As soon as I reached the deck of the sloop, Bohun eagerly grasped me by the hand. "My good fellow," said he, "tell me what to do, and I will go about it at once; only tell me what to do first."
I cast my eye around, and comprehended in a moment the exact condition of the little vessel. I felt that a great responsibility had suddenly devolved upon me, and I determined to be equal to the task. The sloop, pitching and rolling, and jammed between two much larger vessels, was awkwardly situated, and riding, I supposed, at a single anchor. About half the cable only was payed out; the remainder was coiled on the forecastle, and the end was not secured.
"In the first place," said I, recollecting the scene near Charleston bar, "we will clinch the end of the cable around the mast, and then we can veer out as much as we like, without risk of its running away."
This was soon done, and by veering cable, the sloop dropped astern, until clear of all other vessels. I then found, to my satisfaction, that neither of the cables had parted. It subsequently appeared that the small bower anchor had merely been dropped under foot. By giving a good scope to both cables, the sloop was as likely to ride out the gale, so far as depended on ground tackling, as any vessel in port. The sails, which had been loosed by the force of the wind, were next secured. The foresail was furled in such manner that it could be cast loose and the head of it hoisted at a minute's notice. I greatly feared that some light vessel might be forced from her moorings, and drift athwart our bows, and thus bear the sloop away from her anchors. I therefore got an axe, and placed it by the windlass, with the design of cutting both cables when such an act might be considered necessary for our safety, hoist the head of the foresail, and run out to sea.
In the mean time, the decks were in a deplorable condition, lumbered up with barrels, boxes, and ballast. The supercargo commenced on one side, and myself on the other, to throw the ballast into the hold. The miscellaneous articles were then tumbled down in an unceremonious manner, and the hatchways properly secured. Our attention was now turned to the mast, which had no support on either side, and was in an awkward and uneasy position. Bohun looked at it as it swayed from starboard to port and from port to starboard, and then looked inquiringly at me.
"We can co it!" said I, without hesitation. "Have you any spare rigging on board?"
"Yes, plenty! Down in the forward part of the sloop."
I went below, and found a coil of rope which I believed would answer my purpose. I brought it on deck, and began to reeve laniards for the shrouds. I then procured a handspike and heaver, and went to work setting up the rigging by a "Spanish windlass." I had only once seen an operation of this kind performed; but having closely watched the process, I knew I could perform it successfully. In this matter Bohun rendered me valuable aid. We worked diligently, for we felt that every minute was of importance; and it was not long before the shrouds on both sides were set up, and the mast rendered safe. By the time this work was accomplished and the vessel put in good condition, the forenoon had nearly expired; but the hurricane continued. Several vessels had already been driven from their anchors, and blown broadside on, through the whole length of the harbor, and dashed to pieces against the rocks.
Through the mist and rain I kept a good lookout ahead, lest some of those unfortunate craft should come down upon our little sloop. And at one time, in the middle of the afternoon, I thought the crisis had come, and we should be obliged to go to sea. A large schooner which had been lying snugly at anchor at the extremity of the harbor for months, with no person on board, parted her cable, and was driven by the wind among the vessels already tossing about in that fearful gale, rubbing against one, crushing in the bulwarks of another, and carrying alarm and terror throughout her whole route. This hulk had passed through the great body of the shipping without causing much serious or irremediable damage, and now, broadside to the gale, was rapidly wafted towards the sloop. My heart beat violently, as, axe in hand, I watched her approach.
I raised the axe above my head to give the fatal blow, when I perceived the stern of the schooner swinging round. I dropped the axe, and called upon Bohun to lend me a hand to bear off. The schooner came down almost with the force of an avalanche, cleared the bowsprit, as I anticipated, but struck our larboard bow, swung alongside, caught by our chain-wale for a moment, was freed by a violent gust of wind, dropped astern, and was soon pounding upon the ledges.
Bohun, who had never before been an actor in such scenes, was completely exhausted with excitement and fatigue. He loaned me a pea-jacket, for, after my severe labors, and ablutions in fresh and salt water, I was shivering with cold; and requesting me to keep a good lookout, went below long before the gale abated, and buried his inquietudes in sleep.
The tempest began to diminish in violence soon after the shades of evening fell; but I continued on my watch until nearly midnight, when no longer doubting that the fierce hurricane had exhausted its wrath, I also left the deck, turned into one of the cabin berths, and slept soundly until the sun was above the horizon.
When Bohun came on deck he assured me he felt under great obligations for the assistance I had rendered in saving the sloop from destruction, and would cheerfully make me any compensation in his power. He requested as an additional favor that I would remain by the sloop, as there was valuable property on board, until he could make some necessary arrangements. I gave him my promise. He then called a boat alongside, and proceeded on shore.
