The ships and sailors of old Salem

by Ralph Delahaye Paine

FOOTNOTES:

[43] See Chapter [XVIII].

CHAPTER XIX
THE TRAGEDY OF THE “FRIENDSHIP”
(1831)

The first American vessel to load pepper on the coast of Sumatra was the Salem schooner Rajah in 1795, and the last ship under the stars and stripes to seek a cargo on that coast was the Australia of Salem in 1860. Between these years the trade with that far off island was chiefly in the hands of the merchants and shipmasters of Salem. When the United States frigate Potomac was ordered to the East Indies seventy-five years ago with instructions to prepare charts and sailing directions of the Sumatra coast to aid American mariners, her commander reported that “this duty has been much more ably performed than it could have been with our limited materials. For this important service our country is indebted to Captain Charles M. Endicott and Captain James D. Gillis of Salem, Massachusetts. The former, who was master of the Friendship when she was seized by the Malays at Qualah Battoo has been trading on this coast for more than fifteen years, during which period he has, profitably for his country, filled up the delay incident to a pepper voyage, by a careful and reliable survey of the coast, of which no chart was previously extant that could be relied on.”

Captain Endicott of the Friendship not only risked his vessel amid perils of stranding along these remote and uncharted shores, but also encountered the graver menaces involved in trading with savage and treacherous people who were continually on the alert to murder the crews and capture the ships of these dauntless American traders. Notwithstanding all of Captain Endicott’s precautions and shrewdness born of long experience, he was at length overtaken by the fate which befell others of these pioneers in Malaysian waters. The story of the tragedy of the Friendship is typical of the adventures of the Salem shipmasters of the long ago, and Captain Endicott, like many of his fellow mariners, possessed the gift of writing such a narrative in a clean-cut, and vigorous fashion which makes it well worth while presenting in his own words. Perhaps because they told of things simply as they had known and seen and done them, without straining after literary effect, these old-fashioned sea captains of Salem were singularly capable writers, self-taught and educated as they were, jumping from school to the forecastle at twelve or fourteen years of age.

For the entertainment of his comrades and friends of Salem, Captain Endicott put pen to paper and told them what had happened to him and his ship on the coast of Sumatra in the year of 1831. Somewhat condensed, this virile chapter of salt water history runs as follows:

“The ship Friendship, of this place, under my command, sailed from Salem for the west coast of Sumatra, with a crew of seventeen men, including officers and seamen, on the 26th of May, 1830. On the 22d September following we touched first at the port of Qualah Battoo (i.e., in English, Rocky River), in Lat. 3.48 m. North. This place is inhabited by natives from the Pedir coast, on the north of the island (of Sumatra), as well as Acheenise, and is therefore governed jointly by a Pedir and an Acheenise Rajah. We remained here for the purposes of trade, until the 5th of November following, at which time, having obtained all the pepper of the old crop, and the new pepper not coming in until March or April, we left that port, and in prosecution of our voyage visited several others, and finally returned to Pulo Kio (i.e., in English, Wood Island), about two miles from Qualah Battoo, the latter part of January, 1831, intending to remain there until the coming in of the pepper crop.

“One bright moonlight night, shortly after our arrival at this place, I was awakened by the watch informing me that a native boat was approaching the ship in a very stealthy manner, and under suspicious circumstances. I immediately repaired on deck, and saw the boat directly in our wake under the stern, the most obvious way to conceal herself from our observation, and gradually approaching us with the utmost caution, without the least noise or apparent propelling power, the oars being struck so lightly in the water that its surface was scarcely ruffled. Having watched their proceedings a few minutes, we became convinced it was a reconnoitering party, sent to ascertain how good a look-out was kept on board the ship, and intending to surprise us for no good purpose.

“We therefore hailed them in their own dialect, asking them where they came from, what they wanted, and why they were approaching the ship in such a tiger-like manner. We could see that all was instantly life and animation on board her, and after a few moments we received an answer that they were friends from Qualah Battoo, with a load of smuggled pepper, which they were desirous to dispose of to us. We, however, positively forbade them to advance any nearer the ship, or to come alongside; but, after considerable discussion, we at length gave our consent for them to come abreast the ship at a respectful distance, and we would send some of our own men on board to ascertain if their story was correct, and if there was nothing suspicious about her, on their giving up their side arms we would rig a whip upon the main yard, and in this way take on board their pepper, and allow one man to come on board ship to look after it.

An old broadside, relating the incidents of the battle of Qualah Battoo

“All our own crew had, in the mean time, been mustered and armed, and a portion of them placed as sentinels on each side the gangway. In this manner we passed on board some fifty or sixty bags of pepper. We were afterwards informed by the second officer, that while this was going forward, the chief officer, who subsequently lost his life, was secretly scoffing at these precautions, attributing them to cowardice, and boasting he could clear the decks of a hundred such fellows with a single handspike. This boat, we ascertained, was sent by a young man named Po Qualah, the son of the Pedir Rajah, for the express purpose which we had suspected; the pepper having been put on board merely as an excuse in case they should be discovered. It was only a sort of parachute, let off to see from what quarter the wind blew, as a guide for their evil designs upon us.

“Ascertaining, however, by this artifice, that the ship was too vigilantly guarded, at least in the night, to be thus surprised, they set themselves at work to devise another plan to decoy us to Qualah Battoo, in which, I am sorry to say, they were more successful.

“A few days after this occurrence, a deputation was sent to invite us to Qualah Battoo, representing that the new crop of pepper was beginning to make its appearance, and they could now furnish us with from one or two hundred bags per day, and would no doubt be enabled to complete loading the ship in the course of forty days. Being in pursuit of a cargo, and having been always on friendly terms with the natives of this place, whom I did not consider worse than those of other parts of the coast, and feeling beside some security from the fact that we had already been warned by some of our old friends not to place too much confidence in any of them, we considered the danger but trifling, and therefore concluded a contract with them, and proceeded at once with the ship to Qualah Battoo.

“Strict regulations were then established for the security and protection of the ship. In the absence of the captain, not more than two Malays were to be permitted on board at the same time; and no boats should be allowed to approach her in the night time upon any pretence whatever, without calling an officer. Then mustering all hands upon the quarterdeck, I made a few remarks, acquainting them with my apprehensions, and impressing on their minds the importance of a good look-out, particularly in the night, and expressed my firm conviction, that vigilance alone would prevent the surprise and capture of the ship, and the sacrifice of all our lives. Having thus done all we could to guard against surprise, and put the ship in as good a state of defence as possible, keeping her entire armament in good and efficient order, and firing every night an eight o’clock gun, to apprise the natives that we were not sleeping upon our posts, we commenced taking in pepper, and so continued for three or four days, the Malays appearing very friendly.

“On Monday, February 7, 1831, early in the morning, while we were at breakfast, my old and tried friend, Po Adam, a native well-known to traders on this coast, came on board in a small canoe from his residence at Pulo Kio, in order to proceed on shore in the ship’s boat, which shortly after started with the second officer, four seamen and myself. On our way Po Adam expressed much anxiety for the safety of the ship, and also an entire want of confidence in Mr. Knight, the first officer, remarking in his broken English, ‘he no look sharp, no understand Malay-man.’

“On being asked if he really believed his countrymen would dare to attack the ship, he replied in the affirmative. I then observed to the second officer that it certainly behooved us, the boat’s crew, who were more exposed than any of the ship’s company, to be on our guard against surprise and proposed when we next came on shore to come prepared to defend ourselves.

“When we reached the landing we were kindly received, as usual. The natives were bringing in pepper very slowly; only now and then a single Malay would make his appearance with a bag upon his head, and it was not until nearly three o’clock in the afternoon that sufficient was collected to commence weighing; and between three and four o’clock the first boat started from the shore. The natives were, however, still bringing in pepper, with a promise of another boat load during the day. This was a mere subterfuge to keep us on shore.

“As the boat was passing out of the river, I noticed her stop off one of the points, and believing it to be the object of her crew to steal pepper, and secrete it among the neighboring high grass, two men were sent down to look after them. They soon returned, remarking that there appeared to be nothing wrong. The ship lay about three-fourths of a mile from the shore, and between the scale-house and the beach there was a piece of rising ground, so that standing at the scales we could just see the ship’s topgallant yards.

“I had observed a vessel in the offing in the course of the day, apparently approaching this place or Soosoo, and, being at leisure, I walked towards the beach to ascertain if she had hoisted any national colours. The instant I had proceeded far enough to see our ship’s hull, I observed that the pepper-boat, which was at this time within two or three hundred feet of her, appeared to contain a large number of men. My suspicions were instantly aroused, and I returned to question the men who were sent down to the mouth of the river.

“I was then informed, for the first time, that as they had approached the boat six or seven Malays jumped up from the high grass and rushed on board her; and as she passed out of the river, they saw her take in from a passing ferry boat about the same number; but as they all appeared to be ‘youngsters,’ to use their own expression, they did not think the circumstance of sufficient importance to mention it. They were reprimanded for such an omission of duty, accompanied with the remark:

“‘Your youngsters, as you call them, will, I suspect, be found old enough in iniquity, to capture the ship, if once admitted upon her decks.’

“The words of Po Adam, that morning, that ‘Mr. Knight no look sharp, no understand Malay-man,’ now struck me with their full force and a fearful foreboding, and I appealed to Mr. Barry, the second officer, for his opinion as to what would be Mr. Knight’s probable course, remarking ‘he certainly will not disobey his orders.’ Mr. Barry, however, expressed his fears as to the result, remarking he knew so well the contempt which Mr. Knight entertained for these people, ‘that he will probably conclude your precautions to be altogether unnecessary, and that he can allow them to come on board with impunity, without your ever knowing anything of the circumstances, and no harm will come of it.’

“This view of the case certainly did not allay my anxiety, and I observed, ‘if your predictions prove correct, the ship is taken,’ but concluding it to be altogether too late for us on shore to render any assistance to the ship, and still clinging to the hope that Mr. Knight would, after all, be faithful to his trust, Mr. Barry and two men were directed to walk towards the beach without any apparent concern, and watch the movements on board.

