Now, it is not my purpose to set down here anything more than may be necessary to a thorough understanding of what Simon Ropes and I did and saw while we were aboard the America, and because there was nothing of interest in the fitting out of the ship I count on passing over all which occurred from the day we were taught our true station among the crew of the ship, until she was gotten under way, at half-past eleven o’clock on the morning of Monday, September 7th, in the year of grace 1812.
I do not reckon on making mention of the parting with my mother.
It was far too sad a scene to be described in written words, and too sacred, according to my way of thinking, to be held up for the amusement or derision of youngsters.
It is enough if I say that when I went on board, less than an hour before the ship was gotten under way, my eyes were red and swollen with much weeping, and I met Simon Ropes, who looked as if his experience had been much the same as mine.
There was no need of words between us. Each understood what was in the other’s heart, and at that moment, if it could have been done without holding ourselves up to the scorn of our acquaintances, I believe of a verity both of us would have fled from the ship, even though we had formally signed the articles, and, therefore, would be looked upon as deserters if we went on shore without permission.
For my part, I know that never before nor since has my heart been as heavy as on that September morning when I made my way through the throng of men, women, and children that lined the shore, to the boat which was in waiting to carry me on board.
My schoolmates would have gathered around me, envious of what they were pleased to term my good fortune. At another time their words would have been like sweetest music in my ears; but on this morning it was as if they mocked me, so bowed down was I by the grief born of that first parting, and I refused to hold any converse with them, thereby laying myself open to the charge of being “stuck up.”
I said to myself that, had I realised what it might cost a lad to leave his mother,—the best friend he can ever know in this world,—not all the glory nor the money that could be gained during the most successful privateering cruise would have tempted me to bring so much of grief upon her.
However, I had shipped as a boy aboard the America. There was never a lad of my acquaintance in town who had not been made aware of this fact, and the shame of being called a coward prevented me from doing that which I most desired.