There was a good deal of manoeuvring between the two fleets this day, and some efforts were made to engage; but, to own the truth, I felt so melancholy about the loss of so many shipmates, that I did not take much notice of what passed. All my Black Jokers were drowned, and nothing remained of the craft and people with which and whom I had been associated all summer. Bill Southard, too, was among the lost, as indeed were all my messmates but Tom Goldsmith and Lemuel Bryant. I had very serious and proper impressions for the moment; but my new shipmates, some of whom had been old shipmates in other crafts, managed to cheer me up with grog. The effect was not durable, and in a short time I ceased to think of what had happened. I have probably reflected more on the merciful manner in which my life was spared, amid a scene so terrific, within the last five years, than I did in the twenty-five that immediately followed the accidents.
The fleet went in, off the Niagara, and anchored. Mr. Trant now mustered the remaining Scourges, and told us he wanted just our number of hands, and that he meant to get an order to keep us in the Julia. In the meantime, he should station and quarter us. I was stationed at the braces, and quartered at the long thirty-two as second loader. The Julia mounted a long thirty-two, and an eighteen on pivots, besides two sixes in the waist. The last were little used, as I have already mentioned. She was a small, but a fast schooner, and had about forty souls on board. She was altogether a better craft than the Scourge, though destitute of any quarters, but a low rail with wash-boards, and carrying fewer guns.
Chapter VII.
I never knew what became of the four Hamiltons that were picked up by the Julia's boat, though I suppose they were put in some other vessel along with their shipmates; nor did I ever learn the particulars of the loss of this schooner, beyond the fact that her topsail-sheets were stoppered, and her halyards racked. This much I learned from the men who were brought on board the Julia, who said that their craft was ready, in all respects, for action. Some seamen have thought this wrong, and some right; but, in my opinion, it made but little difference in such a gust as that which passed over us. What was remarkable, the Julia, which could not have been far from the Scourge when we went over, felt no great matter of wind, just luffing up, and shaking her sails, to be rid of it!
We lay only one night off the mouth of the Niagara. The next morning the squadron weighed, and stood out in pursuit of the English. The weather was very variable, and we could not get within reach of Sir James all that day. This was the 9th of August. The Scourge had gone down on the night of the 7th, or the morning of the 8th, I never knew which. On the morning of the 10th, however, we were under the north shore, and to windward of John Bull. The Commodore now took the Asp, and the Madison the Fair American, in tow, and we all kept away, expecting certainly a general action. But the wind shifted, bringing the English to windward. The afternoon was calm; or had variable airs. Towards sunset, the enemy was becalmed under the American shore, and we got a breeze from the southward. We now closed, and at 6 formed our line for engaging. We continued to close until 7, when the wind came out fresh at S.W., putting John again to windward.
I can hardly tell what followed, there was so much manoeuvring and shifting of berths. Both squadrons were standing across the lake, the enemy being to windward, and a little astern of us. We now passed within hail of the commodore, who gave us orders to form a new line of battle, which we did in the following manner. One line, composed of the smallest schooners, was formed to windward, while the ships, brig, and two heaviest schooners, formed another line to leeward. We had the weathermost line, having the Growler, Lieutenant Deacon, for the vessel next astern of us. This much I could see, though I did not understand the object. I now learn the plan was for the weather line to engage the enemy, and then, by edging away, draw them down upon the lee line, which line contained our principal force. According to the orders, we ought to have rather edged off, as soon as the English began to fire, in order to draw them down upon the commodore; but it will be seen that our schooner pursued a very different course.
It must have been near midnight, when the enemy began to fire at the Fair American, the sternmost vessel of our weather line. We were a long bit ahead of her, and did not engage for some time. The firing became pretty smart astern, but we stood on, without engaging, the enemy not yet being far enough ahead for us. After a while, the four sternmost schooners of our line kept off, according to orders, but the Julia and Growler still stood on. I suppose the English kept off, too, at the same time, as the commodore had expected. At any rate, we found ourselves so well up with the enemy, that, instead of bearing up, Mr. Trant tacked in the Julia, and the Growler came round after us. We now began to fire on the headmost ships of the enemy, which were coming on towards us. We were able to lay past the enemy on this tack, and fairly got to windward of them. When we were a little on John Bull's weather bow, we brailed the foresail, and gave him several rounds, within a pretty fair distance. The enemy answered us, and, from that moment, he seemed to give up all thoughts of the vessels to leeward of him, turning his whole attention on the Julia and Growler.
The English fleet stood on the same tack, until it had got between us and our own line, when it went about in chase of us. We now began to make short tacks to windward; the enemy separating so as to spread a wide clew, in order that they might prevent our getting past, by turning their line and running to leeward. As for keeping to windward, we had no difficulty--occasionally brailing our foresail, and even edging off, now and then, to be certain that our shot would tell. In moderate weather, the Julia was the fastest vessel in the American squadron, the Lady of the Lake excepted; and the Growler was far from being dull. Had there been room, I make no doubt we might have kept clear of John Bull, with the greatest ease; touching him up with our long, heavy guns, from time to time, as it suited us. I have often thought that Mr. Trant forgot we were between the enemy and the land, and that he fancied himself out at sea. It was a hazy, moonlight morning, and we did not see anything of the main, though it turned out to be nearer to us than we wished.
All hands were now turning to windward; the two schooners still edging off, occasionally, and firing. The enemy's shot went far beyond us, and did us some mischief, though nothing that was not immediately repaired. The main throat-halyards, on board the Julia, were shot away, as was the clew of the mainsail. It is probable the enemy did not keep his luff, towards the last, on account of the land.
Our two schooners kept quite near each other, sometimes one being to windward, sometimes the other. It happened that the Growler was a short distance to windward of us, when we first became aware of the nature of our critical situation. She up helm, and, running down within hail, Lieutenant Deacon informed Mr. Trant he had just sounded in two fathoms, and that he could see lights ashore. He thought there must be Indians, in great numbers, in this vicinity, and that we must, at all events, avoid the land. "What do you think we had best do?" asked Lieutenant Deacon. "Run the gauntlet," called out Mr. Trant. "Very well, sir: which shall lead?" "I'll lead the van," answered Mr. Trant, and then all was settled.
We now up helm, and steered for a vacancy among the British vessels. The enemy seemed to expect us, for they formed in two lines, leaving us room to enter between them. When we bore up, even in these critical circumstances, it was under our mainsail, fore-top-sail, jib, flying-jib, and foresail. So insufficient were the equipments of these small craft, that we had neither square-sail nor studding-sails on board us. I never saw a studding-sail in any of the schooners, the Scourge excepted.
The Julia and Growler now ran down, the former leading, half a cable's-length apart. When we entered between the two lines of the enemy, we were within short canister-range, and got it smartly on both tacks. The two English ships were to leeward, each leading a line; and we had a brig, and three large, regular man-of-war schooners, to get past, with the certainty of meeting the Wolfe and Royal George, should we succeed in clearing these four craft. Both of us kept up a heavy fire, swivelling our guns round, so as not to neglect any one. As we drew near the ships, however, we paid them the compliment of throwing all the heavy shot at them, as was due to their rank and size.
For a few minutes we fared pretty well; but we were no sooner well entered between the lines, than we got it, hot and hard. Our rigging began to come down about our ears, and one shot passed a few feet above our heads, cutting both topsail-sheets, and scooping a bit of wood as big as a thirty-two pound shot, out of the foremast. I went up on one side, myself, to knot one of these sheets, and, while aloft, discovered the injury that had been done to the spar. Soon after, the tack of the mainsail caught fire, from a wad of one of the Englishmen; for, by this time, we were close at it. I think, indeed, that the nearness of the enemy alone prevented our decks from being entirely swept. The grape and canister were passing just above our heads like hail, and the foresail was literally in ribands. The halyards being gone, the mainsail came down by the run, and the jib settled as low as it could. The topsail-yard was on the cap, and the schooner now came up into the wind.
