In ship and prison

I did not lie long there on the battlefield after the struggle was over. Some of my comrades had seen me when I fell, and as soon as an armistice for the burial of the dead and the removal of the wounded could be arranged, they came to my help. I was carried to a large storehouse near the Cooper River which had been turned into a temporary hospital, and there Dr. Burns of our own frigate gave me his special care. My wound, though serious, did not reach the danger point, and within three weeks I was able to receive visitors. Captain Tucker was the first, and when left alone for a few minutes, he bent over my cot, and, lowering his voice, said:

“We have not been able to keep your whereabouts from the British authorities, my lad.”

“I am not surprised at that,” I replied slowly, and wondering what else he would tell me.

“They made a search for you at once,” he continued, “and happened to question one of our men who was too dull to realize that the inquiry meant any special danger to you, and so he told them you were wounded in the last battle, and had been taken to one of the hospitals. It was then easy for them to find you, and they have put the building here under double guards until you recover, when they are going to send you to New York.”

I merely nodded an assent, for the revelation, while not unexpected, nevertheless took all the talk out of me for the moment.

“I have tried my best to arrange an exchange for you, but they will not listen to it. So there is but one thing for us to do—it is to get you out of here in some way before they know you are able to be moved.”

“Can it be done?” I asked eagerly.

“Dr. Burns, Lieutenant Haines, and I have been in consultation several times,” he explained, “but we have not yet hit upon a way that seems practicable. The Doctor, however, is making them believe you are much worse off than you really are, and if he can keep them in ignorance of your actual condition until you are able to walk, we still hope to do it. Be of good courage, therefore, and get strong as fast as possible. You have escaped them every time so far, and I believe you will now,” and he left me.

I tried to be of good heart for I knew my three friends were all ingenious and resourceful and would find a way of escape for me were it possible. But, after all, it was not they, but the old sailor, Richard Jones—whom I had rescued from the sea and who had declared he would make good all I had done for him—who devised not only a way for my escape, but also for putting an end to all further search on the part of the British authorities for me. It came about in this way:

He saw me fall on the day of the battle, and turned at once to see if he could do anything for me, but before he reached my side was himself smitten by a bullet which laid him low. Taken to the same hospital as myself, and put on a cot in the same ward, almost his first inquiry when he came to consciousness was about me. From day to day as he grew weaker he rejoiced to know that I was growing stronger. Then there came a time when Dr. Burns had to tell him that he could live but a few hours.

“I’ve ben waitin’ for that word, Doctor,” he replied. “Do ye think I can hold out till night?”

“Yes,” the surgeon answered, “and perhaps until morning.”

“Then I’ve a favor to ax of ye,” the sailor continued.

“What is it, my good fellow?” Doctor Burns inquired kindly.

“That ye put me in Master Dunn’s bed, an’ let me die for him, while he lives as Dick Jones,” he explained. “Then the red-coats won’t get him.”

Like a flash the physician recognized the possibility of the plan. Owing to the scarcity of surgeons, since the surrender he had been left in sole charge of that ward. On their tour of inspection the British had numbered each patient, putting his name against the number. If he died, his number was reported, and an order came for his burial. If he recovered, his number was also reported, and an order came for his discharge, and his return to the barracks of his company.

Jones was number seventy-two in that ward, while I was number fifty-seven. The change could be made, and on the death of the old sailor the report that patient number fifty-seven had died could be sent to the British officer acting as superintendent of that building. Doubtless he would simply issue an order for the burial without visiting the ward as he had a score of times before, and in his records would enter the fact that number fifty-seven, or Midshipman Arthur Dunn, had died and was buried; while upon my discharge the same records would show that number seventy-two, or Richard Jones, a sailor, had recovered.

“It shall be done, Richard,” he promised in a low tone, “and God bless you for thinking of it.”

That night, with the help of two Continental soldiers who were acting as nurses, the surgeon had the change made without explaining to his assistants why it was done. To me, however, he made known the whole scheme, and cautioned me that I was to remember I was Richard Jones until my exchange was effected.

The next morning the old sailor had joined the unseen majority, and before night was buried under my number. We never knew what the effect of the report was at the British headquarters. Probably they accepted it as a fact, as no further inquiry was made concerning me so far as we ever knew. Three weeks later, I left the hospital as number seventy-two, or Richard Jones, to the British authorities—another fact they never questioned.

Instead of joining my comrades in the barracks set apart for their use, however, I went to a boarding-place which my friends had secured for me, and where I was known by my assumed name.

But I was there only three days, for on June 26th Captain Tucker and his crew were exchanged for Captain William Wardlow and crew, who had been captured by the Boston on the Thorn twelve months before. As Richard Jones, sailor, I passed unrecognized before the English officer in charge of the exchange; and on the following day the Captain and I started by the overland route for our home in Marblehead.

