Читать книгу Hurricane Hurry - William Henry Giles Kingston - Страница 4

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.