All this time, we kept working the guns. The old man went from one gun to the other, pointing each himself, as it was ready. He was at the eighteen when things were getting near the worst, and, as he left her, he called out to her crew to "fill her--fill her to the muzzle!" He then came to our gun, which was already loaded with one round, a stand of grape, and a case of canister shot. This I know, for I put them all in with my own hands. At this time, the Melville, a brig of the enemy's, was close up with us, firing upon our decks from her fore-top. She was coming up on our larboard quarter, while a large schooner was nearing us fast on the starboard. Mr. Trant directed our gun to be elevated so as to sweep the brig's forecastle, and then he called out, "Now's the time, lads--fire at the b----s! fire away at 'em!" But no match was to be found! Some one had thrown both overboard. By this time the brig's jib-boom was over our quarter, and the English were actually coming on board of us. The enemy were now all round us. The Wolfe, herself, was within hail, and still firing. The last I saw of any of our people, was Mallet passing forward, and I sat down on the slide of the thirty-two, myself, sullen as a bear. Two or three of the English passed me, without saying anything. Even at this instant, a volley of bullets came out of the brig's fore-top, and struck all around me; some hitting the deck, and others the gun itself. Just then, an English officer came up, and said--"What are you doing here, you Yankee?" I felt exceedingly savage, and answered, "Looking at your fools firing upon their own men." "Take that for your sauce," he said, giving me a thrust with his sword, as he spoke. The point of the cutlass just passed my hip-bone, and gave me a smart flesh-wound. The hurt was not dangerous, though it bled freely, and was some weeks in healing. I now rose to go below, and heard a hail from one of the ships--the Wolfe, as I took her to be. "Have you struck?" demanded some one. The officer who had hurt me now called out, "Don't fire into us, sir, for I'm on board, and have got possession." The officer from the ship next asked, "Is there anybody alive on board her?" To which the prize-officer answered, "I don't know, sir, I've seen but one man, as yet."
I now went down below. First, I got a bandage on my wound, to stop the bleeding, and then I had an opportunity to look about me. A party of English was below, and some of our men having joined them, the heads were knocked out of two barrels of whiskey. The kids and bread-bags were procured, and all hands, without distinction of country, sat down to enjoy themselves. Some even began to sing, and, as for good-fellowship, it was just as marked, as it would have been in a jollification ashore.
In a few minutes the officer who had hurt me jumped down among us. The instant he saw what we were at, he sang out--"Halloo! here's high life below stairs!" Then he called to another officer to bear a hand down and see the fun. Some one sung out from among ourselves to "dowse the glim." The lights were put out, and then the two officers capsized the whiskey. While this was doing, most of the Englishmen ran up the forward hatch. We Julias all remained below.
In less than an hour we were sent on board the enemy's vessels. I was carried to the Royal George, but Mr. Trant was taken on board the Wolfe. The Growler had lost her bowsprit, and was otherwise damaged, and had been forced to strike also. She had a man killed, and I believe one or two wounded.[8] On board of us, not a man, besides myself, had been touched! We seemed to have been preserved by a miracle, for every one of the enemy had a slap at us, and, for some time, we were within pistol-shot. Then we had no quarters at all, being perfectly exposed to grape and canister. The enemy must have fired too high, for nothing else could have saved us.
In July, while I still belonged to the Scourge, I had been sent with a boat's crew, under Mr. Bogardus, on board an English flag of truce that had come into the Harbour. While in this vessel, our boat's crew were "hail-fellows-well-met" with the Englishmen, and we had agreed among us to take care of each other, should either side happen to be taken. I had been on board the Royal George but a short time, when two of these very men came up to me with some grog and some grub; and next morning they brought me my bitters. I saw no more of them, however, except when they came to shake hands with us at the gang-way, as we were leaving the ship.
After breakfast, next morning, we were all called aft to the ward-room, one at a time. I was pumped as to the force of the Americans, the names of the vessels, the numbers of the crews, and the names of the commanders. I answered a little saucily, and was ordered out of the ward-room. As I was quitting the place, I was called back by one of the lieutenants, whose appearance I did not like from the first. Although it was now eight years since I left Halifax, and we had both so much altered, I took this gentleman for Mr. Bowen, the very midshipman of the Cleopatra, who had been my schoolmate, and whom I had known on board the prize-brig I have mentioned.
This officer asked me where I was born. I told him New York. He said he knew better, and asked my name. I told him it was what he found it on the muster-roll, and that by which I had been called. He said I knew better, and that I should hear more of this, hereafter. If this were my old school-fellow, he knew that I was always called Edward Robert Meyers, whereas I had dropped the middle name, and now called myself Myers. He may not, however, have been the person I took him for, and might have mistaken me for some one else; for I never had an opportunity of ascertaining any more about him.
We got into Little York, and were sent ashore that evening. I can say nothing of our squadron, having been kept below the whole time I was on board the Royal George. I could not find out whether we did the enemy any harm, or not, the night we were taken; though I remember that a sixty-eight pound carronade, that stood near the gang-way of the Royal George, was dismounted, the night I passed into her. It looked to me as if the trucks were gone. This I know, that the ship was more than usually screened off; though for what reason I will not pretend to say.
At York, we were put in the gaol, where we were kept three weeks. Our treatment was every way bad, with the exception that we were not crowded. As to food, we were kept "six upon four" the whole time I was prisoner.[9] The bread was bad, and the pork little better. While in this gaol, a party of drunken Indians gave us a volley, in passing; but luckily it did us no harm.
At the end of three weeks, we received a haversack apiece, and two days' allowance. Our clothes were taken from us, and the men were told they would get them below; a thing that happened to very few of us, I believe. As for myself, I was luckily without anything to lose; my effects having gone down in the Scourge. All I had on earth was a shirt and two handkerchiefs, and an old slouched hat, that I had got in exchange for a Scotch cap that had been given to me in the Julia. I was without shoes, and so continued until I reached Halifax. All this gave me little concern; my spirits being elastic, and my disposition gay. My great trouble was the apprehension of being known, through the recollections of the officer I have mentioned.
We now commenced our march for Kingston, under the guard of a company of the Glengarians and a party of Indians. The last kept on our flanks, and it was understood they would shoot and scalp any man who left the ranks. We marched two and two, being something like eighty prisoners. It was hard work for the first day or two, the road being nothing but an Indian trail, and our lodging-places the open air. My feet became very sore, and, as for food, we had to eat our pork raw, there being nothing to cook in. The soldiers fared no better than ourselves, however, with the exception of being on full allowance. It seems that our provisions were sent by water, and left for us at particular places; for every eight-and-forty hours we touched the lake shore, and found them ready for us. They were left on the beach without any guard, or any one near them. In this way we picked up our supplies the whole distance.
At the dépôt, Mr. Bogardus and the pilot found a boat, and managed to get into her, and put out into the lake. After being absent a day and night, they were driven in by rough weather, and fell into the hands of a party of dragoons who were escorting Sir George Prevost along the lake shore. We found them at a sort of tavern, where were the English Governor and his escort at the time. They were sent back among us, with two American army officers, who had fallen into the hands of the Indians, and had been most foully treated. One of these officers was wounded in the arm.
The night of the day we fell in with Sir George Prevost, we passed through a hamlet, and slept just without it. As we entered the village the guard played Yankee Doodle, winding up with the Rogue's March. As we went through the place, I got leave to go to a house and ask for a drink of milk. The woman of this house said they had been expecting us for two days, and that they had been saving their milk expressly to give us. I got as much as I wanted, and a small loaf of bread in the bargain, as did several others with me. These people seemed to me to be all well affected to the Americans, and much disposed to treat us kindly. We slept on a barn floor that night.
