In ship and prison

It was perhaps natural that as I followed Midshipman Seymour from the cabin I should try to think of some way by which I might release myself from the unhappy situation in which I was now placed. But before I reached the deck I had concluded there was little hope of any attempt on my part proving successful.

I knew there was no appeal from the decision of the captain of the frigate. His word was law not only on board of his vessel, but in the port, on all matters that pertained to the government of his men. Even the consul would hardly dare to interfere in any matter that had arisen between him and one of his crew. The best he could do would be to report the affair to the home government, and months might elapse before it was considered, with a likelihood of its being summarily dismissed as of too trifling a character to claim the attention of the commissioners. A friendless American lad would stand little show in a contest with a British naval commander.

To escape from the ship at that time by my own efforts was also out of the question. The ship was already in motion. That meant my own yawl had been sent away and so I was not surprised to behold it more than half way over to the brig when I emerged into the open air. But had it still been there by the ship’s side, it would have been of no service to me. Admitted I could have evaded the officer who had charge of me and reached the boat, to return to the Young Phoenix in it would only have been placing myself again in Captain Weston’s power, while to make for the shore would have precipitated a pursuit in which not only all the boats of the frigate, but every vessel near enough to read her signal, would have speedily engaged. Furthermore, to attempt to escape and fail would be to subject myself to the ill-will of both officers and crew, and render my position on the frigate infinitely more uncomfortable than I cared even to think of. No one loves a runaway. So with the best grace I could muster I followed my conductor amidships, where I was speedily given a sailor’s outfit; then I was taken forward and assigned a berth.

“You belong to the main truck crew, and are in the fourth watch,” Master Seymour now announced. “Put on your rig, and go to your place at once,” and then he left me.

In fifteen minutes I had donned my uniform, stowed away my extra traps, and was ready for the deck. As I came out of the forecastle, an officer stepped towards me, possibly to point out my station, but I surprised him and my station-master by walking over to my place without guidance, and by the looks the latter gave each other, I knew I had made a favorable impression on them.

The frigate, under full canvas, and with a piping breeze from the north, was making straight out to sea. And if I do say it, she made a pretty sight. There is to my mind nothing much handsomer than a fine ship with all her sails set to a favorable breeze; and I could not help a thrill of delight as I took in the scene.

Yet how strange it seemed to me to be a part of it! An hour before there had not been the slightest thought on my part that I should ever enter His Majesty’s navy. But here I was, wearing the royal uniform, duly entered on the frigate’s roster, and starting out on a cruise whose destination I did not even know. It might be a return to the colonies, or a voyage to the far east. This did not much concern me. The things which rankled me most were that I was there against my will, and that in an instant I had been thrust out of the cabin and back to the forecastle, which latter fact was especially galling to my pride.

My thoughts were rudely interrupted, however, by a direct order from Midshipman Seymour. The main sky sail had in some way loosened and wound around its yard, marring the beauty and the symmetry of the ship’s rig. Noticing it as he was passing me, the young officer called out:

“Here, Dunn, hurry aloft there and straighten out that sail.”

I think he called me purposely to test the mettle in me, but I was equal to the feat.

“Aye! aye! sir,” I answered, and, springing to the nearest ladder, I ran up the mast without hesitation or fear. In another minute I was astride the yard, and deftly releasing the canvas, I tautened it to its place, returning to the deck amid the cheers of my station mates.

We were now outside of the great reef over which I had come in the brig two nights before, and our pilot was preparing to leave us. I had some time before noticed that he was the same man who had boarded the Young Phoenix the night of the storm, but had thought little of the fact. Pilots come and go continually, and it was no more strange that he should be hired to take the frigate out than that he had been secured to take the brig into the harbor. But the cheers of the sailors attracted his attention, and he glanced towards me as I swung off the ratlines to the deck. He stared at me for a moment as though he could scarcely believe his eyes, and then he turned to the officer of the deck, and said something to him in his native tongue. The lieutenant replied in the same language, and then with their eyes upon me they engaged in an earnest conversation for a few minutes. Little knowing how much it was to effect my future, I went back to my station.