“I should have remarked, that on my own way up the beach, just before I passed near a tree under the shade of which a group of ten or twelve natives were apparently holding a consultation, all conversation ceased. The object of this meeting, as I was afterwards informed, was to consider whether it would be better to kill us before attempting to take the ship or afterwards; and the conclusion arrived at was to be sure of the ship first, the killing of us appearing to them as easy, to use their own simile, as cutting off the heads of so many fowls; the manner how had already been decided, the time when was all there was to be considered—a native having been already appointed, and the price fixed for the assassination of each of the boat’s crew. The price set upon my life was one thousand dollars, for the second officer’s, five hundred dollars, and for each of the seamen one hundred dollars.

“As soon as Mr. Barry has reached an elevation where he could fairly see the ship’s hull, he turned short round, and walked, without hastening his steps, directly towards me—passing me, however, without discovering any emotion, and said, ‘there is trouble on board, sir.’

“To the question ‘What did you see?’ he replied, ‘men jumping overboard.’

“Convinced at once, of our own perilous situation, and that our escape depended on extremely cautious and judicious management, I answered:

“‘We must show no alarm, but muster the men, and order them into the boat.’

“We deliberately pushed off from the shore, the Malays having no suspicion of our design, thinking it to be our intention, by our apparently unconcerned manner, to cross the river for a stroll in the opposite Bazar as was our frequent custom. The moment the boat’s stern had left the bank of the river, Po Adam sprang into her in a great state of excitement, to whom I exclaimed:

“‘What! do you come, too, Adam?’

“He answered: ‘You got trouble, Captain, if they kill you, must kill Po Adam first.’

“He suggested we should steer the boat as far as possible from the western bank of the river, which was here not more than one hundred feet wide, when I remarked to the boat’s crew:

“‘Now spring to your oars, my lads, for your lives, or we are all dead men.’

“Adam exhibited the utmost alarm and consternation, encouraging my men to exert themselves, and talking English and Acheenise both in the same breath—now exclaiming in Acheenise, ‘di-yoong di yoong hi!’ And then exhorting them to ‘pull, pull strong!’

“As we doubled one of the points we saw hundreds of natives rushing towards the river’s mouth, brandishing their weapons, and otherwise menacing us. Adam, upon seeing this, was struck with dismay, and exclaimed ‘if got blunderbuss will kill all,’ but luckily they were not provided with that weapon.

“A ferry-boat was next discovered with ten or twelve Malays in her, armed with long spears, evidently waiting to intercept us. I ordered Mr. Barry into the bows of the boat, with Adam’s sword, to make demonstrations, and also to con the boat in such a manner as to run down the ferry boat, which I concluded was our only chance to escape. With headlong impetuosity we were rushing towards our antagonist, nerved with the feeling of desperation. With profound stillness and breathless anxiety we awaited the moment of collision.

“The points of their pikes could be plainly seen. Already I observed Mr. Barry with his sword raised, as if in the act of striking. But when we had approached within some twenty feet, her crew appeared completely panic-struck, and made an effort to get out of our way. It was, however, a close shave—so close that one of their spears was actually over the stern of our boat. The Malays on the bank of the river appeared frantic at our escape, and ran into the water to their armpits in their endeavors to intercept us, waving their swords above their heads, and shouting at the top of their voices.

“We had now time calmly to contemplate the scene through which we had just passed, with hearts, I trust, grateful to God for his kind protection and safe guidance in the midst of its perils. This was the part of their plan, otherwise well conceived, which was defective—they had taken no measures to prevent our escape from the shore, never doubting for a moment that our lives were at their disposal, unprotected and defenceless as they saw us.

“Our doomed ship lay tranquilly in the roads, with sails furled, and a pepper boat alongside, with a multitude of natives in every part of her, and none of her own crew visible, with the exception of a man on the top gallant yard, and some ten or twelve heads just even with the surface of the water.

“The pirates were conspicuous in every corner of the Friendship’s deck, waving their cloths, and making signals of success to the natives on shore. My first impulse was to propose boarding her but I was very properly reminded that if the ship with her full armament had been taken with so many of her crew on board, we could do nothing in our unarmed state toward her recapture.

“We continued, however, to row towards the ship until we could see the Malays pointing her muskets at us from the quarterdeck, and they appeared also to be clearing away the stern chasers, which we knew to be loaded to their muzzles with grape and langrage. At this moment, three large Malay boats crowded with men were seen coming out of the river, directly towards us. While debating whether it would not be best to proceed at once to Muckie for assistance, which was some twenty-five miles distant, where we knew two or three American vessels were laying, heavy clouds commenced rolling down over the mountains, and the rumbling of distant thunder, and sharp flashes of lightning gave sure indications that the land wind would be accompanied with deluges of rain, rendering the night one of Egyptian darkness, in which it would be almost impossible to grope our way safely along shore towards that place.

“Under these discouraging prospects, Po Adam advised us to proceed to Pulo Kio, and take shelter in his fort. Submitting ourselves almost wholly to his guidance, we at once pulled away for that place, but before we reached it his heart failed him, and he represented his fort as not sufficiently strong to resist a vigorous assault, and he would not therefore be responsible for our lives, but suggested we should proceed to Soosoo, some two miles further from the scene of the outrage. We accordingly proceeded for Soosoo river, which we had scarcely entered when Po Adam’s confidence again forsook him, and he advised us not to land. We therefore only filled a keg with water from the river and came out over the bar, intending to make the best of our way to Muckie.

“The night now came on dark and lowering, and just as we left Soosoo river, the land wind, which had been some time retarded by a strong sea breeze overtook us, accompanied with heavy thunder and torrents of rain, which came pelting down upon our unprotected heads. Sharp flashes of lightning occasionally shot across the gloom, which rendered the scene still more fearful. We double manned two of the oars with Mr. Barry and Po Adam, and I did the best I could to keep the boat’s head down the coast, it being impossible to see any object on shore, or even to hear the surf by which we could judge our distance from it. Having proceeded in this way until we began to think ourselves near North Tallapow, off which was a dangerous shoal, it became a matter of concern how we should keep clear of it. We frequently laid upon our oars and listened, to ascertain if we could hear it break. Directly we felt the boat lifted upon a high wave, which we knew must be the roller upon this shoal, which passing, broke with a fearful crash some three or four hundred feet from us.

“Having thus providentially passed this dangerous spot in safety, the weather began to clear a little, and here and there a star appeared. The off shore wind, too, became more steady and the rain ceased. We ripped up some gunny bags which were left in the boat, and tied them together for a sail, under which we found the boat bounded along quite briskly; we therefore laid in our oars, all hands being quite exhausted, and proceeded in this way the rest of the distance to Muckie, where we arrived at about one o’clock, A. M.

“We found here the ship James Monroe, Porter, of New York, brig Governor Endicott, Jenks, of Salem, and brig Palmer, Powers, of Boston. On approaching the roads, we were first hailed from the Governor Endicott, and to the question ‘What boat is that?’ the response was ‘the Friendship, from Qualah Battoo,’ which answer was immediately followed with the question ‘Is that you, Capt. Endicott,’ ‘Yes,’ was the answer, ‘with all that are left of us.’

“Having communicated with the other vessels, their commanders repaired on board the Governor Endicott, when it was instantly concluded to proceed with their vessels to Qualah Battoo, and endeavor to recover the ship. These vessels were laying with most of their sails unbent, but their decks were quickly all life and animation, and the work of bending sails proceeded so rapidly that before 3 o’clock all the vessels were out of the roads and heading up the coast towards Qualah Battoo. It was our intention to throw as many of the crews of the Governor Endicott and Palmer on board the James Monroe, as could be prudently spared, she being the largest vessel, and proceed with her directly into the roads, and lay her alongside the Friendship, and carry her by boarding—the other vessels following at a short distance. But as soon as we had completed all our arrangements, and while we were yet several miles outside the port, the sea breeze began to fail us, with indications that the land wind, like that of the day before, would be accompanied with heavy rain. We, however, stood on towards the place until the off shore wind and rain reached us when all three vessels were obliged to anchor and suspend further operations until the next morning.

“Before dark I had taken the bearings of the ship by compass, intending, if circumstances favored it, to propose a descent upon her during the night; but the heavy rain continued the most part of it and we were baffled in that design.

“Daylight found us upon the decks of the Monroe, watching for the ship, which, in the indistinct light, could not be discovered in the roads. The horizon in the offing was also searched unsuccessfully with our glasses, but we at last discovered her close in shore, far to the westward of her late anchorage, inside a large cluster of dangerous shoals, to which position, as it then appeared, the Malays must have removed her during the night. One thing was certain we could not carry out our design of running her alongside in her present situation; the navigation would be too dangerous for either of the ships. At this moment we saw a prou, or Malay trading craft, approaching the roads from the westward, with which I communicated, hired a canoe, and sent a messenger on shore to inform the Rajahs that if they would give the ship up peaceably to us we would not molest them, otherwise we should fire both upon her and the town.

“After waiting a considerable time for the return of the messenger, during which we could see boats loaded with plunder passing close in shore from the ship, this delay seemed only a subterfuge to gain time, and we fired a gun across the bows of one of them. In a few minutes the canoe which we had sent on shore was seen putting off. The answer received, however, was one of defiance: ‘that they should not give her up so easily, but we might take her if we could.’

The Glide (See Chapter XXVI)

The Friendship

“All three vessels then opened fire upon the town and ship, which was returned by the forts on shore, the Malays also firing our ship’s guns at us. The first shot from one of the forts passed between the masts of the Governor Endicott, not ten feet above the heads of the crew, and the second struck the water just under her counter. This vessel had been kedged in close to the shore within point blank shot of the fort, with springs upon her cable, determined on making every gun tell. The spirited manner in which their fire was returned soon silenced this fort, which mounted six six-pounders and several small brass pieces.

