as we lay waiting for our final orders, a report reached us that a large english brig of war, called the nimrod, lay in a cove somewhere near boston bay. upon this information, our officers planned a night expedition for the purpose of effecting her capture. our intended mode of attack was to run close alongside, pour a broadside upon her, and then, without further ceremony, board her, cutlass in hand. so we took in our powder, ground up our cutlasses, and towards night got under weigh. a change in the wind, however, defeated our designs, and we put into salem harbor, with no other result than the freezing of a man’s fingers, which happened while we were furling our sails. thus ended our first warlike expedition in the siren.

shortly after this affair, we received orders to start on a cruise to the coast of africa, and, in company with the grand turk, a privateer, set sail from salem. passing the fort, we received the usual hail from the sentry, of “brig ahoy! where are you bound to?”

to this salutation the first lieutenant jocosely answered, “there, and back again, on a man of war’s cruise.” such a reply would not have satisfied a british soldier; but we shot past the fort unmolested. after two days we parted company with the grand turk, and by the aid of a fair wind soon found ourselves in the gulf stream; where, instead of fearing frozen fingers, we could go bare-footed and feel quite comfortable.

we now kept a sharp look-out at the mast-head, but met with nothing until we reached the canary islands, near which we saw a boat-load of portuguese, who, coming alongside, talked in their native tongue with great noise and earnestness, but were no more intelligible to us than so many blackbirds.

while off the african coast, our captain died. his wasted body was placed in a coffin, with shot to sink it. after the service had been read, the plank on which the coffin rested was elevated, and it slipped into the great deep. the yards were braced round, and we were under weigh again, when, to our surprise and grief, we saw the coffin floating on the waves. the reason was, the carpenter had bored holes in the top and bottom; he should have made them only in the top.

after the funeral, the crew were called aft, and the first lieutenant, mr. nicholson, told us that it should be left to our decision whether he should assume the command and continue the cruise, or return home. we gave him three hearty cheers, in token of our wish to continue the cruise. he was a noble-minded man, very kind and civil to his crew; and the opposite, in every respect, to the haughty, lordly captain with whom i first sailed in the macedonian. seeing me one day with rather a poor hat on, he called me aft and presented me with one of his own, but little worn. “good luck to him,” said i, in sailor phrase, as i returned to my messmates; “he has a soul to be saved.” we also lost two of our crew, who fell victims to the heat of the climate.

one morning the cry of “sail ho!” directed our attention to a strange sail, which had hove to, with her courses hauled up. at first, we took her for a british man-of-war brig. the hands were summoned to quarters, and the ship got ready for action. a nearer approach, however, convinced us that the supposed enemy, was no other than our old friend, the grand turk. she did not appear to know us; for no sooner did she see that our craft was a brig of war, than, supposing us to belong to johnny bull, she crowded all her canvas, and made the best of her way off. knowing what she was, we permitted her to escape without further alarm.

the first land we made was cape mount. the natives came off to a considerable distance in their canoes, clothed in nothing but a piece of cloth fastened round the waist, and extending downward to the feet. as we approached the shore, we saw several fires burning; this, we were told, in the broken english spoken by our sable visitors, was the signal for trade. we bought a quantity of oranges, limes, cocoanuts, tamarinds, plantains, yams and bananas. we likewise took in a quantity of cassava, a species of ground root, of which we made tolerable pudding and bread; also a few hogs and some water.

we lay here several days looking out for any english vessels that might come thither for purposes of trade.

meanwhile, we began to experience the inconvenience of a hot climate. our men were all covered with blotches or boils, probably occasioned by so sudden a transition from extreme cold to extreme heat. what was worse than this, was the want of a plentiful supply of water. in the absence of this, we were placed on an allowance of two quarts per diem, to each man. this occasioned us much suffering; for, after mixing our indian for puddings, our cassava for bread, and our whisky for grog, we had but little left to assuage our burning thirst. some, in their distress, drank large quantities of sea water, which only increased their thirst and made them sick; others sought relief in chewing lead, tea-leaves, or anything which would create moisture. never did we feel more delighted than when our boat’s crew announced the discovery of a pool of fine clear water. we received it with greater satisfaction than ever prodigal did tidings of the death of some rich old relative, to whose well-laden purse he was undisputed heir. we could have joined in the most enthusiastic cold-water song ever sung by either hermit or washingtonian.

