great danger, and for some minutes I thought it was all over with us,” he observed: “we’ve brought her to, however, and she may ride out this gale as she has done many others.”

“I hope so,” said I, springing up and putting on my clothes, while Kennedy hurried on deck. I found that the chief noise had been caused by a number of shot boxes breaking loose from the mainmast, and as the ship heeled over, they came rushing under my hammock and crushing everything before them. I had no little difficulty in getting them secured. This appeared to be the last piece of malice those winter gales had to play us. The next day the weather moderated, and we were able to lay a course for Halifax. We could scarcely believe our senses as we found ourselves entering that magnificent harbour, after our protracted and disastrous voyage. We had been out ninety seven days, ten weeks of which time we had been under jury-masts. Our only squaresail was a spritsail at the main-yard to serve as a mainsail. The whole ship was covered with ice, and a most complete wreck she looked in every respect. We had the second lieutenant, gunner, and seventy-three men sick, twenty of whom were suffering from frost-bites. No wonder that such was our condition when we had encountered no less than forty-five heavy gales of wind, and it spoke well for the soundness of the hull of our ship that she had held together so perfectly. Our captain, officers, and ship’s company received the thanks of the commander-in-chief for their perseverance and resolution, and certainly no one deserved more credit than did our captain, for the determined way in which he held on and succeeded in bringing his ship into harbour.

The next Sunday we all repaired to church, to return public thanks to Almighty God for preserving us from the perils and hardships of the sea, to which we had been so long exposed. It was a solemn and touching occasion. Two and two, the captain at our head, and the officers following with the ship’s company, we all marched up together to the church. Thoughtless and careless about our spiritual being as we generally were, I believe very few among us did not feel our hearts swell with gratitude to the Great Being who had so mercifully watched over and preserved us from the dangers to which we had been exposed, when the minister gave forth the words of that beautiful hymn of thanksgiving,—“The sea roared, and the stormy wind lifted up the waves thereof. We were carried up as it were to heaven, and then down again to the deep; our soul melted within us because of trouble. Then cried we unto Thee, O Lord, and Thou didst deliver us out of our distress. Blessed be Thy name, who didst not despise the prayer of Thy servants, but didst hear our cry, and hast saved us. Thou didst send forth Thy commandment, and the windy storm ceased, and was turned into a calm.” The minister also gave us a sermon appropriate to the occasion, and most deeply attentive to it were the greater part of the ship’s company. There is as much religious feeling about seamen as in any class of men, though they are in general grossly ignorant of the doctrine of the Gospel. This is owing entirely to the wicked neglect of those of the upper classes who ought to have seen that they were properly instructed. I have, however, only to remark that it is the duty of the rising generation, not to sit idly down, and with upturned eyes to abuse their ancestors, but to arouse themselves, and by every means in their power to remedy the neglect of which they were guilty. The people seemed very soon to forget the hardships they had endured, and I fear likewise that the recollection of the mercies vouchsafed to us speedily passed from our memories.

Chapter Three.

Halifax harbour.—Life in the backwoods.—Dangerous expedition through the ice.—Lord Shouldham’s fleet with Lord Howe’s army arrives.—Sail for Nantucket Roads.—Boston cannonaded.—Watering-party on shore.—Capture whaling sloop Ranger.—Cruise in her with Grampus and Tom Rockets.—Her skipper’s trick defeated.—Reach Halifax.—Ordered on board Chatham.—Sail for New York.—General Washington holds possession of the city.

The harbour of Halifax is a very fine one. A thousand ships may anchor there in safety. It is our chief naval station in North America. The town, which is a handsome one, stands on a peninsula, and rises gradually from the water’s edge, where there are numerous wharves, alongside which ships can lie to discharge their cargoes. We found in the harbour the Cerberus frigate, Captain Symonds, (see Note 1), hove down alongside the wharf, as also the Savage sloop of war, wearing Commodore Arbuthnot’s broad pennant.

The inhabitants cordially welcomed our arrival, as they were in hourly expectation of an attack from a body of rebels who were said to be marching on the town, while the organised force existing for its defence was very small. At length an express arrived from the interior, stating that the enemy were at the distance of about twenty miles, at a small village of which they had taken possession. We were instantly ordered under arms to protect the dockyard, and fully expected to have warm work. The people who formed the rebel bands had been instigated to revolt by the revolutionists of the southern colonies, who had formed a plan at this time to invade Canada, which happily proved abortive. They themselves, as far as I could learn, had no real cause of complaint.

After we had waited for some time in expectation of an attack, notice was brought us that the rebels had plundered and burned the village where they had quartered themselves, and then retired. We were therefore able to employ all hands in refitting the ship, a work to us of the greatest importance. The cold, however, was so great that we suffered no little inconvenience from exposure to it. All the meat, I remember, which came on board, was frozen so hard that we were invariably obliged to cut it up into pieces with a cross-saw, to serve it out to the messes. Quantities of fish also of a peculiarly fine flavour were to be picked up daily, frozen to death, on the surface of the ice, thrown up by the united action of the tide and sea. As there were no masts and spars in the dockyard, we found that we should be obliged to send a party into the woods, fully ten miles from the town, to cut down trees suitable for the purpose. I was ordered to accompany the party appointed for this object. My friend Delisle was with me, and Tom Rockets went as my servant.

Having provided ourselves with blankets, provisions, cooking utensils, and other means of making ourselves comfortable, away we trudged over the snow, following our guide, John Nobs by name, who was to show us where we might find the sort of timber we required. It was the first time I had ever been in an American forest. The deep silence which reigned around, and the perfect solitude were very impressive. The tall leafless trees, springing up out of the sheet of snow which covered the whole face of nature, were the only objects to be seen.

We were merry enough as we tramped away in the keen, pure air over the crisp snow. As some thirty pair of feet, stepping out together, went crunch—crunch—crunch—the noise was so loud, that we were obliged to raise our voices to make ourselves heard. Delisle and I marched directly after our leader old Nobs, our men following, laughing, talking, and singing, as the mood seized them.

At length, having gone some way through the forest, Nobs began to look about him attentively. He was not a man of many words.

“That’s ’um,” said he, pointing with his chin to some tall, straight fir-trees, up to which he had led us. We saw also that a considerable number of the same description grew in the neighbourhood.

“I suppose, then, we may call a halt?” said I.

Nobs nodded. We had been told that he would show us how to build some huts for sheltering our party.

“Some on you with axes come along,” said he, turning to the men, and away he trudged till we reached a clump of graceful, white-stemmed birch-trees. Scoring down the stems, he quickly ripped off huge sheets of bark, some five and six feet long, and two and three broad. The men followed his example, and we soon had as much as the whole party could carry.

“Stay, that won’t do alone,” observed Nobs; and he commenced cutting some thin poles, seven or eight feet long, from saplings growing in the neighbourhood. With these we returned to the spot we had fixed on for an encampment. Scarcely uttering a word, having got some men to assist him, he erected a framework of a cone-shape, with about eight of the poles, fastening the upper ends together with a piece of rope. He then covered the framework with sheets of bark, leaving a doorway and a small space open at the top.

“There you have an Indian wigwam,” said he.

From the pattern he had thus formed, the men very soon erected wigwams enough to shelter the whole party. He then collected some dried wood, of which there was an abundance about, and lighted a fire in the middle of his hut. The hole left at the top of it allowed the smoke to escape. The snow, which had first been cleared away in the interior, was piled-up round the hut outside, and the ground was then beaten hard. He showed us how to make our couches of dried leaves; and at night, wrapped in our blankets lying round the fire, we found that we could sleep most luxuriously.

Having thus speedily made all these necessary arrangements, we set to work to select the trees fit for our purpose. As soon as we had fixed on them, Nobs threw off all his outer clothing, and with his gleaming axe began chopping away like a true backwoodsman at one of the largest of the trees. The carpenter’s crew followed his example. The air was so calm that while the men were actively employed they felt not the slightest sensation of cold. The moment they ceased, however we made them put on their clothing.

Nobs was thoroughly versed in all the customs of backwoodsmen, so he was able to show us how to make ourselves comfortable, and I learned many lessons from him which I, on many subsequent occasions, found very useful. Among other things he showed us how to roast our meat by spitting bits of it on a long thin stick, which rested on two forked sticks stuck in the ground. Indeed, we enjoyed ourselves far more than we expected.

Tom Rockets and another lad slept in our wigwam, to assist in keeping up the fire. I lay awake for a short time, when my ears were saluted with the sound of a long, low howl. I presently heard Tom stir himself.

“Oh, Jim, sure them be the ghostesses we heard tell of,” said he. “I hope they won’t be coming this way now.”

“I hopes not,” replied his companion. “Them be dreadful things I do think, by the noise they makes.”

Just then there was a louder howl than before.

“Oh, they be coming!” cried Tom. “I’ll rouse up Mr Hurry. Maybe he’ll know how to tackle ’em.”

Highly diverted with the opinion my followers had formed of my prowess against not only mortal but spiritual enemies, I lay still, wishing to hear what he would next say. The hideous howl approached still nearer.

“I can’t stand it!” he exclaimed. “Muster Hurry! Muster Hurry! there be ghostesses, or devils, or some such things abroad, a-playing of their pranks, and they be coming to eat us up, Muster Hurry, I be sure!”

I burst into a fit of laughter, so loud that it woke Delisle. It was responded to, it seemed, by so unearthly a cry from the depths of the forest, that even he for a moment was startled. Then there was the report of firearms, and looking out of our wigwam, I saw old Nobs standing in front of his, with a musket in his hand.

“I’ve druve the varmints away,” he said, in his usual laconic style. “You may turn in, mister.”

I took his advice, for it was very cold outside.

“The wolves will not probably disturb us again,” said I, as I lay down.

“Wolves! be them wolves?” I heard Tom remark; but as I soon fell asleep, I do not know what more he said.

Towards the morning I was again awoke by loud shouts, and growls, and cries, and the sound of a tremendous tussle.

“I’ve caught ye, my bo!” I heard Tom exclaim. “If ye be a ghost or a devil, ye shall just show yourself to Muster Hurry, before I let ye go.”

Starting up, I found the two lads struggling with some beast or other at the entrance to the wigwam. I soon discovered that they had got hold of a black bear, who had doubtless been attracted to our wigwam by a pot of sugar which had been left at the entrance, into which he was putting his paw when Rockets discovered him. The noise brought a number of the other men from the huts. They thought we were attacked by Indians or the rebels, I believe. The poor beast made a good fight of it; but before I could come to his rescue, he had been somewhat severely handled. We, however, easily secured him, and kept him prisoner till we settled what should be done with him. He was, we learned from old Nobs, of a species not at all ferocious, and very easily tamed. We therefore determined, instead of killing him in order to turn him into ham, to carry him on board as a pet. He very soon became reconciled to his lot, and at once ate willingly from our hands any mess we offered, particularly if sweetened with sugar. Rockets considered him as his own prize, and took him under his especial care. The men gave him the name of Sugar-lips, and as Tom stood his sponsor he was known on board as Tommy Sugar-lips.

However, I must not spend more time on my shore adventures, as I have matter of so much greater interest to describe. In about five days we had cut down and trimmed a sufficient number of trees for our purpose. The greatest labour was to drag them over the snow to the harbour; but at length that was accomplished, and we returned once more on board.

Shortly after this the frost set in harder than ever, but in consequence of the rapidity of the tides the ice, though fully four feet thick, did not form a consistent body in the harbour. In some places it was hard, but the chief quantity round the ship was like a mass of wet snow, too soft and too rotten to walk on, and yet too thick to allow a boat of any size to be impelled through it. Thus all communication with the town was suddenly cut off. At this time we had a gang of men on the opposite shore, fitting the rigging at a spot where they could procure no provisions. They were getting very hard up for food, when Captain Hudson sent for me.

“Mr Hurry,” said he, “I wish to send some provisions to the people on shore. It will be a service of difficulty, and perhaps danger, but I can entrust it confidently to you; you must take a couple of hands and a light boat, and you may be able to force her either over or through the ice.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” I answered; “I’ll do it if it is to be done.” And away I went to make my preparations without loss of time. I always felt an inclination to volunteer for any work to be done, and never thought of throwing difficulties in the way of the performance of any thing that was proposed. I chose Nol Grampus, the old quarter-master, and Tom Rockets as my companions in the enterprise. The dinghy, a small boat we carried astern, was the best suited to my purpose. Having laden her with provisions, we shoved off from the ship among the floating ice. Our progress was very slow, sometimes we worked our way among the sheet ice, then we came to a hard slab on to which we jumped and hauled the boat over it. “Take care, sir,” said Grampus, as we were crossing a slab, “this is treacherous stuff we are on.” Just as he spoke I felt my feet sinking into the slush, and had I not had firm hold of the gunwale, I might have gone through altogether. As I sprang into the boat I could not help shuddering at the thought of sinking into the cold deadly mass which surrounded us without the possibility of making an effort for life; too dense to enable one to swim, and yet too liquid to bear the weight of a person, it was as sure to destroy one as the treacherous quicksand or the furious maelstrom. Near us was another boat with an old man and a boy, likewise endeavouring to cross the harbour. We saw that they were exerting all their energies, but were not making better progress than we were. After some time the tide made down stronger, and on taking our bearings I found that the ice was setting us fast down the harbour and out to sea. My men needed no encouragement to exert themselves to the utmost, for the peril we were in was very apparent. Captain Hudson observed it also, and made the signal for us to return to the ship, but it was even more difficult to go back than to go forward. In attempting to obey the order I found that we were carried more into the strength of the current. I therefore kept on towards the wharf, where some hundreds of people were collected, rather anxious spectators of our adventure. Captain Symonds, of the Cerberus, and the master-attendant of the dockyard were looking on, and they also hailed to me to return to the ship. Sometimes we appeared to be making no progress whatever, and I felt the probability of our being carried out to sea—then again we advanced, though slowly, towards the shore. The old man and his boy were less able to contend with the difficulties which surrounded them. The old man had hurt himself, I fancy, and by degrees relaxed in his efforts—the poor little fellow was still putting forth all his strength to urge their boat forward, but it was too evidently likely to prove unavailing.

At last they slowly drifted past us, and though at so short a distance that I could clearly see the expression of their countenances we could render them no possible assistance. I shall not quickly forget the poor old man’s look of despair and grief—more perhaps for the coming fate of his boy than for himself. The poor lad had not yet given up all hopes of escape. Now he would sit down and wring his hands, and then he would start up, and, seizing an oar, try once more to shove the boat ahead. We had little time, however, for contemplating their fate, for there was still a great probability that we might have to share it. We were yet drifting seaward, and for hours together our utmost exertions only enabled us to hold our own. I can easily fancy the interest we excited on shore, yet nothing could be thought of to help us. We could hear the cry of horror and commiseration which rose from the crowd as the boat with our companions in misfortune drifted past the spot whence there was any hope of escape, and the old man and lad sat down and gave themselves up to despair. The intense cold would, I guessed, soon deprive them of all sensation and further power of exertion. Night was coming on, and we lost sight of them in the gloom. We had now been six hours in our perilous position, without time even to take a particle of nourishment. We were making for the Cerberus as the nearest point where we could receive assistance.

“We shall reach her, sir!” exclaimed Grampus at length, with a cheerful tone. “See, they are ready to heave us a line if we could but get a few fathoms nearer.” Encouraged by this, we exerted ourselves still more than ever, and at length a man from the jibboom end of the Cerberus hove a lead which happily reached our boat. We seized it eagerly, and making the line fast, we were hauled alongside the wharf. As soon as we landed and had received the congratulations of the spectators of our adventure, we were carried off, half-starved and frozen, by the master-attendant, Mr Prowse, to his house; where we were most hospitably entertained. I found in him an old shipmate, as he had been master of the Torbay when I belonged to her. I spent upwards of two days at his house, and received the greatest of kindness from him. While on shore I met another old friend, Captain Lee, of the Harriet Packet, with whom I almost lived during his stay at Halifax. As may be supposed, I found his comfortable cabin a far more agreeable place of abode than a midshipman’s berth with the rough and scanty fare with which we were provided. I was anxious to ascertain the fate of the old man and his son whom we had seen carried out to sea by the ice. Sad to relate, they had been picked up two days afterwards at the mouth of the harbour, frozen to death. They must have died, I suspect, soon after we lost sight of them, for the cold was so intense that it could not long have been resisted. We had, indeed, cause to be thankful to providence that their fate was not ours. It is but one of the many instances in which I have been mercifully preserved, while those by my side have been cut off. For what end has this been done? I wish that I could say that I have properly employed the longer term of life thus vouchsafed to me. There had been at Halifax all the winter a very limited supply of provisions. At length a fleet appeared off the harbour’s mouth, which proved to be that under the command of Admiral Lord Shouldham, with the army of General Howe on board, (see Note 2), who had been compelled by the American revolutionists, under General Washington, to evacuate Boston, after having been besieged in it for fully ten months. It will be remembered that we parted from the Chatham, Admiral Shouldham’s flag-ship, in a gale in the early part of our voyage. She went through as much bad weather, and experienced almost as many disasters as we had suffered, though at length she reached Boston, where Lord Shouldham succeeded Admiral Graves as Commander-in-Chief. Our disasters throughout the whole of that sad contest with the American States arose from the foolish contempt with which the British generals and their officers treated the provincial troops. While General Howe was waiting for reinforcements from England, General Washington was collecting an army and disciplining his troops. Before, therefore, the expected reinforcements could arrive, General Howe, to his great surprise, found himself outnumbered, and the city commanded from some hills which overlook it, called Dorchester Heights. He found that he must either dislodge the enemy from these heights or evacuate Boston. A heavy gale of wind prevented the adoption of the former alternative till the rebels were too strongly entrenched to allow the attempt to be made with any prospect of success. A hurried retreat was therefore resolved on, and not only the troops, but those of the inhabitants who had sided with the British, were compelled to embark on board the men-of-war and transports, vast quantities of military stores and property of all sorts being either destroyed or left behind, to fall into the hands of the enemy. This fleet had arrived ill provided with provisions to feed so many mouths, and from there being, as I have said, but a scanty supply of food in Halifax already, it was considered necessary to put the army and navy on half allowance—an arrangement to which, though very disagreeable, we were compelled to submit with the best grace we could muster. From the time of our arrival till the 4th of May we were busily occupied in fitting the ship for sea, and not an hour was lost after that was accomplished, in getting under weigh, when we stood to the southward. We were not sorry to have the chance of seeing some active service. On the 8th we spoke HMS Merlin, with two transports bound for Halifax, on the 12th the Milford and Lively, on a cruise. On the same day we anchored in Nantucket Roads, Boston, where we found lying the Renown, wearing the broad pennant of Commodore Banks, which we saluted with thirteen guns. A constant cannonade was kept up on the squadron by the rebels who now held Boston and the surrounding heights, but without doing us much mischief. We returned the fire occasionally with probably about the same result. After their late successes the American patriots had become very bold, and no longer held the British in any respect. Some parts of the coast of the harbour were left unprotected by the enemy. One night I was sent on shore in command of a watering-party, with strict orders to keep a watchful guard against surprise. To do this I considered it necessary to take possession of a house near the spot where we were filling the casks. As the house was deserted I carried off a table and six chairs which I found in it, with which to furnish the midshipman’s berth—ours having been knocked to pieces on the voyage to Halifax.

By the rules of war I had a right to take the property, I believe, but it seems hard that the owners, who were probably not belligerents, should be deprived of it. On the following day, the 15th, we sailed on a cruise in search of any of the enemy’s merchantmen or privateers, of which they had begun to fit out a good many. The crews ran a great risk of being treated as pirates, but as the rebels had already threatened to retaliate, should the usual customs of regular warfare be departed from, it was judged prudent to behave towards those who fell into our hands as if they were regular prisoners of war.

We had begun to grumble much at our ill-luck in not falling in with prize. “Ye’ll na take anything which will put siller into any of our pockets this cruise, ma laddies,” said Andrew Macallan, the Scotch surgeon’s mate, who was much addicted to the prophesying of ill-luck.

We Orlopians were collected in the midshipman’s berth towards the termination of a not over-luxurious dinner. “I should think not,” responded Kennedy. “What can we expect to get out of these beggarly provincials? It’s not likely they’ll have any craft afloat which will be worth capture.”

“How do you know that?” exclaimed Frank Mercer, one of our mates, with a deep crimson flush on his brow. “Now, from what I have heard, I believe the patriots have a number of fine merchantmen sailing out of their ports, and have already fitted out several privateers.”

“From which of your friends on shore did you hear that?” asked Kennedy, with a look of contempt.

“From common report,” replied Mercer. He was known to have several relations and friends in America who had sided with the rebels, and though this made him look on them with a favourable eye, he had too loyal a spirit to allow him to contemplate for a moment the desertion of his colours. Still his heart often yearned towards those engaged in what then appeared so unequal a struggle on shore, and he could scarcely help expressing satisfaction at any success they met with. Poor Mercer had to endure a great deal of irony and abuse on the subject, but while he defended the rebels, and asserted their right to take up arms in the defence of their liberties, he acknowledged that his own duty was to remain loyal to his sovereign. The dispute was waxing warm, when little Harry Sumner, who had been on deck, came below, and announced that there was a suspicious sail away to the north-east, and that we were in chase of her. I was on deck in a minute, and found everything being set alow and aloft in chase of the stranger. After watching her for some time from aloft, where I had gone with my spy-glass, I saw that we were gaining on her rapidly, though she had also made all sail. This convinced us that she was a craft belonging to the enemy. She was sloop-rigged, but seemed to be a vessel of some size. After a chase of four hours we got her within range of our guns, when a shot from one of our bow-chasers, falling close alongside, convinced her that she had no chance of escape, and that her wisest policy was to heave-to without more ado. This she at once did, and I was sent on board to take possession. She proved to be the Ranger, from Nantucket harbour, bound on a whaling voyage, her crew consisting of a master, mate, boy, and ten men. Her master, Mr Jotham Scuttle, was very indignant at being captured, and good reason he had to be so, for half the vessel was his own, and thus in a moment he was deprived of all his worldly wealth. He was as unlike a seaman in appearance as could well be imagined; with his broad-brimmed hat, knee-breeches, buckles to his high shoes, and long waistcoat, but he was not the less active for all that. Leaving Grampus, who had accompanied me, with two hands in charge of the sloop, I returned with the prisoners to the frigate. The mate and men were instantly pressed, without the question being asked whether they would wish to join, and Captain Hudson ordered me to go back to the sloop, giving me leave to carry Tom Rockets, in addition to the men already on board, and to make the best of my way to Halifax. “Stay,” said he, “take the master and boy with you, Mr Hurry; we shall not know what to do with them on board—and see that he plays you no trick.” I laughed at the idea of having anything to dread from the demure Mr Scuttle, and, putting up a few necessaries, I tumbled into the boat which was to take me on board my new command. I thought I caught a twinkle in friend Jotham’s eyes when he found that he was to be sent back to his own vessel—but this was probably fancy. He sat looking very sad and downcast as we pulled on board the sloop. The crew of the boat which had brought me gave me three cheers, and Delisle, who had come in her, wished me a prosperous voyage to Halifax, from which I was about two hundred leagues distant. The frigate then hauled her wind, and I made sail to the northward. Of course I felt very grand in my new command, like Sancho Panza in his island, though it was not to last very long at the utmost; and it was not impossible that I might be summarily dispossessed of it at any moment; however, I did not trouble myself about such thoughts just then. Having taken possession of the master’s cabin, and allowed him to occupy his mate’s, I called my ship’s company together, and, having divided them into two watches, told them I expected they would do their duty and behave themselves. Nol Grampus had charge of one watch with one of the seamen and Mr Scuttle under him, and I took the other with the other seaman, Tom Rockets and the boy. Tom had not got over his innocent country look, though he was sharp enough in reality, and did his duty as a seaman very fairly. Old Grampus, who had taken a fancy to him, was always teaching him something or other likely to prove useful. “Now, Tom, you may be no wiser nor a young gull as has never learned to fly,” I heard the old man say; “but listen, my boy, if you follows my advice you’ll soon be able to spread your wings and skim over the water just for all the world like one on them big albatrosses one meets with off the Cape of Good Hope, you’ve heard speak of.” Tom had not heard of such a place, so Grampus told him all about it, and a great deal more besides. In that way my young follower picked up his sea lore. The contrast between the two was perfect. Tom’s young, smooth, innocent face, and round boyish figure, and the thorough old sea-dog look of Grampus, with his grizzly bushy hair and whiskers, his long cue, his deeply-furrowed, or I may say rather bumped and knobbed and bronzed countenance, and his spare, sinewy form, having not a particle of flesh with which he could dispense.

As Mr Jotham Scuttle’s eye fell on Tom he took him at once for a simple lad, who could readily believe anything he had to say, and he formed his plans accordingly. I got on very well with my scanty crew, for as there were winches and tackles of all sorts on board, I managed to work the vessel easily enough. We had an abundance of provisions, so that, contrasted especially with the fare to which I had for many months past been accustomed, we lived luxuriously.

The second day I invited Mr Scuttle to dine with me. The commencement of the entertainment was not very lively, for though he did not play a bad knife and fork, he uttered no sound except an occasional deep sigh from beneath the very lowest button of his waistcoat. At last, after leaning his head on his hand for some time, he looked up.

“It is very hard to be borne, mister,” he exclaimed with vehemence. “Here was I, with a fine craft I could almost call my own, and with every chance of providing for my family, and now I’m worse than a beggar—a prisoner, and forced to go I don’t know where.”

“You shouldn’t have broken the blockade, and your friends shouldn’t have rebelled and broken the laws,” said I.

“Laws!” he exclaimed with disdain, “they were bad laws, and it went against the grain of every honest man to observe them.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” I replied; “in my profession all we have to do is to obey without asking questions, and I just fancy that your people will very soon have to do the same, whether they like it or not.”

“Will they, forsooth?” he exclaimed, striking his fist on the table. “The time has passed for that. I’ll tell you what, sir, they’ll fight it out till every drop of honest blood is spilt in the country. It was the supercilious, boasting airs of your lords and aristocrats who came out among the military looking down upon all the first gentlemen in the land as provincials and colonists, as they called them in contempt, which was the real cause of the revolt. They made enemies wherever they went, with their follies and pride and haughty words. They and their government at home seemed to forget that we were Britons like themselves, with British hearts, ay, and with truer loyalty than they had for the king and the old country. What would you say, sir, if you were insulted as we have been?”

“I certainly do not like being bullied by anyone,” said I.

“No more do we colonists, sir,” answered the poor skipper. “My father, sir, came over from the old country; misfortunes compelled him to quit it, but he loved it as much as ever, and brought up me, his son, to love it also; and so I should to this day, had I, and those who had made America their own, been fairly treated—not looked upon as children to be played with, or slaves to be bullied and despised. Now, sir,” he continued, standing up and placing one hand on the table, while he extended the other, “I tell you that there are not bitterer enemies to the old country than your government have made me and many like me.”

“I am very sorry for you,” I said, seeing the justice of his remarks, “but you see I cannot help it, so just sit down and mix yourself another tumbler of grog; we can but make the best of circumstances.”

“I don’t want your pity, or that of any of the enemies of America,” he answered proudly. Then he seemed to soften, and he continued in a more subdued tone, “But you, young gentleman, seem inclined to treat me as a man should a man, and not as some of your officers have treated us provincials, so I am thankful, and if the day should come when I can return your kindness I shall be glad to do so.”

“I only hope that I may not be in your place as a prisoner,” said I.

“To be honest with you,” he replied, “if I only had the chance of taking the sloop from you, I should be right not to let it pass by, though I have no great hope that it will be offered me.”

“No, I should think not,” I answered, laughing. I have often since thought of the foolish, domineering way in which England and Englishmen treat their brethren who turn colonists, and shall not be surprised if she loses one colony after another as she was now doing her American settlements. The skipper was soon pacified, and we became very good friends. We were still talking away over our glass of grog, when Nol Grampus put his head in at the cabin-door.

“I don’t quite like the look of the weather, Mr Hurry,” said he. “I think it’s going to breeze up a bit, and the sooner we shorten sail the better.”

I jumped up and went on deck, when I saw that he was right. We accordingly at once made all snug. Thick clouds were banking up from the westward and southward, which soon rushing on like a vast army sweeping over a devoted country, deluged us with rain, bringing a heavy breeze, which kicked up no small amount of sea. The wind keeping to the southward of west we could lay our course, so on we went pitching and tumbling before it in no very pleasant manner for several days.

Fortunately the Ranger was well found in every respect, and, proving a very good sea-boat, showed that the men of Nantucket knew what was the best economy in the end. She was newly painted, and had sixteen ports, so that at a distance she had a somewhat formidable appearance; but as they had no guns to them, though she could grin, she could not even bark, much less bite. If, therefore, we fell in with an enemy I saw that, should we not be able to escape by flight, we should in all probability be captured. I had observed that my friend the skipper had been in better spirits than at first. He spoke frankly to me, as he did to the crew, and seemed to be on good terms with everybody. He was evidently a clever man—full of resources of all sorts—above his station I should say. He had been brought up as a farmer, and had never been afloat till within the last six or seven years. He was now no contemptible sailor. His next move would probably be to some totally different sphere, where he would take a step higher in the social scale. Such is the career of many a New Englander.

I had turned into my berth, after keeping the morning watch some days after this, when, as I awoke, I saw Tom Rockets moving about in the cabin.

“What do you want, Tom?” I asked.

“Hist, sir,” he whispered, “I’ve just a word to speak to you.”

“Out with it then, my man,” I said.

“It’s just about that strange skipper, sir.”

“Well, go on.”

“He’s been talking to me, and asking if I wouldn’t like to go and settle in a land of liberty, and make my fortune, and no longer be subject to be starved and flogged and ill-treated on board of a man-of-war?”

“And what did you say, Tom?” I asked.

“I told him just simply like that I belonged to you, that I would follow wheresoever you went, and that if you thought fit to go and settle in his country, I’d have no objection to go too.”

“That was right, Tom. If he speaks to you again, give him the same sort of answer. Don’t let him suppose you are offended. Has he spoken with either of the other men?”

“With all except Grampus; but I don’t think he has made much way with them. The old man, I fancy, sir, guesses what he’s after, and has his eye on him,” answered Tom.

“All right, then, my lad. Keep your eyes about you, and let me know any thing you observe, but don’t allow the skipper to find out that we suspect him.”

Tom promised to follow my directions, and I sent him on deck while I turned out and dressed. I treated Mr Scuttle just as if he were not plotting against me, for forewarned, I felt myself fore-armed, and had no fear that he could do me any harm.

That day the wind fell considerably and we again had fair weather. The next morning, while I was at breakfast, old Nol hailed down the sky-light—

“Would you just come on deck for a moment, sir?” said he.

“What is it?” I asked.

“There’s a sail away to the south-west, and I don’t quite like the looks of her,” answered the old man.

I jumped on deck in a moment. I was not long in making out a brig under all sail holding the same course we were on. As I took the glass from my eye I found Scuttle standing by my side.

“What do you think of her?” I asked.

“Maybe she’s a whaler, or maybe a sealer, or a merchantman from one of the provincial ports, or maybe a transport with British red-coats aboard; but, Mr Hurry, it requires a man with a longer sight than I’ve got to tell just now what she is,” said the skipper, in the long drawling tone of a New Englander.

I thought that there was something ironical in his tone as he spoke, and that he more than probably knew perfectly well all about the stranger.

“Whatever she may be,” I answered, “I’ll show her my heels. Make all sail, Grampus.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” he replied; and in a short time, the skipper pulling and hauling with as good a will as the rest, we had every stitch of canvas packed on the sloop which she could carry. I fancied, however, that the skipper gave a knowing look at me as he went forward, as much as to say, “You may make all the sail you like, but it won’t do.” At all events, I soon found that the Ranger, though a very good sea boat, was a tub in regard to sailing, under-rigged especially, as she was, for greater convenience in handling.

The stranger was walking up to us fast. As the morning sun fell on her sails they appeared to me very white, and to have a wide spread, and I began to hope that she might prove an English man-of-war brig. Another two hours, however, banished any such hopes, and I was convinced, on looking at Jotham Scuttle’s countenance, that she was likely to prove his friend, but my enemy.

“What do you think of her now, Mr Scuttle?” I asked.

“She’s a brig,” he answered innocently.

“Anyone can see that with half an eye,” said I; “but what is she? Where does she hail from?”

“Well, then, maybe she hails from a provincial port,” he answered slowly. “I should not be very much surprised, too, if she carries guns.”

“A rebel privateer or pirate, in fact,” said I.

“An American privateer, if you please, sir, I have no doubt she is,” he replied; “in two or three hours, I guess, you will find it safer to call her so, at all events.”

“Well, well, we will see about that,” I remarked, laughing at his coolness, though I began to entertain no slight apprehension that I was about to lose my prize and to become a prisoner into the bargain.

“They’ve got their new-fangled flag a-flying from their peak, sir,” said Grampus, stepping up.

On looking through my glass I made out the star-and-stripe covered ensign, just then begun to be carried by provincial vessels, flying out proudly from her gaff end; while several ports at her side left me no longer in doubt that she was an enemy most devoutly to be wished away. Do everything I could, however, to increase the speed of the Ranger, she rapidly came up with us. Still it was not in my nature to give in while a chance remained of escape. Some man-of-war might heave in sight, or some other craft the privateer might think more worthy of chasing; or we might keep ahead till darkness came to my help. The chances were, however, very small in my favour, and Mr Scuttle could not help showing his satisfaction at the prospect of the probable change in our fortunes. I went aloft and swept the horizon with my glass in every direction, but not a sail appeared in sight. The breeze held steady, and indeed seemed rather inclined to increase than fall. My heart sank lower than it had ever done before. In another hour my people and I would be prisoners, and Mr Jotham Scuttle would be offering me his commiseration. He was speaking to my two men; doubtless telling them they had nothing to fear. I felt a very strong inclination at the moment to pitch him overboard; I wanted some one on whom to vent my vexation. Poor man! however, there was in reality much to admire in him. In another half hour the game would be up. Suddenly a bright idea occurred to me. I had often seen a poor silly creature followed by a troop of urchins hallooing at his heels and mocking him with their thoughtless jests, when he would turn round with clenched fists and grinning lips, and they would take to an ignominious flight. I would try the effect of a similar trick. Descending on deck, I ordered Grampus to get lines fastened to all the ports, so that they might be lifted at once. As soon as the arrangement was made I put the sloop about, and at the same moment, suddenly lifting all our ports—of which, as I have said, we had eight on a side—under all sail, I stood boldly down towards the enemy. Still she stood on, and my heart began to quake for the success of my manoeuvre.

“It can’t be helped, sir, I fear,” said Grampus. “We are in for it.”

“No, no,” I exclaimed, with a shout of joy. “It’s all right. Hurrah, my lads!” The brig had taken in her studden-sails and was standing away from us, close-hauled on a wind. I was so eagerly watching her that I did not see what had become of friend Scuttle. I was aroused by a cry from Tom Rockets.

“Just you come down, master!” he exclaimed.

I looked up and caught sight of the skipper and his boy going aloft with knives in their hands. Their intention was obvious. It was to cut the halliards, and by letting the sails come down by the run, call the attention of the brig to our true condition, and thus bring her back to our capture. Tom had got hold of the boy’s leg, and I thought would have jerked him overboard. Grampus in a moment was after the master, and before he had reached the cross-trees had hold of him, and, wrenching the knife from his hand, had hove it overboard. Whatever were the thoughts and intentions of my two other men, they did not show any inclination to side with the skipper. He began to show fight and to kick and struggle not a little, but Grampus had held on with his teeth in too many a gale while close-reefing top-sails, not to be able to gain the mastery. With threats and very significant signs that he would heave him overboard, he at length forced him down on deck.

“Now,” said I, “Mr Scuttle, I should be justified in pistolling you on the spot for the pretty trick you purposed playing me. But I will not injure you. You gave me warning, I remember, what you would do, so, as I believe you to be a man of honour, pass me your word that you will attempt no further treachery and I will not injure you. Otherwise, for my own safety, I must clap you in limbo, and shoot you the moment I find you again at any such game.”

“It’s very, very hard,” he answered, folding his arms on his bosom and looking wistfully at the brig, which still held her course away from us, “to have thought that I should get back my vessel and see my family again in a few days perhaps, and now to have all my hopes rudely swept away from me! It’s hard—very, very hard!”

I really pitied the poor man and would on no account have injured him, could I have avoided it.

“Well, Mr Hurry, luck’s against me,” he said at length. “In all things regarding the navigation of the vessel, I’ll obey you faithfully till we reach Halifax. Then you have nothing more to fear from me.”

I was sure that I could trust him. “Then,” said I, “go about your duty, and I will take no notice of what has passed.”

Grampus, Tom, and I cheered lustily as we saw the brig continuing to stand away from us, and the men joined us, though I suspect the fellows did not care much about the matter. It was getting towards evening. I longed for darkness, for I never felt so anxious in my life. I was afraid every moment that the people of the brig might gain courage and turn round upon us. If so, we should be worse off than ever, as we should not have a chance of escaping. Friend Scuttle eyed the brig as anxiously as I did, though with very different wishes. Still we held on, looking, I doubt not, very fierce, and the privateer’s men must have been no less anxious to get away from us than we were from them. At length evening approached, and never did I see the sun set with so much satisfaction. Gradually the shades of night crept over the ocean, and I drew a long breath as the brig was lost to our sight in the thickening gloom. As soon as I was certain that we could not possibly be seen, I ordered the sloop to be kept away, and once more made all sail to the northward, altering my course a few points from that I had been steering when first seen by the brig, lest she should by any chance be looking after us in the morning. Probably the privateer’s men were congratulating themselves at thus easily escaping from us. As I gave vent to my feelings in a hearty cheer the poor skipper exhibited his in a deep groan, and then, having assisted in making sail, turned in to try and forget his sorrows in sleep. The weather continued fine till the 7th of the month, when I made the land about five leagues to the westward of Halifax harbour. Soon after this the wind fell and we had a stark calm. By Mr Scuttle’s advice I fitted a couple of fishing-lines, and in the course of an hour, with those two lines alone, caught one hundred and twenty-four very fine cod. They proved a welcome addition to our usual salt-meat fare. Those we could not eat fresh we split open and dried in the sun, and they thus served us for food for several days.

“What do you think of the weather now, Grampus?” said I, after we had been fishing for some time.

“I don’t like its looks at all, sir,” he replied. “This is a ticklish coast at all times, and one never knows what’s coming.”

“If you had asked me, I could have told you that we are going to have wind, and fully enough of it,” observed Mr Scuttle.

He had got into a mighty free-and-easy style of talking of late. He was perfectly right, though in addition to the wind, which sprung up immediately afterwards, we got a thick fog, which totally obscured the land. I steered a course, however, which I hoped would carry us to the harbour’s mouth. We ran on for some time and then hove-to, that we might sound. We had still plenty of water, so I stood on again. At last the fog lifted a little, when to my very great disgust I found that we had run three leagues past the mouth of the harbour. We endeavoured to tack back, but before morning a heavy gale of wind sprung up directly off shore. It was impossible to beat up against it, so I stood to the eastward all that day and night, under a try-sail and storm-jib. During this time the gale showed no signs of abating. It was a good trial to our tempers, at all events. Grampus vowed that there was some old witch in Halifax who must have taken a spite to us and was resolved to keep us out of the harbour as long as she could. He was devising all sorts of plans for exorcising her, but none seemed likely to prove satisfactory. In the morning, the weather moderating a little, I stood to the westward under close-reefed mainsail and double-reefed foresail, and by the evening reached at length the mouth of the harbour. “There’s many a slip between the cup and the lip.” We were congratulating ourselves on getting all snug at night, when once more the wind breezed up with a thickish fog, and as we were then in only forty fathoms of water I was obliged again to run to sea. The bad weather kept me, as well as all the people, on deck, for not knowing what might occur no one could venture to go below. Some time before daylight I once more hauled my wind and beat up towards the land. By the evening of the 10th we were again in with Jabucta Head. We then got soundings on a reef of rocks in eight fathoms water, but so worn out was I and everybody on board that I ordered the anchor to be let go, that we might turn in and get some rest. I fully expected to lose my anchor and cable, but when I came to weigh at daylight the next morning I was fortunate enough to save them both. I now fully expected to get safe into harbour, but as I was standing up Major’s Reach I saw a Falmouth packet coming down. The temptation of speaking her and sending a message home was too great to be resisted, so I stood over towards her. As the sloop was going about she missed stays near a dangerous reef, and to prevent her driving on the rocks it was necessary to be quick in wearing. In doing this the boom came over with the whole main-sheet eased off, and carried it away in six different places. This accident compelled me to run from the narrow channel and lost me the opportunity of speaking the packet. Once more making sail, and the wind favouring me, I got as high as George’s Island, when a sudden squall split my mainsail. This compelled me to bring up. Manning a boat, I pulled up to Halifax to look out for the prize agent, into whose hands I was to deliver the sloop.

