Across the water sounded the bells of Christ Church as the anchor of the brig “Boscawen,” ninety days out from Cork Harbour, fell with a splash into the Delaware River in the fifteenth year of the reign of George III., and of grace, 1774. To those on board, the chimes brought the first intimation that it was Sunday, for three months at sea with nothing to mark one day from another deranges the calendar of all but the most heedful. Among the uncouth and ill-garbed crowd that pressed against the waist-boards of the brig, looking with curious eyes toward Philadelphia, several, as the sound of the bells was heard, might have been observed to cross themselves, while one or two of the women began to tell their beads, praying perhaps that the breadth of the just-crossed Atlantic lay between them and the privation and want which had forced emigration upon them, but more likely giving thanks that the dangers and suffering of the voyage were over.
Scarcely had the anchor splashed, and before the circling ripples it started had spread a hundred feet, when a small boat put off from one of the wharfs lining the water front of the city, with the newly arrived ship as an evident destination; and the brig had barely swung to the current when the hoarse voice of the mate was heard ordering the ladder over the side. The preparation to receive the boat drew the attention of the crowd, and they stared at its occupants with an intentness which implied some deeper interest than mere curiosity; low words were exchanged, and some of the poor frightened creatures seemed to take on a greater cringe.
Seated in the sternsheets of the approaching boat was a plainly dressed man, whose appearance so bespoke the mercantile class that it hardly needed the doffing of the captain’s cap and his obsequious “your servant, Mr. Cauldwell, and good health to you,” as the man clambered on board, to announce the owner of the ship. To the emigrants this sudden deference was a revelation concerning the cruel and oath-using tyrant at whose mercy they had been during the weary weeks at sea.
“A long voyage ye’ve made of it, Captain Caine,” said the merchant.
“Ay, sir,” answered the captain. “Another ten days would have put us short of water, and—”
“But not of rum? Eh?” interrupted Cauldwell.
“As for that,” replied the captain, “there ’s a bottle or two that’s rolled itself till ’t is cruelty not to drink it, and if you’ll test a noggin in the cabin while taking a look at the manifests—
“Well answered,” cried the merchant, adding, “I see ye set deep.”
“Ay,” said the captain as they went toward the companion-way; “too deep for speed or safety, but the factors care little for sailors’ lives.”
“And a deep ship makes a deep purse.”
“Or a deep grave.”
“Wouldst die ashore, man?”
“God forbid!” ejaculated the mariner, in a frightened voice. “I’ve had my share of ill-luck without lying in the cold ground. The very thought goes through me like a dash of spray in a winter v’y’ge.” He stamped with his foot and roared out, “Forrard there: Two glasses and a dipper from the rundlet,” at the same time opening a locker and taking therefrom a squat bottle. “’T is enough to make a man bowse himself kissing black Betty to think of being under ground.” He held the black bottle firmly, as if it were in fact a sailor’s life preserver from such a fate, and hastened, so soon as the cabin-boy appeared with the glasses and dipper, to mix two glasses of rum and water. Setting these on the table, he took from the locker a bundle of papers, and handed it to the merchant.
Twenty minutes were spent on the clearances and manifests, and then Mr. Cauldwell opened yet another paper.
“Sixty-two in all,” he said, with a certain satisfaction in his voice.
"Sixty-three," corrected the captain.
“Not by the list,” denied the merchant.
“Sixty-two from Cork Harbour, but we took one aboard ship at Bristol,” explained the captain.
“Ye must pack them close between decks.”
“Ay. The shoats in the long boat had more room. Mr. Bull-dog would none of it, but slept on deck the whole v’y’ge.”
“Mr. Bull-dog?” queried Cauldwell.
"The one your factor shipped at Bristol,” explained Caine, and running over the bundle, he spread before the merchant the following paper:—
This Indenture, Made the Tenth Day of March in the fifteenth Year of the Reign of our Sovereign Lord George the third King of Great Britain, etc. And in the Year of our Lord One Thousand Seven Hundred and seventy-four, Between Charles Fownes of Bath in the County of Somerset Labourer of the one Part, and Frederick Caine of Bristol Mariner of the other part Witnesseth That the said Charles Fownes for the Consideration hereinafter mentioned, hath, and by these Presents doth Covenant, Grant and Agree to, and with the said Frederick Caine, his Executors, Administrators and Assigns, That the said Charles Fownes shall and will, as a Faithful Covenant Servant well and truly serve said Frederick Caine his Executors, Administrators or Assigns, in the Plantations of Pennsylvania and New Jersey beyond the Seas, for the space of five years next ensuing the Arrival in the said Plantation, in the Employment of a servant. And the said Charles Fownes doth hereby Covenant and declare himself, now to be of the age of Twenty-one Years and no Covenant or Contract Servant to any Person or Persons. And the said Frederick Caine for himself his Executors, and Assigns, in Consideration thereof do hereby Covenant, Promise and Agree to and with the said Charles Fownes his Executors and Administrators, that he the said Frederick Caine his Executors, Administrators or Assigns, shall and will at his or their own proper Cost and Charges, with what Convenient Speed they may, carry and convey or cause to be carried and conveyed over unto the said Plantations, the said Charles Fownes and also during the said Term, shall and will at the like Cost and Charges, provide and allow the said Charles Fownes all necessary Cloaths, Meat, Drink, Washing, and Lodging, and Fitting and Convenient for him as Covenant Servants in such Cases are usually provided for and allowed. And for the true Performance of the Premises, the said Parties to these Presents, bind themselves their Executors and Administrators, the either to the other, in the Penal Sum of Thirty Pounds Sterling, by these Presents. In Witness whereof they have hereunto interchangeably set their Hands and Seals, the Day and Year above written.
