In ship and prison : a story of five years in the continental navy with Capatin Samuel Tucker

Contents

Chapter Page

I I Go In Search of Captain Tucker . . 9

II In Which I Defy the Captain ... 22

Chapter I I Go In Seakch Of Captain Tucker

I cannot remember the time when I did not love the sea, nor is that strange. I was born in sight of the ocean. My father, and, as for that matter, his father before him, was a sailor. My first recollections are of boats and oars, of vessels and ropes and sails. At fourteen I had made a trip to the Great Banks on a fishing smack and at sixteen my knowledge of the Atlantic coast reached from Newfoundland to

Charleston. Tall for my age, strong and hardy from constant toil and exposure, and familiar with all sorts of sailing craft from a shallop to a chip, I counted myself an able-bodied seaman. I now had one ambition — to voyage to foreign ports.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, the single cable which bound me to the homeland was severed. My mother — the only parent I can remember, for my father was lost at sea while I was still a babe — died. I left her in usual health for a voyage to Norfolk. On my return I found her dead and buried. In caring for a neighbor, who was sick with typhus fever, she fell a victim to the disease. A small cottage with its scanty furniture, a few dollars in the care of Squire Sabins, the village lawyer, and her dying message — these were my legacy. It was the message which changed the course of my life, and sent me away from my native town for years. It read:

dear Boy: —

But for you I should rejoice over what the doctor just told me — that I have but a few hours to live — for it means a reunion with your dear father, though a separation from you. It is but a change from the presence of one loved one to the presence of the other. Sixteen years I have been with you, fifteen years away from him. Now I go to be with him, and leave you to the care of Him who has promised to be with the fatherless. He will keep you in all your ways.

Doubtless you know that there is no tie to keep you near home, and will carry out your long cherished wish of visiting other lands. You have my free consent. I was a sailor ^s daughter and a sailor’s wife. I believe ‘it is as near to heaven by sea as by land,’ and have no objection, as you long have known, to a sailor son. I only suggest that you go to Marblehead and find Captain Samuel Tucker. He was a friend of your father, and will be your friend and adviser. Possibly he may be willing to give you a berth in his own ship ; if not, he may be able to secure a place for you with some other captain as good and trustworthy as himself. This much I am sure he will be willing to do for you for your father’s sake. Never forget the great truths you have learned at my knee, and, living by them, you shall some day join your father and me in heaven. With my best love and a kiss,

Your dying mother,

Elizabeth Dunn.”

Squire Sabins, who had been appointed my guardian, though himself averse to the sea, otfered no opposition to my plans, and a week later, with a new sailor ’s kit and as fine an outfit as a lad of my age ever had, I left for Marblehead to look up Captain Tucker — a man whom I had never seen, but about whom I had heard from childhood, for, as the sole survivor of my father’s wreck on the coast of France, he had been the one to bring the tidings of that unfortunate event to my mother. I arrived at the village in the evening, and was left by the stage at Mason ’s Inn, where I passed the night. Early the next morning, while I waited for the breakfast hour, I went out on the street for a stroll. Of almost the first person I met, an old fisherman on the way to his nets, I inquired for the residence of the man I was seeking.

‘‘CapPn Samuel, I ’spose you mean, seein* how thar ain’t but one Capt’n Tucker here,” he responded. ‘‘That big, gabled house, standin’ thar all by itself on Rowland Hill, not far from the bay shore, is whar he lives when to home. But he hain’t thar now. He sailed yisterday from Salem for Lisbon.”

“You are sure of that, sir I” I asked with much chagrin at the thought that I had lost by a single day the man I was anxious to see.

“I orter be,” he answered good-naturedly, “seein’ how my Bill went with him, rated as an able seaman for the fust time, an’ I was over thar to see them otf. Bill will make a capt’n yit, ye see if he don’t, for he’s with the smartest skipper that sails from these parts, who’s promised to do the square thing by the lad.”

I was in no state of mind to dispute his assertion, or to listen further to a recital of his family affairs, which he seemed disposed to make. Thanking him for his information, though it had not been to my liking, I turned abruptly and went back to the tavern, where the disagreeable news I had received was confirmed by the inn-keeper while I was at breakfast.

I arose from the table out of sorts with myself and uncertain what course I had better follow. I knew I could go back to my native town and reclaim the place I had given up on the coasting schooner. But I did not want to do that, now that I had bidden farewell to all my friends there with the expectation that I should not see them again for months, perhaps not for years. I could not afford to wait, without employment, until Captain Tucker returned. Could I find some other ship in the harbor, or over at Salem, on which I might secure a berth!

