A Sailor of King George

by Captain Frederick Hoffman

Tough yarns—The sea-serpent—The fair-wind sellers of Bremen—Mermen and mermaidens—Capture of Spanish schooner with mulatto laundresses on board—Boat attack on, and capture of the French privateer Salamandre—Outbreak of malignant scurvy—Novel method of treatment—French women dressed as men—A voyage of discovery.

We generally had about seventy men in the sick list, and were at anchor nearly four months—half the crew doing nothing and the other half helping them. They generally amused themselves by dancing, singing, or telling tough yarns. I was much entertained by hearing some of them relate the following stories, which they declared were true.

“My brother,” said one of these galley-benchmen, “belonged to the Unicorn, of Shields, which traded to Archangel in the White Sea. I suppose,” said he, “it is called the White Sea because there is much snow on the shore, which throws a kind of white reflection on the water. Well, the ship had anchored about a mile from the town, when my brother, who had the middle watch, saw something like the ship’s buoy close to the vessel. At first he took little notice of it until it raised itself about three feet out of the water and opened a mouth wide enough to swallow a Yankee flour-barrel. He was [pg 70]very much afeared, for he was only a young chap without much experience. He immediately jumped down to the chief mate’s cabin and told him what he had seen. They both went on deck, the mate armed with a loaded pistol and my brother with a cutlass. By this time the serpent—for it was a sea-serpent—had twisted itself round the bowsprit of the vessel, and was about twenty feet long. Its eyes were about the size of the scuppers and shined like the morning star.” “Why, Bill,” said one of the listeners, “clap a stopper on that yarn; those sarpents are only seen on the coast of Ameriky, and nobody but Yankees ever seed them.” “Avast, Bob,” replied the narrator, “don’t be too hasty; it is as true as the mainstay is moused, for I never knew Jack tell a lie (meaning his brother), and now I’ll fill and stand on. The boatswain, hearing the noise, came on deck. The mate pointed to the monster, and told him to get an axe. The beast had bristled up like an American porcupine and was ready to dart at them when the mate got abaft the foremast and fired at its head, which he missed, but struck it in the neck. The animal, finding itself wounded, darted with its jaws wider than a large shark’s at the boatswain, who was the nearest. Luckily for him, the mate was ready to fire his pistol again. The ball struck its lower jaw and broke it. It then made a stern-board, but before it could reach the bows the boatswain gave it a stroke with the axe which nearly gullyteened it; you know, shipmates, what that is. Why, mayhap you don’t; so I’ll tell you. [pg 71]It’s a kind of gallows that cuts off Frenchmen’s heads. But I must heave-to a bit and overhaul my reckoning, for I almost forget. Did ever any of you see a port-go-chaire?” “We never heard of such a port,” said some of his auditors; “you’re humbugging us.” “I have been to America, the West and East Ingees, but I never heard of such a port,” said another. “Why, you lubbers,” said the story-teller, “if you go to France, you’ll see thousands of them. It’s what they drive the coaches under into their yards.” I was inclined to correct the word, but I thought it better not to interrupt them. “Where did I leave off?” “Come, Bill, heave ahead and save tide; your yarn is as long as the stream cable; they’ll be piping to grog presently,” said one of his impatient listeners. “Well,” said Bill, “to make short a long story, I left off where the boatswain cut off the head of the sea-serpent. By this time all hands were on deck; they threw a rope over the beast and secured it to the cable-bits, but not before they had got several raps over their shins, as it kept twisting about for almost an hour afterwards. Next morning, said my brother, the magistrates having heard of it, came on board to know all about it, as no one in the town had ever seen such a serpent. A man with a cocked scraper offered to buy it, but the mate wanted to stuff it and carry it to England. The captain who had come off with the magistrates said it could not remain on board, as it would bring on an infection. At last it was agreed that if four dollars [pg 72]were given to the ship’s crew, he might have it. The money was paid to the mate, and the serpent towed on shore, and before they sailed Jack saw it in a large room, stuffed and the head spliced on, among a great many more comical-looking animals. And if any of you go there,” added he, “you may see all for nothing.” The boatswain’s mates now piped for supper, and the party left the galley-bench.