I parted on the best of terms with Mr Jotham Scuttle. He hoped to find some friends in Halifax who would advance him money to enable him to buy back the Ranger.

“If ever you come to Nantucket,” said he, “ask for me, and if I’m on shore there’s no one will give you a more hearty welcome.”

I promised that I would not forget his kind invitation, and, after a hearty shaking of hands, I saw no more of him.

I found the whole town in a state of great commotion, as the immense fleet there collected, of men-of-war and transports, with a large army on board, were on the point of sailing, it was said, on an expedition which would effectually crush the rebels and bring the American provinces once more into complete subjection. That I might not be left behind I immediately reported myself to my Lord Shouldham. His lordship ordered me at once to come on board the Chatham, with my people. I very speedily returned to the Ranger and again got back to the Chatham. I was, however, rather ashamed of my outfit, as it was not very appropriate to the atmosphere of a flag-ship, consisting, as it did, of one old uniform suit, four shirts, and a very few etceteras.

The fleet, I found, was bound for the projected attack on New York. It consisted of his Majesty’s ships Chatham, Rear-Admiral Shouldham, of the White—she had on board General Lord Percy, General Pigot, and other officers of rank—the Centurion, the Greyhound, which had on board General Sir William Howe, the Commander-in-Chief, and brother to Admiral Lord Howe, the Rose, Senegal, and Merlin, sloops of war, and nearly two hundred sail of transports.

Two hours after I got on board the whole fleet of men-of-war and transports made sail for their destination. It was understood that we were to be joined at New York by Admiral Lord Howe, who was on his way out from England. He was to take command of the fleet, while his brother, the general, had command of the army. The two together were to act as commissioners to treat with the rebels, and, by showing them the overpowering force marshalled against them, to endeavour to bring them to terms. Although the rebels had been for so long able successfully to set the king’s forces at defiance, there were a considerable number of people throughout the country who still remained loyal to their sovereign, known generally under the designation of Tories, and it was supposed that they would materially aid both in putting down the rebellion and in winning back the inhabitants to their allegiance. The rebel army, under the immediate command of General Washington, held New York and Long Island opposite to it, as well as the adjacent country. I believe I knew the particulars I speak of at the time: if not I learnt them soon afterwards.

Note 1. Father of the late Admiral Sir William Symonds, and of the late Admiral Thomas Symonds.

Note 2. General Howe was the brother of Admiral Lord Howe.

Chapter Four.

The fleet at sea.—Troops landed.—All hope of peace abandoned.—Spies executed.—Boats sent to watch fire-ships.—Rejoin Orpheus.—Land masters of merchantmen.—Fall in with rebel regiment.—Attack fort on Sullivan’s Island.—Heavy loss.—Witness attack on Brooklyn.—Dreadful slaughter.—Run past batteries in East River.—Trying time.—Death of an old friend.—Ships cannonaded.

Far as the eye could reach the white sails of the men-of-war and transports dotted the blue waters of the Atlantic, as with a light though favourable breeze the fleet steered a course for New York. We might have been excused, as we scanned with pride the vast armament—the ships, their crews, and the troops in prime order and amply supplied with all the munitions of war, under the command of the most experienced leaders England could send forth—if we believed firmly that victory was destined to sit proudly on our standards. Here and there a man-of-war might be seen in the far distance, like a sheep-dog on the heels of the flock, firing a gun now, on this side now on that, to hint to any laggers along the transports to make more sail, but generally the fleet kept well together. On the 13th the Greyhound, with General Howe on board, parted company, to hasten on, it was supposed, to make arrangements with Governor Tryon and other royalists in the neighbourhood of New York about the landing the troops, and did not return to the fleet. It was not till the 2nd, after a prosperous voyage, that we reached Sandy Hook, at the mouth of Baritan Day, to the southward of the narrow entrance of New York harbour, where we found at anchor his Majesty’s ship Phoenix and several sail of merchantmen. At noon on the 4th the signal was given for the whole fleet to weigh. It was a beautiful sight. The sky was blue, the sun bright, and the water calm and clear. To the southward, across the yellow glittering shore of Sandy Hook, arose the bold highlands of Neversink; on the larboard bow was Staten Island, with green fields, feathery woods, and sloping hills, sprinkled with numerous country houses and villas, built mostly by the old Dutch settlers, peeping from among the trees. Ahead were the Narrows—such is the appropriate name given to the channel leading to New York—while more to the right stretched away, till lost in distance to the north-east, the low sandy coast of Long Island, with a fringe of dark forest appearing on the summit of its centre ridge like the bristles on the back of a wild boar. The Chatham was the first ship to make sail, and the master received orders to steer through the rest of the fleet. It was truly a fine sight, as the admiral and the generals, with their brilliant staffs in rich uniforms, and the officers of the ships stood crowding on the decks, with bands playing joyous and inspiriting tunes while we sailed onward, the crews and troops on board that numerous squadron cheering lustily, their hearts beating with martial ardour under the belief that we were advancing to the immediate attack and certain conquest of New York. All necessary preparations were made on our passage up for landing, but as we approached the entrance of the harbour some change seemed to be contemplated in the arrangements, and at sunset, instead of entering the Narrows, the signal was made for the fleet to anchor in Gravesend Day at the south-west end of Long Island. I was anxious to fall in with the Orpheus, once more to get on board her, for with my scanty stock of clothing I was far from comfortable in the flag-ship. She was, however, away on a cruise and might not possibly return for some time. However, I thereby saw and heard more of the general proceedings than I should otherwise have done. We learned soon afterwards that on this very day, the 4th of July, 1776, thirteen British colonies in America had declared themselves free and independent States, abjuring all allegiance to the British Crown, and renouncing all political connexion with the mother country. This declaration was issued by the celebrated Congress, organised by Dr Franklin and other provincial leaders, consisting of representatives from the above-mentioned States who assembled at Philadelphia. The resolution was passed on the 2nd, but it was not till the day I speak of, the 4th, that the document entitled the Declaration of Independence was adopted by the Congress and published to the people. It was the fatal blow which severed for ever that vast territory from Great Britain. The reasons for our anchoring and the troops not being landed were known only to the commanders-in-chief.

At daylight on the 5th the signal was made for the whole fleet to weigh. At this time, it must be understood, the rebels held the shore of Long Island on our starboard hand in considerable force, and there were bodies of them on Staten Island on the larboard hand, which forms the southern side of the harbour. It was a fine sight to see the fleet, the Phoenix, Rose, and Senegal leading, standing for the channel of the Narrows; but our hopes of entering into action were again disappointed in consequence of the wind falling away and compelling us to anchor. At four o’clock in the afternoon, however, once more the signal was made to weigh, the flat-bottomed boats destined to land the troops were manned, and in the same order as before we proceeded onwards. The moment we entered the Narrows the rebels opened fire on us from field-pieces and small arms, but without doing us much injury, but very few men on board any of the ships being killed. By seven o’clock we had dropped anchor close in with the north shore of Staten Island, and were actively engaged in landing the troops. So rapid and unexpected had been our movements at the last that a body of the enemy, to the number of nearly three hundred men, were unable to escape and were taken prisoners by the first division of Grenadiers who landed. The army at once encamped, and it was difficult to say what great movement would next take place. We found ourselves, however, at once engaged in active warfare on a small scale, for the enemy were by no means idle and the troops had frequent skirmishes with them. The navy also had work enough to do, and of a very harassing nature. Frequently I had to spend the whole of the night in a guard-boat keeping watch on the movements of the enemy, especially looking out for the approach of fire-ships, which, it was reported, they were about to send down in the hopes of destroying the fleet. In the day-time we were employed in carrying about troops and throwing them on shore in different directions, to harass and distract the enemy, so that they might be less prepared when the real attack upon them was made. On the 12th of July the signal was made for the Phoenix, Rose, and Tryall to get under weigh, and the wind being favourable, they stood up boldly towards the mouth of the Hudson. It was an exploit of no slight danger and difficulty, and was watched by all on board the fleet with breathless interest. As they got within reach the batteries of Red Hook, Powles Hook, and the garrison of New York opened an incessant and heavy fire on them, which was warmly returned by the ships. General Washington and his army must have looked with no little vexation, if not dismay, on the success of the attempt, as it exposed the shores of the Hudson at unexpected points to our attacks, and Captain Wallace of the Rose was well known for the annoyance he had been causing the inhabitants of the New England coast since the commencement of the outbreak.

On the day of this occurrence a salute from each of the ships-of-war gave notice that Lord Viscount Howe had arrived. He superseded Lord Shouldham as commander-in-chief. He had come out from England expecting to join his brother, the general, at Halifax, but finding that he had sailed from thence had followed him here. At first it was supposed that warlike operations would be pushed on with vigour, but soon it was reported that conciliatory measures were to be the order of the day, and the general and admiral lost no time in communicating with General Washington, Dr Franklin, and other leaders of the rebels, in the hopes of bringing them to terms.

Officers were sent with flags of truce, who were met by the Americans each time in a barge half-way between Governor’s Island and Staten Island. Governor’s Island is a small island in the centre of the channel between Brooklyn and New York. They were conducted with every mark of courtesy to the American generals, but the rebels had already committed themselves too far to allow them to accept of any terms the British Commissioners had it in their power to offer. The Declaration of Independence had for ever, indeed, cut the last link which bound the colonies to England, and though henceforward they might be reconciled, it was clear that it must be in the character of separate States. It was reported on board that the admiral had addressed a letter to General Washington as simply to George Washington, Esquire, and that the American commander-in-chief refused to receive it, on the ground that he was at the head of a regularly constituted army and could only receive communications under his proper title of general. Those who knew General Washington, as I afterwards had the means of doing, were aware that this was not owing to pride or ostentation, but from the importance in the critical position in which he was placed of keeping up his character and of asserting the legality of the cause in which he was engaged. Whatever might have been then said of that truly great man, ample justice will be done him in after ages, I am sure, among all ranks and classes of opinion. However, as I do not profess to write a history of the events of the war or of the public characters engaged in it, I will return to my own private journal.

The Americans had for some time past, as I have mentioned, been preparing fire-ships. This we knew from our spies. We had a number of them on shore, or rather, there were a number of royalists who, having no wish to join the rebellion, were ready by every means in their power to aid in putting it down. A considerable number of these had been removed by the rebel authorities, both from Long Island and the adjacent districts, into the interior. Many were imprisoned, and some few who had been discovered communicating with our party were executed as spies. Even among the very men who were about Washington himself some were found not true to him, and it was reported that plots had been laid, if not against his life, at all events against his liberty, so that it would not have surprised us had he been brought on board a prisoner. But to return to the subject of the fire-ships. On the night of the 10th of August I had been put in charge of one of the squadron of boats always held in readiness to repel any attack from those dangerous engines of warfare. It had just gone four-bells in the first watch, the night was cloudy though it was calm and sultry, when the Eagle, Captain Duncan, made the signal that the enemy’s fire-ships were approaching. The officer in command of our boat squadron repeated the signal. “Give way, my lads, give way?” he shouted, and away we all pulled up the harbour. It was necessary to be silent and cautious in the extreme, however, as soon as we had quitted the fleet. We made the best of our way, for time might be of importance. The night was very dark, the water was smooth and the foam which bubbled up at our bows of the boats and fell in showers from the blades of our oars sparkled brilliantly, as if composed of grains of burnished gold.

Ahead of us lay the devoted city against which our arms were soon to be turned, and from whose neighbourhood we expected every instant to see the fire-ships issue forth. At length the order was passed from boat to boat that we should lay on our oars to await the expected event. Hour after hour, however, went by. Now there was an alarm that some dark bodies were seen moving down towards us, but no vessels made their appearance, and at last the near approach of dawn warned us that it was time to pull back to our ships to escape an attack by the enemy. We of course kept a look-out astern, to be certain that the fire-ships were not following us, and then lay on our oars again in the neighbourhood of the fleet. Either the alarm was a false one or the rebels, aware of our preparations, saw that it would be useless to send out the fire-ships.

This was the last night I was thus engaged, for on the 13th of August, to my very great satisfaction, my eyes fell on the Orpheus standing up the harbour and taking up her berth among the fleet. I did not, however, get my discharge from the Chatham till the following day, when, accompanied by old Grampus, Tom Rockets, and my two other men, I lost no time in pulling on board, after an absence of ten weeks. I was warmly greeted by my messmates, and we each had our adventures to recount. She had taken seven prizes, most of which she brought in with her. Poor Lee, the surgeon’s second mate, was, they told me, at the point of death. His constitution was unfit to cope with the hard life to which he was exposed in the navy. He died soon afterwards, and on the morning of the 16th we carried him on shore on Staten Island, where he rests in an unknown grave in the land of the stranger.

The same day we sailed and steered a course for Cape May, with, the intention of proceeding up the Delaware river to Philadelphia. My account of the way in which I had frightened off the privateer highly delighted my shipmates, and Captain Hudson was pleased to approve of my conduct. We had on board forty masters of merchantmen which had been captured by the different ships-of-war. They were mostly very decent men, some of them not unlike my friend Mr Scuttle. We treated them with every kindness and attention in our power. On the 24th we arrived off Cape Henlopen, opposite Cape May, at the entrance of Delaware Bay. Here we hove-to, and Captain Hudson ordered me to go on shore with a flag of truce, to land the masters of the merchantmen.

As we neared the shore I observed a body of men drawn up as if prepared to receive me. They were military, but had it not been for fear of hurting the feelings of the people who were with me, I could have thrown myself back in the stern sheets and enjoyed a hearty fit of laughter. Not two were armed or dressed alike. Some had high-boots, others shoes, many had on moccasins, and not a few jack-boots; several had their legs encased in hay-bands; hats of all shapes and sizes graced their heads. Cocked hats and round hats and caps, and Spanish hats, and helmets even were not uncommon. Some wore breeches of truly Dutch build, others of as scanty dimensions as could cover them—some had trousers, and others scarcely any covering to that portion of their persons. Their coats were of every colour, shape, and size. Green and blue and brown and grey; some were of red, though not a little soiled, being evidently of ancient date, while there were long coats and great coats and short coats and spencers and cloaks; indeed, every species of covering invented to hide the nakedness of the human body. While the men themselves were tall and short and thin and stout and straight and crooked. No one had been refused admission into the corps. Their arms were as various in construction as their costumes. There were muskets and rifles and pikes and matchlocks, and pistols which had been used at Culloden, and some even, I fancy, in the civil war of the Commonwealth, while a few even had contented themselves with pitchforks, scythes, and reaping-hooks. The officers were as independent as to uniformity as the men, and not less picturesque, though more comfortably dressed. Each man had exercised his own taste in his endeavour to give himself a military appearance, though I must say they had most lamentably failed in the result. I honestly confess, as I was speaking to them, that I was forcibly reminded of the appearance my old shipmates and I cut when we first presented ourselves on board the Torbay at the commencement of my naval career.

My orders were to land the prisoners and to return to the ship as soon as possible. I had therefore time only to exchange a few words with the officers, who were inclined to be very civil, and when the masters of the vessels told them how they had been treated on board the Orpheus they were still more disposed to be friendly. At that time the bitter feeling against Great Britain, which it must be owned she brought on herself by her injustice and dictatorial conduct, had not then been so universally stirred up.

“Now, my lads,” shouted the commander of the party as I was stepping into my boat, “that young officer is a good fellow so let us give him three cheers.”

“Hip, hip, hip, hurrah!” broke from the throats of all the regiment in good hearty style.

I turned round as I was shoving off and bowed and waved my hat, and I parted on the most amiable terms from those heroes, so like the ragged regiment headed by the redoubtable Sir John Falstaff.

We had great fun on board as I described them—Frank Mercer alone looked grave.

“Does it not strike you,” said he, “that the very fact of the want of uniformity in their outward man shows the unanimity of sentiment which pervades them and makes them flock round the standard of liberty to defend their rights as freemen, regardless of outward appearance? Those poor fellows, though doubtless very inferior to regular troops, would not shed their blood less willingly or behave less bravely in the face of an enemy.”

“Oh, you are a rebel, Mercer, you are a rebel!” we all shouted; “don’t talk treason here.”

“I only talk truth,” answered Mercer gravely.

Since then I have been much inclined to agree with him.

We had a speedy voyage back, without taking a prize, and reached New York harbour on the 27th of August. A considerable number of ships-of-war and transports had arrived during our absence, having on board large reinforcements. Among them were a large body of Hessian troops, who had been hired from the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel and the Duke of Brunswick, especially to put down the American rebellion. They were well disciplined, but fierce, ruthless troops, who murdered and plundered without hesitation whenever they had the opportunity, and were naturally dreaded and hated by the enemy. Besides the troops which had come from Europe, a large body of men had arrived from the South, under the command of Sir Henry Clinton, who, in conjunction with Sir Peter Parker, had retired from an unsuccessful attempt to capture Charleston, in South Carolina, which, after the evacuation of Boston, it was considered important to occupy. I afterwards served under Sir Peter Parker and heard all the particulars, some of which I now introduce to make my brief account of the contest more complete.

At the entrance of Charleston harbour, on the right hand, is Sullivan’s Island, about six miles below the city. To the east of Sullivan’s Island is Long Island, from which it is separated by a creek called the Breach. On the south-west point of Sullivan’s Island was a strong fort, though composed only of earth and palmetto wood. As palmetto wood is soft and does not splinter, it was especially suited for the purpose. The squadron, under Sir Peter Parker, consisted of the Bristol, Experiment, Active, Solebay, Actaeon, Syren, and other smaller craft. While Sir Henry Clinton landed his troops on Long Island Sir Peter undertook to attack the fort, which was commanded by Colonel Moultrie. General Lee, however, with a large force, had by rapid marches advanced to the protection of the city. The Thunder-bomb began the action, during which the Sphinx, Syren, and Actaeon ran foul of each other and got on shore. The two first hauled off, but the Actaeon remained, and was ultimately abandoned and burned. The fire was most tremendous and deadly on both sides, but the British suffered the most; indeed, seldom have ships been exposed to a more terrific battering, or stood it with greater heroism and perseverance. On board that small squadron there were no less than sixty-four men killed and one hundred and forty-three wounded. At one time on the deck of the Bristol Sir Peter himself, amidst the deadly shower, alone stood unhurt. Captain Morris, of the Actaeon, was killed, as was Lord Campbell, late governor of the province, serving as a volunteer on board. Captain Scott, of the Experiment, lost his arm. The Bristol was completely unrigged; her guns were dismounted and her top-masts shot away. In vain Sir Peter looked for the assistance he expected from Sir Henry. Each time the troops attempted to cross from Long Island they were foiled by the bold front presented by a body of Americans with artillery. At length, the carnage growing more appalling than ever, and their hope of success diminishing, Sir Peter ordered them to make their way out of action. This event took place on the 28th of June. Other unsuccessful attempts were made to capture the fort, and in a few days the troops were re-embarked and the squadron came northward. I did not hear that the Phoenix, Rose, and Tryall did much execution up the Hudson. They had some encounters with the enemy’s row-boats and exchanged shots occasionally with the troops on shore; while they had constantly to be on the watch at night to prevent the attack of fire-ships; but their chief object was evidently to survey the river, to enable the fleet to proceed upwards if necessary. As the river is very broad, in many places expanding into almost lakes, they were able to anchor at all times out of gun shot distance. Having accomplished their object, they left the river on the 18th, exchanging a brisk fire with the forts in their passage.

I must now give a sketch of one of the most sanguinary encounters it has ever been my lot to witness, and which, had we arrived a day later, I should have missed seeing.

People in England were apt to fancy that the rebels were officered by a set of planters or merchants, and to treat them accordingly with superciliousness and contempt, instead of which, besides General Washington, there were many who had been engaged from their youth upward in border warfare, not only with Indians, but with the disciplined troops of France. Many had aided in the conquest of Canada, while others had served in the armies of England and other European powers, and had experience equal to those to whom they were opposed, wanting only titular or official rank; while all were better acquainted with the country and were animated with the warmest patriotism and belief in the justice of their cause. Their great deficiency was in the discipline of their men, who, though not wanting in bravery, had but little discretion and no experience in general, while the subaltern officers were destitute also of the same necessary qualities. Some of their regiments, however, had been brought into very fair discipline, and were well officered. The great fault of the British, I must remark, as I shall have frequently to do, was over-confidence and a contempt of the foe with whom they were contending. On the present occasion, however, no imputation of that sort could be cast on the British commanders. The main body of the Americans were entrenched in a strong position at Brooklyn, at the end of Long Island, directly opposite New York, from which it is divided by a strait about three quarters of a mile in width, called East River. Directly down the centre of the island is a ridge of rocky hills, covered with wood. Across these hills were three roads leading from the side of the island, opposite Staten Island, where our troops would naturally land. These three passes were held by different bodies of American troops. The whole American force was under the command of General Putnam, though it was said Washington himself frequently crossed from New York to aid in the defence of the position. Previous to the 27th a large portion of our army, including two brigades of Hessians, had crossed over from Staten Island, and, landing between Gravesend and Flatland, some of them encamped in that neighbourhood, while the Hessians pushed on to a place called Flatbush. On the evening of the 26th the whole army advanced, Sir Henry Clinton leading the light infantry, Lord Percy following with the grenadiers, flying artillery, and light dragoons, while Lord Cornwallis, accompanied by Lord Howe, brought up the rear-guard with the heavy ordnance. About two hours before daybreak they arrived at the neighbourhood of the hills, when they discovered that the pass to the east, called the Bedford Pass, was unoccupied. He at once led his division through it, and thus turned the left of the American position. In the meantime General Grant had advanced with another division from Gravesend past Gowanus Cowe, on the road by the Narrows towards the right of the American position. As soon as it was daylight he formed his troops directly opposite the enemy, where he waited to hear that Sir Henry had commenced the attack. General De Heister, who commanded the Hessians, had kept up a hot fire with his artillery on a redoubt in front of the lines from his camp at Flatbush, which he ultimately stormed, while Lord Cornwallis, advancing on the centre, was bravely opposed by Lord Stirling who had taken up arms on the side of the Americans. One of our ships was all the time discharging a heavy cannonade on the battery at Red Hook, near which we also were brought up to join in the action had it been necessary, and whence from the maintop, where I with others had gone, I had a tolerably perfect view of many of the proceedings. Hemmed in on all sides, as I have described, and pressed on by overwhelming numbers of disciplined troops, the Americans, after a desperate and brave resistance, at length gave way, and then commenced a most indiscriminate and dreadful slaughter. They were cut down and trampled on by the cavalry, bayoneted by the savage Hessians, and torn in pieces by the artillery. Some rallied for a time and defended themselves with their rifles, behind rocks and trees, and at length, by a desperate effort, cut their way through their foes to the lines. Lord Stirling, who had fought bravely throughout the day, surrendered himself as a prisoner to General De Heister, two hundred and fifty of the brave fellows he had led lying dead around him. General Sullivan and several other officers were taken, endeavouring to cover the retreat of their troops. The enemy in all lost in killed alone full fifteen hundred men besides others who were smothered in the mud as they were endeavouring to escape from the Hessian bayonets. These, with wounded and prisoners, made up their loss to nearly three thousand men out of scarcely more than five thousand engaged.

It is a dreadful sight to witness slaughter such as this was, when one’s blood is cold and one sits a mere spectator of the fight. I felt all the time more inclined to side with the poor Americans as they were flying from our victorious troops than to wish for the success of the latter. I heard a deep groan near me as I was seated in the maintop. I looked round. It was Frank Mercer. He was as pale as death. I thought he would have fallen on deck. At times he would shade his eyes with his hand, and then again he would gaze earnestly at the dreadful sight as if unable to resist its horrid fascination. Of course I have not described half the events of the day.

The Americans retreated within their lines and the British troops advanced close up to them. It was supposed that General Howe would give the order to storm the works. Had he done so at once they would certainly have been taken, and though with some considerable loss of life, it might have prevented much subsequent greater loss. However, it appeared that he had resolved to attack the lines by regular approaches. General Washington, seeing the inevitable result, made a masterly retreat with the whole garrison across the sound to New York during the night, favoured by calm weather and a thick fog. Notice was brought in the morning to General Howe of what had occurred, and when one of his aides-de-camp, who was sent to ascertain the fact, climbed over the crest of the works he found them of a truth deserted. The next day no less than thirteen hundred Americans were buried in one large pit, while many more had been lost in the creek and swamp near the lines.

It was the general opinion, both in the camp and fleet, that had the army at once been pushed forward, a speedy and happy conclusion would have been brought to the war. There were all sorts of reports current. Among them it was said that the city was about to be abandoned and burnt to the ground, to prevent our troops occupying it for the winter. This proceeding, however, the inhabitants strongly opposed, as all their property would thereby have been destroyed. I must not delay the progress of my narrative to mention the various reports of all sorts which were flying about.

On the 30th we again put to sea, Captain Hudson having under his command the Niger and Greyhound frigates. We cruised off Sandy Hook without meeting with any occurrence worth noting till the 3rd of September, when we returned to Sandy Hook. Here we received orders once more to proceed to sea, to look out for a fleet of transports, with a division of Hessians on board, daily expected from Europe, under convoy of the Repulse. We fortunately fell in with them on the following morning, and returned in their company to Gravesend Day.

On the 8th we moved up to Staten Island, and we began to hope that we at length might be engaged in some more active service than we had hitherto seen.

“Have you heard the news?” exclaimed Delisle two days afterwards, as I came on deck for the first time that morning.

I inquired what it was.

“We are to move up at once opposite New York and to prepare the ship for running past the batteries up the East River.”

“Hurra! the hotter the better; anything better than stagnation!” I exclaimed.

“Mercer, have you made your will?” asked Kennedy, as the two met each other near us.

“Yes, Kennedy, I have,” answered Mercer gravely. “It may not be to-day or to-morrow that it will come into force, but it may before long, and I wish that those I may not help living may benefit by my death.”

Kennedy had nothing to reply to this; Mercer’s solemn manner silenced him.

“What does Mercer mean? Does he think he is going to be killed?” asked little Harry Sumner, who was standing by.

“It may be the lot of anyone of us, my boy,” said I. “Though I hope the enemy’s shot won’t find you out at all events.”

“I hope not indeed,” replied Harry. “I should like to go home and describe all the places I have seen and the things we have done.”

As I looked at our young pet I felt how hard a thing it was that so small a lad should be exposed to all the vicissitudes of warfare.

Macallan had overheard us. “It’s my opinion that Mercer has seen his wraith,” he remarked sententiously. “There’s a grave, dour look about his pale countenance which a man who is long for this world never wears.”

We all agreed that there was too much truth about the doctor’s observation, though we trusted he might be mistaken. I have heard many conversations of this sort, and many of my shipmates and others whom I have known have had presentiments of their approaching death. Some have been killed on the occasion they expected, while others who appeared equally certain of being summoned away have come out of action without scratch. Others, again, whom I have seen laughing and jesting as if they had a long lease of life before them, have, within a few hours perhaps, been stretched lifeless on the deck. I have come to the conclusion, therefore, that no one can tell when his last moment is to come, and that consequently it behoves us all to be prepared at all times for that unavoidable occurrence.

Among the ships lying near us was the Roebuck, of 44 guns, commanded by Captain Andrew Snape Hamond, (note 1), a very active and intelligent officer. I knew several of her officers. Among them was an old friend of mine, Hitchcock, belonging to Falmouth. I dined with him a day or two after this, and in return invited him to dine with me on board the Orpheus.

“I’ll come,” said he; “depend upon me, I’ll not let the rebels stop me.”

“I shall keep you to your promise,” I replied, as I was shoving off.

We had prepared the ship for action for some days by clearing away all bulkheads fore and aft, and sending everything not absolutely required below. Still several days passed by and nothing was done. It was understood that Lord Howe and Dr Franklin were negotiating at this time, as the result proved, without any effect. Lord Howe to the last was anxious to prevent more bloodshed, and hoped to bring the colonists to terms, but as they now considered themselves an independent people, and he had the authority to treat with them in that capacity, he was powerless.

At length, on the 21st of September, towards three o’clock in the afternoon, the admiral made the signal for us to weigh. Each man with alacrity hurried to his quarters. Never was sail more speedily got on the ship. The Phoenix, Roebuck, Carrisfort, and Rose were seen spreading their canvas at the same time to a very light air which blew from the westward. I must try and describe the scene of our operations. Before us lay a long, narrow strip of land called Manhattan Island, about thirteen miles long and from half a mile to two wide, on the south end of which stands the City of New York, while on the north end are some hills called the Harlem Heights. It is divided from the mainland on the north by a creek called the Harlem River, over which there is a bridge called King’s Bridge. The west of Manhattan Island is washed by the River Hudson, which separates it from the New Jersey shore, while part of the Sound, which is called the East River, runs round it on the south and east, dividing it from Long Island, till it is joined by the Harlem River on the north. The Harlem River forms a direct communication between the Hudson and East River. That part of it nearest the Hudson was called by the Dutch Spuyten Duyvel Creek, while the east end, where it joins East River, has the still less pleasant sounding name of Hell Gate. Near it was a strong battery. Nearly in the centre of East River, opposite the south point of New York, is Governor’s Island, which was strongly fortified. There were batteries along the whole line of the shore on Manhattan Island. Slowly and solemnly our squadron approached the shore. Perfect silence reigned throughout the ship. For some time not a shot was fired. Captain Hudson had been keeping a sharp look-out on the enemy’s batteries as we approached.

“Pass the word along the decks that every man and officer is to lie down at his quarters!” he exclaimed.

The judicious order was at once obeyed. The same precaution was not used by the other ships. At half-past three, when we were within pistol-shot of the city, the enemy opened their fire. We were so close and moved so slowly that scarcely a shot missed us, literally riddling the ship, as if we had been a butt put up to be fired at.

“How do you like this?” I asked of young Sumner, who was near me.

“Not at all just now,” he answered. “I only wish that the captain would let us get up and fire back on the enemy. I thought that was always done when people fight.”

“Sometimes one has to be battered at as well as to batter, as in the present instance,” I answered. “But depend on it, we shall be allowed to take our revenge before long.”

“Oh, I wish those dreadful cannon-balls would not come so close to one,” sung out poor Harry, half playfully, half in earnest, as a round shot came crashing through the bulwark close to where we lay, throwing the splinters about us, ploughing up the deck, and passing out at a port on the other side.

“I thought you were not going to be frightened, Harry, my boy,” said I.

“Nor should I, I tell you, if I could but be firing in return,” he answered. “Besides, it is the first time I was ever in action, and I have heard that the bravest men are apt to bob their heads on such occasions. Perhaps when I get accustomed to it I shall care as little as anyone for it.”

“I have no doubt you will, Harry,” I replied; and most truly the noble little fellow did not disappoint my expectations. With proud defiance the squadron continued its onward course, still desisting from firing, as if invulnerable to the showers of round shot and bullets which came whistling about them. The enemy were in general firing too high to do much injury except to our rigging; the splinters which flew from our topmasts and yards and came showering down every now and then on deck, and the strange festoons our rigging began to form, the ends of ropes hanging here and there, and the numerous holes exhibited in our sails showed the effect their unremitting fire had caused. Sometimes the wind was so light that we had little more than steerage way, when instantly guns were brought round to attack us. Still we had not performed half our distance. I must own that never, when in chase of an enemy, or when attacked by gun-boats, or when finding my ship set on shore by a strong current, have I more earnestly prayed than now for a breeze to carry us onward. Nothing so much damps the ardour of men as having to sit quiet and be fired at without having the power of returning the compliment. Few can stand it except Turks and Englishmen; Turks because they fancy it is their fate, Englishmen because they know it is their duty. As the shot came crashing among us and the blocks and splinters from the spars and other parts of the rigging came tumbling down on our heads, a growl might every now and then be heard from some of the seamen very like that given by a savage dog chained up as a stranger approaches his kennel and he finds after repeated trials that he has come to the length of his tether. I really felt it a relief when I had to move about the decks on any duty, as was the case occasionally when a slight shift of wind or an alteration in our course made it necessary to trim sails, though I was thus exposed to a much greater risk of losing the number of my mess. Not a man could show his head above the hammock nettings but he was sure to become the mark of a hundred riflemen who were poking out their weapons from the windows of the houses which looked so peaceably at us. As I went about the decks I amused myself by remarking the different expressions worn by the countenances of the men. With respect to the greater number it was that of calm indifference, as if not aware that they were running any unusual risk of their lives. Some seemed to see the danger, but to brave it; many were laughing and joking among themselves, while a few, and only a few, were evidently in no small terror of being hit. I passed near Tom Rockets. His countenance told me that I need have no fear of his doing me discredit. Old Grampus was near him, looking as calm as if he was sitting down to his dinner.

“I have been telling the youngster, sir,” said he, “that one of the first things a seaman has to learn is how to bear the hardships it may please Providence to send him, whether he has to be shot at, as he has now, or to suffer famine on a raft or desert island, or to have the sea breaking over him on a wreck or on the cold, slippery rocks. Maybe he’ll have to try them all before he settles down with a wooden leg, ashore in his own cottage, or bears up for Greenwich, as I hopes to do one day.”

Tom listened to this very gravely, but I suspect old Nol had been amusing himself somewhat at his expense. Hour after hour passed by, and the ship proudly held on her course round Manhattan Island till we reached the eastern side beyond the city, where, at a spot called Kip’s Bay, about two miles from it, the squadron at length, at about seven o’clock, dropped anchor in front of a long line of entrenchments which the enemy had thrown up.

Captain Hudson, having to communicate with Captain Hamond, sent me on board the Roebuck. Having delivered my message, I inquired for my friend Hitchcock.

“He is here,” said Collins, a midshipman I had addressed, lifting up an ensign which was spread near the mainmast.

There lay the poor fellow who was to have dined with me that day, so lately full of life and spirits, now stiff and stark. A rifle-bullet had passed through his heart. Several other men had been killed and wounded on board. Such is one of the chances of war. I returned sadly on board my own ship. In those days such an occurrence had but a very transitory effect.

As soon as the enemy found that we were to be stationary for a while, some guns were brought up, which began playing on us, and kept up a no very musical serenade during the night. The shots struck the ships occasionally; but the guns were very badly served, and did little or no execution. Their music did not prevent me sleeping soundly, and preparing to take my share in the hot work in which we were about to gage.

The next day we received orders to attack the batteries at Hell Gate. Lord Howe could not have been informed of the true nature of the place, or he would not have issued the order. The pilots, however, positively refused to take up the ships, asserting, and not without good grounds, that they would inevitably be lost. At all events, I believe that by their determination we escaped a severe chastisement from the enemy. We therefore, with the exception of a little cannonading, spent another quiet night with whole skins in Kip’s Bay.

Note 1. Afterwards Sir Andrew Hamond, Bart, and father of the late Admiral Sir Graham Hamond, Admiral of the Fleet, and grandfather of the present Captain Sir Andrew Hamond, Bart.—Editor.

Chapter Five.

A bright morning and a dark day.—Attack on New York.—Mercer shows his sympathy with the Americans.—The battle rages.—Field of battle.—Assist a wounded American.—Fired at by our friends.—Another trip on shore.—Fall into the hands of Hessian troops.—Rescued by General Pigot.—Sent with despatches to Lord Howe.—My boat’s crew mutiny.—New York on fire.—Treatment of supposed incendiaries.—Remarks on the war.—The condemned spy.—Mercer pleads for him in vain.—His execution.

By early dawn on the morning of the 23rd of September, 1776, every one was astir. The sultry atmosphere alone, even under ordinary circumstances, would have made us glad to leave our berths. It had become known that a combined attack by the land and sea forces was to be made on the enemy. The mighty sun rose over Long Island in a blaze of glory, and shot upward into a cloudless sky as the anchor was lifted. Fold after fold of our white canvas was let fall, and the other ships of the squadron following our example, we once more moved onward along the shore of Manhattan Island.

The scene was one of great beauty. The rays of the bright luminary fell on the wood-crowned heights of Harlem on one side, and of Morrissania on the other side of the creek, throwing the promontories into bold relief, and the bays and inlets, with which the coast is indented, into deeper shade, while rich fields, and meadows and orchards, as they basked in the soft morning light, gave the whole landscape an appearance of calmness and peace, soon to be broken by the rude realities of fierce, unrelenting warfare.

As soon as we weighed anchor the troops of the enemy, who had been watching us under arms since dawn, began to march along the shore close to us, regardless of the danger they ran of destruction, for had we opened our broadsides, we might have played sad havoc among them. They were not quite so fantastically dressed as my friends at Cape Henlopen, but still there was a very great variety of costume, and a lamentable want of discipline among them. If the front rank did not advance fast enough, the rear would give them a shove or a kick to urge them on, all the time making significant and not very complimentary signs to us to come on shore and fight them, while they tried to express their supreme contempt for us by every means in their power, shouting out taunting words, and abusing us in no measured terms.

Our men had two days before stood the battering we got with comparative calmness, but the taunts and signs of the foe now enraged them beyond all endurance.

“Wait a bit, my lads, and then won’t we give it you!” sung out Dick Trunnion, a sturdy topman, and many similar expressions were uttered by others.

“Oh, Muster Hurry, don’t yer think the captain would let us go ashore, and give them chaps the drubbing they deserves?” asked Tom Rockets as I passed, doubling his fists while he spoke. “I’d like to give them a hiding.”

“Never mind them, lads,” said old Grampus, turning his back to the shore, and looking over his shoulder at the foe with a glance of supreme contempt. “They knows no better; and fancies because we don’t hit we can’t. Poor fellows! I pities them, that I do. They bees little better than savinges, only they wants the paint and feathers.”

I felt very much as Nol said he did; but I suspect that his anger was rather more excited than he chose to confess. The truth was that these were mostly raw militia regiments, who had seen little or nothing of warfare, and from the previous occurrences of the war had been taught to look with contempt on British prowess. The regulars in most instances behaved admirably, and nothing could surpass the bravery of the officers of all ranks. This their greatest enemies could not deny; but the militia were of a very different stamp, and the men, unable to depend on each other or their officers, on several occasions fairly turned tail and ran away. I fancy that most of our opponents on the present occasion were of that class. We stood on till we reached a spot about fifty yards from the enemy’s entrenchments, a little below Blackwell’s Island, where the squadron dropped their anchors, and calmly furled sails. There we lay for some time without exchanging a shot, expecting, however, that some hot work was about to be commenced. The glasses of the officers were in the meantime constantly turned towards the small islets in the direction of Long Island. At length Captain Hudson uttered an exclamation of satisfaction.

“They come! they come!” he cried out, and as he spoke a flotilla of boats were seen emerging from among the tree-covered shores of Bushwick Creek. They formed the first division of flat-bottomed boats, having on board a force of 4500 men, under the immediate command of General Howe. Slowly and steadily they advanced, like some huge black monsters covering the blue surface of the tranquil and hitherto peaceful Sound. The drum now beat to quarters.

“Now my boys, if so be you want to punish them poor savinges as has been beguiling you, your time’s soon coming,” growled out old Nol, as the crew were hurrying with alacrity to their guns.