The mark of
Charles X Fownes [Seal].
Sealed and delivered in
the presence of
J. Pattison, C. Capon.
These are to certify that the above-named Charles Fownes came before me Thomas Pattison Deputy to the Patentee at Bristol the Day and Year above written, and declared himself to be no Covenant nor Contracted Servant to any Person or Persons, to be of the Age of Twenty-one Years, not kidnapped nor enticed but desirous to serve the above-named or his assigns five Years, according to the Tenor of his Indenture above written All of which is Registered in the office for that Purpose appointed by the Letters Patents. In witness whereof I have affixed the common Seal of the said office.
Thomas Pattison, D. P.
“And why Mr. Bull-dog?” asked Cauldwell, after a glance at the paper.
“By the airs he takes. Odd’s life! if we’d had the Duke of Cumberland aboard, he’d not have carried himself the stiffer. From the day we shipped him, not so much as a word has he passed with one of us, save to threat Mr. Higgins’ life, when he knocked him down with a belaying pin for his da—for his impertinence. And he nothing but an indentured servant not able to write his name and like as not with a sheriff at his heels.” The captain’s sudden volubility could mean either dislike or mere curiosity.
“Dost think he’s of the wrong colour?” asked the merchant, looking with more interest at the covenant.
“’T is the dev—’t is beyond me to say what he is. A good man at the ropes, but a da—a Dutchman for company. ’Twixt he and the bog-trotters we shipped at Cork Harbour ’t was the dev—’t was the scuttiest lot I ever took aboard ship.” The rum was getting into the captain’s tongue, and making his usual vocabulary difficult to keep under.
“Have ye no artisans among the Irish?”
“Not so much as one who knows the differ between his two hands.”
“’T is too bad of Gorman not to pick better,” growled the merchant. “There’s a great demand for Western settlers, and Mr. Lambert Meredith writes me to pick him up a good man at horses and gardening, without stinting the price. ’T would be something to me to oblige him.”
’T is a parcel of raw teagues except for the Bristol man.”
“And ye think he’s of the light-fingered gentry?”
“As for that,” said the captain, “I know nothing about him. But he came to your factor and wanted to take the first ship that cleared, and seemed in such a mortal pother that Mr. Horsley suspicioned something, and gave me a slant to look out for him. And all the time we lay off Bristol, my fine fellow kept himself well out of sight.”
“Come,” said the merchant, rising, “we’ll have a look at him. Mr. Meredith is not a man to be disappointed if it can be avoided.”
Once on deck the captain led the way to the forepart of the ship, where, standing by himself, and, like the other emigrants, looking over the rail, but, unlike them, looking not at the city, but at the water, stood a fellow of a little over medium height, with broad shoulders and a well-shaped back, despite the ill form his ragged coat tried to give it. At a slap on the shoulder he turned about, showing to the merchant a ruddy, sea-tanned skin, light brown hair, gray eyes, and a chin and mouth hidden by a two months’ beard, still too bristly to give him other than an unkempt, boorish look.
“Here ’s the rogue,” announced the captain, with a suggestion of challenge in the speech, as if he would like to have the epithet resented. But the man only regarded the officer with steady, inexpressive eyes.
“Now, my good fellow,” asked the merchant, “to what kind of work have ye been bred?”
The steady gray eyes were turned deliberately from the captain until the questioner was within their vision. Then, after a moment’s scrutiny of his face, they were slowly dropped so as to take in the merchant from head to foot. Finally they came back to the face again, and once more studied it with intentness, though apparently without the slightest interest.
“Come,” said the merchant a little heatedly, and flushing at the man’s coolness. “Answer me. Are ye used to horses and gardening?”
As if he had not heard the question, the man turned, and resumed his staring at the water.
“None of your damned impertinence!” roared the captain, catching up the free part of a halyard coiled on the deck, “or I'll give you a taste of the rope’s end.”
The young fellow faced about in sudden passion, which strangely altered him. “Strike me at your peril!” he challenged, his arm drawn back, and fist clinched for a blow.
“None but a jail-bird would be so afraid of telling about himself,” cried the captain, though ceasing to threaten. “The best thing you can do will be to turn the cursed son of a sea cook over to the authorities, Mr. Cauldwell.”
“Look ye, my man,” warned the merchant, “ye only bring suspicion on yourself by such conduct, and ye know best how far ye want to have your past searched into—”
The man interrupted the merchant.
“Ar bain’t much usen to gardening, but ar knows—” he hesitated for a moment and then went on, “but ar bai willin’ to work.”
“Ay,” bawled the captain. “Fear of the courts has made him find his tongue.”
“Well,” remarked the merchant, “’t is not for my interest to look too closely at a man I have for sale.” Then, as he walked away with the captain, he continued: “Many a convict or fugitive has come to the straightabout out here, but hang me if I like his looks or his manner. However, Mr. Meredith knows the pot-luck of redemptioners as well as I, and he can say nay if he chooses.” He stopped and eyed the group of emigrants sourly, saying, “I’ll let Gorman hear what I think of his shipment. He knows I don’t want mere bog cattle.”
“’T is a poor consignment that can’t be bettered in the advertisement,” comforted the captain, and apparently he spoke truly, for in the “Pennsylvania Gazette” of September 7th appeared the following:—
“Just arrived on board the brig ‘Boscawen,’ Alexander Caine, Master from Ireland, a number of likely, healthy, men and women Servants; among whom are Taylors, Barbers, Foiners, Weavers, Shoemakers, Sewers, Labourers, etc., etc., whose indentures are to be disposed of by Cauldwell & Wilson, or the master on board the Vessel off Market Street Wharff— Said Cauldwall & Wilson will give the highest prices for good Pot-Ashes and Bees-Wax.”