The following evening I found another set on the bench. Their tales were rather marvellous. The captain of the waist of the starboard watch was the teller. He began by asking the others if they had ever been in the Baltic, to which they answered in the negative. “It is now,” said he, “five years since I sailed in the Mary, of Newcastle, to Bremen. We had been lying there a fortnight, taking in hemp and iron, when two old, ugly women came on board in a small boat paddled by themselves. They had with them two small leather bags full of wind. They went to the chief mate, for the captain was on shore, and asked him if he would buy a fair wind, and pointed to their bags. ‘How long will it last?’ asked the mate. ‘Two days,’ said the hags; ‘but if you want it for four, we will to-morrow bring you off a larger sack.’ ‘And what do you ask for it?’ said he. ‘Oh, only eight dollars,’ replied they.”

I must inform my reader that the greater number of the sons of the sea, although fearless of the enemy and of the weather, however stormy, are [pg 73]superstitious and have implicit faith in ghost-stories, mermaids, witches and sea-monsters, as well as in the flying Dutch ship off the Cape of Good Hope. This rough son of the north was a hardy sailor, but he had his share of credulity. He told them the captain was on shore, but if they would come off in the morning, as they were to sail the following afternoon, it might be settled. The weather at this time was anything but fair, which made him the readier to enter into the witches’ bargain. Here I must first inform my reader that these women are exceedingly cunning, and can not only scan the mind of the person they deal with, but can also, from keen observation, calculate on the wind and weather for the next twenty-four hours, and, as what they prognosticate generally proves true, they frequently meet with ready customers. Next morning the captain came on board, and shortly afterwards was followed by the hoary fair-wind sellers. After some consultation with the mate, the captain gave four dollars for a bag of fair wind for three days from the time he was to sail.

“The wind,” continued the captain of the waist, “remained foul until four o’clock next day, when it veered round and became favourable. The believing captain and mate thought they had made a good bargain. The bag was to be untied after three hours.” I reflected on this narrative, and was astonished to find that people who are Englishmen, and who, generally speaking, imagine [pg 74]themselves the most free from superstition and the most intellectual of any nation, should be so easily deceived and cheated by a set of old women.

It was now the turn of another to spin his yarn. He began by entreating his shipmates not to disbelieve what he was going to say, for it was about mermen and mermaids. He did not see it himself, but it had been told him two years before by his uncle, who was mate of a ship that traded to the North Sea. “The ship,” said he, “was the John and Thomas, named after the owner’s two brothers, and bound to Stockholm for flax and iron. One day they were becalmed near the Island of Oland, and let go the anchor in twelve-fathoms water, when soon afterwards they saw, as they supposed, two men swimming towards the ship. They soon after came alongside, and made signs for a rope to be thrown to them. On their getting on deck the crew found they were mermen. One of them, who appeared to be about twenty-six years old, told the captain he had let go his anchor through his kitchen chimney, and begged him to weigh it again, as it had knocked down the kitchen-grate and spoilt his dinner. ‘It has happened very unfortunately,’ said he, ‘for we have some friends from the coast of Jutland, who have come to attend the christening of our infant.’ Whilst he was speaking four young mermaidens appeared close to the ship’s side, making signs for the mermen on board to join them. The sailors wished them to come on board, and threw them ropes for that purpose; but they [pg 75]were too shy. The mermen requested the captain to give them some matches to light their fire, and a few candles. This being complied with, they shook hands with him and the mate, and jumping overboard, rejoined the females, swam round the ship three times, singing some kind of song, and disappeared. The wind becoming favourable, the crew got the anchor up, on which, when catheaded, they found part of the chimney and the fire-tongs astride on one of the flukes!”

When this improbable tale was told, I asked them if they believed it to be true. “Yes,” said two of them, “we do, because we have had shipmates who lived with some of the mermaidens for several years and had children; but as for their having combs and glasses, that’s all nonsense. One of the children was sent to London to be educated, but not liking so many double-tailed monsters, as he called the men, nor their manner of living, he crept down to the Thames, and in a few hours rejoined his parents.”