The only person whose countenance showed no satisfaction was Mercer. Pale as death, he stood at his post over his division of guns; but I saw that he would rather have died a hundred deaths than engage in the work he felt it was his duty to perform. From my heart I pitied him. There was but little time, however, for thinking of that or any other matter. On came the flotilla of boats. Not a shot had as yet disturbed the calm tranquillity of the scene. A thin, gauze-like mist was spread over the distant portions of the landscape. The hot sun struck down on our heads; the blue expanse of water glittered in his bright rays, and the sea-fowl skimmed over it, dipping their wings ever and anon, as if to refresh them in the liquid element. Everything still wore an aspect of perfect peace. The boats at last got within fifty yards of the ships. A signal flew out from the mast-head of the Phoenix—the knell of many a human being. It was the signal to engage.

“Fire away, my lads,” was shouted along the decks. It was not necessary to repeat the order. Never did a crew work their guns with more alacrity. The shot rushed like a storm of gigantic hailstones among the ill-fated Americans, tearing up their entrenchments and scattering the earth and palisades far and wide. In a very short time the fortifications in which they had trusted were blown to atoms; still we fired on as fast as our guns could be loaded and run out. The enemy answered us from various points; but with little effect. In a few short moments, how changed was the scene from what it had lately been! Now from point to point, and through every sheltered nook and bay resounded the roar of cannon, the rattle of musketry, the shouts of the combatants, the shrieks and groans and agonising cries of the wounded, while above all hung a dark, funereal pall of smoke, ascending from the scene of strife, shutting it out as it were from the bright blue glorious firmament above, and, if it could be, from the all-searching eye of the Creator of men who were thus disfiguring His image by their furious passions, and dishonouring Him by the infraction of all the precepts of that mild, that beneficent religion, which He in His unsearchable love sent His only Son to teach them to obey.

But where am I driving to? I did not think thus at the time. No; my blood was up; my evil passions were aroused; and I was as eager as anyone to shed blood, and utterly careless of all the consequences to myself and others. Never have I witnessed a more tremendous fire than was kept up by our ships for fifty-nine minutes, during which time in the Orpheus alone we expended 5366 pounds of powder. I kept no note of the number of shot we fired away. The very first broadside made a considerable breach in the enemy’s works. At the end of the time I have mentioned the boats advanced, and the signal was made to cease firing. As they touched the beach the men sprang on shore, and, forming rapidly, gallantly rushed towards the entrenchments with fixed bayonets and loud cheers. The enemy scarcely waited to deliver their fire, but, throwing down their arms, fled on all sides in the utmost terror and confusion, earnestly petitioning for quarter. The red-coats leaped through the breaches made by our guns, and over the embankments, and were speedily in possession of the enemy’s works. As the smoke cleared away, the ground far and near appeared covered with the bodies of the slain and wounded, some with arms, others with legs, shot away, while parties of fugitives were seen flying in every direction, pursued by our men, especially by the Hessians, who seemed little disposed to give the quarter which was asked.

I was not only a spectator but a participator in what I have been describing. As soon as the ships ceased firing, our boats, of which I commanded one, were ordered to aid in towing the flat-bottomed boats on shore. As soon as the troops had landed, leaving Grampus in charge of my boat, I, with another midshipman and Tom Rockets and two other men, followed them into the entrenchments, and found myself shortly in the rear of a body of Hessians as they charged over the ground. A poor American was flying for his life, shrieking out for mercy. One of those savage mercenaries either did not or would not understand him, and before I could interpose had with a sweep of his sword severed his head from his body, then, in savage triumph worthy of a Red Indian, sticking it on a pole, carried it through the entrenchments, shouting out as if he had performed some noble act of heroism.

Meantime several of the ship’s boats were ordered to pull along-shore to annoy the enemy in their flight and to prevent them from rallying. My friend Hargrave and I, midshipmanlike and thoughtless of danger, set off in the direction the enemy had taken along the shore, picking up a number of articles which in their terror they had dropped or thrown away, such as rifles, pistols, swords, spy-glasses, and even watches, plate, and camp utensils of various sorts, which we knew would be most acceptable to our mess. We passed many of the slain, knocked over in their flight. As we ran thoughtlessly on, very little moved by these sights, to which even the youngsters were becoming familiar, I heard a deep groan. Looking round, I saw behind a bush a militiaman stretched on the ground with a bad wound in his side.

“Oh, kill me! kill me! put me out of my misery!” he exclaimed as soon as he saw me.

“No, I will not do that,” said I; “but I will try if I can relieve you.”

I had a flask of some rum and water in my pocket; I gave him some of it to drink. There was, fortunately, a stream near; I got some fresh water in a hat and washed his wound, and then bound it up with a piece of shirt which I took from a dead man near. The poor fellow seemed much revived and very grateful.

“There,” said I, “you will be able to get off and join your people at nightfall. It’s not my business to take you prisoner.”

“Thank you, stranger, thank you,” said he; “Amos Spinks will not forget your mercy and kindness.”

I could not stay with him longer, but, leaving him a piece of biscuit and a hat full of water, I ran on to join my companions, who, not seeing me, had gone forward. The American had no idea I was an officer, for I had on a white linen jacket which I wore at my quarters, and it was consequently thickly begrimed with powder and dirt. I caught sight of my party ahead, and ran on as fast as my legs could carry me, with the load of spoils I had collected, to overtake them. As I neared them, and was shouting to them to stop, I caught sight of one of our boats, with Mr Heron, our second lieutenant, in her, pulling along-shore after me. I saw that he was somewhat excited, and seemed urging on the men to pull with greater speed. Just as I got up to my party, to our no small astonishment, not to say dismay, he turned the bow of the boat towards us, and bang he let fly a shower of grape from a gun placed there right in among us, following up the unwelcome salute with a volley of small arms. We shouted at the top of our voices, and made signs that we were friends; but what with the smoke and his blindness, for he was near-sighted, and the noise of the firing and the shouts of his men, he neither made out who we were nor heard us, but continued peppering away as before.

“Run, my lads, run,” I sung out; “there’s no disgrace running from friends, but very unpleasant to be shot by them.”

My party required no second order, but away we all scampered as fast as we could go, scattering from each other to distract our friends in their very unfriendly employment.

“Oh, Mr Hurry, I bees hit, I bees hit?” sung out Tom Rockets.

I expected to see him fall, but the shot only made him scamper on the faster. Our flight, of course, made Mr Heron fire at us more zealously, and we had to throw away all the things we had collected to escape with greater speed from his heroic fury. We took a course inland, and then turned back towards the place where we had landed. Happily we soon got among trees and rocks and broken walls, which much sheltered us, and Tom was the only man wounded. As soon as we got clear of the shot from the boat, I called a halt to examine his hurt. It was merely a slight flesh wound from a bullet in the leg, and a handkerchief bound round it enabled him to walk on. It was now time to return on board, so we made the best of our way to the boat, not without some considerable risk of being shot by our own sentries. On my stepping on deck I found several officers round the captain. Mr Heron was among them.

“The rascally rebels can’t stand us for a moment, sir,” he was saying. “A whole gang of them hove in sight as I was pulling along-shore—a hundred at least—and stood hallooing to me and daring me to come after them. I let fly among them, sent them scampering away like a flock of sheep, knocking over a good dozen or more, I should think. It was rare fun, sir.”

“Very good fun for you, Mr Heron,” said I, turning round; “but I beg to assure you, sir, that there were not a dozen of us altogether.”

“You! what do you mean?” he asked, with a look of surprise.

“Why, that I was one of the body of supposed rebels, and though we shouted to you and begged you not to fire, you banged at us so furiously that we had to throw away a whole heap of things we had collected, and to run for our lives.”

Captain Hudson and the other officers laughed not a little at this exploit of Mr Heron’s, for he was notorious for his boasting. He bore me a grudge about it ever after.

“Well, Mr Hurry,” said the captain good-naturedly, “you shall go on shore in the afternoon with Mr Heron, and try to recover some of your treasures.”

Away we went in the afternoon accordingly in high glee, Mr Heron expecting to pick up all sorts of things, and I hoping to recover those I had lost. We soon reached the field on which Mr Heron boasted to have gained his hard-won victory; but the swords and all the things of value were gone, picked up by the plundering-parties who invariably issue forth over the scene where the strife has been hottest, as birds of prey gather on the carcase just fallen in the desert. I looked about for the poor fellow I had assisted in the morning. He was gone. He had, I concluded, either been taken prisoner, or had managed to crawl off and rejoin his friends. We went on much farther than we had been in the morning, picking up some drums and a few similar bulky articles, which others had not thought worth collecting. We picked up in all nine drums, one of the largest of which I sent to my friend, Jack Bluet, who lived in a small house at Falmouth. It might have served him for a drawing-room table. I hope he has got it still. A little way beyond where I found the wounded man I came on the body of an officer. He lay on his back, shot through the heart, his hand grasping a very handsome fusee, and with a look of defiance still on his countenance. I suspect he had been bush-fighting in Indian fashion, in hopes of checking the advance of his enemies, in spite of the flight of his companions in arms. He was a fine young man, and from his style of dress and general appearance was evidently of respectable family. I stooped down, and, undoing the grasp with which the dead man’s fingers held the fusee, took possession of it and ran after my companions. Still, as I hurried on, the look worn by the features of the dead officer haunted me. I felt as if I had been depriving him of his property. I thought of his mother and sisters, or perhaps a young wife, who were doomed never to see him again, or of friends who might be expecting to meet him that very day, and for a moment all the dreadful results of warfare presented themselves before me more vividly than they had ever before done. The laughter and jokes of my companions, however, very quickly drove all such thoughts from my mind. We had been joined by an acquaintance of mine, Simeon, a midshipman of the Phoenix, who had with him the gunner and seven men. By some means or other I had been separated from Mr Heron and my boat’s crew—indeed, my lieutenant had no particular fancy for my society, so I joined company with Simeon, and together we rambled into the woods. We had not gone far when we caught sight of a fellow skulking among the trees. When he saw that he was observed he took to his heels, and this of course made us give chase. The woods rang with our shouts and cries, and we were not long before we came up with the man, who proved to be a rebel militiaman. He sang out most lustily for mercy, thinking that we were going to kill him, but we soon quieted his fears on that score by assuring him that he was not worth powder and shot. He seemed to be very grateful, and informed us that there had been a smart skirmish in the wood between his party and a body of Hessians, the latter of whom he believed were still in the neighbourhood of the wood. Of the truth of part of his story the dead bodies scattered here and there about were too true witnesses. Simeon and I, on this, called a halt and consulted together with the gunner whether we should go back or seek further adventures ahead.

“We have taken one prisoner, perhaps we may make some more and gain some little credit when we present ourselves with them in camp, so I vote that we go on,” said I; and my proposal was agreed to.

As we supposed that we might be in the face of an enemy we kept closer together than before, and moved on more cautiously. After advancing some way we heard voices in an orchard on the skirts of the wood, and, supposing the sounds to proceed from a party of the rebels, we presented our muskets and advanced towards the gate of the orchard, fully expecting to make more prisoners. Just, however, as we began to move on up started before us a body of two or three hundred Hessians, with glittering brass helmets on their heads, who, with fixed bayonets and loud cries, charged furiously at us. Had we attempted to move they would have shot us, so we stood our ground and sung out most lustily that we were friends. They did not understand us, and, charging on, would, I fully, expected, have bayoneted us on the spot. “Friends—friends! English—British officers!” I sung out at the top of my voice.

“Rebels, rebels!” was the only answer we got; and in another moment we were knocked over with the butt-ends of their muskets. We picked ourselves up as well as we could, and I pointed to my own and Simeon’s white cuffs and lapels, and told them that we belonged to the British fleet, but to no purpose; and what was my dismay when they showed us at a little distance an unfortunate rebel officer who lay on the ground with his leg shot off, and who was dressed in the same uniform which we wore. He told them as well as he could that he knew nothing of us, but they would not believe him, and, having talked together in their hideous lingo, once more knocked us over and began belabouring us with their muskets. I never met such savages, and I am not surprised that they were hated by the poor colonists. I am sure we bore them no love, especially just then. We sung out lustily for mercy, for to our horror we saw that they were about to finish us off by plunging their bayonets into us, when our cries brought up an officer on horseback, in whom, to my great satisfaction, I recognised General Pigot, the commander of the division to which they belonged. He knew me on board the Chatham, and was thus able to assure the Hessians who I was. They made all sorts of apologies, which afforded us a very small amount of satisfaction.

Thanking General Pigot for his timely rescue, we set off to return to our ships, heartily sick of our day’s adventures—hungry and battered, indeed, very much in need both of cook and doctor.

The next day we weighed and, parting from the Phoenix and the other ships with which we had been in company, ran up between Blackwell’s Island and the main. As we were running at the rate of some four or five knots an hour a shock was felt which made the ship shiver throughout her whole frame. The pilot turned pale, as if he expected to be shot on the spot. He had put us on a rock. Captain Hudson, cool as usual, issued his orders as if nothing particular was the matter, and we quickly swung off again and proceeded on our way till we brought up snugly in Turtle Cove. While the ship lay there I was sent, on the 25th, with dispatches to Lord Howe, then residing on Staten Island. My boat’s crew on this occasion consisted either of pressed men or of fellows whom I knew to be among the greatest blackguards in the ship. On the way down they showed signs of an unruly disposition by pulling slowly and not putting out their strength when I ordered them. Their conduct, however, did not trouble me, and I forgot all about it as I walked up to present my dispatches to his lordship. I have always entertained the greatest respect for Lord Howe. He was a good seaman—of bravery undoubted—cool and thoughtful in danger—generous and kind, and considerate for those under his command and careful for their interests. He was much abused by the royalists in America, as well as by many in the army and fleet, as also at home, because he did not seem anxious to push matters to extremes at once with the rebels and allow fire and sword to be carried throughout their territories. But he looked upon them as fellow-beings and fellow-subjects, and though misguided, he considered that they had too much reason for their rebellion to be treated with the severity others proposed. I have heard that after an action he would go below and visit each wounded man as he lay in his hammock, and stop and talk to him, and would send wine and poultry from his own stock to those whom the surgeon thought required it. Such are the deeds by which an officer can easily win the hearts of seamen. I had not to wait long before I was told to walk into his room, and I found myself in the presence of a dark and somewhat hard-featured man—with a figure, however, tall, well-proportioned, and dignified. Had I not known him by repute I should have been somewhat awe-struck, but as he spoke his countenance brightened up, and his kind look dissipated all feeling of fear.

“Sit down, youngster,” said he, “and let me hear your account of the action of the 23rd. As your ship was at hand I conclude you saw it.”

I gave him the best description in my power of what I had seen, taking care to make no reflections on the events of the day. He seemed much interested, and hastily writing a letter, as soon as it was copied, told me to return with it to Captain Hudson.

When I got back to my boat I had no little difficulty in collecting my men, and soon after I shoved off I found that they were one and all drunk. As long as they pulled on I said nothing, but in a short time they began to grumble at having come away without more liquor.

“What’s the odds?” said one. “The shortest way is to go back and get it.”

“My idea, Sam!” cried another. “If we once get aboard our chance is over.”

“About, shipmates,” exclaimed a third. “Never mind the youngster.”

“But you will have to mind me, my lads!” I exclaimed, springing up with my hanger in my hand. “You’ve made a mistake if you fancy that I allow tricks to be played with me.”

For a short time they were silent, and, hoping that I had cowed them by my promptitude, I again sat down in the stern-sheets. I kept my weapon in my right hand, however, for I was aware how completely I was in their power if they chose to proceed to extremities. I had come away without pistols, so that I had only my hanger to depend on, and they might, if they had acted together, have wrenched it from my grasp and, overpowering me, have hove me overboard. They would then have escaped without much difficulty to one of the nearest American posts and joined the rebels. While I was thinking over this very pleasant subject, and contemplating myself swimming for my life up East River, they again began to grumble.

“I’ll not pull another stroke!” cried one fellow with an oath.

“Nor I! Nor I!” exclaimed others.

Two, I remarked, did not speak; and addressing myself to them, I asked if they would join in so rascally and uncalled-for a mutiny.

It was now getting very dark, and I could scarcely see the features of the men, so as to be prepared for what they were about to do. The boat lay motionless on the water. If I hesitated I was lost.

“Take to your oars and give way, or I will cut you to pieces, you scoundrels!” I shouted, springing up and making a cut with my hanger at the hands of one of the most mutinous. “If you won’t use your bands, I’ll chop them off. Pull, I say!”

I should have been as good as my word had not the fellow taken to his oar, while my blade struck the gunwale of the boat, by which the point was broken. The mutineers now rose in a body and seemed about to make a rush on me. On this, I began slashing away to keep them at bay, cutting them over the hands and arms pretty severely.

The two men, one of whom pulled the stroke-oar and the one next him, now sang out that they would obey my orders.

“Then we’ll heave you all overboard together!” cried the most drunken of the mutineers.

“Will you, my man?” I exclaimed, making a cut at him with my hanger. “Then take that first!”

He stumbled and fell with his face aft, thereby saving his life, though I again broke the blade of my hanger almost up to the hilt. The other men, fancying he was killed, hung back, while I dragged his senseless body into the stern-sheets and stowed him away, for he was stunned with the effect of his fall and his drunkenness. The men forward sat sulkily down, perhaps they would not have remained quiet had they known I had broken my hanger. They refused however to pull, and one after the other dropped off into a drunken sleep. The two more steady ones did their best to pull on, and the tide fortunately favoured us, or I do not know where we should have got to. I have seldom been placed in a much more fearful position. Any moment the mutineers might wake up and, remembering the consequences their conduct was sure to bring on them, might again attempt to overpower me and carry off the boat to the enemy. I was weary and hungry, and in the darkness of night all sorts of dreadful thoughts occurred to me as I slowly floated over those perilous waters. I felt a strong inclination at times to run into New York to try and get aid; but I thought if I did the men would certainly escape and hide themselves before I could find any of the military authorities to afford me assistance. New York by this time was entirely in the hands of the British. On the day we landed at Kip’s Bay General Howe pushed forward part of his troops to encompass the city on the land side, when General Putnam, the American commander who held it, was compelled to make a precipitate retreat, being very nearly cut off before he joined Washington at King’s Bridge. Had not, indeed, the British delayed their advance to refresh themselves, they would in all probability have captured the whole division of the rebel army. A large number of the inhabitants remained in New York, those only who had taken a prominent part in the rebellion thinking it necessary to leave it. It was very doubtful, however, had I gone on shore, whether I should have fallen among friends or foes. I resolved, therefore, to make, the best of my way to the ship. I watched the lights glimmering in the houses, one after the other being put out as I pulled slowly by, and I could hear the constant call of the sentries as the officers went their rounds, while any moment I felt that my mutinous crew might come to their senses and make an end of me. I amused myself, however, by whistling and singing snatches of songs to make them suppose that I was perfectly indifferent to their threats, and at length, by half-past one in the morning, to my great relief I got alongside the ship. The mutineers only at that moment roused up, and very much astonished they were to find themselves clapped into irons as soon as they got on board. The next morning they each received nine dozen, with the exception of the two who had at once returned to their duty. I took care to get them ultimately rewarded.

The most disagreeable duty we had to perform while we lay in Turtle Bay was to row guard at night abreast of Hell Gate, the name, as I have before mentioned, given to the entrance of Harlem River. With the ebb-tide a terrific current sets out through the narrow channel, forming a whirlpool, on which is bestowed the pleasant-sounding title of the Devil’s Pot. On one side is his gridiron, and on the other his frying-pan, while another batch of rocks goes by the name of his “hen and chickens.” Now, although I cannot take upon myself to affirm that even on the darkest and most stormy night I ever beheld his Satanic majesty engaged in the exercise of his well-known culinary talents in frying soles or any other fish or fowl, or quadruped, or biped, yet I had the greatest dread of getting within the power of his voracious cauldron. I therefore always kept at a respectful distance from it. I advise all those who may have to visit the spot to follow my example. I, however, often heard afterwards some very strange tales narrated by the seamen who had been in the boats when thus employed and implicitly believed by their auditors. In truth, although the master spirit of evil may have no direct influence in the matter, a very large number of vessels and boats have been lost on the surrounding rocks.

The constant hard service in which we had been engaged since we left England had placed a large number of our men on the sick-list. During our stay in Turtle Bay we landed them at Blackwell’s Island, where they considerably recovered their strength. From the same place we abundantly supplied the ship with fresh meat and vegetables, luxuries to which we had long been strangers. On the 29th of September I had the middle watch. It had just gone six-bells, when, as I was casting my eyes towards the city, I saw a bright light suddenly dart up towards the sky. It was rapidly succeeded by other flashes till the whole firmament seemed to glow with a bright, ruddy light. “The city is on fire—the city is on fire!” was the general cry on board. There was a strong wind, and as the fire must have already made much progress, we had great fear that the whole city would be burned down. It was proposed at once to make a party to go and see what was the matter, and, a messmate taking my watch, I got leave to join it. Away we pulled as fast as we could, and after we had reached the shore we had no difficulty in finding our way to the scene of destruction. Everybody in the place had turned out of bed. Some were rushing about in despair at the loss of all their worldly property, not knowing where to go to find shelter—others were searching for friends or relatives, in doubt whether or no they had fallen victims to the flames—others were endeavouring to stay the progress of the fire. The most active in this work were the British troops. They had formed a close circle round the burning part of the city and were engaged in blowing-up and pulling down houses, deluging others with water, and cutting off the communication in every direction.

We were attracted by a dense crowd and loud cries in one direction. We ran to the spot, where we found a number of soldiers who appeared to be in a highly exasperated state. They had among them a dozen or more men whom they were dragging forward towards the flames. “Burn them in their own bonfire!” they were shouting out; “Burn them in their own bonfire—they were going to burn us out of our quarters!” We asked a civilian who stood at a house-door looking on what had occurred.

“Why, the soldiers think they have got hold of the men who set the city on fire, and they are going to pay them off. Maybe they are the men who did it, or maybe they are rogues and vagabonds who were prowling about for plunder—so it matters little, I guess,” was the answer we received.

We left our philosophical friend smoking his pipe; he was evidently one of those who care little what becomes of the world provided they are comfortable. We followed the soldiers till we came to some scaffolding erected for building a house, several ropes were hanging about it. The humour seized the soldiers to hang up some of their prisoners, and in a trice four of the unhappy wretches were run up by the heels, while their heads hung downwards. In that position the infuriated soldiers dashed at them with the butt-ends of their muskets, and very soon put them out of their misery. Their companions in misfortune, if not in guilt, meantime were shrieking out for mercy and protesting their innocence, but in vain. The soldiers laughed and jeered at them, and hurrying them on up to a burning house, forced them into the flames at the points of their bayonets. As they rushed shrieking out covered with fire, they were driven back again till the devouring element grasped them at length in its deadly embrace. Then, with loud shouts of demoniacal satisfaction, the enraged soldiers rushed away to look for fresh victims. Miserable was the fate while they were in that humour, of those who fell into their hands. I never saw so dreadful a spectacle before, and hope never to see such a one again.

A short time afterwards General Howe had to send a flag of truce to General Washington respecting an exchange of prisoners, when he was said to have most solemnly denied having had anything to do with the burning of the city. The flames were happily stopped after about a fourth part of it had been burned to the ground. On the night of the 30th the rebels made an attack on Montizieur’s Island, but were repulsed with the loss of a major and several men who were taken prisoners.

On the 2nd of October Delisle and I, with Harry Sumner, having got leave to go on shore, agreed to walk out to visit the lines at King’s Bridge, where our army was intrenched in sight of that of the Americans. Just as we were setting off Mercer said he would come also. The day was lovely. The air was so bright and pure and exhilarating that it was a pleasure alone to breathe it—one of those days of autumn met with in the northern part of America which go by the name of the Indian summer. A thin gauze-like mist filled the atmosphere, giving a warm, almost tropical, look to the landscape; the water looked bluer, the fields greener, the sands yellower, and the rocks browner than I had ever seen them; while the tints of autumn, just showing themselves on the more exposed sides of the trees, gave the woods wonderfully rich and varied hues. We took a path through orchards and woods and across fields, meadows, and gardens, which bore evident and sad traces of the advance of hostile armies. Fences and embankments were levelled, cottages burnt, fruit-trees and fruit-bushes cut down or uprooted, gardens trampled over and destroyed, here and there a few fragrant flowers rearing their heads like guardian angels among the surrounding scene of havoc, alone showing that the spot might once have been some peaceful man’s earthly paradise.

We at length reached the British lines. They extended in one continuous encampment from Horen’s Hook on the Harlem River for about two miles directly across the island of Manhattan to the Hudson, both flanks being guarded by the men-of-war. Commanding the sea, as we did, it was impossible to hold a stronger position. On the other side of an open plain, well posted on a succession of rocky heights, appeared the rebel forces, the advanced sentries of the two armies being within hail of each other. On our left the enemy occupied a strong fortress called Fort Washington, which overlooked the Hudson, and two miles north of it was King’s Bridge, the only passage to the mainland across the inlet of the Hudson I have before mentioned, which joins it to the Harlem River, called by the Dutch Spyt den Duivel Creek, and which still retains its unpleasant-sounding name.

The object of our party seemed to be to get possession of Fort Washington, and so cut off the retreat of the enemy. It was said that General Howe ought to have sent a strong force up the Hudson and attacked Washington in the rear, while the rest of the army pressed him in front; but he did not make the attempt till it was too late, and a large portion of the American troops had crossed King’s Bridge and taken up a strong position among the hills in the interior. There was a good deal of severe fighting after this, and Fort Washington, which had been gallantly defended by a brave American officer, Colonel Magan, was captured by us, with its garrison of upwards of two thousand men.

We spent some time in the camp talking to various acquaintances among the soldier officers whom we met, and as we wandered on we came to a spot where a drum-head court-martial was sitting. They were trying a man who had been accused of being a spy, captured endeavouring to make his way out of the camp at night. He had just been pronounced guilty. He stood with his arms bound and soldiers holding him on either side. He was a fine tall young man with an intelligent countenance, and though dressed in the hunter’s garb of a backwoodsman, torn and travel-stained, and covered with dirt, while his appearance was as rough as he could make it, I thought as I looked at him that he was above the rank he had assumed. A few short moments only were allowed him from the time of his condemnation till his execution. His guilt was clear; he did not even attempt to defend himself. The president had just finished addressing him as we came up.

“If it is a crime to love one’s country better than anything else on earth, to exert every faculty of mind and body, to sacrifice one’s time and property, to risk liberty and life to serve her, then I am guilty—to love liberty and freedom of conscience, to hate tyranny and oppression, then I am indeed a criminal,” he answered in an unshaken voice. “You call me a spy and load me with opprobrium. It was necessary to gain information as to the movements of your mercenary army: twice have I obtained that information and carried it to our noble general. My only regret is that I have not succeeded a third time in so doing; but understand that though I have thus laboured to injure you secretly, I have ever fought openly against you on the field of battle, and on that account I might plead to die a soldier’s death, and not to be treated as a dog and hung. Yet it matters little. According to your laws my sentence is just. I seek not to appeal from it, and I die with the joyous certainty that the righteous cause for which I suffer will triumph at last, and that your proud legions will retire from this country defeated and disgraced.”

“Silence, young man?” exclaimed the president; “you departed from your allegiance to your lawful sovereign; you acknowledge that you have taken up arms against his troops, and you are now found acting the despicable part of a spy. Your false reasoning cannot induce me to alter the sentence pronounced against you. You have but a few minutes in which to take your farewell of life.”

No sooner did Mercer catch sight of the prisoner than he turned very pale, and as he laid his hand on my shoulder I felt that it trembled violently.

“What is the matter, Mercer?” I asked.

“That noble fellow who stands there is my schoolfellow, my old familiar friend!” he cried, scarcely aware of what he said; then, unable to restrain himself, he rushed forward and seized the prisoner’s hand. “Sydney Markham!” he exclaimed, with deep earnestness, looking up into the face of the condemned man, who gazed at him with an expression of recognition and affection; “say that you are not guilty; that you have not been acting the part of a spy. You were ever the soul of honour; I will answer for you; they will not destroy you. If they give you time you can easily disprove the foul accusation brought against you. Say so, Sydney, speak! Tell them that you are not guilty. I will fly to the general—I will go on my knees before him, I will entreat for your life; I will offer mine instead of yours.”

The unhappy young man shook his head, and with a faint smile answered, “Mercer, I cannot disprove the accusation brought against me. We may differ in our views, yet, believe me, I do not feel that I have swerved from the path of honour, and therefore, noble and high-minded as you ever were, I am still worthy to be called your friend. But we are wasting precious time; the minutes of my life are numbered, and I must prepare for death.”

“Oh, no, no, no! I must strive to save you; I cannot bear to see you thus snatched away from life.” Then he turned abruptly to the president of the court. “This man cannot be as guilty as you suppose, sir,” he exclaimed, with a look of agony; “he would never have sought to injure the King’s forces unfairly; let him live till I have seen Sir William Howe; he may order a reprieve till he has inquired more into the particulars of the case.”

“You ask an impossibility, sir,” answered the officer, who was of the Martinet school, as stern and unbending as one of his men’s muskets; “he has been found guilty, and I have no power to reprieve him. We must put a stop to this system of sending spies into our camp. The higher his position and education the more deserving he is of punishment. Sergeant of the guard, carry out the sentence pronounced on the prisoner.”

“You see it is useless, my friend,” said the young man. “Come and assist me to meet death like a man.”

“Oh, my friend, say rather like a Christian,” cried Mercer, again taking his hand; and together they walked to a tree where a sergeant and some soldiers were arranging a block and rope. Mercer was allowed to continue by the side of his friend, and together they knelt down on the grass and prayed for mercy and forgiveness to Him who is the fountain of all mercy and swift to forgive. The chaplain of one of the regiments had been sent for. He came at length, and the prisoner accepted his ministrations alone, but soon again asked Mercer to join him.

In a short time, terribly short it appeared to me, the officer in charge of the party looked at his watch. The prisoner saw the movement; he started to his feet. “I am ready,” he exclaimed, with a firm voice; “I willingly give my life for my country’s freedom, well assured that ere long America will be free to advance onward in the fulfilment of the mighty destiny in store for her, and those who now seek to oppress her will have departed with defeat and disgrace from her shores.”

Mercer entreated him, when he ceased speaking, to calm himself; he did so with wonderful self-command. Another quarter of an hour was allowed him, and at the end of it a signal was given, the rope was thrown over his neck, and he was run up to a high branch of the tree under which he had been standing. There was a loud cry, but it was uttered by Mercer; Delisle and I rushed forward—our messmate had fainted. We got him into a neighbouring hut, where an officer gave us every assistance in his power. Meantime the body of the spy had been removed. As soon as Mercer had recovered we led him as quickly at possible out of the camp in the direction of our ship, and got him without delay on board. He made no allusion on the way to what had occurred; nor did he indeed ever speak of it to me. I expected to find the next day that he was taken ill, but he still went about his duty as usual, though his nervous system had received a shock from which it was evident he would take long to recover. This was the last adventure I have noted during our stay at New York.

Chapter Six.

Once more at sea.—Drive a schooner on shore.—Blows up.—Mercer’s death.—Capture a sloop.—Sent away in her.—A gale.—Engagement with privateer.—Beat her off.—Sent to New York as commodore of prizes.—Jovial life on shore.—Ill conducted expeditions.

We were once more at sea, and truly glad were all hands on board to find themselves in deep water again. The shore of Long Island, faint and low, was just discernible astern, while Sandy Hook and the highlands of Neversink arose in the distance over our starboard quarter. As I looked on the far-off shore I could not help thinking of the scenes of strife and destruction which, in all probability, were going on there, and feeling heartily glad that we were away from them for a time. We had quitted Turtle Bay on the 3rd and dropped down to Staten Island. On our passage down we ran on board a transport and carried away our larboard fore-chains, cathead, and small bower-anchor stock, not to speak of having so severely damaged the transport that she nearly sank. On the 12th of the month, having repaired damages, we put to sea with his. Majesty’s ship Daphne in company. We were on our way to the mouth of the Delaware with the intention of capturing, burning, sinking, or otherwise destroying all vessels of every description belonging to the colonists which we could fall in with, an odd method, it would seem, of bringing them to reason and making them loyal subjects of his Majesty, though our proceedings did not strike me in that light just then. For a couple of days we had a fair wind, which carried us nearly up to our cruising ground. On the 14th Captain Hudson made a signal to the Daphne to go in chase of a sail seen to the southward, and shortly afterwards another sail was seen standing towards us from the westward. We soon made her out to be a man-of-war, and on exchanging signals she proved to be the Kingfisher sloop-of-war. Within an hour after she joined us. As we continued our course to the southward the look-out at the mast-head hailed the deck. “A sail in the south-east,” said he.

“What is she like?” asked Captain Hudson.

“A suspicious-looking craft—a schooner, sir; a merchantman of some sort,” was the answer.

This announcement put us all on the alert, and as soon as every stitch of sail we could carry had been clapped on the ship several officers were seen going aloft with their spy-glasses slung by rope-yarns over their shoulders to have a look at the chase. I was among the number, so was Mercer. We soon afterwards made the land, which as we drew near we recognised as Cape May. We were rapidly over-hauling the chase, which was steering directly for the coast, and it was a question whether we should come up with her before she ran on shore or got under shelter among any rocks which might be there. There is nothing so exciting in a sea life as a chase; the discussion as to what the stranger may prove, friend or foe, with or without a cargo, armed, and likely to show fight, or helpless, worth having or valueless; and, more than all, whether or not one is likely to overtake her. There is only one thing beats it, and that is to be chased, and I cannot say that the sensations are so agreeable. We were most of us in high spirits at the thoughts of making a capture; the first, we hoped, of a number of prizes we should take during our cruise. The only person who did not take an interest in the affair was Mercer. He was grave and careworn as before; indeed, it struck me that his melancholy had increased lately. He was sitting close to me at the fore-top mast-head.

“Hurrah! we are overhauling her; we shall soon be up with her!” I exclaimed.

“Hurry,” said he, turning round suddenly, “I cannot bear this life. I wish to do my duty, to remain faithful to my allegiance, and yet, I care not who knows it, all my sympathies are with those England has made her foes. I have but one resource; I must quit the service. I would that I could reach some desert isle where I could hide my head far from the haunts of men. I would even welcome death as an alternative. Hurricane, do you know I have of late felt as if my days were already numbered, and that my stay on earth will be very short. Once the thought would have made me unhappy; now I contemplate it with satisfaction, even at moments as a welcome boon.”

I did my utmost to turn my friend’s mind from the gloomy contemplations which occupied it. I had conceived of late much greater regard for him than I had when we first met; there was much that was generous and romantic in his character which attracted me, besides which his courage and coolness in danger had often excited my admiration. I had been, as I have said, using all the arguments I could think of to turn his thoughts into another channel, when he replied—

“I know that I am wrong to give way to these feelings. My religion teaches me to trust in God’s good providence and to believe that all He orders is for the best. I spoke as I did from weakness and want of faith; still I tell you that I am certain before long I shall meet my death. I am endeavouring to prepare for that awful moment; but it is at times, notwithstanding what I have just said, very, very hard to contemplate.”

After speaking much in the same strain as before, I told him that I had known so many people oppressed with the same feeling that he suffered from, of approaching death, who had lived very many years afterwards, that I put not the slightest faith in such prognostications. “At the same time,” I continued, “many a man who expects to lose his life when going into battle does so; but then he would have been killed whether he expected it or not; so, my dear Mercer, I hope you will live to see peace restored, and to enjoy many happy days at home.”

Mercer shook his head, then took a long, eager look at the shore towards which we were approaching.

The Kingfisher had been somewhat more to the south than we were when we sighted the chase. At first she had evidently hoped to double Cape May and to run up the Delaware, but, that hope being cut off, her only mode of escape was to make directly for the land; and it now became evident to Mercer and me, as we sat on our lofty perch, that it was the intention of her crew to run her on shore. Our conversation was brought to a conclusion by our being obliged to descend to attend to our duties on deck.

The poor little schooner had but a small prospect of escape with two big ships in chase, but the man who commanded her was a gallant fellow, and it was evident would persevere while a chance of escape remained.

“Fire the foremost gun, Mr Willis, and bring that fellow to,” said Captain Hudson as we got her within range.

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered the first lieutenant, going forward to see the order executed.

Still the chase seemed to have no notion of giving in. Shot after shot was fired, none striking her, and soon the Kingfisher joined in the practice, with like effect.

“I believe the fellow will manage to run his craft on shore before he strikes,” observed the captain. “He has very likely a valuable cargo on board.”

“Powder or arms for the rebels probably, sir,” said Mr Heron. “We shall have to cut him out.”

“I expect so, and intend to give you charge of the expedition,” replied Captain Hudson. “I hope that you will give as good an account of the foe as you did at Kip’s Bay, Mr Heron.”

The second lieutenant made a face as if he did not like the subject.

We were now rapidly overhauling the chase. We had been standing in on a line a little to the north of her, to prevent her hauling across our bows and beating up to windward along-shore in shallow water, which it was just possible she might attempt to do. Thus every chance of escape on that side was cut off from her. At length one of our shots struck her and carried away her main-topmast. Our crew gave a loud hurrah. It was replied to by her people in bravado. Several successive shots did further damage, yet still she would not give in. Her crew might have hoped to draw us on shore, but Captain Hudson was too wary to be thus taken in.

“Shorten sail, Mr Willis,” he shouted, “and make the signal to the ‘Kingfisher’ to do the same.”

Just as our canvas was reduced and the heads of the ships turned off shore, gracefully bowing to the sea which rolled in, there was a shout from those who were on the look-out on the chase. She had run on shore. As she struck the rocks both her masts went by the board. Captain Hudson on this ordered three boats from us to be manned and two from the Kingfisher, to go in and try to get her off, if not to destroy her, for which purpose we took the usual combustibles. Mr Heron went in one, and had charge of the expedition. Mercer went in another, and I had command of a third. The Kingfisher, at the same time, stood in as close as she could, and then furling sails was warped in with springs on her cables, to cover us in case we should be molested. The schooner had run in within a reef which protected her somewhat from the sea. As we drew near, I saw that her crew were still on board. My boat had taken the lead of the others.

“Give way, my lads, give way!” I shouted; “we shall have time to catch the fellows before they set their craft on fire.” I was not aware at the time that they were not likely to do that same thing. The sea was breaking over her forward, but without much violence. She lay at about seventy to a hundred yards from the shore. I steered for her quarter, and as I and my men sprung on board, her crew tumbled over the bows into their boat, and made good way towards the beach. So precipitate had been their retreat that they left behind them two poor fellows who had been wounded by our shot. As our boats came round the stern of the schooner, and saw the rebels escaping, the two belonging to the sloop-of-war pulled away in chase, while Mr Heron and Mercer jumped on board. The Kingfisher’s boats would have captured the rebels, but, just as they were about doing so, up started three or four hundred militiamen from behind some sand hills, while other bodies were seen rushing down from all directions towards us. They immediately opened so heavy a fire on the two boats that they were compelled to desist from the pursuit, and wisely beat a retreat to the schooner. The sloop-of-war on this fired on the people on shore. There were probably by this time a thousand or more possessed of every possible description of fire-arm. The Kingfisher dispersed those who had first shown themselves in an exposed situation, and knocked several of them over, but the rest kept up so very heavy a fire on us that we were glad to dive down below to get out of it. We at once found that it would be impossible to to get the schooner off, and we then set to work to examine her cargo. I had gone into the cabin, where I found the ship’s manifest. I took it up to read it, as I concluded it would give me the information we required. I saw that some dry goods had been shipped, and some saltpetre, and I had just read “Three hundred and sixty barrels of gunpowder”—an article very much in request among the rebels—when there was a cry raised of “Fire, fire, fire!” Mr Heron had made the same discovery by seeing some suspicious black grains falling out of a cask, and he had just before beat a retreat.

“To the boats, to the boats, for your lives, my men!” I shouted, springing on deck, followed by my men. We tumbled into our boats with no little speed, and seized our oars, to place as much distance as we could between ourselves and the threatened danger. As I was leaving the vessel, I saw Mercer, with some of his people, apparently endeavouring to lift the two poor wounded Americans into his boat. It was but a glance, for the hurry and confusion of that awful moment prevented me seeing more.