I was anxious to visit the Gustavus to inquire about Strictland's health, and consult with him in relation to future proceedings. But there was no boat at this time attached to the sloop; the small boat broke away at the commencement of the gale, and was never afterwards seen; and the long-boat was taken possession of by the dastardly creoles who composed the officers and crew. I knew, however, that Strictland was well provided for, and being determined to visit him at the earliest opportunity, gave myself no further anxiety, but patiently awaited the return of the supercargo. I waited in vain; he did not arrive that day, but about eight o'clock in the evening a boat came off bringing a new captain, mate, and a couple of men. My short-lived reign was at an end! I had tasted the sweets of despotic authority for two delicious days. I was now deposed, and about to be resolved into my original elements.
It was too late to visit Strictland that night; but the next morning after breakfast, I obtained permission from the new captain to use the boat for a short time, and with a light and joyous heart for I was proud of my successful exertions during the gale sculled away for the Gustavus. I stepped gayly on board, and encountered the mate as I passed over the gangway. He greeted me kindly, but expressed surprise at my appearance.
"How is Strictland?" I exclaimed. "Has he entirely recovered?"
"Strictland!" replied the mate. "Have you not seen him? Don't you KNOW where he is?"
"Certainly not," said I, somewhat alarmed at his manner, "if he is not on board the brig!"
"He left the brig this morning," said the mate, "and is now on board that vessel in the offing," pointing to a rakish clipper brig under American colors that was outside the harbor, and seemed to be flying away under a cloud of canvas. "He has taken his chest and everything belonging to you both," continued the mate, seeing my astonishment. "I thought you were with him, and that the whole thing was arranged by mutual agreement."
I was thunderstruck at this intelligence; but after a moment's reflection, I refused to believe it. "It must be a mistake," said I; "Strictland would not go off to America, and leave me here without means or employment. He cannot be so ungrateful."
The mate looked as if he thought such a thing were possible.
"And if he HAS availed himself of a chance to go to the United States, he has undoubtedly left the chest, which is mine, and other property belonging to me where I can easily find it."
"I hope you MAY find it," said the mate dryly, "but I don't believe you will."
I went forward and conversed with the men who had taken Strictland on board the brig, and from them learned the particulars of the transaction. It appeared that Strictland, who had quite recovered his health, on coming on deck that memorable morning, perceived the clipper brig, which two days before I had visited without a successful result, making preparations for immediate departure. He borrowed the boat, and accompanied by one of the crew of the Gustavus, went on board the American brig, where he represented himself to the captain as an American, in great distress, and anxious to get home. He exhibited a "protection," mine undoubtedly, as evidence of his assertions. The tale of his misfortunes, told in eloquent language, albeit it must have smacked strongly of cockney peculiarities, melted the heart of the worthy and unsuspecting sailor, who told him to bring his things on board at once, and he would give him a passage to the United States.
Strictland returned to the Gustavus, gathered together not only everything which belonged to him, but every article of my property besides, not even excepting the garments I had thrown off on the morning of the hurricane. He took with him the money belonging to me which was still unexpended, and also what I regarded as far more valuable than the rest of my property my American protection. He told the crew this was done in pursuance of an arrangement made with me the day previous to the hurricane. He reached the brig with his "plunder" just as the anchor was hauled to the cathead, and the brig was hanging by a single line attached to a neighboring vessel until the topsails were sheeted home. My chest was transferred to the deck of the clipper, and five minutes afterwards the brig was leaving the harbor under full sail, bound home.
It was some time before I could realize the extent of my misfortune, and persuade myself of the melancholy fact that I was a stranger in a foreign port, without friends, while every item of my goods and chattels consisted of an old pair of patched canvas trousers, a checked shirt, and a dilapidated straw hat; I had not even a pair of shoes, a kerchief, a jack-knife, or the value of a stiver in cash.
I stood a moment gazing earnestly at the brig as she was rapidly sinking beneath the horizon. I was more disappointed and shocked at the ingratitude of Strictland than grieved at the loss of my goods and chattels. And when I saw that I had been deceived, cajoled, and swindled by an unprincipled adventurer, so far from rejoicing at such an opportunity to "come out strong," as Mark Tapley would have done under similar circumstances, I could hardly control my indignation. But conscious that my wrongs could neither be remedied nor avenged, I repressed my feelings, and amid the well-meaning condolence of my friends in the Gustavus, entered my boat and returned to the sloop.
I was rejoiced to find Bohun on board. He seized my hand and greeted me with much kindness. His countenance, open, frank, and honest, emboldened me to explain to him my situation. When I had concluded my narrative of facts, "Now," said I, "if you consider yourself indebted to me, and are willing to do me a favor, all I ask is, that you will give me a situation on board this sloop as one of the sailors, until I can find an opportunity to do something better. I shall expect the same rate of wages as others, of course and have also to request that you will advance me a few dollars, with which I can supply myself with some necessary articles of clothing."