“It appeared afterward, by the testimony of one of my crew, who was confined here, that the firing was so effectual that it dismounted their guns and split the carriages. The other two forts, situated at a greater distance from the beach, continued firing, and no progress was made towards recapturing the ship, which, after all, was our only object. It was now between three and four o’clock, and it was certain that if the Malays were allowed to hold possession of the ship much longer, they would either get her on shore or burn her. We then held a council of war on board the Monroe, and concluded to board her with as large a force as we could carry in three boats; and that the command of the expedition should, of course, devolve upon me. At this juncture the ship ceased firing. We observed a column of smoke rise from her decks abreast the mainmast, and there appeared to be great confusion on board. We subsequently ascertained that they had blown themselves up by setting fire to an open keg of powder from which they were loading the guns after having expended all the cartridges.

“The ship lay with her port side towards us, and, with the intention of getting out of the range of her guns, we pulled to the westward at an angle of some 33 deg., until we opened her starboard bow, when we bore up in three divisions for boarding, one at each gangway, and the other over the bows. We were now before the wind, and two oars in each boat were sufficient to propel them; the rest of the crew, armed to the teeth with muskets, cutlasses and pistols, sat quietly in their places, with their muskets pointed at the ship as the boats approached.

“The Malays now, for the first time, seemed to comprehend our design, and as we neared the ship, were struck with consternation, and commenced deserting her with all possible dispatch, and in the greatest confusion. The numerous boats of all descriptions alongside were immediately filled, and the others jumped overboard and swam for the shore. When we reached the ship, there was to all appearances no one on board. Still fearing some treachery, we approached her with the same caution, and boarded her, cutlasses in hand. Having reached her decks and finding them deserted, before we laid aside our arms a strict search was made with instructions to cut down any who should be found and give no quarter. But she was completely forsaken—not a soul on board.

“Her appearance, at the time we boarded her defies description; suffice it to say, every part of her bore ample testimony to the violence and destruction with which she had been visited. That many lives had been sacrificed her blood-stained decks abundantly testified. We found her within pistol shot of the beach, with most of her sails cut loose and flying from the yards. Why they had not succeeded in their attempts to get her on shore, was soon apparent. A riding turn on the chain around the windlass, which they were not sailors enough to clear, had no doubt prevented it. There had been evidently a fruitless attempt to cut it off. While we were clearing the chain, and preparing to kedge the ship off into the roads, the Malays, still bent upon annoying us and unwilling to abandon their prize, were seen drawing a gun over the sandy beach upon a drag directly under our stern, which, being fired, it jumped off the carriage and was abandoned. It was the work of a short time for us to kedge the ship off into deep water and anchor her in comparative security alongside the other ships in the roads.

“The next morning a canoe was seen approaching the James Monroe from Pulo Kio, with five or six men in her whom we took, as a matter of course, to be natives; but we were soon hailed from that ship, and informed that four of the number were a part of our own crew. Their haggard and squalid appearance bespoke what they had suffered. It would seem impossible that in the space of four days, men could, by any casualty, so entirely lose their identity. It was only by asking their names that I knew any of them. They were without clothing other than loose pieces of cotton cloth thrown over their persons, their hair matted, their bodies crisped and burnt in large, running blisters, besides having been nearly devoured by musquitos, the poison of whose stings had left evident traces of its virulence; their flesh wasted away, and even the very tones of their voices changed. They had been wandering about in the jungle without food ever since the ship was taken. Their account of the capture of the ship was as follows:

“When the pepper-boat came alongside, it was observed by the crew that all on board her were strangers. They were also better dressed than boatmen generally, all of them having on white or yellow jackets, and new ivory-handled kreises. No notice appeared to be taken of these suspicious circumstances by the mate, and all except two men, who were left to pass up pepper, were admitted indiscriminately to come on board. One of the crew, named Wm. Parnell, who was stationed at the gangway to pass along pepper, made some remark, to call the mate’s attention to the number of natives on board, and was answered in a gruff manner, and asked if he was afraid. ‘No,’ replied the man, ‘not afraid, but I know it to be contrary to the regulations of the ship.’

“He was ordered, with an oath, to pass along pepper and mind his own business. The natives were also seen by the crew sharpening their kreises upon the grindstone which stood upon the forecastle, and a man named Chester, who was subsequently killed while starting pepper down the fore hatch, asked them in pantomime what so many of them wanted on board and was answered in the same way, that they came off to see the ship. He was heard by one of the crew to say, ‘we must look out you do not come for anything worse,’ at the same time drawing a handspike within his reach.

The Malays had distributed themselves about the decks in the most advantageous manner for an attack, and at some preconcerted signal a simultaneous assault upon the crew was made in every part of the ship. Two Malays were seen by the steward to rush with their kreises upon Mr. Knight, who was very badly stabbed in the back and side, the weapons appearing to be buried in his body up to their very hilts. Chester at the fore hatch, notwithstanding his distrust and precaution, was killed outright and supposed to have fallen into the hold. The steward at the galley was also badly wounded, and was only saved from death by the kreis striking hard against a short rib, which took the force of the blow. Of the two men on the stage over the ship’s side, one was killed and the other so badly wounded as to be made a cripple for life.

“The chief officer was seen, after he was stabbed, to rush aft upon the starboard side of the quarterdeck and endeavor to get a boarding pike out of the beckets abreast the mizzen rigging, where he was met by Parnell to whom he exclaimed, ‘do your duty.’ At the same instant two or three Malays rushed upon him and he was afterwards seen lying dead near the same spot, with a boarding pike under him.

“On the instant the crew found the ship attacked, they attempted to get aft into the cabin for arms but the Malays had placed a guard on each side of the companionway which prevented them; they then rushed forward for handspikes and were again intercepted; and being completely bewildered, surprised and defenceless, and knowing that several of their shipmates had already been killed outright before their eyes, and others wounded, all who could swim plunged overboard, and the others took to the rigging or crept over the bows out of sight. The decks were now cleared and the pirates had full possession of the ship.

“The men in the water then consulted together what they should do, concluding it certain death to return to the ship; and they determined it would be the safest to swim on shore, and secrete themselves in the jungle; but as they approached it they observed the beach about Qualah Battoo lined with natives, and they proceeded more to the westward and landed upon a point called Ouj’ong Lamah Moodah nearly two miles distant from the ship. On their way they had divested themselves of every article of clothing, and they were entirely naked at the time they landed.

“As it was not yet dark, they sought safety and seclusion in the jungle, from whence they emerged as soon as they thought it safe, and walked upon the beach in the direction of Cape Felix and Annalaboo, intending to make the best of their way to the latter place, with the hope of meeting there some American vessel. At daylight they sought a hiding-place again in the bushes, but it afforded them only a partial protection from the scorching rays of the sun from which, being entirely naked, they experienced the most dreadful effects. Hunger and thirst began also to make demands upon them; but no food could anywhere be found. They tried to eat grass, but their stomachs refused it. They found a few husks of the cocoanut, which they chewed, endeavoring to extract some nourishment from them but in vain.

“They staid in their hiding-place the whole of this day, and saw Malays passing along the beach but were afraid to discover themselves. At night they pursued their journey again, during which they passed several small streams, where they slaked their thirst but obtained no food. About midnight they came to a very broad river, which they did not venture to cross. The current was very rapid, and having been thirty-six hours without food of any kind, they did not dare attempt swimming it. Here, then, they were put completely hors de combat; they found for want of food their energies were fast giving way, and still they believed their lives depended on not being discovered.

“Since further progress towards Annalaboo appeared impossible, they resolved to retrace their steps, endeavor to pass Qualah Battoo in the night without being discovered and reach the hospitable residence of Po Adam, at Pulo Kio. They accordingly took up their line of march towards that place, and reached, as they supposed, the neighborhood of Cape Felix by the morning, when they again retreated to the jungle, where they lay concealed another day, being Wednesday, the day of the recapture of the ship, but at too great distance to hear the firing. At night they again resumed their journey, and having reached the spot where the Malays landed in so much haste when they deserted the ship, they found the beach covered with canoes, a circumstance which aroused their suspicions but for which they were at a loss to account.

“They now concluded to take a canoe as the most certain way of passing Qualah Battoo without discovery, and so proceed to Pulo Kio. As they passed the roads, they heard one of the ship’s bells strike the hour, and the well-known cry of ‘All’s Well,’ but fearing it was some decoy of the natives, they would not approach her but proceeded on their way, and landed at Pulo Kio, secreting themselves once more in the jungle, near the residence of Po Adam until the morning, when four naked and half-famished white men were seen to emerge from the bushes and approach his fort with feeble steps. As soon as recognized they were welcomed by him with the strongest demonstrations of delight; slapping his hands, shouting at the top of his lungs, and in the exuberance of his joy committing all kinds of extravagances. They now heard of the recapture of the ship, and the escape of the boat’s crew on shore, who, it had never occurred to them, were not already numbered with the dead.

“Having refreshed themselves (being the first food they had tasted in seventy-two hours), they were conveyed by Adam and his men on board the James Monroe in the pitiful condition of which we have before spoken.

“In the course of the latter part of the same day, another canoe, with a white flag displayed, was observed approaching the fleet from the direction of Qualah Battoo, containing three or four Chinamen who informed us that four of our own men, two of whom were wounded, one very severely, were at their houses on shore, where their wounds had been dressed and they had been otherwise cared for; and that we could ransom them of the Rajahs at ten dollars each. To this I readily agreed, and they were soon brought off to the ship in a sampan, and proved to be Charles Converse and Gregorie Pedechio, seamen, Lorenzo Migell, cook, and William Francis, steward.

“Converse was laid out at full length upon a board, as if dead, evidently very badly wounded. The story of the poor fellow was a sad one. He, with John Davis, being the two tallest men in the ship, were on the stage over the side when she was attacked. Their first impulse was, to gain the ship’s decks, but they were defeated in this design by the pirates who stood guard over the gangway and making repeated thrusts at them. They then made a desperate attempt to pass over the pepper-boat, and thus gain the water, in doing which they were both most severely wounded. Having reached the water, Converse swam round to the ship’s bows and grasped the chain, to which he clung as well as he was able, being badly crippled in one of his hands, with other severe wounds in various parts of his body. When it became dark, he crawled up over the bows as well as his exhausted strength from the loss of blood would permit, and crept to the foot of the forecastle stairs, where he supposed he must have fainted, and fell prostrate upon the floor without the power of moving himself one inch further.

