It was about the middle of September in the year 1816 that I embarked with Mr. Budge in a little sloop bound to St. Lucia and Martinico, after having resided in Grenada nearly four years. We had a few other passengers, one of whom was a French gentleman named Chambord, who had fought a duel with an Englishman in St. Lucia a few months before. This duel grew out of a fierce dispute in relation to the battle of Waterloo, and the comparative merit, in a military point of view, of Napoleon and Wellington. The Frenchman, being an adroit swordsman, got the best of the argument by running his antagonist through the body, and leaving him senseless, and apparently lifeless, on the field. He made his escape to Grenada. Having learned that the champion of Wellington was in a fair way to recover from his wound, he was now on his return to his home.
We tarried but a short time at St. Lucia, merely lying off and on at the mouth of the port of Castries, or Carenage, which is one of the most beautiful and safe harbors in that part of the world; the entrance being so narrow that two ships cannot pass through it abreast; but inside, the extent of the harbor and depth of water are sufficient to furnish good anchorage and shelter from hurricanes for a large fleet of ships of the largest class.
On arriving at St. Pierre I found a fearful hurricane had raged in that quarter only a week or ten days before. The wind, blowing from the eastward directly into the open roadstead with irresistible fury, had driven every vessel in port ashore on the beach. The ship Cato, of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, having all her cargo discharged, and presenting a large surface of hull to the wind and the waves, was found, after the tempest had subsided, high and dry in one of the streets, in a condition which precluded the possibility of getting her into the water, and was broken up. Others were launched on "ways" constructed for the purpose; while some sustained but little injury, and were easily got afloat. One English brig, built of the red cedar of Bermuda, a material greatly in favor at that time on account of its remarkable resistance to DECAY, was crushed like an egg-shell the moment it struck the shore, and the fragments were strown along the beach.
At the time I arrived at St. Pierre the yellow fever was prevailing to an alarming extent among the inhabitants. The same epidemic prevailed in Point Petre, Guadaloupe, and the numerous immigrants from France, in some cases whole families, who sought those shores with the hope of improving their condition, were cut off by this terrible disease soon after their arrival. Some cases of yellow fever appeared among the shipping in St. Pierre, and nearly every one proved fatal, showing the malignant type of the disease. Great alarm was manifested lest the epidemic should spread among the vessels, and sweep off whole crews, and I subsequently learned that these apprehensions were realized.
I engaged lodgings on shore, and was there an eye witness to the ravages of this plague of the West Indies. Young and healthy men, full of hope and gayety, with rich prospects in the future, were visited by this grim messenger soon after they set their feet on those shores; and few, very few, recovered. Death was doing a mighty business at Martinico at that time; and during my brief stay I listened to many a thrilling tale of hopes blighted, ties of affection sundered, and sorrows awakened by the remorseless action of the "King of Terrors." The strong man was cut down while boasting of his strength; and youth, beauty, or worth furnished no protection from the attack of this West India pestilence.
After my long residence in Grenada I had no fear of yellow fever in Martinico; and in several cases at my boarding house I was able to render valuable assistance. I was now anxious to get temporary employment of some kind, or procure a passage to the United States. I was every day getting nearer the bottom of my purse; and I trembled at the idea of finding myself penniless in the town of St. Pierre. I could hardly hope to meet with the sympathy and kindness from the Frenchmen of Martinico that I found in Grenada among the natives of Scotland.
Owing to the shipwrecks, caused by the hurricane, there was no want of seamen; and I could not even get an opportunity to work my passage to an American port before the mast. I had been so long in the West Indies that I had lost the distinguishing marks of a Yankee. And my broad accent, my swarthy complexion, my unseamanlike costume, adapted to the climate, all seemed to contradict my statement that I was an American sailor.
At Martinico I fell in with an Englishman, Captain William Parker, who had resided in the islands for many years, and was thoroughly acquainted with the trade in that part of the globe. He was then making preparations to engage in a sort of wholesale smuggling business, and had obtained possession, by hook or by crook, of two registers of American vessels. One was a BONA FIDE register of a privateer which had been captured during the war, and the other a forgery neatly executed by an artist in Martinico, having the signatures and seals duly arranged and perfected, but leaving blank the description of the vessel.
With these registers, valuable documents, in his estimation, having cost him no trifling sum, it was his wish to proceed to New York, and with the aid of some unscrupulous capitalist, purchase an English schooner, answering nearly to the description in the register of the privateer; or, failing in that, procure an English vessel of any kind suitable, and fill up the blanks with a description of the same in the other American register. Then with two captains, one English and one American, each acting as mate alternately, and with a crew who could be confided in, HE PROPOSED TO CARRY ON A DIRECT TRADE WITH THE ENGLISH ISLANDS, securing all the advantages, in the way of port charges and duties, of an American vessel in an American port and an English vessel in an English port! A few voyages successfully performed on this plan, he plausibly urged, would be productive of immense profit to all concerned.