Bohun graciously acceded to my wishes, and told me I might henceforth consider myself one of the crew of the sloop. I then ascertained what had hitherto escaped my knowledge, that the sloop was called the "Lapwing" of St. Bartholomew; but really belonged to Mr. Thomas, an opulent merchant residing in St. George, Grenada, and was about to proceed to that port with a cargo of flour and other articles of American produce. Bohun was a clerk with Mr. Thomas; and he assured me that on his representations of my conduct to his employer, and the unfortunate consequences of it to myself, that gentleman would undoubtedly show his appreciation of my services in a manner highly proper and acceptable.
This consideration, however, had no weight with me. All I asked for was employment. I wanted to be placed in a situation where by my labors I could earn my living. This I then regarded as independence; and I have never since seen cause to change that opinion.
As the Lapwing belonged nominally and officially to a Swedish port, it was necessary she should have Swedish officers and in part a Swedish crew. The captain was a tall, stiff-looking man, whose name was Lordick. He was a native of the little island of Saba; and two of the crew belonged to the same place. The mate was a native of St. Bartholomew. All belonging to the sloop were creoles, and assumed to be subjects of the king of Sweden, excepting Bohun and myself; and I had been so much exposed to the sun in that hot climate, that I looked as much like a creole as any person on board.
The island of Saba is in sight of St. Bartholomew a level, precipitous rock, nine miles in circumference, highest in the enter, appearing like a mound rising out of the sea, and covered with no great depth of soil. Saba was first settled by a colony of Dutch from St. Eustatia towards the close of the seventeenth century. It is a place of no trade, having no harbor, and is but little known. It is accessible only on the south side, where there is a narrow, intricate, and artificial path leading from the landing-place to the summit. Frequent rains give growth to fruit and vegetables of large size and superior flavor, which are conveyed to the neighboring islands in open boats and sold. It contained in the early part of the present century about fifty families of whites, and probably double that number of slaves. The chief employment of the inhabitants consisted in cultivating the soil, and raising, besides vegetables and fruit, cotton, which the women spun and manufactured into stockings, of a very delicate fabric, that readily commanded a high price in the neighboring islands. The people, living in a village on the top of a rock between the sky and the sea, enjoy the benefits of both elements without dreading their storms. Indeed, Saba is one of those quiet secluded nooks, which are sometimes unexpectedly discovered in different parts of the world, where the people, generation after generation, live in a sort of primitive simplicity, and pride themselves upon their peculiarities and seclusion from mankind. The traveller in quest of novelties would do well to visit Saba.
In a few days after I became one of the crew of the Lapwing, that vessel was ready for sea. Captain Lordick manifested toward me a friendly feeling; he sympathized with me in my misfortunes; made me a present of some articles, which, although of trifling intrinsic value, were highly useful; and inveighed in severe terms against the villainy of Strictland.
The day before we left port, Captain Lordick called me into the cabin. "Hawser," said he, "you are an American, but you have no evidence of that fact. The trading vessels among the islands are often boarded by English men-of-war, with a view to get men to supply a deficiency in their crews. If an Englishman is found, he is sure to be impressed. As you have no "protection," and the burden of proof lies with you, you will be regarded as an Englishman, a proper person to serve the king of Great Britain. Even if you state the truth, and claim to be an American, there will be no means of escape from this terrible species of servitude. I have a plan to propose, which may save you from the clutches of John Bull. The natives of St. Bartholomew, and also of Saba, which is a dependency on Holland, are exempted from impressment, provided they can exhibit proofs of their citizenship. Therefore every sailor belonging to those islands is provided with a document, called a 'burgher's brief,' which, like an American protection, gives a minute description of the person of the bearer, and is signed and sealed by the official authorities. Now, Hawser," continued the generous creole, "I had a younger brother who died of yellow fever in St. Kitts some six months ago. He was about your age, and resembled you in appearance. His 'burgher's brief,' as a citizen of St. Bartholomew, is now in my possession. Therefore you shall no longer be a citizen of the United States, but a native of Saba. I assure you there are very good people in Saba; and your name is no longer Hawser Martingale, but John Lordick; remember this; I shall so enter your name in the ship's papers.
The captain's reasons for a change in my identity were powerful. Besides, a "purser's name" was a common thing among sailors. And although I felt unwilling to forego my claim to American citizenship, even for a brief period, I convinced myself that no evil to anyone, but much good to myself, would be likely to result from such a course. Expediency is a powerful casuist; the captain's kindness also touched my heart, and conquering an instinctive repugnance to sacrifice the truth under any circumstances, I rashly told him that in accordance with his suggestion, I would adopt the name of his brother for a short time, and endeavor not to disgrace it.
"I have no fear that you will," said he.
We left St. Bartholomew in the Lapwing and proceeded on our way towards Grenada. I was treated with kindness by every person in the sloop, and found my situation far more agreeable than when loafing and vagabondizing about the wharves.
Mr. Bohun was a light-hearted young man, intelligent, high-spirited, and impulsive. He conversed with me about the events of the war, and speculated freely in relation to the future. He spoke of the defeat of General Hull as an event which might have been expected. When I expressed an opinion that our national vessels would be more successful on the sea, he appeared amused, laboring under the error which was universal among the British at that time, that an American frigate of the first class could hardly be considered a match for an English sloop-of-war.