Debating this question with myself, I tramped about the town for several hours, visiting the cliffs, the beach, the wharves, the old powder house and Sewall fort. Occasionally I made inquiries about the seventy vessels of various kinds which I could count in the harbor, but while I found several opportunities to ship on a fisher or coaster, I did not find a single vacancy on a vessel bound across the ocean. Towards noon I reached Red Stone Cove, where there lay, stranded and broken in two, a long boat, perhaps once belonging to an East Indiaman. On the stern part of this disabled craft I at length sat down and soliloquized :

‘^Evidently there ^s no chance for me here, and after dinner I ’ll hire a boat and row across to Salem, and try my luck there. Perhaps I shall be more fortunate. If not, I can come back here, and take a berth on a fisher until Captain Tucker comes home.”

Little thinking the latter was the wiser course for me to follow by all odds, I arose to retrace my steps to the inn. As I did so I noticed that a yawl had rounded the opposite point, and was coming into the cove, apparently crossing over from Salem. It occurred to me that here might be a chance for me to secure a passage over to that town in the afternoon, so I waited the arrival of the boat. Soon it was near enough for me to see that it was pulled by two men in sailor garb, while a third, whose dress and appearance suggested he might be a ship’s officer, sat in the stern. In another moment the light craft touched the beach, and the last-named gentleman stepped ashore. As I went forward to accost him, I heard him say to his companions :

Remain here, lads, until I return. I shall not keep you waiting long if I have good luck in finding the man I am after. ’ ’

‘‘Aye! Aye! Capt’n,” they replied. “You’ll find us here when you get back. ’ ’

Those words gave directions to the form of my salutation, as I reached his side. Touching my hat, I said :

“I beg your pardon. Captain, but are you just over from Salem?”

“Yes,” he answered, a little gruffly, I thought, “but what is that to you?”

^‘Do you know of any vessel over there that will soon sail for Portugal T’

I added that last word to my query, for it had suddenly occurred to me that, if I could reach that country, I might join Captain Tucker over there as well as on this side of the ocean.

do,’’ he admitted, “but why do you ask?” and for the first time he looked me carefully over.

“I’d lilm to ship on her,” I cried joyfully. “Will you kindly tell me her name, and where I can find her captain?”

“I happen to he her master,” he responded affably. “Ebenezer Weston, of the brig Young Phoenix, bound from Salem to Oporto within a few hours,” he added with growing ' politeness. “Now tell me who you are and why you wish to go to Portugal. ’ ’

I promptly did so, without a single interruption or word of comment from him until my story was finished. Then he remarked:

^ ‘ Arthur Dunn, son of Captain Thomas Dunn, and seeking for a place with Captain Samuel Tucker. ThaPs all in your favor, young man. Now tell me what experience you have had as a sailor — ;what do you know of a brig and the handling of herP’

Modestly I told him, saying I hoped to be rated as an able seaman on the vessel which shipped me.

We had been walking up the beach as we talked, and were now out of the hearing of the sailors who remained by the yawl, a fact Captain Weston was careful to note before he spoke again.

can do better than that for you, Arthur Dunn,’’ he then said, “if you think you can fill the place. What I want is a second mate. I came over here to look for a young fellow whom I know slightly and whom I believed would answer for the berth. He may be here, and he may not. He might be willing to ship with me and he might not. What is more important, you are here, and are ready to go. Now why can’t we strike a bargain!”

‘ ‘ I would do my very best, sir, ’ ^ I stammered, hardly believing it possible the man could be in earnest in his proposal.

‘‘You are rather young for the position, I admit,” he said more to himself than to me, “but you have had more experience at sea than the man I was after, and the stock you came from, as I happen to know, is excellent. Your father and grandfather were born sailors, and I believe it will prove so in your case. Anyway, I’m willing to take the risk, and will tell you what I’ll do. If you will sign for the voyage over and back, and not join Captain Tucker until he’s home again, which will be about the same time we heave into port. I’ll rate you at forty-ei^t shillings as a starter. How will that do?”

“I certainly shall accept the offer, and thank you for it, too,” I answered heartily. “When and where shall I report to you?”

He thought a moment ; then replied : ‘ ‘ There ’s hardly room in the yawl for you and your traps, and it would be something of a job to tote the latter down here. So you’d better go back to the tavern, get your dinner, and take the afternoon stage over to Salem. Let the driver leave you at Long Wliarf. I’ll have a boat there for you. This completes my crew, and we’ll sail on the morning tide.”

