"It was Lieutenant Allen!"

Yankee Ships and Yankee Sailors:—Tales of 1812

By

James Barnes

Author of "Naval Engagements of the War of 1812" "A Loyal Traitor," "For King or Country," etc.

With Numerous Illustrations by
R. F. Zogbaum and Carlton T. Chapman.

New York
The Macmillan Company
London: Macmillan & Co., Ltd.
1897

All rights reserved

Copyright, 1897,
By The Macmillan Company.

Set up and electrotyped October, 1897. Reprinted November, 1897.

Norwood Press J. S. Cusbing & Co.—Berwick & Smith Norwood Mass. U.S.A.

To my Brother

PREFACE

In presenting this volume of "Tales of 1812" it is not the intention of the author to give detailed accounts of actions at sea or to present biographical sketches of well-known heroes; he wishes but to tell something of the ships that fought the battles, whose names are inseparably connected with a glorious past, and to relate incidents connected with the Yankee sailors who composed their crews—"A Yankee Ship and a Yankee Crew"—thus runs the old song; it is to exploit both in a measure that is the intention of this book. Brave fellows, these old-time Jackies were. Their day has gone by with the departed day also, of the storm-along captains, the men who carried sail in all sorts of weather, who took their vessels through dangerous passages unmarked by buoys, with only the fickle wind to drive them, who sailed into the enemy's cruising-grounds, and counting on the good Yankee pine and live oak, had perilous escapes and adventures which fiction cannot exaggerate. It stirs one's blood to read of these. Surely, it will not arouse a hatred for by-gone enemies, to hark back to them.

The incidents made use of in the following pages are historical, or at least authentic—some may perhaps come under the head of tradition. Tradition is historical rumor; it may be proved by investigation to be actual fact, or it may be accepted at its face value, on account of its probability. To investigate, one is led to break open and dissect and sometimes we destroy a wealth of sentiment in the proceeding; by casting aside tradition that is harmless we destroy the color of history; we may lose its side lights and shadows that give vividness and beauty to the whole effect. It has not been a spirit of research into the science of history, or a chance for deep delving into figures and records, that has animated the author, although he has drawn upon state papers for material, and all correspondence and important references can be vouched for. He has endeavored to refreshen the colors by removing the dust that may have settled. He has touched the fragile bric-a-brac of tradition with the feather duster of investigation. There is sufficient excuse for everything that is written in this book. Facts are not lacking to prove much here to be true. It will not confuse our historical knowledge to accept it thus.

We can draw accurate conclusions as to what kind of men these fine old fellows were; how they looked; how they spoke and acted. Their deeds are part of the nation's record, and their ships exist now in the shape of a few old hulls. We can mark how carefully and strongly they were constructed; we can imagine them swarming with men and quivering beneath the thunder of broadsides. The author has tried to put the sailor back upon his ship again. Here we have the old tales now retold; retold by one who loves to listen to them, therefore to talk about them. This is his prologue to the telling, and that is all there is to it.

CONTENTS

List of Illustrations

ALLEN, OF THE CHESAPEAKE

Give a ship an unlucky name, and it will last throughout the whole of her career. A sailor is proverbially superstitious, and he clings jealously to tradition.

It is told that when the frigate Chesapeake was launched she stuck fast on the ways, and did not reach the water until the following day, which was Friday. Although she was a fine vessel to look at, she grounded upon the bar upon her first attempt to sail, and, when once free, behaved herself in such a lubberly fashion that those who witnessed her starting out declared she was bewitched. Even after many changes had been made in the length of her masts, in the weight of spars, and the cut of sails, still she was considered by many a failure. And, although her sailing qualities improved as time went on, yet her bad name stuck to her, as bad names will.

Given this drawback, the unlucky captain of such a craft finds it difficult to recruit a proper crew, and must often be content with green hands, or the riffraff disdained by other ships' masters.