I spoke of the action between the President and the Little Belt, where one broadside, fired through mistake by the American frigate, transformed the proud and defiant sloop-of-war into a sinking wreck. But my argumentative fact was met by a reference to the unfortunate affair between the Leopard and the Chesapeake. I urged that the Chesapeake, although rated and officered and manned as a frigate, was merely an armed STORE-SHIP carrying out supplies in a time of peace to our ships in the Mediterranean. But Bohun, like every other Briton I have met with, would not admit the efficiency of the excuse. I next recurred to the Tripolitan war, and alluded to the many deeds of daring performed by my gallant countrymen. But Bohun contended that their feats of valor in a war against barbarians could not be regarded as a test of their ability to battle on equal terms against the most accomplished seamen in the world. Bohun said that the Shannon and the Guerriere, two of the finest frigates in the English navy, had recently been fitted out and ordered to cruise on the American coast, with the expectation that a single-handed contest between one of these vessels and an American frigate of the first class would humble the pride of the Yankees, and decide the question of superiority. I could only reply that I hoped the meeting would soon take place, and when it did, he would be as much astonished as I should be gratified at the result.
The next morning after the above conversation, we were passing along the westerly side of the island of Dominica, and Mr. Bohun expressed a wish to touch at Rosseau, the principal port in the island, in order to obtain some desirable information. When off the mouth of the harbor, orders were given for the sloop to lie off and on, while the supercargo was conveyed on shore in the yawl, pulled by one of my Saba countrymen and myself. On reaching a landing place, Bohun directed us to remain by the boat until he should return, which would be in the course of half an hour, and tripped gayly up the wharf.
The town of Rosseau is pleasantly situated in a valley near the seashore. The harbor is little better than an open roadstead, and is defended by strong fortifications overhanging the city. The town has been three times destroyed; once by an inundation from the mountains after heavy rains which swept away many of the dwellings and caused the death of numerous inhabitants. Some ten or twenty years afterwards, when the town had been rebuilt, a destructive fire raged through the place, laid it in ashes, and destroyed an immense deal of property. A third time it was destroyed ay a furious hurricane, when nearly all the houses were demolished or unroofed, and hundreds of the inhabitants were killed or seriously wounded. Having thus been at different times a victim to the rage of three of the elements, air, fire, and water, many were led to believe that the final destruction of the place would be caused by an earthquake.
It was about two o'clock in the afternoon when Bohun came down to the boat, having been absent between three and four hours. His countenance was lighted up with a smile of gayety, and his eyes sparkled as if he had joyful news to communicate.
"Well, John," he shouted as he came within hail, "there has been an arrival from Halifax, and a piece of important intelligence has been received."
"Indeed, sir," said I, with a faltering voice, as from his cheerful bearing I anticipated unfavorable tidings; "what is the character of the news?"
"A desperate battle has been fought between the British frigate Guerriere, and the American frigate Constitution. What do you think of that?" added he, with a light laugh.
"Which gained the victory, sir?" said I, almost afraid to make the inquiry.
"One of the frigates," said he, without replying to my question, "was thoroughly whipped in short order and in handsome style, dismasted and sunk, with one half of her crew killed and wounded, while the injury the other received was hardly worth mentioning. Which do YOU think gained the day?"
"The American frigate, of course," said I. "You are right, John," exclaimed Bohun with a laugh. "THE CONSTITUTION HAS SUNK THE GUERRIERE. Brother Jonathan is looking up. He is a worthy descendant of John Bull. I find you understand the character of your sailors better than I do."
After having imparted this interesting piece of intelligence, and telling my shipmate and myself to remain by the boat until he should return, which would be in a few minutes, he again walked nimbly up the street, and was soon lost to sight.
As in duty bound we remained at the wharf in expectation of the return of Bohun, but hour after hour passed and he did not return. He was "enjoying life" among some boon companions, and over a decanter of good wine, as he afterwards acknowledged, lost for a time all recollection of the existence not only of the boat, but also of the sloop.
When the company broke up about nine o'clock in the evening, he came staggering down the wharf, rolled himself into the stern seats of the boat, and ordered us to shove off and pull towards the sloop. We represented to him that the night was dark and cloudy, and it would be next to an impossibility to find the sloop in the broad bay at that hour; that the attempt would be attended with risk, and consequently it would be wiser to wait until morning before we left the quay.
Our remonstrances were of no avail. He insisted on going off immediately. Nothing, he said, would induce him to wait until morning; he knew exactly where to find the sloop, and could steer the boat directly alongside.