We were there only a month, however. Then Captain Tucker received notice that he was to take command of the ship Thorn, at that time in Boston harbor. With that notice came my own commission as a second lieutenant, and an assignment to the same vessel. We left at once for Boston, and boarded the frigate to find to our delight that she had been put in thorough repair, furnished with a crew of one hundred and twenty-five men and her armament increased to twenty-two guns.

We sailed the following day, making several cruises during the next three months, running sometimes as far north as Halifax, and again south as far as Jamaica. The wonderful success of Captain Tucker still attended him, and we captured many prizes, some of which were of great value.

Then came a cruise so remarkable that it has been exceeded by no naval commander; so remarkable that I hesitate to tell of it here lest the readers may think I exaggerate. Yet it is but a faithful recital of facts.

We left port on a bright November morning, and before night sighted a small brig, coming up from the south. We gave chase and overhauled her without difficulty. At our first shot she hove to, and I went off to her. She proved to be the Lord Hyde from the West Indies and bound for Halifax with a cargo of sugar valued at three thousand pounds. A midshipman was put in command of her, and she was sent in to Boston.

We changed our course after parting with the prize and ran to the eastward. The following morning we discovered a large ship a few miles away, and as we approached her we found she carried sixteen guns. This was suggestive of a valuable cargo, and as she showed a disposition to fight, we cleared our decks and prepared for action. A broadside poured into her, however, brought her to terms, and upon boarding her we found she was the Alliance, from Liverpool to Charleston, with a cargo of wine, brandy, and dry goods inventoried at forty thousand pounds.

The next day was a Sabbath, and proved to be on our part a day of rest. But the following day made up for it, as it brought us two prizes. The first was a letter of marque brig of fourteen guns, bound from Antigua to Quebec laden with rum and molasses, and valued at seven thousand pounds. The second was a sloop from Saint Eustatia to Halifax with three hundred hogsheads of sugar worth six thousand pounds.

We cruised all day Tuesday to the west and south, and it was nearly night before we sighted any sail. There was a bright moon, however, and we could follow her almost as well as in the day time. Before midnight we had captured her. She proved to be the brig Venture, from Madeira to New York with one hundred and fifty pipes of Madeira wine and a miscellaneous cargo, valued at ten thousand pounds.

Our next prize cost us a struggle, and the loss of several men. We had run to the northward all the forenoon, when our lookout at the masthead called out that there was a large armed ship on our weather bow. We changed our course to overhaul her, and soon found she was nearly our match as a sailer. For four hours we strove to come up with her, and I do not know as we should have done so then had not the stiff breeze carried away her fore-topmast.

Finding she could not escape us, she now prepared for a fight, and as she carried twenty guns and a large crew, she was no mean antagonist. Captain Tucker attempted several times to grapple with her, desiring to throw a boarding party on her deck, but she avoided him every time, and poured a broadside into us. We returned the fire, and both vessels had received considerable damage when a mistake by the Englishman’s pilot caused her to foul with us. Here was the opportunity for which we had been looking, and in another minute our boarders poured over her rail and down her deck.

The British commander was plucky, and not until a score of his men were killed and he himself was wounded, did he strike his flag. We then found the vessel was the Dean Swift, from London to New York, with a cargo of dry goods which invoiced thirty thousand pounds, besides four thousand barrels of provisions, and fifty puncheons of rum.

Thursday we had worked off to the southward and about noon ran in with the brigantine Boyd, from Jamaica for Quebec, and laden with sugar, coffee, and tobacco, and valued at fifteen thousand pounds.

Early Friday morning we found a brig not a mile from us. Like ourselves she was becalmed, but our boats went off to her and captured her without difficulty. She proved to be the brig Patsey, bound from Liverpool to the West Indies with an assorted cargo worth eight thousand pounds.

For Saturday there was reserved for us the crowning prize of the week. We had again taken a course to the north, and were off Massachusetts bay when we sighted her. Our lookout reported her as a large ship, heavily laden, and carrying eighteen guns. We were not slow in giving chase, nor were we slow in coming up with her. To our shot across her bow she replied defiantly with her stern gun. So our men were drummed to quarters, our guns were shotted, and our boarders were at their station amidships. We were ready for what we expected to be a gallant fight.

But the ship was so deep in the water she was unwieldy, while our own frigate responded to her helm like a thing of life, and before she could avoid us we had grappled with her and put thirty men on board. Finding he could not shake us off, nor withstand the impetus of our boarding party, her commander speedily surrendered. She was the ship Dolphin, from London with supplies of all kinds for the British troops—the invoice showing a value of more than seventy-five thousand pounds sterling.

We had been out nine days and taken nine prizes, with a total value of not less than two hundred thousand pounds. But our crew had now become so depleted by the constant drain upon it, we were no longer in a condition to continue our voyage. So we sailed for Boston where we arrived safely; with the Dolphin, and where we found the other eight prizes had preceded us. Quite a sensation was created by our extraordinary luck, and not only among our own men, but in shipping circles to this day they speak of it as “the cruise of the nine.”