“The Malays believing him dead, took no heed of him, but traveled up and down over his body the whole night. Upon attempting to pass over the boat, after being foiled in his endeavor to reach the ship’s decks, a native made a pass at his head with his ‘parrung,’ a weapon resembling most a butcher’s cleaver, which he warded off by throwing up his naked arm, and the force of the blow fell upon the outerpart of his hand, severing all the bones and sinews belonging to three of his fingers, and leaving untouched only the fore finger and thumb. Besides this he received a kreis wound in the back which must have penetrated to the stomach, for he bled from his mouth the most part of the night. He was likewise very badly wounded just below the groin, which came so nearly through the leg as to discolor the flesh upon the inside.

“Wonderful, however, to relate, notwithstanding the want of proper medical advice, and with nothing but the unskillful treatment of three or four shipmasters, the thermometer ranging all the time, from 85 to 90 deg., this man recovered from his wounds, but in his crippled hand he carried the marks of Malay perfidy to his watery grave, having been drowned at sea from on board of the brig Fair America, in the winter of 1833-4, which was, no doubt, occasioned by this wound which unfitted him for holding on properly while aloft.

“The fate of his companion Davis, was a tragical one. He could not swim, and after reaching the water was seen to struggle hard to gain the boat’s tackle-fall at the stern, to which he clung until the Malays dropped the pepper boat astern, when he was observed apparently imploring mercy at their hands, which the wretches did not heed, but butchered him upon the spot.

“Gregory was the man seen aloft when we had cleared the river, cutting strange antics which we did not at the time comprehend. By his account, when he reached the fore topgallant yard, the pirates commenced firing the ship’s muskets at him, which he dodged by getting over the front side of the yard and sail and down upon the collar of the stay, and then reversing the movement. John Masury related that after being wounded in the side, he crept over the bows of the ship and down upon an anchor, where he was sometime employed in dodging the thrusts of a boarding pike in the hands of a Malay, until the arrival of a reinforcement from the shore when every one fearing lest he should not get his full share of plunder, ceased further to molest the wounded.

“The ship, the first night after her capture, according to the testimony of these men, was a perfect pandemonium, and a Babel of the most discordant sounds. The ceaseless moaning of the surf upon the adjacent shore, the heavy peals of thunder, and sharp flashings of lightning directly over their heads, the sighing of the wind in wild discords through the rigging, like the wailings of woe from the manes of their murdered shipmates; and all this intermingled with the more earthly sounds of the squealing of pigs, the screeching of fowls, the cackling of roosters, the unintelligible jargon of the natives, jangling and vociferating, with horrible laughter, shouts and yells, in every part of her, and in the boats alongside carrying off plunder, their black figures unexpectedly darting forth from every unseen quarter, as if rising up and again disappearing through the decks, and gambolling about in the dark, must have been like a saturnalia of demons.

“It is the general impression that Malays, being Musselmen, have a holy horror of swine, as unclean animals; the very touch of which imposes many ablutions and abstinence from food for several days together, but, according to the testimony of my men, it was perfectly marvellous how they handled those on board our ship, going in their pens, seizing, struggling, and actually embracing them, until they succeeded in throwing every one overboard.

“The morning succeeding the capture of the Friendship, affairs on board appeared to be getting to be a little more settled, when several Chinamen came off and performed the part of good Samaritans, taking the wounded men on shore to their houses, and dressing their wounds with some simple remedies which at least kept down inflammation. In doing this, however, they were obliged to barricade their dwellings, to guard them against the insulting annoyances of the natives.

“Qualah Battoo bazar that day presented a ludicrous spectacle. Almost every Malay was decked out in a white, blue, red, checked, or striped shirt, or some other European article of dress or manufacture stolen from the ship, not even excepting the woolen table cloth belonging to the cabin, which was seen displayed over the shoulders of a native, all seemingly quite proud of their appearance, and strutting about with solemn gravity and oriental self-complacency. Their novel and grotesque appearance could not fail to suggest the idea that a tribe of monkeys had made a descent upon some unfortunate clothing establishment, and each had seized and carried off whatever article of dress was most suited to his taste and fancy.

“The ship was now once more in our possession, with what remained of her cargo and crew. She was rifled of almost every movable article on board, and scarcely anything but her pepper remaining. Of our outward cargo every dollar of specie, and every pound of opium had, of course, become a prey to them. All her spare sails and rigging were gone—not a needle or ball of twine, palm, marling spike, or piece of rope were left! All our charts, chronometers and other nautical instruments—all our clothing and bedding, were also gone; as well as our cabin furniture and small stores of every description. Our ship’s provisions, such as beef, pork and most of our bread, had, however, been spared. Of our armament nothing but the large guns remained. Every pistol, musket, cutlass, and boarding pike, with our entire stock of powder, had been taken.

“With assistance from the other vessels we immediately began making the necessary preparations to leave the port with all possible dispatch, but owing to much rainy weather we did not accomplish it for three days after recapturing the ship, when we finally succeeded in leaving the place in company with the fleet bound for South Tallapow, where we arrived on the fourteenth of February. When we landed at this place with the other masters and supercargoes, we were followed through the streets of the bazar by the natives in great crowds, exulting and hooting, with exclamations similar to these:

“‘Who great man now, Malay or American?’ ‘How many man American dead?’ ‘How many man Malay dead?’

“We now commenced in good earnest to prepare our ship for sea. Our voyage had been broken up, and there was nothing left for us but to return to the United States. We finally left Muckie, whither we had already proceeded, on the twenty-seventh of February, for Pulo Kio (accompanied by the ship Delphos, Capt. James D. Gillis, and the Gov. Endicott, Capt. Jenks), where I was yet in hopes to recover some of my nautical instruments. With the assistance of Po Adam, I succeeded in obtaining, for a moderate sum, my sextant and one of my chronometers, which enabled me to navigate the ship. We sailed from Pulo Kio on the fourth of March, and arrived at Salem on the sixteenth of July.

“The intense interest and excitement caused by our arrival home may still be remembered. It being nearly calm, as we approached the harbor we were boarded several miles outside by crowds of people, all anxious to learn the most minute particulars of our sad misfortune, the news of which had proceeded us by the arrival of a China ship at New York which we had met at St. Helena. The curiosity of some of our visitors was so great that they would not be satisfied until they knew the exact spot where every man stood, who was either killed or wounded. Even the casing of the cabin, so much cut up in search of money or other valuables, was an object of the greatest interest.

“But the feeling of presumptuous exultation and proud defiance exhibited by the natives, was of brief duration. The avenger was at hand. In something less than a year after this outrage, the U. S. Frigate, Potomac, Com. Downes, appeared off the port of Qualah Battoo, and anchored in the outer roads, disguised as a merchantman. Every boat which visited her from the shore was detained that her character might not be made known to the natives. Several amusing anecdotes were told, of the fear and terror exhibited in the countenances of the natives, when they so unexpectedly found themselves imprisoned within the wooden walls of the Potomac, surrounded by such a formidable armament, which bespoke the errand that had attracted her to their shores. They prostrated themselves at full length upon her decks, trembling in the most violent manner, and appearing to think nothing but certain death awaited them.

“A reconnoitering party was first sent on shore, professedly for the purpose of traffic. But when they approached, the natives came down to the beach in such numbers that it excited their suspicions that the frigate’s character and errand had somehow preceded her, and it was considered prudent not to land. Having, therefore, examined the situation of the forts and the means of defence, they returned to the Potomac. The same night some 300 men, under the guidance of Mr. Barry, the former second officer of the Friendship, who was assistant sailing-master of the frigate, landed to the westward of the place with the intention of surprising the forts and the town, but by some unaccountable delay the morning was just breaking when the detachment had effected a landing, and as they were marching along the beach towards the nearest fort, a Malay came out of it, by whom they were discovered and an alarm given.

“They pushed on, however, and captured the forts by storm after some hard fighting, and set fire to the town which was burnt to ashes. The natives, not even excepting the women, fought with great desperation, many of whom would not yield until shot down or sabred on the spot. The next day the frigate was dropped in within gunshot, and bombarded the place, to impress them with the power and ability of the United States to avenge any act of piracy or other indignity offered by them to her flag.

“When I visited the coast again, some five months after this event, I found the deportment of the natives materially changed. There was now no longer exhibited either arrogance or proud defiance. All appeared impressed with the irresistible power of a nation that could send such tremendous engines of war as the Potomac frigate upon their shores to avenge any wrongs committed upon its vessels, and that it would be better policy for them to attend to their pepper plantations and cultivate the arts of peace, than subject themselves to such severe retribution as had followed this act of piracy upon the Friendship.

“Perhaps, in justice to Po Adam, I ought to remark that the account circulated by his countrymen of his conniving at, if not being actually connected with this piracy (a falsehood with which they found the means of deceiving several American shipmasters soon after the affair), is a base calumny against a worthy man, and has no foundation whatever in truth. The property he had in my possession on board the ship, in gold ornaments of various kinds, besides money, amounting to several thousand dollars, all of which he lost by the capture of the ship and never recovered, bears ample testimony to the falsity of this charge. His countrymen also worked upon the avarice and cupidity of the king by misrepresentations of his exertions to recover the ship, thereby preventing them from making him a present of her which they pretended was their intention. His sable majesty, in consequence, absolved every one of Po Adam’s debtors, all along the coast, from paying him their debts. He also confiscated all his property he could find, such as fishing-boats, nets and lines and other fishing tackle, and appropriated the proceeds to his own use, so that Po Adam was at once reduced to penury. All this was in accordance with commodore Bieulieu’s account, upwards of two hundred years before, viz: ‘If they ever suspect that any one bears them an ill will, they endeavor to ruin him by false accusations.’