“Give way, give way for your lives!” I shouted. No sooner did our heads appear above the schooner’s bulwarks than the rebels redoubled their fire on us, but we cared not for them. We scarcely had got clear from the side of the ill-fated vessel, when a terrific, thundering, roaring noise assailed our ears; a vivid flash blinded us; a scorching heat almost consumed us; and as we bent our heads in mute dismay, nearer despair, after a few moments of awful silence, down came crashing about us burning fragments of timbers and planks and spars and sails, and, horror of horrors! pieces of what an instant before had been human forms, breathing with life and strength. The oars were knocked from the men’s hands—dashed to atoms. Several of the men were struck down, shrieking with agony from the dreadful wounds the heavy pieces of burning wood and the hot iron inflicted; the very air was darkened for some moments,—and it seemed that the horrible shower would never cease. Even the enemy were awe-struck at the catastrophe, and ceased firing, as did the sloop-of-war. Our boats’ crews took the opportunity to get out the spare oars, and to pull out to sea. As they did so they rose up and gave the enemy three cheers, which, as may be supposed, drew down on them hot fire in return. An important service had been accomplished in the destruction of the powder, but I was in no mood for cheering. Five boats had gone in, four only were coming out. The fifth floated, shattered and blackened, over the scene of destruction, but no one was in her. She was the boat commanded by Mercer. He and all his crew had been; swept to destruction. His anticipations of coming evil had indeed been speedily verified. Two short hours ago he and I were sitting side by side away from the crowded deck, talking of matters of deep importance, to fathom which I felt was far beyond my comprehension. Now, though scarce a remnant of his blackened form could be discovered, he, I trusted, was on his way to those realms inhabited by beings of bright intelligence, to whom all such mysteries are clear as noon-day. He died in full assurance of salvation through a merciful Saviour; his last act one of charity, of the noblest self-devotion.

“Which, then, is the happiest?”

“Not I, not I.”

I bent my head and thought of what I was, of what I might become, unless protected by the loving mercy of a higher power than that of man’s feeble will.

The next day we parted company from the Kingfisher, and went in quest of the Daphne, which joined us that evening, having missed the vessel of which she had gone in chase.

On the 20th we captured a small schooner from Philadelphia, bound to the West Indies, with flour and Indian corn, and, having taken out the crew: and the flour, we set her on fire, to the no small grief of her master and owner, who stood looking at her as we left her blazing away and lighting up the darkness of a November night. On the 24th a suspicious sail hove in sight, which we made out to be an English brig, though she showed no colours; but, as she did her best to get away from us, we made chase after her. A shot brought her to, when we found that she was bound from the coast of Guinea, had a thousand pounds’ worth of ivory on board, and had been taken by the Congress and Chance privateers Her captors looked very blue, but had to submit to their fate. Captain Hudson ordered Kennedy, with four hands, to take charge of her, and to carry her into New York.

“We shall meet there I hope soon, Hurry,” said he, as he was shoving off to take possession of his new command. “If we can but contrive to spend some little time there, we’ll manage to amuse ourselves now that the place is free from those dunder-headed rebels.”

“I hope so too. It will not be my fault if I do not follow you soon,” I replied, “only, I say, Kennedy, take care that the brig is not recaptured by any of those same dunder-headed rebels.”

“No fear, no fear; I’ll keep too bright a look-out for that,” he answered, laughing.

He had a fair wind and every prospect of a quick run, so that I hoped to find him at New York when I got the chance of going there.

On the 30th we again parted from the Daphne, and soon after gave chase to a sleep, which, after firing a few shots, we brought to. I was at once sent on board to take possession. I found her armed with eight carriage four-pounders, fourteen swivels and four cohorns, and laden with rum, porter, flour and bread, and I dare say she would have proved as ugly a customer to any small craft she might have fallen in with as she would have been a welcome guest at the port to which she was bound. Grampus and Tom Rockets had accompanied me as part of my boat’s crew. Scarcely had I got on board when another sail was seen from the mast-head of the Orpheus, so Captain Hudson ordered me to keep them and another man, and to send the prisoners on board with the rest of the crew, which done, I was to cruise about in the neighbourhood to wait his return. A midshipman’s personal comfort is not much considered on such occasions, so that I was unable to get any clothes or even a change of linen before my ship was standing away with all sail set in chase of the stranger last seen. My prize, I found, was called the Colonel Parry.

“What do you think of our craft?” said I to Grampus, who had been running his eye over her, inside and out.

“Why, Mr Hurry, she’s seen no little service in her time, I’m thinking; and if so be there comes a gale of wind, she’ll require delicate handling, or she’ll be apt to go t’other way to what the schooner we last took did. Now, to my mind, sir, the weather doesn’t look at all pleasant like, and I shouldn’t be surprised but what we get a pretty heavy gale of wind before nightfall.”

“I think so too,” said I. “There’s one comfort, if we do not fan in with the ‘Orpheus’ again for a month to come, we’ve provisions enough on board—we shall not starve.”

Old Nol’s prognostications were fulfilled even sooner than we expected; a black, heavy bank of clouds came rolling up towards us; and as the frigate’s top-gallant sails, shining with peculiar whiteness against the dark mass, sank beneath the horizon, we were pitching our bows into a heavy sea under a close-reefed mainsail and foresail. We had made ourselves as snug as we could, but not a moment too soon. Had there been a trysail on board I should have set it. Even with the sail she had on her the vessel strained very much, and sometimes I thought she would make a perfect dip of it and go down head foremost. However, I had done all I could do, and must await the result.

“What’s the matter now?” said I to Grampus, who had gone below for a short time.

“Why, sir, the old tub is taking in water rather faster than we are likely to pump it out.”

“We must try, however,” I answered. “Man the pumps, and let’s do our best.”

So to work we set. The weather was cool, and we were wet with the sea and spray, but the exercise kept us from feeling cold. We soon found that we made no sensible impression on the water in the hold, but yet it was something to keep the vessel afloat. While so employed, a loud bang saluted our ears; a heavier blast than usual had split both the mainsail and foresail. The sails soon shivered to tatters. I could find none with which to replace them, and there we lay, almost water-logged, at the mercy of the winds and waves. A long November night, too, was coming on, and I felt the very great probability that we might never be blessed by the sight of another dawn. Grampus took it very coolly; he had been in many similar situations; but Tom Rockets was far from happy.

“Oh, Mr Hurry,” said he, as the gale rose higher and the seas tossed us helplessly about, ever and anon deluging our decks, “what is to become of us, sir? What will poor mother do when she hears that you and I are gone to the bottom in this outlandish country, where they seem to have nothing to do but to fight and shoot and knock each other on the head?”

Poor Tom’s notion of the country was very naturally formed from his own experience.

“I hope, Tom, things are not so bad as you fancy,” said I. “We must pray to God, and trust in His mercy to save us. He has power to hold us up if He thinks fit; and I have no doubt, too, that your mother and mine are praying for us, and I feel sure that He will listen to their prayers, if He does not to those of such careless, thoughtless fellows as we are.”

“That’s truth, Mr Hurry,” put in old Grampus; “there’s nothing like having a good mother to pray for one, depend on’t. While my old mother lived, I always felt as how there was one who loved me, who was asking more for me than I dared ask for myself; and now she’s gone aloft, I don’t think she has forgotten her son, though I doubt if she would know his figure-head if she was to see him.”

“I cannot say exactly that. Grampus,” said I, “though it looks to me like true philosophy; but one thing I do know—and that the Bible tells us plainly—that, if we will but trust and believe on Him, we have an Advocate with the Father, ever pleading for us, bad as we may have been—He who came into the world to save us, our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. He knows how to plead for us better than any earthly parent, either alive or in heaven, for He so loved us that He took our nature upon Him, and He knows all things, and knows our weaknesses and temptations, and want of opportunities of gaining knowledge.”

“That’s true again, sir,” observed Grampus; “that’s what I calls right earnest religion—you’ll pardon me for saying it, but to my mind the parsons couldn’t give us better.”

I told Grampus I was glad of his good opinion, and we talked on for some time much in the same strain. I had gained more religious knowledge lately from poor Mercer, who, during the last weeks we had been together, had been very assiduous in impressing his own convictions on me. There are occasions like this which bring people of different ranks together, and which draw out the real feelings and thoughts of the heart, when all know that any moment may be their last; a slight increase of the gale, one heavier sea than usual, the starting of a plank may send them all to the bottom. The pride of the proudest is humbled, the fiercest man is made meek. Those who live on shore at ease, and are seldom or never exposed to danger or are in hazard of their lives, can scarcely understand these things; priding themselves on their education, rank or fortune, they look down on all beneath them as unworthy of their thoughts or care, and I verily believe that some of them fancy that a different Creator made them—that they were sent into the world for different objects, and that they will go to different heaven when they die—that is to say, if they ever think of dying, or ever trouble their heads about an hereafter. I have often wished to get those young gentlemen in just such a position as I was that night, and they could not fail to learn a lesson which they would remember to the end of their days.

In the morning watch the gale began to abate.

“Come,” said I, “let’s turn to and see if we cannot lessen the water in the hold.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” replied Grampus. “We’ve a chance now, I think.”

We therefore all set to work with a will—there is nothing like trying what can be done, however desperate affairs may seem—and before daylight we most certainly were gaining on the leaks. We now found a second jib in the sail-room, which we set as a trysail, though I had not much expectation of it standing, and by its means we hove the vessel to. This at once relieved her greatly, but, as day broke, the weather looked so unpromising that I had great fears we might very soon be in a worse position than before. Our comfort was, that we had now done all that men could do, so we went to breakfast with clear consciences on some of the good things left us by the former owners. We lighted a fire in the cabin, dried our clothes, warmed our bodies, and otherwise made ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would admit. On deck the aspect of affairs was not so cheering. Nothing was to be seen but dark green seas crested with foam around us, and black lowering clouds overhead, while a cold whistling wind did its best to blow our teeth down our throats. The wind, as I expected, soon breezed up again, and continued blowing heavily the whole day. The water, however, did not further gain on us, so I had hopes that we might still weather it out. Night came back on us without our having seen a sail or experienced any change for the better, and the morning came, and the next day passed away exactly as had the first. We had bread enough to eat, and flour to make dumplings, but we had no suet to put with them, so that they came out of the pot as hard as round shots; and we had rum and porter in a superabundance to drink; it was important, however, to use it sparingly, especially the former; but we had very few other things which could be called luxuries; no bedding, no change of clothes, and but a scanty supply of fuel. I had to lie wrapped up in an old cloak and a piece of carpet while Tom Rockets washed out my shirt and stockings. Day after day passed away and there we lay, pitching our bows under, hove-to at the most boisterous season of the year off that inhospitable coast, earnestly wishing for the return of the Orpheus, with the prospect, in the meantime, of being recaptured by an enemy’s privateer, and the certainty of being taken should we make for any port but New York, which, as the wind then held, was a matter of impossibility. We did not, however, pipe our eyes about the matter but, following old Nol’s advice, made the best of it.

“Any sail in sight, Grampus?” I used to ask as I turned out in the morning.

“No, sir, only clouds and water; but better them than an enemy, you know, sir,” was his general reply.

Now and then a sail would appear in the horizon, but either we were not seen or they were peaceable merchantmen, anxious to make the best of their way to their destined port. At last one morning, after I had been keeping the middle watch, old Grampus’ voice roused me out of a sound sleep.

“Come on deck, Mr Hurry, sir, if you please! I don’t like the looks of her at all.”

In a moment my head was up the companion-hatch. The weather was worse than ever. A thick driving mist formed a dense veil on every side, but I could just discern through it the sails of a large schooner standing directly for us from the eastward.

“She is American, I suspect, Grampus,” said I.

“No doubt about it, sir,” he answered. “Our cruise is up, I’m afraid, and we may make ready for a spell on shore, and nothing to do.”

“We might beat her off, though,” I observed. “There is nothing like putting a bold face on the matter, and it would never do to yield without striking a blow.”

“Ay, sir, with all my heart,” said he cheerfully; “the guns are all loaded, and I made Tom and Bill get up some powder and shot in case they were wanted, before I called you, sir. You’ll excuse me, sir, I thought there was no harm.”

“All right, Grampus,” I answered, laughing at his having calculated on what I should certainly propose doing. Bill Nettle was a good man and true, so that I knew I could thoroughly depend on all my small crew, and, having made every preparation, we waited till the schooner got within range of our guns. We had not long to wait. The gale bore her quickly towards us, and I almost thought she intended to run us down. Were she to overpower us there was too much sea to allow her to send a boat on board to take possession. She got within range, still she did not fire.

“She is unarmed, I suspect,” said I.

“No, no, sir,” replied Grampus. “She is armed, depend on that. She is up to some trick or other.”

On she came, passing close to us. The American flag was flying from the peak. I could not make out the mystery. In another moment, however, it was explained. For an instant the fog lifted, and showed us a large ship under a press of sail, standing directly after her. We cheered at the sight, for we had no difficulty in recognising the Orpheus, and at the same moment we ran out and let fly every gun we could bring to bear at the rigging of the stranger. One shot, directed by chance, certainly not by skill, struck her main-topmast, and down it came tumbling on deck. We hastened to reload our guns as fast as we could. She gave us a broadside from her guns in return, but the shot were thrown away. She stood on, however, but we had not a little diminished her chance of escape. The Orpheus was soon up to us, passing within hail.

“Well done, Mr Hurry, well done!” shouted Captain Hudson. “We will send you help as soon as we can.”

His commendation was no little satisfaction to me. It was a fine sight to see the noble ship sweeping by, her white canvas looking whiter amid the dark clouds and the sheets of foam which surrounded her, as, pressed by the gale, she heeled over, till her lee guns dipped in the water as she plunged on through the heaving seas which she majestically cast aside in her course. I longed to be on board her, though I should have speedily changed from a commander into a midshipman. Away she went, her vast form growing each instant more indistinct, like one of the genii one reads about in tales of romance, till she disappeared altogether in the thick driving mist, and once more we were left alone, so that her very appearance seemed almost like a dream, and I began at last to question whether I really had seen her. We watched anxiously for her, trying to pierce through the gloomy atmosphere, but no sign of her could we discern, and night once again closed round us in our solitude. The weather did not improve, so we spent another day at pile driving, neither a pleasant nor a profitable occupation. The second morning after the event I have described was as dark and lowering as before, but, as I went on deck after breakfast, Grampus cheered me by saying that he thought it was going to mend a bit. We were looking to the south-east, when simultaneously all hands uttered a loud cheer. The clouds seemed to burst asunder, the mist lifted, the bright sun shone forth, and, surrounded by his glorious rays, beneath a canopy of blue sky, our noble ship appeared, standing towards us, with the schooner and a sloop in her wake. There was, however, still too much sea on for her to send a boat without some risk; indeed, before she could well have done so, another sail hove in sight, and she was away in chase.

On the 14th of the month we spoke his Majesty’s ship Mermaid, with a convoy from England to New York. On the 15th the Orpheus took a schooner from Martinique, with a cargo of claret, so that with another sloop she had taken she had now five prizes. It was not, however, till the 26th of the month that a boat boarded me from the ship, with written directions from Captain Hudson to take under my command all the prizes, and to proceed with them to New York. I, in return, sent for my bedding and chest, and a few other things from the purser, which I required, and as soon as I had got them I hoisted the signal to my squadron to make sail for the port of our destination. A midshipman had been put in charge of each of the prizes, and as soon as we had lost sight of the ship we ran close to each other to discuss the plans of amusement which each of us were already enjoying by anticipation. Delisle commanded one of the schooners, Ragget another, Nicholas had one sloop, and Drew the last capture. We were, as may be supposed, a very merry set. It did not occur to us that our enemy’s cruisers might pop down on us before we got into port, as does a cat among a party of mice at play. We were almost as helpless as mice in the paws of a cat, for so few men were sent away in each prize that we had scarcely strength to work them, much less to fight or make sail on an emergency. In this instance fortune favoured us. We made Sandy Hook on the 28th, and before evening were all safely moored alongside the wharf, among twenty-nine other vessels of various rigs captured by the Orpheus.

As several other ships of war had sent in prizes, we altogether formed a very jovial set of midshipmen. There were seven of us from the Orpheus alone, and, as I was senior officer, they were generally my guests. I had really a very elegant cabin, nicely fitted up with every convenience, and a comfortable stove, besides which I collected from the various prizes an ample stock of good things to supply the wants of the inner man. Never indeed had I enjoyed more perfect luxury, or greater rest and relaxation, without one anxious care, one unhappy moment to extract the sweets from my existence, free from all the rubs and kicks and snubs midshipmen seem the natural heirs to, so I smiled at fortune and defied its frowns.

I was for a short time, however, made to quake, for after the Orpheus had, during December, sent in several prizes, she arrived herself with two others, and some of my messmates had to return on board. But Captain Hudson, whose good opinion I had won, gave me directions, to my infinite contentment, to remain in charge of the prizes. I had also a sufficient number of companions to bear me company. Numberless were the pranks we Orlopians played. Some might now make me blush, though, generally, if not wise they were harmless. I remember that we did our skipper and the captain of the Daphne out of three cases of claret which they had marked for their own use. It happened that, as we were preparing to keep Christmas Day, some one bethought him of the three cases. They were sent for. One of them was broached at dinner-time, and found so excellent that we drank up the whole; but, as we were doing so, our consciences were alarmed, and we ordered the bottles and corks to be kept. The next day we employed ourselves in refilling them from the casks, and in carefully corking and sealing them. Some time afterwards I was dining with our captain, when one of the cases was produced. The opinion of the guests was asked. Some thought it excellent. Delisle, who was there, looked at me, but we kept our countenances. Our first lieutenant, who was considered a judge, pronounced it good, but he found very little difference between it and the wine in cask.

Among other things we came on some casks of limes—excellent things, be it known, in the composition of punch. The said fruit we accordingly ate up or used for that purpose, and filling the casks with wet hay, some rotten limes, and the stuff they were packed in, returned them to the hold. On examination, the casks of limes were found to have been entirely spoilt. Such tricks are, however, I must own, not only unworthy of imitation, but scarcely fit to be recorded.

I must now give a glance at the position of the belligerent armies at this period. Washington, having crossed the Hudson into the Jerseys, had been compelled by the desertion of a considerable number of his troops, who had enlisted only for short periods, to retreat across the Delaware, while some of the most fertile tracts of the country fell into the hands of the Royalists. General Lee, an officer of considerable talent and daring, was surprised and captured by a body of British cavalry; while the other rebel generals found themselves, with diminished and disheartened forces, separated from each other, and without resources or means of recruiting; indeed, the revolutionary cause appeared to have arrived at its lowest ebb, and great hopes were entertained that a speedy conclusion would be made to the sanguinary contest. Perhaps the Americans were not so badly off as we supposed. That they were not asleep was proved by their gallant and well-conducted surprise and capture of Colonel Rahl and a thousand Hessian troops at Trenton on Christmas Day, an enterprise which inspirited the Americans, and was a severe loss to the Royalists. The Hessian commander was mortally wounded, and died the next day; and most of his men, being marched into the interior, settled in the country. Soon after this occurrence Washington was appointed military dictator, and through his consummate conduct the prospects of the rebels began to revive.

Of course the progress of the war was the constant subject of conversation while I was at New York, and I consequently heard a good deal about it. Before I end this chapter, I think it may prove interesting if I give a slight sketch of the warlike proceedings which had occurred up to this period on the Canadian frontier, as well as some of the proceedings of General Washington and his army.

Lakes Champlain and George, approaching as they do the upper waters of the Hudson, have always been considered the key to the northern provinces from Canada. Their possession has therefore been looked on as of the first importance; and Ticonderoga, the chief fort at the head of Lake Champlain, has been the scene of many bloody encounters. I heard a good deal about the matter afterwards from Edward Fleetwood Pelew, whose brother Israel was long a messmate of mine, and who was himself engaged in the affair I have to relate. General Gates commanded the American forces in the north, and he had strongly fortified Ticonderoga. Our army in Canada was at that time under the command of Sir Guy Carleton, a very brave and dashing officer. The success which Sir William Howe had met with on the seaboard inspired him with an ardent desire to signalise himself in the north; and he hoped to be able to expel the rebels from their posts on the lakes, and, by a triumphant march down the banks of the Hudson, to form a junction with the main body of the British army at New York. To effect this object he fitted out a fleet of small craft of every description on which he could lay his hands on Lake Champlain. It was placed under the command of Captain Pringle. The Americans got notice of what was going forward, and got a fleet together under the orders of General Arnold. Our fleet were ready by the first week in October, and made sail up the lake in search of the enemy. They cruised for some time, and were almost in despair of falling in with the American squadron, believing that it must have run for shelter to the extreme southern point of the lake, when, as with a fair wind they had already passed Valcour Island, they caught sight of the enemy drawn up across the channel between that island and the main. Our flotilla instantly hauled their wind, and stood in to attack the enemy. The Americans, to do them justice, behaved gallantly, and no man could have fought his vessels better than did Arnold; but our force was overpowering, and they got dreadfully cut up. Some Indians were landed on the island, who, getting on their flanks, galled them terribly with their rifles. Still they fought on till darkness came to their aid. Our larger vessels could not get into the channel, or they would have been completely cut up. At night the British squadron had to haul off; and, when morning dawned, it was found that Arnold, and such of his vessels as still kept afloat, had made his escape up the lake. Several of them were, however, overtaken and captured, while others were sunk or run on shore and burnt. Arnold with the remnant took shelter under Ticonderoga. This success was not followed up by Sir Guy, as he found that Ticonderoga was so strongly garrisoned that he could not hope to take it without considerable loss both of men and time, and he would afterwards have had to advance through a difficult country in the middle of winter with a vigilant enemy ever on the watch to harass him. He therefore returned with his army to Montreal.

General Washington, meantime, after he had retreated from New York with his shattered forces, endeavoured to hold the country to the westward on both sides of the Hudson. The greater part of his army occupied a rocky and mountainous district known by the name of the Highlands. There he carried on a sort of Fabian warfare, ever avoiding a regular engagement, always on the defensive, and retreating when pursued. So ill-formed and ill-disciplined were the American forces at this time that he had no other resource than to act as he did. His army was still further weakened by the loss of Fort Washington with a garrison of nearly three thousand men, which was gallantly taken, after a desperate defence, by Lords Percy and Cornwallis, and a body of Hessians under Colonel Rahl, of whom I have before spoken.

Altogether, it seems surprising that our generals should not have been able at this juncture to crush Washington, and put an end to the rebellion. A higher Power than either of the belligerents ruled otherwise.

Chapter Seven.

My command ends.—At sea on board the Orpheus.—On a lee-shore.—Saved.—Sent up Providence River.—Threatened by fire-ships.—Employment of spies.—The old spy and his nephew.—Attacked by fire-ships.—Execution of the spies.—Sail on a cruise with other frigates.—Prizes taken.—A privateer escapes us in a gale.—Chase vessels on shore.—Exposed to heavy fire.—Narrow escape.—My young messmate wounded.

“Well, skipper, I’m afraid our cruise is at an end,” said Delisle, coming into my cabin one morning as I sat discussing such a breakfast as rarely fell in those days to the share of a midshipman before my warm stove.

“Oh, bird of ill omen, why croak you forth such dire intelligence?” I asked, as he threw off his snow-covered coat, and prepared to join me in my meal with a look which made me fear there were not many more such in store for us.

“Because, by the pricking of my thumbs, something evil this way comes, in the shape of the ‘Orpheus,’ of which I caught a glimpse as I came along, standing into the harbour,” he replied, knocking the top off an egg.

We had been reading Shakespeare, and various other literary productions, and had become somewhat poetical in our style of conversation. My messmate’s information was but too true—that very afternoon we received orders to deliver up our prizes to the agents, and to rejoin our ship. With what sorrow of heart did I bid farewell to my neat cabin, my airy sleeping-place, my comfortable sofa, my warm stove, and all the other luxuries with which I had been surrounded; and with what thorough disgust and discontent did I take possession, after my long absence, of my berth on board the old Orpheus! Really, I had no right to complain, and I was truly glad to see many of my shipmates again.

The heavy islands of ice, which came floating down with each ebb, threatening to crush in the bows of the ship, compelled us to move down close to the fish-market, where we were sheltered from them.

On the 20th, having received on board a number of rebel prisoners, whom we were to take round to Rhode Island, we sailed in company with HMS Solebay, Daphne, and Harriet packet, but parted with them off Sandy Hook. Our passengers were in a very sad state of destitution and sickness. Fever soon broke out among them, and it spread rapidly among our crew.

We quickly were doomed also to experience another of the numerous ills which seamen are heirs to. This was a gale of wind which sprung up about midnight from the south-east, catching us most completely on a lee-shore. We had made but little offing, and every minute the wind increased, and we, I saw, were drifting closer and closer onto the coast of Long Island. Captain Hudson, Mr Willis, and Mr Flood, the master, were in earnest consultation.

“What will you give for our chance of saving the ship?” said Delisle to me as we stood holding on to the weather bulwarks, while the spray in dense masses was breaking over us—the ship heeling over till her lee-guns were buried in water with the heavy press of canvas it was necessary to carry to give us a hope of beating off.

“A midshipman’s half-pay for a week and a day, unless the wind shifts or moderates,” I answered. “I believe the old barkie was never in greater peril. If we save the people’s lives we shall be fortunate.”

“So the captain seems to think. I never saw him more anxious,” replied Delisle. “My idea is that we shall have to cut away the masts and anchor. My only consolation is that if we escape with our lives, it is the only part of the coast where we should not to a certainty be made prisoners of war.”

I agreed with Delisle. To anchor would be our only resource, but one on which I feared we could place very little reliance. The anchors might hold; but with the whole roll of the Atlantic tumbling in on us, and the terrific gale there was already blowing, and every instant increasing, I felt that there was small chance of their so doing. Dark and darker grew the night, higher and higher rose the sea, and fiercer and more furious blew the wind. Still the stout ship struggled bravely on; her lee-side pressed deep into the water, while torrents of foam broke over her weather-bow and deluged us fore and aft. It seemed doubtful indeed whether the masts would long stand the tremendous strain put upon them. High above the roaring of the tempest was occasionally heard the ominous voice of the man in the chains as he sung out the depth of water in which we floated, showing that we were slowly though surely shallowing it.

That dark and terrific night will not easily pass from my memory. Captain Hudson had ordered the cables to be ranged in readiness to anchor. The carpenter and his crew were sent for, and ordered to prepare for the last desperate expedient of cutting away the masts. Every now and then, as a bright flash of lightning darted from the sky, they might be seen with their gleaming axes uplifted, ready at a moment to execute the fatal order. Everybody was on deck, for our danger was apparent to all.

“What shall we have to do?” asked little Harry Sumner, as he stood shivering with the cold by my side.

“Obey orders and trust in Providence, my boy,” said I. “If the anchors don’t hold and the ship goes to pieces, we may have to swim for it, and then, Harry, keep an eye on me, and if I can lend you a helping hand, I will. I must not promise too much, for I may not be able to help myself.”

“Thank you, Hurry, thank you. Oh, I am sure you will do all you can for me,” said the boy gratefully.

The coolest man on board was the captain. He stood on the weather-side of the quarter-deck, one hand holding on by a stanchion, the other grasping his speaking-trumpet, his hair streaming from beneath his hat, and his coat-tails fluttering in the gale. I love to picture our brave commander as he appeared at that moment, when he knew the lives of hundreds depended on his calmness and decision.

“By the deep nine,” was heard from the man in the chains. Scarcely had the words been uttered, when down came the tempest on us with redoubled fury, and the wind and sea roared so loudly that it would scarcely have been possible to have heard his voice again. Suddenly there was a lull.

“By the mark eight,” was now heard with startling distinctness. A flash of lightning revealed the captain as he raised his speaking-trumpet to his mouth. We knew what was coming. At that very moment the sails gave a loud flap against the masts, the ship plunged violently, but rose on an even keel. The captain took the trumpet from his mouth. Suddenly the gale backed out of its former quarter, and shifted to the north-west. There was a shout of satisfaction; some few, perhaps, breathed a prayer of thankfulness for our preservation as we ran off from the dangerous coast.

On the 23rd we reached Rhode Island. The fever had spread so rapidly among our men that in a few days we sent no less than ninety of them to the hospital on shore, while we kept an equal number of sick on board. On the 27th the commodore sent us a hundred men from other ships, and ordered us to cruise for a month in Buzzard’s Bay, between New Bedford Harbour and Martha’s Vineyard. The latter quaint-named place is one of the many islands off that coast inside Nantucket Island. The extreme severity of the weather made our cruise thoroughly disagreeable, and much prevented the people from recovering their health; indeed, it considerably increased the number of our sick. In truth, it was very tantalising and provoking to be kept for nearly a week knocking about for no purpose scarcely ten leagues from our port without being allowed to enter it. At last the captain could stand it no longer, so we put back on the 3rd of March, and were forthwith sent up Providence River as an advanced ship. Here we had frequent skirmishes with the enemy, who took a sly pop at us whenever they could, but without doing us much damage. On the 10th of March we received orders to proceed to sea immediately. We sailed accordingly that night, and the next morning captured a sloop from Charleston, bound to Boston with dye and indigo. That night we anchored under Block Island, and for some days cruised about in the hopes of picking up some prizes, I conclude. I fancy that the commodore had received notice that some vessels with valuable cargoes might be expected in the neighbourhood about that time. We anchored in Martha’s Vineyard on the 16th, where some of our youngsters expected to find grapes growing, and were much disappointed on discovering that none were to be found there, especially in March, and two days after we once more returned to Rhode Island without having made another capture. We were quickly sent off again, and, having bagged a prize, returned on the 3rd of April, when we were ordered up the river to relieve the Cerberus as the advance-ship off Providence, our station being between the Island of Prudence and the mainland. A glance at the map will show the number of islands in that fine estuary, which terminates in Providence Bay. On one of them, called the Island of Hope, near which the ship was generally at anchor, to vary the monotony of a sea life we employed ourselves in the cultivation of gardens. Our horticultural knowledge was not very extensive, but we managed during our stay to raise various crops of quick-growing esculents, and on our departure we disposed of our property to our respective brother-officers belonging to the ship which relieved us. Our life was, however, far from one of Arcadian simplicity, for we were constantly aroused by war’s rude alarms, and had every night to row guard in three flat-bottomed boats ahead of the ship, to prevent a surprise. The enemy were ever on the alert, endeavouring to find some means of destroying us. This was but natural, as we were completely putting a stop to their commerce, on which their existence mainly depended. We had, however, a number of spies employed, who brought us information of all the plots formed against us. Some brought us information, influenced by a spirit of loyalty to the king, and a belief that they were serving a good cause; but others were mercenary wretches, who were willing to be employed by those who paid them the highest. The reports of these latter, though it was necessary to employ them, were always received with great caution by our captain. He could scarcely conceal the disgust he felt for them. One morning, about ten days after our arrival, as we were washing decks at sunrise, while I happened to be looking over the ship’s side, I observed a small boat standing towards us from Prudence Island. As she drew near, I saw that there were two men in the boat. They were dressed as ordinary seamen. One was a young man of nineteen or twenty; the other was much older, with his hair already turning grey—a stout, strong-featured, healthy-looking man. The younger man was rather tall, and had a pleasant, honest face. When the sentry hailed them, they asked leave to come on board to see the captain. Captain Hudson was already up. I went to inform him of their arrival, and by his desire conducted them to him. Their manner was frank and open, and they seemed to have made a favourable impression on the captain. When they left the cabin he ordered them to be carefully provided and looked after. I afterwards had much conversation with them. The elder had been a soldier in his youth, and served the king in many parts of the world. They were both imbued with an almost romantic feeling of loyalty. “King George was always a good and kind master to me, and I’m not going to desert him when he most wants me because his ministers choose to do what some of the people of this country don’t like,” said the elder man. “I got a wound in his service in my thigh here, so I can’t march and carry a musket as I did once, or I would have gone down and joined the royalists at New York, but there are other ways of serving his Majesty, though they are somewhat risky, I own; but what of that? every man should be ready to die in a good cause. It’s very bad, though, all this fighting and bloodshed among folks of the same race and kindred, and now, if they’d followed my advice, I don’t think it would ever have come about. As I used to say to my nephew, Amos Weeks here, ‘Amos,’ said I, ‘wait a bit and don’t be in a hurry. Write and petition against the taxes as much as you like. Taxes must be laid on, and somebody must pay them, and if we don’t like them we must petition, as I say; but anything beyond that will be rank treason and rebellion, and that’s wicked and abominable. Suppose this country was to become free and independent as they talk of, what would the people do? Either they must make General Washington a king, or they will soon quarrel among themselves and cut their own throats.’” The old soldier spoke so earnestly, and there seemed to be so much good sense in what he said, that I put it down. He certainly proved himself a very good advocate of the king’s cause. From him we learned that the enemy were about to make a grand attack on us with their fire-ships, and in the hurry and confusion which would necessarily ensue they hoped to enable three of their frigates, which had long been waiting an opportunity, to run past us and to get to sea. That night we were doubly on our guard, though we could scarcely increase the precautions we had already taken. It was very dark, with a strongish breeze blowing down the river. There had been almost a gale in the day, with a heavy rain, which would have afforded the enemy a greater chance of success had we not been on the watch for them. Mr Gaston, our third lieutenant, Delisle, and I had charge of the three boats. Our ears were more likely to serve us than our eyes, considering the thick darkness with which we were surrounded. My boat was the headmost—that is, farther up the river than the rest. Grampus was with me. “Hist, sir, didn’t you hear the chirp of a block?” said he in a whisper. “The lubbers should have taken care to use more grease if they wanted to surprise us.” I fancied I had heard the same sound. We listened breathlessly while the crew lay on their oars. It came from up the river, directly ahead of us. “Ah! there it is again,” said I. For some time we waited without moving, all hands peering into the darkness. At length I thought I discerned one spot darker than the surrounding atmosphere. I gazed at it earnestly. Gradually the spot increased in density till it resolved itself into the hull of a vessel, with canvas set, standing directly down towards us. There could be no doubt that her intention must be to run aboard the Orpheus, and that she must be a fire-ship. “Give way, my lads,” I whispered, steering directly for her bows. The instant we reached them we threw on board the grapnels we had prepared for that purpose, and began to tow her away across the stream. As we did so a fire of musketry was opened on us from her deck, which wounded one of our men. We had no time to reply to it, nor was it repeated, the crew of the fire-ship having taken to their boat. The sound and flash of the fire-arms brought the other boats to our assistance, and they began to pepper away at the retreating boat as she was disappearing in the gloom. In less than a minute she was no longer to be seen. For another instant there was a perfect silence, then suddenly a bright light shot up from the hold of the fire-ship, flames burst forth from her ports and from every quarter, and climbed up her rigging, while fire-balls and all sorts of missiles of destruction leaped forth in every direction, a bright glare extending far and wide over the broad stream showing us our own ship on one side, with her spars and rigging in bold relief, traced against the dark sky; and on the other, towards Providence, it shone on the white sails of three or four large ships and several smaller ones, which we concluded were fire-ships. We fully expected an abundance of hot work. Notwithstanding the great risk we ran of destruction, we towed lustily away till we had got the fire-ship well out into the stream, so that there was no longer any risk of her drifting down on the Orpheus; while fortunately, as we had a long painter, we escaped without injury. We knew that before she reached the other ships she would have burnt out, so we cast off and prepared to grapple with any more of the same ugly customers which might be sent against us. The Orpheus had, in the mean t ime, sent all her boats to our assistance, and together we waited in expectation of the attack; but hour after hour passed away, and when the morning dawned our mysterious and phantom-like enemies had, like the ghosts of romance, disappeared from the landscape. The adventure of the night would have seemed like a dream, had it not been for our wounded comrade and the charred bits of wood which lay scattered about the boat. This night’s work I describe as a specimen of what frequently occurred during our stay in the river. The following night I was sent on shore to land our two spies, that they might learn what were the next movements proposed by the enemy.

“Good-bye, Mr Meeks, good-bye,” said I, as I landed the old soldier; “it is hazardous work you are on, so be cautious.”

“I know that, sir,” said he, “I know that; but the man who would serve his country must be ready to risk life and property, and all he holds dear.”

I have sometimes, long, long since then, thought, if people were but as ready to devote themselves to the service of their Creator as they are body, mind, soul, and strength, for the purpose of carrying out some worldly objects, how much better would it be for their spiritual good, for their eternal welfare!

For several nights after this the enemy were very quiet; no attempt was made with their fire-ships, nor were we aware that their boats ever came near us. We therefore began to suspect that they meditated an attack of greater magnitude than heretofore. We therefore looked somewhat anxiously for the information which we hoped our spies would be able to supply. Nothing was done, however, till the evening of the 20th, when Captain Hudson sent for me. “Mr Hurry,” said he, “Lieutenant Douglas of the ‘Chatham’ has received orders to go on shore at midnight to bring off our spies, the two Meekses. You are to accompany him. It is a delicate service, and I must caution you to be careful that none of your men do anything to give the alarm. I send you on the expedition as I know that I can trust to your discretion.”

I thanked him for the good opinion he was so often pleased to express of me, and went below to prepare for what was before me. I took Grampus and Tom with me, and a picked boat’s crew, and at the hour arranged shoved off from the ship’s side. Mr Douglas had come on board in the afternoon. He had to communicate with a person on shore, while I had to look-out for the spies. It was a darkish night, but there was very little wind, so that it was necessary to muffle our oars in order that our approach might not be perceived. As we pulled over the still waters, in which here and there the reflection of a star might be seen, as it peeped out between the clouds, we could just distinguish the fringe-like tops of the trees which surrounded the sheltered nook towards which we were steering. All was still as death as we approached the shore. We ran into the nook and landed. Two men were left in charge of the boat, and while Mr Douglas proceeded to the place where he was to meet the person he had appointed to see, I led the men through the wood to a spot where two roads met, and where the Meekses had arranged to be in waiting. I whistled twice very low as agreed on, but no one answered. Telling Grampus to wait, I walked along the road in the hopes of meeting our friends; but seeing no one, I returned to await their coming. It occurred to me, that as strangers might be passing it would be unwise to expose my men to view; so I posted them behind a thicket, and sat down where I was myself concealed, and could at the same time command a view along the roads as far as the light would allow. I had remained there fully half an hour, when I heard footsteps approaching at a rapid rate. The person stopped where the road branched off, as if in uncertainty which to take. I was about to rush forward with my men to seize him, when I recognised Mr Douglas. “We shall have to retreat to the boats, I fear,” said he; “some one has given information that we are here, and the neighbourhood is alarmed; but we must wait till the last moment for the poor fellows we were sent to bring off.”

Ten minutes, or rather more, elapsed when we heard footsteps advancing along one of the roads. They came at a leisurely pace, as if the people were in no hurry. I gave the signal. It was answered by the persons approaching. “All’s right,” I observed to Mr Douglas; but almost as I spoke, the dark figures of a body of men could be distinguished in the gloom, turning a corner of the other road. Seeing this, Mr Douglas had no resource but to give the order to our party to retreat, for it was very evident that the enemy far outnumbered us. As we did so, I called to the spies to hasten forward, for I knew that we could no longer remain concealed. Hearing my voice, the two men ran on; but at the same time our foes advanced at a double quick step along the road. I saw that not a moment was to be lost if we would save the lives of old Meeks and his nephew; so, calling on Grampus and Tom, I made a dash forward in the hopes of checking the enemy till we could meet them. Unfortunately the rebels were too quick in their movements for us, and before we could reach the fork of the road they had already gained the same place, and effectually prevented us from saving our friends whom we had too much reason to apprehend had fallen into their hands, unless they had been able to save themselves by flying in an opposite direction. From what I had seen of the old soldier, I feared he was not likely to run even on an occasion like the present. Mr Douglas now hailed me to return, and of course I did so as fast as I could, as I should inevitably have been made a prisoner. As it was we had enough to do to keep our enemies at bay, and had not the darkness prevented them from learning the smallness of our numbers, they might easily have surrounded us. Though they pressed us hard we kept as close together as the nature of the ground would allow, and every now and then, led on by Mr Douglas, we uttered loud cries and shouts, as if we were going to make a rush on them. The stems of the trees also assisted to protect us from the fire which they opened on us, so that not a man was hit. We were not sorry, however, to reach our boats, when we jumped in with no little haste, for the Americans were close upon us. They were almost seizing the bows of the boat before we had time to get out the oars and shove into the stream. One, indeed, had seized the painter, but Tom Rockets dealt him such a blow with his cutlass that he was glad to let go. The enemy now rushed down in numbers to the shore, and began firing away at us as fast as they could load. Fortunately in the darkness our boat offered no very certain mark; but the shot came flying about us, spluttering into the water like a shower of hail. Now and then, thud—that peculiar sound—gave notice that a bullet had struck the boat, but not a man was hit. As soon as we had got a little way off, we pulled up the stream, and then steered for the ship so as to mislead the enemy as to the course we had taken. Long after they must have lost sight of us the flash of their muskets showed that they were still peppering away in the direction in which they supposed we had gone.