Once out of the harbor, the bow of the frigate was turned towards the south, and, somewhat anxious to know whither we were bound, I turned to one of my mates, an old tar who had started the cheering which had greeted me on my return from the maintopmast, asking:

“Say, mate, can you tell me what cruise we are on?”

He shook his head. “They don’t let the likes of us know,” he explained. “We may be goin’ to the South Pole for all Pete Berry knows. Say, youngster, who be ye? Ye’ve seen a ship afore, and know a bowline from a rudder, that’s sartain.”

Thanking the old sailor for his compliment, without explaining how I came to be on the frigate, I told who I was, and the main facts of my sea-faring life.

“So yer name is Dunn,” he commented when I was through, “an’ ye’re no greenhorn. I’m glad o’ that. We’ve got more’n sixty aboard now, an’ don’t need another.”

The disgust of the old salt as he announced this fact amused me and we were soon chatting away like old chums. We talked of the ship, of her rigging, and of her sailing qualities. Inadvertently during our conversation I alluded to a few changes that I would make in the adjusting of her canvas to bring out her best speed, and with a quick discernment Pete asked:

“Have ye ever ben in the cabin, sir?”

“Yes, as mate,” I assented, my downfall coming vividly before me.

“I thought so,” he remarked curiously; “an’ wonder what ye’re doin’ here.”

Before I could reply we were piped to rations, and I was saved from appearing rude by not answering him. The rest of the day was passed in the usual routine of a man-of-war, and by night I had become sufficiently familiar with my duties to perform them as readily and handily as any of my mates. My deftness was no longer a surprise to them, however, for Pete had quickly circulated not only the facts of my sea experience, but the additional fact that I had been an officer on the brig I had just left—though this was a shrewd guess on his part, for I had not mentioned the vessel on which I had served as mate. Greatly amazed that I should leave such a berth to enlist on the frigate as an apprentice, they became certain there was a mystery connected with the incident, which my good luck the following day partially explained.

It came just after our morning rations had been issued. A midshipman came forward, and, calling me by name, said I was wanted at once in the cabin. Surprised at this summons I obeyed, and was ushered into the presence of the Captain, who sat in the same place at the same table, with the same sub-lieutenant opposite him as when I was there before.

“Good morning, Master Dunn,” was his greeting, and he spoke with a heartiness I had not expected.

“Good morning, sir,” I replied politely.

“You were mate on the brig Young Phoenix?” he then asked.

“Yes, sir, second mate,” I admitted, wondering what was coming.

“Did Captain Weston abandon you when the vessel was off the great reef during the night of our recent storm?”

“Yes, sir,” I assented, querying with myself how he could have learned of the fact.

“Then you are that young officer who brought the abandoned craft over the reef at flood tide, and sailed her safely into the harbor?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know, young man, such a thing has only been done once before, and that was ten years ago? Why, the whole town is talking about it!”

“No, sir, I didn’t know it,” I declared. “There was nothing about the feat for them to be amazed over. Anyone left on the brig would have done just as I did.”

He shook his head in dissent, and then continued:

“Tell me how you had offended your Captain so as to lead him to so far forget his conduct as an officer as to desert you in a time of danger.”

I told him briefly the reason for Captain Weston’s wrath.

“I won’t attempt to justify you here for disobeying the command of a superior officer, even if he was clearly in the wrong. Sometimes it is not a safe thing to do. Of two evils you must choose the least, letting another be responsible for his own mistake,” he remarked with a smile, when I was done. “But I now understand what you meant yesterday morning by protesting you had not come over to the ship with any intention of enlisting. The whole thing was a dastardly trick on the part of your captain which he played partly that he might gratify his feeling of resentment towards you, but more because he dare not face his owners with the report that you had saved a vessel which he had himself abandoned. With you out of the way he can make any report he pleases.”

This was a new view of the matter to me, but I could readily see now it might have been the chief cause of Captain Weston’s action, so I nodded my head in token of the fact that I accepted his explanation. Then the commander continued:

“It must have seemed hard to you to be thrust in an instant out of the cabin into the forecastle.”

“It did, sir!”

“Yet you made no fuss.”

“What good would that have done, sir?” I queried.

He laughed and was silent for a moment, then said: “Tell me, what experience have you had at sea?”