We were much provoked at the insult of playing the Rogue's March. Jack Reilly and I laid a plan to have our revenge, should it be repeated. Two or three days later we had the same tune, at another village, and I caught up a couple of large stones, ran ahead, and dashed them through both ends of the drum, before the boy, who was beating it, knew what I was about. Jack snatched the fife out of the other boy's hand, and it was passed from one to another among us, until it reached one who threw it over the railing of a bridge. After this, we had no more music, good or bad. Not a word was said to any of us about this affair, and I really think the officers were ashamed of themselves.
After a march of several days we came to a hamlet, not a great distance from Kingston. I saw a good many geese about, and took a fancy to have one for supper. I told Mallet if he would cook a goose, I would tip one over. The matter was arranged between us, and picking up a club I made a dash at a flock, and knocked a bird over. I caught up the goose and ran, when my fellow-prisoners called out to me to dodge, which I did, behind a stump, not knowing from what quarter the danger might come. It was well I did, for two Indians fired at me, one hitting the stump, and the other ball passing just over my head. A militia officer now galloped up, and drove back the Indians who were running up to me, to look after the scalp, I suppose. This officer remonstrated with me, but spoke mildly and even kindly. I told him I was hungry, and that I wanted a warm mess. "But you are committing a robbery," he said. "If I am, I'm robbing an enemy." "You do not know but it may be a friend," was his significant answer. "Well, if I am, he'll not grudge me the goose," says I. On hearing this, the officer laughed, and asked me how I meant to cook the goose. I told him that one of my messmates had promised to do this for me. He then bade me carry the goose into the ranks, and to come to him when we halted at night. I did this, and he gave us a pan, some potatoes, onions, &c., out of which we made the only good mess we got on our march. I may say this was the last hearty and really palatable meal I made until I reached Halifax, a period of several weeks.
While Jack Mallet was cooking the goose, I went in behind a pile of boards, attended by a soldier to watch me, and, while there, I saw an ivory rule lying on the boards, with fifteen pence alongside of it. These I pinned, as a lawful prize, being in an enemy's country. The money served to buy us some bread. The rule was bartered for half a gallon of rum. This made us a merry night, taking all things together.
We made no halt at Kingston, though the Indians left us. We now marched through a settled country, with some militia for our guards. Our treatment was much better than it had been, the people of the country treating us kindly. When we were abreast of the Thousand Islands, Mr. Bogardus and the pilot made another attempt to escape, and got fairly off. These were the only two who did succeed. How they effected it I cannot say, but I know they escaped. I never saw either afterwards.
At the Long Sault, we were all put in boats, with a Canadian pilot in each end. The militia staid behind, and down we went; they say at the rate of nine miles in fifteen minutes. We found a new guard at the foot of the rapids. This was done, beyond a doubt, to save us and themselves, though we thought hard of it at the time, for it appeared to us, as if they thrust us into a danger they did not like to run themselves. I have since heard that even ladies travelling, used to go down these formidable rapids in the same way; and that, with skilful pilots, there is little or no danger.
When we reached Montreal we were confined in a gaol where we remained three weeks. There was an American lady confined in this building, though she had more liberty than we, and from her we received much aid. She sent us soap, and she gave me bandages &c., for my hurt. Occasionally she gave us little things to eat. I never knew her name, but heard she had two sons in the American army, and that she had been detected in corresponding with them.
We remained at Montreal two or three weeks, and then were sent down to Quebec, where we were put on board of prison-ships. I was sent to the Lord Cathcart, and most of the Julia's men with me. Our provisions were very bad, and the mortality among us was great. The bread was intolerably bad. Mr. Trant came to see us, privately, and he brought some salt with him, which was a great relief to us. Jack Mallet asked him whether some of us might not go to work on board a transport, that lay just astern of us, in order to get something; better to eat. Mr. Trant said yes, and eight of us went on board this craft, every day, getting provisions and grog for our pay. At sunset, we returned regularly to the Cathcart. I got a second shirt and a pair of trowsers in this way.
About a fortnight after this arrangement, the Surprise, 32, and a sloop-of-war, came in, anchoring some distance below the town. These ships sent their boats up to the prison-ships to examine them for men. After going through those vessels, they came on board the transport, and finding us fresh, clean, fed and tolerably clad, they pronounced us all Englishmen, and carried us on board the frigate. We were not permitted even to go and take leave of our shipmates. Of the eight men thus taken, five were native Americans, one was from Mozambique, one I suppose to have been an English subject born, but long settled in America; and, as for me, the reader knows as much of my origin as I know myself.
We were asked if we would go to duty on board the Surprise, and we all refused. We were then put in close con finement, on the berth-deck, under the charge of a sentry. In a day or two, the ship sailed; and off Cape Breton we met with a heavy gale, in which the people suffered severely with snow and cold. The ship was kept off the land, with great difficulty. After all, we prisoners saved the ship, though I think it likely the injury originally came from some of us. The breechings of two of the guns had been cut, and the guns broke adrift in the height of the gale. All the crew were on deck, and the sentinel permitting it, we went up and smothered the guns with hammocks. We were now allowed to go about deck, but this lasted a short time, the whole of us being sent below, again, as soon as the gale abated.
On reaching Halifax, we were all put on board of the Regulus transport, bound to Bermuda. Here we eight were thrown into irons, under the accusation of being British subjects. At the end of twenty-four hours, however, the captain came to us, and offered to let us out of irons, and to give us ship's treatment, if we would help in working the vessel to Bermuda. I have since thought we were ironed merely to extort this arrangement from us. We consulted together; and, thinking a chance might offer to get possession of the Regulus, which had only a few Canadians in her, and was to be convoyed by the Pictou schooner, we consented. We were now turned up to duty, and I got the first pair of shoes that had been on my feet since the Scourge sunk from under me.
The reader will imagine I had not been in the harbour of Halifax, without a strong desire to ascertain something about those I had left behind me, in that town. I was nervously afraid of being discovered, and yet had a feverish wish to go ashore. The manner in which I gratified this wish, and the consequences to which it led, will be seen in the sequel.
Chapter VIII.
Jack Mallet had long known my history. He was my confidant, and entered into all my feelings. The night we went to duty on board the transport, a boat was lying alongside of the ship, and the weather being thick, it afforded a good opportunity for gratifying my longing. Jack and myself got in, after putting our heads together, and stole off undetected. I pulled directly up to the wharf of Mr. Marchinton, and at once found myself at home. I will not pretend to describe my sensations, but they were a strange mixture of apprehension, disquiet, hope, and natural attachment. I wished much to see my sister, but was afraid to venture on that.
There was a family, however, of the name of Fraser, that lived near the shore, with which I had been well acquainted, and in whose members I had great confidence. They were respectable in position, its head being called a judge, and they were all intimate with the Marchintons. To the Frasers, then, I went; Jack keeping me company. I was afraid, if I knocked, the servant would not let me in, appearing, as I did, in the dress of a common sailor; so I opened the street-door without any ceremony, and went directly to that of the parlour, which I entered before there was time to stop me. Jack brought up in the entry.