‘H’ll be on hand, sir,” I promised, and turned towards the village. Before I reached the bank above the beach, however, he called out:

‘^Hey there. Master Dunn, I’m usually pretty close mouthed about my affairs, especially here in this town, so you needn’t say anything to anyone about whom you have shipped with. Just get your luggage and come over to the brig. ’ ’

‘‘Very well, sir,” I answered, thinking little then about the strangeness of this request.

A rapid walk of ten minutes took me back to the tavern, where I got dinner, settled my bill and clambered onto the top of the huge coach that soon rattled up to the door.

“Wlien shall we see you again!” asked the courteous inn-keeper, following me out to the stage, with an evident desire to learn more of me and my visit to the town than he had yet been able to ascertain.

‘ ‘ When I come back with Captain Tucker, ’ ^ I retorted, little knowing how trne were my words. ‘‘I’ve decided to go over the ocean after him.”

“Your business with him must be important, then,” he muttered as the great vehicle drove away.

Something more than an hour later I was on Long Wliarf where I found Captain Weston had been as good as his word. The two men who had been with him at Marblehead were waiting foK me with the yawl, and, loading in my kit, they took me swiftly out to as trim a brig as I had ever seen. Mounting to her deck I was warmly greeted by the man whom I, at that moment, counted my best friend, but who was to prove my greatest enemy before that voyage was over.

Chapter II In Which I Defy The Captain

‘^Here you are safe on board the brig, Master Dunn, and in good season, Captain Weston said as he grasped my hand. ‘‘I’m glad of it, for I’ve changed my mind since I left you, and we’ll heave anchor and be off tonight. First of all, however, let me introduce you to my first mate. Master Thomas Marshall, this is our second officer. Master Arthur Dunn.”

As he spoke, a young fellow, who looked scarcely older than myself, though I learned later that he was just over twenty-one, stepped forward and offered me his hand.

glad to see you, Master Dunn, ’ ^ he said in a hearty way that quite won my heart, ^ ‘ and I welcome you on board the Young Phoenix/^ Possibly my face revealed my surprise at finding the executive officer of the vessel but a stripling, for as I took Master Marshall’s hand, the Captain remarked: ^‘Yes, it’s the Young Phoenix — young in name and young in age, for she is only three years old, and what is more fitting than that she should have young mates? Ha ! ha ! ha !” and he laughed quite boisterously over his attempt at pleasantry.

For myself, I thought his laughter unseemly, and for some reason, though I could not then have told why, it grated on my ears. But the irritation I ^perienced was forgotten or overlooked the next moment, for, turning to two sailors who stood near. Captain Weston directed them to take my luggage down into the cabin. Then, speaking to me, he added :

‘^And come right along yourself. Master Dunn. I’ll show you your quarters, and have you sign the ship’s articles, and explain to you about the wat 'hes. Then we’ll be ready to get under weigh. ’ ’

In five minutes these preliminaries were attended to, in ten minutes more the anchor was hoisted, and, with all sails set, the brig was standing out of the harbor. The breeze was a good one, the vessel proved herself a good sailer, and before sundown we were out of sight of land.

I do not imagine there was ever a more complacent lad than myself when I took the second watch at eight bells, and found myself for the time in sole command of the vessel. The night was a beautiful one; the stars showed bright and clear in the deep vault over my head; the wind — a west one — bore us rapidly along lour course; the brig responded to every touch of the wheel like a thing of life ; and my own feelings were in keeping with my surroundings.

I walked the quarter-deck with a slow and dignified tread, occasionally pausing to direct some member of my watch to tauten a rope, or ease up a sail, or to keep a sharp lookout forward. Perhaps these commands were not always necessary, but I issued them partly to impress my men with the feeling that I, though young, was equal to the place I had been called to fill, and partly that I might test the working of the vessel and familiarize myself with her peculiarities. For, though you may not know it, each ship has her own whims and moods, and only he who is thoroughly acquainted with them can have full mastery over her.

So the minutes rolled away, each new discovery about the brig increasing my complacency and giving shape to my thoughts. Here it was less than forty hours since I had left home, and, though I had not found Captain Tucker, I was in a better berth than he would have been likely to give or find for me, thanks to my fortunate meeting with Captain Weston. My quarters on the vessel were all I could ask ; the meal I had eaten at dusk had revealed the fact that the captain was a good provider; the first officer. Master Marshall, appeared to be a good sort of a fellow and one I could easily get along with. On the whole, I was better off than I had even dared to hope or expect.