Parker was desirous that I would embark with him in this enterprise, and act as the nominal American commander. But I had an instinctive repugnance to proceedings of such an underhand, unlawful character. This of itself would have been enough to lead me to reject his proposition; and furthermore I had no confidence in the man, or his ability to carry his project into operation. I thanked Parker for his friendly offer, and the COMPLIMENT it conveyed, but declined to enter into any engagement of the kind. Whether he succeeded in carrying his project into effect I never learned; but the same plan was successfully put into execution by an enterprising rogue about the same time, who undertook to run a vessel between Baltimore and Barbadoes, carrying out flour and bringing back coffee and sugar. He performed two trips successfully, but on the third got into trouble. One of the crew, who had been unadvisedly punished for insubordination, gave information to the authorities in Barbadoes, which put a period, for a time at least, to his enterprising pursuits.
Captain Blackler was a gentleman much respected and esteemed. He was a good specimen of an American shipmaster. When we got under way he came on board, apparently in good health and spirits, to bid us farewell. I shook hands with him as he stepped over the side. He gave some final instructions to Mr. Adams, who had assumed the command of the Betsey. They mutually wished each other continued health and prosperity, expressed a hope to meet before long in Marblehead, and parted NEVER TO MEET AGAIN! Before another week had passed they were both summoned before their God. It was afterwards ascertained that Captain Blackler was attacked by yellow fever a few days after the brig left Martinico, and was quickly added to the numerous band of victims to that disease.
The brig Betsey was about two hundred and twenty tons burden; a clump, dull-sailing craft, of rather venerable appearance, with no pretensions to youth or beauty, having braved the dangers of the seas for thirty years; nevertheless she was now apparently as sound, safe, and tight as any vessel that crossed the ocean. Captain Adams was a worthy man, of an amiable character, who had been educated to his business; and the mate, Mr. Ricker, had been commander of a ship, and was strongly recommended as an able and faithful officer. The crew were Americans, resolute-looking, powerful fellows, in robust health. There had been no sickness on board during the voyage; and all of them, including the captain and mate, were rejoiced to leave the island of Martinico. As the mountains faded in the distance they fancied they had left the yellow fever far behind, and congratulated each other on their good fortune.
The next day I learned that one of the seamen, named James Smith, belonging to Wiscasset, in Maine, was unable, from illness, to do his duty. I found that Smith was not a favorite with the crew, being a lazy fellow, who would act the part of an "old soldier" when an opportunity offered. As he did not seem very sick, and some thought he was feigning illness to avoid work, no alarm was excited in consequence.
There was a man on board the Betsey whose name was Gaskell; a tall, stalwart fellow, belonging to Greenbush, New York. He showed in his words and actions that he was unprincipled, a thorough reprobate, whose soul had been case-hardened in crime. This man ridiculed the illness of Smith; tried to rouse him from his berth in the half-deck; declared that he was "shamming Abraham," and threatened him with a rope's end unless he gave over skulking. Gaskell spoke of the mortality among the Frenchmen in Martinico, and this furnished him with an inexhaustible source of amusement. Indeed, human suffering, lingering death by shipwreck or disease, always moved him to mirth and laughter. And yet he was not deficient in intellect and education; but had used them for evil purposes. He was coarse, sensual, intemperate, and terribly profane. He boldly avowed a disbelief in a God, and sneered at the idea of punishment for crime in the future. He loved to talk of the yellow fever; he set that fearful disease at defiance, and said he never enjoyed himself so gloriously as he had done the year previously at Savannah, when the yellow fever was sweeping off the crews of the shipping in that port by hundreds, and he found employment as a carpenter, and cleared ten dollars a day by making coffins for the "Yankee" sailors. I felt from the outset that this Gaskell was a bad man, and a further knowledge of him confirmed my impression and increased my disgust.
In the course of the day I visited the half-deck, at the request of Captain Adams, to examine the condition of Smith. I found him in a feverish state, languid, his spirits much depressed, and with a slight headache. At the time I had no suspicion that he was visited with yellow fever, the disease appeared in so mild a form. Some medicine was given him, and it was expected that in a day or so he would recover his health.
The next morning, being the third day after leaving Martinico, I was awakened soon after daybreak by a succession of groans which came from the captain's stateroom. I entered the room, and was greatly alarmed at finding Captain Adams laboring under a severe attack of illness. He was seized with pains in the head and back, accompanied with scorching fever. His pulsations were strong, quick, and irregular. He said he must have caught a violent cold the night before, by remaining on deck without his coat or hat. I did not contradict him; but I had seen persons in a similar condition, and I knew he was suffering from yellow fever in its most alarming form.