while cruising along the coast, we one night perceived a large ship lying at anchor near the shore. we could not decide whether she was a large merchantman or a man of war; so we approached her with the utmost caution. our doubts were soon removed, for she suddenly loosed all her sails and made chase after us. by the help of their glasses, our officers ascertained her to be an english frigate. of course, it was folly to engage her; so we made all the sail we could carry, beat to quarters, lighted our matches, and lay down at our guns, expecting to be prisoners of war before morning. during the night we hung out false lights, and altered our course; this baffled our pursuer; in the morning she was no more to be seen.

the next sail we made was not so formidable. she was an english vessel at anchor in the senegal river. we approached her and hailed. her officer returned an insolent reply, which so exasperated our captain that he passed the word to fire into her, but recalled it almost immediately. the countermand was too late; for in a moment, everything being ready for action, we poured a whole broadside into our unfortunate foe. the current carried us away from the stranger. we attempted to beat up again, but our guns had roused the garrison in a fort which commanded the river; they began to blaze away at us in so expressive a manner, that we found it prudent to get a little beyond the reach of their shot, and patiently wait for daylight.

the next morning we saw our enemy hauled close in shore, under the protection of the fort, and filled with soldiers. at first, it was resolved to man the boats and cut her out; but this, after weighing the subject maturely, was pronounced to be too hazardous an experiment, and, notwithstanding our men begged to make the attempt, it was wisely abandoned. how many were killed by our hasty broadside, we never learned, but doubtless several poor fellows were hurried to a watery and unexpected grave, affording another illustration of the beauty of war. this affair our men humorously styled “the battle of senegal.”

after visiting cape three points, we shaped our course for st. thomas. on our way, we lost a prize through a display of yankee cunning in her commander. we had hoisted english colors; the officer in command of the stranger was pretty well versed in the secrets of false colors, and in return he ran up the american flag. the bait took: supposing her to be american, we showed the stars and stripes. this was all the merchantman desired. it told him what we were, and he made all possible sail for st. thomas. we followed, crowding every stitch of canvas our brig could carry; we also got out our sweeps and swept her along, but in vain. the merchantman was the better sailer, and succeeded in reaching st. thomas, which, being a neutral port, secured her safety. her name was the jane, of liverpool. the next morning, another liverpool merchantman got into the harbor, unseen by our look-out until she was under the protection of the laws of neutrality.

our next business was to watch the mouth of the harbor, in the hope of catching them as they left port. but they were too cautious to run into danger, especially as they were expecting a convoy for their protection, which might make us glad to trust more to our canvas than to our cannon.

shortly after this occurrence, we made another sail standing in towards st. thomas. hoisting english colors, our officers also donning the british uniform, we soon came near enough to hail her; for, not doubting that we were a british brig, the merchantman made no effort to escape us. our captain hailed her, “ship ahoy!”

“halloa!”

“what ship is that?”

“the ship barton.”

“where do you belong?”

“to liverpool.”

“what is your cargo?”

“red-wood, palm oil and ivory.”

“where are you bound to?”

“to st. thomas.”

just at that moment our english flag was hauled down, and, to the inexpressible annoyance of the officers of the barton, the stars and stripes supplied its place.