Mrs. Fraser and her daughter were seated together, on a settee, and the judge was reading at a table. My sudden apparition astonished them, and all three gazed at me in silence. Mr. Fraser then said, "In the name of heaven, where did you come from, Edward!" I told him I had been in the American service, but that I now belonged to an English transport that was to sail in the morning, and that I had just come ashore to inquire how all hands did; particularly my sister. He told me that my sister was living, a married woman, in Halifax; that Mr. Marchinton was dead, and had grieved very much at my disappearance; that I was supposed to be dead. He then gave me much advice as to my future course, and reminded me how much I had lost by my early mistakes. He was particularly anxious I should quit my adopted country, and wished me to remain in Halifax. He offered to send a servant with me to find my sister, but I was afraid to let my presence be known to so many. I begged my visit might be kept a secret, as I felt ashamed of being seen in so humble circumstances. I was well treated, as was Jack Mallet, both of us receiving wine and cake, &c. Mr. Fraser also gave me a guinea, and as I went away, Mrs. Fraser slipped a pound note into my hand. The latter said to me, in a whisper--"I know what you are afraid of, but I shall tell Harriet of your visit; she will be secret."
I staid about an hour, receiving every mark of kindness from these excellent and respectable people, leaving them to believe we were to sail in the morning. When we got back to the transport no one knew of our absence, and nothing was ever said of our taking the boat. The Regulus did not sail for twenty hours after this, but I had no more communication with the shore. We got to sea, at last, two transports, under the convoy of the Pictou.
During the whole passage, we eight prisoners kept a sharp look-out for a chance to get possession of the ship. We were closely watched, there being a lieutenant and his boat's crew on board, besides the Canadians, the master, mate, &c. All the arms were secreted, and nothing was left at hand, that we could use in a rising.
About mid passage, it blowing fresh, with the ship under double-reefed topsails, I was at the weather, with one of the Canadians at the lee, wheel. Mallet was at work in the larboard, or weather, mizen chains, ready to lend me a hand. At this moment the Pictou came up under our lee, to speak us in relation to carrying a light during the night. Her masts swung so she could not carry one herself, and her commander wished us to carry our top-light, he keeping near it, instead of our keeping near him. The schooner came very close to us, it blowing heavily, and Mallet called out, "Ned, now is your time. Up helm and into him. A couple of seas will send him down." This was said loud enough to be heard, though all on deck were attending to the schooner; and, as for the Canadian, he did not understand English. I managed to get the helm hard up, and Mallet jumped inboard. The ship fell off fast; but the lieutenant, who was on board as an agent, was standing in the companion-way with his wife, and, the instant he saw what I had done, he ran aft, struck me a sharp blow, and put the helm hard down with his own hands. This saved the Pictou, though there was a great outcry on board her. The lieutenant's wife screamed, and there was a pretty uproar for a minute, in every direction. As the Regulus luffed-to, her jib-boom-end just cleared the Pictou's forward rigging, and a man might almost have jumped from the ship to the schooner, as we got alongside of each other. Another minute, and we should have travelled over His Majesty's schooner, like a rail-road car going over a squash.
The lieutenant now denounced us, and we prisoners were all put in irons. I am merely relating facts. How far we were right, I leave others to decide; but it must be remembered that Jack had, in that day, a mortal enmity to a British man-of-war, which was a little too apt to lay hands on all that she fell in with, on the high seas. Perhaps severe moralists might say that we had entered into a bargain with the captain of the Regulus, not to make war on him during the passage; in answer to which, we can reply that we were not attacking him, but the Pictou. Our intention, it must be confessed, however, was to seize the Regulus in the confusion. Had we been better treated as prisoners, our tempers might not have been so savage. But we got no good treatment, except for our own work; and, being hedged in in this manner, common sailors reason very much as they feel. We were not permitted to go at large again, in the Regulus, in which the English were very right, as Jack Mallet, in particular, was a man to put his shipmates up to almost any enterprise.
The anchor was hardly down, at Bermuda, before a signal was made to the Goliah, razée, for a boat, and we were sent on board that ship. This was a cruising vessel, and she went to sea next morning. We were distributed about the ship, and ordered to go to work. The intention, evidently, was to swallow us all in the enormous maw of the British navy. We refused to do duty, however, to a man; most of our fellows being pretty bold, as native Americans. We were a fortnight in this situation, the greater part of the time playing green, with our tin pots slung round our necks. We did so much of this, that the people began to laugh at us, as real Johnny Raws, though the old salts knew better. The last even helped us along, some giving us clothes, extra grog, and otherwise being very kind to us. The officers treated us pretty well, too, all things considered. None of us got flogged, nor were we even threatened with the gang-way. At length the plan was changed. The boatswain was asked if he got anything out of us, and, making a bad report, we were sent down to the lower gun-deck, under a sentry's charge, and put at "six upon four," again. Here we remained until the ship went into Bermuda, after a six weeks' cruise. This vessel, an old seventy-four cut down, did not answer, for she was soon after sent to England. I overheard her officers, from our berth near the bulkhead, wishing to fall in with the President, Commodore Rodgers--a vessel they fancied they could easily handle. I cannot say they could not, but one day an elderly man among them spoke very rationally on the subject, saying, they might, or they might not get the best of it in such a fight. For his part, he did not wish to see any such craft, with the miserable crew they had in the Goliah.
We found the Ramilies, Sir Thomas Hardy, lying in Bermuda roads. This ship sent a boat, which took us on board the Ardent, 64, which was then used as a prison-ship. About a week before we reached this vessel an American midshipman got hold of a boat, and effected his escape, actually making the passage between Bermuda and Cape Henry all alone, by himself.[10] In consequence of this unusual occurrence, a bright look out was kept on all the boats, thus defeating one of our plans, which was to get off in the same way. When we reached the Ardent, we found but four Americans in her. After we had been on board her about a week, three men joined us, who had given themselves up on board English men-of-war, as native Americans. One of these men, whose name was Baily, had been fourteen years in the English service, into which he had been pressed, his protection having been torn up before his face. He was a Connecticut man, and had given himself up at the commencement of the war, getting three dozen for his pains. He was then sent on the Halifax station, where he gave himself up again. He received three dozen more, then had his shirt thrown over his back and was sent to us. I saw the back and the shirt, myself, and Baily said he would keep the last to be buried with him. Bradbury and Patrick were served very much in the same manner. I saw all their backs, and give the remainder of the story, as they gave it to me. Baily and Bradbury got off in season to join the Constitution, and to make the last cruise in her during this war. I afterwards fell in with Bradbury, who mentioned this circumstance to me.
It is good to have these things known, for I do believe the English nation would be averse to men's receiving such treatment, could they fairly be made to understand it. It surely is bad enough to be compelled to fight the battles of a foreign country, without being flogged for not fighting them when they happen to be against one's own people. For myself, I was born, of German parents, in the English territory, it is true; but America was, and ever has been, the country of my choice, and, while yet a child, I may say, I decided for myself to sail under the American flag; and, if my father had a right to make an Englishman of me, by taking service under the English crown, I think I had a right to make myself what I pleased, when he had left me to get on as I could, without his counsel and advice.
After being about three weeks in the Ardent, we eight prisoners were sent on board the Ramilies, to be tried as Englishmen who had been fighting against their king. The trial took place on board the Asia, 74, a flag-ship; but we lived in the Ramilies, during the time the investigation was going on. Sir Thomas Hardy held several conversations with me, on the quarter-deck, in which he manifested great kindness of feeling. He inquired whether I was really an American; but I evaded any direct answer. I told him, however, that I had been an apprentice, in New York, in the employment of Jacob Barker; which was true, in one sense, as Mr. Barker was the consignee of the Sterling, and knew of my indentures. I mentioned him, as a person more likely to be known than Captain Johnston. Sir Thomas said he had some knowledge of Mr. Barker; and, I think, I have heard that they were, in some way, connected. This was laying an anchor to-windward, as it turned out, in the end.