All the medical skill I possessed was put in requisition; but the captain grew worse, and before night he was aware of the true character of the disease, and seemed to feel there was no chance for his recovery. I strove to minister consolation and inspire him with hope, but in vain. He acknowledged that life had charms of the most attractive description; fortune had favored him beyond his expectations; he had relations and friends whom he dearly loved; and there was one bright being in his native town to whom he had plighted his vows of affection, and to whom he hoped to have been united for life if Providence had willed his return. But he was resigned to the will of the Almighty. He did not even murmur at the fate which he knew awaited him. He prayed to his God to pardon the sins he had committed, and looked forward with hope to a glorious immortality.
The breeze had been light and the sea remarkably smooth since we left St. Pierre; and the brig, steering to the north-west, had made slow progress. On the morning after the captain was taken sick we expected to be in sight of Porto Rico; and Captain Adams asked Mr. Ricker, the mate, if any land was in sight. The mate thoughtlessly replied, "'The Dead Man's Chest' can just be seen off deck." This was the English name of a small island, or cluster of rocks, some five or six miles south of Porto Rico, resembling in appearance a coffin, and called, in Spanish, "Moxa del Muerta."
Captain Adams remarked, in a soliloquizing strain, "The Dead Man's Chest? Already in sight? Well, it will soon be wanted; I am ready."
The sufferings of this excellent man were intense. The pains in his head and back kept increasing; yet his mind was tranquil, and he retained command of his mental faculties until the last moment of his life. During his illness he expressed kindness for others, and made suggestions to the mate about sailing the brig and carrying on the work. As he grew weaker, he gave explicit directions to Mr. Ricker in regard to the duties which would devolve upon him at his death, and intrusted me with a solemn message to his dearest friends, which I afterwards faithfully delivered.
On the third day after the fever commenced the BLACK VOMIT set in. This is generally regarded as a fatal symptom, being almost always the precursor of death. But the fortitude of the captain never for a moment forsook him. He was sustained in that dread hour by a guiltless conscience and a steadfast, deep-rooted, religious principle.
A few hours after this alarming prognostic made its appearance, he died, while I was bathing his forehead; and a prayer hung upon his lips, even as the spirit left the earthly tabernacle. He died as became a Christian; and his features in death were tranquil as those of a sleeping infant.
His body was soon afterwards brought on deck, where the whole ship's company were assembled. The funeral rites were simple, but solemn and impressive; and far away from the friends of his youth, with no heart-stricken relatives to gather around the coffin, and form a mournful procession to the grave, and hallow the burial spot with the tears of affection, the mortal remains of our worthy commander were launched into the deep. They were committed, not to the silent tomb, but to that vast burial place, that "God's Acre" of almost illimitable extent, where deep caves, and recesses invisible to mortal eye, have served for ages as the last resting place of myriads of human beings, cut off untimely, without warning note of preparation, from the hopes and disappointments, the joys and sorrows, of this world; where, without headstone or monument, inscription or epitaph, to mark the place, with only the rushing winds to mourn their departure, and the murmuring waves to chant their requiem,
It is remarkable that in no part of the world, in any age, has the sea been selected as a burial place for the dead. Indeed, the idea of being drowned at sea, or dying on shipboard to be intombed in the fathomless ocean, is so abhorrent to many individuals that it is with fear and trembling they trust themselves on the water. It was a belief of the ancients, that to insure happiness hereafter, the dead body of a human being must be covered with earth; otherwise the departed spirit would never enter the Elysian Fields, but wander restless on the nether banks of Styx, in full view of delights and joys which it could never expect to realize.
Mr. Ricker, the mate, now took command of the brig. This man possessed a warm and affectionate heart, and was deeply moved by the death of the captain. He wept aloud when the interment took place, and sought to alleviate his grief by copious draughts of spirituous liquors. He wept and drank himself to sleep while reclining on a hen-coop. In a few hours he awoke, and wept again; then told the cook to bring the brandy bottle, which soon acted as an opiate, and banished his sorrows. He pursued this course, crying and drinking for more than a week; and during the greater part of this time, while I was witnessing scenes of sadness and death enough to chill the stoutest heart, he incapacitated himself, by intoxication, from performing his duties as commander of the ill-fated vessel.
Smith was still lingering under the attack of a disease which we now knew to be yellow fever. He was gradually growing worse. Others of the crew were also visited by this dreadful pestilence, and the deck of the brig resembled one of the fever wards of a hospital. The groans of the poor fellows were enough, one would think, to create sympathy in the coldest bosom. But they had no effect upon Gaskell, excepting to excite derision; and when he spoke to his sick or dying shipmates with a ribald jest on his lips, and a scornful grin on his features, I longed to fell him to the deck. I rebuked him for his want of feeling, and suggested that, proud as he was of his strength and immunity from sickness, he might, notwithstanding, become an object of sympathy to his shipmates, and need their assistance. The answer I received was a boisterous laugh, as if the idea was too absurd to be entertained.
