There is no good reason why I should set down here what we did or said during such time as we remained in the harbor of Valparaiso, for it would be sad reading. It can well be supposed that we mourned for our brave fellows who had been killed, and our hearts went out in sympathy to those wounded ashore; but as for ourselves, we could do nothing save exist.
Then came the day when it was made known that Captain Hillyar had decided it would be quite out of the question to hamper himself with so many prisoners, and the Essex Junior was to be converted into a cartel[5] to take us home after we had given our paroles.
It seemed most wonderful that after passing through so many dangers we were really to see our native country once more. I wept tears of joy when the news came to me, and was not ashamed of so doing. During the fight, and for many a long day afterward, I thought of myself as so nearly in the clutches of death that I was already done with the things of this world.
When the arrangements had finally been made, however, we learned that my cousin, Lieutenant McKnight, Mr. Adams, the chaplain, Mr. Lyman, a master's mate, and eleven of our sailors had already been exchanged for some prisoners taken from the Sir Andrew Hammond, and were then on board the Essex Junior.
Later, after we had sailed for the United States, my cousin and Mr. Lyman went to Rio de Janeiro in the Phœbe in order to give some testimony in behalf of the captors. From that port they sailed in a Swedish brig bound to England, and since that moment it has been impossible to learn aught concerning their fate. The captain of the brig declares that his passengers were sent on board the British sloop-of-war Wasp, at their own request. The Wasp was never heard from after she parted company with the brig; but it is my opinion, and shared by many, that Lieutenant McKnight and his companion were foully murdered by the Swede.
We left the port of Valparaiso with our papers in good order, and all on board rejoicing at the prospect of seeing their loved ones once more. At that time I believed nothing could tempt me to leave my mother again; but "once a sailor always a sailor" is the proverb, and I am inclined to think it has in it much truth.
The voyage was a prosperous one; we doubled Cape Horn without difficulty or incident, and had we but been in the good ship Essex, returning home after a successful cruise, the days would not have been long enough for all our happiness. As it was, however, we lived over and over again the past, discussing the battle which had cost us so dearly and left the poor old frigate a wreck in the harbor of Valparaiso, and speaking tenderly with many a choking sob of the shipmates who stood gallantly to their posts of duty until death struck them down.
Now we were returning on parole, the survivors of a ship's company which had struck their colors to the enemy, and it weighed us down, even though we knew full well that the cruise of the Essex had been of greatest value to our country.
We talked of the old ship as if she had once been a living thing, and regretted most deeply that we had not succeeded in beaching her, or that we had extinguished the flames when her hold was apparently a mass of fire.