I told him, and then he began to ply me with questions about the frigate, about her sails, and her lines; how to handle her in emergencies; and gave repeated orders, telling me to explain them. There was nothing, however, I did not understand, and rapidly as he put the questions, I as rapidly answered them.

“Very good, Master Dunn,” he finally remarked. “We have no midshipman on board who could have passed a better examination. Unfortunately it is too late for me to send you back to the brig—and perhaps that would not be the wisest thing to do. But it is not too late for me to do you what justice I can.” Then turning to his secretary, “Take the name of Arthur Dunn from the list of apprentices, and place it upon the list of midshipmen, dating the fact from yesterday.”

“I have done so,” the lieutenant announced a moment later.

“Very well; go now and call Midshipman Seymour.”

He obeyed, and soon returned with the young officer.

“Midshipman Seymour,” the Captain began sternly, “did you understand me to say yesterday that this young man was rated as an apprentice?”

“Yes, sir,” he stammered, glancing apprehensively at me.

“Well, sir, someone has made a mistake. Mark! I do not say it was you. It may have been myself. But it was a mistake, and must be rectified at once, sir. He is a midshipman, and I want you to rectify the mistake immediately. See that he is given a midshipman’s outfit, and assigned to your own mess at once. Explain to your brother officers that there was a mistake—for which Master Dunn himself is in no way accountable—by which he was sent to the forecastle and he has proved he has the first characteristic of a good officer—he can obey without a murmur or complaint. Good morning, sir.”

“But let me thank you, sir, for this kindness,” I began. But he interrupted me:

“It is simply justice, sir, and no man should be thanked for doing right. Good morning.”

So for the second time within twenty-four hours I followed Midshipman Seymour from the cabin, but with what different feelings in my heart! The first time I was filled with bitterness and wrath, and almost ready to curse my fate; this time I was overflowing with gratitude and could even have thanked Captain Weston for his base act had he been there.

I shall not weary you with the details of my life on the frigate. I have no complaint to make of the way I was treated. My relations with my brother officers were for the most part very pleasant, and as I now look back to that time I in no way regret the ten months I was with them. Our cruise was up the Mediterranean, and the calls we made at the different ports enabled me to become familiar with a portion of the world I had long wanted to see. But the greatest value of those months was the naval training I received. Though I knew it not, a Divine Providence was in that way fitting me for my future career. But I am anticipating.

In August, 1775, we reached Egypt, and after a brief stop at Alexandria, turned our prow to the west. “Homeward bound!” my mates declared. Homeward bound for them, but not for me. London, which we reached in September, was as much a foreign place to me as any we had visited. Still I never tired of its sights, and as often as possible I obtained shore leave that I might wander through its streets, gaze upon its churches, and visit its famous old Tower.

One day as I was going through Cheapside, on my way to Newgate Street, I noticed a crowd gathered around a man in the uniform of a British army officer, who was haranguing them in excited tones. Curious to hear what he was saying, I went over to them. What was my astonishment to find he was telling them of a great battle which had taken place at Bunker Hill, Boston, in the previous June! With bitter invective he denounced the colonists, and declared that His Majesty would soon send troops enough over there to wipe the rebels off from the face of the earth. Then he continued:

“And that is why, good people, I am here. As a recruiting officer for the King I now offer you the shilling. Who will walk up, and taking it in his palm, enter His Majesty’s service? Here is a shilling for each one who is ready to cross the seas and avenge the comrades who have been slain by the rebels! Walk right up, my friends!”

Then catching sight of me standing there in my naval uniform, he called out:

“There is the kind of young men I am looking for! Do you notice how fine he looks in his rig? I dare say he will soon be sailing across the ocean to fight for his King. Won’t you, my lad?”

But I was already heated to the boiling point by the tidings I had heard, and, blazing with indignation that he should dare ask me, a loyal colonist, such a question, I blurted out:

“I’ll see His Majesty hung first! Do you think I’ll fight against my native country?”

“A rebel! A rebel! Right here among us! Seize him, comrades! Don’t let him escape! His Majesty knows what to do with such fellows. Seize him!” and he sprang towards me.

“Here he is, sir!” cried a stout teamster by my side, and he reached out his hand to hold me. But I eluded his grasp, and, turning, darted back down the street, with the whole crowd at my heels.