Many years have passed since these events occurred, but even now I cannot recur to them without a feeling of sadness. And no one, not familiar with such scenes, can form an idea of the distress which a mortal sickness produces on board a ship at sea. The captain had died, and the mate, who should have taken his place, was constantly in a state of beastly intoxication. Three of the crew were struggling with yellow fever, and, to add to our troubles, Gaskell made his way into the hold, and broached a cask of wine; and those who were not sick followed the example of the mate, and got drunk, and drowned in vociferous shouts and songs the groans of their suffering shipmates. Under these circumstances, I had no alternative but to take on myself the responsibility of navigating and sailing the vessel. And while proceeding along the fruitful shores of St. Domingo, and the picturesque coast of Jamaica, I passed whole nights on deck, engaged in tending the sick, trimming the sails, and steering the brig. It was truly fortunate that the wind continued light and the weather pleasant.
Smith, who was the first man taken sick, did not recover. His illness gradually increased; for several days his mind wandered, but he was not troublesome, and died on the tenth day after we left St. Pierre. On the day of the captain's death, a young man, belonging to Connecticut, was seized with a fever, and died five days afterwards in a state of delirium. His case required constant care and attention, as he made more than one attempt to throw himself overboard, in order, as he believed, to embrace his parents and friends in his own native village. Two others were taken alarmingly ill, but after suffering severely for several days gradually recovered. The cook, a stout black fellow, inured to warm climates, rendered me great assistance in taking care of the sick. But on the morning on which we beheld the mountains of Jamaica he also was visited by yellow fever. The symptoms were alarming, and there seemed no prospect of his recovery; but on the third day of his sickness, AND AFTER THE BLACK VOMIT HAD COMMENCED, and while I sat watching by his berth, expecting that in a few minutes he would breathe his last, he seemed to revive, and I put some rice-water to his lips. He swallowed a small quantity; the terrible forerunner of a speedy dissolution disappeared, and from that moment his strength gradually increased, the fever left him, and before we reached New Orleans he had recovered.
While the cook was still dangerously ill, one morning early, as we were slowly sailing along towards the Grand Cayman, Gaskell came crawling up the steps leading to the half-deck, and tottered along towards me. I was appalled at the change which a single night had made in his appearance. The defiant, rollicking ruffian no longer stood before me; the sneer was no longer on his countenance, his eyes no longer sparkled with mischief, and his language was not interlarded with disgusting profanity. His eyes were glassy, his cheeks ghastly pale, and a cold sweat, produced by FEAR, stood on his forehead. The workings of suffering and terror were imprinted on his features, and he looked as if twenty years had been added to his life in one short night.
And he had cause for alarm; the yellow fever had fastened upon him with a vice-like grasp, and he felt it in his inmost soul. The man was a coward, after all. He thought himself secure from the scourge, and put on a mask of defiance. He now knew that he had deceived himself, and all his daring vanished. HE WAS AFRAID OF DEATH; AND THE DREADFUL CONVICTION WAS FORCED UPON HIM THAT HIS DYING HOUR WAS AT HAND.
In tremulous accents, Gaskell described the symptoms of the disease. The shooting pains in his head, neck, and shoulders were insufferable, and he entreated me to do something, any thing, to relieve the pain, and restore him to health. He urged me to bleed him, which I undertook, and opened a vein in each arm, but the blood would not flow; the vital current seemed to be congealed by fear. He then begged me to bathe his back with camphor and opodeldoc, and although I knew the operation would produce no effect, I consented to his wishes, and for more than an hour rubbed his back as he desired, and bathed his head with vinegar and lime juice.
But the disease could not be removed. It seized upon his vitals, and he rapidly grew worse. His pains were great, but his mental agonies were greater. For worlds I would not suffer what that man suffered while rushing into the fearful embraces of death. His mind was clear and unclouded, while madness would have been mercy. His life had been loose and depraved. He had been guilty of many crimes, and in the day of death the stings of conscience pierced him to the soul. His evil deeds came back to him in that hour; they were stamped on his heart as with a red-hot iron. I tried to console him, but in vain. He would not listen when I spoke of death, and fiercely motioned me away when I attempted to read aloud a chapter from the Bible. He said but little; but what he did say were words of bitterness and despair. He declared, with an awful oath, that he would not die, and struggled fiercely for life to the last. I never shall forget the wild and ghastly countenance and distorted features of that dying man, who, only a few days before, while in the full flush of health, declared, with a diabolical grin, that he feared neither God nor man.
The fever had now run its race, but our ship's company was greatly reduced in number and in strength. The captain and three of the seamen had been committed to the waves, and others had not fully recovered from the effects of the fever. Mr. Ricker was the only person on board, with the exception of myself, who had entirely escaped. Whether drunkenness acted, in his case, as a preventive, I will not undertake to say; neither will I advise any one to try the hazardous experiment.