Commodore James Barron, who had been ordered to the Chesapeake, was a brave officer. He had succeeded the peppery Commodore Preble in command of the fleet that had so successfully negotiated the operations before Tripoli, and there he had won for himself a name and reputation. Nevertheless, he was not entirely popular with his officers. They failed to find in him the graciousness of manner and deportment, the strict adherence to the lines of duty, and yet the kindliness of thought and conduct that distinguished young Captain Bainbridge; and they missed, strange to say, the iron hand and stern rule of Preble, the martinet.

Just before sailing from the Capes to relieve the Constitution on the Mediterranean station, the Chesapeake had recruited, from Delaware and Maryland, a green crew. Not above fifty of her complement were men-of-warsmen. Perhaps one hundred more had seen service in deep-sea craft, and had made long cruises; but the rest, numbering probably one hundred and fifty, were longshoremen or landsmen. Lying inside the mouth of Chesapeake Bay were several British men-of-war. As was usual when in American ports, they were compelled to watch their crews most closely, for the higher pay and the better treatment, which cannot be denied, had tempted many an impressed seaman to leave his ship, and take refuge under the American flag.

It was claimed by Vice-Admiral Berkeley in command of the English fleet, that four British sailors had deserted from the Melampus, and joined Barron's frigate. The following correspondence passed between Robert Smith, the Secretary of the Navy at Washington, and Commodore Barron, in relation to the matter. It explains in the best way possible, how affairs stood at the outset.

To this letter Commodore Barron made haste to reply, and the following is taken verbatim from his note to the Secretary:—

The foregoing proves beyond all manner of doubt what ground Commodore Barron had in taking the stand he did further on in the proceedings. But Admiral Berkeley was a very proud, obstinate man. His feelings had been hurt by the refusal of the Yankee commodore to give up his men, and he bided his time.

On Monday, June 22, 1807, the Chesapeake put to sea with her ill-assorted and undisciplined crew. In the harbor of Lynnhaven lay the British squadron under the command of Commodore Douglass, acting under the orders of Vice-Admiral Berkeley. It consisted of the Bellona, seventy-four, the Triumph, seventy-four, the Leopard, fifty, and the Melampus, thirty-eight. Why it was that the Leopard was selected for the work which was to follow, is easy to surmise. Vice-Admiral Berkeley had determined, at all hazards, to search the American vessel to ascertain if she had in her complement those "British seamen" who had deserted from the fleet. Barron's refusal to allow a search made of his vessel while she was in port had been backed up by the United States Government. This had exceedingly exasperated the English commander, and he determined to wait until the Chesapeake was at sea before putting his cherished project into practice. As soon as the Chesapeake set sail, the Leopard was despatched to bring her to. The Melampus was not sent because she was too near the Chesapeake's armament, and resistance might be successfully made to any attempt at high-handed interference. Nor did he take the trouble to despatch one of his seventy-fours, which might have brought the Chesapeake under her guns, and compelled her to submit by the law that "might makes right"; but the Leopard was sent because she was just large enough to insure success, and yet to humble the American from the mere fact that he must inevitably yield to a vessel to which he should by rights make some resistance.

It was a calm day with just enough wind to move the ships through the water. The Leopard, that had really got under way first, overhauled the smaller vessel, after a few hours' sailing. At three o'clock, when forty-five miles off shore, she hove to across her bows, and the slight wind that had wafted them from the Capes died away almost at the moment. Hailing the American ship's captain, Humphreys stated that he would like to send despatches by her—a privilege always accorded one friendly nation by another.

On the Chesapeake's deck, chatting with the officers, were two lady passengers, who were bound with four or five gentlemen passengers for the Straits. Part of the cabin had been allotted to the use of the ladies and their maids. As they had come on board at a late hour, their trunks and luggage were yet on the deck. Amicable relations existed between America and England, and there was nothing especially unfriendly in the attitude of the English frigate, although her action excited much comment on board the ship, and gave rise to many surmises. Captain Barron was on the quarter-deck, when news was brought to him that the Leopard had lowered a boat with an officer in it, and that it was making for the Chesapeake's side. The ladder was dropped, the side boys were piped to the gangway, and Barron himself stepped forward to greet the Lieutenant, extending his hand and welcoming him graciously. Standing close by was Dr. John Bullus, a passenger, the newly-appointed consul to the Island of Minorca, and the naval agent to the United States naval squadron in the Mediterranean.