It was useless to argue with him, and we dared not disobey his orders. The motto of Jack, like the submissive response of a Mussulman to an Eastern caliph, is "To hear is to obey." We left the wharf and pulled briskly out of the harbor. But no sloop was to be seen. We stopped for a moment to reconnoitre, but Bohun told us to keep pulling; it was all right; we were going directly towards her. In a few minutes he dropped the tiller and sank down in the bottom of the boat, where he lay coiled up like a hedgehog, oblivious to all that was passing around him.
By this time we were broad off in the bay; the lights in the town glimmered in the distance, the stars shone occasionally through the broken clouds, the wind was light, and the sea comparatively smooth. On consultation with my shipmate, we came to the conclusion it was hardly worth while to pull the boat about in different directions on a bootless quest after the sloop. We also rejected the idea of returning to the town. We laid in our oars, composed ourselves as comfortably as we could beneath the thwarts, and with clear consciences resigned ourselves to sleep.
We must have slept for hours when we were awakened by an unpleasant and alarming noise. It was some minutes before we could recollect ourselves and ascertain the cause of the hubbub. It proved to be the roaring of the wind, the pattering of the rain, and the angry dash of the waves. While we slept a severe squall had been gradually concocted among the mountains, and now burst upon us in all its fury. How long the wind had been blowing we did not know; but we did know we were some miles out to sea in a cockle-shell of a boat, and rapidly drifting farther from the land. No lights could be seen in any quarter; but all around was dark and drear. We supposed that as a matter of course the wind blew from the land, and therefore got out our oars and pulled dead to windward, thus preventing further drift, and lessening our danger by laying the boat head to the sea, which was now rapidly rising.
The squall continued for an hour after we were conscious of its existence; we were thoroughly drenched, but exercise kept us warm; while Bohun still maintained his snug position beneath the stern seats in a happy state of unconsciousness of the jarring of the elements and the peril to which he was exposed. The first streaks of dawn were hailed with delight, and at broad daylight we beheld the sloop, which had been driven to leeward during the night; and although eight or ten miles from the land, she was not more than a couple of miles to windward of the boat, and beating up towards the harbor. We awakened Bohun, whose garments were saturated by the shower, and who seemed greatly amused with our account of the night's adventure. The wind was fortunately light, and by dint of hard rowing, we soon got near enough to the Lapwing to make signals, and were recognized. The sloop then bore away and ran down, and we were truly rejoiced, fatigued, wet, hungry as we were, to stand again upon the deck.
Proceeding along to leeward of Martinico and St. Lucia, we came to St. Vincent, an island about twenty miles in length from north to south, which was chiefly remarkable at that time as being the only abiding place of the once numerous and warlike tribe of the Caribs, who inhabited the Windward Islands when the American continent was discovered, and were doomed, like all other tribes of their race, to wilt and die beneath the sun of civilization.
The Caribs, although described by historians as fierce and unpitying cannibals of the lowest grade of human organization, undoubtedly possessed moral and intellectual faculties by no means inferior to the great body of American Indians; but, like the tribe of savages which inhabited the island of Hispaniola, and other tribes on the continent, they observed the custom of flattening their heads, which gave to their features an unnatural and sinister expression, by no means calculated to gain the good will and confidence of strangers. The head was squeezed, soon after birth, between two boards, applied before and behind, which made the front and back part of the head resemble two sides of a square. This custom is still retained among the Caribs of St. Vincent.
The flattening of the head among the natives of Hispaniola was performed in a different manner, and produced a different effect. The forehead only was depressed, almost annihilating the facial angle, and swelling the back part of the head out of all proportion. The early Spanish settlers complained of this savage custom, as subjecting them to much inconvenience. In the course of their HUMANE experiments, they ascertained that, owing to the thickening of the back part of the cranium caused by this process, the broadsword of the strongest cavalier could not cleave the skull at a single blow, but would often snap off in the middle without serious damage to the owner of the cranium!
When I passed along the shores of the island of St. Vincent, in 1810, I was particularly struck with the wild and uncultivated appearance of the northern section, a huge mountain, or combination of mountains, rudely precipitous, covered with luxuriant vegetation even to the summit, but containing deep chasms or gorges, down which sparkling streams were rushing, forming numerous waterfalls, and all constituting a wild, picturesque, and attractive landscape.