We were now in sight of the Isle of Pines, fourteen days having elapsed since we sailed from Martinico, when I observed indications of one of those severe gales not unusual in the Gulf of Mexico and vicinity, and known at "northers." Light-handed as we were, and without an efficient head, I was aware that our situation was a critical one. I then felt justified in doing what I should have done sooner; I threw overboard every drop of spirit I could find, and then applied myself to rouse Mr. 'Ricker from his drunken inactivity; I explained to him my apprehensions of a gale of wind, and the necessity for making preparation for the coming tempest. This brought him to his senses; and after grumbling somewhat at the loss of his liquor, and taking a deep draught of water, he entered with energy on the sphere of his duties.
Ricker was a man of large stature and great physical strength. He was also a thorough seaman, and, when not stupefied with liquor, was an active, energetic man. By his powerful aid, and under his direction, the brig was soon put in a condition to withstand the heavy gale from the north, which soon came upon us, and completely ventilated the steerage and cabin, which had so long been the depository of a pestilential atmosphere. The "norther" lasted two days, the greater part of which time we were lying to, under a close-reefed main-topsail; and when the gale abated, we found ourselves further north than at its commencement, and not far from Cape St. Antonio, the western extremity of Cuba, a fact which illustrates in a striking manner, the force of the current which at certain times sets north, like a sluice-way, between Cuba and Yucatan, into the Gulf of Mexico, and is the origin of the Gulf Stream.
We entered the Gulf of Mexico, and with a fair breeze sailed for "the Balize." In a few days we struck soundings near the mouth of the Mississippi, and soon fell in with the turbid waters that are swept far out to sea by the strength of the current of that mighty river. We steered for a lighthouse, constructed of granite, on the eastern extremity of a point, and which, resting on a quagmire, was hardly completed before it assumed an attitude resembling the leaning tower of Pisa, and in six months afterwards it took a horizontal position. It is hardly necessary to say it was never lighted. We took a pilot and entered the river by the Balize or "South-east Pass," which was the deepest channel at that time, and navigable only for vessels drawing not more than fifteen feet of water, and, by dint of hard labor, steam towboats being then unknown, worked our way to the city of New Orleans.
I have already stated that the owner of the Brig Betsey was Mr. Gray, of Salem, a merchant of great enterprise, probity, and wealth. He soon afterwards removed to Boston, and was known throughout this country and the maritime cities of Europe by the name of "Billy Gray." His agent in New Orleans was Nathaniel Ware. Mr. Ricker explained to him the mournful events which had taken place on the passage from the West Indies, and Mr. Ware exhibited deep sympathy while listening to the tale of suffering. Ricker, prompted by a feeling of gratitude which showed the goodness of his heart, gave me full credit for the services I had rendered during the passage; explained the nature of my connection with the brig, and placed in the hands of Mr. Ware the written obligation I had given Captain Blackler, and which was found among the papers of Captain Adams. This document, which had caused me much anxiety, Mr. Ware returned, along with the twenty dollars I had previously paid towards my passage. He also thanked me for the assistance I had rendered Mr. Ricker, and added something more substantial, in the shape of twenty-five dollars, "as a trifling compensation," he said, "for my services," although, for obvious reasons, he was not aware of their full extent. He suggested that, if I designed to follow the sea, I could remain in the brig on pay, and that the command of the vessel would be given to Mr. Ricker. He further said he would represent my conduct in a favorable light to Mr. Gray, which he did, and years afterwards it was remembered to my advantage. Mr. Ricker himself urged me to remain, and occupy the situation of mate. It was in vain I assured him that my practical knowledge of seamanship was limited, and what little I once knew I had forgotten during my residence in the West Indies. He said he knew me better than I knew myself; he would excuse all imperfections, as he had seamanship enough for both, and to spare. I was not convinced; I had also some misgivings in regard to the weakness which he had exhibited, amid danger and death, on the passage through the Caribbean Sea; and I feared he had contracted a habit which would render any man unfit for a situation involving great responsibilities, not only in relation to property but also of life. Nevertheless, I gladly embraced the opportunity to remain on board for a time. The brig would probably be several weeks in port, and my future course could be guided by circumstances.
The moral condition of New Orleans at this period the year 1816-1817 was deplorable. For vice and immorality, it doubtless bore away the palm from every city in Christendom or heathen lands. Gaming houses, and vile, disgusting receptacles of vice and infamy, were thickly scattered over every part of the city. Midnight brawls and robberies were frequent; and hard-fought fisticuff encounters, sometimes between two individuals, and sometimes between two squads of half a dozen on-a-side, were taking place on the levee, or in its neighborhood, almost every hour in the day.