"Captain Humphreys' compliments," began the Lieutenant. "And he requires the privilege of searching this vessel for deserters."

"What are their names, may I ask?" inquired Barron.

The officer replied, reading from a list he carried in his hand, but describing the men as subjects of "His Majesty, King George."

When he had finished, Barron frowned.

"There has been a careful and full inquiry into the cases of these seamen," he said at last, "and after a minute investigation into the circumstances, the British Minister, Mr. Erskine, is perfectly satisfied on the subject, inasmuch as these men were American citizens, impressed by officers of the Melampus. This gentleman," turning to Dr. Bullus, "our naval agent, is particularly acquainted with all the facts and circumstances relative to the transaction. He received his information from the highest possible source."

"From none less than the Honorable Robert Smith, the Secretary of our Navy," put in Dr. Bullus, "and I am most willing to go on board the Leopard and inform your commander to that effect, Mr. Erskine——"

"I do not recognize Mr. Erskine in this business," interrupted the young Lieutenant arrogantly. "Nor do I wish to talk with any one but Captain Barron. There is much more to be said."

Barron took the doctor to one side. "You will pardon me for placing you in a position to receive such an insult. I did not suppose it possible."

"Make no mention of it," was the return; "I understand." With that the agent walked away.

The Englishman could not have helped noticing the confusion upon the American's decks. The crew were engaged under the direction of the petty officers in coiling away the stiff, new running-gear and cables, men with paint-pots and brushes were touching up the bulwarks and paint work; others were polishing the brass; and it was altogether a peaceful scene that struck his eye, even if the presence of the ladies had not added the finishing touch.

On the quarter-deck, leaning carelessly against the railing, was a young officer, Lieutenant William Henry Allen, third in rank. He was but twenty-three years of age, a tall, boyish-looking fellow, with beautiful features, clear eye and complexion, and ruddy cheeks. He noticed the glance the English officer had given, and his face clouded. He was near enough to hear what passed between Barron and the Lieutenant.

"It is of such importance," went on the latter, continuing his previous remarks, "that I should desire to speak to you in private, sir. If we could but retire to your cabin——"

"With the greatest pleasure in the world," Barron returned, indicating that the Lieutenant should precede him; and with that they disappeared from view. Once seated at the cabin table, the Englishman broached the subject without preamble.

"Commodore Douglass," he began, "is fully determined to recover the deserters that are now harbored on board this ship. It is my desire to warn you that it is best that you submit to a peaceable search, and in return my commanding officer will permit you to do the same, and if any of your men are found in our complement, you are welcome to take them with you. This should bear great weight in helping you to form your decision. Here is his letter."

Captain Barron took the paper, broke the seal, and read as follows:—

"As I before remarked," said the Lieutenant, noting that Barron had finished the letter, "Captain Humphreys offers you the privilege of a mutual search."

Captain Barron smiled. The idea that he should find any of his own men serving on board King George's vessel was rather amusing.

"I have missed none of my crew," he said quietly, "and, while grateful for the privilege, I do not desire to make use of it."

"And your answer?" broke in the Lieutenant.

"You will take this letter, that I shall write, to Captain Humphreys, give him my best compliments, and of course inform him that I regret that I can neither avail myself of his courtesy, nor with honor can I permit a search to be made of my vessel."

"As you decide," returned the Lieutenant, sententiously.

For some minutes nothing was heard from the cabin. Barron was busily employed in inditing the epistle, and when it was delivered, the two officers came out together.

The following is a copy of the letter to Captain Humphreys:—

The Englishman was escorted to the side, and once in his boat, his crew, as if urged to special exertion, made all haste to gain their ship.

Allen turned and spoke to Benjamin Smith, the First Lieutenant. "I do not like the look of things," he said.

"Nor I," responded Smith, advancing toward the Captain, who had stopped to speak to one of the lady passengers. He saluted his commander, and speaking in a low voice, he suggested the propriety of asking the ladies to retire below, and of clearing ship.