So I mused, and among my musings was one that took the form of a resolve: Captain Weston should have no occasion to regret the confidence he had put in me. I would do all that was possible to win his approbation, until I had been advanced to the position of first officer. From that it would be an easy step to the command of some vessel — and when that place was reached I could go back to my native village with pride and elation. Anyway, no more forecastle for me. I was in the cabin, and there I would stay until I was Captain Dunn.

I make mention of these thoughts here, for I was soon to learn the lesson that there is a vast difference between an idle fancy and the stern reality. In fact, my complacency received a rude shock almost immediately. Walking along to Bill Howard, the oldest and most experienced sailor on board the brig, who was taking his trick at the wheel, I asked:

‘‘How does she handle, Bill? Does she mind her helm readily!’’

“I’ve seed them that does better,” he growled.

“I don’t know about that. Bill,” I retorted. “I call this a pretty fine craft.”

“She’s well ’nongh, I ’spose,” he admitted with some show of reluctance. “At the same time Bill Howard wishes he wasn’t on board of her. ’ ’

‘ ‘ Why, what ’s the trouble ! ” I persisted. ‘ It can’t be they don’t give yon enough to eat. I saw the supper sent down to you tonight. You don’t often get better on shipboard.”

“I wants no better, if it only continues,” he replied.

“Wliat makes you think it won’t. Bill!” I questioned, thinking he might have been along with Captain Weston on a previous voyage and had some revelation to make. I had known of skippers who always fed their crews well until they got them out to sea. It might be this that would prove to be the weak point of the man with whom I had shipped so unceremoniously. But his reply was a question.

beg your pardon, sir, but have you sailed on the brig afore P’

‘‘No, Bill, I haven’t. Have you?”

“Never, sir! and I can’t find anyone from fust mate to cabin-boy that has.”

He paused a moment, as though giving me time to take in the assertion ; then he continued :

“You’s young, sir, but I can see you are a sailor. Now let me ax you a question. Does it look well for a Capt’n when goin’ out of his home port to have to ship all new men? Bill Howard says no, an’ he’d never shipped on the brig had he knowed it. Mark my word, sir, I’m no croaker, but I’ll bet ye a month’s pay we’ll both wish we were ashore ’fore we make port again. An’ ’twon’t be the craft; sir; ’twill be the ol’ man.”

“Oh! I guess it won’t turn out as bad as that. Bill,” I replied with a laugh, and walked away.

But the conceit had been knocked out of me by his words. I was not so sure that I had been wise to jump so quickly at Captain Weston’s flattering oiler. I was not so certain I wished to remain on the brig longer than for that voyage. And I built no more air castles during that watch.

A few minutes before the time for the watches to change Master Marshall came on deck. Surprised at his early appearance, I went forward to meet him. As I reached his side, dark as it was, I could readily detect that he was troubled about something.

‘‘Master Dunn,” he began immediately, “may I ask if you are well acquainted with Captain Weston? Do you know anything about his habits V’

“No, sir,” I answered with a sinking heart. “I never saw him or heard of him until about three hours before I put my foot on the brig. ’ ’

“Then I’m not the only fool on board,” he remarked quickly, and I thought he said it with considerable satisfaction. “My acquaintance with him isn’t twenty hours old.”

He was silent a moment, and then as though some explanation was necessary went on :

‘H belong in Eastport, Maine. My last berth was as second mate on a brig in the West India trade. We were wrecked a week ago, and a Salem craft picked us up and brought us in there. I’d hardly stepped ashore when I met Captain Weston. He called me by name, said he knew of me, and, being in want of a first officer, would give me the place if I could arrange to sail at once. Like yourself, I’m ambitious to get ahead; it seemed too good a chance to lose, and, as he was willing to advance enough for my outfit, I promptly accepted the offer. In two or three hours I made my purchases, mailed a letter home, telling of my good luck, and came aboard. As soon as I was settled in the cabin, the Captain went over to Marblehead after you. ’ ’

‘‘Not after me,” I interrupted, and then I explained how I came to be shipped on the vessel as second mate.

“It looks bad,” he remarked when I was done. ^‘Captains don’t usually pick up their officers that way. But doubtless some of the crew are old hands, and we can learn from them about the Captain.”

‘‘No,” I declared, and then I told him of the conversation I had just held with Bill Howard.

“It’s worse than I thought!” he ejaculated. “New officers and new men throughout!”

“Why, what have you discovered?” I inquired, coming at last to the question which I had for some time been eager to ask.