The population of the city was of the most heterogeneous character. Frenchman and Spaniards, of all complexions, native-born citizens, formed the basis. To them were added a thin sprinkling of Yankees, mostly enterprising business men; and an influx of refugees, adventurers, smugglers, pirates, gamblers, and desperate scoundrels from all parts of the world. The large number of ships waiting for freight, and constantly arriving, furnished a formidable body of sailors, many of them old men-of-war's men, who, keeping themselves well primed with whiskey, were always ready for a set-to, a riot, or a row. And if we add to these the boatmen of the Mississippi, not only those who came down the river in flatboats, but that numerous class, now extinct, of hardy, powerful, reckless, quarrelsome fellows who managed the KEELBOATS, the only craft that could stem the current of the Mississippi before the introduction of steamboat navigation, it will be easily imagined that vice struggled hard to exercise full and uncontrolled dominion over the capital of Louisiana.
Ineffectual efforts were made to repress tumult and establish order. The police regulations were in a wretched condition. The police officers were more inclined to look after the blacks than the whites; and the calaboose was filled every night with unfortunate darkies, who in a humble way were imitating the vices of the more enlightened CASTE. When symptoms of a serious riot appeared, the military were called out. On more than one occasion, the sailors on one side to the number of two or three hundred, and the Kentucky and Tennessee boatmen of equal or superior numbers on the other, were drawn up in battle array, and commenced a desperate contest with hard knuckles, bludgeons, and missiles of every description, revolvers and bowie-knives had not at that time been introduced into such MELEES, when the military made their appearance, and the belligerents were dispersed.
Fighting on the levee became an established custom, and was sometimes resorted to as an exciting pastime. If a couple of "old salts" quarrelled under the stimulus of a glass of grog, instead of bandying words, and pouring into each other a broadside of vulgar epithets, they quietly adjourned to the levee and took it out in hard knocks, and after having fought with desperation, and pummelled each other out of all resemblance to human beings, they would go on board their ship and cheerfully attend to their duties.
One day I watched with no little interest a pitched battle between a wooden-legged sailor and a French stevedore. The sailor, although he was wanting in one of his limbs, was said to be a valuable seaman one who would never shrink from work of any kind. He would go aloft in a gale or in a calm, and lend a hand at reefing or furling as promptly as any man in the ship. His wooden leg was so constructed, with iron machinery, at the extremity, that he could stand on a ratline or a hawse without difficulty. The stevedore, who was a powerful fellow, expected to make short work of the cripple, taking it for granted that Jack could not stand firm on his pins; and indeed, almost at the beginning of the combat, the man with the timber toe was capsized. His opponent, flushed with success, and disregarding the rules of honorable warfare, determined to give Jack a drubbing while he lay sprawling on his back. But as he approached him with mischievous intent, his fist clinched and his eyes flashing fire and fury, Jack watched his opportunity, and gave him two or three kicks with his iron-shod wooden leg in swift succession. They were so strongly and judiciously planted that the astonished Frenchman was compelled to measure HIS length on the ground, from which, to is great pain and mortification, he was unable to rise, and wooden-leg hobbled off with the palm of victory.
The most savage and revolting contest which I witnessed was a "rough and tumble" fight between two Mississippi boatmen. One was a young man, of slight frame, and rather prepossessing appearance; the other was a burly, broad-shouldered ruffian from Tennessee. The quarrel originated in a gaming house, over a pack of cards, and the parties adjourned to the street to settle the matter in regular style. But few words were interchanged. They grasped each other firmly by the waist, and after a severe struggle for the mastery, both fell heavily to the earth, when the real battle commenced. In a close, but not loving embrace, they rolled over and over again. No blows were given; they seemed to be clutching at each other's faces, but their motions were so quick, violent, and spasmodic that I could not see how their hands were occupied. The struggle was soon over; the Kentuckian released himself from the relaxed grasp of his prostrate antagonist, and sprang to his feet. He looked around on the spectators with a smile of triumph, then entered the miniature Pandemonium, apparently without having received injury. His vanquished opponent was assisted to his feet. He was groaning, quivering in every limb, and manifesting symptoms of insufferable agony. I pressed forward, eager to ascertain what injury he had received in this strangely conducted combat, when, to my great horror, I saw the blood streaming from his cheeks, and shuddered as I witnessed other and unmistakable proofs of a successful attempt at gouging.
Nor were these pugnacious propensities, which seemed epidemical, confined to the lowest classes in society. They were manifested by those who moved in a higher sphere, and who, looking with contempt on vulgar fisticuffs and gouging, settled their difficulties satisfactorily according to the established rules of the DUELLO with sword, pistol, or rifle. Hostile meetings on the levee, below the city, where the population was sparse, and no impertinent interruptions could be apprehended, were frequent. Indeed, the intelligence, some pleasant morning, that a duel had just been fought, and one of the parties lamed in the sword arm, or scientifically run through the body with a small sword, or bored through the cranium with a pistol-bullet, excited little attention or remark, excepting among the friends and relatives of the parties.