We reached the ship without further adventure. Captain Hudson was very sorry to find that we had come off without the spies; but he at once saw that this was owing to no fault of ours.

The next morning, as the first lieutenant, as usual, was sweeping the shore with his glass, an exclamation of horror he uttered made me point mine in the same direction. There, directly abreast of the ship, hung suspended on the branches of a tree scathed by lightning two human forms—one was stout and short, the other tall and slight. There was too much reason to believe that they were the bodies of our unfortunate spies. No one was near them. Solitary they swung on the river shore, a warning to others who might be inclined to follow their example—a sad result of the ruthless necessity of war. They probably had been seized and executed directly after they were captured. We could not blame the Americans. Our generals had frequently been compelled to do the same with their spies whom they had taken, but even this did not put a stop to the system. The sad spectacle I have described saluted our eyes whenever we turned towards the shore; and I, for one, was very sorry for the fate of Meeks and his nephew; but I must confess that we were becoming so accustomed to the sights and horrors of warfare that such sensations lasted but a short time.

I forgot to mention that one of the pieces of information Meeks brought us was that our messmate Kennedy, who had charge of one of the prizes taken off Cape May, had been taken by the rebels, and was now a prisoner of war in their hands. It was with no slight satisfaction that we saw the Greyhound come up to relieve us on the 30th of May, when we made over to our brother-officers belonging to her the full right to all the productions of the gardens we had so assiduously cultivated on the Island of Hope. On the 1st of June we ran down the river and anchored off Newport, and on the 3rd sailed on a cruise towards the Bay of Fundy, in company with the Amazon and Juno frigates. The officers and ships’ companies of the three ships had previously agreed to share the prize-money which might be made on the cruise.

I should be almost afraid of wearying my readers, were I to give a minute account of all the captures we effected and the adventures we met with, but still I do not like altogether to pass them by. Our main object, however, was to intercept the American Commodore Manley, but as he had a force much superior to ours, it was absolutely necessary for us to keep together, or we might have found ourselves very much the worse for the encounter. Had it not been for this, we should have taken many more prizes than we did; indeed, we were compelled to allow numbers of considerable value to pass by without going in chase. On the 26th we took a sloop from Philadelphia bound for Boston with rice. On the 26th we re-took a brig from Oporto, bound to London, which had been captured by a rebel privateer off Scilly. We sent her to New York, but we never heard anything more of her, so that she must either have foundered or have been taken by the enemy. In the latter case the prize-master and crew must have joined them. On the 11th we took a vessel laden with lumber, which we burnt, and on the 14th a sloop with wood, which we gave up to the owners, as they were royalists; and on the 16th we took a brig with fish and lumber from Boston to the West Indies. At length, on the 23rd at daybreak, a flush-deck ship was seen becalmed within two miles of us. We made out that she was pierced for twenty guns, and from her appearance we had no doubt that she was a rebel privateer. The boats were ordered out immediately, but before they were in the water a breeze sprang up, and setting every stitch of canvas she could carry, away she went before the wind. We at the same time made sail in chase with our consorts, which were a little astern of us, and of course we had every hopes of making an important capture. By this time the rebel government had given letters of marque, not only to Americans, but to the inhabitants of various other countries, who, under their flag, had become very troublesome to our trade, and it had become necessary to endeavour to put a stop to the system.

The privateer soon showed us that she had a remarkably fast pair of heels, and it became doubtful, after a couple of hours’ chase, whether we had gained much, if anything on her. Sometimes the wind increased, and then our greater size and wider spread of canvas gave us the advantage, so that our hopes of capturing her rose and fell somewhat as did the breeze.

We had the whole of the day before us, and a day it was of no little excitement. We kept the lead, our consorts following, one on either quarter, to be ready to cut her off, should the breeze shift, and place her to windward. Hour after hour passed, and still we were no nearer to her.

“What chance have we of getting hold of her?” said I to Grampus, who was standing with me forward, keeping a look-out on her.

“Why, sir, do ye see a stern chase is a long chase, as every one knows, but a flaw of wind or a bit of a calm, or somewhat of that sort, may throw her into our power, so that from all I’ve seen, and you know that’s not a little, Mr Hurry, I says never give up a-following an enemy as long as you can keep eyes on her. When once you loses sight of her, why, then its all guess-work, and a chance that you ever claps eyes on her again.”

I ever after remembered Grampus’s observations both when chasing and being chased, and frequently experienced their practical wisdom. Everything was done to increase the speed of the ships, the sails were drenched with water, so that not a whistle full could escape through them, and the hammocks were slung, and shot placed in them, but all was apparently at first to little purpose.

“The rogues are laughing at us,” said Delisle, as he and I paced the deck together, “I wish we could get a calm, and have a chance of boarding them with the boats. They would give us some warm work though, I suspect.”

“I should hope so,” said I. “I have always preferred the excitement of downright fighting to the sort of work we have lately had off Providence.”

“I should think so, indeed!” said he. “I have often thought that if I were made a prisoner, I should die of ennui. How people can exist shut up within the walls of a dungeon has always puzzled me.”

We afterwards had good reason to remember this conversation, and he, poor fellow, sadly to his cost. While we had been speaking, dark clouds had been gathering in the north-west. They now began to form a thick and heavy bank, which rose gradually higher and higher in the sky. There was little doubt that they indicated the approach of a strong wind, but whether or not it would aid us in capturing the chase was a question.

“We shall have something to try our sticks soon, Mr Willis,” said the captain to the first lieutenant; “but we must carry on as long as they will stand, rather than let that fellow escape. So fast a craft as he is will commit no little damage to our trade, if allowed to continue at large.”

“No fear, sir. It is not likely that a rascally rebel will be able ultimately to escape from three of his Majesty’s ships,” answered Mr Willis, who held the Americans in supreme contempt.

“I do not know that,” observed the captain, who had a very different feeling for the foe. “They have shown in many ways that they are not to be despised, and several of their vessels have contrived to give us the go-by.”

“Ay, yes, to be sure; but then they were probably not worth catching,” said Mr Willis, not liking to acknowledge that the enemy had anything to boast of. According to him, every battle they had fought had been lost by them, and the time of their entire destruction was fast approaching. The squall which had for some time been brewing in the westward, now made its advent known by curling up the waves, topping them with foam and swelling out our sails to the utmost from the bolt-ropes. The chase kicked up her heels a little as it caught her up, and then went staggering away before it faster than ever. After her, however, flew our two consorts and, ourselves, and still we felt sure that we should capture her. The sea rose higher and the wind increased, which was all in our favour, and after some time, there could be no doubt that we were gaining on her, but night was now approaching, and the darkness would give her a far better chance than before of escaping.

“Do you think, Mr Willis, we should have a chance of winging her, if we were to send a shot after her?” said the captain to the first lieutenant, as they stood together, watching the chase attentively.

“Certainly I think so!” replied Mr Willis; “at all events, I’ll try, and I won’t fail to do my best.”

One of the bow-chasers was forthwith run out and pointed by Mr Willis himself. For a minute or more he looked along the gun at the chase. At last he fired. The white splinters were seen to fly from her quarter. The result of his first attempt encouraged him to make a second. The gun was again loaded, but when he fired no apparent effect followed. A third time he fired, but if the shot struck, no damage was to be perceived. It was now rapidly growing dark, and Mr Willis was becoming impatient, for uncomfortable doubts began to rise in his mind as to the possibility of the cruiser of the much-despised enemy escaping after all from us. Grampus was standing near him. “Here, my man,” said he, “you have the credit of being one of best shots in the ship—try what you can do in clipping one of that fellow’s wings.”

The old seaman looked gratified at the compliment, and prepared himself to obey. First, however, he cast a hurried glance to windward not altogether devoid of anxiety. I looked in the same direction. There, gathering thickly and close overhead, was the black mass of clouds which had long been driving towards us, the seas looking white and more broken in the increasing gloom. I thought he was about to speak, but turning to the gun he stooped down, before it and applied the match. Scarcely had he fired when its report was echoed by a discharge from the artillery of the clouds, the wind roared in the rigging, the studding sails, which had not been taken in, were blown away like light fleeces from a sheep’s back and carried far-off before the gale. The fore-topgallant sail and fore-topsail sheets were carried away; the ship flew up into the wind, taking the wheel out of the hands of the men, while she almost broached to, creating a scene of confusion which did not often occur on board; over she heeled to the blast; sheets were let fly; the spray in showers broke over her; the voices of Captain Hudson and Mr Willis were heard above the uproar caused by the dashing of the sea, the rattling of blocks, and the howling and whistling of the wind, with the other accompaniments of a sudden squall. When order was somewhat restored, sail decreased, and the ship put on her former course, we once more looked out for the chase. Not a trace of her was to be seen. The dim outline of our two consorts could be perceived on either quarter. They apparently had been thrown into as much confusion as we had from the squall, but were once more with diminished canvas standing in the same direction as before.

“Oh, we shall soon be up with her again,” said Mr Willis, who had gone forward to look-out himself for the chase. “She doubtless lost some of her spars, if not her masts altogether, in the squall.”

“Not so sure of that,” I heard old Grampus mutter as he passed me. “I saw her all a-taunto, running away from us in fine style when we were first caught. She’s given us the go-by, or I’m no seaman.”

All night we ran on, looking out for the chase, and when daylight broke and a hundred eager eyes were glancing round the horizon she was nowhere to be seen. To pursue her farther would have been vain, besides leading us too far from our cruising-ground and risking the main object we had in view.

Returning to our station on the 28th we took two vessels laden with wood, which we gave up as before. On the 4th of July we saw a brig in a calm, about four miles from us. The signal was made for all the boats of the squadron, manned and armed, to be ready to attack her. Lieutenant Moss, of the Juno, had the command of the expedition. Making sure of an easy victory, away we pulled towards the stranger over the smooth shining ocean.

The brig we saw, as we drew near, was heavily armed; her colours were flying, and she seemed prepared not to strike without a blow. As soon as we drew within range of her guns she opened her fire on us. This, of course, only expedited our movements, and we dashed on towards her as fast as the oars could send the boats through the water. The brig’s crew founded their hopes of escape probably on the chance of a breeze springing up, of which there were already some signs, while our aim was to get on board before the wind filled her sails. The rebels fought with desperation, and never relaxed their fire till we were alongside. Two or three of our men had been struck. One lost the side of his face by a round-shot which shaved him more cleanly than he would have wished, and spoilt his beauty for life. With loud shouts and cries our men leaped on board, and in two minutes the brig was ours. She mounted ten carriage guns and twelve swivels, was laden with rum and sugar, and was bound for Boston.

On the 5th we ran a brig on shore after a chase of some hours. From her size and pertinacity in endeavouring to escape, we from the first suspected that her cargo was of value. No sooner had she struck than the squadron hove-to and the boats were ordered to pull in to re-take her. I on this occasion remained on board. We were expecting to see the boats haul off the vessel, when, just as they drew near, a large body of troops were perceived hurrying down to the shore. The soldiers at once began firing away at the advancing boats, but notwithstanding they pulled alongside, drove the crew below, and took possession. We saw them make a gallant effort to tow off the vessel, but in three or four minutes, so heavy became the fire, they were compelled to relinquish the attempt. When they reached the ship we found that three men had been wounded, but happily none were killed.

“A tremendous loss we have had!” exclaimed Mr Heron, who commanded the expedition, with a look of disgust. “She is worth twenty thousand pounds at least, if not much more. It is not every day the rebels have a vessel like her to give us.”

“We must keep a sharp look-out after her, and if she gets off, try to get hold of her another day,” said Mr Willis.

In the evening we were directed to stand close in shore to cannonade and endeavour to destroy her, but scarcely had we opened our fire when a gale of wind sprung up, and we were compelled for our own safety to run to sea. We, however, did not yet give up all hopes of capturing her. A few days afterwards, indeed, she fell into our hands, but we were not a little disappointed to find that the rebels had in the meantime removed the greater portion of her cargo.

Nothing for some days occurred to break the monotony of our existence except innumerable unsuccessful chases which sorely tried our first lieutenant’s temper, and the capture of a prodigious quantity of fish. So abundant was the supply that it was the business of the mate of the dog-watch to see that what were not eaten were thrown overboard every night, to prevent the people from keeping them too long. At length I was engaged in an expedition with more serious results than had for some time occurred.

On the 14th we rounded the end of that narrow neck of land known by the name of Cape Cod, and which, circling round like an arm with its elbow bent, forms a wide and extensive bay. We stood along the eastern shore, eagerly looking into every nook and inlet in which a craft could take shelter. As we got abreast of Cape Cod Harbour we saw three vessels at anchor there—a brig, a schooner, and a sloop. Mr Willis reported them to the captain.

“We’ll stand in and overhaul them, then,” was the reply, and the ship’s course was altered accordingly.

No sooner were we perceived by the three vessels than they slipped their cables and made sail in the hopes of escaping. They steered across to the western shore, either on the chance of finding shelter in some creek, or being able to beat out of the bay, and thus get to windward of us.

“We shall bag the fellows this time at all events,” said Mr Heron, rubbing his hands as we were fast over-hauling the chases.

They did not, however, give in, trusting to a flaw of wind or something else turning up in their favour. The Amazon and Juno, however, by standing more to the northward soon cut off all chance of escape. They were running for the harbour of Truro, but before they could get there we drove them all three on shore at some distance from each other. A loud shout from our crews proclaimed the result of the chase. The boatswain’s shrill whistle sounding along the decks was followed by the order for all the boats to be manned and armed and sent in to get off the vessels. I had charge of a cutter with Grampus and Tom, and little Harry Sumner accompanied me. Our first aim was the brig. We pulled towards her in good order as fast as we well could. It was not till we were close alongside that the enemy showed themselves to defend her. We took no notice of them, though they opened a warmish fire of musketry on us, but, boarding together, got out hawsers, and while some of the boats went ahead to tow her out the crews of the others remained on the deck and kept the enemy at bay. Thus in a few minutes we got her triumphantly afloat, and while she was being towed out from the shore I was sent in my boat to set fire to the sloop which lay nearly a mile from the other vessels. I thought that as the attention of the enemy was engaged with the brig the work would be easy, and pulled boldly towards her. We had got within musket range when up started three fellows from behind the bulwarks and let fly at us. Their aim was good, for each of their shots struck the boat, though happily no one was hit. This salute, however, did not stop our progress.

“Give way, my lads, give way!” I shouted. “We will soon punish them for their audacity.”

They fired several times after this, but without doing us any damage. I was surprised at their boldness in still remaining on board, but on our firing the swivel we had in our bows, accompanied by a round of musketry, they quickly jumped out of sight. As, however, we were close alongside, and just about to hook on to her chains, the mystery was solved by the unwelcome apparition of two or three hundred men, with levelled fire-arms, who appeared mounting a line of sand-banks close to the water, and behind which they had till now remained concealed. The first discharge with which they saluted us knocked over two of my men, and the next wounded two more. In addition to the musketry two pieces of cannon were brought to bear on us, which, unfortunately for us, were very well served. Seeing this, and believing that I and all my people must be killed if we attempted to escape, I turned the boat’s head round and sang out for quarter, and all the disagreeables of a long imprisonment rose up before me. So exasperated, however, were the people on shore that they paid no attention to my request. Sumner had a white handkerchief, and, tying it to a stretcher, waved it above our heads. It was, however, all in vain. The enemy seemed resolved on our destruction.

“Harry, my boy,” said I, “there is no help for it. If I am hit, do your best to carry the boat out. Now give way, my lads! If we can but hold on a little we shall soon be clear.”

Even the wounded men pulled away with all their might except one who was too much hurt to handle an oar. I took his place and put Harry at the helm. The shot fell thick as hail around us, the enemy shouting and shrieking at us like demons. Still we held on. Now another of my men was hit. Suddenly I saw little Harry turn pale. He sat upright as before, but his compressed lips and an uneasy look about the eyes made me fear he was hit.

“Are you hurt, Sumner?” I asked.

“I think so,” he answered; “but never mind, it is nothing, I am sure.”

I was sure that he was hurt, however, very much, and this made me feel more savage against our enemies than anything that had occurred for a long time, but there was no time to stop and examine his wound. I had scarcely a man now left unhurt—most of them seriously so. Two poor fellows let the oars drop from their hands, and sank down in the bottom of the boat. Tom was one of them. Grampus, indeed, was the only man unhurt. He seemed to bear a charmed life, for he had run in his time more risks than any of us without receiving a wound. I was in despair, for I every instant expected to feel a bullet enter my body, and that after all we should fall into the hands of the enemy. The boat, too, was almost knocked to pieces, and it seemed a wonder that she could still swim. The wind, fortunately, was blowing strong off the land.

“We must try and get the foresail hoisted, Grampus,” said I. “If we can, we may do yet.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” he answered, stepping forward over the prostrate bodies of our shipmates to execute the order.

Assisted by two of the men the least hurt, we got the mast stepped.

“Now up with the sail, my men!” I sang out.

At length it was hoisted, though the moment the enemy saw what we were about they seemed to redouble their efforts to destroy us. I breathed more freely as I got the sheet aft, and saw the canvas swelling with the breeze; but even then I knew that a shot might carry away our mast or halliards, or, indeed, send us all to the bottom. Just as I had got all to rights, and was ready to take the helm, poor little Harry, overcome with pain and the loss of blood, sank down by my side. I placed him carefully in the stern-sheets, and Tom Rockets, though badly wounded himself, crawled aft and endeavoured to examine his wound and to staunch the blood which flowed copiously from his side. The bullets began now to fall less thickly about us than before—a sign that we were increasing our distance from the shore. Had the enemy possessed a boat they might have taken us without difficulty, but, fortunately, they had none. Indeed, I have no doubt that their aim was to destroy us completely, as a punishment on us for our attempt to burn their vessel. In spite of the shots which still fell around us, we kept steadily on our course, while occasionally I turned an uneasy glance over my shoulder to see how far we had got from the enemy. At length scarcely a shot reached us; a gentle thud every now and then showing us that those which did so had almost lost their power. I was able now to pay more attention to my young companion. I asked him how he did.

“I am afraid that I am more hurt than I at first fancied,” he replied. “If I die, you will write to my mother, and tell her all about me, will you, Hurry?”

“Oh, don’t talk of dying, my good boy,” I answered, though I felt a choking sensation in my throat as I spoke. “We shall soon be on board, and then you will be properly cared for, and will feel more easy.”

“Oh, I do not complain,” said he, “still, I have an idea that I am mortally wounded. Perhaps it is only fancy, you know, and I am not afraid.”

“That’s right, be a brave boy, and keep up your spirits. You’ve many more years to live, and will be an admiral one of these days, I hope,” said I, though my hopes were far less sanguine than my words. “See, scarcely any of the shots reach us; we shall soon be out of the enemy’s fire.”

He looked up in my face and smiled. One of the wounded men groaned. Harry heard the poor fellow. A look of intense pain passed over his countenance.

“Oh, I wish that we could get to the doctor! Let him look to that poor man before me; I am sure he wants him most. Who is it?”

I told him, “Tom Ogle.”

“Ah, Tom Ogle,” said he. “Don’t give way, my man. We were doing our duty, and there’s One aloft who’ll not forget us if we trust in Him.”

“Bless you for those words, Mr Sumner,” Tom Ogle gasped out between the paroxysms of his pain; “they do a poor fellow’s heart good.”

All this time we were running off the land, with a strong fair breeze, every moment the enemy’s shot falling farther and farther astern. My great fear now was that some of my men would bleed to death before they could receive surgical help. However, they had bound up each other’s wounds in the best way they could. From the enemy we at all events were safe. I did my utmost to keep up the spirits of my men. I was thereby performing, I knew, half the doctor’s work. I had been eagerly looking out in the offing for our squadron. To my intense satisfaction I now made out a sail standing towards us from the northward. I pointed her out to Grampus.

“She’s the ‘Orpheus,’ sir. I knows the look of them taw’sels too well to be deceived,” he answered, after watching her for a few moments.

“You’re right, Grampus. It’s her without doubt,” said I. “Hurrah, my lads! We’ll soon be snug on board the old barkie.”

We neared the ship rapidly. Many eager faces were looking out at us as we got alongside. Poor little Harry Sumner first claimed my attention. I stooped down to lift him up, that he might be handed on deck. His cheeks were blanched, his eyes were closed.

“Oh, dear, oh dear! is the child dead?” exclaimed old Grampus, as he took him from me.

“I fear so,” I answered with a sad heart. “Let the doctor look to him at once.”

One after the other the wounded men were handed up.

“This is sad work, Mr Hurry,” said Captain Hudson, as I went to report myself on the quarter-deck. I told him how it happened.

“We must send in again, though, and punish the rascals,” said he.

Notice was forthwith given that another attempt was to be made to get off the brig. Plenty of volunteers came forward; indeed, they are never wanting when any hazardous work is in hand. The way we had been treated had excited great indignation against the enemy among our people. Job Samson, our old boatswain, volunteered to head the expedition. He had an idea that what others failed to do he could always find out some mode of accomplishing, and, to do him justice, he was ever ready to attempt to carry out his plans in spite of every risk, though he did not invariably succeed. He soon had his expedition ready. We heartily wished him success as he pulled in towards the shore. The Amazon had in the meantime come up, and as she was in-shore of us and drew less water, she was ordered to stand in and cover the attack. We eagerly, with our glasses, watched the proceedings. We could see the enemy, in great numbers, mustering on shore. Probably they did not expect that the Amazon’s guns were going to take part in the fray. She stood in as close as she could venture, and then opened her fire: but the enemy, nothing daunted, returned it manfully from an earth battery, which had been thrown up near the brig. In the meantime, in the face of this fire, old Samson advanced boldly to the attack; but round-shot and musket-balls are stubborn things to contend against, and the boatswain seeing, however easy it might be theoretically to capture the brig, that practically, if he attempted it, he should lose the boat with himself and every man in her, very wisely resolved to return on board, and wait for another opportunity of signalising himself. We afterwards found that, in this instance, the grapes really were sour, as the sloop and schooner had taken in the most valuable part of the brig’s cargo, and that she had remaining on board only ninety tons of salt. We made several attempts during the afternoon to cut out these vessels, but so well guarded were they from the shore by riflemen and flying artillery, that after all our exertions we were compelled to abandon the attempt. Happily, however, no one was hit except those who had been wounded in my boat. In the evening, before turning in, I went round to see how the poor fellows were getting on. They all received me cheerfully.

“We’re better off, sir, than if we had been boxed up in a Yankee prison, even though as how we’ve got some eyelet holes through us, d’ye see?” said Bob Nodder, who was the most severely wounded of any of the party. He observed that I was grieved to see the sufferings they were enduring.

“It could not be helped, Mr Hurry. You did your best for us, and if you had not kept cool, sir, we might every one of us have been riddled with rifle-bullets.”

I felt still greater pain when I went to the side of little Harry Sumner’s cot. He was in the officers’ sick-bay, and the doctor had done his best to make him comfortable. He was slumbering, so I did not speak. I stood for some minutes watching his youthful countenance. It was almost feminine in its beauty—so clear, so fair, so free from the effects of the evil passions which distort and disfigure so often the features of those of older years. His long light-brown hair had fallen off his clear broad forehead, and his lips were parted, and moved slightly, as if he were speaking to himself. A sickly gleam of light from the ship’s lanthorn, which hung from a beam above, fell on his countenance, and gave it a hue so pallid that I thought the shades of death were fast gathering over him. My heart sank within me. Were his anticipations, then, of evil so soon to be realised? Of evil? Would it, indeed, be an evil to him, poor child, to be removed from all the temptations to vice, from the scenes of violence and wrong with which he was surrounded? I felt it would not, and still I could not bear the thought of losing him; and there was another, far, far away, who would mourn him still more—his mother. Who would have the courage to tell her that she would see her boy no more? I trusted that I might not have the painful task to perform. I prayed earnestly, for his widowed mother’s sake, that he might recover; that he might go through his fiery trials in the world unscathed; that he might withstand the world, the flesh, and the devil, and, through the merits of our Master, attain eternal happiness in the end. The surgeon entered the sick-bay. I signed to him that the boy was sleeping.

“What do you think of his case, doctor?” said I with an anxious face. “Will he recover?”

“If fever does not set in he’ll do,” answered the medico. “McCallum will keep a constant watch on him during the night. He’ll call me if any change takes place. Ye need not fash yourself, Hurry; the boy is in no danger, I tell you.”

These words consoled me. Still I was not perfectly satisfied. The heart of a sailor, far removed as he is from the social influences of the shore, looks out for something on which to set its more tender affections.

I felt for that lone boy as if he had been a young brother or sister. My feelings were, I dare say, shared by many of my messmates. We most of us, if not cast originally in the same mould, had by circumstances become shaped very much alike as to the inner man; the same prejudices, the same affections, the same passions, the same ideas of honour, and I will say the same tender feelings and generous impulses, were shared by most of us alike. But I was speaking of Harry Sumner. Several times during my watch below I turned out to see how he was getting on. McCallum reported favourably of him; so, tolerably contented, I went back to my hammock and slept soundly.

Chapter Eight.

Orpheus in Cape Cod harbour.—Sent on shore with flag of truce.—Polite reception.—Camp attacked.—A magistrate offers himself as a hostage.—Our captain’s magnanimity.—My dying messmate.—At sea.—Thirty rebel vessels captured.—Doubt whether this will induce the colonists to return to their allegiance.

Varied are the changes of a seaman’s life—I found them so, at all events. An episode in my history was about to occur, of which I little dreamed.

After the brush I have described with the enemy’s batteries, the squadron came to all anchor. On the evening, however, of the 15th of June, the Orpheus was ordered to get under weigh, and proceed to Cape Cod harbour.

When the sun arose in the morning, the inhabitants of the town, to their no small dismay, found us anchored within gun-shot of their houses. I was just dressed when Captain Hudson sent for me.

“Mr Hurry,” said he, “you are to go on shore with a flag of truce. Inquire for the mayor or chief magistrate, or authorities of some sort. Tell them that we are in want of water and refreshments of various sorts, that we are perfectly ready to pay for everything we have, and then politely inform them that we are resolved, at all events, to have what we require; and that if they decline supplying us, or in any way molest us, we will knock their town about their ears and take what we want by force.”

I signified that I clearly understood my orders, and, quaffing a cup of a villainous compound called tea, and putting a piece of biscuit into my pocket, I tumbled hurriedly into my boat and shoved off. It took me about twenty minutes to reach the landing-place before the town, whence the boat had been observed approaching, and the very people I was in search of were ready to receive me. The principal magistrate was a very dignified old gentleman, with silver buckles on his shoes, velvet small-clothes, a three-cornered hat on his head, and a silver-mounted sword by his side. I did not expect to encounter such a personage in so out-of-the-way and rough-and-ready sort of a place.

“May I ask, sir, to what cause we are indebted for the honour of a visit from the King of England’s ships?” said he, bowing low.

I thought that there was more of mock humility than of respect in his manner, though. I delivered the message the captain had given me.

“Certainly, sir, certainly,” replied my friend, smiling: “the arguments you use are incontrovertible under our present circumstances. I doubt not that they will make all the inhabitants of this place true and faithful servants of King George.”

I was rather amused than offended with his manner, and was pleased that I had to deal with a gentleman instead of a lout.

“Do not let us weigh the force of the arguments, sir,” I replied. “I shall be perfectly satisfied if I have your word that you will not allow any attempt to be made to molest our watering party, and will collect for us any provisions we require.”

I gave him a list the purser had supplied me with.

“All your demands shall be complied with. You have my word for it, sir,” said he, bowing as before.

This matter being settled, I pulled back to the ship. The watering place was some little way from the town. The signal was made for the boats to take the watering party on shore. It was considered necessary at the same time, as a precautionary measure, to send a strong body of men on shore to protect the others, and, accordingly, a hundred marines and two hundred seamen from the three ships were told off for that purpose. We certainly had rather a warlike than a peaceable aspect as the squadron of boats made for the shore.

We were met, as we landed, by our friend the mayor with a flag of truce. He came to inquire why we approached in so warlike a guise. Mr Willis, who commanded the party, replied that, while we did not wish to injure others, we always liked to be in a position to take care of ourselves. Satisfied with this answer the mayor took his departure. A wood was before us. A succession of sandy hummocks were between it and the shore. Among them we made our bivouac. The spring from which we were to fill our casks was on the borders of the wood.

According to rule, as we were in an enemy’s country, we placed the usual lines of sentries, while the seamen, as rapidly as they could, filled the casks and rolled them down to the boats. At night we were compelled to knock off work, so we lighted our camp-fires and made ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would allow. Delisle, Drew, Nicholas and some midshipmen of the other ships were seated with me on the ground, in the neighbourhood of a fire, more that we might have its light than its warmth, and superintend the cooking of some steaks which we had resolved to have for supper. Tom Rockets was acting under our orders, and boiling the kettle to brew some punch. We were a very jolly party. Several of us had not met since we used to assemble on board my prize at New York in the winter, and we had had a good deal of knocking about since then. Many a tale was told, and many a jovial song and not a few sentimental ditties were sung, echoed by the seamen who sat grouped about. Thus hour after hour passed by, and we felt no inclination to lie down. I dare say we looked very picturesque as the light of the fires fell on us: the seamen scattered about in every easy attitude; the piled arms of the marines; the men themselves so different to the sailors; the bayonets of the sentries in the distance; the yellow sand-hills; the sea, calm and solemn, flashing every now and then with phosphorescent light; and then overhead the dark mysterious vault of heaven, studded with stars innumerable, all speaking of the might, the majesty, the power unbounded of the Creator. One by one my messmates dropped off to sleep. I lay on my back for some time contemplating the magnificent spectacle. I had often gazed on the stars before. I had taken the altitudes of many; I had measured the distance of one from the other; I had steered my course by them over the ocean; but then I had looked on them only as useful appendages to our globe. Now, as I gazed, they seemed to float—beauteous globes in the pure ether, altogether independent of the puny world we call our own. How far more pure and brilliant did they appear than in the misty clime of old England! I began to envy the Americans the advantage they possess over us.

My meditations were rudely and suddenly interrupted by the sharp rattle of musketry, and a quick succession of reports in return. Every man in an instant was on his feet. All flew to their arms and hurried to the front. The rattle of musketry increased, and the bullets came flying about our ears, while our advanced sentries retreated rapidly in on the main body—I might have said they ran as fast as their heels could carry them—shouting out that the enemy in strong force were pressing hard upon us. Mr Willis formed the marines in the centre, with the blue-jackets as flanking parties in readiness to receive the enemy. We had not long to wait before their dark forms in dense masses could be seen climbing over the sand-hills, threatening not only our front, but both our flanks.

“We are outmatched: I suspect we have been outwitted by the rascals,” said Delisle, who stood near me; “I’ll never trust these rebels again.”

“I cannot make it out,” I answered; “I thought we could have placed perfect confidence in the word of that old gentleman I met in the morning.”

We had, however, no time to discuss the matter; for every moment the fire grew heavier, and we saw that we were far outnumbered by the enemy. Now, under other circumstances, this might have been a matter of little moment, for, had we advanced, we might have gained an easy victory; but we at present had nothing to gain by fighting, and should we have found ourselves caught in a trap, and been compelled to lay down our arms, we knew that our loss would be very seriously felt by the remainder of our ships’ companies. We therefore, by as heavy fire as we could maintain, kept the enemy at bay, and retreated in good order to our boats, vowing vengeance against them for the treachery of which we supposed they had been guilty. Strange as it may seem, very few of our men were hurt, and none were killed. The rebels, as is generally the case with unpractised troops, had fired high, so that most of their shot had gone over our heads. We embarked with all our casks, and quickly got on board our ships, expecting next morning to have the satisfaction of battering away at the town till not a brick should stand to afford shelter to the treacherous inhabitants.

My first inquiry on getting on board was for Harry Sumner. He had been going on well, but had frequently asked to see me. Thinking he might be awake, I went to the side of his cot. He, however, was sleeping. He looked very pale and thin. A few hours of suffering had altered him much. I was going away when I heard him whisper my own name. “See, mother dear, be kind to him; and you, Julia, will love him, for he was kind to brother Harry. You’ll not turn him away when I am gone—gone on a long, long voyage, you know. You’ll love him for my sake, both of you. He’ll talk to you sometimes about Harry. There, there, mother dear, don’t weep; we’ll meet again, you know;—yes, yes, after my long voyage. Don’t cry, Julia dear, don’t now—don’t?”

Thus he went on. I felt ready to cry myself, I know. I had not heard him speak of his little sister—I could easily guess the reason—he would run the risk of having her name profaned by careless lips. At length he was silent. I slipped away. Poor little fellow! in spite of what the doctor said, I guessed that he at all events thought himself dying. I trusted that he might be mistaken. With a heavy heart, though, I left him and turned into my hammock, where in a very few minutes I was sound asleep.

The word had already been passed along the decks to prepare for action, and we fully expected that in a few minutes the fun would begin, when a boat was seen coming off from the shore with a flag of truce. It seemed a matter of doubt whether it should be received after the way we had been treated by the rebels; but Captain Hudson resolved that he would hear what they had to say for themselves before he proceeded to extremities. The old gentleman with whom I had spoken the day before, and several substantial-looking personages were in the boat. They evidently felt themselves in no trifling difficulty, and saw that it would require the management of the most important people in the place to save the town. Captain Hudson at first, wishing to give them a fright, refused to listen to any of their explanations.

“A truce had been agreed on, and while we were acting with perfect good faith and peaceableness, your people most unjustifiably attempted to destroy us. I give you half an hour to remove the women and children, and then expect the consequences of your treachery,” said he, drawing his sword-belt tighter round his waist, and turning on his heel with a look of scorn.

“Hear me, sir,” said the old gentleman, stepping forward. “We had, on my honour, nothing whatever to do with the outrage of which you complain. The people who attacked you were those whose vessels you have so wantonly destroyed. They came to revenge themselves. When they found that we had pledged ourselves to preserve the peace they returned quietly homewards. If you wish to complete the watering of your ships we will in no way molest you, and we will supply you with all the provisions you require.”

“So you said before,” replied Captain Hudson. “How can I depend on the fulfilment of your agreement?”

“I for one, and I dare say others will be ready to remain in your hands as hostages till our agreement is fulfilled,” answered the old gentleman.

Captain Hudson, who was generous as he was brave, would not listen to this proposal; but, stretching out his hand, he answered frankly, “No, no, sir; I will not put you or your friends to this inconvenience. I fully trust to your word. Go on shore, and keep your combatively-inclined countrymen from attacking us, unless they want to have your town burnt, and by the evening we shall probably have relieved you of our company.”

I never saw people’s faces brighten up more rapidly than did those of our rebel visitors when they heard these words. It was like the clearing away of a thunder-cloud from the sky in summer. They were ready to promise all sorts of things, and to supply us with all we desired; and, to do them justice, they amply fulfilled their word. We completed our water, got an abundant supply of fresh provisions, and sailed again that evening on our cruise.

On the 21st of July we took a schooner from Bilboa to Boston with cordage and canvas, and on the 22nd re-took a brig from Quebec to London in ballast; on which day the Amazon parted company and sailed with the prizes for New York.

On the 24th we took a schooner from Boston to the West Indies with fish and lumber; on the 25th a brig from Martinique with rum and molasses; on the 26th a schooner from Boston to the West Indies with lumber, and on the same day chased a large ship close into Boston light-house; but she effected her escape into the harbour.

On the 31st the Amazon rejoined us, and informed us that she had on her passage recaptured a large ship from Jamaica to London with rum and sugar, which had been made prize of by the rebels, and that she had sent her into Halifax.

On the 1st of August, at sunrise, a schooner was reported in sight. We accordingly made sail in chase; but she seemed in no ways inclined to be captured, and, setting every stitch of canvas she could carry, she began to walk through the water at a great rate. We soon saw that we should have to put our best leg foremost to come up with her. This to the utmost of our power we did.

I have already described many chases, so I will not enter into particulars. Hour after hour passed, and we seemed to be no nearer to her; still we had not lost ground, and, from her pertinacity in endeavouring to get away from us, we of course fancied that she was the more worth having. The longest day must have an end, and so had this. At its termination, when night was coming on, we were very little nearer the chase than at daybreak. Still we hoped that a shift of wind might enable us to get up with her, or that a calm might come on and allow us to reach her with our boats. But neither one thing nor the other occurred. Night came down upon us, and not the sharpest pair of eyes on board could pierce through the dark mantle which shrouded her. Some thought they saw her stealing off in one direction; others declared they saw her steering an opposite course. The result was that when morning broke, our expected prize had escaped us, and we were compelled to stand back and rejoin our consorts, like a dog with his tail between his legs. We had hopes, however, of being able in some degree to indemnify ourselves for our loss, when, on the 2nd of August, about two hours before daylight, the shadowy outline of a ship was seen dead to leeward between us and the land, the wind being somewhere from the south-west. Now she was there, ghostlike and indistinct, a spirit gliding over the face of the waters; now as I looked she had disappeared and I could scarcely believe that I had seen her.

“Can you make her out?” said I to Grampus, who was a quarter-master in my watch. The old man hollowed his hands round his eyes and took a long steady gaze into the darkness ahead.

“I did see her just a few minutes afor’ you spoke to me, sir, but smash my timbers if I sees her now!” he exclaimed, suiting the action to the word. “Where is she gone to?”

“She has altered her course or a bank of mist is floating by between us,” I suggested.

“That’s it, sir,” said he; “I wouldn’t be surprised but what she’d heave in sight again afor’ long, except she’s one of those craft one hears talk of, aboard of whom there’s no living man with flesh and blood to work them. If so be she is, I’d rather not fall in with her.”

I laughed. “No fear of that,” said I; “she has been reported to the captain, and we shall be making all sail in chase presently. We shall then soon find out what she’s made of.”

“Much as we did the schooner two days ago,” muttered Grampus, as I left him. “I don’t know what’s come over the ship that she don’t walk along faster.”

The stranger had been reported to the captain, who very soon came on deck, when all sail was packed on the ship in chase. The stranger, for some time, did not appear to be aware of our vicinity; indeed, we could frequently scarcely make her out through the darkness. At length, however, she discovered that an ugly customer was near her, and lost no time in setting every stitch of canvas she could carry, and running directly off before the wind. By this time we had got near enough to see that she was a ship, and of considerable size.

“That craft carries a good many hands, I suspect, by the smart way in which she made sail,” I heard Mr Willis observe to the captain. “I should not be surprised if she proves a privateer, or so-called ship of war belonging to the rebel government. To my mind, we shall do well to treat all the rascals we find on board such craft as pirates, and trice them up to their own yard-arms.”

“You forget, Mr Willis, that two can play at that game,” answered the captain. “The rebels have pretty well shown that they are in earnest, and have established a right to respect at all events. I don’t think hanging them will bring them to reason. Let us treat them as open and gallant enemies, and if we cannot make them fellow-subjects, at all events we may induce them to become some day our friends again. I confess to you I am sick of this sort of warfare. We must do our duty, and take, sink, and destroy all the craft belonging to the misguided people we find afloat, but there is neither honour nor glory to be obtained by the work, and as for the profit, I would rather be without it. Bah! I’m sick of such fratricidal work.”

“I can’t say that I see things quite in the light that you do, sir,” said the first lieutenant. “The British Government make laws, and it is the duty of British people to obey them; and if they don’t, it’s our business just now to force them to it.”