“haul down your colors!” continued captain nicholson.

the old captain, who, up to this moment, had been enjoying a comfortable nap in his very comfortable cabin, now came upon deck in his shirt sleeves, rubbing his eyes, and looking so exquisitely ridiculous, it was scarcely possible to avoid laughing. so surprised was he at the unexpected termination of his dreams, he could not command skill enough to strike his colors; which was accordingly done by the mate. as they had two or three guns aboard, and as some of the men looked as if they would like to fight, our captain told us, if they fired to not “leave enough of her to boil a tin pot with.” after this expressive and classical threat, we lowered our boats and took possession of this our first prize.

after taking out as much of her cargo as we desired, just at night we set her on fire. it was an imposing sight, to behold the antics of the flames, leaping from rope to rope, and from spar to spar, until she looked like a fiery cloud resting on the dark surface of the water. presently, her spars began to fall, her masts went by the board, her loaded guns went off, the hull was burned to the water’s edge, and what, a few hours before, was a fine, trim ship,looking like a winged creature of the deep, lay a shapeless, charred mass, whose blackened outline, shadowed in the clear, still waves, looked like the grim spirit of war lurking for its prey.

this wanton destruction of property was in accordance with our instructions, “to sink, burn and destroy” whatever we took from the enemy. such is the war-spirit! sink, burn and destroy! how it sounds! yet such are the instructions given by christian (?) nations to their agents in time of war. what christian will not pray for the destruction of such a spirit?

the crew of the barton we carried into st. thomas, and placed them on board the jane, excepting a portuguese and two colored men, who shipped among our crew. we also took with us a fine black spaniel dog, whom the men called by the name of paddy. this done, we proceeded to watch for fresh victims, on which to wreak the vengeance of the war-spirit.

the next sail we met, was an english brig, called the adventure; which had a whole menagerie of monkeys on board. we captured and burned her, just as we did the barton. her crew were also disposed of in the same manner. one of them, an african prince, who had acquired a tolerable education in england, and who was remarkably polite and sensible, shipped in the siren. his name was samuel quaqua.

we now remained at st. thomas several days, carrying on a petty trade with the natives. our men bought all kinds of fruit, gold dust and birds. for these things, we gave them articles of clothing, tobacco, knives, &c. for an old vest, i obtained a large basket of oranges; for a hand of tobacco, five large cocoanuts: a profitable exchange on my side; since, although i drew my tobacco of the purser, i fortunately never acquired the habit of using it; a loss i never regretted. my cocoanuts were far more gratifying and valuable when we got to sea, parched with thirst, and suffering for water, than all the tobacco in the ship.

while in this port, i had to throw myself on the protection of the officers, to avoid the disposition to abuse which existed in one of the petty officers. several of these gentlemen, who messed together, had a large boy to wait on them. he was unacquainted with naval usages, and somewhat awkward withal. this led them to oppress him: they frequently knocked him round, and even ventured to flog him with a rope’s-end. the poor lad used to cry, and fret about it, leading quite a miserable life. by some means, it happened that i was ordered to take his place; and i determined to resist their habit of punishing their servant; so, one day, when the gunner came below for his share of the whisky, and found it was gone, his messmates having drank the whole, and asked me for his whisky, i boldly answered “i know nothing about it.”

at this, he broke out into a furious passion, declaring that if i did not find his whisky he would have my heart’s blood.

to this dignified and manly threat i made no reply, but proceeded forthwith to the first lieutenant, and laid the facts before him. the gunner was sent for, reprimanded, and threatened with degradation, if ever he either struck or offered to strike me again. of course, i had no further trouble with these would-be tyrants.

the only other difficulty i ever had on board the siren, was with a young midshipman, who was on his first voyage—who was, in sailor’s language, “a real green-horn.” he ordered me, one day, to wash his clothes. i refused, saying it was not my duty. putting on the air of a pompous man, he told me it was my duty to obey an officer, and i should do it. i persisted in resisting this sprig of american aristocracy, and as i heard no more of it, i suppose he learned that he was in the wrong.

the effect of my conduct on the gunner was seen a short time afterwards, in the following little incident, which will also show the reader the nature of the pranks practised in men of war, by the hands. the gunner was a very selfish man, and somehow, when we were on short allowance of water, he contrived to keep a keg filled, which he kept in a small state-room; and a man might choke before he would part with a drop. one night, when my throat was parched with thirst, i met the boatswain’s mate, and said, “if i were minded to play the rogue, i could hook some water.”

the mate, who was as dry as myself, looked mightily gratified at this piece of news, and asked, “where?”

“i have a key that will fit the lock of the room where the gunner keeps his water keg.”