“The king also sent a small schooner down the coast, soon after, to reap further vengeance upon Po Adam. Arriving at Pulo Kio, while Adam was absent, they rifled his fort of everything valuable and even took the ornaments, such as armlets and anklets, off the person of his wife. Intelligence having been conveyed to Po Adam of this outrage, he arrived home the night before the schooner had left the harbor, and incensed, as it was natural he should be, at such base and cowardly treatment, he immediately opened a fire upon her and sunk her in nine feet of water. She was afterwards fished up by the Potomac frigate and converted into firewood.

“We do not know if Po Adam is now living, but some sixteen years since, we saw a letter from him to one of our eminent merchants, Joseph Peabody, Esq., of Salem, Mass., asking for assistance from our citizens and stating truthfully all the facts in his case. I endeavored at the time, through our representative to Congress, to bring the matter before that body but from some cause it did not succeed, and the poor fellow has been allowed to live, if not die, in his penury. We will, however, permit him to state his own case, in his own language, which he does in the following letter, written at his own dictation:

“‘Qualah Battoo, 7th October, 1841. Some years have passed since the capture of the Friendship, commanded by my old friend, Capt. Endicott.

“‘It perhaps is not known to you, that, by saving the life of Capt. Endicott, and the ship itself from destruction, I became, in consequence, a victim to the hatred and vengeance of my misguided countrymen; some time since, the last of my property was set on fire and destroyed, and now, for having been the steadfast friend of Americans, I am not only destitute, but an object of derision to my countrymen.

“‘You, who are so wealthy and so prosperous, I have thought, that, if acquainted with these distressing circumstances, you would not turn a deaf ear to my present condition.

“‘I address myself to you, because through my agency many of your ships have obtained cargoes, but I respectfully beg that you will have the kindness to state my case to the rich pepper merchants of Salem and Boston, firmly believing that from their generosity, and your own, I shall not have reason to regret the warm and sincere friendship ever displayed towards your Captains, and all other Americans, trading on this Coast....

“‘Wishing you, Sir, and your old companions in the Sumatra trade, and their Captains, health and prosperity, and trusting that, before many moons I shall, through your assistance, be released from my present wretched condition, believe me very respectfully,

“‘Your faithful servant,
“(Signed) ‘Po Adam’ (in Arabic characters).”

CHAPTER XX
EARLY SOUTH SEA VOYAGES
(1832)

Fifty years ago two English missionaries in the Fijis wrote a book in which they said that the traffic in sandalwood, tortoise-shell and beche-de-mer among those islands “has been, and still is chiefly in the hands of Americans from the port of Salem.” No corner of the Seven Seas seems to have been too hostile or remote to be overlooked by the shipmasters of old Salem in their quest for trade. The first vessels of the East India Company to touch at the Fijis made a beginning of that commerce a little more than a hundred years ago. No more than four years after their pioneer voyage, however, Captain William Richardson in the Salem bark Active was trading with the natives and continuing his voyage to Canton in 1811. During the next half century the untutored people of the Fijis pictured the map of America as consisting mostly of a place called Salem whose ships and sailors were seldom absent from their palm-fringed beaches.

When Commodore Wilkes sailed on his exploring expedition of the South Seas in 1840, his pilot and interpreter was Captain Benjamin Vandeford of Salem. He died on the way home from this famous cruise and Commodore Wilkes wrote of him: “He had formerly been in command of various vessels sailing from Salem, and had made many voyages to the Fiji Islands. During our stay there he was particularly useful in superintending all trade carried on to supply the ship.” It was another Salem skipper of renown, Captain John H. Eagleston, who carried one of Commodore Wilkes’ vessels safely into port in 1840 among the Fijis by reason of his intimate knowledge of those waters.

South Sea trading in that era was a romance of commerce, crowded with perilous adventure. The brig Charles Doggett of Salem, commanded by Captain George Batchelder was lying off Kandora in the Fijis in 1833, when her crew was attacked by natives. Five of the seamen and the mate were killed and most of the others wounded. On her way to Manila in the same voyage the brig touched at the Pelew Islands and was again attacked, in which affray a cabin boy was killed. The Charles Doggett had previously played a part in one of the most romantic chapters of ocean history, the mutiny of the Bounty. In 1831, Captain William Driver took the brig to Tahiti whither, a short time before, the Bounty colony had been transported by the British Government from its first home on Pitcairn Island. There were eighty-seven of these descendants of the original mutineers, and they had been taken to Tahiti at their own request to seek a more fertile and habitable island. They were an Utopian colony, virtuous, and intensely pious, and soon disgusted with the voluptuous immoralities of the Tahitians, they became homesick for the isolated peace of Pitcairn Island, and begged to be carried back. When Captain Driver found them they besought him to take them away from Tahiti, and he embarked them for Pitcairn Island, fourteen hundred miles away. They had been gone only nine months and they rejoiced with touching eagerness and affection at seeing their old home again. Captain Driver went on his way in the Charles Doggett, with the satisfaction of having done a kindly deed for one of the most singularly attractive and picturesque communities known in modern history.[44]

Another kind of sea-story was woven in the loss of the Salem ship Glide which was wrecked at Tacanova in 1832, after her company had been set upon by natives with the loss of two seamen. The South Sea Islands were very primitive in those days, and the narrative of the Glide as told by one of her crew portrays customs, conditions and adventures which have long since vanished. The Glide was owned by the famous Salem shipping merchant Joseph Peabody, and commanded by Captain Henry Archer. She sailed for the South Pacific in 1829, with a crew of young men hailing from her home port. While at New Zealand a journal kept on board records that “the presence of several English whale ships helped to relieve the most timid of us from any feeling of insecurity because of the treachery of the natives. Among the visitors on board was a chief supposed to have been concerned in the massacre of the ship Boyd’s crew in the Bay of Islands. Some of the particulars of this tragedy were related to us by foreigners resident at New Zealand. The chief was a man of very powerful frame, and of an exceedingly repulsive appearance. The cook said: ‘There, that fellow looks as though he could devour any of us without salt.’”

Captain Driver

Letter to Captain Driver from the “Bounty” Colonists after he had carried them from Tahiti back to Pitcairn Island. (See foot note on page 538.)

A little later in the voyage the Glide hit a reef and her captain decided that she must be hove down and repaired. How small these old-time vessels were is shown in this process of heaving them down, or careening on some sandy beach when their hulls needed cleaning or repairs. In the Peabody Museum of Salem there is a painting done by one of the crew, of the Salem brig Eunice which was hauled ashore on a South Sea island. After stripping, emptying her and caulking her seams, the crew discovered that it was a task beyond their strength to launch her again. What did they do but assemble all the spare timber, cut down trees and hew planks, and after incredible exertion build a huge cask around the brig’s dismantled hull. It was more of a cylinder than a cask, however, from which the bow and stern of the craft extended. Lines were passed to her boats and the windlass called into action as she lay at anchor close to the beach.

Then with hawsers rigged around the great cask, every possible purchase was obtained, and slowly the brig began to roll over and over toward the sea, exactly as a barrel is rolled down the skids into a warehouse. In this unique and amazing fashion the stout Eunice was trundled into deep water. As soon as she was afloat, the planking which encased her was stripped off and she was found to be uninjured. Then her masts were stepped and rigged, her ballast, stores and cargo put aboard, and she sailed away for Salem. The painting of this ingenious incident tells the story more convincingly than the description.

The account of the heaving down of the Glide is not so unusual as this but it throws an interesting light upon the problems of these resourceful mariners of other days. “To heave down the ship was an undertaking requiring great caution and ability,” the journal relates. “A large ship to be entirely dismantled; a large part of her cargo to be conveyed ashore; a floating stage of spars and loose timbers constructed alongside; ourselves surrounded by cannibals, scores of which were continually about the vessel and looking as if they meditated mischief. It was well for the Glide that her captain not only knew the ropes but had been a ship carpenter and could use an axe. He had not, like many masters of vessels nowadays, climbed up to the captain’s berth through the cabin window. He was fully equal to this emergency.”

The ship, having been hove down without mishap, was made ready for opening a trade in beche-de-mer, a species of sea slug, which was dried and carried to China as a delicacy in high repute among the people of that country. A safe anchorage was found, and the king of the nearest tribe “made pliable” by numerous gifts after which a contract was made with him for gathering the cargo. He assembled his people and set them at work erecting on the beach the row of buildings needed for storing and curing the sea slugs.

When this was done the warriors of nearby friendly tribes began to appear in canoes, bringing their wives and children. They built huts along the beach until an uproarious village had sprung up. Its people bartered tortoise shell, hogs and vegetables for iron tools, and whales’ teeth, and helped gather beche-de-mer in the shallow water along the reefs. Two of the ship’s officers and perhaps a dozen of the crew lived ashore for the purpose of curing the cargo. Their plant was rather imposing, consisting of a “Batter House,” a hundred feet long by thirty wide in which the fish was spread and smoked; the “Trade House” in which were stored muskets, pistols, cutlasses, cloth, iron-ware, beads, etc., and the “Pot House” which contained the great kettles used for boiling the unsavory mess. In putting up these buildings the king would make a hundred of his islanders toil a week on end for a musket—and he kept the musket.

“The business aboard, the din of industry ashore, the coming and going of boats and the plying of hundreds of canoes to and from the sea reef, gave much animation to things,” writes the chronicler of this voyage of the Glide.

“Indeed I could not but regard the scene, among islands so little known to the world, as highly creditable to the commercial enterprise of the merchants engaged in the trade. Where next, thought I, will Salem vessels sail? North or south, around Good Hope or the Horn, we find them, officered and manned by Salem men. The Glide’s company were thirty men, most of whom were young, strong and active, a force sufficient with our muskets, pistols, cutlasses, etc., to resist any attack from the natives. Though without a profusion of ornamental work, the Glide was a beautiful model, as strong as oak and ship carpenters could make her. At anchor in the harbor of Miambooa, she had a warlike appearance. Heavy cannon loaded with a cannister and grape shot projected from the port holes on each side. In each top was a chest of arms and ammunition. On deck and below, weapons of defense were so arranged as to be available at short notice. Boarding nettings eight or ten feet high were triced up around the ship by tackles, and whipping lines suspended from the ends of the lower yardarms.”