“Your logic is unanswerable, Willis,” replied Captain Hudson, turning away with a sigh. “There can be no doubt what our duty is, however painful it may prove.”

I believe that many officers thought and felt like my gallant and kind-hearted captain, and yet not a more loyal man, or a more faithful subject of his sovereign, ever stepped the deck of a ship of war.

As the first gleam of day appeared from beneath a dark canopy of clouds, and shone across the leaden water, its light fell on the royals and topgallant sails of a large ship, with studden sails alow and aloft, running before the wind directly for the American coast. Smoothly as she glided on, and rapidly as she ran through the water, in all the pride of symmetrical beauty, she was in a very critical position. As I looked at her I bethought me she presented no inapt simile to a careless youth rushing over the sea of life regardless of all the dangers which surround him, and with the pit of destruction yawning before him. Haul her wind and fight us she dared not, for we should have blown her speedily out of the water; no friendly port that she could possibly make was under her lee. The only hope, therefore, her crew could have had of escaping was to run the ship on shore and to abandon her. This it was our object to prevent them doing. The usual devices for increasing our speed were resorted to. Every spar that could carry a sail was rigged, while the canvas almost swept the water on either side of us, but all to little purpose, it seemed. If we increased our speed, so did the chase, and not an inch was gained. As the day grew on, the breeze freshened, and at noon some on board asserted that we had begun to overhaul her. We were all of us on deck as often as we could, for she afforded far more subject of interest than the ordinary lumber-laden merchant craft it was our usual lot to chase. The clouds which had obscured the sky at sunrise rolled gradually away; the sun shone down on the blue ocean with undimmed splendour, glittering on the long lines of foam which the two ships formed as they clove their way through it.

I was, among others, watching the chase when McCallum came up to me.

“Sumner wants to see you, Hurry,” said he; “I think a little talk with you will do him good. He is very low, left so many hours by himself, and he does not sleep much.”

Our young messmate had been progressing favourably, according to the doctor’s report, since he was wounded, but he was nervous and fanciful, poor little fellow! and wanted more tender nursing than the rough, albeit kind-hearted, treatment he could obtain on board. Captain Hudson would gladly have landed him, could he have found any friends on shore willing to take charge of him; but as this was impossible, all circumstances would allow was done to make him comfortable. I sat myself down on a stool by the side of his cot, and told him all that was going forward on deck.

“I wish that I could be about and doing my duty again,” said he; “I’m weary of being boxed up here below.”

“I should be glad if you could get sent home, and have your mother and sister to nurse you till you are strong and well.”

“Who told you that I had a sister?” he asked quickly.

“You did, surely, Harry,” I answered; “how else should I have known it?”

“Oh, I never spoke about her, I’m sure!” said he earnestly. “She is such a little angel, Hurry, that I could not bear to have her name uttered by any of our fellows in the way they speak of each other’s sisters and female friends.”

“Trust me, indeed, I will never mention her,” I answered, appreciating his delicacy, though I felt a strong desire to see the little girl he praised so highly. I did not reflect that her portrait was painted by a loving brother. I got him to talk more about her, and when his heart was opened he seemed never tired of the theme. He told me how she was two or three years older than himself; how she had watched over him and instructed him in all that was good, and how bitterly she grieved at his going away to sea, and much did he blame himself for having often appeared ungrateful for her love and affection. Often in a night-watch did my thoughts recur to Julia Sumner. It was a midshipman’s fancy, and perhaps a folly, but it was very excusable, I cannot help thinking even at the present time.

Our conversation was interrupted by the report of one of our bow-chasers: I sprang on deck. We had got the chase within range of our guns, and we were not likely to let them remain inactive. Still she stood on; not a trace nor a sheet did she slack; and as our gunnery was not first-rate it must be owned, we could not as yet hope to do her much damage.

“We have gained on her considerably since you went below,” said Delisle, whose glass was fixed on the chase, watching the effect of our shot. “In another hour, if the wind holds, we shall get her well under our guns, and then she’ll have very little more to say for herself.”

“Land ahead!” shouted the look-out from aloft. I with others went to the mast-head to ascertain its distance. We judged it to be the land about Cape Cod, some fifteen miles or so away. It would take us a couple of hours to get up with it. Evening, however, was now coming on, and it would be dark before we could hope to reach it. We watched the chase more anxiously than ever; the prospect of bringing her to before she should reach the shore was every instant growing less. Those who manned her were no cowards. As we were watching her, her stern-ports opened, and a couple of shots came hissing by us. It was a desperate chance. Her object was to cripple us, and if she could do so, perhaps she hoped to haul her wind, and, favoured by the darkness, to creep away from between us and the shore. We fired our bow-chasers as often as we could in return, and more than one shot told with damaging effect. Still every injury was repaired as soon as received. The land, seen under the glow of the setting sun, was growing more and more distinct, and by the time the shades of evening came over us we were near enough to distinguish it and the chase, now in dangerous proximity to its sands.

The chase had now lasted fifteen hours—another hour would decide the point. It soon passed. It was a moment of intense interest. Every man was at his station. Hands were in the chains with the lead. We were nearer the coast than under other circumstances we would willingly have been. The chase stood on with everything set. One felt it a grievous pity that so beautiful a fabric should be doomed to destruction. Her striking would give us time to haul off. On she glided, her symmetry unimpaired. In another moment her tall masts rocked to and fro; a loud crashing and tearing, even at that distance, reached our ears.

“Down with the helm!” shouted Captain Hudson. “Haul aft the starboard sheets! Flatten in the starboard braces! Give her the starboard broadside!”

These and other orders to bring the ship on a wind followed in quick succession amid the roar of our guns, which sent the shot crashing into the unfortunate chase. As soon as the ship was put about she stood back on the other tack, pouring in a second and still more destructive broadside. Again the ship was put about; once more the starboard broadside was loaded, and as we came abreast of the stranded chase, fired into her with deadly effect.

“Boats away!” was now the order. The men, with cutlasses by their sides and pistols in their belts, sprang into them. Mr Willis led the expedition: not a moment was to be lost. The stranger must be boarded before the crew could recover from the effects of our broadsides, or people would come off from the shore to defend her. She had fallen almost broadside on to the beach, and on the other side the sea was washing over her. We pulled round, and boarded under her counter, cutlass in hand. A slight resistance only was made by her captain and officers and some of the crew. A few were cut down, and the rest retreated forward, and escaped on shore by a warp, which had previously been carried there, no one attempting to stop them. As with lanterns in our hands, we wandered over the ship, everywhere signs were visible of the cruel effect of our broadsides. In the cabin lay an officer and two men. We thought they were wounded. We threw the light on their countenances; they had been dragged there by their shipmates to be out of the way, probably, and had died as they lay. Poor fellows! they had fought their last fight—they were dead. Not a thing was found on board. A glance showed Mr Willis that it would be impossible to get the ship off, so he ordered us to set fire to her in every direction. Having done so, and left the dead bodies to be consumed in a not ignoble funeral pile, we hurried to the boats. We had been taught by a former catastrophe not to delay too long. As we pulled away, the flames, climbing up the masts and spars; to which the canvas still hung, formed a magnificent pyramid of fire, which grew and grew in height till it seemed to reach the very skies. It was a fine spectacle, but a finer was to come. She was still burning when we got back to our ship, and the boats were hoisted in. I watched the conflagration from the deck. The fire threw a ruddy glare over the sand-hills and the dark woods beyond, and by its light we could see people watching, undoubtedly with bitter hearts, the destruction of their property. Without a moment’s warning, while the conflagration was at its height, the whole mass of flame seemed to be lifted together like a huge fire-work—then it spread far and wide, forming a fiery canopy of mushroom shape, and breaking into a thousand fragments, came hissing down into the surrounding ocean, while a few burning embers alone remained to mark the spot where the tall ship had lately been—a pretty night’s work for the officers and crew of his Majesty’s ship Orpheus. I don’t know that the thought of what we had been about disturbed the rest of any of those who enjoyed the luxury of turning into their hammocks. The next morning a boat with a flag of truce was sent on shore to learn particulars of the vessel we had destroyed. A number of persons were collected in the neighbourhood of the wreck, and, as may be supposed, they did not look very affectionately at us; but flags of truce were always respected, in spite of the animosity which was daily increasing between the belligerents, and an officer stepped forward to know what we wanted.

We told him our errand. “Tell your captain,” said he, “that he has done good service to his government, and saved the capture of many a rich merchantman, if I mistake not. The ship you have destroyed was the ‘Wilks’ privateer, mounting twenty guns—six-pounders—commanded by as brave a man as ever stepped, Captain John Williams, and bound into the English channel on a six-months’ cruise. If it is any satisfaction to you, you may say that she was only off the stocks five weeks. There’s the captain; he’ll never break biscuit more, nor will several of our people who were drowned coming on shore. There’s all that remains of poor Captain Williams.”

He spoke with bitterness, and, lifting a flag, exposed the form of a man in an officer’s uniform. He had been wounded, it appeared, by one of our broadsides, and carried on shore by his crew. I was not sorry, having received the information we were ordered to obtain, to get away from the scene of the catastrophe. This was our finishing stroke in the Bay of Fundy. During our cruise there it appeared by the log-book that we had seen ninety rebel vessels of various descriptions, of which we had either taken or destroyed thirty-three sail—a highly satisfactory amount of mischief to have committed in so short a time—but it had no effect in making the Americans loyal, or increasing their love for their British brethren.

Chapter Nine.

Recommended to Sir Peter Parker.—Join Chatham with Grampus and Tom Rockets—My messmate O’Driscoll.—Appointed to command Pigot tender.—Cruise with O’Driscoll.—Chase and capture a schooner.—Find two ladies on board.—New style of existence.—Discover skipper’s plot to re-take his vessel.—Madeline Carlyon and Mrs Tarleton.—Caught in a heavy gale.

One forenoon a midshipman from HMS Chatham came on board, with a letter from the admiral, Sir Peter Parker, to Captain Hudson. The Chatham was at that time Sir Peter’s flag-ship. The midshipman was of course asked below and pressed to stop for dinner. In a remarkably short space of time he made himself at home with all hands. He had a very red head of hair, very red eyes, and very red face indeed. I have never met a redder person, but he was far from ugly, and his countenance was brimful of good-nature and humour. He and I quickly became friends. He caught my name.

“Faith, that’s not a bad name you’ve got of your own,” said he. “Mine is Patrick O’Driscoll. If it happens not to be particularly well known to fame just yet, I purpose to make it as notorious as it was in the good old days in my native land.”

While O’Driscoll was entertaining us with some racy anecdotes I was sent for by Captain Hudson into his cabin.

“Take a seat, Mr Hurry,” said he, in his usual kind way. “I have an offer to make which I hope will prove satisfactory to you. Sir Peter Parker has applied to me for some mates and midshipmen, and I have especially named you, as I am sure you will do credit to my recommendation. He has asked also for some of my people, and as you seem to have attached to you old Nol Grampus and Tom Rockets, they may, if they wish it, accompany you, for I like to see an officer with followers. It speaks well for both parties. I have not yet determined who else I shall send. I have recommended you because I have no doubt that you will get a step by the change.”

I warmly thanked my captain for the kind interest he had shown in my welfare. And here let me pay a just tribute to the character of my old commander. A more kind-hearted gentleman, or a braver or better officer never walked the deck of a man-of-war. I was sorry to leave my messmates of the Orpheus; but for the reason Captain Hudson gave me, the opportunity of serving under so distinguished an officer as Sir Peter Parker was not to be lost. I will pass over all my leave-takings. Midshipmen are not much addicted to the sentimentals. Let me be supposed alongside the Chatham, accompanied by Nol Grampus, Tom Rockets, and the chest which contained all my worldly possessions. Those possessions were, by-the-bye, considerably decreased in quantity and value since I left my paternal mansion two years before.

On stepping on board I was met by my red-haired friend.

“Ah! Hurry, my boy, it’s myself then is glad to see you!” he exclaimed, squeezing my fingers and wringing my hand with a vehemence almost sufficient to dislocate my wrist.

“Happy to meet you,” I answered, not letting him discover that he had hurt me.

This demonstrative mode of greeting was a trick of his, I found, to try, as he said, what people were made of. Sometimes, however, he caught a Tartar to his cost. The Chatham’s midshipmen were a more rollicking set than my late shipmates. However, I knew comparatively but little of them, for, as it turned out, during the greater part of the time I belonged to the ship I was away on detached duty. Scarcely had I joined her, when I was sent on shore in command of a party of men to clear a transport lying in Rhode Island. While I was engaged in this far from pleasant duty I had to put up at the Cat and Fiddle Tavern, kept by a certain Mrs Grimalkin. To cover her sympathy with the rebels she used to exhibit on all public occasions an exuberance of loyalty which I thought rather suspicious. By watching her narrowly I was not long in discovering that she kept up a constant communication with the enemy, and gave them notice of all our proceedings. However, once knowing this, I was on my guard, and used to amuse myself by telling her all sorts of wonderful tales of what we had done, and what it was proposed to do to bring the country to subjection. I hope that I was the means also of sending some of the American cruisers to look after merchantmen which had gone in totally different directions, and of making others keep clear of fleets which had no existence.

Mrs Grimalkin was a Dutch woman by extraction, and retained the appearance and many of the habits of her ancestors. Numberless were the petticoats she wore, and unceasing were the ablutions which her clean-tiled floors received. She was in the main not a bad old soul, and I dare say she considered herself perfectly justified, in consideration of the cause I served, in charging me a preposterous amount for my board and lodging while I resided under her roof.

Having cleared the transport, I returned on board. A few days afterwards Sir Peter sent for me, and expressing his satisfactions with what he had observed of my conduct, appointed me to the command of the Pigot tender, the officer who had hitherto had charge of her being on the sick list. A midshipman’s berth is a very jolly place, but still there is nothing like being captain of one’s own ship, so thanking the admiral for the good opinion he had formed of me, with a light heart I hurried below to prepare for my change of quarters. I had not been thus engaged many minutes, when I was joined by O’Driscoll, with a broad grin on his countenance.

“Well, brother skipper,” said he, “how do you feel with your new dignity?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Why, faith, that I’ve got command of the ‘Lady Parker,’ a very tidy craft, and that we are to cruise in company. Arrah, now—won’t we have a jovial time of it, my jewel!”

“I hope so,” said I; “if we don’t happen to meet with poor Luscombe’s ill-luck. There are two sides to every question, remember.”

“Arrah, now. Never look at the reverse of a pleasing picture, Hurry,” he replied. “Because Luscombe met with ill-luck, we have a better chance of good luck, do ye see. So now let’s get aboard our respective ships. I feel wonderfully grown since I received my appointment.”

Luscombe, one of our master’s mates, had, while in charge of a schooner, fitted out as a tender, been a short time before captured by the enemy, after losing all his men, while he himself had been severely wounded.

Our orders were to make the best of our way to Long Island Sound, where we were to deliver some despatches to HMS Syren, and then, after cruising a week off Gay Head, to return to Rhode Island. Both our vessels were ready for sea, so, having obtained leave to take Grampus and Tom Rockets with me, we pulled on board, and got under weigh. A fine breeze carried us to sea, and did not desert us till we made the shores of Long Island. We ran into the Sound and delivered our despatches on board the Syren. The spot wore a very different aspect to that which it had borne when I was last there. Now the whole country was in possession of the royal troops, who were under the full belief that it was henceforward to remain their own. The reports were that the whole of the American forces were completely disorganised and disheartened, and that they would never again be able to make head against the royalists. The truth was what was supposed, but they had a man at their head who was a host in himself, and by his courage, his wisdom, and energy, he made amends for all deficiencies. George Washington was truly the man who established the American Republic. For that great work he was especially appointed by Heaven. Unhappily, the people of whom he made a nation have too often since forgotten his precepts and example. The farther they have departed from it the less dignified and respected they have been. But I am anticipating events.

O’Driscoll and I would have been right glad of an excuse to remain at New York, but we had not even sprung a spar, and our craft were as tight as bottles, and our crews did not want a single dose of physic among them, so we were obliged to put to sea again that evening. We however contrived to pick up a round of beef, two legs of mutton, and a turkey, with a sack of potatoes, and some other vegetables, out of a bumboat which had come down to supply the Syren, and which we waylaid before she reached that ship. I must not forget also some soft tack, three dozen of bottled ale, and a cheese, which set us up in the comestible way for some time. Just as we got to sea the wind veered round to the east and south-east, and with a favourable breeze, under easy sail, we stood to the northward. The next day O’Driscoll came aboard to dine with me. I had the turkey. The bird had made so many objections to remaining in the coop into which I put him, that I was obliged to kill him. He was consequently rather tough, but midshipmen’s teeth don’t stand at trifles, and we made considerable progress in devouring him.

“This is very jolly, Captain Hurry,” said O’Driscoll, pouring out for himself a glass of foaming ale. “Here’s to you, man, and I don’t care how long we’re on our cruise.”

“It will soon come to an end if this wind lasts,” I remarked.

“Not a bit of it, if we’re inclined to make it longer,” he replied. “Suppose now, a craft was to make her appearance in the south-east, we should have to make sail after her, and it might be many a day before we got back to port, do ye see. Do you twig, my boy, eh?”

“Oh, yes, O’Driscoll. I understand you perfectly,” said I. “But that sort of conduct does not exactly come up to my notion of our duty to the service. We might get a long cruise, certainly, but I don’t think we should enjoy it, and we might just possibly fall into the hands of an enemy, and end it in a prison on shore.”

“Ha! ha! ha! that would be an unpleasant termination to our independent commands,” he replied, laughing. “Well, I suppose to do our duty is the best policy. I shouldn’t like the catastrophe you picture so vividly.”

One thing I must say in O’Driscoll’s favour, though his fertile brain conceived all sorts of mischief, he was very ready to abandon any of his proposals when he found that others objected to them. Though hot enough at times, and ready enough to fight anybody and everybody who came in his way, his anger was as quickly appeased. Thus also he was easily persuaded by me to adhere to the letter of his instructions, and, in perfect good-humour with all the world, he accompanied me on deck to smoke our cigars. It was one of those lovely days, which occur frequently in autumn in that part of the world, called by the Americans the Indian summer. A thin, gauze-like mist hung over the face of the deep—scarcely dense enough, however, to mitigate the heat of the sun’s rays, which, darting forth from the pure, blue sky, sparkled brightly on the crisply curling wavelets, stirred up by a light southerly breeze. Everything gave promise of a continuance of fine weather, and so, like two pachas, we sat on the deck, calmly contemplating with philosophic indifference all sublunary affairs. Not another sail was to be seen within the circle of our horizon besides our two small craft, so that as we had nothing else with which to compare ourselves, we were content to believe that we were two very important personages indeed. We had our coffee brought to us in due form. It was not a common beverage among midshipmen, certainly in those days, but Tom had learned to make it well of a Spanish seaman on board the Orpheus. We finished our repast with more than one glass of grog apiece, but not sufficient, I am happy to say, to risk the equilibrium of either our minds or bodies. While we were discussing the seaman’s favourite beverage, O’Driscoll indulged me, and by necessity my ship’s company, with some of his choicest songs, trolled forth in a full, clear voice, and the liquor loosening the muscles of his tongue, every word came forth with the richest brogue of his native land. At first the people listened attentively as they sat forward. Then they by degrees crept up nearer and nearer, till at length Pat Doolan, a compatriot of the minstrel, seemingly unable any longer to contain himself, burst forth into the full chorus of one of the songs. To stop him would have been impossible. The poor fellow flung his whole soul into the melody. What a flood of recollections—of long pent-up feelings—it brought back! Sooner than hold silence he would have jumped overboard, I believe. The example was infectious. One by one the rest of the crew took up the strain. Not one but had the spirit of melody within him; and there we were, officers and crew, all singing away together like mad people, or as if our lives depended on the noise we made.

At sun-down we hove-to, and O’Driscoll returned on board his own vessel, insisting on my returning his visit the next day. The weather proving calm, I was enabled to fulfil my engagement, and a merry time we had of it. So pleasant did I find this sort of life, that I began to persuade myself that there would be no outrageous impropriety in acceding to O’Driscoll’s proposal to lengthen our voyage. Two days thus passed pleasantly away, during which we made but little progress in our voyage. We might possibly by carrying a greater press of sail have made more, but we were, as I have observed, in no hurry to bring it to an end.

On the morning of the 14th, as I lay fast asleep in my cot, it having been my middle watch, I felt my shoulder shaken, while a rough voice exclaimed—

“There’s a sail in sight, Mr Hurry, sir, on the lee-bow. She’s the cut of an American merchantman.”

Looking up, I saw the weather-beaten countenance of Nol Grampus bending over me.

“Keep her away, and make all sail in chase,” I answered, springing up; “I’ll be on deck in a trice.”

I was not many seconds behind old Nol. The Lady Parker was on our weather-quarter. Her people had not been so quick-sighted as we were, but when they saw us making sail, they did the same. Away we both went in hot pursuit of the stranger, which proved to be a schooner. When she made us out she apparently took fright, and likewise set every stitch of canvas she could carry to escape.

There is nothing so exciting as a chase, whether on shore or afloat. Next to it is a race. Here we had both combined, for we wanted to catch the enemy and to beat the Lady Parker. The breeze freshened, but the Pigot looked up to her canvas famously; and sweeter to our ears than any music just then was the loud gush of the yielding waters as they were parted by the sharp bows of my little craft.

“You are a darling now!” cried old Nol, as he looked up at the canvas, ever and anon, to see that each sail drew its best. “Just show us what your heels can do this time, at all events.” The schooner seemed to understand him, and went faster and faster. We were somewhat distancing the Lady Parker, and coming up with the chase.

“If the breeze holds, sir, we shall be within gun-shot in half an hour, and then there’ll be but little chance for that small hooker there,” observed Grampus, chuckling. She was a bigger vessel than the Pigot, by-the-bye.

“It’s just possible that one of the enemy’s cruisers may heave in sight, and spoil our sport before then,” said I; “such a thing has occurred before now, and there are plenty of them in these seas.”

“The more call for speed, then, sir,” replied Nol. “Hurrah—blow your best, good breeze, and don’t stint us.”

In even less time than Grampus had predicted, we got the schooner within range of our guns. I half expected to see her haul her wind and show fight. We began to blaze away with our bow-chasers, but she stood steadily on, taking not the slightest notice of us. Rockets and I had both tried our hands at a shot, but without effect, so I sent him to the helm, and called Grampus forward, to see what he could do. More than once he looked along the gun without firing. “Here goes,” he at length exclaimed, applying the match. I watched eagerly. Away flew the shot—it struck. I could see the splinters fly, and down came by the run the main-topmast of the chase. All hands gave a grand hurrah. Still the chase stood on. In a short time, however, we saw that there was some confusion on board. The ensign was hauled down—then run up, and then hauled down again.

Just as we fancied that she was going to heave-to, up went the ensign once more, and the hands were seen going aloft, to clear away the wreck of the top-mast.

“What can the fellow be about?” said I; “he cannot hope to escape us.”

“Perhaps, sir, he sees a big friend ahead, whom he thinks will come to his assistance,” observed Grampus.

“We must give him another dose, then, to stop him before his friend appears. Fire low this time!” I exclaimed, for my blood was up at the thoughts of his escaping us. We yawed a little so as to bring all our starboard guns to bear. The shot took effect, and there appeared more confusion than before on deck. “Let them have it again,” I sung out; “this time they must give in!” The guns were loaded, and our people were about to fire, when, as I was looking through my telescope, I saw two figures rush on deck, and which instantly made me arrest the order to fire. They were women. By their gestures they were evidently endeavouring to persuade the crew to continue their endeavours to escape or to yield at once. Which it was I could not determine, but while they remained on deck I could not bring myself again to fire on the vessel. I hoped that we should be able to capture her without doing her further injury. On we stood, therefore, as before. The ladies remained on deck. I kept my eye on them, intending to fire at the schooner’s rigging the moment they went below. I told Grampus my reason for not firing. “That’s right, sir,” he answered warmly; “no man who’s fit to be a man ever hurts a woman if he can help it, whether old or young, or whatever her nation—or black or white. And they, d’ye see, bless their hearts, repays us; for no matter where it is, if a man is sick or wounded, or in distress, they are always ready to help him and nurse him and pity him—bless them, says I. I don’t know what we should do without them.”

The two ladies kept their posts, walking the deck, and every now and then stopping and eyeing us—taking our distance, I thought. We were rapidly decreasing it, however, and to me it appeared that the chase had very little chance of escaping. I must own that I was now doubly anxious to come up with her. All sorts of romantic ideas came crowding into my imagination, and I quite forgot that, after all, the petticoats might belong to the skipper’s double-fisted wife and rosy-cheeked, loud-voiced daughter. Still, whatever they were, I would not for worlds have run the risk of hurting them.

As time sped away the more eager did I become to solve the problem. When my eye began to ache with watching the chase, Nol took the glass. I had had my breakfast brought on deck. I ate my dinner there also. I was just washing down the cold salt junk and biscuit with a glass of rum and water, when Grampus exclaimed—

“The petticoats has wapperated, sir—that they has.”

I jumped up, overturning my glass of swizzle, and putting the helm to starboard, sung—

“Fire away, but high, my lads—take care, now.”

Grampus had handed me the glass and hurried to a gun. Never was there a better marksman. His eye coolly glanced along the iron tube. He fired. The schooner’s fore-yard was shot away in the slings, and directly afterwards her fore-top-mast went tumbling over her bows.

“Hurrah!” shouted Nol, “we’ve got her now, my lads.”

I watched through my glass. The females did not return on deck. I only hoped that they were not frightened at the mischief we had committed. The chase was now a complete wreck aloft. Still her ensign was kept flying at her peak. Just, however, as I was about to yaw once more, it was hauled down, and she was luffed up into the wind. We were very soon up with her. Heaving-to just to windward of her, I ordered a boat to be lowered, and, with Tom Rockets and two other hands, pulled aboard. I directed Grampus to keep a very sharp watch on the movements of the schooner, should I go below, for the rebels were up to so many tricks that it was necessary to be prepared for them.

As I stepped on the deck of the prize, I was met by a man whom I took to be the master. He was a tall, lank man, and one of the most melancholy-looking beings I ever beheld. I looked round for the females.

“If they belong to our thread-paper friend here, the chances are that their attractions are but small,” I thought to myself. Still I was very curious to see them.

“Well, Mr Officer,” said the master, without giving me time to speak, “if it’s any satisfaction to you, you’ll understand that you’ve ruined a hard-working man with a large family by this capture, and frightened nearly to death two females aboard here.”

He spoke in a slow, drawling tone, but there was something in it which made me fully believe him.

“It cannot be helped. I do but my duty,” I answered.

“Your duty, sir! Is it the duty of a man, a gentleman, to attack the weak and the oppressed?” said a deep voice close to my ear.

The melancholy skipper had not spoken, the tones were too feminine for him. I turned, and saw standing near me a lady who had evidently just ascended from the cabin. I started. She was something so unlike what I had expected to see. Her figure, though slight, was tall and commanding, and a black dress set off the brilliant whiteness of her complexion. Her dark eyes flashed with fire as she spoke. Her features also, I saw, were very handsome. I have not often been abashed, such a feeling does not usually run in the blood of the Hurrys, but I was on this occasion completely taken aback. I felt that I should have liked to have jumped into my boat and pulled back to my own craft without saying a word. However, I mustered courage to speak.

“Pardon me, madam,” I stuttered out, “I obey the commands of my lawful sovereign, though those commands are, I own, often painful.”

“The excuse all mercenaries make,” said the lady, with bitter scorn in her voice. “And now, sir, that we are your captives, may I ask what you purpose doing with us?”

This question was rather a poser. I could not let the prize go free, and yet I had no wish to detain any women as prisoners.

“I cannot answer the question at once, madam,” I replied; “but I will do my best to land you as soon as possible at the nearest point I am able to reach, to wherever you may wish to go.”

I thought this would satisfy the lady, but not a bit of it.

“Oh, then, we are to be compelled to leave the vessel in which we have taken a passage and to be delayed on an errand of importance because George of Brunswick chooses to try and force unjust laws down the throats of a free people!”

“The fortune of war, madam,” I replied, my choler rising somewhat at her remarks; still I did not forget she was a lady, and that I was an officer and a gentleman.

“Such as brigands might be ashamed of,” she replied. “Then, sir, we are to consider ourselves as your prisoners?”

“Not a moment longer than I can help it, I assure you, madam,” I answered, rather inclined to be amused than angry, and hoping to pique her by my replies. “You are free to go in any direction you please directly you have an opportunity.”

“You speak mockingly, sir,” she said, apparently determined not to be on good terms with me.

I was anxious to bring the conversation to a conclusion without being rude to her; she was very evidently a lady, and probably accustomed to be treated with attention. My curiosity also was excited to know who her companion could be. We had seen two females on board, and she had used the word “we” several times as if her companion was her equal; whether older or younger was the question. She herself had the appearance and air of a matron who, though past the bloom of youth, still retained much of her beauty. Bowing to her again, I turned to the melancholy-faced master and inquired the particulars of his cargo, where he was from, and where bound to. He was from Boston, with a cargo of notions bound for Philadelphia.

“Well, then, captain, I’ll step below, just to have a look at your papers,” said I, trying to appear as unconcerned as possible. “Then we’ll get the wreck of your masts cleared away and take you in tow. You and your mate with two hands will go on board my vessel, the rest will remain here to help work this craft.”

He saw that my orders were not to be disputed, though he prepared to obey them with no very good grace. I had no fear of any trick being played me, for the Lady Parker was fast coming up to the scene of action, or I should not have trusted either the lank master or the lovely dame. I hailed Grampus to send another boat aboard, and while she was coming I dived below, disregarding the black looks both of the master and the lady. I certainly was not prepared for the vision of loveliness which broke on my sight when I opened the door of the cabin. I somehow or other had taken it into my head that the lady on deck was the youngest of the two persons we had seen, and I expected accordingly to find a stout, elderly dame acting as her chaperone or attendant. Instead, however, there, half-reclining on a sofa, and reading, or pretending to read, was a young and lovely girl. The lady on deck possessed somewhat of a stern beauty; hers was of the most perfect feminine softness. She was fair, with light-brown hair, and a rich colour on her cheeks, and eyes so full and lustrous that they pierced through and through me at once. I was very glad she did not ask me to do anything I ought not to have done, for as Adam was easily tempted by Eve, I fear me much that I should not have had the resolution to refuse any request she might have made. I stood for a minute at the door, looking, I daresay, very stupid, and silent as a post. At last I blundered out—

“I beg pardon, miss; I came to see the ship’s papers; I hope that I don’t inconvenience you.”

“Oh, no, sir, as the ship is, I conclude, in your power, and the passengers are your prisoners, we can only be grateful for any courtesy you show us,” she answered; and oh! what a sweet, soft, musical voice she spoke in!

I was quickly followed below by the master, who proceeded to hand me out his papers from a well-battered tin case.

“You are, I conclude, Mr Saul Cobb, master of the ‘Crab’ schooner—not much like a crab though, by the way she went through the water,” said I, running my eyes over the papers. “All well and good, Mr Cobb. We will take the ‘Crab’ in tow as far as Rhode Island, where Sir Peter Parker, the English admiral, will decide what is to be done with her. Your passengers, I have no doubt, will be landed at Newport, and a safe conduct will be granted them in whatever direction they may wish to proceed.”

I looked up as I spoke, and bowed to the young lady. I found her eyes fixed on me, though she very quickly withdrew them, and I could not help fancying, vain puppy that I was! that a slight blush tinged her cheeks.

“I trust, madam,” said I, “that we shall be able to make arrangements satisfactory under the painful circumstances of the case to you and the lady who is with you.”

“She is my aunt,” she answered quickly. “But I fear that it will be difficult to make amends to her for the inconvenience to which she must be put and the bitter disappointment she feels. She was called to the bedside of a brother she believes to be dying from his wounds, and there being no one else whose assistance she could claim, I accompanied her. We hoped to have landed to-morrow. Could you not still manage to put us on shore?”

She looked up with such a beautiful, earnest expression that I instantly began to consider whether I could not by some possibility do as she requested. As the result of my reflections I replied—

“I am sorry to say I cannot do so. I dare not so far depart from my very clear line of duty; still, any accommodation I can afford you and your aunt will, I am sure, be sanctioned by the admiral.”

“You are very kind indeed, sir,” said the young lady. “I would not ask any officer to neglect his duty to the king he serves; I should despise him if he did.”

She had risen from her seat, and stood resting her left hand on the table, while her right was slightly raised to give expression to her sentiments.

“Ho, ho!” I thought, “your politics do not agree, then, with those of your aunt.”

I looked up into her face. I could not help it. How beautiful and animated she looked! Her figure was not tall, though exquisitely proportioned and rounded as if she enjoyed excellent health, and had been subject to very few of the cares and disappointments of life. In a word, I thought her a perfect heroine, and so she was. I could not help congratulating myself at the idea of having her society on board the tender for at least the next two days, and perhaps longer, and I must own that I was in no hurry to finish looking over the papers of the Crab, though for the life of me I could not have told a word of their contents.

“Well, mister, are you satisfied now?”

The harsh, grating sounds of Captain Cobb’s voice, for he it was who spoke, recalled me to myself.

“Yes, yes,” I answered. “Turn your hands up and get a hawser secured on board with plenty of scope.”

I then once more addressed the young lady—

“I must beg you and your aunt to come on board my schooner. This vessel is not in a safe condition for you to remain in her. I will, believe me, endeavour to do everything to secure your comfort and to mitigate the annoyance you must of course feel. I will go on deck and endeavour to persuade your aunt to do what is necessary.”

“I wish you would,” she answered. “I am afraid that you will have no little difficulty, though.”

I left the young lady preparing in a very methodical way to pack up her things to remove on board the tender, while I, with no little trepidation, went on deck to address the aunt. The Lady Parker was fast coming up, and I wanted to make all arrangements before O’Driscoll’s appearance.

The lady, as I expected, at first refused positively to leave the vessel she was on board of unless by force. I assured her that she would remain at very great risk to her own life and that of her niece, should bad weather come on, and I assured her that I would spare no pains to secure her comfort, and I pledged my honour that she would be as safe under my protection as she had been under that of Captain Cobb. “Besides, Captain Cobb himself will be on board my vessel, madam.”

“In that case, sir, I will act according to your commands,” said the lady, with one of her bitter smiles.

As they had no attendant, she and her niece were some time in putting up their things, and though I offered my services they were stiffly declined by the elder lady. However, under the counteracting influences of her sweet niece I felt that I could bear a large amount of sourness from her.

At last I got them safely into the boat and on board the tender, together with Mr Cobb and his mate and two of his men. The rest I judged that I could safely leave where they were to help work the prize. I sent Grampus on board her to take charge, and we had the hawser secured when O’Driscoll came up. I had no particular wish just then for his company, though I could not for the world have shown any jealousy of him, so I signalised him that all was right and that I was going to make sail for Rhode Island. He, however, had seen the ladies on my deck, and he would have been unlike any Irishman I ever met had he not desired to know more about them. He accordingly signalised me in return not to make sail till he had held some private communication with me, and very quickly he was on board. After he had made a most profound bow to the two ladies and looked a thousand unutterable things, he seized me by the arm and led me forward.

“Oh, you lucky dog, Poynder,” said he, “to have fallen in with such a prize—that magnificent creature and that pretty little girl. Faith! I must accompany you back to the admiral, just to see that you don’t get into any mischief. I should like to bask myself every morning in their smiles, even though it may be at a somewhat long distance.”

I of course told him that he must do as he thought fit, but I wasn’t sorry when he tumbled into the boat to return to his own craft, and allowed me to prepare for the ladies’ comfort on board mine. I of course gave them up the entire cabin, and fitted up a sofa with sides for one of the ladies. What with canvas, and flags, and some planks, I very soon had some fair accommodation for them. My own cot I had slung in another part of the vessel. The younger lady, when she returned on deck, after inspecting the arrangements I had made, thanked me with a look which made ample amends for all the trouble I had taken. The elder one did not deign to take any notice of the matter. I had been anxious to know their names. I had seen that of Tarleton on one of the trunks, so I addressed the elder lady as Mrs Tarleton, which she seemed to acknowledge as her proper appellation, so I took the chance of being right, and called the other Miss Tarleton; but she with a smile observed—

“No; that is not my name. I am called Madeline Carlyon. That lady is the wife of my mother’s brother. She, as you see, is very strongly opposed to the Royalist party. She has reason, for she has suffered much from them. I am very much attached to her, for she is an excellent, noble-minded person, though she has, as you see, her peculiarities.”

“And are you, Miss Carlyon, equally opposed to the Royalists?” I asked.

I felt that I was venturing on dangerous ground.

“Some of my family are Royalists, though some of them are in opposition, and are what you, I fear, would call rebels. I do not like the word.”

“Nor do I,” I answered warmly. “Though I am a naval officer, and fighting is my vocation, I wish that this dispute were settled. I would rather have any other enemies than those we are now fighting with.”

“I am glad to hear you utter that sentiment, sir,” said Mrs Tarleton, who had overheard the last part of our conversation, as she continued her never-ceasing walk on deck. “Cherish it, for it may produce wholesome fruit in time to come.”

The wind held fair, and with the prize in tow, and the Lady Parker, which could easily keep up with us in company, we steered a direct course for the then small town of Newport, off which I hoped to find the admiral. After the conversation I have described above, the ice in Mrs Tarleton’s manner gradually thawed. She began to regard me with some degree of interest, and to look on me simply as a misguided young man whom she might hope to win over to the cause to which she herself was so warmly attached. I certainly did my best to obtain her good opinion, as well as that of her niece, and I felt that at all events I was winning that of the latter.

Delightful and strange were the sensations I experienced as I leaned over the bulwarks by the side of that lovely girl, while we watched the blue sparkling wavelets, and I told her of the wonders of the deep, and now and then threw in a description of some of the adventures I had gone through. It was, I repeat, fortunate for me that she was at heart a loyalist, or she would inevitably just then have converted me to whatever opinions she held. We watched the glorious sun descend into his ocean bed in a golden radiance which suffused the whole western sky; and then the pale moon arose, and we stayed to gaze on its silvery beams as they played over the calm waters of the ocean, just crisped into wavelets by the light easterly breeze which blew us on our way. It was very delightful. We were both of us very young, and very unsophisticated. I had scarcely ever spoken to a young lady. The last I had seen, and the impression she had made was not deep, was Miss Deborah Doulass, the fair daughter of a retired linen-draper at Falmouth. The Poynders are in no way a phlegmatic race. The young lady was not backward in appreciating my sentiments, and we might very probably have stood gazing at the ocean till the moon had gone to bed also, when Miss Carlyon was summoned somewhat hastily by her aunt. She put out her hand, and as I pressed it I felt as if an electric shock had run through me. The elder lady drew her shawl round her, and, bowing stiffly, they retired one after the other down the companion-ladder.

I walked the deck for some time, all sorts of new sensations jumping away round my heart and in my head, and then I turned into the temporary berth I had had rigged for myself in the hold, ordering Tom Rockets to keep a sharp look-out, and to call me the moment he suspected even that anything, however trifling, was going wrong. Close to my berth, and divided only by a thin bulk-head, was the place where the prisoners were sleeping. They were all snoring away when I turned in, but after a time I heard one of them give some grunts.

“Peter,” said a voice. “Peter, are you awake, man?”

I knew by the grating harsh tones that it was that of the lank skipper.

“Yes, captain; I’m awake. What’s your will?” was the answer.

“I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking of,” said the captain in a very low voice, evidently getting near the person he was addressing. “It wouldn’t be a hard matter to take this craft, and make off with her. She is short-handed. We have four stout fellows, and the woman I make sure would help us. I’d undertake, while he is caterwauling away with the young gal, to knock that young sprig of an officer overboard. Then we’d cast off the hawser, and let the ‘Crab’ go adrift. They needn’t know it was done on purpose; and while the other king’s ship was looking after her to pick her up, we’d have a fine start. At all events, this craft has the best pair of heels, and she would never come up with us again. What do you say, Peter, to this?”

“I’m your man, captain,” answered the mate chuckling. “There’s four to seven, and that’s no great odds if we choose our time. We can count, I guess, on the woman if you put her up to the trick. It may be a job to do that, though.”