We were all on board the Asia, for trial, or investigation, two days, before I was sent for into the cabin. I was very much frightened; and scarce knew what I said, or did. It is a cruel thing to leave sailors without counsel, on such occasions; though the officers behaved very kindly and considerately to me; and, I believe, to all of us. There were several officers seated round a table; and all were in swabs. They said, the gentleman who presided, was a Sir Borlase Warren, the admiral on the station.[11] This gentleman, whoever he was, probably saw that I was frightened. He slewed himself round, in his chair, and said to me; "My man, you need not be alarmed; we know who you are, and what you are; but your apprenticeship will be of great service to you." This was not said, however, until Sir Thomas Hardy had got out the story of my being an apprentice in Jacob Barker's employ, again, before them all, in the cabin. I was told to send for a copy of my indentures, by one of the white-washed Swedes, that sailed between Bermuda and New York. This I did, that very day. I was in the cabin of the Asia, half an hour, perhaps; and I felt greatly relieved, when I got out of it. It was decided, in my presence, to send me back among the prisoners, on board the Ardent. The same decision was made, as to the whole eight of us, that had come on in the Regulus.
When we got back to the Ramilies, Sir Thomas Hardy had some more conversation with me. I have thought, ever since, that he knew something about my birth, and of my being the prince's godson. He wished me to join the British service, seemingly, very much, and encouraged me with the hope of being promoted. But, it is due to myself, to say, I held out against it all. I do not believe America had a truer heart, in her service, than mine; and I do not think an English commission would have bought me. I have nothing to hope, from saying this, for I am now old, and a cripple but, as I have sat down to relate the truth, let the truth be told, whether it tell for, or against me.
We were now sent back to the Ardent; where we remained three weeks, or a month, longer. During this time we got our papers from New York; I receiving a copy of my indentures, together with the sum of ten dollars; which reached me through Sir Thomas Hardy, as I understood. Nothing more was ever said, to any of the eight, about their being Englishmen; the whole of us being treated as prisoners of war. Prisoners arrived fast, until we had four hundred in the Ardent. The old Ruby, a forty-four, on two decks, was obliged to receive some of them. Most of these prisoners were privateersmen; though there were a few soldiers, and some citizens that had been picked up in Chesapeake Bay. Before we left Bermuda, the crew of a French frigate was put into the Ardent, to the number of near four hundred men. In the whole, we must have had eight hundred souls, and all on one deck. This was close stowage, and I was heartily glad when I quitted the ship.
Soon after the French arrived, four hundred of us Americans were put on board transports, and we sailed for Halifax, under the convoy of the Ramilies. A day or two after we got out, we fell in with an American privateer, which continued hovering around us for several days. As this was a bold fellow, frequently coming within gun-shot, and sporting his sticks and canvass in all sorts of ways, Sir Thomas Hardy felt afraid he would get one of the four transports, and he took all us prisoners into the Ramilies. We staid in the ship the rest of the passage, and when we went into Halifax it was all alone, the four transports having disappeared. Two of them subsequently got in; but I think the other two were actually taken by that saucy fellow.
The prisoners, at first, had great liberty allowed them, on board the Ramilies. On all occasions, Sir Thomas Hardy treated the Americans well. A party of marines was stationed on the poop, and another on the forecastle, and the ship's people had arms; but this was all the precaution that was used. The opportunity tempted some of our men to plan a rising, with a view to seize the ship. Privateer officers were at the head of this scheme, which was communicated to me, among others, soon after the plot was laid. Most of the prisoners knew of the intention, and everybody seemed to enter into the affair with hearty good-will. Our design was to rise at the end of the second dog-watch, overcome the crew, and carry the ship upon our own coast. If unable to pass the blockading squadrons, we intended to run her ashore. The people of the Ramilies outnumbered us by near one-half, and they had arms, it is true; but we trusted to the effect of a surprise, and something to the disposition of most English sailors to get quit of their own service. Had the attempt been made, from what I saw of the crew, I think our main trouble would have been with the officers and the marines. We were prevented from trying the experiment, however, in consequence of having been betrayed by some one who was in the secret, the whole of us being suddenly sent into the cable tiers and amongst the water casks, under the vigilant care of sentinels posted in the wings. After that, we were allowed to come on deck singly, only, and then under a sentinel's charge. When Sir Thomas spoke to us concerning this change of treatment, he did not abuse us for our plan, but was mild and reasonable, while he reminded us of the necessity of what he was doing. I have no idea he would have been in the least injured, had we got possession of the ship; for, to the last, our people praised him, and the treatment they received, while under his orders.
Before we were sent below, Sir Thomas spoke to me again, on the subject of my joining the English service. He was quite earnest about it, and reasoned with me like a father; but I was determined not to yield. I did not like England, and I did like America. My birth in Quebec was a thing I could not help; but having chosen to serve under the American flag, and having done so now for years, I did not choose to go over to the enemy.
At Halifax, fifteen or twenty of us were sent on board the old Centurion, 44, Lord Anson's ship, as retaliation-men. We eight were of the number. We found something like thirty more in the ship, all retaliation-men, like ourselves. Those we found in the Centurion did not appear to me to be foremast Jacks, but struck me as being citizens from ashore. We were well treated, however, suffering no other confinement than that of the ship. We were on "six upon four," it is true, like other prisoners, but our own country gave us small stores, and extra bread and beef. In the way of grub, we fared like sailor kings. At the end of three weeks, we eight lakesmen were sent to Melville Island, among the great herd of prisoners. I cannot explain the reason of all these changes; but I know that when the gate was shut on us, the turnkey said we had gone into a home that would last as long as the war lasted.
Melville is an island of more than a mile in circumference, with low, rocky shores. It lies about three miles from the town of Halifax, but not in sight. It is connected with the main by a bridge that is thrown across a narrow passage of something like a quarter of a mile in width. In the centre of the island is an eminence, which was occupied by the garrison, and had some artillery. This eminence commanded the whole island. Another post on the main, also, commanded the prisoners' barracks. These barracks were ordinary wooden buildings, enclosed on the side of the island with a strong stone wall, and on the side of the post on the main, by high, open palisades. Of course, a sufficient guard was maintained.
It was said there were about twelve hundred Americans on the island, when I passed the gate. Among them were a few French, some of whom were a part of the crew of the Ville de Milan, the ship that had been taken before I first left Halifax; or more than eight years previously to this time. This did, indeed, look like the place's being a home to a poor fellow, and I did not relish the circumstance at all. Among our people were soldiers, sailors, and 'long-shore-men'. There was no difference in the treatment, which, for a prison, was good. We got only "six upon four" from the English, of course; but our own country made up the difference here, as on board the Centurion. They had a prison dress, with one leg of the trowsers yellow and the other blue, &c.; but we would not stand that. Our agent managed the matter so that we got regular jackets and trowsers of the true old colour. The poor Frenchmen looked like peacocks in their dress, but we did not envy them their finery.
I had been on the island about a fortnight, when I was told by Jack Mallet that a woman, whom he thought to be my sister, was at the gate. Jack knew my whole history, and came to his opinion from a resemblance that he saw between me and the person who had inquired for me. I refused to go to the gate, however, to see who it was, and Jack was sent back to tell the woman that I had been left behind at Bermuda. He was directed to throw in a few hints about the expediency of her not coming back to look for me, and that it would be better if she never named me. All this was done, I getting a berth from which I could see the female. I knew her in a moment, although she was married, and had a son with her, and my heart was very near giving way, especially when I saw her shedding tears. She went away from the gate, however, going up on the ramparts, from which she could look down into the prison-yard. There she remained an hour, as if she wished to satisfy her own eyes as to the truth of Jack's story; but I took good care to keep out of her sight.