Before the journal deals with the tragedy and loss of the Glide, the author jots down such bits of information as this:

“One of the most powerful chiefs on this island (Overlau) at the time of our visiting it, was Mr. David Whepley, an American, and, I believe, a native of New Bedford, whence he had sailed some years before in a whale ship. For some cause, on the arrival of the vessel here, he took sudden leave and ultimately became distinguished among the natives. He was a young man apparently about thirty years of age.”

The career of a trader in the South Seas three-quarters of a century ago was enlivened by incidents like the following:

“When passing within a few miles of Pennrhyn’s Island, we noticed some canoes filled with savages coming off to the ship. Wishing to procure some grass for our live-stock, we hove to and awaited their approach. Their numbers and strength made it prudent to put ourselves in a defensive position; each man was armed and our cannon, loaded with grape-shot, were run out at the port holes.

“Presently there were alongside fifty or sixty of the most repulsive monsters that I ever beheld; very tall, of complexion unmixed black, with coarse stiff hair like dog’s bristles, and their language, if such it was, more resembling dogs barking than articulate speech. Their whole aspect was truly terrific. They were not permitted to come on board, but only to clamber up the sides of the vessel. The ship’s channels fore and aft on both sides were filled with them. The Glide’s company was armed, yet our situation was very perilous.

“Whilst Captain Archer was selecting some articles of trade, a spear was hurled at him by a savage standing in the larboard mizzen channels. I stood within four or five feet of the captain, and saw the savage, but his movement was so quick that I could not in season give the alarm. The captain was leaning over the larboard hencoop, his back was toward the savage, and but for a providential turning of his head, the spear would have pierced his neck. As it was, it grazed his neck and inflicted a slight wound.

“This seemed to be a signal for attack; the savages became exceedingly clamorous. The captain commanded ‘Fire.’ It was a fearful order and fearfully obeyed. Five or six savages, among them the one who had hurled the spear, were shot and fell back with a death shriek into the sea. Others were severely wounded by our boarding pikes, and cutlasses. Two or three of the crew were slightly injured in keeping the natives from the deck. Had the captain’s orders been a moment delayed, the savages must have gained the better of us. As soon as the captain’s order had been given I let go the weather main-brace. A six knot breeze was blowing and the yards having been quickly rounded, the motion was soon sufficient to embarrass the savages, and we were enabled to drive them from the ship.

“As the Glide moved on, we left them astern in the utmost confusion. Their situation was truly pitiable. The sun had set; there was a heavy sea, and the wind was freshening. They were five miles from their island. Some were swimming about hither and thither to recover their canoes which had been upset by the ship’s progress; some went soon to the bottom, and others who had gained their canoes sat hideously bemoaning the desolation around them. Their eyes rolled wildly as they hurled their spears toward the ship, and they howled and gnashed their teeth like so many fiends of darkness. We passed within a mile of the island, and observed numerous fires kindled along the shore, probably as beacons to guide back the natives who had attacked us.”

Captain Archer’s ship filled her hold with beche-de-mer and took it to Manila, returning to the Fijis for a second cargo. Arriving once more at the island of Overlau, the first and third officers with part of the crew were sent in a boat to Lakamba, an island twenty-five miles distant to conduct the traffic in beche-de-mer. Because of shoal water the ship could not follow them and she carried on a trade at her anchorage in tortoise shell and sandal wood. “Knowing that on the completion of our second cargo,” reads the journal, “we were to leave the Fijis, the party at Lakamba worked with zeal. The men aboard ship were no less industrious. The armorer and his mate manufactured knives, chisels, and other cutlery for exchange. The carpenter was busy at his bench. Above some were repairing the rigging; on deck others were mending sails, and making matting bags to pack beche-de-mer. The sun shone not on a more faithful crew. The captain traded with the natives when they came alongside, and directed all matters aboard. Thus prosperously passed several weeks.

“We were frequently visited by David Whepley, the American chieftain at Overlau; sometimes accompanied by two or three of his warriors. He was usually dressed as a sailor and had with him a loaded rifle whose good qualities were the main topic of his conversation. He also told us much concerning his singular life, and his adopted people, over whom he seemed to have great influence owing to his superior wisdom, and the good terms existing between him and the powerful king of Bou. The king of Bou sometimes visited us. When this old chief, whose complexion was darkness visible out of which peered two deep-set glaring eyeballs with a grizzly beard tapering to a point a foot below his chin, came alongside in his large double canoe, the spectacle was impressive. This canoe was of curious and imposing structure, able to hold a hundred or more persons, with a triangular matting sail as large as the Glide’s maintopsail. He was accompanied by forty or fifty vigorous black warriors, huge but symmetrical in build, with elegant white turbans on their heads, and ornaments hanging from their ears. They were girt with some white tapas, and held massive clubs and spears which they use with terrible effect.

“One morning about forty of the savages of Overlau brought some fruit off the ship, ostensibly for trade. Only two or three of them were allowed to come on board at a time. Nine or ten of the crew were variously occupied in different parts of the ship. The armorer and myself were at work together on the forecastle. In a short time our suspicions were excited by seeing our visitors engaged in close conversation among themselves, and counting the men, ‘Rua, Tolo, Va, Leema, Ono, Vetu,’ etc. (one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, etc.). The armorer was going aft to inform the captain of the circumstances when our second officer, on looking over the ship’s side, saw some savages busily passing up weapons to others standing in the channels. The men aloft, having also perceived this manoeuvre, hurried down on deck and discharged a volley of musketry over the heads of the visitors which dispersed them. Some leaped into the sea, others into their canoes, and swam or paddled ashore in great consternation.”

But the company of the Glide were not to escape scot-free from the hostility of the Fijians. A few days after the foregoing incident, the second officer, carpenter, and six of the foremast hands were sent ashore to cut an anchor-stalk of timber. As usual, the boat was well supplied with arms and ammunition. A boy of the party was left in charge of the boat on the beach, and the others went into the nearest woods. Presently a score of natives appeared and tried to trade, but the sailors were too busy to deal with them, whereupon they sauntered off to the beach and began to annoy the lad who had been left behind. Before long they were stealing articles from the boat and the young sentinel raised an alarm.

“The men hearing the cry were making for the boat,” relates the diarist of the Glide, “when the savages in a body rushed towards them. Our sailors, levelling their loaded muskets, retreated backward to the beach, avoiding with great difficulty the clubs and spears hurled at them. Thus all but two reached the boat. One of these as he came down to the water’s edge, imprudently discharged his musket, and was instantly attacked and overpowered. He succeeded in throwing himself into the water, and after swimming a few strokes was seen to lift his head streaming with blood, and with his hand beckon feebly for the boat which, amidst the excitement, had been shoved off into deep water. He was followed by the savages, again attacked, dragged ashore and slain. The other unfortunate man rushed from the woods, hewing his way with the butt of his musket through the crowd of savages and fell dead on the beach.

“Whilst the crew on board was busily engaged in washing decks, the fearful war-cry of the natives fell upon our ears. David Whepley, who was sitting with some members of his tribe upon the taffrail, cried out, ‘There is trouble with your shipmates ashore.’ Seeing the flash and hearing the report of the musket, I ran aft to give the alarm to Captain Archer who hastened on deck and after scanning the beach with the glass, ordered a boat away in which Whepley himself went.

“Our feeling may be imagined as we went over the ship’s side and watched in silence the first boat making towards us, having on board only six of the eight men who had left the ship. Who had been left behind we knew not, until on a nearer approach one of the crew exclaimed: ‘I do not see Derby or Knight.’[45]

“The lifeless bodies of the two men were found by the second boat’s company lying on the beach stripped of their clothing and dreadfully mangled. They were wrapped in garments, brought on board and laid out upon the quarterdeck. About eleven o’clock of the same day they were committed to the care of David Whepley, who carried them to his end of the island and buried them. Although no funeral services were formally held, yet in the hearts of all that looked upon the dead, and walked the deck in sadness, were solemn thoughts of death and earnest hopes that this severe and unexpected stroke might influence for good our after lives.”

Not long after this tragedy the Glide sailed for the island of Miambooa, which was destined to be the scene of her loss. The story of the wreck and the experience of the survivors among a tribe of singularly friendly Fijis seems worthy a place in the history of Salem seafarers.

“Every boat load of beche-de-mer that came off from the shore (at Miambooa),” runs the story, “was greeted with joy, for it added something to the cargo which was fast being completed. Friendly relations existed between the natives and ourselves, so that the trade was undisturbed. The ship was in good order and we were almost ready to leave the islands. At evening the officers walked the quarterdeck with lighter step, and the crew, well and happy, assembled upon the forecastle which resounded with their mirth and songs. One of these songs was ‘Home Sweet Home,’ and under a clear starlit sky, enjoying after hard work the grateful ocean breeze, the inspiring chorus of this song burst forth from our hearts, and recalled to memory long past and distant scenes. Our shipmates ashore also caught our pealing chorus as it floated over the still water to their ears and they sent it back to the ship like an echo.

“On March 31, (1831), the sky began to lower, and sudden gusts of wind blowing violently down the high land which eastward overhangs the town of Bonne Rarah, caused the ship to careen and gave token of a coming storm. The signal guns at their usual hour announced ‘all’s well,’ but in the gloomy light the wind increased to hurricane force and after making a gallant fight of it the Glide dragged her anchors and was driven on a reef. The crew got ashore in daylight, but after being twenty-two months absent from port, was wrecked the Glide, one of the stateliest ships that ever sailed from Salem.”