During the time we were at anchor at this place I was ordered, with four seamen and two marines, to take the command of a block-house on the Presqu’ Isle to watch the movements of the enemy, whose advanced post was about four miles on the other side the isthmus, as well as to make signals to the commodore whenever strange ships appeared near the land. I remained a month, shooting guanas and gulls and other birds, catching groupers, snappers and some[pg 76]times rock-fish, living principally on salt junk, midshipman’s coffee (burnt biscuit ground to a powder), picking calelu (a kind of wild spinach), when we could find it, snuffing up a large portion of pure sea-breeze, and sleeping like the sheet anchor. Oh, reader, I blush to inform you that I was envied by the greater part of the mids of the squadron who loved doing nothing. The life I now led was too independent to last much longer; my month expired, when I gave up my Robinson Crusoe government to a master’s mate belonging to a ship which had come in to refit. We at length up-anchored, as the mids declared if we remained longer the captain feared we should ground on the beef-bones we threw overboard daily! Three days after sailing we captured a Spanish schooner from Cuba, bound to Port-au-Paix, with nine French washerwomen on board with a quantity of clothes. We presumed, with some reason, these copper-faced damsels—for they were all mulattos, and some of them handsome—had taken French leave of their customers, or possibly they were going on a voyage of discovery to find out whether the water of St. Domingo was softer for washing linen than that of Cuba. We did not ask them many questions on the subject, and as the vessel was nearly new, and about seventy tons, we put a mid and five men on board her and sent the ladies for a change of air to Jamaica.

We had been cruising between Cuba and Cape François a fortnight, when we saw a roguish-[pg 77]looking black schooner about nine miles to the westward of the cape, close to a small inlet. We tacked and stood to sea, to make her imagine we had not discovered her. At dusk we stood in again, and at ten we armed the barge and large cutter. The fifth lieutenant, who was a great promoter of radical moisture (i.e., grog), was in the barge. I had, with another mid, the command of the cutter. We muffled our oars and pulled quietly in shore. About midnight we found the vessel near the inlet, where she had anchored. We then gave way for our quarter. She soon discovered us, and hailed in French. Not receiving an answer, she fired a volley of musketry at us. The strokesman of my boat fell shot in the brain, and two others were seriously wounded in the arm and leg. We had three marines, two additional seamen and my volunteer messmate in our boat. This last had smuggled himself in without the first lieutenant’s leave. We cheered and stretched out. The killed and wounded were placed in the bottom of the boat, and the extra men took their oars. The barge was nearly alongside of her, and we boarded at the same time, she on the starboard quarter and we on the larboard side. The marines kept up a constant discharge of their muskets, and fired with much effect on the foremost of the enemy. We soon gained her deck, and found about twenty-five of her crew ready to oppose us abaft her mainmast. The man who appeared to be the captain waved his cutlass and encouraged his men to [pg 78]attack us; at the same time he sprang forward, and about twelve followed him, when the conflict became general. I was knocked down on my knees. I fired one of my pistols, which took effect in my opponent’s left leg, and before he could raise his arm to cut me down with a tomahawk, the coxswain of my boat, who had kept close to me, shot him in the head, and he fell partly on me. I soon recovered and regained my legs. I had received a severe contusion on the left shoulder. The lieutenant had shot the captain, and the marines had knocked down nine men. The rest now called for quarter and threw down their arms. She proved to be the French privateer Salamandre, of twelve long brass six-pounders and forty-eight men. She had also on board nine English seamen, the crew of a Liverpool brig, who informed us they had been captured in the Turk’s Island passage three days before. The privateer’s loss was eleven killed and seven severely wounded, ours three men killed and five wounded. On our drawing off from the shore, a small battery opened its fire on us and wounded the boat-keeper of the barge. We discharged the guns of the privateer at it, and as it did not annoy us a second time, we supposed our shot had rather alarmed their faculties and probably subdued their courage. By 3 a.m. we rejoined the ship. Our mates gave us three hearty cheers, which we returned. We soon got the wounded of our men on deck and the prisoners out. I was ordered to go as prize-master, taking [pg 79]fourteen men with me, and carry her to Cape St. Nicholas mole, where I arrived the same evening. I found myself stiff for some days afterwards and my shoulder painful, but in a short time I was quite myself again. After remaining idle and half-dead with ennui for three weeks, the ship arrived, bringing in with her an American brig laden with flour. False papers were found on board her, and she was shortly afterwards condemned as a lawful prize. The captain of her, who was a regular-built Bostonian, declared we were nothing “but a parcel of British sarpents and robbers, and it was a tarnation shame that the United States suffered it. But,” said he, “I calculate that in two years we shall have some three-deckers, and then I have a notion you will not dare to stop American vessels without being called to account for it.”