As I knew there was little hope of an exchange of prisoners, I now began to think of the means of making my escape. Jack Mallet dared not attempt to swim, on account of the rheumatism and cramps, having narrowly escaped drowning at Bermuda, and he could not join in our schemes. As for myself, I have been able to swim ever since danger taught me the important lesson, the night the Scourge went down. Money would be necessary to aid me in escaping, and Jack and I put our heads together, in order to raise some. I had still the ten dollars given me by Sir Thomas Hardy, and I commenced operations by purchasing shares in a dice-board, a vingt et un table, and a quino table.[12] Jack Mallet and I, also, set up a shop, on a capital of three dollars. We sold smoked herring, pipes, tobacco, segars, spruce beer, and, as chances of smuggling it in offered, now and then a little Jamaica. All this time, the number of the prisoners increased, until, in the end, we got to have a full prison, when they began to send them to England. Only one of the Julias was sent away, however, all the rest remaining at Melville Island, from some cause I cannot explain.
I cannot say we made money very fast. On every shilling won at dice, we received a penny; at vingt et un, the commission was the same; as it was also at the other games. New cards, however, brought a little higher rate. All this was wrong I now know, but then it gave me very little trouble. I hope I would not do the same thing over again, even to make my escape from Melville Island, but one never knows to what distress may drive him.
Some person among the American prisoners--a soldier it was said--commenced counterfeiting Spanish dollars. I am afraid most of us helped to circulate them. We thought it no harm to cheat the people of the canteens, for we knew they were doing all they could to cheat us. This was prison morality, in war-time, and I say nothing in its favour; though, for myself, I will own I felt more of the consciousness of wrong-doing in holding the shares in the gambling establishments, than in giving bad dollars for poor rum. The counterfeiting business was destroyed by one of the dollars happening to break, as some of the officers were pitching them; when, on examination, it turned out that most of the money in the prison was bad. It was said the people of the canteens had about four hundred of the dollars, when they came to overhaul their lockers. A good many found their way into Halifax.
My trade lasted all winter--(that of 1813--14,) and by March I had gained the sum of eighty French crowns. Dollars I was afraid to hold on account of the base money. The ice now began to give way, and a few of us, who had been discussing the matter all winter, set about forming serious plans to escape. My confederates were a man of the name of Johnson, who had been taken in the Snapdragon privateer, and an Irishman of the name of Littlefield. Barnet, the Mozambique man, joined us also, making four in all. It was quite early in the month, when we made the attempt. Our windows were long, and had perpendicular bars of wrought iron to secure them, but no cross-bars. There was no glass; but outside shutters, that we could open at our pleasure. Outside of the windows were sentinels, and there were two rows of pickets between us and the shore.
I put my crowns in a belt around my waist. Another belt, or skin, was filled with rum, for the double purpose of buoying me in the water, and of comforting me when ashore. At that day, I found rum one of the great blessings of life; now I look upon it as one of the greatest evils. My companions made similar provisions of money and rum, though neither was as rich as myself. I left Mallet and Leonard Lewis my heirs at law if I escaped, and my trustees should I be caught. Lewis was a young man of better origin than most in the prison, and I have always thought some calamity drove him to the seas. He was in ill health, and did not appear to be destined to a long life. He would have joined us, heart and hand, but was not strong enough to endure the fatigue which we well knew we must undergo, before we could get clear.
The night selected for the attempt was so cold, dark, and dismal, as to drive all the sentinels into their boxes. It rained hard, in the bargain. About eight, or as soon as the lights were out, we got the lanyards of our hammocks around two of the window bars, and using a bit of fire-wood for a heaver, we easily brought them together. This left room for our bodies to pass out, without any difficulty. Jack Mallet, and those we left behind, hove the bars straight again, so that the keepers were at a loss to know how we had got off. We met with no obstacle between the prison and the water. The pickets we removed, having cut them in the day-time. In a word, all four of us reached the shore of the Island in two or three minutes after we had taken leave of our messmates. The difficulty lay before us. We entered into the water, at once, and began to swim. When I was a few rods from the place of landing, which was quite near the guard-house, on the main, Johnson began to sing out that he was drowning. I told him to be quiet, but it was of no use. The guard on the main heard him, and commenced firing, and of course we swam all the harder. Three of us were soon ashore, and, knowing the roads well, I led them in a direction to avoid the soldiers. By running into the woods, we got clear, though poor Johnson fell again into the hands of the enemy. He deserved it for bawling as he did; it being the duty of a man in such circumstances to lie with a shut mouth.
Chapter IX.
The three who had escaped ran, for a quarter of a mile, in the woods, when we brought up, and took a drink. Hearing no more firing, or any further alarm, we now consulted as to our future course. There were some mills at the head of the bay, about four miles from the guard-house, and I led the party thither. We reached the place towards morning, and found a berth in them before any one was stirring. We hid ourselves in an old granary; but no person appeared near the place throughout the next day. We had put a little bread and a few herrings in our hats, and on these we subsisted. The rum cheered us up, and, if rum ever did good, I think it was to us on that occasion. We slept soundly, with one man on the look-out; a rule we observed the whole time we were out. It stopped raining in the course of the day, though the weather was bitter cold.
Next night we got under way, and walked in a direction which led us within three miles of the town. In doing this, we passed the Prince's Lodge, a place where I had often been, and the sight of which reminded me of home, and of my childish days. There was no use in regrets, however, and we pushed ahead. The men saw my melancholy, and they questioned me; but I evaded the answer, pretending that nothing ailed me. There was a tavern about a league from the town, kept by a man of the name of Grant, and Littlefield ventured into it. He bought a small cheese and a loaf of bread; getting off clear, though not unsuspected. This helped us along famously, and we pushed on as fast as we could. Before morning we came near a bridge, on which there was a sentinel posted, with a guard-house near its end. To avoid this danger, we turned the guard-house, striking the river above the bridge. Here we met two Indians, and fell into discourse with them. Our rum now served us a better turn than ever, buying the Indians in a minute. We told these chaps we were deserters from the Bulwark, 74, and begged them to help us along. At first, they thought we were Yankees, whom they evidently disliked, and that right heartily; but the story of the desertion took, and made them disposed to serve us.
These two Indians led us down to the bed of the river, and actually carried us beneath the bridge, on the side of the river next the guard, where we found a party of about thirty of these red-skins, men, women and children. Here we stayed no less than three days; faring extremely well, having fish, bread, butter, and other common food. The weather was very bad, and we did not like to turn out in it, besides, thinking the search for us might be less keen after a short delay. All this time, we were within a few rods of the guard, hearing the sentinels cry "all's well," from half-hour to half-hour. We were free with our rum, and, as much as we dared to be, with our money. These people never betrayed us.
The third night we left the bridge, guided by a young Indian. He led us about two miles up the river, passing through the Maroon town in the night, after which he left us. We wished him to keep on with us for some distance further, but he refused. He quitted us near morning, and we turned into a deserted log-house, on the banks of the river, where we passed the day. The country was thinly populated, and the houses we saw were poor and mean. We must now have been about five-and-twenty miles from Halifax.
Our object was to cross the neck of land between the Atlantic and the Bay of Fundy, and to get to Annapolis Royal, where we expected to be able to procure a boat, by fair means if we could, by stealth if necessary, and cross over to the American shore. We had still a long road before us, and had some little difficulty to find the way. The Indians, however, gave us directions that greatly assisted us; and we travelled a long bit, and pretty fast all that night. In the morning, the country had more the appearance of being peopled and cultivated, and I suspected we were getting into the vicinity of Horton, a place through which it would be indispensable to pass. The weather became bad again, and it was necessary to make a halt. Coming near a log-house, we sent Littlefield ahead to make some inquiries of a woman who appeared to be in it alone. On his return, he reported well of the woman. He had told her we were deserters from the Bulwark, and had promised to pay her if she would let us stay about her premises that day, and get us something to eat. The woman had consented to our occupying an out-house, and had agreed to buy the provisions. We now took possession of the out-house, where the woman visited us, and getting some money, she left us in quest of food. We were uneasy during her absence, but she came back with some meat, eggs, bread, and butter, at the end of an hour, and all seemed right. We made two comfortable meals in this out-house, where we remained until near evening. I had the look-out about noon, and I saw a man hanging about the house, and took the alarm. The man did not stay long, however, and I got a nap as soon as he disappeared. About four we were all up, and one of us taking a look, saw this same man, and two others, go into the house. The woman had already told us that a party of soldiers had gone ahead, in pursuit of three Yankee runaways; that four had broken prison, but one had been retaken, and the rest were still out. This left little doubt that she knew who we were; and we thought it best to steal away, at once, lest the men in the house should be consulting with her, at that very moment, about selling us for the reward, which we know was always four pounds ahead. The out-house was near the river, and there was a good deal of brush growing along the banks, and we succeeded in getting away unseen.