One duel, however, was fought while I was in New Orleans, which, being attended with some unusual circumstances, caused considerable talk. The principals were a French gentleman and a lieutenant in the navy of the United States. A dispute occurred in a billiard room; the Frenchman used some insolent and irritating language, and, instead of being soundly drubbed on the spot, was challenged by the naval officer. The challenged party selected the small sword as the medium of satisfaction, a weapon in the use of which he was well skilled. The American officer was remonstrated with by his friends on the folly of fighting a Frenchman, a noted duellist, with his favorite weapon, the small sword; it was rushing on certain death. But the challenge had been given, accepted, and the weapons agreed on; there could be no change in the arrangement; and, indeed, the Yankee, who was a fine, determined-looking young fellow, showed no disposition to "back out."
"I may fall in battle," said he, "by the sword or shot of a brave Englishman, but never by a thrust from a spit in the hands of a spindle-shanked Frenchman! Dismiss all fears on my account; I will give this 'PARLEZ-VOUS FRANCAIS' a lesson in fighting he little dreams of."
They met on the duelling ground at the appointed hour. There were more spectators present than usual on such occasions. The Frenchman affected to treat the matter with indifference, and made some frivolous remarks which excited the laughter of his countrymen. Indeed, the chances seemed to be a hundred to one against the lieutenant, who could handle with terrible effect a cutlass or a boarding-pike, but was almost a stranger to a weapon, to excel in the use of which, a man must be as loose in the joints as a posture maker, and as light in the heels as a dancing master. And yet there was something in the cool, resolute, business-like bearing of the Yankee which inspired his friends with some confidence in his success; and they watched the proceedings under an intense degree of excitement.
The parties took their places, assumed the proper attitudes, and crossed swords. The Frenchman grinned with anticipated triumph. It was clear that, confident in his skill, and richly endowed with feline propensities, he intended to amuse himself and the bystanders for a few minutes, by playing with his intended victim. His antagonist, however, stood firm, until the Frenchman, with a nimble caper, changed his ground, when the officer bounded forward, got within the guard of his opponent, and with a thrust, the force of which nothing could withstand, sent his sword, apparently, through the body of the Frenchman to the hilt!
The poor fellow was hurled to the ground by the violence of the shock, and supposed to be mortally wounded. That he was not KILLED outright was certain, for, owing to surprise and grief at this unlooked-for result, the fear of death, or extreme physical pain, he discharged a volley of screams that could be heard a mile off, writhed and twisted his body into all sorts of shapes, and manufactured, gratuitously, a continuous and ever-changing series of grimaces, for which the younger Grimaldi would have pawned his cap and bawble.
The wails and contortions of the wounded man were such, that it was some time before his friends and a surgeon who was present could examine his condition, which appeared deplorable enough. Indeed, an examination seemed hardly necessary, unless for the purpose of gratifying curiosity, as the wretched man, amid his groans and screams, kept repeating, with much emphasis and pathos, the terrible words, "JE SUIS ASSASSINE! JE SUIS ASSASSINE!" (I am killed! I am killed!) But as his voice grew stronger, instead of weaker, at every repetition of the phrase, doubts were entertained of his veracity; and a surgical inspection showed beyond cavil, that he was laboring under a hallucination, and asseverating with needless energy what was not strictly true.
That he was not killed on the spot, however, impaled on a rapier as an unscrupulous entomologist would impale a beetle, could hardly be regarded as the fault of his opponent. The thrust was directed to the place where the centre of the body of the Frenchman should have been, BUT IT WAS NOT THERE. The sword passed only through the muscles of the abdomen, from the right side to the left, perforating his body, it is true, and grazing, but not injuring, the larger intestines. The wound in itself was not a dangerous one, although the disturbance among the bundle of integuments threw the discomfited duellist into almost mortal agony, and led him to believe he was a dead man, while experiencing in his own person a liberal share of the pain he was so ready to inflict on others.
The Betsey remained some weeks at the levee at New Orleans before Mr. Ware could fix upon a voyage. In the mean time Ricker remained on board as master of the brig; and for several days after our arrival in port his habits were correct and his conduct without reproach. Gradually, however, he strayed from the paths of sobriety. He was of a social turn; frank, honest cheerful, and liberal-minded. He possessed other valuable traits of character; was a good sailor and a skilful navigator, but he could not resist the fascinations of the intoxicating cup.
Intemperance disqualifies a man from employments where the exercise of cool judgment, and clear, undisturbed reasoning faculties are required; and no person addicted to habits of intemperance should be intrusted with the command of a ship, where property to a large amount and lives of incalculable value, are, as it were, given into his hands. If records of disasters could be faithfully (here the page is torn and cannot be read) and unfolded, we should have an appalling list of easy (torn page) quarrels, mutinies, and shipwrecks which have (torn page) caused by intemperance on the part of the (torn page.)
Mr. Ware, the commercial agent of Mr. Gray (torn page) the brig had seen Ricker more than once intoxicated which roused his suspicions that all was not (torn page) unlucky afternoon he found him in a helpless condition, which convinced him that Mr. Ricker, notwithstanding his excellent qualities, was not a (torn page) could be safely given the control of (torn page) the high seas.