"Tut, tut," replied Barron, carelessly; "you are over-nervous, Mr. Smith. My letter to Captain Humphreys will convince him that our actions are perfectly proper and peaceable, while any movement to prove to the contrary might lead him to suppose that I wished to precipitate some trouble. Nothing will occur, I warrant you."

"Had we not better open the magazines, sir?" asked Captain Gordon, coming up at this moment.

"It is not necessary," Barron returned, and once more joined the ladies.

The keys of the magazine are always kept in the possession of the ship's captain, and by him they are handed to the gunner, and are never delivered to any one else. As was customary, the Chesapeake's broadside guns were loaded and shotted, for a ship generally sailed with them in this state of preparation; but they were not primed, and but thirteen powder horns had been made ready, and they were locked safe in the magazine. Around the foremast and in the cable tiers were plenty of wads and sponges, and ready on deck, before each gun, was a box of canister. But there were no matches prepared for service.

The peaceful work went on. The crew continued touching up the paint work, and in the sunlight the brass shone brightly. From the galley came the clatter of dishes, and from below came the sound of a sea-song, chanted by one of the men off watch.

Barron called Captain Gordon to him on the quarter-deck. "Captain," said he, "I think that fellow yonder hailed us a moment since; I could not make out what he said however. Perhaps we had better send the men to their stations quietly."

"Very good, sir," returned the Captain, and he strolled forward leisurely, for he, like Barron, suspected no surprise.

Allen had left the quarter-deck and had stepped forward to speak to Mr. Brooks, the sailing-master. They stopped at the entrance to the galley, which was in a caboose or deckhouse. Suddenly Lieutenant Smith looked out across the water at the Leopard, that was swinging lazily along at about the distance of a pistol shot.

Surely he could not be mistaken. The muzzle of one of the forward guns was slewing around to bear upon the ship. Probably they were just exercising; but there! another followed suit, and then three more, as if moved by one command. His face blanched. What could it mean? But one thing! He whirled and saw that Barron had gone below to his cabin. Rushing to the ladies, he grasped them by the arms and having hardly time to make explanations, he hurried them to the companionway.

"Below as far as you can go! Down to the hold!" he cried. "Don't stop; don't talk!"

As he spoke he could scarce believe his eyes. A burst of white smoke, with a vivid red dash of flame from the centre, broke from the forward gun on the Leopard's main deck. There was a crash just abaft the break of the forecastle. A great splinter fully six feet long whirled across the deck. The shock was felt throughout the ship. A man who had been painting the bulwarks fell to his knees, arose, and fell again. His shoulder and one arm were almost torn away; his blood mingled with the paint from the overturned pot. He shrieked out in fright and agony.

"Beat to quarters!" roared Lieutenant Smith.

Up from below the men came tumbling. Barron ran from his cabin, with his face as white as death. "To quarters!" he roared, echoing the Lieutenant's order.

Everything was confusion. The men gathered at the useless guns. The belated drummer began to sound the roll. Hither and thither rushed officers and midshipmen. The green hands stood gawking about; some overcome by fear and the suddenness of danger, plunged down the companionway. Where were the matches? Where were the priming horns? Barron turned to go to his cabin for the keys to the magazine. They were locked in the drawer of his heavy desk, and now there came another shot. It struck fair in the bulwarks, and the hammocks and their contents were thrown out of the nettings. Three men were wounded by the shower of splinters. And not a shot was fired yet in return.

"Matches! give us the matches!" roared some of the men at the guns, as they tried to bring their harmless weapons to bear upon the Englishman.

A deadly broadside struck the helpless Chesapeake. Blocks and spars fell from aloft. Suddenly from the entrance of the deckhouse ran a hatless figure. Men made way for him. It was Lieutenant Allen! His jaws were set and his eyes were glaring. Tossing between his hands, as a juggler keeps a ball in the air, was a red hot, flaming coal.

"Here, sir!" cried one of the gunner's mates. "This one's primed, sir. For God's sake, here, sir!"