We went down to the margin, under the bank, and pursued our way along the stream. Before it was dark we came in sight of the bridge, for which we had been travelling ever since we left the other bridge, and were sorry to see a sentry-box on it. We now halted for a council, and came to a determination to wait until dark, and then advance. This we did, getting under this bridge, as we had done with the other. We had no Indians, however, to comfort and feed us.
I had known a good deal of this part of the country when a boy, from the circumstance that Mr. Marchinton had a large farm, near a place called Cornwallis, on the Bay, where I had even spent whole summers with the family. This bridge I recollected well; and I remembered there was a ford a little on one side of it, when the tide was out. The tides are tremendous in this part of the world, and we did not dare to steal a boat here, lest we should be caught in one of the bores, as they are called, when the tide came in. It was now half ebb, and we resolved to wait, and try the? ford.
It was quite dark when we left the bridge, and we had a delicate bit of work before us. The naked flats were very wide, and we sallied out, with the bridge as our guide. I was up to my middle in mud, at times, but the water was not very deep. We must have been near an hour in the mud, for we were not exactly on the proper ford, of course, and made bad navigation of it in the dark. But we were afraid to lose sight of the bridge, lest we should get all adrift.
At length we reached the firm ground, covered with mud and chilled with cold. We found the road, and the village of Horton, and skirted the last, until all was clear. Then we took to the road, and carried sail hard all night. Whenever we saw any one, we hid ourselves, but we met few while travelling. Next morning we walked until we came to a deserted saw-mill, which I also remembered, and here we halted for the day. No one troubled us, nor did I see any one; but Littlefield said that a man drove a herd of cattle past, during his watch on deck.
I told my companions that night, if they would be busy, we might reach Cornwallis, where I should be at home. We were pretty well fagged, and wanted rest, for Jack is no great traveller ashore; and I promised the lads a good snug berth at Mr. Marchinton's farm. We pushed ahead briskly, in consequence, and I led the party up to the farm, just as day was dawning. A Newfoundland dog, named Hunter, met us with some ferocity; but, on my calling him by name, he was pacified, and began to leap on me, and to caress me. I have always thought that dog knew me, after an absence of so many years. There was no time to waste with dogs, however, and we took the way to the barn. We had wit enough not to get on the hay, but to throw ourselves on a mow filled with straw, as the first was probably in use. Here we went to sleep, with one man on the look-out. This was the warmest and most comfortable rest we had got since quitting the island, from which we had now been absent or nine days.
We remained one night and two days in the barn. The workmen entered it often, and even stayed some time on the barn-floor; but no one seemed to think of ascending our mow. The dog kept much about the place, and I was greatly afraid he would be the means of betraying us. Our provisions were getting low, and, the night we were at the farm I sallied out, accompanied by Barnet, and we made our way into the dairy. Here we found a pan of bread, milk, cheese, butter, eggs, and codfish. Of course, we took our fill of milk; but Barnet got hold of a vessel of sour cream, and came near hallooing out, when he had taken a good pull at it. As we returned to the barn, the geese set up an outcry, and glad enough was I to find myself safe on the mow again, without being discovered. Next day, however, we overheard the men in the barn speaking of the robbery, and complaining, in particular, of the uselessness of the dog. I did not know any of these persons, although a young man appeared among them, this day, who I fancied had been a playfellow of mine, when a boy. I could not trust him, or any one else there; and all the advantage we got from the farm, was through my knowledge of the localities, and of the habits of the place.
I had never been further on the road between Halifax and Annapolis, than to Cornwallis. The rest of the distance was unknown to me, though I was familiar with the route which went out of Cornwallis, and which was called the Annapolis road. It was a fine star-light evening, and we made good headway. We all felt refreshed, and journeyed on full stomachs. We did not meet a soul, though we travelled through a well-settled country. The next morning we halted in a wood, the weather being warm and pleasant. Here we slept and rested as usual, and were off again at night. Littlefield pinned three fowls as we went along, declaring that he intended to have a warm mess next day, and he got off without discoverv. About four o'clock in the morning, we fell in with a river, and left the high-way, following the banks of the stream for a short distance. It now came on to blow and rain, with the wind on shore, and we saw it would not do to get a boat and go out in such a time. There was a rising ground, in a thick wood, near us, and we went up the hill to pass the day. We had seen two men pulling ashore in a good-looking boat, and it was our determination to get this boat, and shape our course down stream to the Bay, as soon as it moderated. From the hill, we could overlook the river, and the adjacent country. We saw the fishermen land, take their sail and oars out of the boat, haul the latter up, turn her over, and stow their sails and oars beneath her. They had a breaker of fresh water, too, and everything seemed fitted for our purposes. We liked the craft, and, what is more, we liked the cruise.
We could not see the town of Annapolis, which turned out to be up-stream from us, though we afterwards ascertained that we were within a mile or two of it. The fishermen walked in the direction of the town, and disappeared. All we wanted now was tolerably good weather, with a fair wind, or, at least, with less wind. The blow had driven in the fishermen, and we thought it wise to be governed by their experience. Nothing occurred in the course of the day, the weather remaining the same, and we being exposed to the rain, with no other cover than trees without leaves. There were many pines, however, and they gave us a little shelter.
At dusk, Littlefield lighted a fire, and began to cook his fowls. The supper was soon ready, and we eat it with a good relish. We then went to sleep, leaving Barnet on the look-out. I had just got into a good sleep, when I was awoke by the tramp of horses, and the shouting of men. On springing up, I found that a party of five horsemen were upon us. One called out--"Here they are--we've found them at last." This left no doubt of their errand, and we were all retaken. Our arms were tied, and we were made to mount behind the horsemen, when they rode off with us, taking the road by which we had come. We went but a few miles that night, when we halted.
We were taken the whole distance to Halifax, in this manner, riding on great-coats, without stirrups, the horses on a smart walk. We did not go by Cornwallis, which, it seems, was not the nearest road; but we passed through Horton, and crossed the bridge, beneath which we had Waded through the mud. At Horton we passed a night. We were confined in a sort of a prison, that was covered with mud. We did not like our berths; and, finding that the logs, of which the building was made, were rotten, we actually worked our way through them, and got fairly out. Littlefield, who was as reckless an Irishman as ever lived, swore he would set fire to the place; which he did, by returning through the hole we had made, and getting up into a loft, that was dry and combustible. But for this silly act, we might have escaped; and, as it was, we did get off for the rest of the night, being caught, next morning, nearly down, again, by the bridge at Windsor.
This time, our treatment was a good deal worse, than at first. A sharp look-out was kept, and they got us back to Halifax, without any more adventures. We were pretty well fagged; though we had to taper off with the black hole, and bread and water, for the next ten days; the regular punishment for such misdemeanors as ours. At the end of the ten days, we were let out, and came together again. Our return brought about a great deal of discussion; and, not a little criticism, as to the prudence of our course. To hear the chaps talk, one would think every man among them could have got off, had he been in our situation; though none of them did any better; several having got off the island, in our absence, and been retaken, within the first day or two. While I was in prison, however, I remember but one man who got entirely clear. This was a privateers-man, from Marblehead; who did get fairly off; though he was back again, in six weeks, having been taken once more, a few days out.