Ricker was mortified at losing, through (torn page) the command of the brig. He (torn page) however, of harsh or unjust treatment on the part of Mr. Ware; and consented to remain as mate, promising to refrain entirely from the use of spirituous liquors. The command was given to an officer in the United States navy, Lieutenant Rapp; and in this way I was ousted from the berth which Ricker was so desirous I should fill. There was no longer a home for me in the cabin of the Betsey, and I shipped as an ordinary seaman on board the brig Casket, of New York, Captain Mott, bound on a voyage to Havre.
The Casket was a large and handsome brig, and besides the captain, mate, boatswain, and cook, carried six hands before the mast. The chief mate was a hard-looking customer, somewhat advanced in years, rough in his manners, and profane and coarse in his language. But the captain was a fine-looking man, about thirty years old, rather dignified and reserved. His appearance spoke volumes in his favor, and the crew who joined the ship in New Orleans rejoiced in this opportunity of shipping in a fine vessel, with a whole-souled captain, and bound on a European voyage!
Before we reached the Gulf of Mexico, however, the (torn page) sang a different tune. They found the mate more (torn page) unreasonable, and every way disagreeable, if (torn page) than he looked; and the captain evidently re— (torn page) sailor as a piece of machinery to be wound up (torn page) for the performance of certain duties, but (torn page) human attributes. Whether a heart beat (torn page) bosom, and his head was furnished with (torn page) Mott knew not, neither did he care. The (torn page) of any one of the crew were never (torn page) If a man was sick and incapacitated (torn page) was told, with an oath, to "bear a hand (torn page) not be skulking in the forecastle;" and (torn page) his duties, he was regaled with stern (torn page) language, and sent upon missions at times, and under circumstances, which showed that Captain Mott thought a few sailors, more or less, in the world, were of no manner of consequence.
In former days every Yankee shipmaster was not a live, wide-awake, pushing, driving, web-footed Jehu, who disregarded fogs, was reckless of collisions with ships, fishing vessels, or icebergs, and cared little whether he strained the ship and damaged cargo, provided he made a short passage, as is the case in this enlightened age when "Young America" is in the ascendant. An "old fogy" was occasionally met with, who, being well paid for his services by the month, prided himself more upon the STRENGTH of his ship's sailing than her rapidity. This appears from the following scene which once took place on board a Boston ship:
Captain Jarvis was lying in his berth, dreaming of a long passage and plenty of money at the end of it, when he was awakened by the unwonted noise of water under the counter, giving rise to the suspicion that the officer of the watch was carrying more sail than was expedient. He jumped out of his berth, rushed up the steps, popped his head out of the companion-way, and sharply exclaimed,
"Mr. Popkins, heave the log."
Mr. Popkins: Ay ay, sir!
Captain Jarvis: How fast does the old ship go, Mr. Popkins?
Mr. Popkins: Nine knots, sir!
Captain Jarvis: Nine knots! Julius Caesar! I am astonished. Take in some of that canvas immediately, Mr. Popkins. I can't afford to sail so fast as nine knots.
Mr. Popkins: Ay, ay, sir.
The studding sails were hauled in, and the main royal and fore and mizzen top-gallant sails furled.
Captain Jarvis: How fast does she go now, Mr. Popkins?
Mr. Popkins (after heaving the log.) Seven knots and a half, sir!
Captain Jarvis: Too fast, sir much too fast! Take in more sail. Why, Mr. Popkins, we shall be at the end of our voyage before we know it, at this rate.
Mr. Popkins, with the men of the larboard watch, went to work, and in a few minutes the ship was running along quietly under her three topsails, jib, and spanker.
Captain Jarvis: Throw the log, Mr. Popkins.
Mr. Popkins: She is now going six knots, sir.
Captain Jarvis: Six knots! Very well very well indeed, Mr. Popkins. Always bear in mind that we are not paid by "the run," or the voyage; and six knots is very fair sailing between man and man. It is better to sail strong than to sail fast. Don't let me catch you running off at the rate of nine knots again. Stick to six and you will do, otherwise there will be no wages coming to us when we get home. Do you hear, Mr. Popkins?
Mr. Popkins, gruffly, (he had a sprinkling of Young America in his composition.) Ay, ay, sir!
Although Captain Mott was sometimes deficient in judgment, and on more than one occasion narrowly escaped losing overboard some of the crew, or wrecking the brig, he was, nevertheless, an excellent seaman, managed his vessel with skill, and navigated her with unusual correctness. Not being paid by the month but by primage on the freight, he was a veritable "driver," and lost no opportunity to urge his vessel ahead, even at the risk of starting a butt, springing a spar, or losing a man. Being always willing to work, on hand in any emergency, and never shrinking from danger, I was often a sufferer from his go-ahead instincts, as well as from his arbitrary mandates and unfeeling disposition. And were it not that there is,