Just as Allen reached forward, a shot from the Leopard struck the opening of the port. The man who had spoken was hit full in the breast. Five of the eight surrounding the piece fell to the deck, wounded by the murderous splinters. But Allen dropped his flaming coal upon the breech of the gun, and pushed into place with his scorched and blackened fingers.

It was the lone reply to the Englishman's dastardly gun practice! For fifteen minutes the Leopard fired steadily by divisions.

Covered with blood that had been dashed over him from the body of the man the round shot had killed, Allen ran aft. The ship was full of groans and shrieks and cursing. Forth from the cabin came Barron. He looked an aged, heart-broken man. When he saw the young Lieutenant, he stepped back a pace in horror. The scene of carnage on the deck unnerved him.

"The keys! the keys!" shrieked Allen, almost springing at his commander's throat. "Let us fight, if we must die!"

The thought that flashed through Barron's mind must have been the uselessness of resistance, the terrible death and destruction, and the inevitable loss that would be sure to follow. Almost resting himself upon the group of officers, he raised both hands above his head, the palms open and outstretched.

"Haul down the flag!" he ordered faintly.

A sailor, standing near by, caught the words and springing to the halliards, down it came, tangling almost into a knot, as if to hide its folds. The Leopard ceased her murderous work; but the confusion was great on board the Chesapeake. Men wept like babies. Wounded men were being carried below. Curses and imprecations on the English flag and on the distant ship rent the air. Many openly cursed their own commander.

"Tell him to come here, and look at this!" cried an old sailor, pointing to one dead body on the deck. "Then will he lower the flag? Give us a chance, for God's sake, to fight like men!"

Barron had hurried into the cabin.

"Send for the officers of the ship." They were all there to a man, except the surgeon, who was busy down below. "Your opinions, gentlemen," he faltered. There was not a sound. Captain Gordon was silent. Tears were rolling down the First Lieutenant's cheeks. He tried to speak, and could not.

"Sir, you have disgraced us!"

It was Allen speaking. To save his life he could not have helped blurting out what he felt to be the truth. Barron spread out his arms weakly, then dropped his head into his hands. It was then presumed that he was wounded also, for blood was running down his wrists. They left him there.

What use the rest of the story? The search was made, four men were taken. All claimed to be Americans; they were prepared to prove it. Captain Humphreys refused to accept the surrender of the vessel. Barron, hitherto known as brave and capable, was dishonored and relieved from all command, was sentenced to five years retirement without pay. Oh yes, the British Admiral was sentenced also. Of course the Board of Admiralty could not recognize such doings. They even made apologies and all the rest of it, and returned two of the men, all there were left, for one was hanged and another died. They sentenced their Vice-Admiral with a smile of covert approval, and they promoted him shortly afterwards.

The unfortunate officers who had been innocent parties to the surrender felt keenly their position. They could not go through explanations to every one. They became morbidly sensitive upon the subject. No less then seven duels grew out of the affair, and Allen, who had fired the gun, wrote to his father thus: "If I am acquitted honorably, if Captain Barron is condemned, you may see me again. If not, never."—Poor Allen! No disgrace shall ever be attached to his name. He died of wounds received while bravely fighting on the deck of his own little vessel, the Argus, some years later, and he was buried in foreign soil by a guard of honor of his enemies, who appreciated his bravery and worth.

As for the Chesapeake, her bad name clung to her. And of her end, there is much more to tell that will be told. But "Remember the Chesapeake" became a watchword. This was the beginning, that was the beginning of the end.