We adventurers were pretty savage, about our failure; and, the moment we were out of the black hole, we began to lay our heads together for a new trial. My idea was, to steer a different course, in the new attempt; making the best of our way towards Liverpool, which lay to the southward, coastwise. This would leave us on the Atlantic, it was true; but our notion was, to ship in a small privateer, called the Liverpool, and then run our chance of getting off from her; as she was constantly crossing over to the American coast. As this craft was quite small, and often had but few hands in her, we did not know but we might get hold of the schooner itself. Then there was some probability of being put in a coaster; which we might run away with. At all events, any chance seemed better to us, than that of remaining in prison, until the end of war that might last years, or until we got to be grey-headed. I remembered, when the Ville de Milan was brought into Halifax; this was a year, or two, before I went to sea; and yet here were some of her people still, on Melville Island!
I renewed my trade as soon as out of the Black Hole, but did not give up the idea of escaping. Leonard Lewis and Jack Mallet were the only men we let into the secret. They both declined joining us; Mallet on account of his dread of the water, and Lewis, because certain he could not outlive the fatigue; but they wished us good luck, and aided us all they could. With Johnson we would have no further concern.
The keepers did not ascertain the means by which we had left the barracks, though they had seen the cut pickets of course. We did not attempt, therefore, to cut through again, but resolved to climb. The English had strengthened the pickets with cross-pieces, which were a great assistance to us, and I now desire to express my thanks for the same. We waited for a warm, but dark and rainy night in May, before we commenced our new movement. We had still plenty of money, I having brought back with me to prison forty crowns, and having driven a thriving trade in the interval. We got out through the bars, precisely as we had done before, and at the very same window. This was a small job. After climbing the pickets, either Littlefield or Barnet dropped on the outside, a little too carelessly, and was overheard. The sentinel immediately called for the corporal of the guard, but we were in the water, swimming quite near the bridge, and some little distance from the guard-house on the main. There was a stir on the island, while we were in the water, but we all got ashore, safe and unseen.
We took to the same woods as before, but turned south instead of west. Our route brought us along by the waterside, and we travelled hard all that night. Littlefield pretended to be our guide, but we got lost, and remained two days and nights in the woods, without food, and completely at fault as to which way to steer. At length we ventured out into a high-way, by open day-light, and good luck threw an old Irish seaman, who then lived by fishing in [missing]. After a little conversation, we told this old man we were deserters from a vessel of war, and he seemed to like us all the better for it. He had served himself, and had a son impressed, and seemed to like the English navy little better than we did ourselves. He took us to a hut on the beach, and fed us with fish, potatoes, and bread, giving us a very comfortable and hearty meal. We remained in this hut until sunset, receiving a great deal of useful advice from the old man, and then we left him. We used some precaution in travelling, sleeping in the woods; but we kept moving by day as well as by night, and halting only when tired, and a good place offered. We were not very well off for food, though we brought a little from the fisherman's hut, and found quantities of winter-berries by the way-side.
We entered Liverpool about eight at night, and went immediately to the rendezvous of the privateer, giving a little girl a shilling to be our guide. The keeper of the rendezvous received us gladly, and we shipped immediately. Of course we were lodged and fed, in waiting for the schooner to come in. Each of us got four pounds bounty, and both parties seemed delighted with the bargain. To own the truth, we now began to drink, and the next day was pretty much a blank with us all. The second day, after breakfast, the landlord rushed into our room with a newspaper in his hand, and broke out upon us, with a pretty string of names, denouncing us for having told him we were deserters, when we were only runaway Yankees! The twelve pounds troubled him, and he demanded it back. We laughed at him, and advised him to be quiet and put us aboard the privateer. He then told us the guard was after us, hot-foot, and that it was too late. This proved to be true enough, for, in less than an hour an officer and a platoon of men had us in custody. We had some fun in hearing the officer give it to the landlord, who still kept talking about his twelve pounds. The officer told him plainly that he was rightly served, for attempting to smuggle off deserters, and I suppose this was the reason no one endeavoured to get the money away from us, except by words. We kept the twelve pounds, right or wrong.
We were now put in a coaster, and sent to Halifax by water. We were in irons, but otherwise were well enough treated. We were kept in the Navy-yard guard-house, at Halifax, several hours, and were visited by a great many officers. These gentlemen were curious to hear our story, and we let them have it, very frankly. They laughed, and said, generally, we were not to be blamed for trying to get off, if their own look-outs were so bad as to let us. We did not tell them, however, by what means we passed out of the prison-barracks. Among the officers who came and spoke to us, was an admiral, Sir Isaac Coffin. This gentleman was a native American, and was then in Halifax to assist the Nantucket men, whom he managed to get exchanged. His own nephew was said to be among them; but him he would not serve, as he had been captured in a privateer. Had he been captured in a man-of-war, or a merchantman, he would have done all he could for him; but, as it was, he let him go to Dartmoor--at least, this was the story in the prison. The old gentleman spoke very mildly to us, and said he could not blame us for attempting to escape. I do not think he had ever heard of the twelve pounds; though none of the navy officers were sorry that the privateer's-men should be punished. As for us, we considered them all enemies alike, on whom it was fair enough to live in a time of war.
We were sent back to the island, and were quarantined again; though it was for twenty days, this time. When we got pratique, we learned that some one had told of the manner in which we got out of prison, and cross-bars had been placed in all the windows, making them so many "nine of diamonds." This was blocking the channel, and there was no more chance for getting off in that way.
A grand conspiracy was now formed, which was worthy of the men in prison. The plan was to get possession of Halifax itself, and go off in triumph. We were eighteen hundred prisoners in all; though not very well off for officers. About fifty of us entered into the plan, at first; nor did we let in any recruits for something like six weeks. A Mr. Crowninshield, of Salem, was the head man among as, he having been an officer in a privateer. There were a good many privateer officers in the prison, but they were berthed over-head, and were intended to be separated from us at night. The floor was lifted between us, however, and we held our communications by these means. The officers came down at night, and lent us a hand with the work.
The scheme was very simple, though I do not think it was at all difficult of execution. The black-hole cells were beneath the prison, and we broke through the floor, into one of them, from our bay. A large mess-chest concealed the process, in the day-time. We worked in gangs of six, digging and passing up the dirt into the night-tubs. These tubs we were permitted to empty, every morning, in a tide's way, and thus we got rid of the dirt. At the end of two months we had dug a passage, wide enough for two abreast, some twenty or thirty yards, and were nearly ready to come up to the surface. We now began to recruit, swearing in each man. On the whole, we had got about four hundred names, when the project was defeated, by that great enemy which destroys so many similar schemes, treachery. We were betrayed, as was supposed by one of our own number.
Had we got out, the plan was to seize the heights of the island, and get possession of the guns. This effected, it would have been easy to subdue the guard. We then would have pushed for Citadel Hill, which commanded Halifax. Had we succeeded there, we should have given John Bull a great deal of trouble, though no one could say what would have been the result. Hundreds would probably have got off, in different craft, even had the great plan failed. We were not permitted to try the experiment, however, for one day we were all turned out, and a party of English officers, army and navy, entered the barracks, removed the mess-chest, and surveyed our mine at their leisure. A draft of six hundred was sent from the prison that day, and was shipped for Dartmoor; and, by the end of the week, our whole number was reduced to some three or four hundred souls. One of the Julias went in this draft, but all the rest of us were kept at Halifax. For some reason or other, the English seemed to keep their eyes on us.