“Among those who left the ship in the same party with me,” wrote our survivor, “was a young man who communicated to me some interesting particulars of his life. His name was William Carey. He had sailed, some years before, from Nantucket in the whale-ship Oreno, which was wrecked near Turtle Island, one of the Fijis. The officers and crew escaped from the wreck, but Carey, noticing a disturbance between his shipmates and the natives, concealed himself, fearing the issue. He remained in safe seclusion two or three days, not venturing to go out lest he should suffer what he supposed to be and what was, the fate of his companions, and he stealthily crept from his concealment in search of food. He was seen by a native, and, conscious of being discovered, he seated himself on a rock, and turning his back toward the savage, awaited the result in powerless despair. The native approached him, bade him rise and conducted him to the Boore.[46] The natives held an animated conference at which it was decided to spare his life, and he was taken by the chief into his family, and ever afterwards well provided for and kindly treated.

“Several years after the loss of the Oreno, the Salem ship Clay, Captain Vandeford, of Salem, arrived at the same island. Carey’s acquaintance with the language and customs of the natives enabled him to render important services in the way of trade. After the departure of the Clay from the islands Carey shipped on board the brig Quill, Captain Kinsman of Salem. With this vessel he remained until her cargo was completed when he was induced to take a berth in the Glide. Thus was he twice wrecked at the Fijis, and twice subjected to a residence among the savages without meanwhile visiting home.

“In the course of two or three days after the wreck of the Glide, the king permitted a part of the crew with several natives to go off to the ship to get the salt provisions and bread. Fifty or sixty savages were ransacking the wreck in every part, stripping the rigging from the spars, unhinging the cabin doors, hacking timber to extract nails and spikes, beating in barrels and hogsheads, dragging up our chests from the forecastle, jabbering all the while like monkeys yet working with the steady gravity of old caulkers. The sight was painful, yet their eagerness to outdo each other in securing booty was amusing.

“In my chest was a small package of letters valuable to me alone, which I was now, in my misfortune, especially desirous to keep. As I went towards the chest to get them I was repulsed by a savage who raised his club over my head and bade me begone or he would slay me. ‘Sah- lago, sah- senga, ne- lago, sah- moke.’ I desisted from my purpose, and in a few minutes saw my chest with every token of home in it tumbled over the ship’s side.

“Our beche-de-mer about half filled the hold and by the bilging of the ship, had become a putrid mass. At the foot of the mainmast was a barrel of cast iron axes whose position the natives had somehow learned. Their desire for this tempting prize overcame their reluctance to use the only means of securing it, and down they dove into the loathsome mass at the risk of suffocation, often plunging in vain several times and crawling back on deck covered with slime. One native in diving came in contact with some mortar formed by a cask of lime that was broken by the motion of the ship. Grasping a handful he returned dripping with beche-de-mer and asked what the strange substance was. ‘The white man’s bread,’ answered one of the crew. The native took a large mouthful which well nigh strangled him and spat it out with many wry faces and ludicrous motions amid the loud laughter of his friends.

“Soon after the complete plundering of the ship, a council respecting us was held in the Boore by the king, priests and warriors. It was told me that on the arrival of the first boat’s company at Bonne Rarah, the captain was thus questioned by the king. ‘Should Fijians be cast ashore among your people, how would you treat them?’ ‘Kindly,’ was the reply. ‘Then,’ rejoined the king, ‘I will treat you kindly. Go with your men to the Boore, and I will protect you.’ Nevertheless the consultation caused us many misgivings. The king urged that our services would be very valuable in showing them the use of muskets and in repairing them, in making bullets, etc. One chief thought that we should eat too much, and hence prudently suggested our being dispatched at once. The high priest arose to give his judgment, which was awaited with great interest. This man was very black, of monstrous size, and most unpleasant to look at. He recommended that they make hogs of us, alluding to the practice of killing these animals by blows on the head, cooking and eating them. This advice was consistent with the reputation of this priest. It was said that on the morning before the wreck of the ship, he stood outside his hut yelling and writhing. The natives declared that he shouted or bewitched the vessel ashore.

“After much discussion the better counsel of the king prevailed. The decision was made known to us all by natives who ran and embraced us crying ‘Sambooloa booloa papalangi.’ (The white men will not be hurt.)

“Soon after the breaking up of the council the king as a reassurance of his favor, returned to us a few of our belongings. His method of distribution showed either his supreme contempt for maritime rank or a great error in valuation, for whilst to the crew generally he gave garments or other things very needful and acceptable, upon Captain Archer he bestowed with the utmost dignity and condescension a wornout chart and a useless fragment of an old flannel shirt. The interest of the king in our welfare constantly showed itself during our three months’ residence at Bonne Rarah. Almost daily he looked in upon us to learn our wants, and kept in his house for our sole use quantities of tea, coffee and tobacco, which he distributed to us as need required. If we met him in our walks about the village the salutations ‘sah-andra, touronga-lib,’ (welcome king), ‘sah-andra papalangi,’ (welcome white man), were amicably exchanged. There was withal about him a dignity which well comported with his kingly character, and showed that any violations of loyalty on the part of the natives or of due respect on ours would not go unpunished.

“On the 28th of March, Captain Archer, Carey and two or three of our men sailed in our boat by the king’s consent, to the island of Bou, the capital of the Fijis. This, our first separation, though on many accounts painful, was prudently planned, as a vessel was rumored to be in the vicinity of Bou. After exchanging farewells and cheers of mutual encouragement they started on their perilous adventure of sailing two hundred miles in a small boat, exposed to many dangers, and, not the least, attacks from savages.

“The singular use made of our clothing by the natives was often ludicrous. Some wore our jackets buttoned down behind, others had on our trousers wrong side before; one little fellow strutted along in a ruffled shirt which had belonged to one of the officers, the ruffles flaring on his back. Amongst the booty from the ship were many casks of powder, of whose explosive nature the natives had little knowledge. In one dwelling which we visited were a large number of kegs of powder promiscuously placed on the floor, in the centre of which a fire was kindled. The family was cooking their usual food, loose powder was scattered about, and the proprietor himself, dressed in a sailor’s jacket and with a Scotch cap on his head, sat on a keg of powder before the fire, composedly smoking his pipe. We were somewhat amazed at the sight. Indeed it may be doubted whether Damocles himself (whose famous sword has become much blunted by its frequent use in illustration) had more cause to be ill at ease at his feast than we had while paying our native friend the civilities of the season. Our visit was not protracted and we took leave before the dinner in preparation was ready to be eaten.

“Occasionally we invited the king to share our provisions with us. Whenever he was graciously pleased to accept the invitation he brought with him a chair, plate, knife and fork (which he had obtained from the ship), and after seating himself with becoming dignity, grasped the knife in his left hand at such an angle that as soon as one piece of food entered his mouth two fell back upon his plate. He also used his fork as a toothpick, thus confirming the notion that this practice comports better with the manners of savage than of civilized life.

“An odd volume of Shakespeare saved from the wreck, moved us to get up a dramatic entertainment, the subject of which was the voyage of the Glide. The play began with the captain engaged in shipping a crew at a sailor’s boarding house, and holding forth all those eloquent attractions usually set off by this class of men. Following this scene were various mishaps of the voyage. The king and a crowd of natives were seated before us on mats, and paid wondering attention, at a loss to understand most of our sayings and doings until in the course of the play, our arrival at the Fijis was pictured. The trafficking and haggling with the natives was mimicked by an officer, playing the part of a Fijian, and a common sailor as the trading master. Our drift was more clearly comprehended now, and the progress of the action more eagerly watched. And when the efforts of the natives to cheat us were baffled, the sense of the whole matter flashed upon the audience, and the Boore resounded with an uproar of savage delight. Through the remainder of the play, involving the wreck and our hospitable reception by the king, to whom and his people many compliments were paid by the actors, we were followed with intense interest, and at the close by expressions of royal satisfaction.”

The life of these islanders, as enjoyed by the crew of the Glide was a kind of tropical idyl, and the white trader had not yet blighted them with rum and disease. Our sailor narrator wrote of this Eden into which he was cast by a kindly fate: “One day, I was invited by a chief, whom I had frequently visited, to accompany him on an excursion to the interior of the island. We passed through a defile of the mountains, and then struck into a well-beaten path leading through a rather uneven region. The beautiful diversity of prospect from the higher portions of our course, the mild air of the delightful day, birds of brilliant plumage singing in the trees about us, the ripe and grateful fruit easily procured, patches of sugar cane here and there pleasant to see and taste, agreeable conversation, and the kind civilities of natives whom we met, made our walk the source of intense and various enjoyment.

“At sunset, we reached our journey’s end, a small village of about thirty rudely constructed huts, and were heartily welcomed by the chief of the tribe, who conducted us to his house, and soon set before us a repast of baked pig, fruit and vegetables. In the evening, about twenty natives, invited by our host, assembled, among whom were several that I had seen on board the ship, and who recognized me with apparent delight. A general conversation was held, relating, beside many other topics, to the lost ship, the white men and their country, throughout which it was gratifying to observe mutual kindness and courtesy prevailed. The social party was highly interesting, occasionally enlivened with good-humored mirth.

“In the morning we visited the Boore, which was similarly constructed, though in every respect inferior, to that at Bonne Rarah. In the centre of the apartment, where we held the religious ceremonies, which were about to commence when we reached the building, was a very large bowl of angona or avaroot, of which, after being properly prepared, all the natives assembled repeatedly partook, the intervals between the potations being occupied by the priest pronouncing certain forms of speech, to which the audience who were seated around the apartment, now and then responded. Near the door were arranged in open sight, several small, round blocks of wood, singularly ornamented with sennit and carved work, to which the natives, as they came in and retired, made low obeisance. As usual, no females were present. After the conclusion of the service, which held an hour, we rambled about the village, being kindly welcomed wherever we called; and, at length, returned to the house of the hospitable chief, whence, having partaken of another ample feast, and thanked our host for his kind attention, we departed for Bonne Rarah. My excursion surprised both me and my shipmates, to whom I gave an account of it, for we had previously heard much said of the ferocity of the inland savages.