REUBEN JAMES, ABLE SEAMAN

This is a story that has oft been told before. But in history, if a man becomes famous by one act, and be that act something worth recording, it will stand being told about again. So if this be an old yarn, this is the only apology for the spinning, and here goes for it:—

Reuben James may be well remembered by men who are yet living, for he died but some fifty years ago. He was born in the state of Delaware, of the good old "poor but honest" stock. Sailor boy and man was Reuben, with a vocabulary limited to the names of things on shipboard and the verbs to pull and haul. He went to sea at the age of thirteen years, and in 1797, when only a lad of sixteen, although he had already made three or four cruises of some length, he was captured by a French privateer during the quasi-war between this country and the citizen Republic of France. Upon his liberation, Reuben made up his mind to serve no longer in the merchant service, but to ship as soon as possible in the best frigate that flew our flag; and as his imprisonment lasted but some five or six months, he soon found opportunity for revenge. Upon returning to the States he was fortunate enough to find the old Constellation in port picking up her crew. This was in the year 1799, and the old ship was then in command of the intrepid Commodore Truxtun, and he was her commander when she gave such a drubbing to the French frigates Insurgente and Vengeance, which taught the citizens a lesson, and brought to an end, as much as any other thing, the ridiculous situation of two nations not actually at war fighting one another at sea whenever they met. In these actions young James distinguished himself. He was by nature fearless to the verge of recklessness, and he was probably in trouble, on account of his devil-may-care propensities, more than once. In 1804, he sailed in the frigate United States to the Mediterranean, and when young Stephen Decatur sailed into the harbor and successfully destroyed the captured frigate Philadelphia, which the Tripolitans had anchored beneath their batteries, Reuben James was one of the first to volunteer. He returned from the successful accomplishment of the design, impressed with the young leader's courage and magnetism, and as often is the case between a beloved officer and the man who serves under him, there grew up in the young sailor's heart—he and Decatur were about the same age—a wild desire to do something to prove his devotion. The affection of brave men for one another leads to deeds of noble self-sacrifice, and Reuben James's chance was to come. Every time that he was assigned to boat duty in the many skirmishes and little actions, before the harbor of Tripoli, Reuben succeeded in going in Decatur's boat, and one day to his delight he was promoted to be cockswain, which must have proved that Decatur's keen eye had noticed him.

On the 3d of August, 1804, early in the morning, the orders were sent throughout Commodore Preble's fleet to prepare for a general attack to take place as soon as it was broad daylight. The American force consisted of the Constitution and a number of gunboats of the same style and size as those composing the Tripolitan forces. Everything was ready on time, but the lack of wind prevented the action from taking place until late in the afternoon, when the Constitution, preceded by three of the American gunboats, entered the harbor. There were nine of the Bey's crack vessels, composing the eastern wing, waiting not far from shore. The three Yankee gunboats bore down upon them without hesitation, in gallant style. In slap-bang fashion, they sailed right into the Tripolitans and captured, cutlass in hand, the three leading ones. The other six fled and came plashing up the harbor, working their heavy sweeps for all they were worth.

A few minutes after their retreat, one of the other vessels that, to all appearances, had surrendered, broke away and started up the harbor, scrambling along as fast as she could go. Decatur in his small boat was not far away. There was a mist of battle smoke hanging over the water, and for an instant he did not notice what was going on; but when he did hear what had happened, all the fierce daring in his nature was aroused, and mingled with the anger and desire for revenge, it completely swept him away. He was told that the Tripolitan commander, who had just made his escape, had treacherously risen upon the prize crew sent on board of him, after he had struck his flag, and with his own hands had killed Decatur's beloved brother James. When this news reached him, Decatur did not falter.

"After him!" he cried to his crew. "Put me alongside of him!"

"We'll put you there, sir," said Reuben James, who was at the tiller. And out of the smoke into the plain view of the guns of the battery and also of the American captives, who had viewed the whole affair from the window of their prison, the little boat started in the wake of the felucca, whose force of men outnumbered hers by three to one. They gained at every jump, and in a few minutes they had run their little boat alongside, thrown down their oars, and to a man had scrambled on board the Tripolitan. Decatur had set his eye upon a red-turbaned figure that he knew to be the leader. This man had killed his brother! Almost before the bowman had laid hold of the enemy's gunwale, he had made a flying leap off it and gained the deck. Ignoring every risk, scarcely pausing to ward off the many blows that were aimed at him, he made straight for the man in the red turban. The pirate was armed with a long spear and one of those deadly curved scimitars, sharp as steel can stand it, capable of lopping off a limb at a single stroke; drawing back he aimed a full-length thrust as soon as Decatur confronted him, for he must have read his fate in the determined look on the latter's face. Decatur dodged skilfully and tried to come to closer quarters; but the Tripolitan by great agility succeeded in keeping out of the way, and once more he lunged. This time as Decatur parried his sword-blade broke off at the hilt; dropping it, he laid hold of his enemy's spear, and in the wrestle for its possession, he succeeded in tripping up the Turk, and both fell upon the deck. The red-turbaned one, freeing one hand, drew a dagger from his waist-cloth, and just as he was about to plunge it into the body of the young American, Decatur managed to draw a small pistol, and lifting himself on his elbow, blew off the top of his opponent's head.