“You’ll see for yourself when you go below,” he replied, “though I don’t mind telling you. He’s down there drinking like a fish, and is already so he can’t tell whether he’s afloat or ashore. ’ ’

“Well, I’m glad it’s no worse than that,” I said with a sigh of relief, “for I’m sure you and I can manage the brig.”

“It isn’t that that troubles me,” he responded quickly. “But you see he’s captain whether drunk or sober, and you can never tell what freak a drunken man will take. No, Master Dunn, we are in for it, and must stand together so far as we can for our own protection and for the protection of the crew.^’

‘‘You may count on me,’’ I promised, and as the watches were now changing I started for the cabin.

Once there, I found Master Marshall had not overstated the situation. The room was filled with the odor of rum, and a glass and bottle, both empty, sat upon the table, while the skipper was lying on the floor, now entirely overcome with the liquor he had drunk; and there he still lay four hours later when I again went on deck.

It was not, in fact, until the next day at noon that he came on deck, and I never knew a greater change in the appearance of any person within the same length of time than there was in him. From the neatly dressed, affable gentleman who had received me as I stepped on board the brig, he had now become the ill-kept, blear-eyed, irascible sot. Ignoring Master Marshall and myself, though both of us were near the wheel, he walked rapidly down to the galley, where the cook was issuing food to the men. Confronting that personage jnst as he came through the door of the caboose, his hands full of dishes, he angrily demanded:

‘‘Who told yon to give all that grub to those land-lnbbers ? ^ ’

“You did, sir,’^ stammered the man in great alarm. “Indeed, sir, I haven’t given them a single thing more than you told me.”

“Take that for your impudence,” the irate officer cried, and with his huge fist he struck the fellow a blow which sent him sprawling down the deck, while the dishes he carried rolled to the opposite rail.

“Now, sir,” he shouted as the unfortunate cook regained his feet, “hear me! You are to give the men just one-half what you’ve been doing until further orders, and mark ! if I catch you adding a single pound to that. I’ll tie you to the mast and give you twenty lashes with the cat. ’ ’

“I’ll do just as you say, sir,” the man meekly promised, as he began to pick up his stray utensils.

That was the beginning of the brutal incidents we were called to witness or experience through the remainder of our voyage. I have no heart to write them out in detail here. But let me say I have followed the sea for well nigh sixty years now, sailing on all kinds of vessels and with all sorts of masters, but I never saw the equal of Captain Weston for meanness or brutality. The men were starved and beaten and worked nearly to death. I am sure there would have been more than one fatality but for the courage and tact of Master Marshall. When the captain was in his drunken stupors, he would issue extra food to the men on his own responsibility, and so make up to them in a measure that from which they were unjustly deprived. In more than one instance, when the commander in some ugly mood had ordered a sailor to the lash, he would contrive to put off the punishment until later, and, on the skipper ^s returning once more to his cups, the man was allowed to go. But there were scores of times when he could do nothing, for the Captain liked to do the lashing with his own hands.

For a wonder I escaped any direct altercation with the Captain until we had sighted the Bayona islands off the coast of Spain. It was early morning, the sky was overcast, and a heavy wind was blowing from the north-east. I was in charge of the deck and had sent Bill Howard up the mainmast to belay a rope which had broken loose. He completed his task, and started on his return to the deck. Just then a sudden gust of wind took otf his tarpaulin, and sent it scaling toward the cabin hatch. It reached there as the Captain poked his head out for a squint at the weather, and struck him in the face with a force that must have stung him severely. With an oath he leaped to the deck, and, discovering Bill bareheaded, he turned upon him with the fury of a maniac.

‘‘You low-lived cur,’’ he hissed. “I’ll teach you better than to throw your hat at me ! Here,

Master Dunn, tie the villain to the mast, and I ’ll give him forty blows with the cat. ’ ’

beg yonr pardon, sir, it was the wind that took otf Bill ’s hat, ’ ’ I started to explain.

‘‘So yon will excuse his devilish trick, hey?” he shouted even more furiously. “Well, let me tell you he shall be whipped, and what is more, you shall give him the blows yourself. Here, men, tie that fellow to the mast there.”

The last words were addressed to two sailors who stood near him and they sullenly obeyed.

“Bring me the cat,” the angry officer commanded when poor Bill, with his back stripped bare, had been bound to the stick.

One of the sailors soon appeared with the ugly lash, and the skipper, turning to me, remarked with a Satanic grin :

“Here, take this. Master Dunn, and for every blow you give that does not draw blood on yonder fellow’s back, you yourself shall receive two.”