“well,” said he, “give me the key. i will be the rogue, while you keep watch for the old gunner.”

after drinking all we desired, we locked the door and returned to our posts, wondering how the gunner would feel when he found that some one had been practising the arithmetical rule, called reduction, on his water keg.

the next day the offended gunner threw out sundry hints to his messmates about his loss, indirectly charging them with the robbery. this drew down their wrath upon him, and he was compelled to be content with swallowing his choler, and getting a new lock for his state-room. in all his rage he never uttered a word to me: he had not forgotten my appeal to his superiors.

from st. thomas we proceeded to angola, where we staid long enough to clean, paint and refit our brig, from stem to stern. this was the last port we intended to touch at on the coast of africa. our next anchorage was to be in boston harbor—at least so we purposed; but providence and the british ordered it otherwise.

to accomplish our object, we had to run the gauntlet through the host of english cruisers that hovered about, like birds of prey, along both sides of the atlantic coast. this enterprise appeared so impossible to my mind, while we lay at angola, and the fear of being retaken and hung operated so strongly on my imagination, that, more than once, i determined to run away and find a refuge among the africans; but my better judgment prevailed at last, and i continued at my post.

still, i used every possible precaution to escape detection in case of our capture. in accordance with the custom of our navy at that period, i let my hair grow long behind. to change my looks more effectually, instead of tying mine in a cue as the others did, i let it hang in ringlets all round my face and neck. this, together with the effect of time, caused me to appear quite a different lad from what i was, when a boy, on board the macedonian. i also adopted that peculiarity of dress practised by american men-of-war’s-men, which consisted in wearing my shirt open at the neck, with the corners thrown back. on these corners a device was wrought, consisting of the stars of the american flag, with the british flag underneath. by these means i hoped to pass for a genuine yankee, without suspicion, in case we should fall into english hands.

having finished our preparations, we left angola for boston. we reached the island of ascension in safety, where was a post-office of a truly patriarchal character. a box is nailed to a post near the shore. ships that pass send to the box and deposit or take out letters, as the case may be. this is probably the cheapest general post-office establishment in the world.

we had scarcely left this island before the cry of “sail ho!” arrested every ear. supposing her to be a large merchantman, we made towards her; but a nearer approach made it doubtful whether she was an indiaman or a man of war. the captain judged her to be the latter, and tacked ship immediately. he was unwilling to place himself in the situation of an american privateer, who, mistaking a seventy-four for a merchantman, ran his ship close along side, and boldly summoned her to haul down her colors. the captain of the other ship coolly replied, “i am not in the habit of striking my colors.” at the same moment the ports of his ship were opened, and disclosed her long ranges of guns, yawning over the decks of the privateer. perceiving his mistake, the privateer, with admirable tact and good humor, said, “well, if you won’t, i will,” and pulling down his bunting, surrendered to his more powerful foe. to avoid such a mistake as this, our captain made all sail to escape the coming stranger, which was now bearing down upon us under a heavy pressure of canvas, revealing, as she gained upon our little brig, that she bore the formidable character of a seventy-four gun ship, under english colors.

of course, fighting was out of the question. it would be like the assault of a dog on an elephant, or a dolphin on a whale. we therefore crowded all possible sail, threw our guns, cables, anchors, hatches, &c., overboard, to increase her speed. but it soon became apparent that we could not escape. the wind blew quite fresh, which gave our opponent the advantage: she gained on us very fast. we shifted our course, in hopes to baffle her until night, when we felt pretty sure of getting out of her way. it was of no use, she still gained, until we saw ourselves almost within gun-shot of our opponent.

in this extremity, the captain ordered the quartermaster, george watson, to throw the private signals overboard. this was a hard task for the bold-hearted fellow. as he pitched them into the sea, he said, “good-bye, brother yankee;” an expression which, in spite of their mortifying situation, forced a smile from the lips of the officers.

the sound of a gun now came booming through the air. it was a signal for us to heave to, or to look out for consequences. what might have been, we learned afterwards, for a division of the crew of the seventy-four had orders to sink us if we made the least show of resistance. finding it useless to prolong the chase, our commander reluctantly ordered the flag to be struck. we then hove to, and our foe came rolling down upon us, looking like a huge avalanche rushing down the mountain side to crush some poor peasant’s dwelling. her officers stood on her quarter deck, glancing unutterable pride, while her captain shouted, “what brig is that?”