“No fear on that score,” observed Captain Cobb. “By the look of the sky when the sun went down, there’ll be a breeze before to-morrow night. Just do you talk to Ahab and Silas, and I’ll see about the rest.”

The voices of the speakers sank so low after this that I could not catch another word.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” said I to myself. “I’ve had that trick attempted to be played on me before now; but I didn’t think that you, my melancholy-looking friend, were up to it. However—forewarned, fore-armed—I’ll be ready for you. I suspect that Mrs Tarleton will not be a little enraged when she hears the part she is to play in the drama. She’ll wither up the poor skipper into a mummy when she sees him.”

I could scarcely refrain from laughing aloud at the idea. I waited till the two conspirators ceased speaking, and as I believed had gone again to sleep; and then I noiselessly left my berth and went on deck. I had my own pistols ready, and I sent Rockets to arm himself and the rest of the people.

In the morning, when the lank skipper and his people came on deck, they looked somewhat dismayed at the appearance we presented. I, however, said nothing, and treated him as if I was totally ignorant of his kind intentions towards me. I was, however, preparing to speak to him, in the presence of Mrs Tarleton, hoping to enjoy her indignation and his dismay; but the sight of Miss Carlyon put everything I was going to say out of my head, as I sprang to the companion-hatch to hand her on deck. How bright and beaming was the smile which irradiated her countenance! While she was near, I scarcely had it in my heart even to frighten the poor skipper, and certainly not to hurt him, even had he attempted to carry out his kind intentions towards me. She looked about her, enjoying the sight of the blue sparkling sea and the fresh breeze.

“It is very beautiful,” said she at length.

“Very!” said I, but if she had asked me to say what I thought so beautiful it would have made her blush. She did not remark a bank of black clouds away to the eastward. I did, and was sorry to see them, for I thought how much discomfort a gale would cause her. The lank skipper saw them also, and probably hoped for an opportunity to carry his pleasant little plot into execution. I determined at once to spoil it. I had somewhat prepared Miss Carlyon, by telling her that I knew of the existence of a plan to take the vessel from me, but made very light of it that I might not frighten her. Calling Captain Cobb aft, while Mrs Tarleton was on deck, I looked him full in the face, and recounted the whole particulars of the plan he had concocted.

“And do you know, madam, our worthy friend not only expects you to approve of his project, but to help him carry it into execution, whether by the aid of the bowl or dagger I do not know; perhaps he expects you to help in smothering us with pillows while we are fast asleep.”

Never was a man more completely taken aback than was Mr Saul Cobb on that occasion, nor was his confusion lessened by the address of the lady.

“You wretched, miserable being! do you fancy that because I am a patriot I would consort with murderers, whose sole idea is how they may make money without a thought how they may best serve their country?”

Her attitude, expression, and manner, more than her words, expressed the vehemence of her feelings; and the skipper, without attempting to excuse himself, turned round and, bolting forward, dived down below to hide his head in darkness. I told Rockets to keep an eye on him, for I thought he might do some mischief.

“You, sir, will, I am sure, acquit me of approving even in the remotest way of such a scheme,” said the lady.

I assured her that I did, and I felt that I had, from the way I had taken the matter, gained a yet further step in her good graces. I then sent Rockets to tell the skipper that, should he attempt to make any such demonstration as he had proposed, I should forthwith be compelled to blow out his brains; but that, if he behaved well, I would pass the matter over. I felt very sure that he would give me no further trouble.

Scarcely had I thus settled this affair than down came the gale on us with a fury unexpected. I shortened sail, lengthened our hawser to the utmost, and then went to try and make the ladies comfortable in the cabin. Still, notwithstanding all my responsibilities and troubles, I had never before felt so happy and proud in my life.

Chapter Ten.

Gale continues.—My lady passengers.—My loyalty put to the test.—Reach Rhode Island.—Ordered to escort ladies to their destination.—Chased by a stranger.—Fearful dangers.—Run through a narrow passage.—Anchor.

The little schooner kept plunging away through the heavy seas caused by the gale, with her prize dragging astern. Grampus had got some sail on her to help her along, but still she not only made us labour much, but exposed us to considerable risk. This, under ordinary circumstances, I should not have minded, and of course, except in the case of the last necessity, I would not have thought of casting her adrift to look after herself. Night came on, and still there was no chance of the gale going down. I was much relieved by O’Driscoll ranging up alongside and hailing me, promising to stay by the prize should I be compelled to cast her off. Still, as I had taken her, I naturally wanted to have the satisfaction of bringing her in. As the darkness increased, the gale blew heavier and the sea ran higher. Still, fortunately, we were able to keep our course. Hour after hour passed away, the little vessel plunging bows under, and dragging away lustily at her heavy prize. I felt that she was straining very much, and on sending below I found that she was making more water than she ought to have done. Still I held on with the Crab, hoping that the gale would break. At last it seemed to have moderated a little, so I left the deck in charge of Rockets, and descended into the cabin to offer what comfort I could to its fair occupants. I asked leave to enter. Mrs Tarleton’s voice assured me that I was welcome. I found both ladies sitting on a sofa which I had lashed close to the table. A swing lamp hung from above. They had books before them, and were attempting to read. I doubt if they had made much progress. I told them that I thought the gale was breaking, and that we might have fair weather again before the morning.

“I trust so, indeed,” said Miss Carlyon. “It appeared to me that we have been in very great danger; even now the vessel seems dreadfully agitated, though my aunt assures me that such storms are constantly met with at sea.”

“She is right, I assure you,” said I. “There is no danger that may alarm you.”

Just as I spoke there was a loud report. Both ladies shrieked.

“Oh, what is that?” exclaimed the younger. “What can have happened, Mr Poynder?”

“Parted the hawser, which was towing the prize,” I answered hurriedly. “Let me entreat you: do not be alarmed, whatever happens. We shall have probably to lie by her all night. With daylight we may make her fast again.”

Saying this I rushed on deck. I could just see the Crab astern of us. The mainsail being handed, we hove the vessel to, under her fore-staysail. She felt far more easy than she had done, going free, and with the prize in tow. Still I never spent a more anxious night. I did not either forget friend Cobb’s kind intentions by me, and I hinted to him that I remembered them. At length daylight came, and a dark cloudy sky hung over a dull leaden sea. I looked anxiously around for the prize. She had drifted away some three miles to leeward of us. I would rather not have been nearer the coast than we were. Still I bore down to her. O’Driscoll was nowhere to be seen. A cheery reply from old Grampus assured me that all was right. He, moreover, volunteered to send a hawser aboard of us. I accordingly hove-to again on his weather-bow. A boat was lowered from the Crab, manned by the prisoners, and in a short time, though not without risk to the boat’s crew, we had the prize once more in tow.

“I’ll not forget you for this, my lads,” I sang out.

Captain Cobb looked daggers at his people, but I took care that he should hold no communication with them.

My fair passengers, I found, had not suffered during the night. As the schooner, when hove-to, rode easily, they fancied that the weather had improved, and were perfectly satisfied. When we once more made sail, although there really was less wind and sea, they fancied that the weather had become worse, and I had some difficulty in assuring them to the contrary. The subject which caused me the most anxiety was the quantity of water the vessel was making. It became, therefore, necessary to man the pumps, and I was not sorry to have a good excuse for setting Captain Cobb and his people to labour at them. The master, especially, did not like it, and showed signs of disobedience.

“Come, come, my friend,” said I; “I have been somewhat lenient with you. I might have kept you in irons, had I not run you up to the yard-arm, in return for the trick you wished to play with me.”

“Well, now, mister, how did you find all that out?” quoth my friend, looking me coolly in the face.

“Never mind,” I answered, tickled by his impudence. “Man the pumps.” And I made him work away, as he deserved, as long as he could stand. I kept a look-out for the Lady Parker, and felt not a little anxious as to what had become of her. I should have liked to have passed much more of my time than I did in the cabin, but I was afraid of intruding on my passengers. I believe they fully appreciated my delicacy. Several times during the day Miss Carlyon ventured on deck, and seemed to enjoy gazing on the stormy, foam-crested seas. I stood by her side and supported her as the little vessel plunged into the troughs, and rose again buoyantly to their summits.

“This is very fine,” she exclaimed enthusiastically. “I do think the life of a sailor must be very delightful, Mr Hurry. Had I my choice, I would select it above all others.”

“You may be a sailor’s wife, though you cannot be a sailor,” came to the tip of my tongue, but I did not utter the words; instead of them I said, looking at her beautiful countenance, and admiring its animation, “I love it dearly, and would not change it for any other, Miss Carlyon, though it has its shadows as well as its sunshine.”

“Ah, yes, but I always look at the sunny side of every picture,” she remarked, smiling sweetly.

“You cannot help that. The light you see shed over everything is but the reflection from yourself!” I blushed as I felt an expression so different from my usual matter-of-fact style drawn from my lips.

Miss Carlyon looked up with a bright glance, (not smiling exactly), as much as to say, “What is that about?” She was not, I thought, displeased, but I did not venture anything of the sort again. I found myself led by degrees to tell her all about myself, and my early life, and my adventures, and then I described the sea under its various aspects, and I went on to talk about ships of different classes, and how to rig them, and the names of the ropes and sails and spars. She told me, in return, a good deal about herself and her family, and her likes and dislikes and occupations. Her father had property, I found, between the Chesapeake and Potomac rivers in Virginia, where she had generally resided. Since his death she had remained chiefly with her aunt, Mrs Tarleton, though she hoped to return in a short time, if the state of the country would allow it, to Virginia.

“If you knew what a beautiful country it is, you would love it as I do, Mr Hurry!” she exclaimed with enthusiasm. “When this dreadful war is over, and the people have attained their rights, and returned to their allegiance, you must come and see us. I am sure that my family will one and all, whatever their politics, rejoice in the opportunity of thanking you for your kindness and courtesy to my aunt and me on the present occasion.”

I of course said how delighted I should be, and fifty other very pretty things besides. All I can say is that I had never spent so enjoyable a time before at sea. Her aunt very seldom came on deck, so that Madeline and I were left very much to ourselves. I believe that Mrs Tarleton purposely did not interfere, hoping by means of her niece to gain me over to the cause to which she was so enthusiastically attached. From what I knew of her, I am certain that if such was the case, she fully believed that she was employing a lawful means for a good end. The more I saw, however, of Mrs Tarleton, the more I learned to admire her high-minded, noble, self-sacrificing disposition. The love of freedom was with her a passion, and she held in utter scorn all who submitted to, what she considered, tyranny. She was indeed a person of the old heroic stamp, ready to dare and to do all things in a righteous cause. The gale moderated sooner than I had expected, the sea went down, and we had moderate and pleasant weather. It was therefore with anything but satisfaction that I made out Sir Peter Parker’s flag flying aboard the Chatham, off Rhode Island, which our squadron had been busily employed in blockading. I brought up with my prize close to him, and assuring my passengers that I would endeavour to carry out the plans they had suggested would be most for their convenience, I pulled on board to report myself. The admiral smiled when I told him all that had occurred.

“So these very charming ladies would like to continue their voyage, and you pledged your word that I would not detain them?” said he in a kind way. “Well, you were safe there; we do not war against women, and we must not be behindhand in courtesy after the treatment which some of our English ladies have received at the hands of the rebels. They are anxious to proceed to the neighbourhood of Philadelphia. You shall go there in the ‘Pigot,’ and you will have no objection to keep them as your passengers. Probably the city itself is by this time occupied by the British forces; but I will give you a letter to General Howe, and will beg him to afford them a pass through the country occupied by our troops, and to allow you to escort them till they are placed in safety among their own people. No; do not thank me. I am glad to afford you what I have no doubt you will find an interesting occupation, but I also have great satisfaction in finding an opportunity of treating the ladies of the opposite party in the way I feel they should be treated.”

Never had I heard more satisfactory words. I could scarcely refrain from rubbing my hands with delight.

“Then am I to sail at once, sir?” I asked.

“Certainly, let there be no delay. You can supply yourself with provisions and water from the ship, and send the master and crew of the prize aboard here. I’ll have them put on shore. From what you say you will be glad to be rid of them.”

Promising Sir Peter to carry out his instructions to the best of my power, after seeing the purser about the provisions, and getting as many extra luxuries as I could out of him, I jumped into my boat and returned on board the tender. On my way I caught sight of two vessels standing in towards the roads. I made out one of them to be the Lady Parker, and the other looked very like a prize she had made. So it proved. Before I sailed, O’Driscoll came on board me, and explained how he had missed me. He was as much pleased to see me safe as I was that no harm had befallen him. In the squall during which the Crab had broken adrift he had been hove on his beam-ends, and on getting to rights he could nowhere see me. After some time he caught sight of a craft, which he took for me, and made sail after her. When morning broke she proved to be a stranger and on over-hauling her he found that she was a rebel merchantman, so he took her and brought her into Newport. He declared that he was very jealous when he heard of what he called my good fortune.

“Will you change places now?” said he coolly. “You shall have the ‘Lady Parker’ and all the prizes you are certain to take in her, and let me run down in charge of the ‘Pigot’ and the ladies.”

“You are joking now,” said I. “But stay a moment and you shall pay your respects to my passengers. They made many inquiries about you when they found that your craft was missing.”

The ladies were most grateful to Sir Peter when they heard of his courtesy, and begged O’Driscoll to bear their thanks to him. My friend remained till the stores came on board, and when he took his departure he vowed that he had irretrievably lost his heart to the beautiful widow. I at the same time made sail and stood to the southward. For the first day we had a fair breeze and fine weather, and I was in hopes, for the sake of my passengers, that we should make a good run of it to the Delaware. I need not describe the various incidents which occurred, interesting as they were to me, and important in their results. I entirely won my way to the good opinion of Mrs Tarleton, and I could not help being conscious that her niece no longer regarded me as a common stranger. Still, how could I venture ever to indulge any hopes of making her mine? I depended entirely on my profession for my support, and that profession compelled me to appear as an enemy of her relations and friends. Before I was aware of the tendency of her reasonings, I found that she had taught me to look on the fratricidal war we were waging in a very different light to that in which I had at first regarded it. She, however, I must insist, in no way weakened my patriotism. I loved old England as much as ever, but she taught me to feel the warmest sympathy for her countrymen and mine truly, who were fighting in the noble cause of liberty. I describe my feelings as they then existed. I leave to others to judge whether they were right or wrong. A fierce war began to rage within me between principle and feeling, interest and duty, and all the tender sentiments of my nature. A less high-minded person would have thrown all her weight into the scale, and might have made me false to the sovereign in whose service I was engaged; but then I flattered myself that a girl of her exalted principles would not have so speedily won my affections. (See Note 1.) Now the murder is out; in plain English, I was head over ears in love, and it was a toss up whether I should, for the sake of Madeline Carlyon, desert my colours, go over and join the Americans, and get a captain’s commission, or remain true to my king and run the chance of losing her. It puts me into a fever even now, to think of all the feelings which came bubbling up in my bosom, and all the ideas which came rushing into my brain, and the pulling and hauling and tugging at my heart. Never had I been so racked and tormented, tossed to and fro, kicked here and there, up and down. At length my good angel came to my assistance. “Do your duty like a man,” he whispered. “Don’t think of consequences, what you would like or what you wouldn’t like. Find out what is right, and do that.”

I had turned in, and, with a mind much calmed, fell asleep.

“There is a strange sail on our weather-quarter, sir,” said Tom Rockets, rousing me up. “Grampus don’t like her looks.”

Nor did I, when a moment afterwards I stood on deck and made her out through the pale light of a grey cold November morning. “Make all sail!” I sung out. “If she is an enemy, the sooner we are out of the way the better.” It was blowing fresh, but I cracked on the little schooner as much as she could carry, and away we went staggering under it with the wind on our larboard quarter. The stranger, apparently, had not made us out, and I was in hopes that we might escape observation. The increased motion, I suppose, awoke the ladies, and to my surprise before long they came on deck.

“What is the matter, Mr Hurry?” asked Mrs Tarleton. “It appeared in the cabin as if there was a fearful gale blowing.”

“You see that the weather is not so very bad,” I answered evasively, “and I am naturally anxious on your account to reach port.”

I never could act the hypocrite, and the lady was not satisfied. As her quick-sighted eye ranged round the horizon she caught sight of the stranger.

“What is that vessel out there?” she asked.

“That I cannot exactly say, madam,” I answered. “She may be a friend or she may be a foe. Under present circumstances I think it best to avoid her.”

“If she is an American vessel her captain would never think of detaining you; and if she is English, you at all events need not fear her,” she replied quickly.

“I would rather not run the risk of detention,” said I. “It is possible, should she be an American vessel, that her people may not believe our story.”

“Well, sir, I have no doubt that you act for the best,” answered the lady, evidently not satisfied as she saw the vessel tearing furiously through the water.

Her niece had said nothing, but seemed rather to enjoy the rapid motion and the fresh air.

While they were still on deck, the stranger caught sight of us and bore up in chase. Mrs Tarleton soon discovered what had occurred, and was constantly watching the stranger.

I kept away a little, and, trusting to the Pigot’s superior sailing qualities, I had little fear of continuing ahead of her during the day, and of escaping her observation in the night. The state of the weather, however, gave me most concern. I saw Grampus looking up anxiously at our spars, and ever and anon at the heavy seas which came up hissing and foaming astern. One of our best hands was at the helm, but he came aft and stood by him. I caught his eye as he was glancing over his shoulder.

“Beg pardon, sir; the more haste the worst speed, Mr Hurry, you know,” said he in a low voice, thinking the ladies would not hear him.

Thick heavy clouds were rushing up, one past the other, rapidly astern of us. I saw that the time had indeed come to shorten sail if I would not run the risk of losing my masts, or, perhaps, of broaching-to and capsizing. I entreated my passengers in a few hurried words to go below to be out of the way of danger. Mrs Tarleton seemed inclined to stay. I was obliged to be somewhat peremptory, and I did not lose her good opinion by being so.

“Indeed, madam, there is considerable danger for you on deck. I cannot allow you to run it. You must go.”

She gave me a look of surprise, and, without another word, allowed me to conduct her and her niece to the companion.

In the meantime the crew had come aft to take in the mainsail and gaff-topsail. I next had the fore-topgallant-sail and foresail off her. This was done only just in time, before the squall came down on us and I had to lower away and close-reef the foresail. The wind had at the same time caught the ship. I took her to be a flush-decked vessel, a corvette probably. She had been looking at us and not thinking of herself probably, for I soon discovered that several of her sails had been blown away, and I suspected that she had received further damage. We at all events benefited by her misfortune, and kept well ahead of her. Still she continued the chase. I felt the truth of the saying that it is much pleasanter chasing than being chased. All day long we ran on, plunging into the seas, and wet from the foam which blew off them over our counter. More than once I thought we should have been pooped. The vessel also began again to leak. Night came on; the leak increased. We lost sight of our pursuer, but our condition became very trying. I endeavoured to make the best of matters, but my anxiety increased. We were off the northern coast of New Jersey. The wind was veering round more to the eastward, and we were getting a rock-bound shore under our lee. There were harbours I might run into, but the thick weather had prevented me from taking any observations, and though by my log I could tell pretty well how far we had run, yet I could not be certain, and, unless from dire necessity, I was unwilling to attempt to make any port short of the Delaware. At times the wind hauled a little more round to the northward, and as it did so my hopes proportionally rose of being able to keep off shore.

Only for a moment did I at times leave the deck to speak a word of comfort to my passengers. Mrs Tarleton was, I saw, fully aware of our danger. I think her niece suspected it, but if she did she completely concealed all signs of fear. On one occasion, when I entered the cabin, they rose from their knees. Together they had been offering up prayers to Him who alone can quell the tempest, for our safety. Their last words reached my ears. I stood at the door and humbly joined in their petition. I quickly had to return on deck. I had been obliged, when the wind shifted, to get some after-sail on the vessel. She heeled over fearfully, yet I knew must be making great lee-way. I could not venture to take any canvas off her.

“What do you think of it, Grampus?” said I, after some time.

“Why, sir, I don’t like it,” was his unsatisfactory reply.

I did not again ask him his opinion. The sea kept flying over us, the night grew darker and darker, and the gale blew stronger and stronger. The leak was increasing. Two hands were kept constantly at the pumps. I wished for Mr Saul Cobb and his companions. Nothing could be well worse. Still I never for a moment lost courage. I felt sure that the prayers of those below would not be uttered in vain. The hours wore away. I kept a bright look-out on the starboard bow to discover breakers, should they be near, while my ears were constantly awake to detect their terror-inspiring sound. How I longed for daylight! I dared not lay-to: I dared not shorten sail. I could only stand on with any prospect of safety. The gale increased: the sea was constantly making a clean breach over the deck. All hands had to hold on fast, or we should have been washed overboard. At the same time the water was gaining terribly on us. A new danger threatened the schooner; she might founder before we could gain a harbour, even if she escaped shipwreck. A considerable part of the New Jersey shore consists of long, low, sandy beaches, which in thick weather can scarcely be seen till a vessel is nearly on them. I judged by my calculations that we were by this time close in with Squan Beach, or Island Beach or Long Beach. My chart told me that there was a passage between the two latter, and several inlets to the south of the last, up which I could run and be safe; but to find them in the dark was impossible.

“Grampus! listen! what is that sound?” said I.

“Breakers, sir!” he answered in a slow way; “there’s no doubt about it. But we shall have daylight soon. Ah, look-out, there sir, there it is!”

I looked seaward, and a pale streak was just appearing in the eastern sky. It grew wider and wider, and at length darkness gave way to the rays of the yet hidden sun. The prospect revealed to us was not cheering. The sea broke as heavily as ever, and not a mile to leeward of us a terrific surf rolled over a long white sandy beach. As I watched the foaming broken mass of waters as they rolled furiously up to it, I felt convinced that, should the schooner once get within their power, not a human being on board would escape. Not a break was to be seen. The wind was dead on-shore, blowing with a determined heavy pressure; and the little vessel, though she made fair headway, was surely drifting nearer and nearer to destruction. Oh, what agony of mind I suffered! I cared not for myself, but I thought of that fair girl and her lovely relative doomed to so hard a fate. I called Grampus to me and asked him if he could advise anything. He shook his head—

“You’ve done all that a man can do, Mr Hurry,” was his answer.

“Then I must prepare those two poor ladies for their inevitable fate,” I thought to myself.

Before going into their cabin, I took another look at the chart which I kept outside it. At the south end of Long Beach was a passage, I found, leading into Little Egg Harbour.

Grampus hailed me. My heart bounded into my mouth again.

“There is an opening, sir. I make it out clearly. Keep her close and by, my lad!” he sang out to the man at the helm. “If we just clear the point we shall do it.”

I held my breath. The schooner dashed on, half buried by the seas. She was almost among the breakers—then broad on our bow appeared an opening—heavy rollers went foaming over it.

“Up with the helm! In with the main-staysail! Square away the fore-yard! Hold on for your lives!”

I rapidly uttered these orders, one after the other. Away before the gale we flew, the sea breaking high on either hand of us. One roller after the other came hurrying on, but we rose to their summits, and then with one more frantic plunge we sank down into smooth water, and in another moment, rounding the vessel to, I let go the anchor and we rode safely under the lee of the sand-bank.

Note 1. I had at first thought, from what Miss Carlyon said, that she was herself warmly attached to Royalist principles; and so in truth she was, but love of country and love of freedom, with a clear sense of justice, had overpowered them, and although she did not possess the enthusiasm of her aunt, she was still a strong advocate of the popular cause. Had she indeed the bias I originally supposed, her aunt would have thrown all her influence to prevent me from making any further advance than I had already done, and I am certain that the young lady would not have acted in opposition to the wishes and advice of her family. Very unromantic principles these, but the young lady in question was totally unlike any heroine of any novel I ever read.

Chapter Eleven.

Run up Little Egg River.—Meet the militia lieutenant whose life I saved.—“One good turn deserves another.”—Set out for Washington’s camp.—Fall into the hands of the Hessians.—The ladies in danger.—Devastating march of mercenaries.—Escape.—House in which we are lodged attacked.—Place the ladies for safety in a root house.

We were saved. The gale blew as hard as ever outside; the sea broke furiously on the sandy shore, the foam reaching across the bank even to where we lay, while the wind whistled through the rigging with a shrill and mournful sound. No sooner did I see that the anchor held than as I was hurrying below to quell the alarm of my passengers, I met them coming on deck, unable to comprehend the cause of the sudden change from the wildest tossing to the perfect calm in which we lay. They looked about them with an expression of astonishment on their features, evidently puzzled to know how we could have got where we were; then they clasped their hands and raised their voices together in prayer and heartfelt gratitude for their safety. The sudden and simultaneous movement touched my heart, and while I admired their simple piety it made me sensible of the hardness of my own heart in religious matters.

“Where are we, Mr Hurry?” asked Mrs Tarleton. “We owe much, I feel sure, under God’s providence, to your excellent seamanship.”

I thanked her for her good opinion of me, and told her that we were, I believed, at the mouth of Little Egg Harbour, on the coast of New Jersey, and that I hoped to run up the river and to land her at some spot at which conveyances might be obtained, as I would not risk her safety by continuing the voyage. Her niece looked far more than her aunt expressed, so I was perfectly satisfied, though she said but little. They knew that I should be in no hurry to part from them; indeed, I had received orders from Sir Peter not to do so till I had conducted them to their friends or seen them in a place of safety.

While I was still talking to the ladies. Grampus called me aside and hurriedly told me that, if the hands were not sent to the pumps, in a very short time the schooner would go down. I accordingly set all hands to work, and when they had lessened the water in the hold I once more made sail, and, with the lead going on either side, I stood through a passage to the southward, and then to the west again up Little Egg River. I hoisted a flag of truce as I stood on. After some time I came in sight of a gentleman’s house—a long low building with a verandah round it—the usual style of building in that part of the country. Near the house was a village. I dropped my anchor and lowered a boat to go on shore.

“We will accompany you, Mr Hurry,” said Mrs Tarleton, who at that moment with her niece followed me on deck after I had announced my intention. “Should the country be in possession of the troops of George of Brunswick, you are safe; but if in that of our patriot troops, you may be liable to molestation.”

To this proposal I could raise no objection, so, ordering Grampus to keep the people at the pumps to prevent the vessel from sinking, I handed the ladies into the boat, and steered for a rough little wooden stage near the large house I had observed on shore. I had a white flag at the end of a boat-hook in the bows of the boat, that I might be prepared for friends or foes. Not a person was to be seen moving. I ran the boat alongside the stage, and with my passengers stepped on shore, leaving Rockets with the flag and two other hands in the boat. There was, for a short distance, a piece of uncultivated open ground, and then a wood of somewhat scrubby trees through which a path led. We had walked along it but a short distance, when, turning an angle, we were confronted by a body of militia, mustering some dozen or twenty men.

“Halt!” cried the sergeant at the head of the party. “Strangers! who are you?”

I tried to explain.

“That’s all very well, and may or may not be true, mister,” answered the sergeant, who certainly was not one of nature’s gentlemen. “I ain’t bound to believe your gammon, I guess; you may be spies, so come along with us and we’ll see about it.”

Here Mrs Tarleton stepped forward.

“We are American ladies,” said she. “We owe much to this officer, and trust that our countrymen will afford us the aid we require.”

The fellow still doubted, and was evidently inclined to use us roughly, when we saw a fresh body of men coming along the road, headed by an officer. He at once advanced to inquire into the matter. At first he also seemed not at all ready to believe us.

“So many spies are dodging about in various disguises that you may be of that character for what I know to the contrary,” he remarked, eyeing us hard.

Mrs Tarleton was inclined to be very indignant. As I looked at the man there was something in the tone of his voice and his countenance I thought I recognised.

“Is your name Spinks?” I asked.

“I guess you’re right,” he answered.

“And you were wounded before New York, and an English officer gave you a sup of spirits and some fresh water, and washed your wounds, and—”

“He did, he did; and you’re the man who did it!” he exclaimed, springing forward and grasping my hand warmly. “I thought I knew your voice—you saved my life, that you did. I said Amos Spinks would be grateful, and so he will. I’m a lieutenant now; I was then only a private.”

This was, indeed, a fortunate encounter. Full credit was now given to our statements. The house to which we were proceeding was, we found, the property of a gentleman of some consideration, who, although a patriot, had from ill-health remained at home. Lieutenant Spinks and his men escorted us to it. The ladies were cordially welcomed, and I was treated with the greatest civility and attention. Our host, John Plowden, was a perfect gentleman of the old school, who received us with many a bow, in bag-wig and sword, knee-breeches and buckles, flowered waistcoat and three-cornered hat. Dinner was instantly prepared, and beds were offered, but Mrs Tarleton wished to proceed on her journey that very afternoon. At first Mr Plowden would on no account consent to this arrangement, but, Mrs Tarleton having explained to him her earnest desire to see her brother, or to gain tidings of him, he willingly promised to do his utmost to enable her to proceed.

“I fear much, however, madam, that you will be exposed to insult from the troops of the enemy who still occupy part of the Jerseys, though I feel sure that the inhabitants, whatever side of the question they take, would in no way annoy you.”

Mrs Tarleton looked at me as this was said. We were sitting at dinner, a midday meal, with several members of Mr Plowden’s family round the table. My instructions from Sir Peter were to see the ladies in safety with Washington’s army. I turned to Mr Plowden—

“If, sir, you can guarantee the safety of my vessel during my absence, and secure me free egress from this harbour on my return, I will proceed with Mrs Tarleton and Miss Carlyon, and I trust shall have the means of securing them from any inconvenience of the nature to which you allude.”

Mr Plowden thought a little.

“I can be answerable for the safety of your vessel, and that no one will prevent her leaving the harbour when you return,” he answered. “But remember, sir, I cannot prevent your people quitting her if they wish to do so.”

“I will trust to your honour, then, sir,” said I. “My men are staunch, and I have no fear of their deserting her. I am ready to set out whenever the ladies desire it.”

“And I have determined to accompany you,” exclaimed Lieutenant Spinks, grasping my hand again. “One good turn deserves another. This is the gentleman who preserved my life, and I want to show that I am grateful. He will be safe enough from molestation on his way to General Washington’s camp, but he may find some difficulty when returning.”

Of course I told Mr Spinks that I should be very glad of his society, though I wondered how he could be certain of obtaining leave of absence from his regiment. I soon learned, however, that both officers and men took the liberty of giving themselves leave, with very little ceremony, from many of the militia regiments, into which but a very slack style of discipline had as yet been introduced.

While the ladies were resting, and preparing for their journey, I returned on board the tender, and, leaving Grampus in charge, received from all hands an assurance that they would obey his orders and remain faithful to their colours.

“Never fear us, Mr Hurry,” said Grampus; “we hopes you will see them beautiful ladies safe with their friends, and will soon come back to us.”

I told him I hoped to return in a few days, and as I went over the side all hands gave three cheers as an earnest of their sincerity.

The arrangements for the journey were soon made, and by two o’clock our party was ready to commence the journey. At the door stood a coach covered with gilding, but very much the worse for wear. Four horses were attached to it, but their sorry appearance showed that they would not be able to drag it except at a slow pace, and for a short distance. On the coach-box sat a white-headed negro. He had once been a strong stout man, but age had shrunk up his flesh and muscles, and his countenance now seemed composed alone of black bumps and wrinkles and protuberances, with two white orbs set in the midst of them. His lank body and limbs were covered with a livery of blue and silver, but, like the coach, sadly faded and worn. Two horses, of somewhat better appearance, were held near at hand by some negro boys, and a little farther off two black mounted servants held the reins of a couple of well-conditioned palfreys with side-saddles on their backs. Mr Plowden led the ladies to the door.

“I have done all I could, madam, for your convenience,” said he, bowing low and pointing to the equipage. “This war has left me in a very different state to what I have been accustomed, or I would have enabled you to journey in a style more befitting your position in life. The carriage will convey you as far as those sorry steeds are able, and then I fear that the bad nature of the roads will require you to continue your journey on horseback.”

Suitable replies were made, affectionate expressions were exchanged between Mrs and the Misses Plowden and their guests, and the latter took their seats in the old family coach. Spinks and I mounted the horses, the black servants and the baggage-horses followed, and with many bows and waves of the hands the cavalcade moved forward. The carriage rolled creakingly on, pitching and tumbling and bumping over the stones and into the ruts in the road. Frequently I moved up to the window to exchange words with its occupants. They both expressed their anxiety for the time when they might dismiss the vehicle and mount on horseback. At first the country was very uninteresting, but by degrees it improved, and rich undulating ground and hills and fertile valleys, here and there dotted with cottages and flocks and herds, were seen on every side. As we proceeded, men in half-military uniform, working in the fields, would look up and inquire whence we came and where we were going, but they were easily satisfied with the civil answers we gave them.

It was late in the day before we drove into the courtyard of a house very similar in character to that we had lately left. We were not expected, but a note from Mr Plowden explained matters, and we were cordially received by the ladies of the family. The master was with the army, so were his sons. One had already fallen in the unfortunate strife. I at first was received with some stiffness. I could not expect it to be otherwise; but that soon wore off, and I felt myself as one of the family. I must not delay in describing each event of our journey.

A truly Indian summer morning ushered in the next day. In high spirits Miss Carlyon mounted her horse, as did her aunt, and with kind well-wishes from our late hosts we trotted out of the courtyard. They felt great relief from the noise and jolting of the old coach. The old black coachman gazed after us with a look of reproach, as if he thought we had no business to be merry after we had deserted him. That day’s ride was to me one of the most perfect enjoyment. Scarcely for a moment did I leave Madeline’s side, and every instant knit my heart closer and closer to her. I forgot all that the future might bring forth, all the difficulties to be encountered; the months, perhaps years, of separation, before I could hope by any possibility to call her mine, and revelled only in the present. I could not tell what she might think or feel. I dared not ask, lest the delightful enchantment by which I was surrounded might be rudely broken. She eagerly listened to all I said, smiled and blushed and—but I won’t go on. I knew that I loved her, and I thought she loved me. Spinks was an excellent companion on such an occasion; silent and phlegmatic, he occasionally only would ride up to offer a few remarks to Mrs Tarleton, and then would drop astern and seem lost in his own reflections. As the day advanced, signs of war’s malign effects began to appear. Poor fellows, with bandaged heads and arms in slings, were met limping and crawling along. Hedges and walls, overturned cottages, and whole hamlets burned to the ground. The tide of war had during the summer swept over this part of the Jerseys. The mischief we saw was, however, chiefly effected by foraging parties from the British forces, especially by the Hessians, so dreaded and hated by the colonists.

“Two causes have alienated all true hearts from the British crown in this country,” observed Mrs Tarleton. “The supercilious manner of the civil and especially of the military officers sent from England towards the colonists, and the attempt to coerce them with foreign mercenaries. We could have borne unjust laws and taxes, because they could be repealed; but the pride of all the gentlemen of the land has been aroused not to be quelled, except by entire separation from those who could thus insult them.”

We were within a few miles of that magnificent stream, the Delaware River, when we gained sufficiently exact information to enable us to guide our future course. The British fleet, under Lord Howe, had complete command of the lower part of the river. The city of Philadelphia, lately the seat of Government, had fallen into the hands of the army under General Howe, after the battle of Brandywine, when Washington had been compelled to retreat. General Howe, it appeared, had neglected to take advantage of his success, and the patriot forces, emboldened by, his inaction, were about to attack him again, when a terrific storm of rain prevented the engagement. After this the British troops, having advanced to Germaintown, were vigorously attacked by the whole patriot army, and victory seemed inclined to their standard when, the Americans becoming separated by a thick fog, a panic seized them, and they made a precipitate retreat. General Washington’s army, we heard, was now at a place called White Marsh, about fourteen miles from Philadelphia. Thither Mrs Tarleton resolved immediately to proceed, in the hopes of meeting her brother, who, though wounded, was still, she heard, with his regiment.

As both shores of the Delaware were now in possession of the British, there was much chance of our falling in with some of their troops. Strange as it may appear, I felt very anxious to avoid them. I could not bear the idea of exposing my charges to the scrutiny and the inquiries to which they would be subject, though my presence would, I trusted, prevent their being exposed to any personal annoyance. We accordingly turned our horses’ heads to the north, intending to cross the river at a spot a considerable distance above Philadelphia. We had travelled some miles without meeting anyone from whom we could make inquiries. I began to be somewhat anxious, fearing that the peasantry might have concealed themselves in consequence of the approach of an enemy, and I was on the point of begging Lieutenant Spinks to ride forward and make inquiries, when a cloud of dust rose up from a valley before us, and the dull heavy tramp of a body of men was heard ascending the winding road up the hill. I instantly reined up and drew my companions on one side, where they were concealed by a small clump of trees, while I advanced with Spinks a little way in front, each of us waving a white handkerchief, to show that we were there with no hostile intent.

“They are the enemy!” cried Spinks. “Oh, the villains! May they all be—”

“Which enemy?” I asked, forgetting for a moment that he was an American.

“The scoundrel Hessians,” he answered with an oath. “They are the last people I would wish to have met.”

I agreed with him, but there was no time to be lost, as we could distinguish the advanced guard with their glittering arms and dark uniforms coming over the brow of the hill. No sooner were we perceived than several men advanced at double quick step and surrounded us. We could not make ourselves understood, so, holding Sir Peter Parker’s letter in my hand, and pointing to my uniform, I signified that I wished to be conducted to their colonel. By this time a halt was called. A light company was sent out as skirmishers into the wood through which we had passed, and the officer I asked for rode up in front. He looked at my naval jacket, and then at the militiaman’s uniform, and evidently regarded us with no little suspicion. I found, however, that he could speak English, and I endeavoured rapidly to explain matters.

“A very odd story this you tell me,” he answered. “How can you expect me to believe you?”

I handed him Sir Peter’s letter.

“I do not know his handwriting. This may be a forgery,” said he. The colonel was a weather-beaten, stern, wary old man. I have seldom met a person less likely to be moved by any of the gentler sympathies of our nature.

“I’ll tell you what it is, colonel. I was left for dead, near New York, by some of your people, and this sea-officer here came up and saved my life, and that’s the reason I came along with him,” exclaimed Spinks, who was excessively indignant at our statement being doubted.

The mention of New York reminded me of the narrow escape I had had of my life on the day to which Spinks alluded, and I thought I recognised in the man before me the officer in charge of the party of Hessians who so nearly finished Simeon and me when General Pigot came up to our rescue. I asked the colonel if he recollected the circumstance. He smiled grimly.

“I think I recollect the circumstance,” said he; “but what has that to do with the matter?”

“Simply that you thought I was a rebel then, and you found that you were mistaken, and in the same way that you will find you are mistaken now if you molest me.”

Scarcely had I ceased speaking when a shriek resounded through the wood. I knew too well whence it proceeded. I wheeled round my horse, and, putting my spurs into his side, was in a moment at the spot where I had left the two ladies and their attendants. I found them surrounded by Hessian soldiers, some of whom were attempting to catch hold of their horses’ heads and to drag them from their saddles. I drew a sword from the scabbard of the first man I reached, and before he could look round I had dashed in among the miscreants, cutting at them right and left. I felt maddened with rage, and thought not of the consequences. Madeline saw me coming, and held out her hands to implore my aid. I reached her just as a soldier had succeeded in catching the bridle of her horse and had almost dragged her to the ground. With a blow of my sword I sent the fellow reeling backwards, and placed her in her saddle. Mrs Tarleton had managed hitherto to elude the soldiers; but in another instant they would have closed in on her, when Spinks, followed by the Hessian colonel, galloped up.

The appearance of the latter prevented the soldiers from attacking her. He ordered them back into their ranks. I pointed to the pale and terrified ladies, and asked him if this was the way Germans behaved towards helpless women. He looked ashamed and attempted to apologise. I saw my advantage and pushed it to the utmost.

“They are anxious to visit a wounded, perhaps a dying, relation, and you threaten to delay them,” said I.

“We cannot allow people to wander about, and perhaps give notice of our expedition,” replied the colonel.

“As to that, colonel, depend on it, every step you take is well known to General Washington, and if he does not attack you it is because he does not think it worth while,” put in Spinks, in his amusingly independent manner.