Revenge was his. But what about our friend Reuben? The only reason that Decatur had not been killed in the early part of the struggle by the many blows that were aimed at him—for the American boarding party numbered but twelve all told—was the fact that seaman Reuben James was close behind him, warding off blow after blow. Disdaining to protect himself, his right arm was rendered useless, so that he had to shift his cutlass to his left hand. He was slashed seven times about the body. A cut on the shoulder made him drop his weapon, and just at this moment he saw that Decatur was lying upon the deck with his foeman over him. Behind him a sinewy man was aiming a deadly blow directly downward. Reuben James sprang forward. His right arm was useless and his left almost so. There was nothing he could interpose between that deadly blow and his beloved commander but his life! Trying weakly to push back the Tripolitan, he leaned forward swiftly and caught the blow from the scimitar on his own head. It fractured his skull, and he fell insensible to the deck.

But a Yankee sailor is a hard man to kill—in three weeks cockswain James was at his post again. His recovery was no doubt due to his wonderful constitution and his youth.

"Reuben James sprang forward."

As soon as the war with Great Britain was declared, Reuben made all haste to join his old commander, and he served in the frigate United States when she captured the Macedonian, and afterwards in the President when she took the Endymion. In both actions he got as near Decatur as he could, and in the last-named conflict he received three wounds. Although suffering greatly, he refused to leave the deck until after the President had struck her flag to the squadron that captured her, whereupon Reuben James was carried below weeping—not from pain or anguish, but from sheer mortification and grief.

At Decatur's funeral he wept again, honest fellow, and whenever he came to port he would visit his commander's grave. Reuben was in actual service until the year 1836, when he arrived in Washington for the purpose of obtaining a pension. He was suffering very much at this time from an old musket-shot wound that had caused a disease of the bone of his leg. It was exceedingly painful and becoming dangerous. After consultation the doctors ordered amputation, and as he lay in the hospital the decision was announced to him. With his old indifference to danger, and his reckless spirit, Reuben replied in the following words:—

"Doctor, you are the captain, sir. Fire away; but I don't think it is shipshape to put me under jury masts when I have just come into harbor."

The day after the operation Reuben was very low, and it was thought that he had but a few hours to live. The old sailor himself declared that he had reached the bitter end of his rope, appeared resigned to his fate, and begged the surgeon to "ease him off handsomely while he was about it."

"Reuben," said the doctor, "we have concluded that we will give you a good drink and allow you to name it. What will you have, brown stout or brandy toddy?"

"I s'pose I won't take another for a long time, sir," Reuben responded, with a twinkle in his eye. "So just s'pose you give us both; which one first it doesn't much matter."

He prided himself that he had been in ten fights and as many "skrimedges," and as he was a favorite character, he was allowed to celebrate each in turn as they came around, so his happy days were many. There was one subject to which, however, no one could ever refer—Decatur's sad and untimely end. Always in his heart Reuben bore a deep and lasting love, and an ever-living admiration for the man whose life he had saved; and those friends of the young Commodore always treated the old sailor with the greatest of deference. Had Decatur lived, it is safe to state that wherever he went Reuben would have gone also, and if the latter had not walked bare-headed and weeping at his officer's funeral; and had it been the other way about, with Reuben being put to earth, Decatur would have been there, if possible, hat in hand, to shed a tear of sorrow.