“the united states brig siren,” replied captain nicholson.

“this is his britannic majesty’s ship medway!” he answered. “i claim you as my lawful prize.”

boats were then lowered, the little brig taken from us, and our crew transferred to the medway, stowed away in the cable tier, and put in messes of twelve, with an allowance of only eight men’s rations to a mess; a regulation which caused us considerable suffering from hunger. the sight of the marines on board the medway made me tremble, for my fancy pointed out several of them as having formerly belonged to the macedonian. i really feared i was destined to speedily swing at the yard-arm; it was, however, a groundless alarm.

this event happened july 12, 1814. only eight days before, we had celebrated the independence of our country, by dancing and splicing the main-brace. now we had a fair prospect of a rigorous imprisonment. such are the changes which constantly occur under the rule of the war-spirit.

the day subsequent to our capture, we were marched to the quarter deck with our clothes-bags, where we underwent a strict search. we were ordered to remove our outside garments for this purpose. they expected to find us in possession of large quantities of gold dust. what little our crew had purchased was taken from them, with a spirit of rapacity altogether beneath the dignity of a naval commander.

our short allowance was a source of much discomfort in this our prison-ship. but, in the true spirit of sailors, we made even this a subject of coarse jests and pleasant remark. some would sit and paint the luxuries of shore life until our mouths watered at the idea of soft tack, fried eggs, sausages, and those other delicacies which go to make up a sailor’s idea of a sensual paradise. others would discourse about roast beef, boiled lamb, and caper sauce; to which some old weather-beaten tar would answer, “give me the lamb and a knife and fork, and i will cut capers enough.” this would draw out peals of laughter, to be followed by various yarns of feasts gone by, and of sprees enjoyed on liberty and paydays. thus we beguiled our time; though, with all our laughing, we could not laugh away the clamors of our hungry stomachs; and when i took my turn of a few minutes on deck, the gift of a piece of hard, dry biscuit, afforded me more gustatory delight, than would the taste of the richest pound-cake, now that i have an abundance of food.

enduring this evil, we proceeded on our course. when the medway arrived at simon’s town, about twenty-one miles from the cape of good hope, we met the denmark, seventy-four, on her way to england, with prisoners from cape town. the captain had hitherto intended to land us at the latter place, but the presence of the denmark led him to change his purpose, and land us at simon’s town.

the journey from this place to the cape was one of great suffering to our crew. we were received on the beach by a file of irish soldiers. under their escort we proceeded seven miles, through heaps of burning sand, seeing nothing worthy of notice on the way, but a number of men busily engaged in cutting up dead whales on the sea-shore.

after resting a short time, we recommenced our march, guarded by a new detachment of soldiers. unused to walking as we were, we began to grow excessively fatigued; and, after wading a stream of considerable depth, we were so overcome, that it seemed impossible to proceed any farther. we lay down, discouraged and wretched, on the sand. the guard brought us some bread, and gave half-a-pint of wine to each man. this revived us somewhat. we were now placed under a guard of dragoons. they were very kind, and urged us to attempt the remaining seven miles. to relieve us, they carried our clothes-bags on their horses; and overtaking some dutch farmers, going to the cape with broom-stuff and brush, the officer of the dragoons made them carry the most weary among us in their wagons. it is not common for men to desire the inside of a prison, but i can assure my readers we did most heartily wish ourselves there, on that tedious journey. at last, about nine o’clock, p. m., we arrived at cape town, having left one of our number at wineburg, through exhaustion, who joined us the next day. stiff, sore, and weary, we hastily threw ourselves on the hard boards of our prison, where, without needing to be soothed or rocked, we slept profoundly until late the next morning. for a description of our prison, with what happened to us there, the reader is referred to the succeeding chapter.