The Hessian officer looked as if he would like to eat him.

“Well, sir,” said I, “you have every proof I can give you of the correctness of my statement. You see what Sir Peter Parker says. Will you allow my party to proceed?”

The colonel must have seen that we could in reality not do him the slightest injury by any information we could give as to his movements, so after some more conversation he ordered his detachment to advance, while he remained with us. It was with much satisfaction that I saw them march by, casting no very friendly looks at us.

“Now proceed as fast as you can,” said the grim old officer. “My men are rather unmanageable at times. They might have attempted to revenge themselves for the way you treated their comrades, though on my word you were perfectly right.”

We thanked the gruff old man for his courtesy. I suspect that he had a softer heart than he would have wished to appear under his rough exterior, and, taking his hint, moved on as rapidly as our horses would carry us to the northward.

I will not repeat the indignant expressions uttered by Mrs Tarleton at the conduct of the Hessians. I could only blush for my country, and bitterly regret that such men were employed in that fratricidal warfare. Madeline expressed her thanks to me, rather by her looks than her words. She said little, afraid of wounding my feelings, but I suspect that the behaviour of the Hessians made her abandon any sympathy for the Tories which she might have entertained. Every now and then we looked round to see that none of the Hessians were following us. Their march could be traced by the fields trampled down—cottages unroofed or burnt—stacks of corn scattered about, and walls and hedges overturned. It showed the utterly unprotected condition of New Jersey at the time—that no opposition was offered them in their progress. For my part I felt that the patriot cause was hopeless, and it was with a secret feeling of gratification that I pictured to myself the service I might render to my friends when the royal cause should finally triumph, and all ranks be compelled to submit. I did not venture to ask Mrs Tarleton what opinion she had formed from the aspect of affairs, but she apparently divined my thoughts.

“It is very sad to behold all this,” she remarked, pointing to the devastated country. “But, Mr Hurry, do not be mistaken. Those who come to conquer us little know the amount of endurance possessed by the Anglo-Saxon race, if they fancy that we are about to succumb because they have laid waste our fields, cut down our fruit-trees, and burned our villages, or because our undisciplined troops have in some instances been compelled to retreat before them. I tell you, Mr Hurry, we shall be victorious in the end.”

Soon after this we came to a spot where three roads branched off before us. We hesitated which to take, and not a person was to be seen to inquire our way. That to the right led, it appeared to me, in the direction we wished to proceed. We took it, and shortly began to ascend a steep hill among trees, now richly tinted with the varied hues of autumn, though many of the leaves had already fallen, and thickly strewed the ground. Never had my eye rested on such gorgeous colouring as that wooded height presented. Madeline and I could not refrain from reining up our horses, and turning round to enjoy the superb view which lay spread out before us over the country across which we had lately passed. At our feet was a broad valley, with a succession of undulating hills beyond, and fields and orchards and cottages sprinkled about. There were to be seen groves of the delicate straw-tinted beech, and the ruddy maple, with its shades of brightest yellow and green, and oak forests of a dark copper hue, as if changed into metal by an enchanter’s wand, and in the hollows, dark patches of the sombre cypress of North America, which delights to grow in the stagnant marsh; nor was the graceful birch with its white stem, or the willow, wanting to add variety to the woodland scene. To our right the majestic stream of the broad Delaware wound round from the north-west towards the city of Philadelphia, now the head-quarters of General Howe’s victorious army. While we were looking across the valley at the wood into which the Hessian troops had passed, we saw several men appear at the outskirts. After looking about them, it seemed to us, they descended rapidly the hill. Others followed, and it appeared as if the main body were making a retrograde movement, and perhaps might march along the very road we were taking. At all events I was anxious not to expose my charges to any fresh insults, and therefore once more put the party in movement. Spinks volunteered to ride back to ascertain in what direction the Hessians were about to march. He promised not to expose himself unnecessarily, and to overtake us speedily, so I saw no objection to his proposal.

We rode on as fast as the horses could go, without risk of falling over the very rough and ill-formed road. It was late in the day, and still Spinks had not overtaken us. I began to feel anxious about him, for I knew that, should he fall into the hands of the Hessians, he would have very little mercy to expect from them. After what had occurred they would probably look upon him as a spy, and hang him without ceremony. I thought of sending back one of the servants who had charge of the baggage-horses, to try and learn something about him, but Caractacus, the negro in question, positively refused to go.

“If Massa Spinks dead, Cractus no make him live again,” he argued. “If he live, he come back of his self.”

There was no controverting this opinion, so we continued our journey. We at last came to a cottage, in which was an old woman almost deaf and blind. After much interrogation, I found that her two sons had gone to the wars with General Washington, and that a daughter-in-law who lived with her was away to get some provisions, and, what was of importance to us, that we were on the road we had wished to take. We had still a league to go before reaching the house at which Mrs Tarleton wished to rest before crossing the river. Spinks knew of it, so we hoped that he would rejoin us there. There was something very genuine about that poor fellow. I had done him a service, and he wished to do me one, so I could not help taking a liking to him. Both Mrs Tarleton and her niece had become somewhat anxious about our friend. The shades of evening grew rapidly denser, for the twilight in that latitude is short, and still he did not appear. We could not, however, stop for him, and it became at last so dark that we could scarcely find the entrance to the house at which we were to stop. It seemed a long, low building, surrounded by a courtyard and walls, with several out-houses and gardens and orchards outside. I made out an entrenchment in front, with a wooden bridge over a moat, and then a stone wall with some massive gates. After ringing for some time they were opened, and several armed men appeared on either side. As we rode on to the hall door there appeared a blaze of light inside, and a tall, dignified old gentleman came down the steps to assist the ladies to dismount.

“I am glad to welcome you and your niece to my house under any circumstances, Mrs Tarleton,” said he, as he led them up the steps. “But you find us somewhat in marshal array just now, and I am afraid may be put to some inconvenience. The enemy’s troops have crossed the river, and it has been considered necessary to fortify this post.”

“I can never complain of any inconvenience in our noble cause,” said Mrs Tarleton.

I knew well that not only would she cheerfully bear any inconvenience, but would glory in any suffering or hardship she might be called on to endure on account of it.

The public rooms, as we passed along, were, I perceived, filled with a number of persons, some in military uniforms, and others in the dresses of civilians. I was formally introduced, and though at first I was received with some restraint, in a little time the manner of the host and his numerous guests became as cordial as if I was an old friend, instead of belonging to the party of their enemies. There were no ladies or any females left of the family. They had all been sent off to another house some way into the interior, to which it was believed the enemy were not likely to penetrate.

From what I could learn, it was not at all improbable that the house, which commanded a reach of the river, might be attacked before long, and I was therefore very anxious to get my friends across it, and once more on their journey towards head-quarters. Mrs Tarleton, however, seemed to think that she might wait safely till the next morning, and, as no news of the British troops had been brought in, I hoped that the delay would not bring them into any danger. Supper was over, and the officers of the little garrison not on guard had retired to their rooms. I had one allotted to me, looking out on the river, which shone with a silvery hue from the light of an almost full moon, while the swill of the stream, as it rushed by, had a pleasing and soothing effect. I could hear, ever and anon, the distant bark of a dog, the tramp and challenge of the sentries, and the voices of some of the men of a militia regiment quartered in the out-houses and in some hastily-constructed huts within the courtyard.

My mind was occupied with too many thoughts to allow me to sleep. After several attempts I gave it up. My companions in the room were much in the same condition, and as they rose and resumed their outer clothing, I did the same. They proposed making the round of the works, and I asked leave to accompany them. Scarcely had we reached the front door when voices were heard, and the clatter of a horse’s hoofs in the courtyard.

“A scout has come in, and will bring us news of the enemy,” observed one of the officers. “Let us hear what he has to report.”

In another second the light of the lamp in the hall fell on the countenance of the newcomer, and I recognised my friend Lieutenant Spinks. His dress was bespattered with mud from head to foot; his horse shook in every limb as he dismounted; his head was bare, his countenance was pale as death, and through a rent in his coat I saw the blood oozing slowly out.

“They are coming!” he exclaimed. “The rascally Hessians! I have been watching them all the evening to ascertain which way they were taking. I got too close at last, and was discovered by one of their pickets, just as they were getting under arms. They are going to make a night-attack on this place. Of that I am certain.”

The senior officer in the house, Colonel Barlow, now came down, and Spinks made him a full report of his adventures. He had run a great risk of being taken, and I was truly glad that he had escaped. There seemed to be no doubt that the Hessian troops were advancing to attack the house. The officers assembled were unanimous in the opinion that they could defend it. Every one was instantly on foot. Loop-holes had been cut in all the walls. They were at once occupied by men. Some light field-pieces defended the front of the house—the weakest point; some men were stationed on the roof; the bridge over the moat was drawn in, and, indeed, every preparation was made to stand a siege.

In the midst of the preparations Mrs Tarleton appeared in the hall among the officers collected there. Her countenance was as calm, and her voice, when she spoke, as firm as if nothing unusual was occurring.

“You will be able to hold this fort against those wretched mercenaries, I hope, Colonel Barlow?”

The colonel replied that he had no doubt about it.

“Then we will remain and see the result,” she answered. “I cannot bear the thought of running away when so many of my countrymen are exposed to danger.”

“While such are the sentiments of our women, our cause is sure to triumph, madam,” said the colonel. “Still it is my duty to try and persuade you not to expose yourself and niece. The fortune of war is always uncertain. Independent of the risk you run from the shot of the enemy, we may be overcome, and then your fate would be a sad one. It will be wise in you if you will consent to leave us at once. A boat is being made ready to ferry you across the river, and on the other side the country is occupied by patriot troops.”

Still Mrs Tarleton would not consent to go. She knew that her presence would encourage the garrison to resist to the utmost. I would very much rather for her sake, and especially for that of her niece, that she had gone at once to a place of safety. As, however, I must, at all events, be a non-combatant, I felt that I could remain by their side and aid their escape. The better to be able to do this, I set off at once to examine the situation of the place, and to see that the boat was in perfect readiness to cross the river. Caractacus and his companion, I found, were both accustomed to pull an oar. There was a horse-boat also at hand, and as there would probably be time before the attack commenced, I got Colonel Barlow to allow the horses and baggage to be conveyed across at once, and left at a farm-house of which he told me, at a short distance from the banks. I directed Caractacus and Sambo, as soon as they had performed this duty, to return at once, so as to be ready for any emergency.

“Is, massa, we come back and fight de Hessians; oh, ki, berry likely,” exclaimed the negro, giving a poke with his elbow at his sable companion’s ribs.

The other grinned, as if he considered the bare possibility of his doing such a thing a very good joke. I saw that I could not very well depend on them.

“No, I don’t want you to fight, only to help the ladies escape; you understand me? I promise you a dollar each if I find you at the boat when I come down.”

The negroes understood this sort of reasoning better than any argument I had used, and promised obedience. Had Mrs Tarleton, however, known beforehand of the arrangements I had made, I believe she would have countermanded them, so confident was she on all occasions of the success of her party. When any defeat had occurred, she evidently looked on it as an exception to the general rule, or rather as a means to the victorious termination of the strife.

By the time I had made all the arrangements I had described it was past midnight. Some of the gentlemen retired again to their beds, but I with others sat up. My position was rather a curious one. Here was I, a guest in an enemy’s camp, with the prospect of an engagement, and unable to side with either party. Certainly, however, I could not have been treated more kindly or courteously than I was by the Americans on that occasion. A party of a dozen or more of us were sitting smoking and chatting in the large plank-lined dining-hall, by the light of a huge fire, when a sergeant of militia entered with the announcement that several scouts had come in, reporting that the enemy were advancing, and were not more than a couple of miles off. In less than an hour, then, we might expect an attack. I have never felt more anxious than I did on that occasion. Immediately all within the house were on the alert; the walls were manned; the wooden bridge hauled up, the guns loaded and run out, and every preparation was made to repel the assault. Being myself very doubtful of the result, I looked about for a place where the ladies might remain in comparative safety. The most secure spot was a root house, where stores of vegetables are kept during the winter. There, at least, no shot could reach my friends, and as it was on the side nearest the river, they might more easily escape thence to the boat. Having found a piece of matting, I carried it, with some chairs and cloaks, to the place, and then returned to beg Mrs Tarleton to take shelter there. She laughed at my proposal.

“What! do you think that the women of America are accustomed to skulk from their enemies when their presence may avail to encourage their friends, and they may be of use to the wounded?” she answered, looking at the same time towards Madeline, in the expectation that she would utter her sentiments.

“Perhaps, dear aunt, we might be of more use out of the way of danger, in some place where, should any of our friends be wounded, they might be brought to us,” remarked her niece, “especially as Mr Hurry has so considerately prepared a refuge for us.”

Still nothing Madeline or I could say could move Mrs Tarleton from her purpose. At length Colonel Barlow came to our aid, and so strongly urged the point that she appeared inclined to give in. We were standing at the moment in the centre of the dining-hall. Our conversation was interrupted by the loud report of musketry—the pattering of the bullets against the roof and sides of the house—the louder roar of the field-pieces—the cries and shouts of the men within the building, and of their unseen assailants. The colonel and his officers hurried off instantly to the defences. Madeline trembled; even Mrs Tarleton turned pale. Several shots found their way into the room where we were. The shouts of the assailants grew louder; the bullets fell thicker and thicker. A bright glare burst forth. One of the out-houses had caught fire. Two wounded men were brought in and placed on the ground. Mrs Tarleton and her niece knelt down by their sides. I assisted. Madeline, I observed, had ceased to tremble while employed in her work of mercy. One poor fellow soon ceased to breathe; he had been shot through the lungs. The other groaned heavily; the haemorrhage was internal. I soon saw that their efforts to aid him were of little avail. He quickly joined his companion in another world. For a minute or more there was a cessation of the attack: then it began again with greater fury than before, and the bullets came pattering against the walls like hail, many finding their way into the room. I seized Mrs Tarleton’s hand, exclaiming—

“Come, madam! no woman should remain thus unnecessarily exposed.”

Madeline took her other hand, and together we led her through the garden to the place I had prepared for their reception.

Chapter Twelve.

The Americans overpowered.—Spinks assists us to escape.—Cross river.—Reach Washington’s camp.—Interview with the great chief.—Mrs Tarleton finds her brother, Colonel Hallet, wounded.—My stay in the camp.—An affair of outposts.—Farewell to Madeline.—Quit the camp, accompanied by Spinks.—After many adventures rejoin the tender.

Madeline and I endeavoured to hurry along Mrs Tarleton, but she appeared totally insensible to the dangerous position in which she and her niece were placed. Several bullets came whizzing by us, but she kept her head as erect as would the oldest veteran. I had almost to drag her on, and I was very thankful when at length we reached the door of the building unscathed. I had told Lieutenant Spinks where to find us, should he wish to communicate with the ladies.

In spite of his wound, he had joined in the defence of the place. Not so Caractacus and Sambo. When we entered, I saw two bundles among the piled-up turnips and potatoes. I gave a kick at them, and out tumbled our two sable attendants.

“Oh, ki, massa, is dat you?” exclaimed the first, springing to his feet. “Come along—dis no good place for any wise man. We get across de river, and away from dese Hesse devils.”

“All in good time,” I answered. “Do you take care of the ladies while I go and learn the state of affairs.”

It was now the part of Mrs Tarleton and Madeline to press me to stay, and not to expose myself to danger. I promised to obey in the latter point, but urged the necessity of ascertaining how matters were progressing, that I might judge whether we might safely remain where we were, or whether it would be better at once to cross the river. Unwillingly they let me go. I managed to climb up to the top of a wall. A glance showed me that a considerable body of men were engaged in the attack, and that they were well provided with field-pieces, which were already making some impression on the walls. Two of the out-houses were in flames; the roof of the main building had caught fire, and men were engaged in extinguishing it, while the number of the killed and wounded was very considerable. I felt convinced that, heroically as the garrison were defending themselves, they could not long hold out. With this conviction I returned to my friends, and urged Mrs Tarleton to allow me to conduct her at once to the boat. While she was still hesitating, Lieutenant Spinks rushed into the vault, blood streaming from his arm. “All is lost!” he exclaimed. “Fly, ladies, fly, or those villainous Hessians will be up to us before you can escape. The colonel is making a stout resistance, and may keep them back for some time, but he ordered me to come on and hasten your flight.”

After hearing this, I was determined that there should be no further delay; so, sending the negroes on to the boat, we took the ladies’ arms and followed as rapidly as they could walk. Not for a moment would I allow them to stop and look back.

The boat was in readiness: we stepped in. I urged Spinks to come also, as with his wound he could be of no further use. I had, however, almost to force him on board. Without a moment’s delay we shoved off. I put Spinks at the helm, and took an oar. The blacks seized the other two, and there was no necessity to tell them to pull away lustily. We were only just in time. The shouts and shrieks and cries increased. Thick flew the bullets—many passing over our heads. The flames grew brighter; the main building was on fire, and burned furiously. By its bright glare we could distinguish the dark figures of the combatants—the assailants climbing over the walls on either hand, and the defenders of the place in detached parties, still desperately endeavouring to oppose them. Suddenly trumpets sounded, voices were heard calling loudly, and there was a cessation of firing. We pulled on, however, across the river, for I thought very likely that, if we were discovered by the victors, we should be fired at, and compelled to return. The ruddy glare was reflected on the broad stream, and the banks were lighted up by the flames of the burning house, so that we had no difficulty in finding our way across to the right landing-place.

The farmer in whose charge the horses had been left, brought them out as soon as we appeared. “I would ask you to stay,” he said, “but I know not how soon the enemy may come upon us. You must take a stirrup-cup, though; it will do the hearts of the poor ladies good. They want something to keep up their spirits, I’m sure.” I forget the mixture that was produced. I know that it was very good, though the ladies would not be prevailed on to do more than taste it. Lieutenant Spinks would allow us to make only a very short delay to get his wound washed and bound up, declaring all the time that it was of very little consequence. “I’m well accustomed to shot-holes by this time, I guess, so never fear,” said he. I must say this for him, that he was decidedly a very plucky fellow, and was, I suspect, a fair sample of the men who won independence for America. The good-natured farmer then ordered a lad on horseback to show us the way, and uttered many hearty good wishes for our safety. “None of the enemy are to the north of us, so I think you may reach the camp without difficulty,” he remarked. He asked no questions about me. I suspect that Caractacus and Sambo had fully enlightened him.

We pushed on for the remainder of the night, and did not even draw rein till morning dawned. It was wonderful how well the ladies endured the fatigue they were undergoing; not a complaint escaped either of them; indeed, Mrs Tarleton seemed rather to glory in the hardships she was undergoing.

Instead of striking at once into the country, we kept to the north, so as to make a circuit towards the spot where it was understood General Washington was then encamped. I tried to persuade Spinks to stop and rest, but on he would go, as long as his horse would carry him. Our steeds, however, at last began to knock up, and we were glad to discover a farm-house among the trees a couple of hundred yards from the road. The inmates received us cordially. Breakfast was instantly placed before us, and a room prepared where the ladies might lie down and seek that rest they so much required. The farmer put Spinks into an arm-chair, and scarcely had he finished his breakfast than he leant back and fell fast asleep. I felt much inclined to follow his example, but our host would not let me. He wanted to hear all about us, and, to do him justice, he was ready to impart an abundance of information in return. Unaccustomed to the sight of uniforms, it never occurred to him that I was a British officer, and from the far-from-pleasant way he spoke of my countrymen, I felt no inclination to enlighten him. What surprised me most was to hear of the disorganised state of Washington’s army—the want of food and clothing from which it was suffering, and the utter insufficiency of all the commissariat arrangements. The wonder was how, in such a condition, the American forces could withstand General Howe’s well-supplied, and well-disciplined troops.

“I’ll tell you what it is,” observed the farmer; “one has a just cause, and the other hasn’t—that’s the difference.”

I did not tell him that there were two sides to that opinion, and that some people might consider the royal cause the just one.

A three hours’ rest refreshed all our party as well as our horses, and we were once more in the saddle. No further incident of importance occurred till in the afternoon we came suddenly on an outlying picket of the patriot forces.

The main body of Washington’s army was at this time encamped at a place called White Marsh, about fourteen miles to the north of Philadelphia. We had approached it from the north-east. The officer in command of the picket came forward, and Mrs Tarleton explained who she was, and her object in visiting the camp.

“Can you give me any information respecting my brother, Colonel Hallet?” she asked with an anxious voice.

“Colonel Hallet is alive, madam, but he requires more rest than he obtains,” answered the officer with a grave look. “I see him often, but I cannot report favourably of him.”

I saw that more was implied than was said. While this conversation was going on, I brought my horse close up to that of Miss Carlyon. I could not but realise to myself that the moment of our parting had arrived. The thought sent a pang, such as I had never before felt, through my heart. Madeline herself looked grave and sad. Was it the account of her uncle’s state of health which made her so or was it—vain puppy that I felt myself—because we were about to part—perhaps for ever.

How distant the prospect appeared, with the numberless vicissitudes of a sailor’s life intervening, when we might hope to meet again! Could we venture to indulge that hope? Should we ever meet? Should I not rather be prepared to part for ever? I would not allow myself to be overcome by a thought so full of agony.

“Miss Carlyon!” I gasped out, and I drew my breath, while I felt as if I could not utter another word.

“Hurricane Hurry!” said a low voice within me, “what are you about? Act like a man!” However, I did not feel a bit the wiser. “Miss Carlyon,” I began again, “I have almost completed the duty I was sent on. You and your aunt will soon be within the lines of General Washington’s camp.”

She looked very grave, and I thought pained. I continued: “I must now return with all speed to my ship, though—though—” I could not for the life of me find words to express what I wanted to say.

“Mr Hurry must be aware how deep an obligation he has conferred upon my aunt, and we should have been glad if we could have avoided making his duty irksome,” said Miss Carlyon in a low, deep voice, while the colour came into her cheeks for an instant and then fled, leaving her paler than before.

I was certain her voice trembled as she uttered the last words.

“Irksome!” I exclaimed. “Oh, Miss Carlyon, how could you for a moment think so? It has been the most delightful duty I ever performed. Duty did I call it? It has been unspeakable joy and happiness to me, almost from the time you came on board my vessel, to feel that I was of service to you; that you were under my care and protection. Day after day that feeling increased, till it has grown into a part of my being. It would be my delight to feel that I could spend my life in the same way. Why should I conceal it? You may not care for me—you will return to your own people, and perhaps scarcely ever cast a thought on the rough sailor who is tossing about on the wild ocean; but he never, never can forget the days of intense happiness he has passed in your society, in watching your every look, in serving you with a true and faithful love—in—”

The temper of the Hurrys was breaking forth with a vengeance.

“Oh no, no; do not say those words!” she exclaimed; “I do—I do regard you with—with—deeper feeling than I ought. Can you ask me to say more? But oh, Mr Hurry, this dreadful war!”

“Madeline, the war will end; the time will come when you may be mine!” I exclaimed vehemently. “Will you—will you then consent?”

“Mr Hurry, I will,” she answered calmly. “If you come and claim me, you will find me true. Some women never love more than once. Yet I will not bind you. You have your profession to occupy you. Your family may disdain a rebel’s child with her property confiscated. You may wander to all parts of the world: you will see numberless women—many very far superior to me—you may—”

I interrupted her with a vehement exclamation of denial as to the possibility of anything she suggested occurring. I need not repeat all I said—all the vows I uttered. I did not believe that mortal power could make me break them.

We had remained somewhat behind the rest of the party while Mrs Tarleton was speaking to the officer of the picket, and Lieutenant Spinks was gaining information as to the road we were to take to reach head-quarters. It was now time to move on. Anxious as I was not to part from Madeline till the last moment, I felt that, as an officer of the Royalist party, I ought to offer to remain in the outskirts of the camp; but to my great satisfaction Mrs Tarleton at once overruled my objections.

“Our friends will wish to thank you for the great service you have rendered us, and you will require a few hours’ rest at least before you commence your return journey,” she observed.

Madeline’s look I thought said, “Do not go yet;” so I agreed to the proposal. The marks of recent strife were sadly evident along the road over which we passed, in the blackened remains of houses, woods cut down, and fences destroyed.

We passed through several other pickets till we finally came to where a considerable body of troops were encamped within intrenchments, and with some rugged hills in front. Among the troops was a corps of fine, tall, active-looking young men, whose uniforms and accoutrements were in the most perfect order. Accustomed as I had been to see the ill-clothed, various-sized, undisciplined militia, I was particularly struck by their appearance.

“Those are General Washington’s guards,” observed Mrs Tarleton. “He has much need of such men; for, though prizing the lives of those under him, he is sadly careless of his own. He himself is, I do not doubt, not far-off.”

We had not ridden a hundred yards when we saw before us a group of mounted officers in handsome uniforms, with plumes nodding and arms glittering. I had somehow or other pictured to myself the rebel generals as a dingy-looking set, like the Covenanters of old, or Cromwell’s Invincibles, and I could scarcely persuade myself that those I saw were officers of the enemy’s army. Among them rode one whom the eye would not fail to single out from the rest—tall, handsome, and graceful—the noble expression of his countenance showed that he had the right to command. I was struck, too, with the way in which he managed his horse, and sat on his saddle. He was an enemy and a rebel; but for the life of me I could not help pulling off my hat and bowing low, when, as he saw Mrs Tarleton, he rode forward to greet her. I guessed he could be no other than the renowned chief General Washington. Among the officers were Generals Sullivan, Wayne, and Woodford; Lord Stirling, a gallant Scotchman, who in spite of his rank had joined the patriots; the noble Frenchman, the Marquis Lafayette, and his veteran German friend the Baron De Kalb; as also Generals Irvine, Reed, and other native officers. Their appearance was very military, but I had no eye for anyone but the commander-in-chief. He bowed to Madeline, and took Mrs Tarleton’s hand in a most kind and courteous manner, while his voice as he spoke was gentle and melodious.

“I gladly welcome you to our camp, madam, deeply as I mourn the cause which has brought you here. Your gallant brother is still with us. One of my aides-de-camp will conduct you to his quarters. You will, I fear, find Colonel Hallet much changed. He should long ago have retired from active duty, but his patriotism overcame all suggestions of prudence. I would that all who advocate the independence of our country were like him!”

Mrs Tarleton made a brief answer. She was anxious to hurry to her brother. A short conversation, however, first ensued between her and the general, which I did not overhear; then, calling me up, she introduced me formally and explained who I was. General Washington received me in the frankest manner.

“I am happy to welcome one who has been of so much service to those I highly esteem, and Mr Hurry may be assured that he will find none but friends as long as he thinks fit to remain in this camp.”

I made a suitable reply, regretting that duty must summon me so speedily away.

“Perhaps you will have reason to alter your intention,” said Mrs Tarleton with marked emphasis. “I will make you known to Lord Stirling and other friends; they may have more success than I have had in proving to you which is the right side of the question.”

Madeline looked at me, and I thought she seemed to say, “Oh, I wish they may succeed!”

General Washington simply remarked, “At all events, Mr Hurry is welcome here as long as he stays with us. I hope to have the pleasure of his company at dinner to-day.”

Several of the other officers came forward and spoke to me very kindly, and by the general’s directions a junior aide-de-camp attached himself to me, while another accompanied Mrs Tarleton and her niece to Colonel Hallet’s quarters.

As they rode away I could do no more than take a hurried and formal farewell of them both—I dared scarcely hope that I should be able to see them again. Lieutenant Spinks had several friends in the camp, with one of whom he intended to take up his quarters. He promised to call for me if I persisted in my resolution to commence our return journey on the following day. I found Captain Douglas, the officer in whose charge I was placed, a very pleasing, gentlemanly man. To avoid giving any cause of suspicion, I refrained from moving about without first asking him if I could walk in that direction, and I thus soon gained his good opinion, as he fully appreciated the motive of my conduct.

As the dinner-hour approached he took me to his tent, where I might get rid of the dust of my journey. It was pitched close to a farm-house occupied by the general. A barn attached to the farm-house, and hastily fitted up, served as a dining-hall and council-chamber. Here a number of officers, mostly generals and colonels, were assembled. I, a midshipman, felt very small among them; and certainly the attention which was paid me by so many great people was well calculated to turn my head. However, I was wide awake enough to know that all is not gold that glitters. From what I had previously heard, and from what I saw when passing through the camp, I could not help discovering that the American forces were in many respects in a very bad condition, ill-fed and worse clothed. Whole corps were in a very ragged state, and some were almost shoeless, and entirely stockingless. This in the summer was bad enough, but with winter coming on, it was enough to disorganise the whole army.

The feast to which I had been invited was, considering the state of affairs I have described, a very grand one. Everyone was in good spirits, and laughed and talked with the greatest freedom. I could scarcely believe that these were the men who had lately been engaged in a deadly strife, and might any moment be called out to give battle to a well-disciplined and fierce enemy. The provisions were somewhat coarse, and probably not cooked by the most experienced of artists; but I had been accustomed to meet with much worse at sea, so that I did not think much about the matter. Toasts were drunk, healths were pledged, and I was frequently invited to take wine by the officers present, although some looked at me, I thought with eyes rather askance, as if they did not quite approve of an officer of the opposite cause being at large in the camp.

The party, however, did not sit long after dinner, and when it broke up, Douglas took me with him to his tent. “Come, we will have a cup of coffee together before you turn in,” said he, as we sat down; “I have a French servant who understands cooking it better than any man I ever met. You shall have at the same time a pipe of the true Virginia weed. No one produces better than does our general on his estate; and this he gave to me as being some of the very best he ever saw.”

I found my friend’s encomiums were fully justified by the excellence of the tobacco; nor was his coffee to be despised. Several officers looked in occasionally, and we had a very pleasant evening. They were, however, at last hurriedly summoned off, and I threw myself down on the camp bedstead my host had prepared for my use.

Weary as I was I could not sleep. Something I was certain was going forward. More than once my ear caught the not very distant rattle of musketry and the roar of cannon, and I could not help fearing that the camp itself might be the object of attack, and that Mrs Tarleton and Madeline might be involved in the confusion which must ensue, and perhaps exposed to greater danger than any they had yet escaped. I considered how I could find means of being of service to them. Unhappily I did not know my way to Colonel Hallet’s quarters, and should the necessity I apprehended arrive, I was not likely to find anybody to guide me to them.

Douglas had gone out; I felt that I ought not to leave the tent till his return as I might very naturally, by wandering about, have thereby exposed myself to the suspicion of some sinister motive; so I lay still, eagerly listening that I might make a guess at the way things were going by the sounds which reached my ears. Now and then there was a roll of a drum—now a bugle sounded—then the distant report of a field-piece, and next, a whole volley of musketry. I sat up with my arm resting on my pillow, ready to spring to my feet at a moment’s notice. I felt very sad. I could not bear the thought of not seeing Madeline again; and even should I see her, I knew that I must be prepared to part from her for an indefinite period—for many long years perhaps. How changed might she and I be by that time!

“It will not do to indulge in these thoughts,” I exclaimed, passing the palm of my hand to my brow; “they will unman me, or make me turn traitor. Traitor! ay, that’s the word. I must throw no false gloss over it. Deserter—a wretch, false to his flag! No, no; she herself would despise me. These men now in arms around me have never sworn allegiance to their sovereign; they have been forced into rebellion by ill-treatment and injustice, by numberless insults. I should have no such excuse. If I unite myself to them it will be for my own gratification alone. No, no, I’ll not do it.”

I must confess that many such discussions as this I had in my own mind at this period, but I resisted the tempter in whatever form he came. The firing ceased; still I listened, expecting it to recommence. At length Douglas returned:—

“An affair of outpost!” he remarked carelessly. “You were disturbed by the firing. Howe’s army is somewhat near at hand. He wishes to draw us into the lower ground, but General Washington knows the strength of our position, and the advantage it gives us, too well to be tempted out of it. The enemy has retired; you may rest in quiet for the remainder of the night.”

By daylight all the camp was astir. Lieutenant Spinks soon made his appearance. He looked pale, but said that his wound did not hurt him, and that he should be able to accompany me if I was ready to commence our return journey. I had no excuse to offer to myself for delay, but every reason for getting back to my vessel. I however frankly told Captain Douglas that I wished to bid farewell to the ladies I had escorted to the camp. I have an idea that he suspected how matters stood.

“We will ride to Colonel Hallet’s quarters directly after breakfast,” he answered promptly. “By that time they may be ready to receive you.”

Spinks promised in the interval to get the horses and servants prepared for the journey.

A frugal and somewhat hurried meal over, I set out with Captain Douglas. A ride of upwards of a mile over exceedingly rugged ground brought us to a hamlet of log huts. I remarked on the way the inaccessible nature of the ground, and saw the wisdom of Washington in holding it. I made no remark in reference to this, but we talked freely on various topics not immediately connected with the war. My heart beat quick as my companion pointed out a long low hut, and remarked—

“There lies poor Hallet, and I fear that he will never leave the place alive.”

The walls of the building consisted of long rough trunks of trees piled one on the other, the ends fitting at the angles together, and a scoop made in the lower log to admit the convex part of the upper one. Not that I remarked this at the time; all my thoughts were occupied with what was to occur. Douglas went to the door. It was opened by a soldier. After a minute’s delay he beckoned to me to follow him. In a small roughly-boarded room sat Mrs Tarleton and her niece. They rose, and the former took me cordially by the hand—

“Again I must thank you for enabling me to reach my poor brother in time to find him alive,” she said in a mournful voice.

I of course expressed my satisfaction of being of use, and looked to see what Madeline would say. I had taken her hand. She forgot to withdraw it.

“Indeed, indeed we are grateful,” she uttered in a low voice.

She could not trust herself to say more. I would have given much to have been alone with her, but I saw no chance of this. Perhaps it was better as it was. What she herself wished I could not tell. Mrs Tarleton showed no intention of leaving the room. I longed to say a great deal, but I felt tongue-tied. Captain Douglas had but little time to spare. He looked at his watch. I saw that I could no longer delay. I bade farewell to Mrs Tarleton. Madeline came to the door of the hut. I took her hand—it trembled in mine:—

“Oh! Mr Hurry,” she said in a low, faltering voice, “I will never, never forget you.”

Douglas had thrown himself on his horse. I leaped on mine and had to follow him at a gallop. Madeline was still standing at the door of the hut when a rocky height hid it from my view. Spinks was in readiness for a start with Caractacus and Sambo. We soon left the camp of the American army far behind, and pushed on for the Delaware. We crossed it some way up, for the British forces were now in possession of both banks for a considerable distance above Philadelphia. That city remained entirely in their hands. An attack had, however, I found from Spinks, been planned by the American generals to re-take it, but had been abandoned by Washington on account of the great loss of life it would have entailed.

In spite, however, of the general want of success of the patriots in the south, their spirits were raised, and their determination increased, to hold out by news of the surrender of General Burgoyne and his entire army to General Gates at Saratoga, as well as of the evacuation of Ticonderoga, and several forts on the Hudson, and the abandonment of a marauding expedition up that river from New York. We succeeded in crossing the Delaware without impediment; but we had no little difficulty, at times, to avoid falling in with the troops of the contending parties. Once or twice we had to gallop very hard to get out of their way. As Spinks observed, “It would be very disagreeable to be hung up as spies before we had time to explain who we were.” In spite of his weakness, he, poor fellow, bore up manfully, and I was truly sorry to part from him. At length we came in sight of Little Egg River, and, to my very great satisfaction, I caught a glimpse of the tender, directly opposite Mr Plowden’s house. I rode up to the door to restore him his horses, and to return him my thanks for their loan. He most kindly pressed me to remain a day with him, but I was anxious to be on board my vessel and once more at sea. Three cheers greeted me as I got alongside. Not a man had deserted, and Grampus gave me a favourable account of the behaviour of all hands. The tide and wind were fair for us. The anchor was hove up and sail was made. It was fortunate that I had not delayed. Scarcely were we under weigh when, through my glass, I saw a considerable body of troops with some light artillery march down to the beach. I doubted much whether Mr Plowden could have protected me. One or two shots came flying after us to make us heave-to, but the wind freshened. The little vessel glided swiftly on, till once more she bounded freely over the blue ocean. As I inhaled the fresh sea air I felt happier than I had done for many a day. I trimmed sails and stood away to the northward to rejoin the admiral off Newport.

Chapter Thirteen.

Rhode Island.—Sent to assist Syren and transport.—Frigate blows up.—Take a prize.—Grampus in charge.—Tender on her beam ends.—Join Sir Peter Parker on board Bristol.—My old messmates.—Appointed as lieutenant to the Chameleon and then to the Camel.—Sail for Gulf of Florida.—Fever.—War with France.—Once more at Jamaica.

I gave the land a wide berth, thereby getting fine weather, and with a fair breeze had a quick run for Rhode Island. I brought up close to the flag-ship, and hurried on board to make a report of such of my proceedings as I thought it incumbent on me to inform the admiral about. He was pleased to approve of all I had done, but when I mentioned the ladies, he looked hard at me as if he had read my secret.

“You’ll not wish to be idle, I know. Give your vessel a refit, and I shall have work for you before long,” said he with, I thought, a significant look.

I accordingly ran into harbour, hove the tender down, and in three days was ready for sea, when I received orders to accompany his Majesty’s ships Flora, Lark and Lady Parker tender to the assistance of the Syren frigate, which with a transport had run on shore at Point Judith, the people being made prisoners by the rebels.

At ten o’clock at night we, with the two frigates, dropped anchor about two miles off shore, having the wrecked ships just inside of us. We were not long allowed to remain in quietness before we were discovered by the enemy, who commenced a hot fire on us from three eighteen-pounders. As it was important not to allow the enemy to increase their force, four of our boats were instantly manned ready to proceed to the attack. The first lieutenant of the Chatham was sent in command of them, and each officer was furnished with a supply of combustibles, with directions to heave them on board the ships, so as to blow them up without delay. The first lieutenant of the Flora had charge of the second boat, the second of the Lark the third, and I commanded the fourth. We were all ready by eleven o’clock, when we pulled away towards the Syren. There was no use to attempt concealment, for we were conscious that our motions were narrowly watched; and this was proved when we approached the shore, for we were welcomed with a very warm salute of big guns and small-arms, the musket-balls and round-shot rattling round us in a far from pleasant manner. To add to the difficulties to be encountered, a heavy sea was running, which washed up alongside the stranded frigate, and created a considerable risk of causing the boats to be stove in.

“Pull away, my hearties, pull away!” sang out our gallant commanding officer. “We’ll make a short business of the work in hand when we once get alongside.”

He was as good as his word. In spite of the iron and leaden shower which rattled around us, we dashed on. The masts had gone by the board, but had been secured, and by this means a stage had been formed leading from the ship to the shore. Along this stage the enemy, till we drew near, were busily engaged in carrying off the stores and provisions out of the ship. When they saw us coming they gave up the work and poured instead a number of armed men on board. The bowmen stood ready, boat-hooks in hand, to hook on as the sea sent us surging alongside. When our boats rose to the top of the waves we tumbled in on deck through the ports, with our cutlasses in our teeth and all sorts of combustibles under our arms. The enemy did not like our looks, and as retreat was open to them they could not resist the temptation of taking advantage of it; so when we appeared through some of the headmost ports, they retired over the stern. To set fire to our grenades and other fiery engines of destruction, and to heave them down below and to scatter them fore and aft, was the work of little more than a minute. The enemy scarcely understood what we were about, or they would have tried to interrupt our proceedings. The effect of our combustibles was very rapid. A number of inflammable things were scattered about; they at once caught fire, and thick wreaths of smoke, followed by fierce flames, darted upwards on every side.

“To the boats! to the boats!” sang out our commander.

It was time indeed to be into them, for the fiery element was already surrounding many of the guns, which, being shotted, were going off as the touch-holes became heated. Almost enveloped in wreaths of smoke and fiercely crackling flames, we rushed to the ports, aware that any moment the ship might blow up and carry us high into the air. Explosion after explosion followed each other in rapid succession, giving us warning of what might occur. Our gallant leader got dreadfully burned. I saw him just as he was about to fall, I feared, into the flames. I grasped his arm, and together we leaped into the first boat we saw alongside.