When I passed St. Vincent in the Lapwing, in October, 1812, a mighty change had taken place. Every trace of vegetation had vanished from this part of the island; not a tree or a shrub remained. The rivers were dried up, and even the deep and dark chasms and gorges no longer existed. Cinders and ashes covered the mountain sides, and beds of lava were pouring down from the summit, and hissing as they entered the ocean. On the 30th of April, about one month after the terrible earthquake by which the city of Caraccas, three hundred and sixty miles distant, was destroyed, and twelve thousand of the inhabitants buried in the ruins, an eruption took place from an old crater on the summit of this mountain in St. Vincent, at which for more than a century had shown no symptom of life. The eruption was sudden and over whelming. Stones and ashes were scattered over the island; vessels more than a hundred miles to the eastward had their decks covered with cinders, and the crews were terrified at the noises which attended this fierce ebullition of the warring elements beneath the earth's surface. At St. Bartholomew, distant from St. Vincent about three hundred miles, the explosions were distinctly heard, and through the whole night were so continuous and loud as to resemble a heavy cannonading from hostile fleets. Indeed, it was believed for several days that a desperate action between English and French squadrons had been fought within the distance of a few miles. By this eruption the vegetation on the north part of the island, comprising one third of the whole territory, was destroyed, and the soil rendered sterile, being covered to a great depth with cinders and ashes. All the lands in the immediate vicinity were also rendered unfit for cultivation. What is remarkable, but few lives were lost. The unfortunate Caribs, however, who comprised about one hundred families, dwelt in this ungenial and unproductive district, and were driven from their homes to find elsewhere and nearer to the habitations of the whites, some desolate spot, shunned by all others, where they could again set up their household gods.
Proceeding past St. Vincent we came to the Grenadines, a cluster of small islands and rocks lying between St. Vincent and Grenada; two of which only, Bequia and Curriacou, are of any importance. These two islands are fertile, and produce a considerable quantity of cotton. Others, although small, are cultivated; and the isle of Rhoude, which lies within a few miles of Grenada, is in itself a large cotton plantation. One of these islets, or, more properly speaking, isolated rocks, lying not far from the shores of Grenada, and at a distance from the cluster is remarkable as having been the scene of an event which tradition seems to have carefully, if not faithfully, recorded. In the obstinate wars between France and Holland, in the middle of the eighteenth century, a Dutch frigate, commanded by a burly and brave officer, a genuine fire-eater, especially when he had his "schnapps" on board, was cruising under the lee of Grenada, and fell in with a large ship, to which the frigate gave chase. The ship answered no signals, but hoisted a white flag and fired a gun to windward, and was thus recognized as a French frigate or heavy sloop-of-war.
Night was coming on, and the chase, with a pleasant breeze, stood on a wind to the northward and eastward. The valiant "mynheer," whose courage, by means of schnapps, had been screwed up to the sticking point, made all sail after the enemy, and caused a double portion of the stimulating article to be served out to his crew. Under this invigorating influence he made a speech, in which he promised a rich reward to all who would manfully assist in giving the enemy a double dose of "donner and blitzen." He further promised that, to give his crew a good chance to distinguish themselves, he would lay the ship alongside the enemy, and fight the battle yard-arm and yard-arm. The gallant crew gave three hearty cheers, and swore to do their duty as became the countrymen of Van Tromp.
Darkness soon came on. The night was cloudy, and the wind was moderate. The chase was lost sight of, though it was believed the Dutchman was losing with the enemy hand over hand. The decks were cleared for action, the deck lanterns lighted, the guns double-shotted, and men with eyes of preternatural brilliancy stationed on the lookout.
Hours passed in anxious expectation, and another allowance of schnapps was served out to keep up the spirits of the crew; when, to the great gratification of every man on board, a lookout on the end of the flying jib-boom shouted, "Sail, ho!" The chase was soon distinctly visible, looming up, not like a speck, but like a LARGE BLACK SPOT on the dark horizon. A bloody battle was now certain to take place, and mynheer, combining discretion with valor, took in his light sails, and got his ship into a condition to be easily handled..
The Frenchman was apparently lying to, waiting for his antagonist to come up. He did not have long to wait. The Dutch frigate luffed up on his weather quarter, ranged alongside within musket shot, and poured in a tremendous broadside, then shooting ahead, peppered the astonished enemy in a truly scientific manner. The frigate then wore short round athwart the Frenchman's bows, sweeping his decks with another terrible broadside. The Dutchman kept up the combat with a degree of courage, energy, and spirit that was a marvel to behold; sometimes lying athwart the enemy's wake and raking the decks with terrible effect; sometimes crossing the bows and sending the devastating iron shower the whole length from stem to stern; and sometimes lying bravely alongside, as if courting, as well as giving, hard knocks; and displaying, under these critical circumstances, specimens of seamanship and maneuvering which would have commanded the admiration of the great DeRuyter himself.
But a combat fought with such desperation could not last forever. One of the frigate's guns, being overcharged, burst, killing several men and wounding others; and just as the first signs of daybreak were seen in the east, the Dutchman hauled off to repair damages and count his losses. The enemy apparently had not lost a spar, notwithstanding the terrible hammering he had received, but continued doggedly lying to, preserving, to the great indignation of his opponent, a most defiant attitude.
When daylight shone on the scene of battle, and the doughty Dutchman, having repaired damages, was ready to renew the combat, it suddenly became manifest to every man on board the frigate who had the proper use of his eyes, that the French ship-of-war which had so nobly sustained a tremendous cannonading through the night, was neither more nor less than A HUGE ROCK, which, with its head high above the surface, like the Sail-rock near the island of St. Thomas, marvellously resembled a ship under sail. The captain of the frigate rubbed his eyes on beholding the unexpected vision, as much astonished as the chivalrous Don Quixote, who, after an unsuccessful contest with a squad of giants, found his enemies transformed into windmills. This rock was afterwards known as rock Donner or Donnerock, and will stand forever an imperishable monument commemorative of "Dutch courage."