“In the latter part of April, a festival which we were kindly invited to attend, was held at a village about forty miles from Bonne Rarah. As the place, though on the island of Tacanova, was easiest of access by sailing, my shipmates, it was determined, should accompany the king in his double canoe; and I went with the chief with whom I had made the inland excursion, in his single canoe. My patron I found to be very loquacious, for, instead of our holding a pleasant conversation together, he took upon himself to give me a lecture of what was to be expected at the coming festival, diversifying his discourse with ‘solib,’ grand feast; ‘leebo, leebo,’ great, great; ‘benacka, benacka,’ good, good; ‘mungety-leelo,’ plenty of provisions; ‘pookah,’ pigs; ‘ouvie,’ yams; ‘aooto,’ bread-fruit; ‘boondy,’ plantains, all which expressions, of course, deeply impressed my imagination. Now and then he asked, whether I comprehended what he said. Whatever was my response, he was none the less talkative, for when he questioned me, ‘sah gala guego,’ do you understand? if I answered ‘sah- senga,’ no, he labored long and hard to make his meaning clear to my mind; and, if my reply was ‘sah gala qu ow,’ ‘I do understand,’ he took courage from the honest confession, and at once proceeded to give me more information.

“Soon after sunset, having landed at a small island midway between Bonne Rarah and the place to which we were bound, we were well received by the natives, who conducted us to their Boore, near the top of a high hill, and presently furnished us with a generous repast. Here, in less than an hour, the report of our arrival drew together many savages, from whose evident astonishment, as they gazed upon me, I conjectured that most of them had never seen a white man. Though we were kindly invited to spend the night here, yet the curiosity of the natives made them reluctant to retire from the Boore, and leave us to sleep. Our singular situation, exposure to attacks from savages, over whom kindness and ferocity hold rule by turns, and a consciousness of our almost complete helplessness in such a case, occasioned in me unquiet feelings, which, in truth, were not allayed by my dear friend, the cannibal-chief, who frequently started up from his mat in great excitement, and paced rapidly to and fro, with his war-club at his side. The chief, at length, explained his singular conduct by telling me that the savages designed to detain me on their island, and that he had been anxiously devising some way to defeat their purpose. At his suggestion, early in the morning, before the natives were stirring, we silently left the Boore. I placed myself on the chief’s broad shoulders, and held in one hand his war-club, and in the other his canoe-paddle. Thus we stole softly down the steep hill, and when we came to the beach, to our amazement, our canoe was no where to be seen. The chief in the height of his vexation, brandished his club towards the Boore, and poured forth a torrent of imprecation. Fearful that his wild anger would soon arouse the natives, I looked about for the canoe, and after careful search, found it secreted in a thicket near the shore. We dragged it with difficulty to the water, hoisted our three-cornered sail, and unmolested sailed away from the island.

“The sun had just risen, when we reached the landing-place, about a mile from the spot chosen for the festival. We were among the first comers. On the glittering waves at some distance, we saw hundreds of canoes, some boldly advancing on the open sea, others more wary keeping nearer the shore, and others now and then emerging into sight from behind points of land and small islands, all bound, with their shouting crews, for the general feast. They soon drew nearer and companies of natives from neighboring islands and remote villages of Tacanova, landed, in quick succession, at the beach, and made the hills echo with their loud rejoicing.

“The plain selected for the feast was of many acres, covered with liveliest verdure, surrounded by groves in which were many fruit trees, and through it coursed brooks of pure water from adjacent highlands. In its centre was a pyramid, apparently eight feet square at the base, and tapering fifteen feet to a point of yams; and near it was a smaller one, of angona root. Hanging from gnarled branches of ironwood trees, in another part of the field, were large quantities of plantains, cocoanuts and bread-fruit. At one end were several pens, filled with swine, of which there were at least a hundred, while the men, profusely anointed with cocoanut oil, decorated with garlands of beads and flowers, having on their heads very large white turbans and around their waists elegant maros, were proudly strutting about the place, displaying their fashionable attire; and the women were meekly and laboriously cooking food.

“After the completed preparation, the different tribes of the numerous assemblage arranged themselves on the grass in semicircles, about ten paces in front of which were seated their respective king, chiefs and priests, and between these dignitaries and the people were placed their appointed provisions. The tribes all first drank angona, and then, four or five natives, who attended each tribe as waiters, began dividing the food, and another taking on a plantain leaf a parcel of it, advanced to the master of the feast for the division, and asked ‘quotha,’ (for whom), when the name of some one being spoken aloud, the person thus designated clapped his hands to make known his position, and, being at once supplied with his portion, began eating it with strips of bamboo sharpened on one edge and pointed. This ceremony was repeated until all received their shares, reference being made to rank in the order of distribution.

“In the afternoon two or three hundred young females, wearing girdles of variegated grass and leaves, and necklaces of colored beads and flowers, danced with liveliest and modest mien across the plain, loudly singing and waving beautiful fans over their heads with easy uniformity and grace; and then adroitly wheeling about, retraced their way, with fans flourishing in the air, echoing song and sprightly dance.

“Next came forward a party of men, with hair frizzled in the highest style of Fijian art, tapering beards, long tapas of snowy native cloth, contrasting with their own swarthy color and trailing on the grass, their arms and faces shining with cocoanut oil, carrying their stout and polished war-clubs; and, having arranged themselves in two divisions, a pace apart, in open distance, they raised with united voices a piercing war song, in time with which all made the same impressive gestures. Now they bent back their bodies, elevating their war-clubs in the air, in seeming preparation for attack; then, with faces of determined courage, lifting higher their shrill, fierce chorus, all leaped as one man onward, as if about to meet a furious foe; and, at last, as if they had achieved a noble victory changing to triumphal notes their yell of onset, with fiend-like grimaces they danced wildly about in a thousand intricate and changeful steps.

“Our company, being requested by several chiefs, on the second day of the festival, to amuse in our turn the assembled crowds, concluded to perform a few military manoeuvres. We chose one of us captain, recalled what we knew of soldiers’ tactics, and keeping time by a whistled tune, in lack of better accompaniment, advanced in open order, and charged bayonets; marched with muskets shouldered in lock-step and solid column; formed a hollow square, and, finally wheeled into line. All our movements were watched with eager eyes by the natives who expressed their pleasure by loud plaudits, to which, of course, like true soldiers, we gave slight heed, but with face unmoved, proceeded through the manual exercise. When the order came ‘make ready—aim—fire,’ one of our muskets happening to be loaded, discharged its contents over the heads of scores of seated savages, whose dismay now equalled their previous approbation. Their earnest inquiries were hardly evaded by assuring them that the piece was overcharged with powder.

“Towards evening the festival was concluded and the company began to disperse. Those who had sailed to the place, started to the shore where the canoes were secured and embarked in their little fleets in various directions. Our party sailed in pleasant company with others bound for Bonne Rarah. When we came within a few miles of this town, a burning object was discovered on the water, which, on a nearer approach, we found to be our beautiful ship to which fire had been set by the savages who had remained behind for the sake of her iron work. This was a sad conclusion to the enjoyment experienced at the festival. The satisfaction that we had felt in looking out from our lonely abode upon the hull of the Glide was now taken away, and we felt more than ever deprived of remembrances of home.

“A few weeks after the departure for Bou of Captain Archer, a large double canoe arrived at Bonne Rarah, from which we learned that the captain and his party were safe; that the brig Niagara, Capt. Brown, of Salem, had been wrecked on a reef midway between Overlau and Bou and that her crew were now staying at this latter island. Thus, the two only vessels at the Fijis at this time were wrecked on the same day, and in the same storm; and, very remarkably, no member of either crew was afterwards slain by the natives.

“A part of the crew, with our second officer and Mr. Carey, left us on the return of this canoe to Bou, thus reducing our number to sixteen men. The separation seemed like bidding a mutual farewell for life, narrowed the circle in which our spirits were chiefly sustained by common sympathies and hopes, and deepened that feeling of loneliness which previously parting with others had occasioned. To miss a single face which we were wont to see, was deeply felt. The officers and crew of the Glide, once held together by duties on shipboard, and, afterwards by the still stronger community of suffering, were dispersing in various directions whilst the lot of those who went away, and of those who staid behind was enshrouded by the same cloud of dark uncertainty. Some were about to suffer many more trials before reaching home; and of the return of others to their native land there has yet been no account.”

Strangely enough the journal of the wreck of the Glide ends in this abrupt fashion as if it were “to be continued in our next.” Curious to learn in what manner the crew was rescued from its long exile in the Fijis a search was begun among the log-books of other Salem ships trading with those islands in the thirties. It was like hunting a needle in a haystack, but the mystery was uncovered by the log of the bark Peru of Salem, Captain John H. Eagleston. Under date of June 7th, 1831, he wrote while among the Fiji Islands:

“Visited by a double canoe with about 50 natives, and a boat from a town called Lebouka. Got 9 turtle out of the canoe, 3 for a musket. Was informed by the chiefs in the canoe of Captain Archer of ship Glide being cast away at Muddy-vater and Captain Brown in the Niagara at Bou, and that they had lost everything belonging to them. Which I had every reason to believe as the canoe had several trunks and chests in it. Got up the boarding netting. At 3 A. M. sent the whale boat up to Bou, with the interpreter and 5 Lebouka men with a large present to the king and a letter to Captain Brown which was from his wife. People employed in putting arms in order.

“June 8—at 9 A. M. our boat returned from Bou with 2 boats in company which belonged to the Brig. Took on board Captain Brown, Captain Vandeford, officers and crew of the Brig (Niagara) and 2 officers and 2 men belonging to the Glide. Most of them belonging to Salem and in all 15. Many of them without shirts to their backs or shoes to their feet and some with a small part of a pair of trousers. On learning that Captain Archer had left Bou a few days before for Goro, he being in distress and suffering, I thought it my duty to send word to him that I was here.

“June 10th. Archer with 2 of his men came from Bou.”

The whereabouts of the other men of the Glide being discovered in this way, they were later picked up and brought home, and their story ended happily, as it should, for they deserved fairer prospects after the ill-fortune which laid them by the heels in the Fijis as those islands were in those far away years when the white man had first found them out.