The principal town in Grenada is St. George, which is situated on a bay on the south-west side of the island, and is defended by heavy fortifications. On arriving at the mouth of the harbor in the Lapwing, we fell in with a large brig-of-war, called the Ringdove, and was boarded before we came to anchor in the bay. When the boat from the brig was approaching, it was strange to see the trepidation which seized every one of our crew. Although all, with the exception of myself, were in possession of genuine legal documents that should have served as impregnable barriers against impressment, yet they had witnessed so many facts showing the utter disregard of human or divine laws on the part of the commanders of British ships-of-war when in want of men, that they awaited the result of the visit with fear and trembling.
A lieutenant came on board and conversed pleasantly with the captain and supercargo. The men were mustered and called aft to the quarter-deck, and carefully scrutinized by the boarding officer. Our protections were examined, but being printed or inscribed in the Swedish language, were not read. Every thing appeared according to rule. The lieutenant looked hard at me as John Lordick, and asked some questions of the captain, to which the captain replied, "He is my brother," which seemed to settle the matter. The boat returned on board the Ringdove, and I, as well as the others, rejoiced in having eluded impressment in a man-of-war.
The sloop was brought to anchor, and the cook and myself were ordered into the boat for the purpose of setting the captain and supercargo on shore. We pulled around the principal fort, which is situated on a point of land, and entered a beautiful land-locked harbor, or careenage, where a number of vessels were lying at the wharves. The captain and supercargo landed on one of these wharves, and the captain directed the cook to accompany him to the market square for the purpose of procuring fresh provisions; I was ordered to remain by the boat.
When the captain was gone, and I was left standing alone, my thoughts again recurred to the subject of impressment, which had so completely engrossed the minds of the crew that morning; and I thought to myself, "Suppose some crafty, determined, unscrupulous officer of the Ringdove, or some other British vessel, should be at this very time on shore, lounging about the wharves, disguised as an inoffensive citizen, but watching an opportunity to pounce upon a poor unfortunate fellow, like myself, and bear him off in triumph, to become a victim of the cat-o'-nine-tails at the gangway, or food for gunpowder." While I was shuddering at the idea of such a climax to my adventures, I saw a man coming towards me, whose countenance and demeanor aroused all my suspicions. He was a thick-set, swarthy individual, with enormous black whiskers and sparkling black eyes. He was dressed like a gentleman, but I thought his garments hung loosely about him; indeed, his whole appearance, in my eyes, was that of the leader of a press-gang or the captain of a band of pirates. He eyed me closely as he advanced towards me with what I conceived to be a regular man-of-war swagger. Being driven to bay, I stood my ground firmly, and confronted him.
"Do you belong to the sloop which is anchored in the bay, my lad?" inquired he, with a mild voice and pleasant smile, affected, of course, to conceal his real intentions.
"Yes," was my rather curt reply.
"What is the name of the sloop?"
"Lapwing."
"Where does the Lapwing belong?"
"To St. Bartholomew."
"Where are you from last?"
"St. Bartholomew."
"Hum! What is the name of your captain?"
"James Lordick."
"Ah, James Lordick?" exclaimed he, with vivacity. "Indeed" Then addressing me abruptly, he inquired, "Where do YOU belong?"
"Now for it," thought I to myself; "the time has come when I must plunge headforemost into the sea of falsehood; so here goes." And I answered boldly, "To Saba."
"To Saba? Do you, indeed?" And he gazed at me with his piercing eyes, as if he could read my very soul. "To Saba. You belong to Saba? What is your name?"
"John Lordick."
"Is it possible!" exclaimed my black-whiskered friend. "Are you REALLY John Lordick, the brother of James? Good Lord! Who would have thought it!"
Thus strongly appealed to, I felt unable to reply except by an affirmative nod.
"So you are John Lordick? I heard you were dead. How the world is given to lying! I should never have known you. You have changed amazingly since I left Saba six years ago, John."
As this remark did not necessarily require any reply, I made none. I now began to suspect that I was mistaken in the estimate of the character of my interrogator that he was neither the captain of a band of pirates nor the leader of a press-gang; and it being my first essay at carrying out a system of falsehood, I was terribly frightened at the dilemma in which I was involved. I lost my presence of mind, and instead of frankly avowing the truth, as policy, as well as principle, would have dictated, I came to the conclusion to stick by my story, and carry out the deception to the end of the chapter. But my mortification, my confusion, my chagrin, at being subjected to this unforeseen cross-examination, can hardly be conceived. I envied the condition of the wretch standing by the gallows with a noose around his neck. After a brief pause, my tormentor continued "Do you recollect me?"
"No," said I, promptly; and glad of a chance to speak a little truth, I added, "To the best of my knowledge, I never saw you before in my life."
"Ha! Ha! Ha!" My friend seemed greatly amused. "Can it be that I have changed so much within a few short years? You knew me well enough once, John, when I lived opposite your father's house. I am Lewis Brown." And in a friendly, but somewhat patronizing manner, he held out his hand.
"Indeed," said I, grasping his proffered hand, "Lewis Brown! I never should have recognized you."
"Yes," said Brown, "six years WILL make a change in one's appearance. I should never have recognized you as John Lordick. How is your sister, Bertha, and all the rest of the folks?"
"Well, quite well."
"Whom did your sister marry?"
"She is not married yet," said I.
"Not married yet! Why, she must be at least twenty years old. When I left home, she was a beautiful girl even then a belle. Not married, and in Saba! But she will be, soon, I suppose."
"Perhaps," said I.
"Ah! Ah! She is engaged, I see. Who is the happy man?"
"Indeed, I don't know," I exclaimed, wishing the inquisitive fellow at the bottom of the Red Sea, with a twenty-four pound shot fastened to his feet.
"What has become of your cousin, Mark Haraden? Is he as lively and good-humored as ever?"
This Lewis Brown, delighted at having met with an old acquaintance, seemed bent on getting all the information and gossip about his old cronies, that chance had thrown in his way. Fearing I might perpetrate some palpable absurdity in my fabulous statements, as in the case of my "sister Bertha," I resolved to kill off all his friends and relations in detail, without ceremony or remorse. And therefore I replied to the question about Mark Haraden by saying,
"O! Mark was capsized by a squall while going in a boat from St. Martin to St. Bartholomew with a load of sugar, and all hands were lost."
"Poor fellow! Poor fellow! I am sorry to hear this; but life's uncertain. Where is Nicholas Ven Vert now?"
"Nicholas Van Vert? He happened to be at St. Kitts last year when the yellow fever broke out there, and was attacked with it the day after he reached home, and lived only three days."
"Indeed! Indeed! Well, we should all be prepared for whatever may happen! How is old Captain Wagner as hale and hearty as ever?"
"The old man slipped and fell over a precipice on the north side of the island a few weeks ago, and broke his neck."
"Good Lord! What a terrible mortality among my best friends in Saba! I am almost afraid to inquire after my old flame, Julia Hoffner. What has become of her?"
While I was considering in what way I should dispose of the fair and interesting Julia, a grinning darkey, who had approached the wharf in great haste, shouted, "Captain Brown, massa mate wants you on board, right off, directly"
I felt grateful to the dark-complexioned youth for the seasonable interruption, and secretly resolved that if it should ever be in my power to do him a good turn, I would do it. Unfortunately for him, I never saw him more.
Captain Brown seemed annoyed at the summons, and turning to me, said, "I suppose I must go, John, but I'll be back in a minute. It's a real treat to talk to a Saba man. But you have told me some sad news don't go away." And the inquisitive gentleman walked off, looking as sad and forlorn as if he had really "lost all his friends," and leaving me half dead with terror lest my falsehoods should be detected, and perspiring with remorse at having made such a rectangular deviation from the strict line of truth.
I breathed more freely. I had obtained a respite from my sufferings. I cast a searching look up the street, to see if the captain or the cook was coming, and on finding no signs of aid from that quarter, I fairly turned my back upon the boat, and ran off to some distance, where, concealed behind an old building, I could, by peering round a corner, note every transaction which took place on the wharf.
A few minutes only elapsed when the inquisitive Captain Lewis Brown returned with hurried steps to the spot where our conference was held. He seemed disappointed, and, I thought, somewhat hurt at not finding his old acquaintance, John Lordick. He looked around inquiringly in every direction, but apparently convinced that I had absconded, again walked away, but this time slowly, as if pondering on the startling information I had given him. Soon afterwards the cook came down loaded with fresh provisions. He brought orders from the captain to go on board immediately, and return for him at twelve o'clock.
At the hour appointed, the boat, with myself pulling the bow oar, approached the wharf, where, to my confusion, I found Captain Lordick in close conversation with my big-whiskered friend, Lewis Brown. That gentleman gave me an angry look, but said not a word. It was clear that Captain Lordick had betrayed the secret of my citizenship, and had given him information in regard to his old friends and gossips, which differed materially from my extemporaneous effusions; so that so far from being rejoiced, as a reasonable man would have been, at finding his friends alive and well, he seemed greatly provoked, and eyed me with the ferocity of a cannibal on learning that they had not shuffled off this mortal coil in the manner I had so feelingly described.
This gentleman proved to be the captain of a three-masted schooner, which traded between Cumana and the Islands, bringing over cargoes of mules. He had resided in Saba in early life and bore the reputation of a worthy and respectable man. I saw him several times after our memorable interview; but he always regarded me with a grim look, as if he owed me a heavy grudge, and would rejoice in an opportunity to pay it off.